Chapter 1016 – "The Council's Curiosity"
Within the marble-walled chambers of Kalaha's planetary council, the recording of Erlin's interrogation echoed one last time. The pirate captain's voice, hoarse but unwavering, spoke of a world that should not exist — a wilderness larger than suns, guarded by fortresses that tore fleets apart.
When the playback ended, silence filled the chamber.
At the long obsidian table sat governors, admirals, and inquisitors, each one weighed down by rank and responsibility. The holoscreens above them displayed the data: Erlin's shuttle trajectory, the hyperspace coordinates he had jumped from, and the staggering planetary size estimate.
Admiral Seroth broke the silence first. His voice was gruff, disbelieving.
"A world with a diameter of one-point-four million kilometers? Preposterous. No planet of such scale can exist. Its mass alone would ignite fusion. It would be a star."
"Yet he described oceans, forests, and beasts," countered Governor Theral, fingers steepled. "And those orbital fortresses. Weapons that annihilated entire ships within seconds. If this is not fabrication, then we face something unprecedented."
An Inquisitor's voice cut through, flat and cold.
"The outlaw was restrained within suppression fields. Lies are… unlikely."
A murmur swept through the council.
Finally, Minister Kael, chief of intelligence, leaned forward. His sharp eyes gleamed with something between greed and fear.
"If such a world exists, it represents more than a scientific anomaly. Consider: resources beyond measure. Beasts stronger than our war machines. Fortresses that could bolster the Empire's fleets. Whoever holds this 'World-Star' could rival the Emperor himself."
The room went still at the weight of his words. None dared speak treason, but all understood.
Admiral Seroth slammed a fist against the table.
"Then we must send a reconnaissance fleet. Chart these coordinates. See if the pirate's story holds truth. If it does…" His lips curled into a thin smile. "…the Empire will claim it."
Several heads nodded, though unease lingered. The idea of sailing toward something that had devoured fleets gnawed at even the bravest.
Minister Kael rose, voice decisive.
"I will authorize an expeditionary fleet. Three battleships, a dozen escorts, and reconnaissance vessels. Enough to defend against pirates — not enough to provoke… whatever this 'fortress system' is. They will approach cautiously, under stealth."
"And if they do not return?" Governor Theral asked quietly.
Kael's eyes glinted.
"Then we will send more. No secret this vast will remain hidden from the Empire."
Far below, in his cell, Captain Erlin chuckled bitterly as guards dragged him back to confinement. He didn't need to hear their plotting to know what would happen next.
They're going to the World-Star, he thought. And they'll learn the same truth I did… you don't claim that world. It claims you.
The docks of Kalaha thundered with life. Three gleaming battleships rose from their moorings, escorted by a dozen frigates and reconnaissance corvettes. Their black hulls bore the crimson sigil of the Avarn Empire, engines glowing like miniature suns as they broke through the planet's atmosphere.
To the citizens below, it was a grand sight — an armada departing for conquest. To the officers within, it was something far heavier: a mission into the unknown.
Admiral Seroth stood on the bridge of the Iron Mantle, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the void ahead. "Coordinates locked," the navigator reported. "Hyperspace jump prepared."
Seroth's voice was steady, but carried the weight of command.
"Execute."
The fleet vanished into hyperspace, streaks of light swallowing them whole.
When they emerged, silence reigned across every comm channel.
Before them loomed a sphere so vast it seemed to blot out the stars — a planet that glowed with blue-green light, stretching across the horizon like a second sun. Clouds swirled across its surface in endless belts, auroras shimmered around its poles, and oceans the size of galaxies glittered with reflected starlight.
No one spoke. Even hardened officers, veterans of war, stood transfixed at the sight.
"…By the Emperor…" whispered a lieutenant. "It's real."
The science officer's voice trembled as she read the scans.
"Diameter: one million, three hundred ninety-eight thousand kilometers. Atmosphere: stable. Mana levels… off all measurable scales."
The bridge fell quiet again, the enormity of it crushing their voices.
Then came the comms. Reports streamed in from every ship:
"Shields fluctuating—something in the atmosphere is interfering."
"Long-range sensors are shorting out. We're blind beyond visual."
"No record exists of a planet this size. Nothing in any archive, Imperial or otherwise."
Admiral Seroth's jaw clenched. He forced his voice to steady steel.
"Compose yourselves. We are the Empire's blade. This world will not break us."
Yet even he felt the unease gnawing at his chest.
Because as the fleet drifted closer, the void stirred.
On the far edge of the horizon, black shapes rose into view — fortresses, vast and silent, their surfaces alive with glowing blue veins of power. They hung in orbit like sentinels, watching, waiting.
The officers froze. The stories of Captain Erlin — wild, unbelievable — now materialized before their eyes.
One word passed through the fleet in hushed voices:
"Fortresses…"
Admiral Seroth straightened, his voice cutting through the silence.
"Hold position. Recon ships forward, battleships on standby. Do not provoke them."
The fleet adjusted, engines humming softly as they edged closer. Every eye was fixed on the titanic guardians ahead.
World Frontier loomed, vast and alive, and the Empire's first step into its domain had begun.
