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{Chapter: 98: The Council of the World Heart}
The following day arrived cloaked in silence—unnatural, tense, and suffocating.
Far beyond the reach of common cities or mortal kingdoms, nestled within a realm hidden from the eyes of time itself, stood a place revered across the known and unknown lands—a mythical sanctum spoken of in hushed tones by the wise and feared by those who dare to trespass.
The Heart of the World.
It was not merely a geographical center, but a metaphysical one—a nexus where ley lines converged, where reality itself folded inward, giving rise to a domain forged from pure magic and memory.
At the core of this sacred land towered a structure older than history, older than even the people concept of time. It loomed like a mountain carved from starlight and stone, a monument of spell-forged obsidian veined with runes that pulsed with ethereal energy. Built during the first great unification of the world—an era lost in myth, when the scattered peoples of the realms briefly stood united under the guidance of the Grand Arcane Accord—this edifice had since become a symbol of absolute magical authority.
The Hall of Origin.
Every inch of the structure was steeped in unfathomable weight. The floor was made of polished obsidian etched with shimmering gold lines forming ancient sigils. The very walls whispered in tongues forgotten by mortals. Every stone brick bore the magical signatures—soul imprints—of generations of wizards. Some signatures had faded into dust, their casters long since departed into the Void. Others still shimmered brightly, burning with timeless brilliance, their bearers immortal or not yet claimed by death.
At the deepest, most secure inner sanctum of the hall stood a vast chamber crowned by a glowing altar suspended in the air. Above it hovered dozens of floating spheres of light, each of a distinct hue, radiating immense power and ancient wisdom. These were not mere artifacts. They were the manifested wills of the world's greatest Wizards, beings who had long shed their physical shells and fused their consciousness with the very fabric of magic itself.
As light from the altar flickered like a heartbeat, a deep, weathered male voice echoed solemnly through the chamber.
"Seventeen intruders breached our surveillance web in the world known as Jiaenser. Of those, eleven have been neutralized, six captured."
A murmur passed through the council—not of surprise, but of grim acknowledgment. For beings who had seen empires rise and fall, such events were never simple footnotes. They were portents.
"These individuals were well-trained and heavily modified. The weakest among them wielded strength equivalent to a Fourth-Rank Wizard, and the strongest were not far below a Fifth-Rank Wizard. Moreover, they bore foreign equipment—highly sophisticated constructs capable of cloaking them from conventional divinations and rendering them resistant to our magical countermeasures."
The white orb at the very apex of the gathering pulsed rhythmically as it continued, voice steeped in cold calculation.
"Initial deductions suggest that their purpose was espionage. Observation. Mapping. Perhaps laying the groundwork for an invasion. If this is the case, their presence represents both an insult and a challenge. One we cannot ignore."
The words struck like a blade of frost, hanging in the chamber with suffocating finality.
A deep azure sphere floated slightly forward, its voice low and grave.
"Have we obtained viable intelligence from the captives?"
The pursuit of knowledge had always been the backbone of wizardkind—but in times of crisis, that pursuit became a weapon.
"Unfortunately," the white orb replied, "they were prepared. Their souls were encrypted, layered with psychic defenses we've not seen in any known plane. Even after applying the most invasive rites, we were only able to extract fragments—disconnected thoughts, broken terms, fragmented data."
Another orb chimed in—green and dim, a voice that sounded aged and mournful.
"Were their bodies at least typical of any known race?"
"No. Their physical forms have been surgically altered—possibly grown, not born. Their internal structures suggest extensive cybernetic integration, a merging of biology and machinery. Any conclusions drawn from anatomy alone are unreliable at best."
No one expressed outrage. Such tactics were familiar.
The wizards had encountered hundreds of alien civilizations in their long stewardship of the realms. Each encounter had carried its own burdens—some awe-inspiring, others nightmarish.
A soft violet light flickered, followed by a voice marked by nostalgia.
"These methods… they remind me of the Kelun War, nearly one hundred and seventy-seven millennia ago. Those silicon-born aggressors with their hive minds, their replication engines, and their overwhelming numbers."
Another orb, crimson-edged, crackled like smoldering fire.
"The Kelun were relentless. They consumed entire continents in days. We lost millions of Wizards and countless archives to that war. You believe the Jiaenser invaders are similar?"
"No," came the reply from the white orb. "Similar, but more dangerous. The Kelun were purely technological. This new force has both technology and psychic power. A fusion of flesh and machine, discipline and instinct. A duality that makes them far more difficult to counter."
The orbs hovered in silence, processing the implications. The chamber grew cold.
Another voice, one that had remained silent until now—a sphere cloaked in shadows, its light barely visible—spoke with unsettling clarity.
"We must assume the worst-case scenario. The fact that they sent recon units means they already know of us. The fact that we caught them means we were not meant to. And that means time is running short."
There was no disagreement.
The white orb pulsed brighter now, as if weighed by decisions yet to be made.
"I have already reached out to the Scarlet Void—the interdimensional brokers of forbidden knowledge. I seek information about this Jiaenser civilization. So far, no reply. Whether they are negotiating or simply unaware remains to be seen."
A golden orb shimmered with intensity.
"We cannot wait for answers. If these enemies plan to invade, we must prepare. We must fortify our world, awaken our relic guardians, and reforge the pacts with the ancient races. s
Spirits, elemental lords—none can remain idle."
A ripple of energy spread across the room—every orb agreeing.
The chamber, though silent, trembled.
It was calm before the storm.
"Second!"
"..."
A brief pause followed, yet it was not filled with doubt—only a heavy, unspoken resolve. Seeing that the rest of the council had reached a unanimous consensus, the radiant ball of white light suspended above the altar—the one who had first voiced the grave intelligence—fell silent. No further persuasion was needed. No extended debate. Agreement had been achieved not through words, but through the weight of experience and ancient duty.
Thus, within a span of five short minutes—a heartbeat by the standards of a civilization as ancient as theirs—the call to arms had been made. The world's pre-war mobilization had officially begun.
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