A long, drawn-out silence descended, thick and heavy as a shroud. Collyer Valerian's mind raced, weighing the monstrous proposal.
The risks were galactic. Colluding with another Province, a notoriously aggressive one at that, against a threat within their own borders was an act of high treason. If they were discovered, the Valerian name wouldn't just be disgraced; it would be erased, branded as traitors for all eternity. They would be outcasts, hunted by the very people they once served.
But what did that matter now?
What was honor when set against the searing, all-consuming need for vengeance?
What was loyalty to a system that had allowed two Sump-rats to humiliate them, to shatter their pride and steal their legacy?
The alternative was a slow, agonizing decay into irrelevance, forever living in the shadow of their failure. The prize Kane offered was not just the catharsis of Orion and Lyra's deaths, but a chance to violently reclaim their family's honor, to gain the continent-spanning prestige of slaughtering two nascent B-Rank villains.
The temptation was an undeniable, intoxicating poison, and Collyer drank it down without hesitation.
His shattered pride solidified into a grim resolve. He gave a slow, firm nod, his eyes burning with a renewed, venomous fire. "Then it is settled. We will provide you with the necessary coordinates and tactical data for the Academy grounds. We will refine this plan until it is a flawless instrument of their destruction."
A faint, chilling smile returned to Kane's lips. "I expect nothing less."
With the treacherous pact sealed, the meeting concluded as abruptly as it began. The two groups separated, retreating to their respective transports.
The air between them still crackled with an unspoken energy, the low hum of a conspiracy that would soon set the world ablaze.
As the Ironhearth armored transport rumbled back toward the desolate beauty of the Broken Wastelands, the woman who had presented the device, Commander Iskra, finally let the sneer she had been holding back bloom across her sharp, beautiful features.
"To think we must ally ourselves with such pathetic tools," she snorted, her voice like the cracking of glacial ice.
She meticulously polished a wicked-looking combat knife, her movements precise and devoid of wasted motion. "A mere child throwing a tantrum over a stolen toy," she said, nodding in Ryan Sterling's direction, "and a pack of broken dogs licking their wounds, deluding themselves into thinking they still have teeth. Hmph. It is no wonder their Province is in such a disastrous, chaotic state."
Director Kane, staring out of the reinforced window at the passing landscape of petrified, crystalline trees, maintained his placid smile. "Pathetic as they may be, Commander, they are still useful assets. Their desperation makes them predictable, a blunt instrument we can aim with precision. Their public, grief-fueled rampage will provide the perfect justification for our intervention, making the capture of the boy and girl all the more simple."
A colder, more predatory smile blossomed across Iskra's face. "Ah, yes. The girl is quite the savage dog, a wild beast lashing out with untamed power. But even the wildest beasts can be correctly… guided… with the right leash."
She paused, running a thoughtful finger along the edge of her blade. "And the boy," she licked her lips, a predatory glint in her eyes that was far more dangerous than the steel she held, "it is undeniable he possesses something extraordinary. A catalyst. Something that can change the very foundation of this world. Something that will be very, very pleasurable to test."
Kane finally turned his gaze from the window, his eyes no longer just sharp, but filled with the cold, boundless light of world-shattering ambition. "And with those two under our control, I do believe it is finally time that Ironhearth stops being a mere C-Rank Province."
He looked at his commander, his smile finally reaching his eyes, revealing the true, terrifying depth of his vision. "It is time for a new age. The age of true heroes."
...
A current of profound anticipation, electric and almost tangible, had wrapped itself around not just Zenith City, but every corner of the Cascadia Province.
It was a day etched into the very soul of the era, a moment when history itself seemed to hold its breath.
This was the day of Orion's demonstration, the grand stage upon which he would either validate a claim that bordered on blasphemy or be branded a charlatan for all time.
He had promised to shatter the unbreakable, to tear down the sacred limits of C-Rank, and no one, from the lowliest Sump-dweller huddled around a flickering public holoscreen to the highest-ranking hero observing from a private lounge, dared to miss the verdict.
Even ordinary citizens, whose lives were governed by the whims of the Talented, were glued to their devices, a deep, instinctual understanding that the outcome of this day would irrevocably shape their future.
