"Before I tell you what is common among these twelve planets," Elder said, his golden gaze sweeping across the chamber, "first tell me the progress of everything that is happening on your worlds."
At once, one of the twelve students rose from his seat. With a respectful bow, he spoke in a clear and obedient tone:
"My lord, everything is unfolding just as you envisioned. Peace reigns across our worlds. None of us—nor any of the other students—have missed a single day of teaching what you have entrusted to us. We remain vigilant, especially with the next generation, guiding the children in how to use their powers responsibly.
As you commanded, we have built a place apart from their parents, a sanctuary of learning we call School. There, we teach the young not only of their gifts, but also of the vastness of the multiverse—its history, its struggles, and how all was changed when you, my lord, came to our rescue."
The other eleven students, with hearts burning in the same flame of loyalty, raised their voices together and cried,
"Yes, my lord! Every word he spoke is true."
Elder's heart stirred at their devotion. He was deeply moved by the progress his students had achieved across the multiverse, the peace they had sown, the light they carried in his name. Yet within him lingered a quiet unease—a knowing that no world was ever free of struggle. Somewhere, hidden beneath the surface, problems always remained.
His expression grew solemn, his golden eyes sharpening into full focus.
"What I am about to ask," he said slowly, his voice echoing through the chamber, "you must answer with complete honesty."
The students straightened at once, their reply unanimous, unwavering:
"We will, Elder."
Elder leaned forward, his presence heavy, his gaze piercing through each of them.
"Then tell me—are there truly no problems upon your planets?"
For a moment, silence hung between them. The twelve looked at one another, exchanging fleeting glances, as if to confirm their thoughts. Then, in unison, their voices rang out:
"No, Elder. There is no problem on our planets, under your rule."
"I will ask you again," Elder said, his voice resonant and unyielding. "Is there truly no problem in your planets?"
At once, silence fell over the golden chamber. The students who had spoken so confidently before now sat still, their voices gone. Not a word was uttered; only the echo of Elder's question lingered in the vast hall.
Elder's golden eyes softened, yet his tone carried the weight of truth as he continued:
"I know the truth. You are all facing a common problem within your worlds. There is not enough space left for your people to live comfortably. With the death rate decreased—a blessing, for fewer lives are lost—your populations have grown swiftly. But abundance without balance brings its own trials."
He rose slightly from his seat, his aura brightening, his words now a lesson as much as a warning.
"This is what happens when the law of balance is disturbed. Life and death must remain in harmony. Yet no spirit desires to leave its body when existence is pleasant, when suffering has been lifted, when peace fills their days. And so, your worlds grow crowded."
The students lowered their eyes, ashamed, as Elder spoke further:
"You are short on space for the new generations. You are short on food for those yet to come. And you conceal this from me, thinking that by admitting it, you would only burden me with more work."
His gaze swept across them, piercing their silence.
"Isn't that the truth?"
Elder stepped down from his throne and walked slowly toward his students. Among them was a girl—the first woman ever to become his pupil. She sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap, her eyes lowered, but her heart trembling with devotion.
When Elder reached her, he extended his hand and gently placed his right palm upon her head, patting it with the tenderness of a father. Then he leaned closer, his radiant presence overwhelming her senses.
The nearness of Elder's light was too much for her to bear. Her lips trembled, and tears streamed down her cheeks as her body shook softly.
"Do not cry, my beloved student… Mary," Elder whispered with compassion.
At the sound of her name, Mary stilled. Though her tears continued to well, she no longer wept aloud; she only gazed at him, her face bathed in his glow.
Elder straightened but kept his hand upon her head. His voice carried through the chamber, gentle yet unshakable:
"I want all of you to understand this—by telling me the problems of your worlds, you do not place more work upon me. Instead, you give me the courage to lead you, my people, toward the good. So, whatever troubles arise, speak of them to me immediately, and I will bear the weight for you. I desire nothing more than for you to rely on me. It brings me joy when my students trust me enough to lean on me more."
The chamber grew still. Many bowed their heads, tears filling their own eyes, for Elder's words pierced through their silence and shame.
"The solution to your problem is this…" Elder declared, lifting his hand slightly.
He gestured toward Miss. Missy. At once, she snapped her fingers, and dozens of orange-hued screens unfolded in the air like windows opening to other worlds. Each student found a screen hovering before them, glowing with strange light.
Gasps of astonishment rippled through the chamber. For though the screens all shone the same orange radiance, the visions they revealed were not the same. Each student beheld a different world—unique planets, each painted with its own beauty, atmosphere, and promise.
Elder's voice rang out, calm yet full of power:
"The blessing of this vast space is that it holds countless worlds. Millions of planets lie scattered across the multiverse, and many are fit for life. What you see now are the planets nearest to your home systems. I have examined each one carefully, and I have confirmed: they are good for living."
The students stared wide-eyed at the vistas before them—emerald forests, sapphire oceans, mountains veined with silver, skies streaked with colors unseen before.
Elder continued:
"And thanks to the transporting technology—created by one of your own peers, my beloved student—we have the means to carry our people to these neighboring worlds. This way, your planets will no longer be burdened. Families will have room to breathe, children will have open skies, and all of you will be able to live in comfort without straining the balance of life and death."
His golden eyes swept across their astonished faces.
"This is not exile. It is expansion. A chance for your people to grow while preserving peace."
"That way," Elder continued, his voice steady as golden light rippled from his form, "with more space available, you will have room to teach more children. You can welcome greater numbers into your schools, and when they reach the proper age, they may join the military to serve and protect the multiverse."
He let the words settle over them, their weight undeniable. Then, with calm authority, he declared:
"This will be your first great assignment—the beginning of the Space Government."
The chamber fell into reverent silence. His students bowed their heads, the magnitude of the task pressing upon them, yet their hearts were filled with resolve. One by one, they departed, returning to their home planets with renewed purpose.
Across the multiverse, preparations began. Temples and schools transformed into centers of organization. Families packed their belongings. Great transport gates shimmered into being, humming with the power of Elder's light. The people made ready—for the day they would step onto new worlds.