The dawn following the Supremes' council did not bring peace—it brought the slow, grinding weight of authority pressed down upon every corner of the Mystic Continent.
As the sun bled across the horizon, its rays glinted off iron and steel. Soldiers marched through the streets of every city, their boots striking in unison like the heartbeat of a continent suddenly shackled to discipline.
The thunder of their formation was both reassuring and terrifying to the civilians who watched from shuttered windows and narrow alleys.
The orders of the Supremes had been swift, carried by encrypted transmissions, sealed letters, and official holograms projected into marketplaces.
Each household, each settlement, each family received the same message: The Mystic Alliance stands. Order will be restored. Rations will be issued. Knowledge will be spread.
In the capital, armoured convoys rolled down wide avenues once filled with fruit sellers and musicians. Now, under the shadows of banners bearing the crest of the Alliance, food stalls were stripped bare, and laughter had long vanished. Soldiers in black-and-blue combat gear stood at intersections, rifles slung across their chests, eyes sharp for signs of unrest.
A young boy tugged at his mother's sleeve, whispering, "Mama, are they here to protect us or to cage us?" The woman had no answer. She only pulled her son closer, hiding her trembling hands beneath her shawl.
In smaller towns, too, the orders rippled. At the village of Avaris, a local baker's oven had gone cold for lack of flour.
When he tried to sell his remaining loaves for triple their worth, soldiers stormed in, seizing the bread and pinning ration stamps upon the bakery door.
A soldier announced in a clear, unyielding voice: "By order of Leader James Martin, all resources are under central command. Food shall not be hoarded, nor shall it be bartered beyond fair share. The Alliance feeds all, or none."
Some wept at this display of order. Others whispered curses, certain their liberty was crumbling into dust beneath military boots.
Yet, the fear of starvation was greater than the fear of chains, and many lined up silently as ration cards were distributed.
The ration system spread like wildfire. Thin, metallic cards embossed with the emblem of the Alliance were issued household by household.
Each card contained a luminescent strip that glowed when scanned at distribution centers. The people received measured portions of grain, pulses, canned meat, and purified water. Queues stretched for miles outside warehouses converted into supply depots.
At each depot, holographic screens flickered with the stern face of Leader James Martin:
"Every man, woman, and child will be fed. But you will take no more than what is allotted. Should you attempt deceit, you will be punished. Remember—discipline preserves life."
In one such line, a carpenter named Daren muttered to his neighbour, "They ration food like we are prisoners. Even prisoners eat according to their master's will."
His neighbour, a frail woman with hollow eyes, replied softly, "Better a prisoner with bread than a free corpse in the streets."
The words stuck in Daren's throat. He tightened his grip on the ration card, his knuckles pale.
...….
In schools, academies, and even roadside gathering spots, messengers of Leader Li Muchen arrived. They carried tomes, scrolls, and holographic manuals outlining the first fragments of what had been gleaned from Pedro's declaration: the Cosmic System. Teachers, priests, and scholars read aloud words that felt alien and divine: Bloodlines. Awakening. Cultivation.
Children barely fifteen sat wide-eyed as they were told that their bodies were not merely flesh, but vessels awaiting a dormant spark. Adults too old to awaken listened with envy and unease. Rumors spread: some said bloodlines could make men soar like falcons, others that they would sprout horns or scales. No one knew the truth, only that change was inevitable.
A young teacher named Farel addressed her students: "You must remember—when the moment comes, do not resist. The System chooses, and the System provides. Trust in the guidance we are given."
Yet even she faltered, for the manuals were riddled with unknowns, gaps, and cryptic symbols.
Dialogue with General Pedro
At the Alliance Core, the Supremes themselves convened again. They had sent a request for clarification, and to their cold astonishment, General Pedro Silvergut appeared—projected in full holographic form above the obsidian council table. His towering frame shimmered with metallic brilliance, his face unreadable, his presence suffocating.
Leader Dev Ashley stood first. "General Pedro. You claim this Cosmic System is the design of higher laws. Yet our people demand clarity. What are these bloodlines? How shall we prepare them?"
Pedro's golden eyes flared faintly. His voice was smooth, deep, and filled with an authority that silenced the entire hall. "Leaders of the Mystic Alliance, you ask questions whose answers lie not in words, but in time. The Cosmic System is not taught—it is experienced. It shall awaken within those whose age is beyond fifteen cycles, beginning at dawn tomorrow."
Leader James Martin pressed forward, his voice calm but urgent. "You expect us to govern a continent without knowing what is to befall our citizens? If this awakening brings chaos, order will be impossible. We need knowledge."
