The sun never sets on the world of Agar, its perpetual light a testament to its status as a tier-4 world, blessed and sustained by aether. Its landscapes were a lush expanse of verdant beauty, but punctuated by spiraling molten lava flows that erupted from countless volcanic mountains—an environment perfectly suited to the Flame Wyverns, a lesser clan of House Dracon that called this world their home.
For centuries, the Flame Wyverns had ruled Agar under the patronage of the great House Dracon, bound by fealty and duty to fulfill their benefactors' desires. It had always been so and was expected to remain so. Yet their Exarch, Orinthal, now stood on the precipice of a grim realization: the unshakable status quo was crumbling, and the consequences would be catastrophic.
Atop the Spiral Mountain, the highest peak of Agar, Orinthal stood rigid, his sharp, golden eyes fixed on the endless skies. He had remained there for a full day and night, a silent sentinel awaiting the inevitable arrival of the reckoning he alone understood. Below him, his people had mobilized the full strength of their planet's defenses, unaware of the scale of the threat they faced.
Agar's planetary travel and communication had been sealed by the system, a fact that had thrown the populace into a state of confusion and fear. Even Orinthal's attempts to contact House Dracon through clandestine channels had failed—not because of system intervention, but because of the house itself. They had severed ties with him.
It was a bitter revelation. His own patrons had abandoned them, discarding the Flame Wyverns to face their fate alone. House Dracon's betrayal was almost laughable if not for the gravity of what was to come.
As the planet's defensive weapons systems blared with alarms, aether constructs across Agar turned their gaze skyward. In the vastness of space, an enormous aether gate burst open, its swirling energies giving way to a colossal silver-and-gold vessel that emerged with deliberate menace, looming ominously over the planet.
From his vantage point, Orinthal saw the unmistakable crest emblazoned on the ship's hull. A chill seeped into his very core as he began to rise into the sky, carried aloft by his mastery of aether. His heart clenched as a figure stepped out of the ship—calm, composed, and radiating an unyielding presence that carried only one meaning: utter annihilation.
Every being who had earned the wrath of the Vanguards knew that figure.
Xerxes of the Aether Flames. A name whispered in fear across countless worlds, his presence signaled the end for those deemed unworthy by the system. Orinthal's people had no idea of the crime for which they were about to pay, for only the upper echelons of the clan knew the truth. Yet Orinthal would not let them share in his guilt—not without resistance.
Xerxes' thunderous voice carried effortlessly through the atmosphere as he addressed Orinthal, his piercing gaze unrelenting.
"Exarch Orinthal of the Lesser House of the Flame Wyverns," he began, "you stand accused of breaching the rules of the system by sending a sufficiently advanced ascender—one known as Valtha—to subdue a nascent world through banned arcane methods. These methods, tied to the tainted, enabled your ascender to form an unholy alliance with the undead empire, also of the tainted. Are these accusations correct?"
Orinthal narrowed his eyes, his lips curling into a defiant smile.
"You truly think us capable of such feats?" he scoffed, a hollow laugh escaping him.
Xerxes regarded him with weary indifference.
"Make this easier," the overseer said. "Confess to being used by House Dracon. Your punishment, while severe, will be tempered by my authority."
Orinthal grinned wider, his defiance a blazing fire.
"To the death, Xerxes."
His form exploded into a massive sphere of flame, illuminating the darkened skies above. Agar's defensive constructs roared to life, unleashing a torrent of energy upon the Vanguard's vessel. Orinthal surged forward, his fiery might focused on the overseer, determined to fight for the survival of his people.
Xerxes didn't flinch. With a single motion, he swung his hand downward, and the exarch's flames—his entire aether-fueled attack—snuffed out as though it had never existed. Orinthal's body split neatly in two, his molten blood turning to vapor as he fell lifelessly from the sky.
The defensive constructs followed swiftly. Their attacks faltered, their systems shutting down in eerie silence as the might of the Vanguard overpowered them.
Xerxes didn't spare the exarch's corpse a second glance, nor did he acknowledge the terrified faces of Agar's inhabitants staring skyward in frozen horror. He turned his back on the broken world and uttered a single word, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Condemned."
The Vanguard's vessel responded immediately. Beams of light and energy lit the heavens, cascading down upon the planet. Agar's surface, its people, and its once-proud civilization were consumed in an inferno, leaving only silence and ash in the void.
************
The heat was unbearable. His fingers twitched, the sound of cracks reverberating around him as Moyo groaned, feeling confined—restricted. Why was he restricted? With a slight flex, something around him shattered, fragments scattering like glass as he inhaled deeply, his chest rising with newfound life. His eyes snapped open, and he collapsed to the ground, shivering.
