Chapter 33: Return Route
As Philip stood before the Axis, it responded to his presence.
The gem in his forehead pulsed—slow, steady—and with each beat, the obelisk before him bloomed brighter. A radiant glow surged outward, and suddenly, the darkness around him fractured into light.
Before him unfurled a living map of the cosmos.
Not a projection. Not a simulation.
A galactic truth—alive, aware, moving.
Stars danced. Planets shifted. Great celestial bodies spun in orbits etched into the fabric of light itself. He stood within what the Emperor had called a Zero Planet—a neutral nexus, unclaimed, unaffiliated, a resting point between higher-tier worlds. It was a place without war or allegiance, where travelers passed like ghosts.
The Axis revealed it all.
Crystalline planets with refracted atmospheres. Oceanic giants that shimmered like liquid sapphires. Living worlds teeming with sentient forests and glowing cities pulsing like synchronized hearts.
Then—something else.
A planet swallowed half in shadow.
No name. No code.
On it stood the skeletal remains of a Tree—a world-spanning organism, now reduced to bone and ash. Its roots were trenches. Its branches were cities, broken and burned. The Axis didn't speak, but Philip could feel the echoes—civilizations wiped out in wars that reshaped the stars.
Still, his mind remained fixed on one thing:
Earth.
He typed the name into the Axis.
Nothing.
His brow furrowed. "Why can't I find it?"
Then he remembered the Emperor's words:
"Every world has many names, and history forgets."
He tried again.
Gaia.
Dozens of planets shimmered in response. Some looked like Earth. Lush green fields. Human-like structures. Blue atmospheres. But none were quite right.
Something was always… off.
Then it came to him—one last name, ancient and mostly forgotten.
Terra.
The Axis pulsed. The stars realigned.
And there it was.
Suspended in the arms of a golden sun, a familiar blue world rotated slowly beneath him. His heart caught in his chest.
Earth.
A smile touched his lips.
But it didn't last.
He zoomed closer, past satellites and clouds, and as the curvature of the Earth filled his vision, something odd happened. He looked toward the Moon.
And it shifted.
Just for a moment.
Its cratered face shimmered like heat rising off asphalt—then peeled away like skin from an illusion.
Beneath it were cities.
Towers of mirrored crystal. Circular stations orbiting silently. Rings of light looping across the surface. Entire fleets docked in cradles of shadow.
His smile faded completely.
"Why doesn't anyone know about this?"
He focused, drawing himself toward Lagos. But the Axis halted him mid-command.
"No Waypoints Detected in Designated Region."
A warning.
The Earth was not freely accessible. Only ancient nodes—pyramids, tuned to the Axis—allowed traversal.
He zoomed in, irritated, but then something incredible happened.
Nigeria lit up.
Not once. Not twice. Dozens of times.
Pyramids—hidden, buried, forgotten—glowed across the terrain. One in Ile-Ife, another in Benin, more near Abakaliki, nestled in the creases of the hills. Others scattered like constellations along the mountain ridges between Anambra and Enugu.
They weren't random.
They formed a six-pointed star across the region.
His pulse quickened.
"How did no one know these existed?"
He had grown up in these lands. Walked their paths. Laughed in their streets. And yet, beneath his feet had always been something ancient. Something sacred. Something lost.
He focused on the one in Abakaliki.
Hilltop Mountain.
A place locals hiked, picnicked, took photos at sunset. Natural, harmless, quiet. But the Axis revealed its truth. Inside that hill was a pyramid—an Ancient Stabilizer, built during the Final War of the Old World. One of the hidden anchors ordered by the last Emperor.
His decision was made.
He selected the Abakaliki node.
A deep hum echoed through his bones.
Reality folded inward like cloth drawn through a ring.
And he vanished.