The Iron Mantle's bridge was silent as the first recon squadron detached — six sleek corvettes, engines flaring faint blue against the titanic glow of the world-star. Their task: approach the nearest orbital fortress and scan for weaknesses.
"Maintain comm discipline," Admiral Seroth ordered. "No hostile actions unless fired upon."
The recon commander's voice crackled through the line, strained but professional.
"Understood. Beginning approach."
The fortresses loomed larger with every passing kilometer. From a distance they looked like jagged black monoliths, but up close their enormity was revealed: each one was the size of a continent, armored plates thicker than a battleship's hull, their surfaces etched with glowing blue circuits that pulsed like veins.
"Closer…" the commander muttered, sweat beading his brow. "Initiating scans."
The ships' sensors hummed, beams lancing outward. For a heartbeat, the readings came in:
—Composition: unknown alloy.
—Energy levels: immeasurable.
—Core signature: comparable to a stellar reactor.
And then, the fortress stirred.
The blue circuits flared, light racing across the black structure like lightning veins. The void trembled with power.
"Captain, we're being—"
The comm cut out.
A moment later, light speared through the darkness. Beams of pure ion fire erupted from the fortress, slicing through two corvettes instantly — their hulls vaporized without even leaving debris. The surviving four scattered, alarms shrieking.
"Evasive maneuvers! Evasive—!"
Another blast. A third ship exploded, torn apart in a silent blossom of flame.
The commander's voice returned, broken with static and panic.
"Admiral! They're—these aren't fortresses, they're executioners! We can't—"
The final beam lanced through his ship, silencing him forever.
On the Iron Mantle's bridge, officers stared in horror as the recon squadron was annihilated in less than a minute. Not a single shot fired in return.
The fortresses dimmed again, returning to their cold, silent vigil — as if nothing had happened.
Admiral Seroth's face was stone, but his knuckles were white against the command rail.
"So the pirate spoke truth."
Silence reigned, broken only by the quiet hum of the battleships' engines.
Governor Theral's voice crackled in over secure comms from Kalaha, heavy with restrained fear.
"Well, Admiral? What do you make of it?"
Seroth's gaze lingered on the glowing titans before him.
"I make of it that this world is not defended. It is owned. And it does not tolerate trespassers."
The fleet held its position, engines idle, the void thick with silence after the recon squadron's annihilation. None dared press closer to the fortresses. Instead, Admiral Seroth ordered the long-range scanners turned toward the colossal planet below.
"Keep distance," he said, voice like iron. "We don't tempt the guardians. Focus all eyes downward."
The holoscreens across the Iron Mantle's bridge flickered to life, data feeds pouring in from telescopes and filtered scans. The officers leaned forward, their unease growing with every revelation.
The first image resolved into clarity: a forest, but one unlike any in Imperial records. Trees thousands of meters tall pierced the sky, their canopies spanning kilometers, forming living mountain ranges of green. Lightning-like veins of blue mana coursed through their trunks, pulsing like blood.
Another sweep showed rivers so vast they dwarfed seas, each glittering with mana-rich water that glowed faintly in the night. Whole storms swirled above their currents, born not of weather but of raw energy.
Then came the fauna.
The scanners picked up heat signatures of moving life — creatures vast enough to eclipse the land. One silhouette filled the entire holo-frame: a reptilian beast over five kilometers long, its body armored in natural crystal, moving slowly through a plain as wide as a continent. Around it, smaller creatures, each still larger than Imperial dreadnoughts, swarmed in its wake.
Gasps broke the silence on the bridge.
"…That thing's… breathing? At that size?"
"It's not possible… it should collapse under its own weight…"
Another sweep captured the shadow of wings — a birdlike creature soaring above the forests, its wingspan stretching tens of kilometers, blotting out storms beneath it.
The science officer's voice trembled as she reported, "Every scan… defies our understanding of biology. Their size, their energy output… Admiral, these aren't just animals. They are… titans."
The bridge fell silent again. Only the hum of consoles and the distant pulse of World Frontier's glow filled the air.
Admiral Seroth's jaw tightened, his eyes locked on the world below.
"Monsters larger than cities. Fortresses larger than fleets. And a planet the size of a star."
He exhaled slowly.
"This is no discovery. This is a warning."
The Iron Mantle's scanners swept further, piercing through the mana-rich clouds that veiled the world below. For a moment, the officers thought they were seeing mountains — vast, jagged structures dotting the landscape.
But then the resolution sharpened.
They weren't mountains. They were fortresses.
Hundreds of them.
Each one colossal, sprawling across valleys and plains like entire cities forged of black alloy and radiant circuits. Their walls bristled with towers, weapon ports, and anti-air emplacements that gleamed faintly in the mana-rich atmosphere. Some floated above the ground, suspended by glowing rune-engines, while others were anchored deep into the crust, their foundations merging seamlessly with the world itself.
Gasps rippled through the bridge crew.
"My gods… it's not just beasts down there."
"They're… they're strongholds. Military strongholds."
Admiral Seroth's eyes narrowed. "Zoom."
The holoscreens magnified, revealing finer details. Defense arrays rotated with eerie precision, scanning the skies. Vast energy conduits linked fortress to fortress, feeding them power from the same lifeblood that pulsed across the planet. At intervals, brilliant lances of light shot into the heavens — not as attacks, but as constant tests, as if the fortresses themselves were stretching their guns, reminding the stars of their reach.
