The Great Empire of Abyss lay beneath a sky that never cleared. Day and night were alike, drowned in volcanic ash and the breath of open craters. Smoke ruled the heavens. Abyss was the only land in All Realm where stars were never seen, even at midnight.

  In the royal hall, King Darkon sat upon his throne. A transmitter rested in his grasp as he spoke with Lord Star across the realms. No food had been set before him, an absence that spoke louder than any words. Upon his head lay a crown of black iron, set with a blood-red ruby and adorned with polished bone.

  At his side sat Princess Samartian, clad in a black gown that drank in the light. She listened in silence, her expression flat, her eyes sharp with a killing intent she never bothered to hide.

  “Lord Star, forgive me that I could not come in person,” King Darkon said. “My condition worsens by the day. Walking has become… difficult.”

  “It is no trouble, my friend,” Lord Star replied, his voice crackling through the device. “Prince Morrigan’s presence was more than sufficient to represent you.”

  The transmission faltered again. Abyss’s heat and unstable air often interfered with such devices.

  “I considered sending my daughter too,” Darkon continued lightly, “but when Lucretius mentioned Elysius would be there, I decided not to make your household any less peaceful.”

  Lord Star laughed, the sound distorted but sincere.

  Samartian shot her father a sharp glance. Irritation flashed across her face. She seized the hand holding the transmitter and pulled it closer, nearly throwing the king off balance. Without softening her gaze, she offered her condolences for Starlax.

  “When my daughter condition showing good progress,” Lord Star said, “I will visit Abyss myself. Maybe bring my second child as well.”

  “I hope all your troubles find a swift end,” Darkon replied with a faint smile. “My kingdom will welcome you, and young Lord Starslayer, whenever you wish.”

  The transmission ended soon after.

  Samartian watched her father as he exhaled slowly, steadying himself after his words.

  “Father,” she said, “what if Starlax does not survive?”

  “You must not dwell on that,” Darkon answered at once. “If Lord Star says the girl will live, then she will.”

  Samartian did not look convinced. Her eyes drifted to the wall torches, their flames wavering in the smoky air. “I want her to live as well. But there is always a worst outcome, is there not?”

  “You are thinking of your brother’s future engagement,” Darkon said, as servants began filling the long table with platters of food.

  Samartian nodded, her glare returning to him.

  “If Lord Star still intends to bind our kingdoms,” Darkon continued, tearing into a roasted boar leg, “he may ask you to wed Starslayer instead.”

  Samartian’s purple eyes flared. Her jaw tightened. She did not raise her voice, not with servants present, but her fury was unmistakable. “I will not marry anyone. I will not love anyone. Not ever.”

  Darkon remained calm. “Love is unnecessary. You need only marry. And from what I hear, Starslayer’s reputation is far from desirable.”

  “That is not what I meant,” Samartian snapped.

  Before she could continue, deep drums thundered from beyond the hall. A guard at the doors bowed and signaled the arrival of Prince Morrigan and Lucretius.

  They had returned.

  Morrigan moved quickly toward the altar seat, Lucretius following a few steps behind. The young prince spoke at once, recounting everything that had happened at the Stargate. King Darkon listened while eating, a faint smile on his lips as his heir spoke with unfiltered urgency.

  When Morrigan finished, Lucretius asked permission to return to his mansion. He departed immediately, reminding Samartian and Morrigan that their training would resume in two days. Both royal children nodded, allowing the Fallen Knight to leave without protest.

  Morrigan took the seat beside his father and joined the meal. King Darkon placed several cuts of dense, muscle-rich meat onto his son’s plate.

  “Your bones must be as strong as iron,” Darkon said. “Your muscles as hard as steel. And your spirit unbreakable, like black iron.”

  Morrigan laughed softly.

  “Morrigan,” Samartian asked, lifting her cup of black wine, “did they treat you well there?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “All of them did.”

  She pressed further. “And Lady Star? Was she kind to you as well?”

  Morrigan hesitated. He knew well enough that Lady Star did not approve of his closeness with Starlax. Samartian noticed at once and turned toward their father.

  “Father, they were only polite because the entire council was present,” she said coldly. “The other factions will never truly accept us. We should focus on ourselves alone.”

  King Darkon wiped his hands and gently touched his daughter’s cheek, though she turned her face away. “My daughter,” he said quietly, “why is your heart always filled with anger and resentment?”

  Samartian did not answer. Morrigan remained silent as well, pushing his food around his plate. Darkon spoke again, explaining the Abyss faction’s long effort to be accepted by All Realm, to cleanse the shadow left by the wars of the past.

