200. Interlude

Emperor Dragus Laketor stared out through the observation dome of the Palatial Satellite. The view encompassed a breathtaking swath of his empire, advanced technology and his Dao Manifest and Autonomy allowing him to view an entire universe as a 360-degree panorama.

Even as an Exalted, his omniscience was not sufficient to understand the individual details of over a 100 quadrillion citizens, but he could see the broad strokes. Imperial Consecration, his greater than Heavenly quality continent, sat at the universal Dao Heart and was perfectly positioned for his Exalted gaze.

The Disputed Shard, Mai Atal, Trexus, the Emerald Coast, Dragon’s Landing, Faden Gohm, Kaptonius, Sanctuary, Crimson Expanse, Hectopartiman, the Azurite Mines, Klei Utom, and Imperial Consecration.

Thirteen fiefs for the thirteenth Emperor.

His beloved ancestor, Kai Arcos Laketor, had understood the significance of numbers. Three by seven and eight, thirteen. Numbers had power. Numbers reflected the ontology and teleology of the multiverse.

His silver eyes with their distinctive halos of light studied the holographic projections hovering above his command table. His light red hair, bordering on pink, caught the ambient glow as he leaned forward, his imposing frame casting a long shadow.

“Your Excellency,” a voice announced from behind. "The Technomagica representative has arrived."

Dragus didn't turn. “Send her in.”

The door slid open with a soft hiss, and Advisor Nyx Valen of Technomagica entered the chamber. She wore the distinctive blue-black formal attire of the involved polity known as Technomagica, with its geometric magical sigils that seemed to shift subtly in the light.

The woman before him was an Exalted realm. Both of them were heavily cloaking their true power, but he could tell her Autonomy was not as developed as his own. Her Spiritual Body was almost certainly not as developed as his.

The Seal of the Emperor and the Infinite Crown had been passed down for thirteen generations. 150 million years of perfection and evolution were hard to surpass, even for an involved Exalted. The memories and skills he inherited had been tested against many an Exalted in the past.

“The Beneficent Fell Emperor Dragus Laketor,” she greeted, bowing deeply. “Thirteenth of your lineage and ruler of nine million years. Technomagica offers its continued support.”

“Save the formalities,” Dragus said, gesturing to the seat across from him. “I want answers about what is occurring in my universe. My empire. Why are involved polities sending their agents to the frontier? How was a demonic organization able to seduce one of my Grand Imperators who possessed my very Autonomy?”

Advisor Valen glided over to Dragus, standing side-by-side as they both watched his empire. It was to be expected. Actions spoke louder than words. A Technomagica Exalted would never consider herself to be inferior to a frontier Exalted.

Never.

“One question at a time, your majesty,” she said. “As for your man Choran, we cross-referenced the memories you provided us, along with our interrogation of the man known as Goe Emmar. There weren’t any matches to known involved demonic groups. Your Excellency, have you heard of Dawn’s Return?”

Dragus paled. It was not something that he had remembered doing in millions of years.

“Impossible!” he shouted with more force than he desired. “Dawn’s Return? The cultist group of the multiversal core? The same polity that contests for control of the Leyline of Carnation’s Maw against the Sublimed Machine themselves and two kingdoms of the Xin’ai Empire?”

“It is difficult to believe,” Nyx Valen conceded, “that a polity that powerful would be operating on the frontier. Yet it is the only explanation that makes sense. Even without the memories you provided, only a core polity could have instantiated the Devil Kings program across dozens of universal clusters without alerting the Sublimed Machine that their Pathfinder AIs were being subverted. That level of mastery over Fate is impossible for an involved polity alone. Thanks to whatever triggered their reveal in this universe, the Sublimed Machine has been able to deal with the remaining remnants of Dawn’s Return across our frontier satellites. You don’t have to worry about the Earthly Parisā’s gaze.”

“I was the one who contacted you about that,” Dragus stated.

“And we did not receive that message thanks to the machinations of Dawn’s Return. They hired Supernal Programmers. What could we have done?”

