The midday haze over Crescent City was unusually soft, filtered through crystalline clouds and strands of quiet rain. Instead of its usual oppressive weight, the city's breath slowed, as if the spires, domes, and neon veins of the metropolis were in a rare moment of reprieve. For once, there was no mission, no bloodshed, no burst of space fracture or cries in the distance.
Alex stood alone on the upper veranda of the East Wing dormitory. The translucent awning above him shimmered with residual moisture, casting rippling patterns across the polished steel beneath his feet.
He sipped from a ceramic cup—green tea, oddly bitter—and exhaled. Even his internal world was still. No new throne chambers, no system flickering to life, no blood-pool whispers. Only the occasional pulse from the faint star-mark beneath his forehead reminded him that he was more than just a shadow walking among others.
From below, the buzz of cadets sparring in the RSA training yard rose like background music. Laughter and metallic clangs. No one mentioned the council session anymore, not to him. Perhaps they were afraid. Or unsure. Either way, silence suited him.
A soft chime echoed from the end of the veranda. He turned, expecting Elara—but instead found Mira approaching. She wasn't in uniform for once, dressed instead in slate-gray casuals and a raincoat, her dark hair loosely tied back.
"You look... human," Alex said, raising a brow.
Mira smirked. "Don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation to protect."
She joined him at the railing, glancing out at the view with mild appreciation. "No assignments today?"
"Not yet," he said. "Rhaenys mentioned something... unofficial."
Mira made a noise. "Unofficial usually means dangerous. Or political."
"Or both."
There was a pause. Mira fidgeted with her comm-ring before asking, "You doing alright?"
He looked at her, surprised.
She didn't meet his eyes. "That room—the Vault Council—it's not easy. Most people leave either furious or terrified. You walked out like someone lit a match under a lake and expected it to just keep rippling."
Alex chuckled softly. "I didn't feel like that on the inside."
She gave him a side glance. "No one does. You just faked it better than most."
They stood in companionable silence for a while. The clouds drifted. Someone below shouted in mock frustration.
Eventually, Mira straightened. "I've got a shift soon. Just... take care of yourself, alright? You have this way of standing like the ground beneath you is temporary."
Alex didn't reply, but her words clung like morning mist. When she left, he remained a while longer, fingers still warm around the tea cup.
Later that afternoon, Alex returned to his quarters. The door closed with a soft hiss behind him. The lights adjusted automatically, dimming to a golden hue. The room smelled faintly of parchment and storm-charged air.
Elara was already inside.
She stood near the desk, one hand behind her back, the other tracing an unreadable sigil across a sheet of thick, darkened paper.
She turned as he entered, bowing low. "Your Majesty."
Alex nodded. "Any developments?"
She straightened. Her voice was smooth, almost quiet. "The outer surveillance nodes have reported increased activity in the Vault District. No direct probes into your record yet, but there's... movement. Shadows adjusting."
Alex moved to the window. "What about the recruits?"
"I've begun observing likely candidates," she said. "Those with potential resonance will be drawn into the system over time. But it's better to move slow. Quiet growth."
"Good," Alex said.
There was a gentle pause before she added, "I've also begun drafting the architecture for the second hall. Would you like it to align with spatial attributes or bloodline legacy?"
Alex blinked, thoughtful. "Start with bloodline legacy. We'll anchor the hall to memory, not ability. Later halls can change with evolution."
Elara inclined her head. "Understood, Your Majesty."
He approached the desk. The air shimmered slightly—the system had registered his presence.
Internal World Stability: 72.4%
Throne Core: Developing – Blood Core Pool 62.5%
Merits: 928
He let the numbers settle into his thoughts.
Soon. One more push, and the 75% threshold would be reached. Then the core would anchor. Then the palace wouldn't just be a concept—it would be a sanctum. A citadel.
The beginning of his realm.
That night, he walked alone through the southern quadrant of the RSA grounds. It was quiet there—reserved for storage and maintenance hangars. The lamps glowed a faint orange. No hovercraft moved. No agents lingered.
Here, where no eyes watched, Alex spoke softly.
"Elara."
She emerged from a shimmer of displaced air behind him, cloaked in her light combat garb. She had abandoned most of the RSA protocol layers, replacing them with custom gear forged from his will inside the Origin World. Subtle runes shimmered along the cuffs and shoulders.
"My Lord?" she asked, since they were now outside.
"I've been thinking," Alex said. "When the palace stabilizes... the Core Blood Pool will unlock."
Elara didn't move, but her breath caught slightly. "You will be able to forge princes."
He nodded. "But we must remain hidden until then. No further subordinates for now. No visible power spikes. I need time."
She dropped her head respectfully. "Then I'll see to it the web stays buried. Quiet threads. Quiet growth."
Back in his room, hours later, the system flickered.
A small square of light shimmered above his desk. An old-school communication seal glowed red-gold—encrypted.
He narrowed his eyes. "Origin Star System, source?"
Encryption Source: Sael'Var Internal Channel – High Clearance
Decryption Suggested: 89.3% match with previous contact signature – Rhaenys Sael'Var
Alex leaned closer. "Decrypt."
Decryption complete. Visual and audio playback enabled.
The seal split open like a blooming flower. A thin holographic projection rose—only text. No face, no sound.
"Bearer of the Veiled Star,"
"Your conduct has earned quiet acknowledgment. However, recognition must be tested, not whispered. The Vault Citadel beneath District 6 awaits your presence at moon's highest point. Bring your discretion, not your force."
"The Rift below has changed. The Council will want to see if you change with it."
Then nothing. Just the fading glimmer of Sael'Var glyphs.
Alex read the message twice.
Then sat back.
The Vault Citadel. Beneath District 6. The ancient Rift.
It wasn't a mission.
It was an assessment.
And not just by the Council—but perhaps by the system itself.
He looked toward the sealed window, stars veiled behind city fog.
"Looks like we've been summoned again," he murmured.
A faint buzz echoed inside his skull as the Origin Star System pulsed quietly, still dormant… but listening.