The emperor's realistic 3D hologram flickered, its presence imposing yet familiar. His gaze softened as he studied Alaric, a quiet pride gleaming in his eyes.
"Rise, my son."
A warm smile graced his lips, a rare display of affection.
Alaric straightened, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
"I trust your expedition will be successful, Father."
His voice held confidence, but also the unspoken trust that had been ingrained between them since childhood.
The emperor chuckled, his expression carrying the certainty of an experienced ruler.
"Of course, it will be. Have you ever seen your father's plans crumble?"
Alaric smirked. "Well... that's true."
The simple exchange reflected a lifetime of mutual understanding.
The emperor leaned back slightly, his tone shifting to one of curiosity.
"How are your brothers? Is the youngest causing trouble again?" His words carried amusement rather than concern.
Alaric let out a short laugh.
"Nothing of the sort, Father. He never causes problems beyond my control. Honestly, sometimes I think he's even more intelligent than Solren."
The emperor's laughter echoed through the chamber. "Ha! They just have different strengths." His voice brimmed with admiration rather than mere analysis.
"Solren is a warrior—made to lead armies in war—whereas the youngest thrives on the scientific evolution of our society."
Alaric nodded, his expression contemplative. "You're right, Father. They both are invaluable in their own ways."
The emperor's gaze deepened, his warmth never fading but his curiosity growing. "Now, tell me—what's the real reason behind this late-night conversation?"
Alaric hesitated only briefly before speaking with sincerity. "You are truly a visionary, Father."
The emperor rolled his eyes with a knowing smile. "Enough flattery, Alaric. Speak." His tone was firm yet playful, the teasing only possible because of their unwavering trust.
Alaric exhaled, the moment of ease fading as duty took over. "
Yes... It's about the secret experiment you instructed Solren to oversee—deep in the desert, hidden from prying eyes..."
The warmth between them remained, but the weight of the discussion settled over them like an unspoken storm. Alaric launched into his grim recounting—the first successful trial of a research project that had been running for over five years, the devastation it had unleashed.
His voice tightened as he spoke of Solren's near-fatal experience, Isla's death, Kevin's enigmatic power and sudden, explosive growth, and, above all, the way he was subdued by thunderbolts.
His jaw clenched as he detailed the irreparable losses—the valuable pawns sacrificed, the destroyed helicopters, the looming consequences neither of them could ignore.
The emperor listened to Alaric's words patiently without saying a word of interruption, but the moment Alaric spoke of Solren's defeat at Kevin's hand, his eyes sharpened slightly because he knew Solren is someone who had enhanced and sharpened his fighting skills as a fourth-level of evolved superhuman for more than ten years.
The fact that a newly evolved person, through inhumane experiments, but still 'newly evolved' nevertheless, was this strong is both an opportunity and a danger, but for Emperor Theron Ragnar, everything except his family is just a tool.
And this new tool is something he was already in the know about.
"How should I proceed, Father?"
"Lock him within Ironhold, and before he wakes up, make sure to inject him with a large number of nerve-affecting nanobots."
Alaric immediately understood what his father is trying to achieve.
"I will do just as you have instructed, Father."
"One more thing, make sure that his existence remains a secret for everyone, allies and enemies both."
"After I come back, I will handle this matter with my own hands."
"Yes, Father."
The 3D hologram of the emperor disintegrated.
All that remained in its place is the conical device on the floor, whose plasma energy had diminished more than half.
Alaric picked it up before tossing it back on his study table beside the window.
He cannot help but think about his father's reaction toward this matter; it was as if he had already expected this, like he already knew the importance of this experiment subject.
"How did Father know about this?"
SOMEWHERE ELSE; LOCATION : ????
On the balcony of a top-floor suite, towering over the heart of his vast empire, Emperor Theron Ragnar stood in silent contemplation.
The city below, a masterpiece of civilization built under his reign, pulsated with life—an endless tide of ambition, trade, and silent wars fought in the shadows. Yet, he observed it all with the indifference of a ruler whose vision extended beyond mere bustling streets and flickering lights.