The science officer whispered, "These aren't ruins. They're active. Alive. And… Admiral, the scans suggest their firepower isn't only atmospheric. Their weapon systems are strong enough to engage spacecraft in orbit."
The realization hit the crew like a hammer.
This world wasn't just defended by the orbital sentinels they'd already witnessed. Its surface itself was a fortress — an endless chain of war bastions that covered every continent, every sea, every horizon.
Admiral Seroth's knuckles whitened on the rail. His voice, low and grim, carried through the silence.
"This world is not a planet. It's a weapon."
And yet, as he stared at the sprawling fortifications below, one thought gnawed at him more than any fear:
Who built it?
The bridge of the Iron Mantle was thick with silence. The holoscreens still flickered with images of titanic fortresses dotting the planet's surface, each bristling with weapons, each alive with power.
No one spoke at first. Even the hardened officers, men and women who had fought pirate lords and rebel fleets, seemed paralyzed by the scale of what they had witnessed.
Finally, Governor Theral's voice crackled over the secure comm line from Kalaha.
"Well, Admiral? You've seen it now with your own eyes. Do you still believe this expedition can yield anything of value?"
Admiral Seroth's gaze lingered on the world below, his jaw tight. "It is beyond value," he said quietly. "A planet with fortresses the size of continents, beasts that defy natural law, and orbital guardians that erase fleets… Whoever controls this world commands a power the Empire has never conceived of."
The governor's voice dropped to a hiss. "And can the Empire control it? Or will you drag us all into a war with something that cannot be beaten?"
The officers exchanged nervous glances. One, a younger lieutenant, finally spoke out.
"Admiral… we should withdraw. Report back. If we stay any longer, we risk provoking those fortresses. You saw what happened to the recon ships. If we lose the fleet, the Empire learns nothing."
Another officer cut in, voice harder, laced with greed.
"Retreat now, and we return with only a story from a half-dead pirate. That is not proof. If the Emperor demands results, what will we present him? Rumors and images? No. We need hard data. Samples. Something undeniable."
The debate grew sharper, voices rising.
"Every second we remain, we risk annihilation!"
"And every second we retreat, we lose what could make the Empire invincible!"
"This is madness! That world isn't meant for us!"
Admiral Seroth finally raised a hand, and the bridge fell into silence. His eyes burned with a mix of dread and determination.
"We cannot retreat empty-handed," he said. "But we cannot challenge this world openly. We will take the narrow path between."
He turned to the comms officer.
"Deploy stealth probes. Cloaked. Minimal emissions. They will descend to the atmosphere, gather data, and return. The fortresses may not detect them… and if they do, perhaps they will not see them as a threat."
A tense hush fell over the bridge. It was a gamble — perhaps the last gamble they would make.
Admiral Seroth straightened, his voice firm.
"If this world is a weapon, then the Empire must know the hand that wields it. Until then, we hold our ground. Not an inch closer."
The order was given. Tiny black specks detached from the fleet, slipping silently toward the glowing titan below.
Every officer watched the screens with bated breath, waiting to see if the planet itself would allow their intrusion… or obliterate them as it had before.
The probes slipped away from the battleships, almost invisible against the dark. Cloaked and running cold, they descended toward the shimmering blue-green giant below, cutting silently through the void.
On the Iron Mantle's bridge, every officer leaned forward, eyes fixed on the data feeds. The hum of consoles filled the silence, each second stretching longer than the last.
"Trajectory stable," the science officer whispered. "Probes approaching upper atmosphere. No response from the fortresses… yet."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Admiral Seroth did not speak. His gaze remained locked on the holoscreens, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.
Then it happened.
Without warning, the orbital fortresses lit up. Their black hulls pulsed with blinding blue circuits, as though the planet itself had opened its eyes. Energy surged outward in vast concentric ripples, invisible to the eye but deadly on every scan.
The probes' feeds crackled. One by one, their signals vanished. Not destroyed — erased.
"Contact lost!" the comms officer cried. "All probes offline!"
The science officer's voice trembled. "Admiral… it wasn't a weapon strike. It was… something else. An interdiction field. A barrier. Nothing gets in. Nothing."
Gasps broke across the bridge.
On the main screen, the orbital fortresses remained silent, weapons idle, their glow slowly dimming back to stillness. They had not fired. They had not moved. But their message was clear.
The world would not permit entry.
Seroth's voice finally cut through the stunned silence, low and grim.
"They saw through our stealth. They crushed our technology without even firing a shot. This isn't defense. This is dominion."
A junior officer whispered what all were thinking:
"Admiral… how do we fight something that doesn't even let us approach?"
Seroth's gaze hardened, though in his chest, unease churned like ice.
"We don't. Not yet."
The bridge fell silent again, every eye drifting back to the living star below.
World Frontier had spoken.
And its answer was rejection.
The bridge of the Iron Mantle was silent, save for the faint hiss of cooling circuits. Every officer stared at the dead probe feeds, their faces pale in the glow of the screens. No one dared break the quiet.
At last, Admiral Seroth straightened. His shoulders were squared, his face a mask of iron, but his voice carried the weight of defeat.
