Within the vast corridors of the Elarisian Dominion, unease had long since settled like a shadow. Though twenty galaxies lay compressed within their great mothership, their resources were nearly spent. They had mined stars until their cores dimmed, hollowed planets until they were barren stone. Entire systems had been drained, stripped bare, leaving little but memories of what once was.
It was the price of survival.
The Dominion stood on the threshold of a new order. Their mastery of spatial and arcane technology had elevated them close to the status of a true Type 4 civilization. With materials enough, they might have crossed that barrier. Their realm was already proof of their brilliance—an entire galaxy folded and moved as though it were a vessel. Yet brilliance required fuel. Without ores, without cores, without matter to transmute, even the most ingenious civilization would wither.
And now, pressed by war, their needs had become desperate.
For months the Orckish Empire had battered at their edges, gnawing like wolves sent by the greater predator: the Imperial Vulpes Empire. With four hundred and fifty galaxies under their dominion, the foxes were a tide sweeping outward across the void, leeching minerals from world after world. Their strength came not only from their cunning but from their detection technology, the sharpest in the known universe. The Dominion could hide from orcs, could vanish in fractured realms, but against the foxes' gaze their tricks faltered.
The foxes were not invincible though their spatial craft was weaker than Elarisian arcana, their speed in the cosmic sea made them formidable. Without mastery of space, they could not have bound half a thousand galaxies beneath their tails.
And so the Dominion endured, cornered, drained, hunted.
It was in this crucible that an unexpected presence arrived.
One day, from beyond the reaches of their phasing field, a great warship appeared. Its silhouette was unfamiliar: neither orcish brute-forge nor vulpine elegance. It hailed them openly, requesting parley. Its envoy offered trade materials in exchange for technology or culture.
Suspicion swept through the Dominion's high court. To Aur Leaflet, Empress of the Fairies, it reeked of a scheme. Surely it was another trap of the Vulpes, cloaked in deceit.
Yet when she demanded the envoy's name, the figure answered with calm precision.
"I am James Furn, envoy of the Golden Lion Empire. I come as representative of an immortal race."
Aur Leaflet frowned. She knew many peoples of the universe: elves and dwarves, humans and foxes, wolves and giants, golems and dragons. But never had she heard of lions crowned in gold.
So she tested him. "Do you know the Vulpes Empire?" she asked, her eyes narrowing like blades of glass. If he faltered, she would know.
James Furn only shook his head. "I do not. The name means nothing to me. Tell me what civilization is it?"
The Empress sat back, struck by the quiet certainty of his answer. He was not lying; of that much her intuition assured her. Then her earlier suspicions shifted. Could it be true? Was this envoy from beyond their region of the cosmos? If so, then the universe was vaster and stranger than even her scholars imagined.
For the first time in decades, hope kindled. Desperation was a harsh master, and the Dominion could not afford to scorn potential allies. And so, against her instincts, Aur Leaflet permitted James Furn and his carrier to enter their hidden realm.
The carrier slipped effortlessly through the Dominion's gates, guided by spatial anchors to the mainland dockyards of the Fairies' inner world. Around it rose towers of luminous crystal, floating citadels of light tethered above vast forests that shimmered under false suns. Dockhands and guards gathered, their armor glinting with woven enchantments. They had expected a foe, yet here was a stranger who walked calmly down the ramp of his ship, his presence both regal and restrained.
James Furn greeted the guard captain with measured courtesy. His voice carried authority without arrogance, as though he had spoken in hundreds of throne rooms and left each with dignity intact. The guards, trained in the paranoia of war, nevertheless lowered their weapons. This man did not carry himself like an enemy.
He was escorted through the halls of the palace, a marvel of woven arcana where silver roots climbed crystalline walls, and the air itself shimmered faintly with living magic. At last he stood before the throne of Empress Aur Leaflet.
James bowed low, his black attire pristine, his manner composed. "Your Majesty," he said, his words deliberate, "I come not with threat, but with an open hand. The Golden Lion Empire offers trade."
Aur Leaflet's eyes narrowed, yet curiosity glimmered beneath her guarded gaze. "What do you bring?"
At his signal, aides brought forward the list. James Furn recited without embellishment: Adamantite, Voidsteel, Energy Cores, Magic Cores, weapons forged with both energy and arcane power, and supplies of lesser ores and foodstuffs.
The Empress leaned forward. Adamantite yes, their forges starved for it. Energy and Magic Cores lifeblood for their shields and phasing drives. Even Voidsteel, though exotic, would feed their experimental projects. The Dominion's lack was not in minds but in matter. With such supplies, they might yet climb to the next step of their evolution.
"You can provide these in bulk?" she pressed.
James inclined his head. "The Golden Lion Empire does not lack resources. If you require much, we can provide much."
Aur Leaflet allowed herself the faintest smile. For the first time in years, the endless drain of war no longer felt like a noose tightening. "Then I shall give you our list in return," she said, signaling her scribes. "Not only materials, but seeds and relics of our people. Perhaps your empire will find worth in them."
The lists were exchanged.
As James read, his expression shifted, surprise flickering across his usually steady features. Seeds of Darkness. Seeds of Fire. Seeds of Light. He had seen countless wonders across countless battles and worlds but never these. Such things had not existed in his past universe. His researchers would devour them with awe.
His gaze fell further mithril in abundance, ores unknown to his current catalogues Rain Ore, Poison Ore. He thought of what master smiths could forge with these, what weapons and armors might emerge. His heart stirred with the old fire of discovery, the thrill of encountering something wholly new.
He nodded to the Empress with quiet satisfaction. "This will serve us well. Our trade shall not be a single exchange, but the foundation of friendship."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. In that pause, James's thoughts wandered not to the Empress, nor to the Fairies, but to memory.
He remembered another time, another war, another universe. The Lizardmen. A noble people who had fought beside the Golden Lion Empire when all seemed lost. They had given everything, pouring their strength into battle for peace. He had stood beside them, believed in their courage, and watched as they burned their own future for the hope of victory.
Only a handful survived, cradled in the Empire's protection when the war ended. Yet even that hope was betrayed not by outsiders, but by madness within. One among them had turned, driven by despair or corruption, and annihilated what remained of his people. James remembered the explosion, the silence afterward. He remembered the shame of failure the realization that they had protected a race only to watch it collapse from within.
The memory cut deep. He carried it not as spoken tale, but as a scar across his soul. It reminded him always of the fragility of alliances, of how even noble hearts could break.
And yet, standing in the Dominion's throne room, seeing the flicker of hope in Aur Leaflet's eyes, James allowed himself a small measure of faith. Perhaps here, in this corner of a new cosmos, the story might be different.
He straightened, pushing the memory aside, and inclined his head once more.
"Let it be known, Empress," James Furn said solemnly, "that the Golden Lion Empire extends to you the hand of amity. May our trade be the beginning of something greater. Perhaps, in time, we shall call one another not merely partners, but friends."
Aur Leaflet, weary of war, desperate for survival, felt the words settle within her heart. She did not yet know if this envoy's empire would prove savior or threat. But for the first time in long years, she glimpsed a future not bound in chains or blood.
And so she accepted his hand.