A cold breeze whispered through the night, rustling the heavy drapes behind him.
The suite itself was adorned in imperial grandeur—polished obsidian floors reflecting the soft glow of golden candelabras, towering pillars carved with ancient insignias of his lineage, and a throne-like chair resting within the chamber, a silent symbol of absolute dominion.
His fingers traced the iron railing, his brain contemplating the news he had just heard.
"Once again it has turned out to be correct." He thought internally.
Tonight had proven to be a long one for Theron Ragnar—not because Alaric had disturbed his sleep, nor because his journey had troubled him, but because he had once again experienced a dream. One among many that had come to him since his teenage years, each more significant than the last.
Just an hour ago:
Theron found himself standing at the base of an immeasurable mountain, its peak lost somewhere beyond the reach of sight, beyond the grasp of existence itself.
Around him, an endless sea stretched in every direction, its surface reflecting the sky in flawless, eerie perfection. The clouds drifted above, their movements mirrored precisely upon the water, as if the heavens themselves had been cast downward into the abyss.
He took a step forward.
Nothing changed.
Another step.
Still, he remained in place, unmoving despite the effort. The world around him refused to acknowledge his attempts to leave, trapping him in an expanse where direction was meaningless.
Only one path lay ahead—the stairs.
Rising from the water, they carved their way toward the mountain's summit, each step forged from an obsidian-black material so dense, so utterly devoid of light, that it consumed everything around it. They did not reflect the sky. They did not belong to the sea. They simply existed, waiting.
With no other choice, Theron ascended.
The journey was grueling. The air grew heavier with every step, pressing against him like an unseen force testing his resolve. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant rumble of something above—something waiting.
And finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached the peak.
Chaos awaited him.
At the center of the summit, a storm of green thunder raged in violent fury. Lightning cracked and tore through the air, its volatile energy obliterating everything in its path. The very ground beneath his feet trembled under its wrath, as if the mountain itself feared the storm's existence.
Yet within the eye of destruction, untouched by the chaos, stood a sword.
A single, double-edged blade, embedded into the ground like an immovable pillar against the storm's madness.
Theron's gaze locked onto it. The storm meant nothing. The fear meant nothing. The sword was all that mattered.
He stepped forward, entering the sea of thunder.
Electricity lashed at his body, searing through him with agonizing force—but the pain was irrelevant. He moved with unwavering resolve, his hand reaching toward the hilt.
The moment his fingers touched it, the world shattered.
The storm collapsed into silence. The mountain crumbled into nothingness. And in its place, something new emerged.
Floating within an endless void, a miniature planet materialized before him—a perfect replica of his empire, its cities glowing, its rivers winding, its mountains standing beneath unseen skies. And above it, casting its shadow upon the world, sat a throne.
A throne made of blood.
It loomed like an eternal sovereign, absolute in its authority, dominating everything beneath it. Power radiated from its form, pressing against Theron's very being, filling him with an understanding beyond words.
This was his.
The throne, the world, the fate of everything beneath it—his to take, his to command.
Then, in an instant, it all vanished.
The mountain, the sea, the sword, the throne—all dissolved into the void.
Theron Ragnar awoke.
Since youth, Theron had wielded his dreams as a weapon, a tool of absolute precision.
They were not mere visions but whispers of fate itself, allowing him to navigate the future with calculated efficiency.
It was this ability that had elevated him from a humble family head of the weakest keeper family in his country to the emperor of a vast empire spreading his wings in almost one-third of the continent, crafting the Ragnar Empire from the shadows of obscurity within 150 years.
He may not have understood his dream immediately, but just now, Alaric call have cleared the blurry image in front of his eyes, allowing him to put all the pieces together.
Now, Theron knows that Kevin is not just a successful experiment subject but a weapon, a double-edged weapon capable of either making him the overlord of his world or, if handled poorly, an executioner capable of drowning his whole empire in blood.