"We've tested the boundary," he said. "And the boundary has spoken. We cannot pierce it. Not today."
A murmur rippled through the crew — some relieved, others tight with frustration.
Seroth continued, his tone sharp and absolute.
"We are not here to throw lives away. We are here to bring back truth. And now we have it. This world exists. It breathes. It defends. And it rejects us."
He turned to the comms officer.
"Signal the fleet. All vessels prepare for hyperspace jump. Destination: Kalaha."
The order fell like a hammer. Across the flotilla, engines flared as the ships turned, breaking formation with one last wary glance at the glowing titan below.
The officers on the bridge lingered, eyes fixed on the planet. The forests, oceans, and mountains stretched endlessly, alive with beasts the size of cities. The orbital fortresses floated silent, watching.
One lieutenant whispered, almost to herself:
"It's like… it's not just a planet. It's a will."
Seroth heard, but he did not respond. His gaze locked with the blue glow of a fortress far on the horizon, its circuits pulsing like the beat of a heart. A promise — or a warning.
He clenched his fists.
"We retreat today. But tomorrow, the Empire will return. And when it does…" His voice dropped, low and grim. "…we will learn who forged this world, and why they guard it so jealously."
The fleet engines flared brighter. In a ripple of light, one by one, the ships leapt into hyperspace, leaving the star-sized world behind.
World Frontier loomed silent once more, a living fortress untouched, its guardians returning to stillness.
But in the heart of the Empire, curiosity had already taken root. And curiosity, in the hands of conquerors, was the beginning of war.
Chapter 1017 – "The Emperor Must Know"
The fleet returned to Kalaha battered not in body, but in spirit. Their hulls gleamed pristine, their formations sharp, but every soul aboard carried the same weight: they had looked upon something greater than the Empire, and the Empire had been denied.
Admiral Seroth wasted no time. Within hours of docking, he strode through the vaulted halls of the Imperial Council chambers, his boots echoing against polished obsidian floors. His uniform was immaculate, but his eyes were cold and haunted.
The council gathered in full — governors, admirals, inquisitors, and intelligence ministers, seated in tiers that rose like an arena. At their head, beneath the crimson banners of the Empire, sat High Minister Kael, voice of the Emperor.
"You have returned, Seroth," Kael said, his voice calm but edged with steel. "Report."
Seroth stepped forward, his shadow stretching long beneath the chamber's lights. He bowed stiffly, then raised his head.
"We confirmed the outlaw's testimony. The planet exists. Its size is… beyond natural law. Its surface is covered in fortresses, its skies swarming with titanic beasts. And its orbit is defended by structures capable of annihilating fleets. Every attempt to approach was destroyed. Even probes cloaked in stealth were erased."
The chamber erupted into whispers. Some scoffed, others paled.
Kael raised a hand, silencing them.
"You saw these things yourself?"
"With my own eyes," Seroth said firmly. "I lost an entire recon squadron in less than a minute. The fortresses did not miss. They did not hesitate. They simply… erased them."
A councilor sneered. "Then you fled?"
Seroth's jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady.
"I withdrew so we could deliver the truth. Had I stayed, you would have no one here to tell you what we found. That world is not simply defended. It is claimed. By something greater than any empire."
Kael leaned back, fingers steepled. His eyes gleamed, sharp and hungry.
"A world the size of a star. Fortresses beyond comprehension. Beasts that dwarf our ships. Such power… if it can be seized, the Avarn Empire would be unchallenged for a thousand years."
"Seized?" Seroth echoed, his voice hard. "Minister, with respect, that world is no prize. It is a blade pointed at the heart of any who dare touch it. To seek to claim it is not conquest — it is suicide."
The chamber fell into a heated murmur again. Some sided with Seroth's caution, others with Kael's ambition.
At last, Kael's voice cut through, absolute.
"The Emperor must hear this. The council will decide nothing until he speaks. Until then, Admiral, you will prepare your full report. Every detail, every scan, every word the outlaw gave you. If this world exists as you claim…" His eyes glinted like steel drawn to blood. "…then the Avarn Empire will not ignore it."
Seroth bowed stiffly, though in his chest, unease gnawed like fire.
Because in his heart, he already knew: the Empire would return to that world. Not with scouts, not with whispers — but with armies.
And when they did… the stars themselves might burn.
The great doors of obsidian opened with a groan, and Admiral Seroth was ushered into the throne chamber of the Avarn Empire.
The chamber stretched like a cathedral, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow, lit only by crimson banners and the pale glow of suspended starlight projectors. At the far end, upon a dais of black stone, sat the Emperor. His presence filled the chamber like a storm — a man cloaked in imperial regalia, crown forged of burning steel, eyes sharp as blades.
No guards flanked him. None were needed.
High Minister Kael stood at his side, bowing low as Seroth approached.
"Your Radiance," Kael said, voice smooth. "Admiral Seroth has returned with intelligence of… profound consequence."
The Emperor's gaze fixed on Seroth, heavy and unblinking. His voice rolled like thunder.
"Speak."
Seroth bowed deeply, then raised his head. His voice carried across the hall, crisp and unflinching.
