Aron’s laughter lasted for quite so ti, echoing through the simulation. He felt it deep within him—the climb was nearly over. He had been struggling up an impossible mountain, but now, at last, the summit was within reach. All that remained was the slide down, far easier than the ascent.
His exhilaration gradually settled into focus.
“Ti to put in the work,” he muttered, his voice filled with determination.
The simulation around him shifted, morphing into the familiar confines of his laboratory. Knowledge alone wasn’t enough; raw information was aningless without digesting it.
Beside him, Nova materialized in her physical form, this ti clad in a researcher’s uniform—symbolic of the role she intended to play. She adjusted her sleeves with practiced ease, but Aron spoke without looking at her.
“We’ll need to dedicate significant ti to this,” he said. “Not just us, but the Lab City researchers as well.”
He paused, considering the scale of what lay ahead. “Fully digesting and implenting this tech won’t be easy, but once we’re done…”
His golden eyes glead with anticipation.
“…the things we create will change everything.”
Both of them knew—this was a turning point.
Once this technology was fully integrated, the empire would beco an even more formidable force.
………….
Three Months Later.
In an abandoned patch of space, a void so absolute it seed as if the universe itself had forsaken it, there was nothing—no light, no movent, no matter.
A darkness beyond darkness.
Anyone who found themselves here would question whether they had lost their sight or if existence itself had ceased around them.
But this near-nothingness didn’t last.
A distortion rippled through the void—subtle at first, barely perceptible, like a dot forming in the fabric of space itself. Then, it grew.
It was as if a perfectly sealed box had been pierced, allowing the faintest glimr of light to spill through. And yet, paradoxically, that light revealed nothing—for there was nothing inside to reflect it, nothing to interact with the stray photons that now passed freely through the growing rift.
The dot expanded, swelling into a vast circle, its shimring borders dusted with what looked like cosmic glitter. Yet, at its center, there was nothing—no hint of what lay beyond, as if an unseen veil obscured the other side, allowing only the faintest slivers of light to seep through its edges.
Without a point of reference, its scale remained unknowable. Was it no larger than a coin? Or vast enough to eclipse a planet?
Then, without warning, sothing pierced through the veil.
Like a knife slicing through paper, an object pushed through, forcing its way into the void.
It was sleek, tallic, and unidentifiable, yet undeniably man-made. A mont later, another followed. Then another.
For an entire hour, the process repeated.
With each passing mont, the size and the number of the objects increased, pushing the limits of the expanding rift.
Then, the final object arrived.
It was massive, nearly matching the hole’s exact size. As it passed through, it scraped the shimring edges, but just as it reached the halfway point—
The hole collapsed.
In an instant, the rift snapped shut, cutting the colossal object in half.
The severed surface glead, smooth and reflective as a mirror—a perfect, impossible cut.
A mont later, a voice resonated through the void:
{TEST #LDWHT263847 OVER.}
With that declaration, the scattered objects flickered, their forms dissolving into nothingness—deconstructed, as if they had never existed.
The void reclaid its silence.
But even that did not last.
The instance was terminated.
{With that, we can finally say we understand all the requirents for safe Long-Distance Wormhole Travel,} Nova stated, her voice steady as she sifted through the mountain of data collected from the test.
Aron, arms crossed, watched the final data streams in deep thought. “The results are almost the exact opposite of what I initially expected.”
{You an the energy expenditure?} Nova asked, already predicting his line of thinking.
Aron nodded. “Yes. But now that I see the numbers, it makes sense.”
A third voice chid in, breaking the analytical atmosphere with a touch of amusent.
"Care to catch up on the exposition, dear?"
The speaker had been there the entire ti—a silent observer—but now, curiosity had finally gotten the better of her.
Aron chuckled at the question, turning to face Rina, who had made a habit of dropping in on his research—sotis to spend ti with him, other tis just to observe. He didn’t mind; if anything, he welcod it.
“Previously,” he began, “I assud that from the mont a wormhole was opened until it closed, you’d need to constantly supply a fixed amount of mana to maintain it. But the actual results were quite different.
"It turns out that most of the energy is consud during the creation of the wormhole—and the further apart the two ends are, the greater the mana cost. But once the wormhole is open, only a fraction of that energy is required to sustain it. The next major energy expense happens when an object passes through, with the cost scaling based on the object’s size. A small object barely consus anything, while a massive one demands significantly more.”
Rina took a mont to digest his explanation before speaking. “Then why aren’t the Trinairans—or any other civilization that has this tech—using it that way?”
Even with just a brief explanation, she could already see how this discovery revolutionized wormhole technology. Based on what she knew—thanks to her high access level to the Akashic Records—no known civilization was utilizing this tech anywhere close to its full potential.
Aron hesitated for the briefest mont before replying, feeling a slight sting at the half-truth he was about to tell.
“That’s because this is our improved version—built using their knowledge as a foundation and then refined far beyond what they’ve achieved,” he said. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.
The real reason? He had used his remaining SP to elevate all their knowledge to true Tier 1. Many of the civilizations’ specialized pieces of knowledge they had gained were incomplete, lingering just short of that threshold. That final push had drained him, consuming nearly everything he had, leaving him with only a few hundred SP to his na.
But that was a detail he had no intention of sharing.
“So does that an we’re officially a step ahead of the Trinarian in spatial technology?” Rina asked, clearly surprised that they had achieved such results in only three months of real-world ti.
“That would be true,” Aron replied carefully, “if what they gave us was truly their latest knowledge and not an outdated version.” He deliberately avoided a definite yes—confirming it outright could complicate things more than necessary.
“Woow,” Rina breathed out, not bothering with Aron’s skepticism. Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.
“Congratulations,” she said warmly. She knew how much ti and energy Aron had poured into this research. For the past three months, he had barely taken a mont to breathe, pushing himself relentlessly. Now that the results had finally co in, it ant he could finally relax—even just a little. That alone made her happy, both for him and for them.
Aron simply smiled, returning the hug without hesitation.
anwhile, Nova, realizing she had suddenly beco a third wheel, silently disintegrated, leaving the two lovebirds to themselves. As she did, she reconfigured the lab’s interior, seamlessly transforming it into a cozy ho—a space for them to unwind after months of tireless effort.
Reviews
All reviews (0)