The Sol Alliance is the supranational authority governing human space after the System Apocalypse. Rather than ruling planets directly, it provides a solar-scale legal and regulatory framework uniting Earth 2.0, Luna, Mars, smaller colonies and orbital habitats.

  The Alliance is a technocratic oligarchy led by the Sol Fortune 15, corporations founded by the original System pioneers who saved humanity. Their CEOs function as a permanent security council, with veto power over all Solar Law. Members include Aurelia Inc., Palistra Apex, or Midorikawa Corp.

  The Alliance enforces the Core Tenets, which regulate System use, interplanetary trade, and baseline human rights. Local governments (e.g., our Tago City-State) retain internal autonomy, but all local law is subordinate to Alliance authority.

  Alliance law often serves as the only protection for unranked civilians. The Aurelia Standard Labor Act (ASLA), for example, capped non-System labor shifts at 16 hours. While praised as a humanitarian reform, it is widely criticized by local rulers for limiting productivity.

  — Creston Academy textbook, The Sol Alliance

  “It’s either my family or my family’s enemies,” I said.

  Omar fell into thought, his fingers drumming absently against the table. I continued while he processed. “I didn’t know I was drained, but I’ve been thinking about who would benefit from me not having a system and today I’ve got access to the Kallum store. Got credits from Grandma too.”

  “You loaded now?” Omar smirked, with a familiar teasing glint in his eyes. “Always. Trust fund corpo-baby.”

  I laughed. It was a running joke between us, one that had started back in prep school when he’d first learned about my family name and refused to let me live it down. “Well, she gave me a million.” I couldn’t help the smugness that crept into my voice.

  Sometimes I wanted nothing more than not to be a Kallum, so my father wouldn’t have had to risk so much and die for trying to protect that name along with Grandpa. But at times like this... yeah. It felt good. “I’ve already spent it, though.”

  Omar’s eyes widened. He nearly choked on air. “What did you spend it on?! A million?!”

  I hesitated. “Mana subsystem book. SSS Solar tier, S Milky Way tier. Apparently only A-tier in the universe.”

  Omar stopped breathing.

  Just... stopped. His chest went still, his hand froze halfway to his mouth, his eyes locked on me with an expression somewhere between shock and disbelief.

  “You... serious?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Elite operator will deliver it and... well, kill me if I don’t return it in a week.” I laughed weakly.

  Omar went pale. Not just pale, actually pale, like all the blood had drained from his face. “Your family is insane,” he breathed. “I... just having a mana subsystem is big. SSS tier? Man...”

  I shrugged, trying to play it casual, even though my heart was still racing from the implications.

  The waitress returned with our drinks, setting them down. Omar’s Neon Surge glowed faintly in its cup, the synthetic cream swirling with iridescent patterns, a light dusting of red chili powder floating on top. My Classic Neo-Brew was mercifully normal, just dark coffee that smelled like it could wake the dead.

  “Enjoy,” she said, and glided away.

  I took a sip, and it was strong and bitter, just like I liked it. Omar grabbed his drink and took a long pull, wincing slightly at the chili kick. When he set it down, some of the color had returned to his face.

  I glanced at my holoband. Thirteen minutes.

  “So, for my family...” I started, turning the cup in my hands. “I don’t know why anyone would do that. There’s actually no reason? I mean, we three are doing nothing. Just living and not even on Luna. No need to target me specifically, but there might be someone angry enough.”

  Omar nodded slowly. “Angry as in ‘kill you if you don’t return the book’ angry?”

  “Touché.” I took another sip of coffee. “But I think it’s an enemy of my family.” I set the cup down, meeting his eyes. “They’re playing the long game, and I’m only part of the puzzle. I’m nobody, really, but I’m still a Kallum. Me not having a system? It hurts the reputation, even if just a little. Like redirecting shipments… a casualty in a corpo war and every little bit counts.”

  Omar drank more of his Neon Surge, grimacing at the chili. “Corpo politics. Ugh...”

  “I know,” I sighed. “Never thought those lessons I had to suffer through with the tutor would actually be handy… but here we are.”

  “Ugh.” Omar set down his cup. “Forgot you were actual Kallum heir until fourteen. Okay, I’ll play. Why target Kallum corpo specifically?”

  “Seat on the Sol Alliance.” I leaned back, organizing my thoughts the way the tutor had drilled into me. “Kallum is the weakest corpo. Every other Fortune 15 has its founding saviour alive, except us. And our business... we don’t have a strong niche like the others do.”

  Omar took a long gulp of his drink, almost desperately. “What?”