  He knew it would not be easy. Yet the planned union between Morrigan and House Star, one of the most respected bloodlines in All Realm, was the keystone of that hope. For over a decade, Darkon’s rule had kept the Abyss stable. The people were fed. The mines prospered. Even outsiders from other factions had begun to settle within their lands.

  He was no god of war. He was only a king born of a harsh world who desired peace, who wished for his people to stand openly among the others.

  “I promise you this,” Darkon said, finishing his meal. “I will give you the world we dream of.”

  Morrigan smiled openly. Samartian answered with a thin, cynical curve of her lips.

  “By the way,” Darkon continued, shifting the subject, “our military numbers have grown rapidly. But since this is an age of peace, I have stationed them all in the mines.”

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “You still make sure they can fight, yes?” Samartian asked.

  “Aren’t the Four Horsemen of Abyss overseeing them directly?” Morrigan added, uncertain.

  “Of course,” Darkon replied. “They have already produced hundreds of thousands of capable majors.”

  He flexed his arm proudly, though it was now more fat than muscle. Both children laughed despite themselves.

  “Next week, travel to northern Abyss,” Darkon said. “General Dryskull will guide you.”

  Both Samartian and Morrigan stiffened at once.

  “Father, could General Raidbones escort us instead?” Samartian asked, draining her wine.

  “It will be a long journey,” Morrigan added. “General Dryskull is even quieter than General Lucretius.”

  Darkon nodded. He promised to speak with Figar Raidbones later. With that, he ordered preparations for a formal gathering. The royal table was cleared, replaced with long arrangements and rising incense.

  Morrigan and Samartian departed for their chambers, climbing the hundred steps that led deeper into the upper palace. Morrigan’s room lay to the east. Samartian’s awaited her in the west.

  Once inside his chamber, Morrigan collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep at once. The long journey and the weight of recent days left him with no will to do anything more. His body surrendered to rest without resistance.

  Samartian did not share that stillness.

  She reached for her jade sword, its surface cold and flawless, and strode out of her room. The door slammed shut behind her with deliberate force. She looked like someone heading out to hunt.

  Her chamber was unlike any other in the palace. The walls were covered in clippings taken from Cognisource, layered and pinned with obsessive care. Accounts of major incidents filled the space. Some were framed, preserved like trophies. Among them was the report of the Harbor Incident, Starfall’s name etched into the margins.

  What stood out was what was missing.

  Most of the articles bore no faces at all. Where portraits or figures should have been, the paper had been torn away, leaving only empty silhouettes and backdrops. Streets without people. Halls without rulers. Battlefields stripped of heroes.

  Only one image remained untouched.

  A single portrait, left whole and unscarred.

  Elysius.

  The All Seeing.

  After overseeing the construction of the transmitter tower in District Six, Professor Bjorn made his way to District Three. The communication lines at the harbor had finally been restored by Cogworks, and with that task complete, he turned toward Pristine House to meet Leroy.

  The moment Bjorn The Plague pushed open the doors with both hands, cigar clenched between his teeth, the room fell silent. He strode inside as if he owned the place, boots heavy against the floor, eyes half-lidded with amusement. Without asking permission, he went straight to the bar, gathered several bottles of alcohol into his arms, then turned back toward the patrons.

  “Hei, you bastards,” he shouted, laughing loudly.

  The bar was filled with thugs, enforcers, and a few weapon masters. No one there was used to being insulted openly. Even locals knew better. And now the insult came from another faction, spoken plainly and without fear. Their hands tightened. Faces hardened. But the weight of Bjorn’s status as a council member smothered their anger. The lively noise of the bar died in an instant.

  Bjorn cleared his throat and raised his voice again. “Your drinks are on me.”

  Every head turned toward him.

  Cheers erupted. The same men who had bristled seconds before now roared in approval, praising the professor with shameless enthusiasm. Bjorn laughed, satisfied, and disappeared down the stairs into the underground room.

  Below, Leroy sat alone. The echo of celebration above was faint but constant. Bjorn dropped into a chair, stretched his legs out, and cracked open a bottle.

  “So,” Bjorn said, “what did you want to tell me?”

  Leroy closed his financial ledger and pressed both hands atop it. “Since Stargate, I’ve been thinking.”

  Bjorn laughed. “You thinking is dangerous.”

  Leroy ignored the remark. As a former soldier, discipline mattered to him. Order mattered. He spoke of the vanguards, of arrogance left unchecked, of indiscipline that should have been punished but was quietly excused. It had been happening for years. The Starfall incident was only the breaking point.

  Bjorn listened closely. Leroy’s tone had hardened. He did not reach for a drink.

  “People are always at fault,” Leroy said slowly. “But the bonds we form with one another make justice difficult to enforce.”