Dragus wanted nothing more than to tear this woman apart. He could do it, he knew. They were within his sanctum, where his ancestors had ensured his local omnipotence. He could impress his Domain upon the Technomagica representative and bend her knee.

Dragus was not stupid enough to do that. His reputation was that of a monster, but he knew his limits.

“What about this recent intrusion?” Dragus asked. “Explain that. I had to summon thousands of Profounds and Visionaries to clear out Barrow Province. I don’t believe any frontier polity would be able to infiltrate that landlocked territory so easily. Only 1% of the explorers on the zombified worlds survived.”

“They weren’t from a frontier polity,” Advisor Valen said simply. “They were from Dreaming Giant.”

“Your neighbor in the involved?” Dragus’s awareness of involved geography was poor, but he knew that much. “The ones from the body of a comatose Divine World Titan? How much more can you allow before you lose face? This has become an absurdity, and you are well aware of that fact.”

Nyx ignored his jibes, instead telling a story. “There is an ancient legend along the regional Quintessential Streams that branch off Carnation’s Maw. That in universes teetering on Chaos, the rulers of the age hid treasures and heritages on unassuming worlds.”

“They were searching for those worlds?” Dragus asked.

“That seems to be the case,” Advisor Valen said. “We don’t know if they found what they were looking for or not. I find those rumors to be unsubstantiated, bordering on myth, but perhaps I am wrong. In any case, I concur that your Empire has become an unusual center of attention. They do say that being so close to Chaos can sometimes entwine Fates. We will be monitoring you with more care. I will give a direct personal line if you have any questions.”

Monitoring you with more care. Those were the last words that Dragus wanted to hear. He knew what that meant.

The Emperor turned back to study the panoramic display of his universe, fury building silently within him. For a being of his power to be watched like a child was intolerable. Yet, he could not afford open conflict with Technomagica.

“One question, Advisor Valen,” he said, voice deceptively calm. “Dreaming Giant and Dawn’s Return—do they represent coordinated action? Or are these polities acting independently?”

“We believe they are unrelated," she replied after a moment's consideration. “Dawn's Return likely seeks to expand their influence along this leyline. Dreaming Giant's interest is for specific worlds.”

Dragus nodded slowly. “Thank you. I know the frontier seems quaint for a woman of your status. Neither of us desired such a meeting, but we do what we must. I do everything for the safety and future of my Empire.”

“I heard many things when I journeyed here,” Advisor Valen said. “People said you were a madman with disgusting personal proclivities. I see an honorable Emperor trying to steward his small realm. I wish you good luck from my sincere heart.”

Dragus allowed the Technomagica woman to step into the void between worlds, despite the rising heat in his heart at those last comments. When she was truly gone, he visited the depths of his Domain, pulling upon the Tools of the Imperium to contact his two closest confidants.

If Dawn's Return had compromised one Grand Imperator, others might follow. Grand Imperator Hyzanthlay and Grand Imperator Vireon were among his oldest and most trusted servants. If he could trust anyone with pieces of his Autonomy, it would be them.

The observation dome darkened as Dragus activated additional security measures. The distant stars visible through the dome seemed to dim, as if responding to his darkening mood.

Thirteen fiefs for the thirteenth Emperor. His inheritance, his responsibility—and now, his vulnerability. The weight of the Infinite Crown suddenly felt heavier upon his brow.

He would need to move carefully. Technomagica's offer, no, order of protection, came with strings that would bind his empire more tightly to their interests. Yet refusing their aid risked leaving his borders open to further incursions.

“Pathfinder,” he said, “access historical records: Dawn's Return operations, frontier regions, last million years.”

Data streams flowed across the holographic display. Previous incursions, strategies, outcomes. Patterns began to emerge.

As an Exalted realm and ruler of an Empire, his multiversal significance was greater than his subjects. As such, he had access to information about the core that even Visionaries were ignorant to.

Dawn’s Return was possibly the most active core polity on the frontier besides the Five Great Pillars. Most core polities wanted nothing to do with the frontier, but not them. They sought a greater purpose.

The door chimed, interrupting his thoughts.

“Enter,” Dragus commanded.

Grand Imperators Hyzanthlay and Vireon stepped into the chamber, both dropping immediately to one knee.