  I shrugged. “One of the reasons grandpa and dad had died, they tried to bit more they could chew. I hope grandma is okay, because she’s leading an expedition right now. And she has to fight off the sharks circling all the time. Kallum has been weak for as long as I can remember. ”

  “But Henderson isn’t around either,” Omar pointed out. “Where’s he?”

  “Henderson owns Pulse and half the news networks. No other Fortune 15 corpo has that kind of media control.” I traced the rim of my cup. “And he’s only away on a mission. Five years, maybe? John, my great-grandpa,” I said that name with pride, “has been missing for decades.”

  Omar’s expression shifted, understanding dawning. Then, his eyes flashed with something dangerous. “So they drain you? That’s sick...” Fire lit in his gaze. “Whoever did this will pay, Dash.”

  I laughed, genuine warmth spreading through my chest. “Yes. They will. And when I confront them, they’ll probably say, ‘Nothing personal, kid, just business.’ And I’ll be like—”

  “You’re my business!” Omar grinned wide, that fierce loyalty I’d always valued shining through. “That’s my Dash!”

  “Speaking of business...” I started, glancing at my holoband again. Seven minutes. “There’s going to be an—”

  The system window slammed into my vision with such force I actually flinched.

  [SECOND WARNING]

  [After almost revealing to user Erika, second warning. It is prohibited to mention or imply the Incursion Predictor plugin capability. Revealing may incur an increasing penalty, which may end in the termination of all system functions.]

  I stopped mid-sentence, mouth hanging open.

  Omar’s expression shifted immediately from casual to concerned. “Dash? You good, habibi?”

  I blinked at the warning, reading it twice to make sure I understood. Termination of all system functions. As in, the system would just... delete itself? Brick my compatibility permanently? Turn me back into an unranked pleb?

  For mentioning a plugin?

  “What’s going on?” Omar leaned forward. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

  I forced a smile, trying to keep it natural despite the existential dread creeping up my spine. “I... think?” I motioned vaguely toward the park through the window. “There will be an incursion. That way.”

  Omar’s eyebrows shot up. “How do you know that?”

  “I can’t tell you why,” I blurted, before the system could decide my answer counted as “implying capability” and nuke my entire setup.

  Omar’s mouth snapped shut, and he nodded once. No follow-up questions or pressing for details. Just immediate acceptance that some things about the system couldn’t be shared.

  That was Omar; always had been.

  “So you were in that armor for a reason!” His eyes flicked over my TitanWard setup with new appreciation. “When?”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Soon.” I took another sip of coffee, trying to calm my racing heart. “I called Erika.”

  Omar glanced toward the park, taking in the information with ease. “Got it.” He grabbed his Neon Surge and started drinking faster, the glowing liquid disappearing in long gulps. Then he whistled, low and appreciative. “Erika, the Creston Ace?”

  I blinked at him. “The Creston Ace? What does that mean?”

  Omar set down his cup, grinning. “Man, you really have been out of the loop.” He leaned back in his chair, gesturing with one hand. “Creston Academy is just a normal system academy, yeah? Nothing premium about it. We’re not Aurelia or Najjar. Just... standard system education for people who can’t afford the fancy corpo academies.”

  I nodded.

  “So when someone from Creston gets accepted into an Officer Apprenticeship?” Omar’s grin widened. “That’s a big deal. Like, massive. Only two people from Creston have managed it in her year.”

  “Two?” I asked.

  “Yeah. There’s some guy, don’t really care about him.” Omar waved dismissively. “But Erika?” He shrugged, with a particular shrug that said more than words ever could. “Sexy redhead who can fight and loves fast cars. She’s kind of a legend at the school now… and your redheaded saviour.”

  I felt heat creep up my neck. “She’s not—I mean, we’re just—”

  “Sure, sure.” Omar’s grin turned positively wicked. “Just friends. That’s why you called her specifically for an incursion, because you’re ‘just friends.’”

  “Shut up,” I muttered, taking another drink of coffee to hide my embarrassment. Omar laughed. Then he glanced toward the park again, expression still relaxed like we weren’t discussing an imminent reality-warping event that could kill everyone within a three-block radius.

  “You’re not scared?” I asked, unable to help myself.

  Omar raised an eyebrow. “Of the incursion? Why would I be?” He gestured at the peaceful park beyond the window. “Besides, if you were actually worried, would you be calmly sitting here drinking coffee? Or would you be panicking and running for a safe place?”

  I slowly nodded; he had a point.

  “Incursions are too common to care,” Omar continued, shrugging. “We’ve had, what, three in Tago today? Four? They’re dangerous if you’re close when they manifest, but we’re not close. And if it gets bad, IC will handle it.” He tapped the table with one finger. “You’ve got armor. Erika’s on the way. We’ll be fine.”