  Bjorn took a long drink, then asked, “So you propose we remove our humanity?”

  Leroy let out a short laugh. “You sound just like Elysius.”

  Bjorn grinned. “Seems the boy’s caught my disease. Spent too much time with Uncle Bjorn.”

  They fell silent for a moment.

  Then Leroy spoke again. “Bjorn, you’re a Cogworks. What is your view on clones?”

  Bjorn choked mid-drink, coughing hard as he wiped his mouth. “Clones?” he repeated, staring in disbelief.

  Leroy nodded, his gaze steady and unflinching.

  Bjorn exhaled slowly. “That idea hasn’t even crossed our minds.”

  The Green Wraith leaned back in his chair. His voice was flat, almost careless.

  “What if we replace our executors with clones?”

  Bjorn said nothing. He lowered his head, lit his cigar, and for once his voice lacked its usual confidence. “Friend… what you are talking about carries an existential-level risk.”

  Leroy did not stop. “You remember one of the generals from the League of Transcendent. He was a clone.”

  “Of course I do,” Bjorn said, rubbing his eyes. “And you know how lethal he was.”

  “That creature obeyed its master without question,” Leroy continued. “So perhaps we could—”

  Bjorn cut him off sharply. “Where did you get this insane idea? What have you been drinking?”

  “Bjorn, it does not take heightened awareness to see the damage the Vanguards cause,” Leroy replied. “Lucretius cannot lead them properly, yet we still need him on the council.”

  Bjorn turned his face away, irritation flashing across it.

  “So you brought me here to ask Cogworks to carry out this crazy idea,” he said.

  “Of course you would be the ones to execute it,” Leroy replied calmly, reopening his financial ledger. “I have reviewed the numbers. We can fund this alongside your current construction projects.”

  Bjorn stood and looked down at him. “This is not about execution. What will the council say?”

  “Amaterasu will oppose it,” Leroy said. His voice rose slightly. “I do not know where Starmist, Cygnus, or Lucretius will stand.”

  “And you?” Leroy asked, meeting Bjorn’s eyes. “What do you think?”

  Bjorn walked to the bookcase and braced himself against it, hands planted, staring at nothing. He was thinking. Hard.

  Leroy rose and joined him. “You know this is a mad decision,” he said quietly. “But it is a logical one. I spent days wrestling with it before I came to you.”

  Bjorn remained silent.

  “The council needs at least four votes to approve any program,” Leroy continued. “And you are the first key. You are the only one credible enough for this to even be discussed.”

  The room felt smaller.

  “The cost would be enormous,” Bjorn finally said.

  “Do not worry,” Leroy replied, leaning beside him. “I will take full responsibility.”

  “But I will need your voice to convince the others as well,” Leroy added.

  They returned to their seats. Bjorn explained that with Cogworks’ current technology, producing flawless clones would be extremely difficult. He suggested that Leroy open discussions with the Extraterrestrial faction, to explore whether off-world technology might support such a program.

  More than that, the primary subject would need to endure survival-based simulations to ensure mental and physical stability before duplication could even be considered. Cogworks lacked complete data on cloning. Deep research would be required, and time.

  “Bring me answers to my core concerns,” Bjorn said, pointing at Leroy. “If you do that, I will stand with you in the council.”

  “I will,” Leroy replied. “I will speak with Lord Star and his faction about this as well.”

  “One more thing,” Bjorn added. “You are not to create a massive army, nor beings that surpass us. This program must proceed slowly, correcting flaws as they appear. Do you understand?”

  “They will not replace the council,” Leroy said firmly. “We remain at the top. The clones will serve solely as executors.”

  Bjorn nodded. He drained his drink and stood. “The hardest part will be persuading the others.”

  “I will think of a way,” Leroy said. “Thank you, Bjorn.”

  The professor left him there. Leroy stayed behind, reading financial reports and jotting down notes. Nearly an hour passed before he activated his transmitter again.

  “Leroy, what is it?” Starmist’s voice emerged from the device.

  “I just finished speaking with Bjorn about the idea,” Leroy said, stretching.

  “What idea?” Starmist asked. Wind brushed the channel. She was likely in the garden.

  Leroy explained the meeting in full. He told her that he needed to speak with Lord Star, to ask whether he would even consider such a discussion, especially after everything that had happened. He added that if Lord Star could meet him before the council convened in two weeks, he would prefer not to raise the matter at the next session.

  Bjorn, he said, would begin gathering what data Cogworks could provide.

  Starmist fell silent for a moment. Doubt colored her pause. In the end, she agreed. She would inform Leroy once Lord Star gave his answer.

  The transmitter went dark, leaving Leroy alone with his thoughts and the shape of a decision that had yet to be made.