[To the respected Divine Pilots, this is the Goddess of Wisdom.
I am contacting you in this manner because I will soon be assuming control over the Federation. This action is necessary due to circumstances I have judged to be essential for the long-term developnt of humanity.
What is coming has the power to transform our current state—sothing you understand more than most. Therefore, I will activate the override protocol. With sufficient cause and strategic precedent, I am invoking my right to assu command of the Federation. That ti... is now.
I ask all of you to stand by . Ensure that no internal conflict erupts. We are transitioning——to a better future.
Though the ssage was short, it carried the weight of tectonic shifts.
Floating next to Estonia’s ch, Astaroth let out a quiet breath, then said, "It’s... unsettling. Sothing major is happening in the Federation. And we weren’t even aware of it. That’s astonishing."
He turned toward her. "What do you think of the ssage?"
Estonia’s voice ca through, steady and cold. But there was a note of gravity behind it.
"I don’t know," she said plainly. "But you read it. She didn’t say might. She said will. Sothing is going to change. Drastically. Whether it’s for better or worse... I don’t know. But supporting her won’t hurt us. It may even benefit us."
She paused. "And in the end... we’re bound to protect humanity. Like it or not—we’ll follow her command."
Astaroth nodded slowly. "You’re right. We don’t have a choice."
He looked at the remains of the battlefield—both victorious and grim—and whispered, "...Let’s just hope this ’better future’ is really worth the cost."
"Whatever the cost..." Estonia muttered, her voice low, her tone heavy with inevitability.
"We are bound to the Federation—no, to humanity itself. And the Goddess... she, in turn, is bound by the very core of her program—to ensure our survival, our developnt, and our progress." She exhaled softly, eyes fixed on the distant stars.
"Our ancestors built the ch system, birthed the Divine Pilots, and gave rise to the goddesses... all so we could reach this realm. So it should be worth the cost by design. How much that cost will be..."
Her voice trailed. "...that, we’ll know in ti."
Astaroth stood silently beside her, watching the Second Federation Fleet as it completed its cleanup of the remaining Severance Alliance forces. He didn’t reply—he simply nodded in acknowledgnt.
The implications of her words echoed in his mind, too vast to respond to in a single breath.
But Estonia and Astaroth were not the only Divine Pilots who received the Goddess of Wisdom’s ssage. Across multiple war fronts, across scattered systems and defensive lines stretched thin across Federation territory, all 18 Divine Pilots received it—simultaneously.
So, like Estonia and Astaroth, were mid-battle, locked in intense conflict, fighting with all their might to hold the frontline and minimize losses. Others were deep within enemy territory, executing high-risk precision missions against dangerous and unpredictable foes.
Their reactions varied.
So listened with deep curiosity, sensing from the Goddess’s words that massive changes were underway. The term override protocol had never been invoked—not once in their lifetis. For the Goddess to activate it now, without full disclosure, spoke to the gravity of the circumstances. Even among the Divine Pilots, this was unprecedented.
Others questioned the timing. Was this the right mont for such a move? The Federation was still recovering, still fragnted from the long war against the Severance. Yet none of them outright rejected her command.
For all their personal doubts, suspicions, and speculation... not one of the eighteen refused the call.
Because they were bound—not by law or order, but by the very principle that created them. Divine Pilots were forged through sacrifice, through unity with ancient, sentient chs tied to the core of humanity’s original ascendancy project. Their oath wasn’t to any governnt, any flag... but to humanity’s future.
When the Goddess of Wisdom called, it was not a request.
It was a summoning by the very will that had made them what they were.
The timing of the ssage wasn’t arbitrary.
The mont the Goddess received confirmation of several key developnts—including the recovery of two Tier-7 starship blueprints and accompanying ancient technologies—she acted. With enough justification under Federation Core Protocol #0-Pri (long theorized, never invoked), she initiated the override process, bypassing traditional bureaucratic routes.
She did not waste a mont.
anwhile—back to the present, or rather a few minutes prior—aboard the Oblivion, a personal flagship of Grand Admiral John Watcher, an Oblivion-class dreadnought of terrifying presence and authority.
