Legacy of the Void Fleet

Berlin, though an Elf himself, glanced only briefly at Velryss. The air between them grew still. For all their shared ancestry, the difference between light and dark Elves was a chasm of history and ideology.

Velryss did not greet him. She merely inclined her head to Darwa. Berlin, in return, ignored her completely and turned to the Emperor.

The seating was complete.

The five forces of power—the Star Empire, the Dark Elven Empire, the Mountain Dwarf Clans, the Forger Guild, and the Alchemy Association—were gathered at last. Not as enemies. Not as old rivals.

But not as architects of a shared future—no, that would be too idealistic.

Rather, as architects of a shared agenda, one driven by mutual profitability and strategic alignment.

But if only they knew…

This long process of negotiation—this cooperation they were all so eagerly preparing to discuss—was built on an illusion. They believed they had no true opponent left to oppose them. They thought the path ahead was clear, stable, and profitable.

Sigh… how wrong they were.

And how would they feel, when the truth revealed itself not in words, but at the end of their own road?When they experienced it firsthand—the harsh, unrelenting reality that all their discussions, all their promises, all their grand visions… were built on rubble.

On something that, for them at least, was never real to begin with.

But they didn’t know.

Not yet.

And so, unaware of the truth lurking beneath the surface, they pressed forward—ready to secure what they believed were the fundamental pillars of mutual cooperation. Foundations for shared benefit. For stability. For profit.

For a future they all assumed was guaranteed.

A future they thought they would shape together.

But one day, they would regret it.

Regret the assumptions.Regret the trust.Regret the very foundation they believed they were building.

The chamber fell into a tense, expectant silence.

And then, the Star Emperor leaned forward—his voice calm, yet thunderous with intent, as if the very stars were listening.

”Let us begin.”

While as the formal summit—no, not a summit, but a high-stakes discussion they believed would become the foundation of mutual growth—was about to begin between the three Tier-1 powers and the two multi-galaxy-spanning organizations, a very different event was unfolding.

The meeting was to be held in the Central Star Region of the Star Empire, at its very heart: Imperium Prime.

Thousands of light-years away, in a completely different corner of the galaxy—on the home world of the Minotaur race.

In the Minotaur Clan’s central star system, on the ancient planet Minour Prime, inside the grand and sacred High Council Palace...

It was Galactic Calendar Year

Galactic Standard Calendar Day 19 of the Trion Phase(week), of Solara month year 1890Era: After Unification War (AE)

....

....

Deep within the Grand Council Palace of the Minotaur clan, the High Council of Elders convened inside their sacred circular chamber. Twelve seats—each designated for one of the ancient bloodline elders—formed a ring, their stone-carved thrones embedded with ancestral runes. At the chamber’s center sat an empty dais, traditionally reserved for presenting speakers, officials, or judgment.

Today, that space belonged to the Council’s report officer, standing below the twelve imposing elders as he read the progress updates of the past two days.

With a voice calm yet echoing, he recited, ”The Dark Elven Empire, the Mountain Dwarf Clans, the Forger Guild, and the Alchemy Association have all agreed to join our proposed alliance. Each has accepted our request to divide 5% of the newly discovered Holy Region equally, without additional restrictions or territorial conditions.”

He paused, bowed, and then stepped back, allowing the Council to deliberate.

The Second Supreme Elder, a cautious yet strategic figure, narrowed his eyes and grunted, ”So all that remains… is the Star Empire’s decision. I hope they confirm quickly. We cannot afford prolonged uncertainty.”

The Fifth Supreme Elder leaned forward, shaking his head. ”We must not fixate on them alone. The four powers already agreeing was far beyond what we’d initially hoped for. Even if the Star Empire delays or declines, we’ve secured what once seemed impossible.”

The Sixth Elder nodded in support. ”Indeed. We should be celebrating. This is a monumental step toward claiming a new position among the stars. The support of such titans guarantees our future.”

A quiet hum of agreement swept through the chamber. Tensions softened. The atmosphere, for a moment, felt like victory.

But then—

A sudden fluctuation.

The reality(space) twisted.

Without warning, the sacred council chamber’s very space trembled.

The chamber’s air shifted, shimmering unnaturally. A ripple in space itself began to form at the very center of the council chamber.

