The airplane glided through the sky, cutting through cloud layers that shimmered with faint traces of mana.
Below, Alex could see the sprawling wilderness—vivid greens and eerie purples marked forests that glowed faintly under the sunlight. Occasionally, he caught glimpses of colossal mana plants stretching skyward, their luminous blossoms a stark reminder of the world's transformation.
Nova's voice interrupted his thoughts.
[ "Our next step is to stay unnoticed when we land. The fortress security is tight, but if we stick to the shadows, sir." ]
Alex leaned back, feeling the hum of the mana conduits beneath his seat. "Nova, how much of this change—this world—is because of mana?"
Nova hesitated before replying, her tone thoughtful. [ "Mana didn't just change the world physically; it rewrote the rules of life. Evolution sped up, and ecosystems realigned.
Think of it as the planet waking up from a long slumber and deciding it wanted to grow. Humanity was lucky that the gods took pity and helped them learn how to harness it before being consumed." ]
"Hmmm" Alex murmured keeping his thoughts to himself
As the airplane began its descent, the skyline of the Gaia Fortress came into view. Towering spires of polished mana-steel rose like monoliths, their surfaces etched with glowing runes.
This was more than a city; it was a testament to human ingenuity and their fragile coexistence with the forces they fought against. The airport terminal buzzed with activity, a mix of business travelers, researchers, and adventurers preparing to face the challenges of the mana-altered world.
Alex adjusted his coat, keeping his expression neutral as he approached the exit gates.
Guards stationed at the terminal entrances wore armor integrated with mana conduits. Their glowing eyes scan the crowd with unwavering intensity.
Alex walked purposefully, his heartbeat steady despite the tension. A hovering drone, sleek and insect-like, emitted a soft hum as it floated near him. For a brief moment, its glowing lens focused on Alex.
"Got it. You're clear," Nova confirmed, her voice calm.
Once outside the terminal, Alex stood surrounded by towering skyscrapers and bustling streets. Mana-powered hovercrafts zipped through the air, and pedestrians moved with purpose.
Their outfits were adorned with subtle enchantments that reflected their status or profession.
"Nova, where do we start?" Alex murmured.
[ "I have been trying to get into their system, seems like their firewall is no joke, sir, I will need to be in proximity to be able to infiltrate their firewall, sir" ]
Alex said nothing as he walked into the bursting streets of the Geb fortress.
….
Inside the heart of Gaia Stronghold, the atmosphere was thick with authority and tension. The Earth Clan's council hall, carved directly into the rock of the Southern Ridge, exuded the heavy weight of tradition.
Flickering torchlight illuminated the stone walls adorned with intricate symbols of earth and stone—sigils of the clan's power, resilience, and history. The patricians sat at the hall's center, elevated on a massive stone dais.
He was a colossal figure, a mountain of a man, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. His skin, the color of rich soil, stretched tight over muscles that seemed hewn from granite itself.
His eyes were the color of deep earth—brown, almost black—and held a gaze that could turn to stone with a single look. His hair, dark and wild, framed a face marked by age and battle, with a jagged scar cutting across his cheek. A thick beard cascaded down to his chest, streaked with gray.
The Patrician sat upon a throne carved from the living rock, the seat as imposing as its occupant. The throne was massive, an extension of the earth itself, adorned with intricate carvings of ancient earthen symbols—roots, mountains, and rivers.
His posture was perfect poise, yet his body seemed to hum with the latent power of the land beneath him as though he were one with the very earth.
Around him, the heads of the Earth Clan's families held a tense meeting, their voices low as they spoke among themselves. The Patrician listened in silence, his hands resting on the armrests of his throne, fingers tapping rhythmically—a signal that he was both patient and calculating.
One of the family heads, a tall woman with hair the color of autumn leaves, spoke up. "The time has come. It's been 10 years since the Thunder Clans was wiped out. The moment is ripe to solidify our dominance on their lands."
Her voice was sharp, like the sound of gravel scraping against stone. "We must strike before the other clans, especially the fire clans."