"We discovered a planet, Your Radiance. A world the size of a star. One point four million kilometers in diameter. Its skies swarm with titanic beasts, its surface bristles with fortresses larger than cities, and its orbit is defended by constructs that annihilated my recon ships in moments. It is not merely defended — it is alive, rejecting all intrusion."
The words hung in the chamber like a blade.
The Emperor leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.
"A planet the size of a star?"
"Yes, Your Radiance."
"And you fled."
Seroth's jaw tightened, but he bowed his head.
"To stay would have meant the loss of the fleet. I chose to return, so that you would know the truth. This world is no mere curiosity. It is a fortress unto itself. It is a power greater than any we have faced."
The Emperor was silent for a long time. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his throne, each tap echoing in the vast chamber.
At last, he spoke.
"A world as large as the Sun… yet bearing forests, oceans, and fortresses." His eyes gleamed with both suspicion and hunger. "If such a thing exists, it is no natural creation. It is the work of a god. Or something greater."
Kael bowed his head. "Your Radiance, if seized, it could make the Empire unassailable."
The Emperor's gaze cut to him, sharp as a blade.
"If seized, Minister. And if not?"
Kael hesitated.
The Emperor rose from his throne, his cloak billowing like a stormfront. His voice filled the chamber.
"Summon the High Council of War. This matter will not remain in whispers. If this world truly lives beyond the stars, then it shall know the gaze of the Avarn Empire. And if it defies us…" His eyes burned like fire. "…then we shall decide whether it is to be destroyed, or made our own."
Seroth bowed low, though unease knifed through his chest. For he knew — the Empire would not leave World Frontier alone.
And when they came again, they would come with fire.
The High Council of War assembled beneath the vaulted dome of the Imperial Citadel, a chamber where entire fleets had been planned, rebellions crushed, and conquests charted. Holographic maps of the stars spun above the round table, their glow bathing the stern faces of admirals, generals, inquisitors, and ministers.
At the center loomed a new projection: the colossal planet, glowing blue and green, its diameter marked in red numerals — 1,398,000 km. The very sight of it drew murmurs through the chamber.
Admiral Seroth stood at the edge, silent, arms folded behind his back, as Kael addressed the assembly.
"You have all heard the Admiral's report," Kael said, his voice smooth, carrying to every corner. "A world larger than the Sun, rich in fortresses, life, and power. A world not of natural law. Such a prize cannot be ignored. And such a secret cannot be left for others to find."
A general leaned forward, scarred hands gripping the table.
"You believe other species may already know of it?"
Kael's expression was sharp.
"It would be naïve to think otherwise. If we have stumbled upon it, others will too. A world of this magnitude cannot remain hidden forever. If rival civilizations seize it before us…" His eyes hardened. "…then the balance of power in this galaxy will change forever. Against us."
The chamber stirred with uneasy agreement.
An Inquisitor spoke next, voice rasping from behind his mask.
"Whether forged by gods or machines, it is claimed by someone. The fortresses prove as much. If alien hands already control it, we must prepare for war."
The word war echoed across the council like a bell.
General Varun, commander of the ground legions, slammed his fist on the table.
"Then we mobilize. Not scouts, not whispers — armies. Millions of soldiers, fleets enough to darken the stars. If we hesitate, others will move first."
Murmurs of approval rippled through the chamber. Even those who feared the world's defenses could not deny the logic: inaction was weakness, and weakness was death.
At last, the Emperor himself, seated upon his elevated throne above the council, raised a hand. Silence fell.
"Prepare the legions," he said, his voice thunderous. "Mobilize the fleets. The Avarn Empire will not be outpaced. If this world resists us, we shall break it. If it is owned, we shall take it. And if it is a god's creation…" His gaze burned. "…then let the gods learn the reach of our dominion."
The council bowed their heads in unison, voices rising in a single oath:
"For the Empire."
And so, plans began to move. Armies were summoned from across the stars, fleets recalled from distant campaigns. For the first time in generations, the Avarn Empire prepared not for rebellion, not for conquest of a neighbor — but for a march into the unknown.
A march toward a world that did not want them.
Chapter 1018 – "The First Contestants"
The Avarn armada cut through hyperspace, a tide of steel and fire. Battleships, dreadnoughts, and troop carriers stretched for light-minutes, their engines glowing crimson, banners of the Empire blazing across the void. Never before had such a force been dispatched against an unknown target — not since the Unification Wars.
But when they neared the coordinates, they realized they were not alone.
The void ahead shimmered with thousands of alien hulls, angular and dark, each one bristling with weapons and jagged armor. Their banners bore no resemblance to human design — glyphs that writhed like flame, a crest the Imperial officers recognized from intelligence reports.
Seroth's breath caught as the enemy formations appeared across the holo.
"The Xycor Dominion…" he muttered. A rival civilization, long silent, now revealed in force.
"Impossible," hissed an officer. "They were supposed to be crippled after the Yven Wars."
"And yet here they are," Seroth replied grimly. "Drawn by the same prize."
The alien fleet was already in motion, driving forward with reckless hunger. They surged past the Avarn fleet, engines screaming, their weapons flaring to life as they closed the gap to the colossal planet.
And then — the planet responded.
The orbital fortresses awoke in unison, a constellation of black monoliths etched with burning blue veins. The void lit with power as ion beams lanced outward, faster than thought, sharper than any blade.
