The night of May 18th had cracked the world apart—not only through rifts tearing open the skies but also within the hearts of men and women. By dawn, the Mystic Continent trembled beneath a storm of unrest.
In the sprawling cities, chaos had taken root. The streets, once alive with the rhythm of trade and chatter, now roared with an unsettling dissonance.
Entire districts had descended into turmoil—shops were looted, their glass fronts shattered as desperate citizens clawed for food, water, and medicine.
Vehicles clogged the highways, not in orderly traffic but in frenzied flight. Families abandoned their homes, clutching what meager belongings they could salvage, while others huddled in corners, paralyzed by fear.
Cries of anguish blended with the sound of distant alarms, punctuated by the occasional clash of fists or gunfire between desperate men who moments earlier had been neighbors.
The broadcast of General Pedro Silvergut lingered like a poisonous echo in every mind: the declaration that their planet had been claimed, that alien monsters had been deliberately unleashed, and that humanity itself was to become a subject of "cultivation."
Among the citizenry, some trembled at the word "competition," fearing they were but pawns in some cruel cosmic experiment. Others grasped onto the promise of awakening a bloodline, clinging to the possibility of power. But most—most were simply terrified.
In the capital's central plaza, an elderly man raised his fist toward the hologram of General Pedro still flickering in the sky.
"They treat us like livestock! Like game pieces on a board!" he cried. His voice cracked with rage, but his body quivered with despair.
Others shouted over him—some urging rebellion, some begging for order, and some sinking to their knees, praying to the Cosmic Deity that had been invoked by the alien general.
The once-great civilization of the Mystic Continent teetered on the edge of collapse.
And yet, amidst this cacophony, a bastion of authority remained—the Alliance Core Headquarters.
....
Ten kilometers from where the colossal spacecraft had descended, the Alliance Core rose from the earth like an immovable fortress. Its walls were carved of reinforced alloystone, designed to withstand even nuclear fire, and its spires loomed high, crowned with luminous banners of the Mystic Alliance. Within those walls lay the nerve center of governance—a sanctuary where leaders from across the continent now gathered.
Inside the Great Assembly Hall, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The vaulted chamber, lined with holographic displays projecting maps of the continent and schematics of the foreign vessel, buzzed with overlapping voices. Branch leaders, governors, and generals had poured in through the night, each bearing grim tidings from their provinces.
"They are not invaders—they are gods compared to us!" shouted one branch leader, his face pale with terror.
"We must negotiate, swear loyalty, anything to survive!"
"Negotiate?" barked another branch leader, slamming his fist upon the obsidian table.
"They destroyed our tallest towers in an instant! That was not negotiation—it was domination! We must strike back, rally every weapon we have!"
"Fool!" spat a third branch leader.
"Do you not understand? Our weapons are useless! Even our most advanced missiles bend against that barrier! To fight them is suicide!"
The hall seethed with arguments, voices rising like a tempest. The grandeur of the chamber, with its crystal-lit dome and marble inlays, could not conceal the raw panic of men faced with the collapse of their world.
At the head of the hall sat four figures—serene in posture, yet burdened with the weight of the entire continent's fate. These were the Supreme Leaders of the Mystic Alliance:
Leader Dev Ashley, the Iron Strategist, whose voice carried authority forged in countless campaigns.
Leader James Martin, the Architect of Order, whose mastery of economics and infrastructure had sustained the continent's prosperity.
Leader Igor Putinos, the Unyielding General, known for his brutal efficiency and uncompromising discipline.
Leader Li Muchen, the Sage of the East, whose wisdom and patience often balanced the impulsive fire of the others.
They had convened in countless councils before—but never one such as this.
The arguments spiraled until the hall no longer resembled a council of governance but a marketplace of fear. Accusations flew—some blamed the Alliance for failing to foresee such a threat, others condemned the weakness of humanity itself.
Leader Dev Ashley's brows furrowed, his hand tightening around the armrest of his chair. He exchanged glances with his fellow Supremes—each reading the same truth in the other's eyes: the continent was fracturing, and if this council could not be bound, their people would collapse into ruin.