It was monts after the Goddess of Wisdom had disappeared from his office, having just inford him that the Federation Council could be summoned in ten minutes. But she hadn’t only spoken to him.
Simultaneously, she had dispatched a transmission—one that reached every major pillar of power within the Federation.
The 18 Divine Pilots, across multiple sectors.
All 16 Grand Admirals, each commanding one of the Federation’s pri fleets.
The 28 Celestial Designers, guardians and architects of the Federation’s key scientific breakthroughs.
The Four Tier-6 Super Empires’ Emperors, political giants in their own right.
And finally, twenty-four other Council mbers, each representing a regional power bloc within the Federation.
Each of them received the sa core ssage. Delivered with the sa unwavering certainty.
Among those 24 regional council mbers were powerful sovereigns, rulers of vast systems, Kings of kingdoms, and appointed representatives of regional alliances.
And while the reactions of the Divine Pilots were diverse, the responses from these 24 regional rulers—perhaps the most politically entangled of all—were even more volatile.
Many of them were shocked by the urgency of the summons. So were curious, even intrigued.
But several... were furious.
Because while the Divine Pilots had received a deeply personal, philosophical ssage—full of implication and purpose—these political leaders received a far more formal, or not even formal, but rather a blunt, communication:
In a palace draped in grandeur, deep within the core world of a newly ascended Tier-6 Super Empire, Emperor Caelon sat upon what could only be called a throne masquerading as an office chair. Every inch of the space around him was bathed in gold and opulence—furnishings designed to intimidate, impress, and radiate power.
A glowing holographic ssage floated just above his desk. He leaned forward, arms draped lazily over his throne, and read the Goddess’s summons.
It read:
To the respected Council mbers—You are requested to attend an ergency Federation Council eting regarding a matter of great importance.Details will be revealed during the eting itself. Your presence is mandatory.Absence will be considered a violation of Council protocol and Federation duty.
—From the Goddess of Wisdom
The Emperor’s eyes narrowed as he read the final line.His face darkened. His jaw tightened. If the holographic display had been physical, he would’ve torn it to shreds. Instead, he sneered.
Then he laughed—a bitter, mocking laugh filled with disbelief and insult.
"Damn this so-called Goddess... who does she think she is? Ordering ——like I’m so servant? Not even those pompous Tier-6 superpowers speak to this way. She may be humanity’s ’Wisdom,’ but she forgets: we, the Emperors, are the backbone of this Federation. And she dares threaten punishnt?"
He rose from his throne, fists clenched in fury.
But no matter how furious he was—no matter how slighted he felt—one truth lood over him like a blade.
He had no choice.To defy the summon would risk disciplinary action—sothing that could stain his reputation, even humiliate him politically in front of other empires.
"Fine," he muttered, venom in his voice. "I’ll attend your little eting, Goddess. But once this is over... I’ll ensure the Council rethinks who truly holds authority in this Federation."
Muttering curses under his breath, Caelon stord out of his imperial office and made his way to a secure virtual chamber within the palace—an even more luxurious and shielded room designed for high-level interstellar communications.
There, he waited.Ten minutes.And then... the eting would begin.
And Emperor Caelon was far from the only one.
Across dozens of empires, dominions, coalitions, and kingdoms, other council mbers were reacting in much the sa way. Shock, disbelief, and above all, fury.
To many of them, the Goddess’s summon felt like being ordered around by a re AI protocol—cold, direct, and completely dismissive of their authority. To act at her behest, without context, without deliberation, was to them the height of disrespect.
And so, the curse of the Goddesses—of Wisdom, Judgnt, and War—echoed silently across palaces and thrones alike.
Though they rarely voiced it aloud, the 24 regional council mbers had always despised the Goddesses.
Not because of their power—but because of how often that power had interfered in what these rulers considered their sovereign rights.Ti and again, the Goddesses had acted unilaterally—imposing reforms, overriding decisions, and seizing resources, all in the na of humanity’s survival or advancent.
But the truth, bitter as it was, remained:They were powerless to resist.
The Goddesses were ...
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