CHAPTER 4: DEPRAVITY
Above the clouds, a medium-sized airssel hummed through the sky, its frame hidden by advanced cloaking panels. Suddenly, it shimmered into visibility—sleek, royal, and marked by the Grelon Empire's golden crest.
Inside the airssel, a voice buzzed through the comms.
"Attention Honoured guests, we are descending. Estimated arrival at Grelon Empire—three minutes."
Two figures sat opposite each other.
The girl—elegant and composed—had light blond hair woven into graceful braids.She wore a pearly gown that shimmered in the cabin light, skin porcelain-pale, eyes quiet with entitled serenity. She looked like a portrait come to life.
Across from her, a boy sat slouched, twirling an orange cube in one hand. The cube pulsed—glow, dim, glow, dim—again and again.
"Theal, cut that out. It's annoying," she snapped, voice sharp as crystal.
Theal didn't even glance up. The cube kept spinning.
"I said cut it out!"
"I heard you," he muttered with a smirk, still flicking the cube between his fingers.
Hailey crossed her arms, nostrils flaring. "I'm so glad you'll be gone for a long, long time."
Theal finally looked up, his grin devilish.
"And I'm so glad I'm not being sold off like a piece of property."
Hailey scoffed.
"Property? Is that what you think this is?"
She leaned in, voice honeyed with mockery.
"No wonder Father keeps you out of the family business. He knows you're useless in politics."
Theal's eyes glinted.
"Hailey… you really think Santis Grelon—the First Acme, the man who has lived for more than forty-five thousand years —cares about a seventeen-year-old girl? To him you are a gift he has to receive to prove to the public he holds no hostility towards Father. That's all."
Hailey raised her chin.
"Hmph. What do you know about the affairs of the world? Iam destined to be worshipped for eternity. You will be chewed up by Hue beasts."
Theal chuckled, leaning back.
"My dear sister… I'll find someone for you. Someone suitable. Because the truth is—Father doesn't value you. To him, you're worth less than the stamp he uses to seal his letters."
He leaned closer, voice low and steady.
"I want nothing to do with Father's world. I am my own man."
Hailey rolled her eyes.
"Don't come begging when I'm Empress of the Grelon Empire. Wife of the strongest man on Dyson."
Theal laughed aloud, shaking his head.
"Strongest man on Dyson? You're a sheltered princess. Dyson is vaster than you imagine. And beyond it—there are monsters your little mind can't ever hope to comprehend. What I aspire will dwarf your entire fantasy."
Now truly annoyed, Hailey turned away from him, angling her body toward the window.
The airsell gave a soft jolt.
"We've arrived," the pilot announced.
Below them, the imperial landing zone unfolded.
A sea of silver and scarlet. A red carpet stretched out like a command.Lining it on both sides stood armored elites—the Noble Guards of the Grelon Empire. Each bore the sigils of the seven major families.At the carpet's center, a majestic figure stood waiting.Golden knight armor, polished to blinding brilliance. Even without moving, his presence was crushing.
Hailey's eyes widened. She reached for Theal's shoulder, panic flashing.
"That's… That's the Captain of the Blood Covenants! He serves directly under Acme Santis Grelon!"
She started patting Theal's shoulder frantically.
He sighed. "Calm down. You'll embarrass us."
The airsell hissed, releasing a pressure seal. The doors were about to open.Hailey tried to cling to Theal's arm, her panic turning into awe.Theal shook her off gently, keeping his composure as the ramp lowered and the Grelon winds rushed in.
So that's him… Cael Ardour. Warden of the Dead.
Stage 20 Imprinter. Just one breath beneath the Acmes. On par with Father.
Despite himself, Theal felt a thrill rush through his veins. Unlike Hailey, he didn't panic. He didn't fawn. He focused.
As the siblings prepared to step into the spotlight, Theal squared his shoulders.
---
Crew Station, Euka — Capital of the Grelon Empire
The stench of iron and sweat weighed heavy in the dim-lit cell.
Behind the marked prison wall, Siah and Stetto lay cuffed, backs against cold stone, both in varying states of bruised defeat.
Stetto's head drooped forward, a trickle of dried blood crusted at his brow, chest rising shallowly as if his body refused to commit fully to breath.
Silence reigned until Stetto finally muttered, "How'd you do it?"
Siah didn't turn. His eyes remained fixed on the rusted bars ahead. "Do what?"
Stetto shifted, wincing. "You used my Antimonic Print. My ract stone. How'd you access it?" His tone was low, cautious—like he was afraid the walls might listen.
"I just do it," Siah replied flatly.
"That—"
Stetto blinked, pushing his head back against the wall. "—shouldn't be possible. That's not how Hue or Prints work. Ract Stones are attached to the breath of life nobody should be able to use them but the owner."
"I've never had a ract stone," Siah replied, just as flat, eyes still forward. "So I had to use other people's ract stones to fight."
For a moment, Stetto stared at him, mouth slightly open. Then, narrowing his eyes with a mix of awe and alarm, he leaned closer.
"Wait. That means you can steal Ract stones? Use anyone's?"
Siah turned to him now—his stare quiet but fierce. "I have to meet certain conditions. It's not like picking pockets. So shut up… and pray to whatever Acme you believe in that we get out of this mess."
Just then, metal footsteps echoed beyond the bars. A holding officer appeared, panting, face flushed. He fumbled with his keys, opened the cell, and rushed inside.
"Forgive us! We didn't know—you should've said something!"
The room jolted to life. Inmates stared. Even Siah turned, bewildered. The officer dropped to one knee.
"You're… from the Shurur Empire," he said, his voice trembling. "We just recovered your ract stone. We had no idea."
A hush swept the cell.
One inmate dropped his tin bowl.
Another whispered, "The Slave Empire… Shurur…" Another hissed, "Fallen Acme Numen Acasta…" The murmurs turned to tension, fear—panic.
Stetto rubbed the back of his neck, awkward and clearly uncomfortable with the prostrating officer.
"Hey—uh—it's all water under the bridge. Really."
The officer rose, flustered. "Forgive us."
Before Stetto could answer, another voice pierced the moment.
"Siah!"
A woman's voice—raw, cracking with anguish. She burst through the doors, flinging herself toward the cell, only to be stopped by guards. Her cries tore through the chamber.
"My baby! What did you do to my son?!"
Everyone turned to Siah, who slowly stood, wincing from the strain. He moved to the bars, gently resting his cuffed hand on hers.
"I'm fine, mom. I promise."
Stetto stepped forward too.
"Let her go,"
he said to the guards.
"She's with me. And let him out, too. We're good friends."
The guards hesitated.
The holding officer frowned.
"Stetto will not be held responsible. The Empire—" he gulped, "—insists on it for political reasons. But… the vehissel damage, the property damage, the trespassing…"
His eyes shifted to Siah.
"The Crew Officer you offended has already processed your record. You'll have to take the full brunt."
Siah's face stiffened. "What does that mean for Crew Selection?"
The officer lowered his gaze. "No one with a criminal record can join. I'm sorry."
The silence that followed was unbearable. Siah slumped back, the weight of that truth heavier than the chains on his wrists.
His mother covered her mouth, tears still flowing.
And Stetto—silent—watched them both, guilt washing over his expression.