  I nodded slowly, letting his calm confidence settle over me like a blanket.

  He was right. Incursions were just... part of life. Had been since the System Apocalypse. You learned to live with them the same way people on old Earth 1.0 had learned to live with earthquakes or hurricanes. Dangerous, yes and worth respecting, absolutely, but not worth constant terror.

  I finished my coffee in one long gulp, setting the empty cup down with a soft clink. “My leveling system is disabled,” I said, the frustration bleeding through despite my best efforts. “I can’t even earn experience from kills and system refuses to tell me how to turn it on.”

  Omar paused mid-sip, his Neon Surge halfway to his lips. He set it down slowly, staring at me like I’d just told him I didn’t know how to breathe. “Then enable it?”

  I glanced at him with pure frustration. “How?”

  Omar grinned in a way that said he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Say ‘Enable Leveling System.’”

  I stared at him blankly. Could it really be that simple? “Enable Leveling System,” I said aloud.

  [Leveling System Enabled!]

  [Leveling LP progress: 51%]

  The window appeared instantly, cheerful and matter-of-fact, like it had been waiting this entire time for me to just ask nicely. I sat there, coffee cup still in my hand, staring at the notification.

  Omar burst out laughing, loud enough that a few other café patrons glanced our way. “Oh man! Dash! You—” He wheezed, clutching his stomach. “You didn’t even know you could just... ask it to turn things on?!”

  “Shut up,” I muttered, but I was smiling despite myself. “So now I can level?”

  Omar nodded, his laughter fading into something more serious. “But this is super complicated. We have so many subjects over two years at Academy where we go over leveling strategies—”

  I glanced at my holoband. “I have four minutes.”

  Omar’s expression shifted immediately, taking it seriously. He thought for a second, clearly trying to compress years of education into a crash course. “Leveling isn’t like in Paladin Online. It in itself doesn’t give you anything. You need to pick a target subsystem for where you want to put experience to get LP. Right now I’ve put mine into [Attributes]. So when I get enough XP to level up, instead of increasing my level number, I can increase attributes instead. You can put it into any category, subsystem or whatever the system offers you.” He leaned forward. “What have you got?”

  “Unlocked?” I pulled up my status mentally, scanning the mess of ancient runes and ERROR messages. “There’s some broken things in my attributes, so not much is unlocked, but I have [Level] and [Plugins].”

  Omar frowned. “Probably from the drain? Maybe you don’t have enough compatibility for the full system?” He shook his head. “I don’t know, but don’t put levels into your level. It’s like gatekeeping; it caps how much you can increase anything else, but in itself it increases nothing. Wait, in the first lesson they told us the system isn’t stupid either. Apparently, you can’t just run around with max attributes and make the same XP as a Level 1.”

  He paused, looking genuinely frustrated. “Damn, there’s so much to tell you about the system!”

  I nodded, feeling the weight of six months of lost education pressing down on me. “Story of my life. But we have to go.”

  Omar nodded and grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. I stood, my armor clanking, and adjusted the rifle on my back as we both headed for the door.

  The afternoon sun hit us as we stepped outside. The park spread out before us like a perfectly maintained lie; completely oblivious to the fact that in less than four minutes, reality was going to tear itself open.

  I checked my holoband one more time.

  Two minutes.

  “So where are we setting up?” Omar asked, scanning the park.

  I pulled up [Dash Map], the forked app glowing on my band, and pointed toward the center. “There. And… we can go near that pavilion.”

  Omar nodded, already moving. “Yeah that’s a good vantage point. Close enough to fight if needed, far enough to evacuate if it goes sideways.”

  [Paid: ￠1]

  [Daily repeat visit refund, courtesy of “PARK BILL” by Mayor Prattle: ￠1]

  We climbed the gentle slope, our footsteps crunching on gravel that gave way to manicured grass. The pavilion itself was empty, just wooden benches arranged in a circle beneath the peaked roof. From here, we could see most of the park stretching out below us: the stone pond with its holographic koi, the meditation areas, the carefully sculpted trees.

  And the open plain directly ahead, maybe fifty meters away. Flat ground, minimal cover. Perfect spot for reality to decide it had had enough.

  I glanced at my holoband.

  A minute, thirteen seconds.

  Omar set his backpack down beside one of the benches and started scanning the area, cataloging exits, checking sight lines, probably academy training at work. “So,” he said casually, like we were waiting for a train and not an incursion. “Any idea what tier we’re looking at?”

  I pulled up the predictor data mentally. “I think… I feel, Level 1, max Level 2.”

  “Easy, then.” Omar cracked his knuckles. “Level 1 is basically tutorial mode.”

  Forty-one seconds.

