Time: 08:00 AM.
Location: The Great Tether (Ascent Phase).
LAUNCHINITIATEDLAUNCHINITIATEDDESTINATION:ZENITH−ZERODESTINATION:ZENITH−ZEROALTITUDE:0MALTITUDE:0M
No countdown. No warning. The capsule floor suddenly jerked upward with startling force.
Gravity slammed into me.
My body was thrown against the cold metal floor. It felt as if my internal organs were being pulled violently downward toward my heels. My weight seemed to triple. But thanks to Elara's serum, I didn't panic. I only observed the sensation of my lungs being crushed with clinical curiosity, as if reading my own autopsy report.
Outside these thick walls, I knew we were shooting vertically at supersonic speed. We were riding the "Umbilical Cord" of this world.
How ironic that metaphor was. An umbilical cord is supposed to feed a fetus. But here, its function was reversed.
Around the lift's central shaft were thousands of transparent pipes pumping Ambrosia—liquid gold squeezed from the hunger of millions below—upward into the mouths of the ever-hungry Gods. And in the adjacent pipes, toxic waste was dropped back down to earth.
We, the people below, were the external digestive system for those above. We chewed, digested, and sent the essence upward, then ate the waste they excreted.
And I was just a speck of dust hitching a ride in the giant's throat, hoping not to be swallowed.
ALTITUDE:5,000MALTITUDE:5,000M
My ears popped painfully. Air pressure changed drastically.
And then, the sensation came.
Not a sound, not a smell. But a taste on my skin.
This altitude began affecting my defective body. Though the cabin had an advanced pressurization system, something from outside seeped through the Blackstone walls. Something dense. Something charged.
It felt like being surrounded by extremely strong static electricity. The fine hairs on my arms stood up. There was a metallic taste in my mouth, as if I'd just licked a battery.
My leaky Triad circuits reacted wildly.
My blood suddenly felt like fizzing soda water. The Aqua element inside me screamed, sensing the atmospheric "pressure" outside, far denser with energy. The Gale element in my lungs vibrated with the vertical wind turbulence hitting the tower outside.
My body should have started shaking violently by now. Teeth should have been chattering until they cracked.
But the chemical dam Elara built held strong.
I felt the urge to vomit, to scream, to explode—but the sedative blocked the signals. My muscles locked in artificial calm.
I stood upright in the center of the cabin, hands gripping the iron rail steadily even as my knuckles turned white. My eyes stared straight at the altitude indicator as it climbed, its red numbers flashing against my retinas.
It felt like being skinned alive but given a local anesthetic so you could only watch your skin being peeled without feeling the pain.
"You are a mirror," I whispered to myself, my voice hollow in the narrow space. "You emit nothing. You absorb nothing. You only reflect what they want to see."
I closed my eyes, letting the lift carry me higher, piercing the stratosphere, leaving the dirty human world behind for a place where oxygen thins and hypocrisy thickens.
Time: 08:15 AM.
Location: Zenith-Zero (Sky Port).
Deceleration felt rough. Magnetic brakes grabbed the rails with a suppressed metallic screech, and gravity returned to normal with a jolt that made my stomach feel like it was thrown into my throat.
ARRIVEDATDESTINATIONARRIVEDATDESTINATIONCABINPRESSURE:EQUALIZINGCABINPRESSURE:EQUALIZING
A long, sharp hydraulic hiss sounded, like a giant serpent exhaling, as the airlock seal released.
The indicator light turned green. A sickly green.
The Blackstone door slowly slid open.
Blinding, unnatural white light flooded the capsule interior, erasing shadows, burning my retinas, and for a moment, blinding me completely.
Time: 08:30 AM.
Location: The Gilded Exchange — Closed Audition Room, Zenith-Zero.
The room had no physical door, only walls of solidified light behind me that closed after I entered, trapping me in a photon cage.
I stood in the center of a floor made of transparent glass. Beneath my feet, the Golden Smog clouds swirled slowly like an oil ocean, and far below—like a map drawn by a madman—lay Zero Point City. I could see The Great Tether piercing downward like a black needle stitching earth to sky.
It felt like standing in mid-air, without a safety net.
"Grand Praetor Wynter Ash."
The voice came from all directions, echoing through the room's acoustics designed to make anyone in the center feel small.
Before me, seated on a podium floating three meters in the air, were three figures. They were not Gods, but they radiated arrogance beyond divinity.
They wore long golden robes that swept the podium floor. But what made my blood freeze for a moment wasn't the robes, but their faces.
They had no human faces. They wore masks, each different, representing the three pillars holding up this sky.
The figure in the Center wore a pure white porcelain mask with a geometric golden circle engraved on its forehead, resembling a frozen sun. Its expression was dead in an arrogant, static calm—the face of Order that could not be bargained with.
The figure on the Left wore a polished black iron mask with sharp angles resembling an executioner's helmet without eye slits. It was a cold, heavy, merciless face—the face of Judgment.
The figure on the Right wore the most disturbing mask: a convex silver mirror surface with no features at all. No eyes, nose, or mouth. Only my own distorted reflection on its face—the face of Surveillance that sees everything.