Pedro tilted his head slightly, the faintest echo of amusement glimmering across his metallic visage. "Knowledge will come when the System deems it. It is not yours to demand, nor mine to gift prematurely. When the time is right, your people will understand—through awakening itself."
Leader Igor Putinos fists clenched upon the table. "And what of those riots already consuming our streets? If the System drives men to madness, then this continent will drown in blood before it learns to crawl!"
Pedro's gaze shifted toward him, unblinking. "Then you will use your armies to contain them, as is your role. Each leader here has been given purpose—discipline, order, guidance. Fulfill your roles, and your people may survive long enough to embrace what is coming."
Leader Li Muchen raised his hand gently. His tone was calm, but his eyes glowed with urgency. "General Pedro, surely you can grant us at least a fragment—what is the nature of these bloodlines? Are they gifts of ancestry, or curses written into the flesh?"
For a moment, Pedro was silent. Then, with the weight of a judgment passed down from the cosmos itself, he replied: "They are both. And neither. The bloodline is the reflection of the self, magnified by cosmic law. It will awaken what already lies within. But you will not comprehend it until it happens. Accept this truth: tomorrow, your continent will no longer be as it was."
The Supremes exchanged grim looks. They had sought certainty, but found only riddles wrapped in iron resolve.
Leader Dev Ashley finally spoke, his voice low. "Then tomorrow will decide our fate."
Pedro's hologram flickered, his form vanishing like mist into the air. Only his final words lingered: Prepare your people. The System clarifies itself through awakening.
...…..
The orders of the Supremes, strengthened by Pedro's words, echoed outward. By midday, every corner of the Mystic Continent was transformed.
In the industrial sector of Varn, factories that once forged plows and ornaments were repurposed to manufacture ration containers and military armor. Their chimneys belched smoke into the pale sky, the hiss of steam engines mingling with the bark of foremen shouting orders. Workers were told they labored not for profit, but for survival.
In the coastal city of Lumera, fishermen were conscripted to supply their catches directly to Alliance depots. No longer could they sell at markets—their boats sailed under the watch of soldiers who tallied every net hauled from the sea.
Some resisted; they were dragged in chains before local governors. "By order of Leader James Martin, no resource belongs to the few. It belongs to all."
In the northern plains, caravans of soldiers escorted scholars who read aloud from Li Muchen's manuals.
Farmers paused from their toil to listen, their brows furrowed in disbelief. "Bloodlines? Awakening? Do they expect my oxen to sprout wings, too?" one muttered. Yet he kept listening, for curiosity was stronger than doubt.
As the day waned, whispers grew louder. Everywhere, in streets, in homes, in fields, people repeated the same question: What will happen tomorrow, when the age-above-fifteen awaken? Fear seeped into the bones of society, but also anticipation. Some clutched prayer beads, begging for strength. Others sharpened knives, ready for rebellion if awakening proved cruel.
Children under fifteen watched their older siblings with envy or dread. A boy of fourteen muttered to his sister, "Tomorrow, you'll be something else. Don't leave me behind."
The sister smiled weakly, though her heart trembled. "Maybe I'll be stronger. Maybe strong enough to protect us both."
In a distant hamlet, an elder stared at the sky, where faint auroras flickered above the dome encasing the continent. "The heavens stir," he whispered. "And we are but kindling for their fire."
As night approached, the four Supremes gathered in a private chamber of the Alliance Core. They stood at a great window overlooking the capital, where the glow of fires mingled with the marching lights of soldiers. Their faces were stern, their silence heavy.
Leader Dev Ashley finally broke it. "We have steadied the continent, but tomorrow may undo it all."
Leader Igor Putinos nodded, his jaw tight. "If awakening turns our citizens into beasts, my armies will cut them down. Mercy is weakness."
Leader James Martin frowned. "And if you cut too deep, you will sever our future before it begins. Discipline must not strangle survival."
Leader Li Muchen sighed, gazing toward the stars. "We stand upon the threshold of an age unseen in all history. We can argue tactics, but none of it matters if we fail to guide the hearts of our people. They must believe in something greater than fear."
Dev Ashley's eyes darkened. "Then let them believe in us. Tomorrow, when the System awakens, we must stand as one—visible, unwavering. If the people falter, our unity will be their anchor."
The others nodded slowly. The chamber fell silent again, broken only by the distant sound of marching boots.
The night stretched on, a veil heavy with questions. But one truth had already settled upon the Mystic Continent: tomorrow, the world would change forever. The orders of the Supremes had rippled across the land, binding millions beneath discipline, hunger, and hope. Soldiers marched, ration cards gleamed, and whispers of awakening filled the air.
The continent waited—on the edge of a dawn that promised not peace, but transformation.