“Rise,” said Dragus, studying them intently. Could one of them already be compromised? How would he know?

“Your Excellency,” Hyzanthlay began.

“Silence,” Dragus interrupted with a Dao Command. As a universal emperor, his fluency with concepts of hegemony within the Language of the Pure Dao was impeccable. “Before we speak, I require proof of your identity and loyalty.”

Without hesitation, both Grand Imperators extended their Tools of the Imperium—the Seal of the Empire, a cracked infinity symbol, and the Infinite Crown, a near-invisible outline of a crown made of white light.

They contained fragments of Dragus’s own Autonomy, and were supposed to unequivocally bind them to him.

The Emperor reached out with his Domain, sensing the familiar resonance of his power within each artifact.

No contamination. No interference. Emperor Dragus reached across his nigh-interminable set of memories passed down from parent to child in thirteen generations, applying every trick in the book to ascertain the loyalty of his two Grand Imperators.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of Choran’s death,” Dragus said. “The truth is, he did not die. He was a traitor, allying himself with a demonic organization from the multiversal core. We have no idea what his current whereabouts are.”

Shock registered on both faces.

“Impossible,” Vireon whispered. He was a pale-skinned man with jet-black hair in a topknot, three silver facial scars, and unnaturally bright blue eyes. “The safeguards within the Tools of the Imperium—“

“—were insufficient,” Dragus finished. “We face a threat beyond the usual scope. In addition, the incursion into Barrow Province was by an involved polity named Dreaming Giant. In summary, we are being bullied for our weakness.”

“What would you have us do, Your Excellency?” Hyzanthlay asked, her expression hardening into determination. She had the pure bronze skin found in natives of the Emerald Coast, her voluminous hair let down in box braids. Her eyes shifted between green and yellow—marking her almost unheard of dual sunmatter and wood Mana affinities.

“Prepare the Court of Infinity for emergency war protocols,” Dragus replied. “Quietly. No official announcements.”

“Yes, your excellency,” they replied in tandem.

“And summon the princes. The twelve, and my dear grandnephew. It is time to remind them where their loyalties lie.”

As the Grand Imperators bowed and withdrew, Dragus returned his gaze to the universe visible through the observation dome. Somewhere out there, forces beyond even his comprehension were moving against him, against his empire.

Monitoring you with more care. The words echoed in his mind, a promise and a threat.

Dragus’s Autonomy stirred deep within his Spiritual Body, his Domain.

Let them watch, he thought, teeth clenched in determination. Let them all watch. This is my empire, my inheritance. And I will defend it against all who would threaten it.

As his mind raced with plans and countermeasures, his thoughts turned to his illustrious ancestor.

Kai Arcos Laketor, the First Emperor, founder of the Final Frontier Empire. The memories poured through him—not merely recollections, but lived experiences passed down through each generation via the transfer of Autonomy.

Kai Arcos had discovered the untainted frontier lands as a Visionary fleeing an involved polity from the other side of the multiverse. He had achieved Exalted despite the limitations imposed on him by the frontier, a testament to a genius that none of his descendants could match up to. No matter how you sliced it, Dragus was not as talented as Kai Arcos.

But his ancestor had been wise enough to recognize the limitations of the frontier. The statistical certainty that his descendants would be less talented than him.

The memory crystallized in Dragus's mind: Kai Arcos standing before the first Court of Infinity, explaining his vision. The Final Frontier Empire would not be ruled by a succession of Emperors merely related by blood, each starting anew. Instead, his Autonomy would pass from ruler to ruler, accumulating power, wisdom, and understanding of the Dao with each generation.

“Ascension to the Heavens is impossible if you look at progress on the frontier individually,” Kai Arcos had declared. “But perhaps, over generations, the accumulated weight of our collective cultivation might crack the Heavenly firmament itself.”

Thirteen generations. One hundred and fifty million years of unbroken cultivation, passed down from Emperor to Emperor. Each adding their unique insights to the whole, each pushing the boundaries of what a frontier Exalted could achieve.

And now, Dragus realized, the moment Kai Arcos had foreseen might finally be at hand.