Raw power, unused and unfamiliar, sang through his entire being. He barely registered the sensation as he pushed himself upright, his bearings slowly coming into focus.
He was in a large room—too large for his liking. Yet his mind was blank, processing his surroundings with an eerie detachment. A faint, incessant pinging began to echo in his head. His HUD flared with a relentless cascade of notifications. Blinking them away, his breaths came quicker.
He should be dead.
He had died.
Valtha.
The wyvern had ended him.
How was he still breathing?
The heavy doors to the room slammed open, the sudden noise shattering his daze. A figure rushed through, her very presence crashing into his mind like a tidal wave of memories. He didn't have time to react before she blurred, a burst of lightning hurtling toward him. In an instant, her arms wrapped tightly around his battered form, the scent of rain and storm filling his senses as she clung to him.
"Annika," he murmured weakly, recognizing the Stormsinger, her storm-gray eyes now brimming with tears as her body trembled.
"You're alive," she whispered, her voice quivering as though the words themselves were a fragile hope barely realized.
Moyo shuddered in her embrace, his battered body flaring with unfamiliar sensations. Something deep within stirred—power, roiling like a storm ready to break. Annika's cries echoed in his ears as his HUD forced itself back into his awareness, flooding his vision with relentless notifications demanding his attention.
[You have killed Ushotan the Necromancer, Level 180.]
[You have killed Undead Wyvern, Level 200.]
[You have destroyed a settlement by yourself, the first in your system to accomplish such a feat!]
[You have killed Valtha the Unyielding, Level 250.]
[You have absorbed the heart of a lesser dragon. Your body is fully absorbing its properties!]
[Blood Absorption has taken vital essence of the lesser dragon. You have obtained skill: Aether Sight (R): With the blood of dragons flowing through you, you can now see the paths of those around you.]
[Blood Absorption has stolen attributes of Valtha the Unyielding: +100 to all attributes!]
[Attributes have surpassed the 500 mark!]
[You have obtained the title Serpent Slayer: Your presence is now feared among the lesser dragon species. Lesser dragon races suffer 50% increased damage when fighting you.]
[Title: Prime Aberrant has been upgraded: +50% damage against aberrants below your level.]
[Lesser Dragon Blood has increased the potency of title Emberkin to 30% resistance against flame-based attacks.]
[Level 200! You have gained 720 points + 180 dungeon bonuses!]
[You have reached the rank and level limits of your world and cannot ascend further until the world upgrades!]
[Endure Agony: Level 100!]
[Blade Storm: Level 90!]
[Titan's Edge: Level 100!]
[Titan's Vitality: Level 100!]
[Titan's Ascent and Void Step have reached epiphany, fusing together to create skill: Titan Walk (R): Distance means nothing to you. Unless obstructed by the domain of a greater being, you will it, and you are there.]
[Balogun's Domain: Level 20!]
[Essence of the Pre-Ascended Wyvern has granted you your first word of power (Authority): Dàpadà.]
[Notice: Due to your rank and level, Authority has been sealed until ascension to the rank of Expert.]
[You are the first to kill a being over Level 200 in your system!]
[The following rewards have been given to you for your accomplishments:]
100 Aurums 10,000 Lesser Aether Shards 1,000 Refined Aether Shards 500 Greater Aether Shards
Moyo exhaled sharply, shuddering as the system's notifications released the flood of power into his body. It rushed through him like a tidal wave, expanding his very being before contracting, solidifying the changes.
He felt his aether lines ignite, glowing with new intensity as his core pulsed, pushing out raw energy. His sight blurred, colors fracturing into a brilliant spectrum before slowly settling. His vision seemed sharper—more profound—as though the world around him was layered with invisible paths, each pulsing with vibrant energy.
The titan had returned.
*********************
The news of Moyo's return spread through Bastion like wildfire. First, it reached its leaders, prompting an immediate assembly, and then filtered down to the citizens. The city erupted into celebration, joy reverberating through the streets. Bastion had endured, grown, and thrived in the titan's absence, but the return of its protector ignited hope like never before.
Moyo, however, was overwhelmed. Six months—gone in the blink of an eye. The revelation staggered him, leaving him speechless as he absorbed the sheer scope of what had changed. The simple grand hall that had once served as their base of operations had transformed into a vast capital hall, expanded and enhanced as Bastion itself had evolved into a burgeoning city.
He needed a moment to ground himself, to reunite with the people he trusted most. Deep within the capital, in the privacy of the inner sanctum, he sat surrounded by those he called friends—the lords and ladies of Bastion, each of them peak acolytes in their own right.