The Dominion's vanguard shattered instantly. Warships broke apart like glass, their wreckage scattering across the stars. Larger vessels tried to retaliate, unleashing torrents of plasma and kinetic fire — but their weapons didn't even scratch the black hulls. The fortresses answered with another salvo, erasing entire squadrons in a single stroke.
From the Iron Mantle's bridge, the Avarn commanders watched in silence as the slaughter unfolded. Thousands of ships burned, the Dominion's mighty armada reduced to drifting debris in less than an hour.
One officer whispered, voice trembling.
"They… they had numbers twice our own. And yet…"
Seroth's jaw was tight, his voice grim.
"And yet they were nothing. This world does not distinguish between invaders. To it, all are the same."
The crew stared at the glowing behemoth below, realization dawning like dread.
If the Empire pressed forward, they would meet the same fate.
But retreat now, and the Emperor would call them cowards.
The bridge of the Iron Mantle was a storm of voices. Some officers argued for retreat, others demanded boldness, and more still insisted on waiting to see if the fortresses had limits.
Admiral Seroth stood silent at the center, his eyes locked on the glowing titan below. He knew the truth — the Empire's army was vast, but to this world, they were nothing but insects pressing against an unyielding wall.
Then alarms flared across the fleet.
Another fleet dropped out of hyperspace, its sheer size blotting out the stars. A civilization unknown to most of the younger officers — massive organic-looking ships, their hulls pulsing with bioluminescent veins, like leviathans from another galaxy.
"Identification," Seroth snapped.
The science officer's face paled. "The Korrathi Swarm, Admiral. An extragalactic race… legends say they consume worlds whole."
The alien fleet was larger still than the Dominion's, a living tide of war-beasts and bio-ships numbering in the tens of thousands. Without hesitation, they surged toward World Frontier, releasing swarms of smaller attack craft like locusts darkening the stars.
The Avarn officers held their breath.
Perhaps sheer numbers could overwhelm the defenses. Perhaps.
The answer came swiftly.
The fortresses stirred again — not one, not a dozen, but hundreds. Black silhouettes rose from the void, each kilometers long, circuits blazing like veins of fire. They aligned as one, their blue light converging into a vast lattice across orbit.
Then came the storm.
A web of ion beams erupted in perfect synchronization, a grid of annihilation that cut through the Korrathi fleet like a scythe through grass. Whole bio-titans were split in half, their shrieks carrying even through the comm relays. Smaller craft disintegrated in waves. Within minutes, thousands of ships were gone — the largest armada yet seen in this quadrant, reduced to burning husks.
Gasps filled the Iron Mantle's bridge.
"There aren't dozens…" whispered a lieutenant. "There are hundreds."
The holo lit up with red marks — fortress signatures ringing the entire planet like an unbreakable chain. No gaps. No weaknesses.
The crew went pale.
Seroth's voice, low and grim, carried through the silence.
"This is not a world. It is a citadel. And its master has barred the gates."
None dared speak against him.
The Avarn fleet hung motionless in the void, the wreckage of two rival civilizations drifting as silent warning around them.
And still the fortresses watched, circuits glowing faintly, patient and unyielding.
The wreckage of the Dominion and the Korrathi still drifted like burning grave markers when the void trembled again.
The Iron Mantle's alarms shrieked as hyperspace ruptured. One after another, warships poured into realspace — not hundreds, not thousands, but hundreds of thousands. An armada so vast it stretched across entire starfields, their engines blazing like a false dawn.
Even the hardened officers of the Avarn fleet fell silent.
"Identification?" Seroth demanded.
The science officer's voice was a whisper, as though afraid to speak.
"No known records… They are foreign to Imperial archives. But their fleet… it dwarfs ours. Ten times over."
The alien ships aligned into perfect battle lines, confidence blazing from their every movement. With numbers like this, they believed no fortress could stand before them.
They advanced.
And the planet answered.
The void shimmered — and from the darkness emerged not dozens, not hundreds, but thousands. Black monoliths ignited one by one, their circuits blazing like a lattice of stars. The orbital sphere around World Frontier became a halo of blue fire, a fortress ring stretching as far as sensors could reach.
Gasps echoed through the Avarn command decks.
"Thousands…" whispered a lieutenant, her voice breaking. "Thousands of fortresses…"
The alien fleet pressed on regardless, their arrogance driving them forward. Waves of missiles, beams, and gravity cannons lashed out at the black guardians, filling the void with fire.
For a brief moment, it seemed the invaders might overwhelm the defense. Explosions blossomed across fortress hulls, energy flaring under the storm of weapons.
But then the world struck back.
Every fortress fired as one.
A storm of ion beams crisscrossed the stars, forming a lattice of annihilation so vast it seemed to carve new constellations. Entire battle lines evaporated in a single salvo. Capital ships disintegrated, their cores ripped apart by energies greater than suns. Smaller craft, tens of thousands at a time, vanished like sparks in the tide.
The Avarn fleet watched in frozen horror as the largest armada they had ever seen was reduced to wreckage in less than an hour. Hundreds of thousands of ships — gone.
Only silence remained, broken by the quiet hum of fortress circuits as they dimmed once more, returning to their cold, patient vigil.