The Emperor of the Final Frontier accessed the imperial archives, summoning a secure display of intelligence reports on the neighboring Republic of Stars. Their Prime Minister, Zhen Kavora, was herself an Exalted with inherited Autonomy—five generations strong. A formidable opponent, but lacking compared to his thirteen.

More importantly, the Republic's mercantile focus had softened them. They cultivated for stability, for commercial advantage, not for war. The Dao Manifest of the Prime Ministerial office presented a different vision than the Laketor line, which bathed its enemies in blood.

“Pathfinder,” he commanded, “strategic analysis—the full war machine of the Final Frontier Empire against the Republic of Stars.”

The advanced AI was another aspect that the Republic lacked. The neighboring universe was in a separate universal cluster, not within Rainmorrow and not under Sublimed Machine jurisdiction.

The Pathfinder processed countless variables, presenting projections that confirmed what Dragus already suspected. While it would be a Pyrrhic and difficult victory for the aggressor, an invasion was possible.

With the combined Autonomy of his line and Zhen Kavora, he would break through to Ascendant. He would ascend to Heaven and pledge his loyalty to the Jade Throne, and his Empire would become a new rock of the Earthly Parisā.

“Draft a new imperial edict,” he told the Pathfinder AI. “Interdiction of Unlicensed Commercial Vessels.”

A thin smile formed on his lips. “Cite contraband concerns along our borders with the Republic. Mobilize the production of warships in secret, and position our current warships as trade vessels.”

Four years time should be enough, Dragus thought. He didn’t want to delay any further. Further info gathering could change the timeline, but not by a significant amount. It was time to see what the full might of the Final Frontier Empire’s war machine could do.

What a coincidence it was also the perfect opportunity to use the corporations as cannon fodder. Everything was falling in line.

The observation dome's view shifted, focusing now on the border regions between his empire and the Republic of Stars. Soon those peaceful sectors would become battlegrounds. Soon he would claim the final components needed for his ascension.

And then—then those involved polities would no longer monitor him with care.

------------

Within the eye of a slumbering World Titan was a certain meditation chamber. This chamber was accessible only to those with the proper cultivation and authority—only the seven strongest Ascendants of Dreaming Giant and the two Divine realms of the polity were permitted.

Its walls were fashioned from the exotic tertiary dream affinity, which was naturally produced by the slumbering World Titan whose body formed the entire polity. The chamber's interior pulsed with soft cerulean and violet light that ebbed and flowed once a day like the tides of a planet, mirroring the breathing pattern of their comatose Divine host.

Kadeus knelt on a translucent platform that seemed to be made of solidified mist. Before him sat Lord Cypher, his master and the Sovereign of Dreaming Giant's Revenant Cognition Assembly.

The ancient Ascendant's form was indistinct—a silhouette filled with swirling constellations and cosmic dust, his true appearance concealed behind layers of Ascendant-level defenses and illusions. Even concealed, the pressure of his cultivation base made the surrounding dream-stuff ripple with each subtle movement.

No one knew the true origin of Lord Cypher, but it was rumored that he was a confluence beast for the tertiary affinity of dream, the same way a zephyral was the elemental beast of air. Phantasmids, they were called, but this was simply a rumor.

“The currents have shifted,” Lord Cypher's voice resonated within Kadeus's mind rather than disturbing the sacred silence of the chamber. “The Astrashan has shown me that the Quintessential Stream of our target universe has shifted and accelerated its movement. Our timeline must adjust accordingly.”

"How much time remains before the optimal invasion window, Master?"

Lord Cypher gestured, and the air between them transformed into a miniature model of the multiverse surrounding their target—the Final Frontier Empire. Glowing threads representing multiple avenues of understanding the future flowed through the model.

“Chaos is too active,” Lord Cypher replied. “I won’t be able to ascertain the exact moment until the time comes, even after asking my future self for assistance. Seven to ten years is the only number I can provide. The currents will align perfectly some time in that period, allowing us to transport our full war apparatus across the void.”

“Seven to ten years,” Kadeus repeated. “I apologize, Master. If I had been able to obtain the key without alerting Technomagica, we could have avoided all this.”