Martha, the Webweaver, sat with her usual composed demeanor, though her glowing eyes betrayed her relief. Her calm presence anchored them all.
Annika, the Stormsinger, radiated the same fierce energy Moyo remembered, her storm-gray eyes locking with his. He knew there was much to say between them, but now was not the time.
Idris, the Battle Warlord, carried himself with the same unshakable steadfastness Moyo had come to rely upon. Respect passed silently between them.
Josh, the Titan's Sentinel, cut an even more imposing figure, his gaze unwavering and fixed on Moyo. While Moyo didn't feel uneasy under that stare, he was acutely aware of the bond they shared. His power had influenced Josh, awakening something profound within him, though only time would reveal its true nature.
Ayo, the Flame Empress, exuded an aura of quiet regality. The once-volatile gem from her staff now rested on her forehead, radiating subtle power. Moyo was curious about the transformation but chose not to press for answers just yet.
Boyle, the Forge Lord, wore a soft smile of profound relief as he exchanged quiet words with Martha, though his eyes often flicked to Moyo.
Finally, the newest addition to the circle was Samantha, the Healer, whose presence was calming in a way that felt nearly divine. She carried a staff that Moyo immediately recognized—it had once belonged to the necromancer but now shone with a transformed essence, a testament to her growing power.
The table before them was laden with an array of dishes—some familiar, others unfamiliar but enticing. Wine flowed, enriched with healing properties thanks to Samantha and Ayo's mana research. Moyo inhaled deeply, taking in the comforting atmosphere.
He stood, gripping the table gently, aware that even a moment's lapse could crush it under his strength. The room fell silent as he began to speak.
"To be honest," he started, his voice steady but tinged with emotion, "I have no idea how much I've missed. It feels like I simply closed my eyes and woke up in another time."
Chuckles rippled through the room, easing some of the tension.
"But I see the changes," he continued. "I see the good you've brought to Bastion—to this city. I can feel the thousands who now call it home. I'm surprised, even, that so much of humanity still endures. But we've done something good here, and I owe that to each of you."
Glasses were raised in acknowledgment, their eyes shining with shared pride.
He turned to each of them in turn. "Martha, you've been more than a friend—you've been my confidant. Thank you."
She bowed slightly; her composure unbroken.
"Annika, my Stormsinger. You've held Bastion together with Idris and Josh. You have my undying gratitude—all of you." His gaze swept across the room, meeting each pair of eyes in turn.
He paused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "It will take me time to come to terms with everything that's happened—to even begin to understand these other powers rising in far-off continents. But there will be time for that. For now, I simply want to enjoy this moment of peace that we've fought so hard and long to achieve. To the glory of Bastion."
"To Bastion!" they chorused, raising their glasses high.
The evening stretched on, filled with laughter and stories of their adventures, their ascensions, and the horrors they had faced in the red zones. Martha, ever the diplomat, kept the tone light, ensuring only surface-level tales were shared. Still, Moyo realized how much had changed. Each of them now commanded their own mini-factions, their influence extending far beyond Bastion itself.
The weight of it all pressed on him. Excusing himself from the festivities, he used his newly acquired Titan Walk to reach the top of the capital building. Cold winds slammed into him, though he felt nothing, his transcendent form immune to such trivial discomforts.
He opened his HUD, his eyes scanning the flood of information as he reviewed his stats and titles once more.
Name: Moyosore
Race: Human
Rank: Advocate
Core: [Radiant]
Body: Lesser Dracon
Level: 200
Path: Titan Blade
Points: 900
Skills
Blood Absorption [L]Endure Agony [U] – Level 100Blade Storm [U] – Level 90Titan's Edge [R] – Level 100Titan's Vitality [R] – Level 100Titan Walk [R] – Level 5Balogun's Domain [R] – Level 20Aether Sight [R] – Level 1
Attributes
STR: 592DEX: 548END: 575VIT: 545
Titles
Emberkin: 30% resistance to flame-based attacksDungeon Conqueror: +3 points per level in dungeons; +100% damage to dungeon creatures below Level 100Titan's Presence: Halves enemy attack strength below your level; strikes fear into enemiesPrime Bane: +50% damage to aberrants below your level; aberrants are struck with terrorSerpent Slayer: +50% damage to lesser dragons below your level
Authority (Sealed)
Dàpadà
Items and Shards
Ethereal Credits: 66,600Aurum: 100Refined Shards: 2,178Lesser Shards: 12,090Greater Shards: 600
Moyo exhaled deeply, the weight of his journey settling on his shoulders. He had climbed the mountain he had set his sights on. Now, a single question remained, what next?
