Fenne Hon Whitcher cursed under his breath as another core model exploded on his desk, releasing a radiant cloud of conflicting energies. The wave sprayed his face, forcing him to turn away while muttering a frustrated sigh.
Using his sleeve to wipe the residue off his face, Fenne reassured himself that the energy released was harmless—just another mild annoyance in his relentless experiments. Yet, this latest failure left a bitter aftertaste. He had been so close, almost there, but the silence of the detonation confirmed his suspicion: something was missing.
He narrowed his eyes at the blueprint sprawled across the table, the intricate lines of the core’s schematics taunting him.
The outer layers of the core, where the band of connecting nodes integrated with the dimensional rune, were flawless. Each layer handled the volatile energies he'd fed into it seamlessly. The problem, as always, lay in the nucleus.
Fenne chewed on his fingernail, his mind racing through years of research. The core pathways were designed to neutralize the volatile Astra and Umbra energies. Dream Mana—a stabilizing force—reinforced these pathways suppressing leaks and violent reactions. Over the years, he and his team had rebuilt the realm gate’s runes with remarkable progress.
But despite their best efforts, the cores kept failing.
Fenne sank into his chair, exhaustion weighing on him. His mind replayed the detonation, the Astra and Umbra energies recoiling violently as they reached the nucleus. Dream Mana reduced the volatility, but it wasn’t enough. Simply increasing its volume had no effect—something more fundamental was needed.
He drummed his fingers on the table, then stopped abruptly. What if it wasn’t about neutralizing the energies but removing their attunements entirely?
The idea struck him like lightning. His eyes widened as he spun toward the bookshelf, grabbing an ancient tome bound in gray leather. He skimmed the pages with growing excitement until he found what he sought.
Hex Mana.
It was a dangerous energy, infamous for its corruptive and destructive properties. But Hex Mana also possessed a unique ability: it could nullify other energies. If he could isolate and harness that specific property, it could act as a filter within the core, eliminating the conflicting attunements.
Fenne grinned, already sketching new schematics. He marveled at the blueprint, finally allowing himself to believe he had found the solution.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. With a telekinetic command, the lock rune clicked open, and his assistant, Ghema, entered. She was petite, clad in green robes, her expression calm and professional.
“Come in, Ghema,” Fenne said, waving her inside.
“Master,” she greeted with a bow, her formal tone grating on his nerves. He grimaced.
“Sit down,” he instructed. She hesitated before perching on the edge of a chair, her posture rigid.
Fenne sighed. “Is the Smith-Foundry prepared?”
“Yes,” Ghema replied. “The witch has been contacted as well, but there’s been a delay in her arrival.”
“A delay?” Fenne frowned.
“We’ve spotted a Black Scout camp east of our location. To avoid detection, she’s traveling through the tunnels. She should arrive by nightfall.”
Fenne’s heart sank. “A Black Scout camp? So close?”
“They haven’t found us yet,” Ghema reassured him. “The divination barriers are holding.”
He nodded, though unease gnawed at him. “We need to move quickly. I’ll begin constructing the core immediately.”
As he stood, Ghema’s expression turned hesitant. “Master, do you think this new design will work?”
Fenne smirked. “I don’t see why it shouldn’t. Hex Mana will solve the attunement issue.”
Ghema nodded, though her furrowed brow betrayed her doubt.
“Anything else?”
She hesitated again before finally speaking. “The scouts are led by a Prime.”
Fenne froze. “We have Primes too.”
“They’re led by King Oman.”
The color drained from Fenne’s face. “You should have led with that,” he snapped, rushing from the room. Experiencing the wrath of the War Savage was not something he was particularly looking forward to.
---
Inside the Black Scout camp’s central pavilion, King Oman loomed over a map, his finger jabbing at a marked location. “Explain how we’ve found nothing,” he growled at the two scouts standing before him. Their black masks hid any expression, but he could sense their unease.
“All tracking spells lead here,” he continued, “and yet you tell me this land is empty. Are you incompetent, or is the Guild sending me fools?”
The scouts remained silent. Oman’s patience snapped. “Give me your names.”
The man and woman before him—GM456 and GM457—shared a hesitant glance but said nothing.
