January 12, 2026 — 10:04 AM
MOA Complex — Executive Wing, Thomas's Suite
The morning sun filtered in through the armored glass panels of the suite, casting angled rays across polished marble and steel. For once, there were no sirens blaring, no tactical alerts on the overhead screens. Just silence—soft, tranquil silence.
Thomas Estaris exhaled and let his back sink into the leather couch.
His wrist console flickered with a soft chime. The screen displayed his current status once again:
[User: Thomas Estaris]
[Level: 50]
[Experience Points: 123,808,218 /134,758,442]
[Blood Coins: 5,234,512,445]
More than enough to launch another campaign.
But for the first time in months, he didn't feel like launching anything.
He stood up and grabbed his Overwatch utility jacket—not because he needed it, but because habit was a hard thing to kill. The hallways were quiet. His elite guards nodded as he passed, but none spoke unless spoken to.
Even they knew their commander needed this.
