The World Nexus shimmered like a star suspended between realms. A spiraling galaxy of Thresholds floated around it—each one unique, each one fragile beneath the watch of the Lords who ruled them.

  Today, the Nexus hummed with agitation.

  The crystal-glass council table brightened as the Lords took their seats. Seven thrones. Seven rulers. And one crisis linking them all.

  Lord Hyron, the fiery and sharp-tempered ruler of the Ember Realm, spoke first.

  His armor flickered like heated metal.

  “Explain to me,” he growled, “how a human girl managed to slip through the rift system without a single one of us detecting it.”

  Lady Veyna, of the Lunar Realm, sat with calm grace. Her silver-white hair seemed to glow with soft moonlight.

  “The console hasn’t activated for centuries. Its design is older than most Thresholds. If it opened for her… then it chose her.”

  A low murmur swept the table.

  High above them, the holographic map of realms shimmered into view. It displayed the major Thresholds:

  Malachor — the land of iron storms and obsidian canyons.

  Roland — fractured, abandoned, and feared even by its own patrols.

  Galaxia — floating star-islands suspended in shimmering ether.

  Netheron — a mysterious realm where shadows had a life of their own.

  Verdantis, Lunaris, Embera, Astrimaal, and countless minor Thresholds circled around them like drifting satellites.

  Lord Arven of the Verdant Realm leaned forward, his green cloak rustling like leaves.

  “Althea’s arrival shifted Roland’s magic flow. The entire Threshold pulsed.”

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  Hyron scoffed. “Roland pulses all the time. It’s unstable.”

  “Not like this,” Arven said firmly. “This pulse reached all the way to Galaxia. Even Netheron’s shadows stretched unnaturally.”

  Lady Veyna nodded. “And Malachor’s iron plains trembled. That alone should concern us.”

  Hyron slammed his fist on the table.

  “The girl is a threat. A disruption. A fracture in the system that must be contained.”

  Lord Caelum, ruler of Astrimaal and keeper of cosmic order, raised a hand calmly.

  “And yet… nothing suggests she has malicious intent. She didn’t break into the Thresholds. The Thresholds opened to her.”

  Hyron narrowed his eyes. “You speak as if she’s destiny, not a danger.”

  Caelum’s voice stayed even. “The prophecy—”

  “Oh, spare us the prophecy,” Hyron barked. “A poem written by paranoid mystics—”

  “—that predicted a traveler from beyond,” Caelum continued, unfazed. “A foreign heart entering the Four Great Realms. Malachor. Galaxia. Netheron. Roland.”

  The room turned still.

  Lady Veyna whispered, “The verse said such a traveler would awaken power in the weak.”

  “And disturb those who hide in strength,” Caelum added quietly.

  No one missed Hyron’s glare.

  Arven stood and approached the map projection, zooming into Roland.

  The image showed cracked valleys, ash-colored forests, faded towns, and scattered enclaves struggling under neglect.

  “She is here,” Arven said softly. “In Roland—the most fragile Threshold. The place where crimes go unnoticed and the forgotten are left to survive on their own.”

  “And that,” Veyna murmured, “is why I fear for her.”

  A silence fell.

  Then Caelum broke it.

  “If she crosses to other Thresholds—Galaxia or Netheron—her abilities may stabilize. Or evolve.”

  Hyron leaned forward sharply.

  “And we cannot allow a random, untrained human to walk between worlds with unknown power.”

  “Or,” Caelum countered, “we cannot allow her to be harmed without understanding her role.”

  Veyna folded her arms. “Hyron, I heard rumors: you already dispatched hunters.”

  Hyron didn’t deny it.

  “Roland is dangerous. If she wanders toward the trafficking rings, the roaming beasts, the illegal traders, or the black markets—”

  Caelum’s eyes darkened. “You mean your agents.”

  Hyron’s jaw tightened.

  Veyna’s voice chilled the air. “Sending your soldiers into Roland without approval breaches Nexus law.”

  Hyron shrugged. “Call it a proactive measure.”

  “Call it what it is,” Caelum said. “Interference.”

  For a moment, no one moved.

  Then—

  A faint hum stirred from the map.

  A red marker blinked inside Roland’s deep forest. Another pulse followed. And another.

  Lord Arven turned pale.

  “That’s her. Althea. She’s moving… and someone is following her.”

  Caelum stepped forward.

  “Hyron’s troops?”

  “Possibly,” Veyna whispered. “But the reading is strange… almost masked.”

  Hyron rose from his seat.

  “I am retrieving her. Whether the Nexus approves or not.”

  Caelum blocked his path.

  “You will not get to her first.”

  Their eyes locked—a silent war between fire and starlight.

  From the shadows at the back of the chamber, unnoticed by the others, a cloaked figure watched with quiet amusement.

  The girl had entered Roland.

  The Thresholds were reacting.

  And the Lords, for all their power, were already falling into chaos.

  The figure slipped away into darkness.

  Everything was unfolding exactly as they planned.