The Guild of Black Scouts operated under strict anonymity, members identified only by numeric pseudonyms, to prevent hostage situations or external influence. Regardless, the policies of how the Guild functioned wouldn't concern him. He was a king and a Prime after all. If anyone had the authority to overlook protocol and policies, it would be him.
“Names,” Oman pressed, his voice infused with compliance, "or face the consequences."
"And what would these consequences entail exactly, your Majesty?" A cheerful voice interposed before neither could answer him, breaking the influence of his words. Oman’s eyes twitched as he recognized the voice instantly. He clenched his jaw, a muscle in his temple ticking as he turned toward the intruder.
Thane strolled into the tent, a cocky smile playing on his lips. The young prince was clad in the standard Black Scout uniform—a black cloak and insignia emblazoned on his chest—but, unlike the others, he wore no mask. His hood was down, revealing unruly golden hair and sharp, mischievous green eyes.
"Thane," Oman growled, his tone dripping with disdain.
Thane flashed a disarming grin. "Good evening, your Majesty. I trust your temper hasn't burned the entire camp to the ground yet?"
Oman’s eyes narrowed into slits. "You have some nerve addressing me like that."
Thane chuckled, unbothered by the tension thick in the air. "And you have some nerve threatening Guild members. Section 7.1, clause 3.5 of the Booklet of Black Scouts—"
"I don’t care about your damned booklet!" Oman snapped, slamming a fist onto the table. The map jumped, a nearby goblet tipping over and spilling wine across the parchment. "That nonsense doesn’t apply to us."
Thane tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "Oh? And by 'us,' you mean kings? Or just you?"
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The entire tent stilled as the two men locked eyes. Oman towered over Thane, his sheer physical presence as intimidating as the palpable aura of authority he exuded. But Thane stood unfazed, his posture relaxed, his smirk unwavering.
"Do not patronize me, boy," Oman hissed, his voice low and dangerous.
Thane’s smile widened, though there was a sharper edge to it now. "I wouldn’t dream of it."
For several seconds, the atmosphere inside the tent stilled, the tension so thick it seemed to echo in the silence.
Then, like the crash of a storm, a crushing pressure descended within the pavilion. It was as though a predator had finally bared its fangs, the weight of its presence overwhelming the air itself.
The reaction was immediate. The two Guild members and the king's attendants crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath, their hands clawing at the floor as though it might anchor them against the invisible force. The very fabric of the tent seemed to sag under the weight of the energy.
Everyone succumbed. Everyone but two.
Thane staggered, his footing faltering as he gritted his teeth against the oppressive force. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, but through sheer will, he managed to remain upright—at least for a moment. Across from him, King Oman stood unmoved, his imposing frame exuding an unshakable calm.
"I will not tolerate insubordination in my kingdom, Thane," Oman declared, his voice like the rumble of distant thunder. It wasn’t loud, but the power in it resonated through the air. "Even from you. Do I make myself clear?"
Thane’s lips twitched, but he didn’t speak. His silence was a defiance, subtle but deliberate, and Oman saw it for exactly what it was.
The king’s eyes narrowed. "So be it."
The weight in the room intensified, Oman's aura flaring like an inferno. It slammed into Thane with renewed force, the raw power pressing him down. His knees buckled, and he dropped to one knee, veins bulging across his forehead as he fought to resist. His breathing grew labored, but he still refused to bow.
It was in that moment, just as the tension reached its breaking point, that a new energy swept into the tent.
This aura was different—not as heavy, not as violent, but effortlessly overwhelming. It surged through the space like a cleansing tide, banishing Oman's oppressive energy without contest, yet without diminishing it completely.
The sudden release was palpable. The Guild members and attendants slumped where they lay, coughing and heaving for air. Thane’s head snapped up, relief flickering across his strained features.
The origin of the aura became clear as a voice rang out, sharp and commanding, with the weight of authority that silenced all else.
"Enough."
Oman turned toward the tent's entrance, his sneer deepening.
Standing there was a woman of striking beauty and presence. Queen Ayizah, Thane’s mother and one of the most powerful Primes in the world, strode into the room. Her emerald-green cloak flowed behind her, the intricate golden embroidery shimmering like sunlight through leaves. Her piercing hazel eyes locked onto Oman with a mixture of exasperation and authority.
"So, you brought your babysitter after all, boy," Oman muttered, though there was a begrudging respect in his tone.