On the Iron Mantle's bridge, no one spoke. None dared.
Admiral Seroth's face was pale beneath the hard mask of discipline, but his voice was steady when he finally spoke.
"Now you see. No empire, no swarm, no horde can break this world. It is not prey. It is the hunter."
The crew shivered as they stared at the endless halo of fortresses.
For the first time, even the most ambitious among them felt the weight of dread.
World Frontier had revealed its true scale — and it was infinite.
The bridge of the Iron Mantle was suffocating with silence. The wreckage of three civilizations now drifted like a graveyard around the living planet. The void itself seemed heavy, thick with the memory of slaughter.
No one dared to speak. Every officer's eyes remained fixed on the holoscreens — the endless halo of glowing fortresses, their circuits pulsing like the heartbeat of a god.
At last, Admiral Seroth broke the silence. His voice was low, but carried the weight of iron.
"Signal the fleet."
The comms officer blinked, startled. "Admiral?"
Seroth turned, his eyes cold as steel.
"Order a full retreat. All ships. Now."
Gasps rippled across the bridge. One junior commander stammered, "B-but Admiral, the Emperor commanded—"
Seroth cut him off with a glare sharp enough to kill.
"The Emperor commanded us to bring back knowledge. And knowledge we have. Do you wish to throw away your life just to satisfy his pride?"
No one answered. The silence said enough.
Seroth continued, his voice unyielding.
"You saw what happened. The Dominion was crushed. The Swarm was torn apart. And the largest fleet I have ever laid eyes upon was annihilated in a single storm. If we remain, we will share their fate. Retreat is not cowardice. It is survival."
The officers exchanged uneasy looks, but slowly, one by one, they nodded.
"Transmit the order," Seroth commanded.
Moments later, the crimson banners of the Avarn Empire flickered across the stars as the fleet wheeled about. Engines roared to life, hyperspace drives charging. The vast armada, once poised to strike, now fled in silence, like wolves retreating from a fire they could not control.
On the bridge, Seroth cast one last glance at the glowing titan below. The world seemed to watch them, its thousands of fortresses standing silent, unmoving, as if mocking the Empire's departure.
He clenched his fists behind his back, his voice dropping to a grim whisper only he could hear.
"This is not conquest. This is blasphemy."
With a ripple of light, the Avarn fleet vanished into hyperspace, leaving behind the graves of three civilizations and a planet that had rejected them all.
Chapter 1019 – "The Forbidden Star"
The throne chamber of the Avarn Empire was thick with tension. Reports streamed in from across the galaxy, carried by trembling envoys and pale-faced admirals. Each told the same story.
The Dominion — annihilated.
The Korrathi Swarm — obliterated.
The great fleet of the unknown civilization — erased in less than an hour.
And now, Seroth's fleet had returned, battered not in body but in spirit, bringing word of thousands of fortresses encircling a world the size of a star.
The Emperor sat upon his black throne, silent as the chamber filled with whispers. His face was unreadable, his crown gleaming like burning steel in the dim light.
At last, he spoke, his voice resonant, silencing all others.
"So… not one, but many. Entire civilizations hurled their might against this world. And all were destroyed."
High Minister Kael bowed deeply. "Your Radiance, the evidence is undeniable. This is not a planet. It is a trap. A fortress beyond comprehension. To hurl more fleets at it is to throw kindling into a star."
An Inquisitor added, his voice low and harsh, "The people are already whispering. They call it the World-Star. Some even call it the Devourer's Bane. Fear spreads. If we press the matter further, it will become more than rumor — it will become legend."
The Emperor's gaze swept across his council. His eyes burned, but not with greed this time. With resolve.
"Then let it be legend."
He rose from the throne, his voice thundering across the chamber.
"Hear me, all who serve the Avarn Empire. That world is no prize. It is no territory. It is a tomb for fools who think themselves gods. From this day forward, the World-Star is forbidden."
Gasps rippled through the council.
"No ship of the Empire will sail there. No admiral will chart its course. No legion will march upon its soil. To disobey is treason. To trespass is death."
His hand clenched into a fist, raised high.
"The World-Star does not belong to us. It belongs to itself. Let every banner in this galaxy know — the Avarn Empire has looked upon it, and we have chosen wisdom over arrogance."
The chamber echoed with the decree. And though some burned with frustration, none dared to oppose him.
For in their hearts, they all knew the truth: the Emperor had not spoken from weakness. He had spoken from survival.
And so the order spread across the stars:
The World-Star was a forbidden zone.
No empire would claim it.
No empire could.
The chamber was still heavy with the Emperor's decree when a comms officer stumbled into the hall, pale and trembling. He dropped to one knee before the throne.
"Your Radiance—urgent transmission from the Third Scout Fleet patrolling near the Forbidden Star."
The Emperor's eyes narrowed. "Show me."
A holoscreen bloomed to life in the center of the chamber. Static cleared, replaced by grainy but unmistakable images. The scout unit had maintained a distant orbit, hidden well beyond the range of the fortresses. From there, they had watched.
And what they sent was worse than any report yet delivered.
The projection showed fleets upon fleets converging on the titanic planet. Their banners bore the marks of alien civilizations from across the spiral arm — rivals, old enemies, even races that had never dared leave their borders before. Driven by greed, they had all come to conquer.