A branch leader's voice cracked above the chaos:
"We are caged! A dome surrounds us like livestock penned for slaughter! The people demand answers!"
Another branch leader roared in reply:
"Then let us prepare revolt! If we must die, better to die fighting than crawling before alien tyrants!"
"Revolt?" sneered an elder governor. "Do you wish to bring extinction upon us? You will doom not only yourself but every man, woman, and child under your charge!"
The din rose to deafening levels, the clash of voices echoing against the marble dome like thunder.
"Silence!"
The word thundered across the hall like a hammer upon iron. It was Leader Dev Ashley who had spoken, his voice amplified not by technology but by sheer force of will. The hall froze. Dozens of leaders turned their eyes toward him, their faces a blend of fear, shame, and desperate hope.
Leader Dev rose from his seat, his tall frame casting a long shadow beneath the crystal dome. His gaze swept across the chamber, hard as steel.
"Enough," he said, his tone low but carrying. "This bickering shames us before our ancestors and before the generations who depend upon us. We face not a question of pride, but of survival."
He paused, letting the silence stretch. The hall seemed to hold its breath.
Leader Igor Putinos leaned forward, his eyes sharp and cold. "Leader Dev is right. Discipline must be restored immediately. Our streets are in flames. Riots spread faster than fire through dry grass. If we do not unleash our military to restore order, the continent will collapse before the aliens even need to strike."
Leader James Martin interjected, his voice calm but edged with urgency. "And what then, Leader Igor? A continent ruled by bayonets cannot feed itself. Our supply lines are already strained. Panic buying has stripped stores bare, and transport has ground to a halt. If we do not stabilize the economy—food, medicine, shelter—then even your soldiers will turn against us."
Leader Li Muchen's voice followed, measured and grave. "Both of you see fragments of the truth. Yes, order must be enforced, and yes, resources must be preserved. But do not forget the heart of Pedro's message—this 'Cosmic System.' If bloodline awakening is real, then our future will not be determined by weapons or gold, but by cultivation. Knowledge is our greatest defense. We must prepare our people to embrace this new reality—or they will be consumed by it."
Leader Dev Ashley nodded slowly, then turned back to the assembly. "You see? Already we divide ourselves—military, economy, knowledge. But survival demands all three. We cannot afford division. We must act as one."
One by one, the branch leaders lowered their heads. The fire of panic dimmed, tempered by the steel of their Supremes.
Leader Dev Ashley raised a hand, and the holographic displays flickered to life once more. Images of rifts, maps of riots filled the air.
"Here is our course," he declared.
"First: Leader Igor Putinos will mobilize military divisions to suppress riots and restore order. The army's presence will remind the people that the Alliance still stands."
"Second: Leader James Martin will stabilize resources. Food and medicine will be rationed under central authority. No black markets, no profiteering. Every man, woman, and child will eat."
"Third: Leader Li Muchen will oversee the dissemination of cultivation knowledge. Every household, every school, every academy will receive instruction on the Cosmic System. Our people must be ready to awaken their bloodlines when the time comes."
"And fourth—together, we shall open direct channels to General Pedro Silvergut. If he claims to be our 'guardian,' then let him answer for the welfare of this continent. We will hold him to his own laws."
The hall was silent, every ear fixed on his words.
Finally, Leader Li Muchen spoke, his voice like a solemn prayer. "The heavens have cast us into fire. But fire, if endured, forges steel. So too must our people endure—until they awaken, until they rise."
The four Supremes exchanged a silent oath, their gazes meeting over the obsidian table. Different in temperament, yet united in destiny.
The branch leaders, once chaotic, now bowed their heads in reluctant acceptance. Orders rippled outward, carried by messengers and broadcasts to every corner of the continent.
Outside the Alliance Core, the world still burned—but now, at least, it burned with direction. The chaos of despair was giving way to the order of survival.
Thus began the first steps of humanity's preparation for the Age of Awakening.