Balancing life as a sixth-year student at Mythos Academy and the Guild Grandmaster of Noctalis was like juggling flaming swords while walking a tightrope over a pit of angry hydras. If the workload didn't kill me, the sheer absurdity of it all might.
Frankly, "busy" didn't even begin to cover it.
In the end, I'd had to all but abandon my academic responsibilities. My course load had been trimmed to a token few credits, just enough to scrape through with a diploma. It wasn't like anyone was going to care about my grades when I was simultaneously running the largest guild in history, revolutionizing the global economy, and—oh, yes—being engaged to three princesses and the daughter of an archduke.
A lesser man might have crumbled under the weight of it all, but then again, a lesser man wouldn't have found himself in this situation to begin with.
The Chancellor, ever my wellspring of diplomatic warnings, had informed me that Quinn, the Emperor himself, was trying to maneuver against me through the Council. The plan, she explained, was to impose sanctions on Noctalis, effectively clipping my wings and reasserting Imperial control over the guild system.
It was a good plan. Or it would have been, if Quinn weren't playing chess against someone who'd already memorized the endgame.
"Sanctions?" I'd said, raising an eyebrow as I leaned back in my chair. "Admirable effort, but ultimately futile."
The Chancellor's expression had been inscrutable, though I thought I caught the ghost of a smile. "I assumed you'd say that."
The truth was simple: the Twelve Great Guilds had been vulnerable to sanctions in the past because they hadn't possessed the leverage to fight back. Noctalis, on the other hand, was an entirely different beast.
I had power. Real, undeniable power. And unlike Quinn, I wasn't bound by tradition or the sluggish bureaucracy of the Empire. I was free to act decisively, ruthlessly, and with precision.
The first move had been to secure support from the Archduke. Leopold Astoria wasn't just a political ally; he was a Radiant-ranker and the kind of man whose word could sway even the staunchest of traditionalists. His endorsement carried weight in the Council chambers, and it wasn't something Quinn could easily counter.
Next, I leaned on the contract I'd painstakingly forged with the Tower of Magic. Their resources, research, and influence were woven into the Empire's fabric. Threatening that partnership—even indirectly—would have been political suicide.
And then there was the ace up my sleeve: aetherite.
I'd made it clear to the Council that any attempt to sanction Noctalis would result in an immediate withdrawal of aetherite supply to the Empire. It wasn't a bluff. Without aetherite, the Empire's infrastructure, military, and economy would grind to a halt while the other superpowers surged ahead. It would be catastrophic. Even Quinn, for all his pride and power, couldn't justify such a reckless loss to his advisors.
The Council, predictably, balked. The bill to restrict Noctalis's trade with other continents failed spectacularly, much to Quinn's fury. I imagined him seething in his gilded palace, his carefully laid plans unraveling before his eyes.
But I didn't gloat. Not outwardly, anyway.
The reality was that this was only the beginning. Power like mine was a beacon, and beacons attracted attention—some of it far less friendly than Quinn's political maneuvering. For now, I'd won. The Council was cowed, and my position was secure.
But in this world, victory was never permanent.
As I stood by the window of my office, looking out over the bustling streets of Avalon, I allowed myself a rare moment of reflection. The Slatemark Empire, the Twelve Great Guilds, the aetherite monopoly—none of it mattered if I lost sight of what lay ahead.
Alyssara Velcroix. The demons. The looming specters of unfathomable power and devastation—these were the true adversaries that demanded my unyielding ascent.
Since achieving peak Ascendant-rank, my growth had been steady, each breakthrough bringing me closer to Immortal-rank. The journey was slow, the path treacherous, but I could feel the momentum building. A few more months, I told myself. Just a few more months, and I'd cross that threshold.
The knock on my thoughts came in the form of a soft chime from the phone on my desk. My secretary's voice crackled through the line. "Guild Grandmaster, a parcel has arrived for you. There's no sender listed, but it bears an insignia—a shadowed crown."
My heart skipped, though my tone betrayed none of the unease gripping my chest. "Was it inspected?"
"Yes, thoroughly. We detected no threats or anomalies. Shall I send it up?"
"Do so," I replied, keeping my voice steady.
Moments later, the doors to my office opened. A worker entered, their movements precise and careful as they placed the parcel on my desk. They bowed respectfully before leaving, their footsteps fading into silence.
I stared at the box. Its unassuming exterior belied the weight of the insignia stamped on it—a shadowed crown. A symbol I hadn't encountered in years but had not forgotten.
"Luna," I murmured.
She appeared as if conjured by the tension itself, her small frame materializing beside me in her childlike guise. Her galaxy eyes, impossibly ancient and wise, fixed on the parcel with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
"Can you sense anything wrong?" I asked. My own abilities, sharpened by countless battles and artifacts like Seraphim's Embrace, detected nothing amiss.
Luna stepped closer, her gaze glowing faintly as her perception of reality expanded. She tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "No," she finally said. "It seems… inert."
I exhaled, the tightness in my chest easing. "Alright. Let's see what this is."
With practiced caution, I broke the seal and opened the parcel.
The instant the lid parted, the room was awash in a surge of mana so overwhelming that my breath caught. The energy was unlike anything I had encountered—vast, ancient, and utterly unrelenting. It didn't feel hostile, but it bore a weight that crushed everything in its path.
"What is this?" I gasped, instinctively flaring my mana to counteract the oppressive wave. It was futile. My mana, formidable as it was, dissipated like smoke against a storm.
"No!" Luna exclaimed, her voice sharp and trembling. "This… this is a hyperfragment of space-time!"
Her words crashed into me, though their meaning remained elusive. A hyperfragment of space-time? Even as my mind scrambled to comprehend, the air around us grew heavy, suffocating.
Before I could react further, the world folded in on itself.
Darkness descended.