The council leaned forward, aghast.
In the holos, vast armadas descended upon the World-Star, their numbers blotting out the heavens. Millions of ships. Titans of war. Armies that could lay waste to entire empires.
And then, one by one, they burned.
The fortresses lit up like a second galaxy, thousands upon thousands firing in concert. Ion storms swept across the void, annihilating fleets as though they were nothing but dust in the wind. Beasts the size of mountains surged from the surface, their roars shaking the void as they tore through drop-ships and carriers alike.
What had begun as a coalition of civilizations became a massacre.
The Emperor's court watched in silence as the footage continued. The skies above the world were now littered with wreckage, drifting like a graveyard of ambition. No army remained. No banner still flew.
Only the silent glow of the fortresses endured, their circuits pulsing faintly, like a predator's breath after feeding.
The Emperor's voice cut through the horrified hush, sharp and final.
"Enough."
The image died. The chamber returned to silence.
The Emperor rose to his feet, his presence filling the hall like a storm.
"Now you understand. This is not a conquest. It is a judgment. Those who go there are not warriors — they are offerings. Offerings to a world that devours all who touch it."
His voice thundered like a decree carved into the stars.
"From this moment, let it be known across the galaxy: the World-Star is not to be touched. Those who defy this decree will find their fleets shattered, their empires ruined, and their names erased from history."
The council bowed, trembling not out of loyalty, but out of fear.
And far away, at the edge of the galaxy, the World-Star pulsed quietly, as if acknowledging the truth the galaxy was only beginning to learn:
It could not be conquered.
Chapter 1020 – "The Question of the Fortresses"
The chamber emptied slowly, councilors bowing low before retreating with hurried steps. None lingered; the weight of the Emperor's decree hung too heavily in the air. Soon only the Emperor remained, seated upon his black throne, his crown gleaming like fire in the shadows.
From the side doors, a figure stepped forth — tall, regal, her silver hair flowing like starlight. Princess Aurora, daughter of the Emperor, heir to the Avarn throne.
She approached with quiet grace, her eyes thoughtful, troubled.
"Father," she said softly.
The Emperor's gaze lifted, his stern expression softening ever so slightly. "Aurora."
She bowed, but her words carried no hesitation.
"I understand why you forbade the World-Star. No sane ruler would throw their people into that abyss. But there is something… something I cannot ignore."
The Emperor studied her, saying nothing, waiting for her to continue.
Aurora's eyes sharpened, reflecting the memory of the holos she had just seen.
"Those fortresses. They are not natural. No planet births structures like that. They were built. Engineered. By hands far greater than ours."
Her voice lowered, edged with awe.
"Whoever forged them possessed technology hundreds — no, thousands — of years beyond our own. The lattice, the precision, the synchronization… even the smallest fortress dwarfs our greatest battleships."
The Emperor's jaw tightened. "You think I have not wondered the same?"
Aurora stepped closer, her voice growing fierce with curiosity.
"Then who, Father? Who could have done this? No empire we know of. No race in this galaxy. Yet those fortresses are real. Alive. Active."
She paused, her silver eyes burning with conviction.
"If they were built… then somewhere, someone still remembers how. And if so…" Her words slowed, heavy with meaning. "…then this world is not merely forbidden. It is owned. The question is not what the World-Star is, but whose."
The Emperor's gaze darkened, his hand tightening on the throne's armrest.
In the silence that followed, his voice came low, quiet as thunder on the horizon:
"That is what terrifies me most, Aurora. Not the fortresses themselves. But the hand that built them — and why they wait still, untouched."
Aurora's voice was soft, but her words carried a sharp edge.
"Father… if such fortresses exist, if someone truly built them, then why?" She paced slowly across the marble floor, her hands clasped behind her back. "Why forge a planet-sized citadel… only to let it sit, guarding itself? Why not send those weapons outward? Why not unleash them upon the stars?"
Her silver eyes gleamed with a mix of awe and unease.
"With defenses like that, they could have crushed every empire in this galaxy. We would already be their subjects, or their slaves. And yet… nothing. The fortresses stand only to defend that world. As though their master cares nothing for conquest."
The Emperor's gaze followed her, his expression unreadable.
Aurora stopped, her voice dropping to a whisper, but one that echoed across the vast hall.
"Does that not disturb you? Whoever built them — they had the strength to conquer the universe. But they chose not to. Which means they had another purpose… something we cannot see."
The Emperor leaned forward on his throne, his eyes hard as iron.
"Conquest, Aurora, is the obsession of mortals. Perhaps the hand that built those fortresses was beyond such pettiness."
Aurora frowned, though her voice trembled with a spark of awe.
"Or perhaps, Father… conquest was never the goal. Perhaps they built them to protect something. Or someone."
Silence hung heavy between them.
The Emperor's fingers tapped against the black stone armrest, his gaze distant now, as though staring through the marble walls into the stars beyond.
At last, he said, low and grim:
"Pray, my daughter, that we never learn the answer. For if the builder still lives… then all empires, all kings, all crowns — ours included — are already dust beneath their feet."
Aurora bowed, but the gleam in her eyes did not fade. Unlike her father, her curiosity burned hotter than her fear.