The Aegis Academy, always a beacon of prestige and power, felt today as if it were the absolute center of the known world. Its crown jewel, the Crucible, was a breathtaking marvel of Aether-tech engineering—a colossal, transparent dome of reinforced plas-steel that encapsulated a finely crafted testing facility, shimmering under the brilliant morning sun like a captured star.
Normally, it hosted the graduation trials for the Academy's most extraordinary students, its audience seats filled with proud peers, stern instructors, and the scions of noble families.
But today was anything but normal.
Those seats were now occupied by the titans of Cascadia. Patriarchs and matriarchs of the great houses sat in stony silence, their very presence a testament to the event's gravity.
Legendary C-Rank heroes, pulled from their duties on the front lines, watched with analytical eyes. Stern-faced directors of megacorporations and shadowy figures from every powerful institution had gathered, their political machinations momentarily paused.
A swarm of silent, hovering drones recorded every angle, broadcasting the event to the millions watching across the continent. The tension was a physical weight, a heart-stopping pressure that united hero and villain, noble and commoner alike, in a singular, breathless moment of suspense.
At the very center of the polished arena floor, four figures stood with an impossible, almost infuriating calm.
Orion and Lyra occupied the main stage, their postures relaxed, their expressions unreadable, as if this world-shaking event were nothing more than a casual afternoon stroll.
To their side, Elysia Wintercroft stood with her innate regal bearing, her stunning face a mask of the ice-cold temperament she was famous for, though a flicker of dangerous excitement danced in her sapphire eyes.
Lisanna Vance, by contrast, wore a placid, easy smile, radiating a sunny warmth that seemed to defy the crushing tension in the air.
As the last of the dignitaries found their seats, the air began to hum with the subtle thrum of countless Aether Senses cautiously probing the stage.
It was a silent, invisible war of perception.
No one dared to focus their senses on Orion or Lyra for more than a fleeting second; to do so felt like staring into a starless abyss that stared back, promising nothing but absolute oblivion.
Instead, they focused on the two young women, and what they perceived sent ripples of pure shock cascading through the stands.
In a VIP box lined with deep crimson velvet, a group of grizzled, older heroes—legends whose faces were carved into monuments—muttered amongst themselves in disbelief.
One, a man with a jaw of granite and scars that told stories of a dozen city-level threats, leaned forward, his voice a low rumble of confusion. "This is... just how? When Young Elysia and Young Lisanna appeared on that fateful day, their auras, while impressive, were at most stronger than an average C-Rank. And now..."
A woman beside him, whose silver hair was bound in a severe knot and whose eyes held the wisdom of a century of hero work, nodded slowly. "Indeed, General. They're far more powerful. Even restrained, I can feel a density, a sheer pressure, to their Aether Cores that simply wasn't there before. It's like comparing forged steel to a raw, unrefined ingot. Their power has been tempered into something far deadlier."
Elsewhere, a cluster of nobles whispered behind their gloved hands, their composure cracking.
"Is what he claimed really true?" one asked, his eyes narrowed with a mixture of hope and avarice. "Are we truly about to witness a miracle that can be bought?"
Another, older and more cynical, sighed, swirling the expensive liqueur in his glass. "My friend, it seems it is far better to not try and predict anything these days. The world is changing, and we must either change with it or be swept away by the tide."
The low murmur of the crowd reached a crescendo and then fell into a deafening silence as the authoritative voice of Principal Gold, amplified by the stadium's speakers, boomed through the Crucible.
"The test will be simple!" he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Five high-ranking members of the Valerian Family's elite Silver Guards are here. Each of them is a veteran warrior, a hero at the absolute peak of C-Rank, and equipped with the finest Aether combat suits money can buy. Elysia Wintercroft and Lisanna Vance will face them as our sensors judge their capabilities. Let the demonstration begin!"
As if summoned by his very words, five streaks of brilliant azure light flashed across the stage, landing with a synchronized, concussive boom that sent a tremor through the floor. They resolved into five imposing figures.
The Silver Guards stood arrayed, their custom Aether suits shimmering like polished sapphire. The Aether auras they projected were intensely profound, disciplined, and sharp as a blade's edge.