They were The Joint Commission. The Sky Auditors.
There was no chair for me. I was left standing at the focal point of the room, like a defendant in court, or a bacterial specimen under a microscope.
Elara's sedative kept me upright. My legs didn't tremble at this height. My heart beat with an unnaturally slow rhythm, as if my blood were cold oil.
"We see you, Praetor," said the Central Commissioner (Sun Mask). The mask didn't move; the voice was projected through an unseen mechanism. "You came up here with blood on your hands and a trail of ice behind you."
"In 48 hours of your tenure, the Eastern Sector experienced its worst economic fluctuation in a decade. Two Valdor students permanently crippled. And you…" The Commissioner leaned forward, its shadow falling over me. "…you stand there as if you just tidied your desk."
I stared at the porcelain mask. Rian had written the script. I just needed to recite it with my numb mouth.
"The city isn't burning, Your Excellency," I replied. My voice was flat, sterile, stripped of emotion. "The city is being regulated."
Silence greeted my answer. The wind outside hissed softly against the glass.
"Explain," ordered the Right Commissioner (Mirror Mask). Its voice echoed doubly, as if two people spoke simultaneously.
"The Velvet Chip casino in the Eastern Sector operated outside Lux Category 4 licensing protocols," I said, quoting the legal clause Rian had forced me to memorize. "They hoarded liquidity, causing local inflation detrimental to Aurum's official exchange rate. I didn't rob it. I performed an Illegal Asset Liquidation to stabilize the market."
I paused briefly, letting the bureaucratic logic sink in.
"Regarding the Valdor units… they violated Neutral dormitory zone boundaries while carrying active weapons and unstable explosives. That was a breach of Environmental Sanitation Protocol. I neutralized the biological threat without loss of life. Their arms are broken, but their lives are saved. That is administrative efficiency."
The Central and Right Commissioners turned their stiff heads toward each other. They didn't care about morality. They cared about order. And my explanation, though brutal, was a very orderly explanation.
"Efficient," murmured the Central Commissioner, its tone softening slightly but still sharp. "You speak like a machine, Praetor. That's an interesting change from your predecessor who always cried for budget increases."
But the Left Commissioner (Iron Mask)—who had been silent like a statue until now—suddenly raised its gloved metal hand.
"Administration can be forgiven. But ideology? That's another matter."
The room's atmosphere suddenly grew heavy. Air pressure dropped drastically, making my ears ring.
"Your speech at the Colosseum," said the Iron Commissioner. Its voice was heavy, like grating metal. "'Golden Chains.' You called the sacred bond between Sky and Earth a beautiful slavery. You called us laughing oppressors."
The eyeless iron mask seemed to stare directly into my bone marrow.
"Explain your intent, Wynter Ash. Are you building a rebellion? Are you insulting the Sovereigns?"
This was a trap. If I answered "Yes," I died. If I answered "No" while trembling, they'd know I was lying.
But I didn't tremble. Elara's serum and my natural cynicism worked together to form a shield.
"That was rhetoric, Your Excellency," I answered calmly. "A tool."
"A tool?"
"The students down there are rough iron," I continued, staring straight at the iron mask. "They're lazy. They're spoiled. They won't move if given gentle orders. They need an enemy. They need pain."
I raised my chin slightly, displaying measured arrogance.
"I wasn't insulting the Chain. I was reminding them of the weight of the burden they must bear. I provoked their ego so they would work harder for you. Leadership requires dramaturgy, Your Excellency. I was simply playing my role on stage."
The Iron Commissioner fell silent. That explanation made sense to those who saw humans as mere production assets.
"Dramaturgy," repeated the Central Commissioner. "A dangerous word."
He raised his right hand. Dazzling golden light began gathering in his palm, forming complex geometric patterns that hurt to look at.
"The human tongue is slippery, Praetor. And your speech is too neat for someone who just took office two days ago. We cannot accept mere words."
The room vibrated. The glass floor beneath me hummed.
"We will test you. Not with pain, but with Absolute Truth."
The golden light expanded, blinding, filling the entire room with suffocating pressure. It felt as if gravity in the room doubled, forcing me to my knees.
"Under this light of Authority, lies will become poison," the Central Commissioner's voice thundered inside my skull. "If you speak falsely, your tongue will burn to ash inside your mouth."
The light shot toward me.
I couldn't dodge. The light pierced my chest, crawling into my skull like hot roots, searching for the center of my consciousness.
It felt like a giant hand gripping my brain, squeezing it, peeling back every layer of thought. No place to hide.
"SPEAK!" commanded the Central Commissioner. "ARE YOU LOYAL TO THE CITY'S STABILITY?"
Time slowed.
The question hit me.
I looked down, through the glass floor, toward the dirty Zero Point City in the distance.
My mind raced. Stability? What stability were they talking about? The stability built on Aethelgard's hunger? On Valdor soldier corpses? On Aurum's debt slavery?
I hated it. I hated every inch of this fake "Stability." I wanted to see this tower crumble. I wanted to see these arrogant masks shatter to pieces.
My initial intent was: No.