Moyo exhaled deeply, his breath mingling with the cool night air as he leaned back against the roof's edge. The sound of celebration echoed faintly through the city below, a jubilant symphony that barely registered in his mind. His thoughts were elsewhere, though he was acutely aware of the figure approaching him.
Martha's silhouette emerged from the shadows, her steps calm and deliberate as she took a seat beside him. In the fading light, her presence carried an enigmatic air, her expression unreadable save for the faintest trace of amusement.
"So," she began, a coy smile playing on her lips, "Annika."
Moyo shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Nothing much to read into, yet. Unless you've seen something?" He shot her a mock-suspicious glance.
Martha laughed; her voice warm. "You know it doesn't work that way. I'm just stating the obvious."
A chuckle rumbled in Moyo's chest. "If you told me all this would've been possible from a single run-down settlement, I would've said you were crazy."
"You did think I was crazy," she teased, eliciting another laugh from him.
"You sold me something that seemed ludicrous at the time. But now, I'm glad we met." Moyo glanced at her, his gaze sincere.
Martha patted his shoulder, her expression softening. "None of this would've been possible without you, Moyo. Even now, external powers are eyeing what we've built, hesitant to act because of the rumors about you. And now that you're back, it means the world to me."
Moyo frowned. "These powers... you've mentioned them before."
Martha rose, shaking her head. "That can wait. You need to enjoy the night. Bastion will still be standing by tomorrow."
Her tone was light, but her words carried weight. Moyo nodded slowly, watching as she began to unravel into threads of ethereal aether, her form vanishing into the sanctum below. He couldn't help but marvel at her unique method of movement. It was more than teleportation—it was an art, her very being dissolving into the delicate strands of her web.
"Thank you, Martha," he whispered, sensing that she somehow heard him. She turned briefly, her ethereal form winking at him before disappearing completely.
A sudden gust of wind heralded Annika's approach. She ascended through the air with effortless grace, her control over the winds flawless as she hovered before him. Moyo raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Show off," he said, earning a honeyed laugh from the Stormsinger.
She landed beside him, her feet barely making a sound, her silver-white hair catching the faint light of the stars.
"How may I be of service to the fabled Storm Empress and leader of the Storm Riders?" Moyo asked, his tone mockingly formal.
Annika groaned, scrunching her face in mild exasperation. "I didn't choose that name. I don't know why they decided to create a group in my name."
"Because you have power, you're beautiful, and you hold the second-highest position in Bastion—though I'd say it's debatable with Martha around."
Annika cocked her head, her lips curving into a mischievous grin. "So, the Titan thinks I'm beautiful?"
Moyo paused, momentarily caught off guard. "No one would contest that fact. Generally speaking, of course."
"Right."
"I mean, you have nice eyes."
"You consider them nice? Any other part of me you find nice?"
Moyo blinked, momentarily stunned, as Annika burst into laughter.
"You should see your face. Hilarious," she teased, sitting beside him. They both stared out at the illuminated city stretching far into the horizon, the gentle hum of Bastion's life filling the air.
"Thank you," Moyo said softly after a moment. "Martha told me you kept vigil over me."
"I told you we'd talk when you got back," Annika replied, her tone laced with mock irritation. "Coming back as a vegetable didn't save you from that."
Moyo laughed, the sound resonating through the stillness. The weight in his chest seemed to ease just a little.
His gaze drifted to Annika's hair, now a radiant silver steadily shifting to white as her path suffused her being. Her storm-gray eyes glimmered in the dim light, and he found himself captivated.
"This is strange, isn't it? Whatever it is we have."
Annika nodded; her expression soft. "One minute I meet you, and you're tearing through aberrants and undead monsters like it's nothing. The next, we're kissing. I'm not sure it's a healthy start to a relationship."
"Oh." Moyo's chest tightened, his expression faltering.
Annika's eyes widened, and she quickly shook her head. "Don't get me wrong! I like it. I like you. Too much, if you ask me. But what do you say we take things slow?"
A smile broke across Moyo's face, boyish and sincere. "Sure. Hi, my name's Moyo. You can call me the Titan Blade."
Annika laughed, lightning crackling faintly in the skies above. "I'm Annika, the Stormsinger. But you can call me Empress."
"Vain much?"
"Nice to meet you, Annika Stormsinger. May I kiss you now?"
Annika grinned, leaning in. "Only because you just woke up from a coma. Definitely not because I find myself liking you more, Mr. Titan Blade."
Their laughter faded as they drew closer, the noise of the city below becoming a distant murmur.
Down below, in the sanctum of the capital, Martha smirked as she cashed in on her subtle wagers. Around her, the others watched the scene unfold from afar, grinning to themselves.