The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. Lucas stood at the edge of the clearing, fists clenched, heart pounding. His breath fogged in the morning chill, but he barely noticed. Everything felt amplified lately—sounds sharper, colors brighter, strength nearly uncontrollable.

  “Again,” said Perci, his voice calm but firm. He hovered above the grass, prism-like arms crossed over his core, watching Lucas like a hawk.

  Lucas exhaled slowly and stepped forward. A training dummy stood twenty feet away—thick wooden frame reinforced with stone. The kind of thing that would take a grown man ten minutes to break.

  He launched.

  A blur. A roar of wind in his ears.

  And then—CRACK—the dummy exploded into shards and splinters. Lucas skidded to a stop, panting, surrounded by debris.

  “Too much,” Perci said, walking over, his expression unreadable. “You’re still letting the power run wild.”

  “I’m trying,” Lucas snapped. “It’s like… like trying to hold back a wave with my hands. I can feel it building—this heat inside—and once I move, it just erupts.”

  Perci floated down and picked up a piece of shattered wood with his aura, then tossed it to Lucas. “Control isn’t about suppression. It’s about harmony.”

  Lucas frowned, confused.

  Perci gestured toward the forest beyond the clearing. “Run to the ridge and back. But this time, don’t focus on speed. Focus on every step—how your foot hits the ground, how your body shifts. Listen to the rhythm.”

  Lucas hesitated. “And if I lose control again?”

  “You won’t,” he said. “Because this time, you’re choosing every movement.”

  Lucas nodded slowly and took off.

  Each stride was a battle—not against his surroundings, but against himself. His instincts screamed to let go, to tear across the terrain like lightning. But he didn’t. He listened. To the wind, to the trees, to the thud of his steps.

  The world stopped blurring. His heart calmed.

  When he returned, sweat dripping, Perci just hovered where he was. “Better. You're not a weapon, Lucas. You're the one who wields it.”

  That day, Lucas didn’t destroy anything. He didn’t crash through trees or snap boulders in half. But for the first time since this surge of strength hit him… Lucas felt like he was in control.

  “You caused quite the ruckus out there,” Macey commented as Lucas entered the control room of the mana vein.

  Since he couldn’t control his strength and didn’t want to accidentally destroy his company where there were a lot of innocent people that could get hurt, he went to the forest near the mana vein for his training.

  Lucas raised an eyebrow. “I made sure I was far enough...”

  “These people are the elite of the military, mage association, and imperial guards. You think they won’t sense you just because you were a bit far?” Macey pointed out.

  Lucas felt a bit stupid that he forgot who the people that were cultivating in his mana vein were.

  “What’s your rank now?” Lucas asked.

  “When I took the assessment, they evaluated me as an upper count-ranked combat mage,” Macey said proudly. “If I could get a signature spell or ancient magic, I might even be able to pass as a Marquis.”

  Lucas smiled. “Here,” Lucas held up a bracelet.

  Macey raised an eyebrow as she accepted it. “What’s this?”

  “Try it on.”

  Macey stares at him in confusion but did it anyway. Once she had it on, the bracelet vibrates—soft at first—then emits a clear chime like struck crystal.

  Suddenly, a ring of luminous sigils expands outward from the bracelet, circling her entire body in a glowing column of pale gold light. Tiny shards of light shoot outward from the bracelet, then boomerang back, attaching to her limbs and torso like magnetic snowflakes. Wherever they strike, armor begins to form and solidify. A chest guard flows upward from her waist like quicksilver, curving over her ribs and locking at her shoulders with a satisfying clack. It’s engraved with fluid, feathered patterns that shimmer faintly. Pauldrons bloom from her upper arms in petals of light before folding into sharp, elegant layers. Her arms and legs are wrapped in spiraling bands of light that tighten into sleek gauntlets and greaves—flexible, weightless, and reactive to her movements. A collar of soft radiance rises to protect her throat, followed by a crown-like circlet that appears over her brow, casting a faint, steady glow across her eyes.

  The runes on the armor pulse once—synchronizing with her heartbeat—then fall silent.

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  The light dissipates. All that remains is Macey, standing armored in glowing, ethereal battle gear that hums with ancient power—light as silk, strong as dragon bone.

  “...” Macey examined herself for a good while before turning back to Lucas. “How the hell did you make this? I don’t recall you learning blacksmithing.”

  “I didn’t. Why would I need to learn other crafting methods when I could use scripts to make items make themselves. Right now, you’re wearing the same armor design as Halo,” Lucas revealed.

  “So... you’re cutting scripts you got from who knows where, and using them to make artifacts?”

  “Bingo.”

  Macey shrugged. “Other crafters would kill you if they found out, but at least you’re resourceful,” Macey mentioned as she kissed him on the cheeks. “Maybe I’ll wear this tonight,” she winked at him before heading out of the control room.

  “Ugh... can you not?” Maverick-Rose groaned as she entered the control room.

  Lucas chuckled. “How’s training?”

  “Well, for starters, I found out that the quality of your rankings in this world is lower than mine,” Rose mentioned. “In my universe. I’m only ranked as an upper Viscount, but I could handle an upper Count-ranked mage here.”

