From the highest floor of the Grand Citadel, where the air was thin and the chandeliers below shimred like constellations in a crafted sky, he stood.
A man dressed in a long, dark coat embroidered with sigils that did not belong to any known kingdom. His posture was poised, exuding a presence that was neither rushed nor hesitant—but deliberate. He leaned ever so slightly forward, placing his hands on the ornate balcony rail as he gazed down at the grand hall below.
His face was illuminated by the glow of the gala beneath—sharpened features, unreadable expression, but his eyes—piercing and unwavering—swept across the gathered dignitaries.
A chi rang out.
Then, his voice—calm, weighted, and without a single wasted word—echoed across the entire citadel through the intercoms.
"Esteed rulers, noble emissaries, and honored guests... welco."
A pause, just long enough for the gathered figures to settle.
"What a rare sight—so many of the world’s finest minds, strongest hands, and most revered voices gathered under one roof. Such a night should be one of celebration, should it not? A symbol of diplomacy, a triumph of order, a statent that peace still reigns."
His tone remained perfectly level, but there was sothing—sothing—just beneath the surface.
"And yet..."
He exhaled, tilting his head ever so slightly.
"Does peace truly reign, I wonder? Or is it rely the silence of a kingdom too afraid to acknowledge the cracks beneath its feet?"
A murmur rippled through the hall. So shifted uncomfortably. Others frowned but remained composed.
He continued, unbothered.
"For centuries, you have clung to this world’s so-called order, never once questioning its foundation. Kingdoms rise, kingdoms fall. Leaders are crowned, leaders are buried. Borders shift, treaties break, war spills into war... And through it all, you call it ’balance.’ You call it ’tradition.’ You call it fate."
A smile barely ghosted his lips.
"Fate..."
The word lingered, coated in sothing colder than mockery.
"...What a convenient lie."
His hands, resting on the railing, curled ever so slightly.
"But I do not fault you. Fear is an ancient thing. And so long as it is whispered into the right ears, even the greatest rulers beco nothing more than prisoners in their own gilded cages."
The atmosphere in the hall shifted.
Sothing in his tone—sothing in the deliberate way he spoke—sent an almost imperceptible shiver through those who listened.
"But make no mistake."
The air felt heavy.
"A kingdom that fears change is already rotting. A ruler that clings to the past is already dead."
Another pause. This one longer.
"So I ask you... why continue this pretense?"
There was no imdiate answer, only the faint rustling of fabric and hesitant glances exchanged.
"Because it is comfortable? Because it is easy?"
His smile widened by a fraction.
"Because you believe the world—your world—is sothing that will remain untouched, untarnished, unchallenged? That no matter how deep the fractures run beneath the surface, the ground beneath your feet will never collapse?"
A flicker of sothing sharp glinted in his gaze.
"Then allow to make one thing very clear."
He straightened fully, and though his expression never hardened—though his voice never once rose—his words pierced the room with the weight of an inevitability.
"The ground beneath you has already begun to crack."
"And tonight... I will simply let it break."
***
’What to pick... what to pick...’
Velren, anwhile, had paid the speech no mind whatsoever.
He was far more occupied with sothing infinitely more important—the banquet table.
His plate was already half full, carefully curated with precision. A perfectly roasted slice of at, a golden-crusted pastry, maybe sothing sweet—
Then, suddenly—
’daug̸h̷ter... go—pl̴-̷ea̶se’
A voice—urgent, clear—resonated not in the air, but directly in his thoughts.
Velren froze.
The words weren’t spoken. They weren’t even whispered. They were simply... there. Carved directly into his mind.
His fingers tightened around the plate. His breath hitched.
He wasn’t sure whose voice it was.
But more than that—he understood.
Before he could even think, the plate slipped from his fingers, shattering against the polished floor as he ran.
’Where is she?’
Across the hall, Solenne was still watching the man above, her expression unreadable.
She hadn’t moved. She hadn’t sensed anything.
Velren sprinted toward her.
Above, the speaker reached the final words of his address.
"And so, let us embrace what cos next. The dawn of a new era, where—"
Light erupted from the heavens above.
Not fire. Not energy. Sothing else entirely—blinding, all-consuming radiance that swallowed every single figure in the hall.
Solenne was engulfed.
Velren lunged forward, shoving himself into the consuming light—
And in the next instant, their figures vanished.
***
Darkness. A weightless sensation gripped him—disorienting yet familiar.
Velren had felt this before. The unnatural pull, the shift in space, the way his very being was wrenched from one place to another. Teleportation. Just like the one he experienced back at Dominion Isle during the exam.
But this ti, sothing was different.
His feet landed—hard—on uneven terrain. A rush of humid air pressed against his skin, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and briny salt. He took a step forward, his boots sinking slightly into the slick, moss-covered ground.
Towering cliffs of obsidian-like rock jutted high into the sky, their jagged edges clawing toward the heavens. The ocean surrounding the island churned violently, yet no waves reached the shore, as if sothing unseen held them at bay. The land itself was cracked and fractured, with patches of steaming, tar-like pools dotting the ground.
A low, distant rumble echoed through the air—not thunder, but sothing deeper. Sothing beneath the surface.
Velren steadied his breath, scanning his surroundings.
"Solenne...?" His voice barely carried over the unnatural stillness.
Where was she?
Another distant rumble. This ti, it was stronger—like a pulse rolling through the island itself. Velren’s instincts flared, pushing him into motion. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the nearest obsidian cliff, its slick, jagged surface barely offering any foothold. He climbed fast, gripping the sharp edges, scraping against the rough stone.
Reaching the top, he pulled himself over the ledge and rose to his feet. From this vantage point, his breath hitched.
Far in the distance, across the fractured expanse of scattered isles, the grand citadel stood. Even from here, its sheer scale was staggering. A fortress of gleaming spires and intricate stonework, floating high above, held aloft by what Solenne had referred to as its "levitation core."
And yet—
The once-luminous core, an unseen force that kept the citadel aloft, was unraveling before his very eyes, its structure fraying like strands of light torn apart by invisible hands. Pieces of the citadel’s lower foundations flickered—phasing in and out of existence.
And then, it began to fade.
[END OF VOLU 1: The World’s Aberration]
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