“Fate aggregates in some places rather than others,” Lord Cypher said mysteriously. “There was no avenue for your mission to succeed.”

Kadeus hesitated to ask his next question, but he went for it anyway. The Sovereign of the Revenant Cognition Assembly was not known to be callous with true servants of Dreaming Giant.

“With my mission’s success, am I to be provided with the resources promised for my advancement to Exalted?”

“Do not doubt Lord Cypher’s promises.” The atmosphere of the cultivation chamber grew cramped for a split second. “You may enter the foot of the Dreaming Giant’s Domain and drink of its memories after you leave me. Break through to Exalted and help lead the war efforts. Technomagica has taken an interest in the frontier universe. It won’t just be a frontier Exalted.”

Lord Cypher returned to his unknowable and unreadable state. “Still, do not underestimate anyone. An Exalted with thirteen generations of accumulated Autonomy is unusual for the frontier.”

The chamber's variegated light pulsed more intensely for a moment. Both cultivators paused, respectfully waiting for the rhythmic illumination to settle. This was the language of the World Titan—a semi-conscious communication from the slumbering Divine being.

This time, his musings were completely incomprehensible.

To Kadeus, that was. The Ascendant knew better.

“The Titan stirs,” Lord Cypher said, his mental voice reverent. “One of your sons journeyed with you on the mission and died?”

“Yes, Master,” Kadeus said. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“The Titan senses a connection between your son and something of its lineage. A fragment that predates its birth. You do not understand, child.”

Lord Cypher’s form changed, the borders of his silhouette blurring, the cosmic dust within him churning like a nebula in formation, streams of dream essence leaking outward before being forcefully pulled back.

“We knew that the legend was true and held power beyond reckoning, but this is different. An Ancient Dream Dao of a past aeon. A slumbering Titan that should rightfully stand a Truthseeker. Old things stir. If I am correct, the treasures we seek contain a fragment of a time when the Dao was more perfect. Find the key, open the way, and secure our future. Come back to me after you break through to Exalted. I need your assistance in peering through the Astrashan for your son. Perhaps we must hire ghost cultivators to find his soul. This is what I ask of you. ”

“It shall be done.”

Kadeus left the chamber, he clenched his fists in joy. He understood the predicament the upper crust of Dreaming Giant were in all too well. If they mobilized too many of their forces, the rats would follow. They risked losing the hidden gem on the frontier.

After he left, the chamber flickered in an unusual pattern—three pulses, stillness, seven pulses, stillness, eight pulses, stillness, thirteen pulses. Stillness.

“Three by seven and eight, and thirteen,” the Sovereign whispered in the Language of the Pure Dao. “The key is ours.”

------------

In formless form outside the firmament, ancient enemies clashed in eternal combat. Here, where possibility met certainty, twisted shapes of impossible dimensions warred against figures wreathed in shadows and bearing elder arcana. Their battle rippled through Chaos, distorting sections of reality larger than fully-grown Abyssal Titans.

A small presence watched from the periphery. Smaller and far younger than the kin it observed, it possessed a patient intelligence rarely seen among its kind. Its form shifted constantly, never settling on a fixed shape—now a spiral of darkness studded with points of cold light, now a crystalline structure that bent perception around itself.

The little one had studied the eternal conflict for what might have been millennia or mere moments—time held little meaning there. It had noted patterns in the seemingly random struggle, had observed how the defenders moved to counter each intrusion attempt.

And finally, it saw opportunity.

Where two titanic forces collided, a momentary weakness appeared in the dimensional barrier—a ripple of instability no larger than a thought. In the heartbeat between one clash and the next, the youth slipped through, compressing its essence into something that could traverse the space between spaces.

The passage burned. Reality itself rejected the intruder, Multiversal Law attempting to eject what could not exist. Yet the small one persisted, fragmenting its consciousness into shards that could survive the crossing.

The vast majority of it consciousness perished from struggling against the outer firmament. Indeed, only one fragment survived.