The Patrician's gaze flicked to her, slow and deliberate, as though weighing her words. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, the room fell into a heavy silence, everyone waiting for him to speak.
A younger man, his face sharp with ambition, leaned forward. "If we move against the remaining government forces trying to poach the lands now, we can crush them before they have time to claim them."
His eyes gleamed with a cold fire, and his fingers drummed against the stone table. "We have the numbers and the resources. This is our moment."
The Patrician's eyes narrowed, his fingers pausing in their rhythmic tapping. When it came, his voice was like a rumble from deep beneath the earth, slow and deliberate.
"You underestimate the power of the government." His gaze swept across the room, meeting the eyes of every family head present.
"The government may be crushed, but it never truly fades. We will not strike recklessly. If we do this, it will be calculated.
Every move will be deliberate. We must draw them out and do it in a way that leaves no room for resistance while also ensuring that our forces aren't stretched too thin to occupy the land."
His words carried weight, and the room fell into an uneasy quiet. The Patrician's eyes flicked to a map of the region spread across the stone table, a series of lines marking territories and strongholds. His eyes looked over the location of the Thunder Estate which is now nothing but a ruin.
The younger man who had spoken earlier scoffed. "They are nothing but small fries ready to be slaughtered?"
The Patrician's eyes sparkled with cold fury, and for a moment, the intensity of his gaze seemed to draw the very breath from the room. "Never underestimate your enemy, Ethan.
As the heir, you should learn this—even an elephant can be killed by a scorpion given their size difference."
The room fell silent again, the only sound being the faint rumble of the earth beneath their feet as if the land itself were listening. The Patrician's gaze returned to the map, his fingers resting once more on the scarred earth.
"We will prepare," he said, his voice low and commanding.
The family heads exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared to speak further. The Patrician had made his decree, and in the Earth Clan, his word was law.
….
The meeting began to wind down, voices fading as the family heads murmured their agreements and prepared to disperse.
Yet, the Patrician remained seated on his throne, unmoving. His dark eyes lingered on the map spread across the table, his fingers tracing invisible lines across the region.
A silence settled over the chamber as the others departed one by one, their footsteps echoing against the stone walls.
The torches flickered in their sconces, casting long, shifting shadows that danced along the carvings of mountains and roots on the walls.
The Patrician leaned back on his massive throne; his fingers steepled in thought. His gaze, usually unshakable, now carried a shadow of unease.
"Why do I feel this?" he muttered, his deep voice resonating in the empty hall.
He shut his eyes tightly, seeking refuge within his thoughts, yet the sensation only intensified—a crushing, relentless pressure settled heavily in his chest. It wasn't fear; he had confronted countless adversaries, on the battlefield and within himself, far too many to allow fear to take hold.
No, this was something entirely different, something far more primal—an instinctive weight that stirred deep in his core, evoking echoes of forgotten battles and primal instincts, urging him to understand the depths of what he faced.
The feeling gnawed at him like the shifting of tectonic plates deep beneath the earth, subtle yet undeniable. It was as though the ground was whispering, warning him of something unseen approaching.
His mind returned to the Thunder Clan and the remnants of their once-mighty estate. He remembered the boy he had casually dismissed as a temporary threat years ago.
"I have been like this since I set my eyes on the location of the Thunder Estate on the map."
"What is this feeling of dread"
He opened his eyes, staring at the map once more. The spot where the Thunder Estate had once stood seemed to pulse in his vision like a heartbeat.
"Is it him?" The words felt heavy on his tongue. He shook his head, almost in defiance of his thoughts.
Rising from his throne, the Patrician walked to the edge of the dais. His towering frame cast a long shadow over the hall. He placed a hand against the cold stone wall, the solid earth beneath his palm grounding him.
"No," he murmured, but the unease didn't leave him. It lingered, coiling in the pit of his stomach like a serpent.
The patrician felt a feeling he couldn't comprehend for the first time in years. Something was coming. Something he couldn't see, couldn't predict.
And it would soon reach them.