  “The people here don’t know much about aura, so they only evaluate based on mana cultivation.”

  Rose nodded in understanding before Lucas noticed her expression shift. “Can I talk to you about something?”

  “Sure,” Lucas replied as he gestured to the chairs.

  Rose was hesitant for a moment before releasing a deep sigh. “I want to talk about you and you from my world,” she started. Lucas nodded and didn’t interrupt her. “I can see that both of you are very different, but only on the outside,” Rose stated, but despite the weight of her words, Lucas didn’t interrupt her. “In the inside, you’re no different from him.”

  Lucas nodded. “You’re not wrong. If the same thing happened to my mother here, I would use everything in my power to destroy this empire. And I’m pretty sure every other version of me out there that was adopted by my mother would say and do the same thing.”

  From Rose’s expression, she both expected and didn’t expect his answer.

  “I will do everything to protect and keep her happy, and if I fail. I will risk my life to avenge her,” Lucas promised.

  It was highly likely that somewhere out there in other universes were evil versions of himself with the same promise. And it was likely that in the future, he’ll meet someone that would want revenge on him for what his variants did.

  But that didn’t matter.

  The only thing that mattered was that Lucas needed to be strong enough when they finally come.

  The Obsidian Spire – A floating citadel suspended in an endless void. A massive chamber of onyx and black crystal hums with dark energy. Shadows ripple unnaturally across the floor. One by one, the underlings appear — summoned by force rather than choice.

  Dualis, Triage, Quadratus, Quintus, Septimus, and Octavia stand in a semicircle. The air is thick with tension, the only sound the low thrumming of void magic pulsing from the walls.

  A swirl of black mist forms in the center. With a flash of violet flame, Primo materializes — a towering figure cloaked in arcane robes that shift like smoke, his face hidden beneath a crown of shadowed horns. His eyes glow with cold, void-born power.

  Primo (voice like a thunderclap muffled in velvet):

  “You forget yourselves.”

  The room darkens further, light itself seeming to retreat from him. A pressure bears down on the underlings — suffocating, absolute.

  “You squabble. You delay. You dare question my will. Let me remind you: I do not lead by permission. I rule by right of annihilation.”

  He raises a hand. From the void beside him, a figure forms — or what’s left of one. A cracked, twisted helmet floats, followed by scorched armor fragments suspended in black mist.

  “Hexadus thought himself clever. Thought he could scheme in silence. He is silent now.”

  Primo chose not to reveal the true cause of Hexadus’s death.

  The pieces of Hexadus implode into a point of nothingness with a soundless scream, erased entirely.

  Primo’s eyes sweep the group, piercing into each soul.

  “You serve because I allow it. You breathe because I’ve not taken notice. Fail me again, and I will unmake you more thoroughly than death allows.”

  A pause. The void crackles. Somewhere, something screams in another dimension.

  “Choose loyalty. Or choose to join Hexadus… in the hollow between realities.”

  With a wave of his hand, the oppressive force lifts — just slightly — enough to breathe. Primo turns, beginning to fade into the void once more.

  “Our enemies grow bolder. You will obey. Or you will cease.”

  He vanishes. The silence he leaves behind is unbearable.

  The throne room pulsed with a quiet, ominous rhythm. Dark stone walls stretched impossibly high, their surfaces etched with glowing glyphs that whispered in forgotten tongues. Columns like petrified giants lined the hall, casting long, warped shadows beneath the amber glow of floating lanterns. And at the far end, seated upon a throne of obsidian and bone, was Lucas.

  He sat in silence, one leg slung casually over the other, armored fingers tapping against the ancient armrest. His eyes—cold, silver, and inhuman—were fixed on nothing, yet burning with quiet calculation. The air around him trembled with restrained power.

  The heavy doors at the end of the hall creaked open, and a lone figure entered, robes soaked from the storm that raged outside the Citadel. The underling made his way down the long black carpet, stopping a respectful distance from the foot of the stairs. He dropped to one knee, head bowed low.

  “My lord,” the man said, breathless. “We found her.”

  Lucas didn’t move. He merely blinked once, slowly.

  “Where?”

  “She’s gone through the Veil,” the underling continued. “Into another universe. The timeline where the Vulcan Empire still stands.”

  At that, Lucas stirred. The air in the chamber grew heavier.

  “The Vulcans?” he said, voice like gravel under steel. “Still breathing in that thread of time?”

  “Yes, my lord. Their fleets remain intact. Their worlds—untouched.”

  A faint, humorless smile tugged at the corner of Lucas’s mouth. “And my sister runs to them, thinking she’s found sanctuary.”

  He stood. The throne groaned as he rose, as though the room itself feared what came next. Dark energy shimmered faintly around him, coiling like smoke.

  “Let her hide among the Vulcans. Let her kneel beneath their brittle code of honor. I’ve burned stronger empires. I will burn them again.”

  The underling dared not lift his gaze. “Shall I prepare the Rift Drive?”

  Lucas stepped toward the arched window behind his throne. Through it, the stars stared back at him, cold and endless.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “We’re going hunting.”

  And across the vast divide of reality, in a realm untouched by his dominion, Rose would soon learn that no universe could keep him away.