But then, cold calculation took over.
If this stability collapsed today… if I rejected it now… this city would become a mass grave.
Civil war would erupt. Valdor would slaughter Aethelgard. Aurum would cut power to hospitals. Thousands of innocent people—the little people without lifts to the sky—would be the first casualties.
I hated this system. But I hated uncontrolled anarchy more.
I didn't want pointless bloodshed. I didn't want thousands of deaths on my hands just because I wanted to play revolutionary hero prematurely.
So, for now… to prevent a massacre… I would swallow my pride. I would become the guardian of this hell I despised.
That truth crystallized in my mind. Bitter, cold, but real.
I stared straight into the sun mask.
"Yes," I said.
The word came out heavy, like a stone.
"I am loyal."
Silence.
I waited for the pain. I waited for my tongue to burn because I hated my masters.
But… no fire. My tongue didn't blister.
The golden light swirled around me, tasting my intent, sensing the sincerity of my pragmatic desire to protect the city's order, and accepting it as "Loyalty."
To the magic, reasons didn't matter. Results did. I was willing to keep the city standing. That was enough.
The Central Commissioner lowered his hand. The golden light faded.
"He is truthful," said the Iron Commissioner, sounding slightly disappointed—as if he had hoped to witness an execution. "His bond of intent is strong. No doubt."
"Loyalty built on burden, not love," analyzed the Mirror Commissioner. "That's the most durable kind."
They were satisfied. They didn't see the boiling hatred behind my loyalty. They only saw a guard dog willing to bite to keep the fence standing.
"Remarkable," said the Central Commissioner, sitting upright again. "We rarely find officials who truly care about… structure."
The tension in the room dissolved instantly. The atmosphere of hostility vanished, replaced by something more terrifying: Acceptance.
"You pass the audit, Praetor Ash," said the Central Commissioner. "You are proven not a rebel. You are… the instrument we seek."
The glass floor beneath me stopped vibrating.
"We like your efficiency on the surface. But your casino chaos, though legal, has consequences you didn't account for."
The Central Commissioner pointed downward, through the transparent floor, toward the darkness hidden beneath the city's foundations.
"The vibrations from your robbery have sent shockwaves down there."
A holographic map appeared in the air, showing a complex network of red pipes underground.
"Smuggling routes disrupted. Sewer rats are panicking due to post-inauguration instability. Our 'unofficial' supply lines are jammed."
I frowned slightly—just slightly, as my face was still stiff from the drugs. "Unofficial lines?"
"The Sky needs everything, Praetor. Including what cannot be sent through official lifts," the Iron Commissioner answered coldly. "And now, because of you, those rats are daring to surface. They threaten to cut waste pipes if we don't provide security guarantees."
The Central Commissioner leaned forward. His Sun Mask gleamed coldly.
"We don't care how: Calm the Under-City."
My Gauntlet vibrated violently. A digital mandate was sent, this time with a detailed intelligence data package.
A blue holographic screen lit up on my wrist, displaying a terrifying target profile.
NEWMISSION:PACIFICATIONOFTHEUNDER−CITYNEWMISSION:PACIFICATIONOFTHEUNDER−CITYTARGETZONE:THESEWERSTARGETZONE:THESEWERS
Details scrolled quickly, depicting the hell I must enter:
TOPOGRAPHY: A labyrinth of ancient waste pipes and wartime bunkers secretly connecting all three districts. Unstable structure, no official maps. Sunlight never reaches these depths.
ENVIRONMENT: Low-level toxicity. Magic waste from academies seeps into groundwater, creating micro-mutation zones.
POPULATION: The Stateless, Political Fugitives, and Dead Zone Refugees. They are not registered in city census and have no legal rights.
ECONOMY: Black Market & Scrap Trade. Cross-sector smuggling through dry pipes is the only thriving industry.
CURRENT STATUS: ALERT LEVEL 1. Active unrest due to post-Casino economic blockade. Rebel factions arming themselves as their logistics routes are cut.
"That place is the filthy gut of our world, Praetor," said the Mirror Commissioner, its voice bouncing around. "Down there, where the sun never touches the ground, our laws don't apply. But our needs still flow."
"Ensure the flow of dark goods does not disrupt the flow of official goods," commanded the Central Commissioner. "If they need a new leader, give them one. If they need slaughtering, do it with your signature 'sanitation'."
"Do it before the Tournament begins in seven days. We don't want our honored guests seeing rats scurrying in the lobby."
I stared at the mandate.
They had just given me the key to the criminal underworld. They wanted me to become the King of Criminals in the sewers to maintain the comfort of their palace.
"Understood, Your Excellency," I replied, bowing stiffly. "Sanitation will be executed."
"Leave, Praetor. And do not return here unless you bring results. Or a corpse."
The light wall behind me faded, opening an exit.
I turned and walked away, my footsteps echoing on the glass floor.
I came as a suspect. I left as a dirty contractor.
And in my cold, empty heart, a new plan began to form. If they wanted me to control the Under-City… then I would build an army there. An army of the discarded, whom they wouldn't see until the knife was already at their throats.