Ayizah ignored him, her gaze sweeping the tent. "I’m here to babysit you, Oman, not him," she said sharply. "And judging by the mess I just walked into, it looks like I arrived just in time."
Oman clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed. "You can’t keep bailing him out every time he bites off more than he can chew, Ayizah."
"And you can’t keep throwing tantrums whenever someone dares to question you," Ayizah shot back, stepping closer.
The two monarchs locked eyes, their unspoken power struggle filling the room. Tension hung thick in the air, but instead of escalating, the moment broke as both of them chuckled, their stern expressions softening into amused grins.
"Still as fiery as ever," Ayizah remarked, shaking her head.
"And you’re as insufferable as always," Oman retorted, though there was a glimmer of fondness in his eyes.
Thane, still on one knee, groaned. "If the two of you are done reminiscing, can someone explain why my ribs feel like they’ve been crushed?"
Ayizah smirked at her son. "Consider it a lesson in humility."
Oman snorted, finally allowing himself to laugh.
---
The Black Scout camp resembled a small town, its black tents arranged in a meticulous pattern that belied the haste with which they had been set up. At the outskirts, warding formations glimmered faintly in the evening light, encircling the camp and capturing aura signatures to prevent any infiltration. Black Scouts patrolled at measured intervals, their stances sharp and alert. This level of caution was unprecedented for the Guild, hinting at the gravity of their mission.
In the heart of the encampment, a massive pavilion dominated the landscape. Unlike the black tents surrounding it, the pavilion was constructed from deep purple fabric interwoven with ornate blue designs that shimmered faintly under the lantern light. It was luxurious, resembling a miniature castle, and unmistakably marked as the hub of command.
Inside, the air was heavy with tension. A long table stood at the center, its surface littered with maps, scrolls, and arcane instruments. Around it sat the mission’s core members, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of enchanted lamps. At the head of the table sat King Oman, his posture regal but his eyes shadowed with weariness.
“Perhaps we’ve been looking at this all wrong,” Prince Thane said suddenly, his voice cutting through the murmurs.
All eyes turned toward him, curiosity and skepticism mingling in their gazes.
“What’s your point, Thane?” Oman asked, leaning forward slightly.
Thane’s gaze swept the room, his expression sharp with determination. “Yes, our intelligence indicates this region as the DOE’s location, but it doesn’t confirm it as the site.”
A ripple of confusion spread through the gathered officers. Even Oman seemed unsure of where Thane was heading.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” asked Ayizah, her voice calm but pointed.
“The point is,” Thane continued, his tone measured, “we’ve searched this region for three months and found nothing. No signs of evacuation, no evidence that a DOE base ever existed here. Even Queen Ayizah’s Divine Sight revealed nothing. No residual energy, no disturbances. That can only mean one of two things: either the DOE is operating from a different dimensional plane—unlikely but possible—or…” Thane paused, letting the weight of his words settle, “they’re underground.”
Murmurs broke out around the table, the officers exchanging skeptical looks.
Willard, a middle-aged mission consultant with sharp features and a slightly haughty air, cleared his throat. “Pardon me, Prince Thane,” he said cautiously, “but our diviners scan for underground structures during every excursion. The only evidence we’ve found pertains to nocturnal creatures. No DOE facility, no caverns, no activity.”
Thane inclined his head slightly. “True,” he admitted, “but I’m not talking about surface-level caverns. What if the DOE is far deeper than we’ve ever considered? What if they’ve gone so deep underground that even our strongest diviners can’t detect them?”
“That’s absurd!” Willard blurted out, his face flushing as the words escaped him. Realizing his mistake, he quickly stood and bowed. “Apologies, my Prince. I misspoke.”
Thane waved a hand dismissively, his expression unbothered. “Let’s consider the situation logically,” he said. “For decades, we’ve assumed we had the upper hand over the DOE—better technology, more resources, superior intelligence. But the truth is, they’ve continued to elude us, growing stronger and more elusive with every passing year. Would it really be impossible for them to go to such extreme lengths as to construct a base far beneath detection levels?”
Willard hesitated, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Theoretically? No. But practically? The task would be monumental. You’d need a sustainable source of Astra to power such a base. The underground is an Astra desert—it devours energy like a parched wasteland. To sustain a city underground would take decades of preparation, with immense resources and precision.”