A subtle fluctuation rippled through the air like a wave of distortion. The torches along the walls flickered unnaturally. The spatial balance of the hall was fractured. That was protected by married spatial arrays.

The First Supreme Elder, seated directly across from the disturbance, he most powerful of them all, sat up abruptly, eyes wide with alarm.

”That’s... a spatial rupture?! An emergency teleportation scroll?—an emergency tiered gate, perhaps? But who—could’ve used—”?”

Before he could finish, the answer came in an instant.

The very center of the room cracked apart. Energy coiled violently. A moment later, a miniature dimensional rift opened with a thunderclap of distortion.

And from it—a body was hurled violently to the floor.

A Minotaur, bloodied beyond recognition, landed hard against the stone dais. His clothing was scorched and torn. Flesh hung in places. Burn marks and lacerations decorated every inch of his body. His breathing was ragged. As Blood began to slowly spill across the ancient stones of the ancient grand hall.

But even through the damage… his uniform bore a familiar crest.

The First Elder’s eyes widened, his breath catching.

”That… those colors… those marks… it can’t be—Jarkon?!”

Without hesitation, the elder vanished from his seat and reappeared beside the body in a flash of light. He dropped to one knee, immediately casting a high-level healing spell, his voice trembling.

”Quickly! We must stabilize him—he’s too far gone for questions!”

The other eleven Supreme Elders, equally shocked, descended from their thrones and surrounded the dais. Each recognized the aura radiating from the wounded Minotaur.

It was really Jarkon.

Grandson to the First Elder and one of the rising champions of their race.

Scion of one of the three ancestral war clans. And more than that—he had been one of the key liaisons as the 7th fleet grand admiral dispatched to monitor activity in the outer edges of the Holy Region, formally known as the forbidden zone.

He was not merely sent to monitor activity—his true mission was to conquer the Holy Region and purge all remaining forces, leaving no opposition alive.

But now, he’s here—in this weakened state—when he wasn’t supposed to be.

The First Elder extended both hands, beginning to channel an advanced healing spell. He knew Jarkon couldn’t speak in this state—and questions could wait. Survival could not.

But something was wrong.

The spell, though potent, was only closing superficial wounds. Frowning deeply, the Elder moved to a more ancient incantation—one reserved only for the most critical moments.

His voice grew low and solemn:

”O holy nature, by the ancestral law of bone and blood, bless this warrior’s soul. Mend his flesh. Restore him. Erase his pain. Let strength return to his marrow—Super Healing: Verdant Rebirth.”

A brilliant green magic seal flared to life beneath his hand. Energy pulsed into Jarkon’s broken body. His superficial wounds closed first—torn muscles knitting together, cracked bones stabilizing—but the deeper damage lingered. Internal organs remained ruptured. His vitality flickered like a dying flame.

And yet…

Even now, healing was slow.

Verdant Rebirth was a sacred-grade technique, known only to Supreme Elders. For it to fail—something monstrous must have inflicted these wounds.

Hours passed. A full rotation of healing spells and restoration arts were invoked. Ancient chants, elixirs, and soul-binding runes. Nothing was spared. Finally, after what felt like eternity, Jarkon stirred. His eyelids fluttered open.

The First Elder let out a breath of relief. ”Jarkon... thank the stars. Can you speak?”

Jarkon coughed violently, blood staining his lips, but managed a faint nod.

The First Elder exhaled with deep relief and leaned close.

”Tell me, grandson... what happened to you? Who did this? Was it the Genomes and the Asura together? Only they could’ve reduced you to such a state...”

Jarkon stirred once more, his breath ragged, his body still broken in more ways than one. Though the Supreme Elders had done what they could to heal him, his bones—especially in his arms and hands—remained fractured beyond natural repair. That wasn’t simply due to injury.

Marcus’s lingering magic still clung to him.

Every movement of his fingers sent waves of agony coursing through his nerves.

But pain meant nothing now. Not compared to the truth he carried.

He looked up, his jaw tight with the effort, and whispered hoarsely, ”It wasn’t the Genome… nor the Asura.”

The First Supreme Elder leaned in, his brow furrowing deeply. ”What?

Whispers spread among the Council like wildfire.

”Not the Genome?” the Fourth Elder muttered.

”Nor the Asura?” said the Second Elder in disbelief.

”Then… who?” came the chorus.