But beneath the grim masks of duty, their faces were etched with a pure, unadulterated hatred. The humiliation their family had suffered at the hands of the two siblings on stage was a festering, septic wound in their souls. Even if their chances were slim to none, they would carve out some measure of revenge, some pound of flesh, from those associated with the monsters who had ruined them.
A small, amused chuckle cut through the crushing tension. It was Lyra.
"It's good these dipshits can figure out something right," she commented dryly, her voice carrying easily across the silent arena. "At least they know how to stand still and look pretty before they get broken."
The remark was like a physical blow. The five guards visibly flinched, their hands clenching their Aether-forged longswords so tightly their knuckles went white. A low growl rumbled from the lead guard's chest.
As Lyra casually strolled back to stand beside her brother, Orion shot a wry, encouraging smile at Elysia and Lisanna.
"Well then," he said, his voice laced with playful confidence. "It's time for my lovely maidens to rock the entire world."
"Hmph." Elysia puffed out her chest, a vision of noble pride, her chin held high. "It is only what's expected of a Wintercroft."
"Hehe," Lisanna giggled, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a brilliant smile. "Don't start drooling when we wow the world now, Orion."
Orion chuckled and joined his sister, leaving the two girls to face their opponents. The sheer casualness of the exchange, the utter lack of concern for the five peak C-Rank heroes before them, finally cracked something within the guards' disciplined minds.
"HAAAAH!"
With a single, guttural roar that was part battle cry and part a scream of pure, undiluted frustration, the five guards erupted. Their power exploded outwards, five distinct whirlwinds of violent Aether howling into existence. Specks of condensed water Aether rippled from their bodies like rain in a hurricane.
In perfect, practiced unison, they slashed their swords, their movements a blur of lethal intent.
Waves of raw pressure, tangible and crushing, burst forth, superimposing on top of one another to form a single, terrifying tsunami of force. From this wave, five distinct streams of razor-sharp water—honed by Aether to an edge that could slice through city blocks—howled towards Elysia and Lisanna.
The sheer intensity of the combined attack stole the breath from the audience. Such a focused, overwhelming assault would be nearly impossible for even a team of peak C-Rank Heroes to defend against, let alone counter. The world seemed to hold its breath, anticipating the collision.
But right then, Lisanna smiled.
She moved, and it was not a movement that could be tracked by the human eye. It was a violation of physics. She was simply there one moment, and gone the next, reappearing several feet forward as a brief, beautiful flicker of golden light.
Her palm opened, and from it rippled an unfathomable wave of heat that instantly warped the air, creating shimmering mirages across the arena. A storm of pure Aether howled out of her, no longer the gentle warmth she was known for, but a raging, untamed inferno. Flickering spurts of light-flames, like miniature solar flares, whipped violently from her body as her aura surged to a degree that was simply, blasphemously terrifying.
The reinforced stage beneath her feet groaned, hairline cracks spiderwebbing outwards as patches of the plas-steel began to glow cherry-red, slumping and melting into slag under the sheer, suffocating ambient heat.
This… this was not C-Rank. This was not even close.
In the audience, eyes went wide. Heroes and nobles, safe behind the Crucible's powerful defensive barrier, still felt a primal, instinctual fear. They struggled to maintain their composure as a horrifying realization slammed into them with the force of a physical blow: the Valerian guards' ultimate combined attack was utterly, laughably pale in comparison to the power now being unleashed.
An orb of blindingly condensed light-flames, a miniature sun, pulsed in Lisanna's palm. She giggled, a sound that was both angelic and utterly terrifying, as she saw the color drain from the faces of the five guards, their expressions frozen in pure, soul-shattering horror.
"Burn away," she said simply.
With a soft, almost gentle pulse from her hand, the orb shot forward. It did not fly so much as it expanded, an incandescent wave of searing light-flames that blossomed into a churning, flaming vortex several meters wide. It was a maelstrom of pure energy that exerted its own gravitational pull, wildly sucking in the five howling streams of razor-sharp water.
There was a shattering crack, a sound that resonated not in the ears but in the very bones of everyone present, as two opposing forces of nature collided.
The five waves of water Aether were not deflected or dispersed—they were completely, utterly vaporized, unmade and erased from existence in an instant.