Thane leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Impractical doesn’t mean impossible.”
Willard sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “For a setup like that, you’d need to construct crystal chambers capable of storing Astra. That alone requires five years of crystal maturation under optimal conditions. Add to that the mechanisms for extracting Astra from the atmosphere and acclimating it to such an environment—”
“Exactly,” Thane interjected. “But what if they’ve bypassed that need altogether? What if they’ve found a natural Astra source deep underground?”
The room fell silent.
“Natural Astra?” Willard asked, frowning.
“Ridges,” Thane replied, his tone calm but certain. “Areas where the mantle has shifted, creating fissures of condensed Astra strata. If the DOE has access to such a ridge, they wouldn’t need to draw energy from the atmosphere. They’d have a self-sustaining energy source.”
Willard’s eyes widened as realization dawned. “A ridge… Of course. Fissures caused by land displacement, where Astra condenses instead of dispersing. It creates a delicate equilibrium where crystals can form naturally…”
Willard trailed off, his face reddening as he realized he had interrupted the Prince. Bowing deeply, he stammered an apology.
“It’s fine, Highmaster,” Thane said, waving it off. “You explained it better than I could.”
Oman shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his brow furrowing. Much of the discussion had gone over his head, the technical jargon twisting into an incomprehensible tangle in his mind. His gaze drifted toward Ayizah, silently pleading for clarity. She caught the look and sighed, her expression one of exasperated understanding.
“For everyone’s clarity,” she said, cutting through the silence, “this means we’re doubling down on our investigation and focusing deeper underground. Correct?”
Thane nodded. “Exactly.”
Oman stood abruptly, his frustration finally bubbling to the surface. “Then what are we waiting for?” he barked. “Let’s hunt these DOE dogs down and teach them a lesson they’ll never forget.”
The room erupted into movement as officers scrambled to relay the King’s orders. Thane remained seated, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Somewhere beneath their feet, the DOE was hiding. And he intended to drag them into the light.
---
Several kilometers beneath the surface, Fenne and three prominent members of the DOE gathered in a dimly lit theater. Adjacent to them, a room shimmered with ethereal runes etched into the floor, their flickering light growing brighter with each pulse. At the center of the room, a core sat dim and unresponsive, seemingly untouched by the energy it was meant to absorb.
“Fenne, it’s been a month. How much longer is this going to take?” Brother Kubbarch asked, his impatience clear. “Does that core even work?”
“It works,” Fenne replied, his voice calm as he recorded notes in his ledger. “We just need patience.”
“How much patience? The Black Scouts are closing in. We need to evacuate soon.”
“I was certain the assimilation process would complete today, but now...” Fenne trailed off, his frown deepening as he studied the readings.
Suddenly, a blinding light erupted from the other room, brilliant as a supernova. The air churned violently, and a vortex began to form at the room's center, devouring Astra like a ravenous black hole. It spun faster and faster, the energy swirling into a storm of chaotic power. The ground trembled, groaning under the strain. Reality itself began to splinter and warp, shallow cracks revealing an unsettling void beyond.
Then, silence. An eerie, suffocating stillness, as though the world had drawn its breath and refused to exhale.
“Brother Kubbarch,” Fenne said, his voice unnervingly steady. “I believe now would be an excellent time to initiate the evacuation.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Kubbarch muttered as he hastily exited the theater.
Fenne and the remaining members stayed, rooted in place, watching as the room’s boundaries fractured and the vortex devoured its surroundings.
---
Back at the Black Scout camp, the sudden spike of energy was impossible to ignore. It pulsed from the west, an unnatural beacon exposing the DOE’s hidden location like soot on pristine snow. Heads turned instinctively toward the source, a shared unease rippling through the camp.
“Well, that solves one problem,” Oman grumbled, standing in the darkness of his tent. He had been brooding until moments before.
Without hesitation, he surged Astra through his body, his veins alight with energy. In one swift motion, he tore through the fabric of his tent and leaped into the sky, rocketing westward. His muscles ached for the coming fight as he sucked in deep lungfuls of air, his focus honed.
He didn’t notice the ground below him trembling, cracks spreading like spiderwebs as the earth itself quaked in anticipation of what was to come.
---
