The throne room is dim.
Only the city's failing crystal core lights the vast hall—its pulse slow, like the heart of a dying giant.
Kael Draven stands before the console embedded in the marble floor. Alyss waits behind him, silent as his shadow.
The low-power relay hums to life.
[CITY BROADCAST ONLINE — RANGE: 3%]
The walls vibrate with static as his voice fills every corridor of Elysion Prime.
Flickering holo-screens across the city flare to life.
Five hundred thousand awakened citizens—soldiers, artisans, priests, and maids—lift their heads toward the same sound.
Kael's voice is calm, stripped of comfort.
"This is Emperor Kael Draven of the Valefar Imperium."
He pauses, hearing his own echo across the empire.
"You already know this is no dream. The cold you feel, the hunger, the weakness—that is not a bug. It is life."
A murmur spreads through the streets, whispers trembling through crowds.
"Our systems have been reset. The Sovereign System has reduced us all to Level 1. Our former power exists only as memory."
He raises his hand, fingers spread. Blue light pulses from his palm, linking to every receiver across the city.
"This is your reality now."
A universal holographic screen appears in every mind, a cold grid of information none can turn away from:
[Realm ETHERNNIA (CLASSIFIED)]
[Biome UNKNOWN — DENSE FORESTRY
Level 1 (LOCKED)]
[XP to Level 2 100 / 100 (Progress Locked)
Power Unlock Conquer TIER 1 Node]
Condition Physically Manifested — Mortal]
For a heartbeat, the city is frozen.
Then comes the noise—panic, crying, disbelief.
Kael's next words cut through it like steel.
"This is not punishment. This is mandate. The System demands conquest."
He steps closer to the console, voice lowering, commanding.
"We will not beg for salvation. We will take it. Every breath, every wound, every step forward earns power. You will fight, or you will fade."
The crowd's noise stills. The panic hardens into silence.
For the first time since awakening, five hundred thousand hearts beat in unison.
When the broadcast ends, Alyss bows deeply. "Your words lit a fire, my Lord. It burns desperate—but it burns."
Kael nods. "Feed it structure before it devours itself."
The maids move within minutes.
Alyss Venera—once a living weapon—becomes commander of the empire's logistics. She cannot cast Shadow Servitude, but she can still command loyalty through presence and precision.
Lyria Moonbloom and Hana Sol set up makeshift infirmaries, boiling herbs, using torn cloth for bandages. Their white gloves stain red as they work.
Tessa Quinn inventories everything—rope, tools, dried rations, even nails—counting value where gold once ruled.
In the command chamber, Alyss reviews the first ledger.
"Four days' water," she reports. "Food for two. Metal scraps and broken armor pieces. No mana reserves."
Kael exhales slowly. "Then our wealth is muscle and fear."
For external reconnaissance, Alyss selects Nyra Shadeveil and Irel Kane—her finest spies turned mortals.
"Take two soldiers," she orders. "Nothing that shines. Nothing that speaks."
They nod once and vanish into the dark, heading for the cargo bay where Dravok and Rauk labor against the city's sealed gates.
The lowest level of Elysion Prime roars with human effort.
Dravok Ironmaw and Rauk Storm-Born—once living storms of destruction—now strain alongside ordinary soldiers.
The massive blast door looms before them, a slab of obsidian three meters thick.
Each pull of the chain is agony. Each groan of metal a hymn to mortality.
"Harder!" Dravok bellows, voice hoarse. "We're not dead yet!"
Rauk snarls beside him, muscles trembling under sweat. "Feels like we're getting close, though!"
It takes hours, but the ancient mechanisms finally yield.
A deep groan echoes through the tunnels.
The door moves—slow, stubborn, alive.
Three feet. No more.
Air rushes through the gap.
It smells of rain, rot, and something unfamiliar.
[ATMOSPHERIC CONTACT ESTABLISHED]
[External Conditions: Stable]
Kael watches from the upper feed as the external wind flutters through the half-open gate.
For the first time, the empire of perfection breathes the air of an imperfect world.
The air beyond the breach is thick as breath. Every inhalation tastes like damp metal and decay.
Nyra Shadeveil moves first, stepping through the narrow opening between warped steel plates. Her boot sinks an inch into soft moss that pulses faintly with light. The forest ahead glows beneath its own breath—trunks black, leaves veined with silver, roots curling like sleeping serpents.
Irel Kane follows, a short spear strapped to her back, eyes scanning the shifting foliage. Two soldiers trail behind them, faces pale beneath the flicker of the dome's last light. Each carries a crude, scrap-forged blade—the kind of weapon made from scavenged door hinges and desperation.
"Eyes up," Nyra whispers. "We are Level One. The forest doesn't care who we used to be."
