First Intergalactic Emperor: Starting With The Ancient Goddess

Xavier helped Eamon to his feet and dusted his coat off like it was no big deal.

”Come on,” he said. ”Rest for a while. This is your place too now.”

Eamon gave a tired nod and stepped further inside, eyes still darting across the empty luxury like he didn’t belong.

Inside, the place was practically hollow. Just vast rooms and echo. The only thing breaking the emptiness were the dozen shopping bags piled up by the corner near the kitchen—bags from last night, still untouched. Lilia’s haul from the 54th-floor market.

”We don’t have any furniture yet,” Xavier said, eyeing the space. ”I’ll go get some.”

As he walked toward the door, he glanced at the time. Still about three hours left before midnight. Plenty of time to complete today’s transaction.

He didn’t even get to touch the handle before—

Thump.

Lyra landed beside him with a little hop, her usual quiet demeanor replaced with a determined look. ”I’ll come with you.”

Lilia darted over almost instantly. ”Huh? No way. You always go out with Xavier. This time it’s my turn.”

Lyra narrowed her eyes. ”You’ve got an important exam tomorrow, remember? The one that decides your scholarship. You should be studying, not wandering around like a headless chicken.”

Lilia crossed her arms. ”I’ve been studying all day. I need a break, not a lecture.”

”Then go take a walk or something. Why do you need to come with Xavier?”

”Oh, I don’t know—maybe because I live here and this is about choosing our furniture?”

Their voices grew louder. Petty remarks. Passive-aggressive jabs. Then straight-up catty.

Xavier leaned on the doorframe, watching with a faint smirk. A part of him wanted to grab popcorn.

But the smile faded when both girls suddenly turned and asked in unison, ”So? Who are you going with, Xavier?”

Xavier blinked, mildly caught off-guard. Then he rubbed his neck and answered flatly, ”I’ll go with Oliver.”

Both girls glared at him like he just said something blasphemous.

Lilia stepped forward. ”Why would you go with a friend when we’re the ones living here? Shouldn’t we pick what goes into our apartment?”

Xavier shrugged, expression unreadable. ”Then both of you come.”

He turned to Eamon, who hadn’t said much but clearly looked surprised—not at Xavier’s decision, but at the way his daughter was acting around Xavier. That kind of affection. That kind of closeness. Like something had shifted.

”You wanna come too?” Xavier asked.

Eamon waved him off. ”I’m tired. I’ll rest. But we’ll talk in the morning. There’s something I want to discuss.”

Xavier nodded, then walked out with both girls in tow.

Originally, he’d planned to take his bike—but with three people? Yeah, no. Not worth the squeeze. Plus, after today’s grind—after all the sweat and cum he emptied into Cindy—he just didn’t feel like riding.

So they called a hovertaxi and rode off toward the biggest and most popular furniture store in Astraeus.

A while later, the hovertaxi glided up to Cortex Living, a slab of glass and neon hovering on magnetic stilts above the avenue. From the outside it looked less like a store and more like a star‑cruiser docked on a city street—thick crystalline facade throbbing with pale-blue circuitry lines, chrome signage scrolling prices in flickering holo‑letters. A dozen spotlight pillars cast shifting beams into the midnight haze, lighting up valet drones that floated by like obedient fireflies.

Xavier stepped out first, still in his Astraeus Academy blazer—crest glinting silver under the lights. Lilia slipped out next, eyes wide. Lyra followed, ears flicking, tail swishing once beneath her coat.

They started toward the entrance, but two armored security guards blocked the path—sleek carbon-fiber plates, pulse‑batons at their hips. ”Members only,” one barked.

Before Xavier could even flash sarcasm, the second guard noticed the academy crest. He froze, tugged his partner’s sleeve, and both of them stepped aside like elevator doors. ”Apologies, sir. Please—enjoy your experience.”

Inside was a cathedral of indulgence.

First floor: Classic Earth Luxe—hand‑carved oak, brass fixtures, Persian rugs thicker than a winter cloak. A smelling‑station diffused cinnamon and old-library leather. Tags hovered above every piece:

Balmoral Armchair – 12,400.

Imperial Four‑Poster – 49,000.

Second floor: Neo‑Cyber Dysfunction. Furniture looked bio‑engineered: sofas that adjusted firmness via neural link, coffee tables with transparent graphene tops displaying live news tickers. Everything pulsed faint neon—smart glass in turquoise, mag‑lev recliners floating five centimeters above polished stone.

Gravitas Hover‑Couch – 62,000.

AR‑Mesh Dining Suite – 78,500.

Third floor: TomorrowLab—outright sci‑fi. Desks forged from meteorite alloy; beds grown from memory‑foam coral that reshaped to your spine, embedded in liquid‑metal frames. Each tag made Xavier’s wallet twitch.

CryoFoam Pod‑Bed v9 – 110,000.

Quantum Shard Desk – 135,900.

Top mezzanine: Ultra‑Prime Gallery—roped off by sapphire light beams. Items behind holo‑glass rotated slowly: a chaise sculpted from fossilized celestial whale rib, shimmering with cosmic dust; a dining set cut from a small moon’s obsidian core, veins of iridescent starlight flickering inside the rock. Prices weren’t printed. They hovered as Negotiable (8‑digit).

’Looking at it... even 700k daily is a mere change.’ Xavier glanced around. ’To be honest... no amount of money is enough’

A sultry voice purred behind them. ”Good evening. Need a hand?” They turned to find a woman with the name‑tag: VIOLA—Senior Sales Consultant.

Viola was the kind of woman who turned heads without trying. Mid-forties, tall, legs like sin wrapped in silk stockings, and a body that made you question your life choices. Her black pencil dress hugged her curves like it was tailored by the devil himself. Her lips were blood red, her eyes sharp and feline—green with golden flecks that shimmered each time she blinked, like a hidden currency of seduction.

Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she walked. Controlled, confident, and almost hypnotic.

She didn’t just sell furniture. She sold fantasies. Someone who had decades of experience despite her age.

Viola’s smile was dangerous and warm. ”Full apartment furnishing or room‑by‑room?”

”Room‑by‑room,” Xavier answered.

”What’s your budget, if I may ask?”

Xavier pondered for a while, and then, he shot a smile at Viola and responded, ”700,000.”

Viola’s brow arched the perfect amount. Not shocked, just interested. ”Plenty to work with. Follow me.”