  The park was still peaceful. A few people lingered near the pond, oblivious. An elderly couple walked along one of the distant paths, arm in arm. Normal afternoon in Tago. “Should we warn them?” I asked, gesturing at the civilians.

  Omar shook his head. “IC will have automated alerts ready to go the second it manifests. They’ll evacuate faster than we could yell at them.” He glanced at me. “Besides, if we start screaming about an incursion that hasn’t happened yet, we’ll look like lunatics.”

  Fair point.

  Thirty seconds.

  I checked my rifle one more time. Coil indicator green. The sword hung at my side, reassuringly solid despite my complete lack of proper technique. Omar was watching the open plain with focused intensity now, his casual demeanor replaced by something different. Combat readiness?

  The air felt normal. No shimmer or distortion, nothing to show that space was about to tear itself a new opening.

  Twenty seconds.

  I held my breath.

  Ten seconds.

  The world... stopped.

  Not literally, but everything went still in a way that makes your hindbrain scream danger. The holographic koi froze mid-swim. The fountain’s water hung suspended, and even the wind died.

  And then, without warning, it ripped through.

  Right over the center of the open plain, space shivered like light on overheating metal... then split.

  A tear cracked open mid-air, smaller than the one at Ashford Terminal but no less wrong. Reality buckled, the edges of the wound bleeding colors that shouldn’t exist; hues that made my eyes water just looking at them.

  Omar inhaled beside me. “I’ve never seen one form before,” he breathed, voice filled with something between awe and terror.

  I grinned despite the adrenaline flooding my system. “I did. Yesterday.”

  He let out a startled laugh, eyes still locked on the tear. “Of course you did.”

  From inside the wound, tendrils emerged, but these weren’t the thick black ropes I’d seen at Ashford. These were white, almost translucent, pulsing with an internal light that flickered like distant stars. They reached out of the tear with searching movements.

  I waited for them to slam into the ground, to root themselves like at the terminal.

  They didn’t.

  The tendrils stayed in the air, curling and writhing about three meters off the ground, forming a perimeter around the tear. Floating and suspended.

  Omar and I glanced at each other. “Is it broken?” Omar asked, confusion clear in his voice. We both turned back to stare at the floating tendrils, and understanding clicked into place simultaneously.

  “Aerial,” we said in unison.

  My stomach dropped. Aerial incursions were worse than ground-based. Harder to predict movement patterns. Three-dimensional combat space and if whatever came through could fly...

  I turned to Omar, keeping my voice level. “You want to back up? Get to a safer distance?”

  Omar shook his head, already reaching for his backpack. “I’m not supposed to fight,” he said, pulling out... nothing? Just gloves and moving his hands in gestures. “But hey, I can defend myself.” He grinned at me with a confident expression. “I’m a force mage. I don’t need my gear for this.”

  He threw the bag down beside the bench and stood straight, hands moving through what looked like a kata. His fingers traced symbols in the air, and I felt the pressure change around us; a weight, like the moment before a thunderstorm.

  Blue light flickered into existence around his body.

  It started at his hands, then spread up his arms, across his chest, down his legs. Translucent armor made of pure force, crackling with barely contained energy. It hugged his form like a second skin, plates and joints defined by glowing lines that pulsed in sync.

  The entire transformation took maybe three seconds.

  He looked at me apologetically, the blue glow casting strange shadows on his face. “Sorry. Self only. Can’t extend the field to cover you yet.”

  I grinned, feeling my own combat readiness settle into place like a familiar coat. Just like bugs. “I’ve got my own gear.”

  I checked my rifle one more time, settled my stance, and watched the floating tendrils continue their slow, purposeful writhing.

  Then came a high-pitched, alien shriek that bypassed your ears and went straight for the primitive parts of your brain that remembered when humans were prey. It echoed across the park, and I watched the elderly couple near the pond freeze, then start running toward the nearest exit.

  My holoband buzzed against my wrist.

  [Erika: DASH! Got notified. YOU IDIOT, on my way, don’t die!]

  I felt a grin spread across my face despite the situation. Of course she got notified… IC would’ve sent alerts to all active apprentices the second the tear manifested, right? And of course her first message was calling me an idiot.

  The tendrils started writhing faster now, pulsing with increased urgency, building toward something. “Ugh,” Omar muttered beside me, his force armor flickering brighter. “Monster incursion.”

  “Better than humanoid,” I said, remembering the armored giant at Ashford Terminal. The way it had moved with intelligence.

  Monsters, like bugs, were predictable.

  We both settled into combat stances, watching the tear, waiting for whatever was about to claw its way into our reality.

  The tendrils pulsed once more.

  …and something formed.

  TODAY’S CHAPTER IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY Mayor Prattle

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