The undergrowth answers with silence.
Then—a chittering sound, sharp and wet, from the left.
[Threat Level: Low]
[Power Level: 3 / Unknown Behavioral Patterns]
The noise slithers closer. Something scrapes bark.
Irel raises a hand, signaling halt. The two soldiers freeze.
The sound stops. Only the slow hiss of mist moves between the trees.
Then—a blur of motion.
A creature no taller than a man's waist, its body half-plant, half-flesh—slick fungus stretched over twitching muscle. Tendrils quiver where eyes should be, glowing faintly with spore-light. Its mouth splits open sideways, dripping black sap that burns through the moss.
The smell hits first—rot and acid.
Nyra's reflex is instant. She thrusts out her hand.
"Shadow Chains—!"
Nothing. The rune etched in her skin remains dull.
Her breath catches. "...Nothing.
The creature lunges.
The nearest soldier barely raises his blade before claws rake across his chest, tearing armor and skin. Blood sprays across the glowing moss. The second soldier shouts, stabbing down, his blade catching the beast's side—but the edge skids across cartilage.
"Back!" Irel snarls, lunging with her spear. The tip pierces the creature's flank; it shrieks, voice shrill like metal grinding against glass. Spore dust bursts into the air, stinging eyes and lungs.
Nyra moves, slipping behind the beast, every movement pure instinct. She seizes the handle of her stolen knife and drives it into the creature's back. The blade sinks halfway, jamming in bone.
The creature twists, screaming. Its tendrils whip backward, catching Nyra's arm and tearing flesh. She grits her teeth, ignoring the pain.
The injured soldier collapses, choking, his armor smoking where the spores touch his skin.
Irel strikes again, short and brutal. Her spear punches through the creature's mouth, pinning it to the ground. It convulses once, then twice, limbs spasming as black fluid leaks out and burns through the moss.
The sound fades. The forest breathes again.
The smell of blood and burnt fungus fills the clearing.
For a moment, no one moves.
Then one of the soldiers—the one still standing—drops to his knees, gasping. "Level… three…" he rasps, "and we almost died."
Irel wipes the black sap from her weapon. The wood hisses where it touches. "That wasn't fighting," she mutters. "That was drowning."
Nyra leans against a tree, pressing her injured arm. Blood seeps between her fingers, dark and slow.
She stares down at the creature's body—half-dissolved, already breaking apart into spores that drift into the fog.
"Remember this," she says softly. "We are not gods anymore."
The silence that follows feels wrong—too deep, too attentive.
Irel crouches, eyes narrowing. "It's watching."
Nyra glances at her. "What?"
"The forest," Irel says. "It's aware. Look."
She points toward a nearby tree. Its bark ripples—veins of faint light crawling upward, converging toward the clearing where the beast died.
"The mana here absorbs death," Nyra murmurs. "Even the forest feeds."
Irel closes her eyes, sniffing the air. "Smoke. East. Not far. People. Or something pretending."
[TARGET TIER 1 NODE LOCATED]
Unnamed Village — Coordinates Locked.
Nyra exhales slowly. Her hand still shakes as she wipes blood from her cheek.
"We have our first conquest," she says. "Or our first grave."
They turn back toward the gap in the wall, carrying the wounded between them.
Behind them, the corpse finally bursts apart—a puff of black spores rising into the canopy.
Something deep within the forest stirs in answer—a low vibration, almost like breathing.
The forest watches them go.
And as the wind shifts, a thousand glowing spores drift east—toward the direction of the village.
They return at dusk—mud-soaked, bloodied, and silent.
Kael waits by the balcony railing when they enter.
Nyra bows, jaw clenched. "A Level 3 creature nearly wiped us, my Lord."
Kael's expression doesn't change. "Then we start lower than dirt. That's fine."
Eryndel Frostforge bursts into the hall with soot-stained hands. "Forty-eight hours, sire! That's all the air and water we've got before the core bleeds dry!"
The clock starts ticking in Kael's mind. Every heartbeat counts.
He faces his generals and maids, eyes cold with resolve.
"This isn't empire," he says. "This is survival."
He turns to Alyss. "At dawn, we march."
[MISSION: FIRST CONQUEST]
[Target: TIER 1 NODE — Unnamed Village]
[Estimated Reward: +10 Level Unlock / Core Power Restoration — Phase 1]
Alyss bows, silver hair catching the dying light. "Dawn is war, my Emperor."
Kael looks once more toward the sealed gates, where the alien forest breathes and waits.
"Then," he says quietly, "let the Valefar Imperium take its first mortal step."
The throne lights dim, and the city sleeps again—one heartbeat from extinction, one sunrise from rebirth.