Somewhere in the distant reaches of an unremarkable frontier universe, a star flickered briefly. A monitoring station registered an unusual energy pattern before returning to baseline. The multiverse continued its endless expansion, the infinite stretches of Chaos somehow shrinking as higher dimensional spaces expanded and contracted.

A breach.

-----------

Commander Varen adjusted the dimensional scanner, watching the holographic display flicker with patterns that would drive untrained minds to madness. The equipment, housed in a chamber carved from dark stone and illuminated by strange, pulsing light, detected disturbances in the outer firmament that protected the multiverse from Chaos.

“Anomaly detected,” reported his senior analyst. “Pattern matches previous incursions.”

Varen's fingers tapped against the console. A thousand years hunting threshold breaches had taught him to recognize the subtle differences between random fluctuations and deliberate infiltration.

“Location?” he asked, studying the dancing patterns of light.

“Southern Carnation’s Maw,” said the analyst, “between the 8th and 12th Quintessential Stream.”

Varen stilled. While he was a Squad Leader of the Chaosbeast Intrusion Division, he was still high enough up the chain of command to know that those streams were part of the regions that the Resurrection Sciences Division had been seeding with Devil Kings.

“Containment protocol?” Varen turned to the youngest member of his hunting cadre. Only twenty years old, she was a Peak Adept, waiting to break through until they returned to the core and could provide the proper treasures. To the savages out in the boonies where they hunted, she would be considered a Divine Prodigy.

The frontier was a savage place, Commander Varen thought. Even a universal Dao Heart lacked sufficient qi concentration for him to progress to Ascendant before his lifespan ran out. All his progress halted whenever he had to take down the Chaosbeasts. It was only because of the ridiculous compensation he had even joined the Chaosbeast Intrusion Division.

His newest apprentice was a talented young woman scouted from a feeder planet in the core. Talented, intuitive, and troublingly compassionate. Her refusal to eliminate witnesses during their previous operation had earned her punishment: thirteen ritual scars across each palm. Such disobedience would normally warrant removal from field operations entirely, but her talent was too valuable to waste.

And, though he would never admit it to his superiors, he saw something in her that reminded him of his younger self, before decades of service had calcified his heart.

She looked at him with unrestrained contempt, more ire than any of his other subordinates had dared show him in several lifetimes. He knew that she still loved him like a father, however, and that look faded fast. The scars on her hands were still fresh, reminding her that her cultivation had been forcibly suppressed to Early Adept.

“We split the unit up into thirteen groups. Each group analyzes parts of the streams. Upon detecting the breach, they are to lie low unless the breach endangers the universe. They must call for back-up and only engage once they have over three times the force required to kill the breacher. Outside observers must be kept away at all costs, and any indigenous witnesses to the breach or Chaosbeast must be eliminated.

“Your recall has always been perfect like a machine,” he said. “You’ll journey with me.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Varen studied her. The organization valued cold efficiency and unquestioning loyalty, but experience had taught him that occasionally, a different perspective yielded better results. This particular breach felt... unusual. The patterns eluded him in a vexing way, despite being an Exalted following the Dao of Order.

The zealots of the Scholarmancy Division refused to use Fate altogether, considering it a blight on nue, but Varen had a more holistic approach. His foresight into the flow of reality was more insightful than most at his realm.

Everything told him that she needed to come.

“This will be your assignment," he said, gesturing toward the display. “Live amongst them. Come up with a fake name, a fake backstory if you will. See the blight that has been caused by the First Sin. Remember what we fight for. Remember the need for Paradise.”

She didn’t flinch, but her silence was loaded.

“I understand,” she said finally. “You’re sending me away for what I did.”

“No,” Varen replied. “I’m reminding you.”

He turned the display toward her—ruined landscapes, twisted cultivators, dying sects clinging to routine like it meant something. The aftermath of negligence. The cost of mercy.

Her fists clenched, the ritual scars on her palms glowing faintly. But she bowed.

“Yes, Commander.”

He watched her go, shoulders tight but posture straight. She was still angry—but the lesson would take root. It always did.

Then Varen turned back to the scanner.

The breach pulsed steadily.

Whatever came through, it was already in motion.

And time was short.