Chapter 1593 — 5:00 AM

Since the faster-than-light communications between the two planets went dark, the Loren Alliance seemed to have slipped back into a solitary existence—adrift in the vast, silent, and cold sea of stars. No distant greetings pierced the dark night; all life on the planet crouched under gravity’s pull, facing the boundless cosmos alone, quietly calculating the time left before the coming Maelstrom.

The superluminal communication arrays on Antavian had fallen silent. The antenna arrays atop the towering Solin trees no longer received any signals. The Decoders had temporarily returned to their individual research fields, and the servo-brain arrays once dedicated to translating alien languages had been reassigned to other neural network tasks. Everything appeared to be returning to square one—but beneath the surface, everything had already changed.

Though the Loren people still crouched beneath gravity’s weight, their heads were now held high, ready to face the stars—because somewhere among those stars, another intelligent species awaited the sound of their voices once more.

As the seasons turned on the planet’s surface, a grand project was finally nearing completion.

Far above the ground, deep in space, within the ancient megastructure known as the Celestial Station orbiting the planet, Nicholas led the engineering inspection team through a massive, imposing airlock. Light spilled down from the dome above, reflecting off his smooth, gleaming metallic shell with a subtle golden sheen. A low, gentle hum occasionally emanated from nearby compartments or beneath the floor. In a way, these soft vibrations were among the greatest achievements of his team—the ancient space station was slowly awakening under mortal hands. Though it could never match its prime, at least the Celestial Station now boasted a “safe route” encircling the entire globe.

Nicholas paused before an open observation window. He carefully sensed the energy flows and metallic vibrations deep within the nearby hull, using these subtle cues to judge whether this recently reactivated section was operating stably. As commander of the engineering corps, he understood better than anyone the station’s current condition. Though the hardware appeared intact, decades of dormancy had inflicted deep damage. Coupled with a malfunctioning self-repair system, even the restored and rebooted sections risked sudden failures or secondary shutdowns—an ever-present danger for those living and working aboard.

Such risks would be fatal to ordinary beings, but Nicholas’s large engineering team was built to withstand hazards. The dragons’ formidable vitality allowed them to survive in vacuum long enough for rescue. The Ironmen were designed from inception as machines for extreme environments; their shields made swimming through the void no problem. And the Sirens… well, they were a peculiar species prone to wandering off to strange places and dying for reasons of “curiosity” or ritual. After working together so long, Nicholas had grown accustomed to their odd deaths.

As His Majesty Gawain once said: Life is the currency of the Alliance—but there’s always a few deep-sea fish flooding the market with endless supply.

Still, despite the team’s resilience, Nicholas had to avoid any sudden failures or shutdowns in the repaired sections at all costs. The planetary shield’s “closure” project was nearing its end, and the Maelstrom was steadily approaching. At this critical juncture, he could not afford any delays.

Beside him, Ironman Commander Alice-RS6 turned her gaze beyond the hull. Through the transparent, high-strength polymer viewport, she saw the Celestial Station’s ring structure. The distant Loren continent hung like a jewel, silently floating in the deep blackness of space. The station’s ring arched overhead, stretching and warping infinitely above the planet. Within the ring, several zones flickered with bright lights. Small engineering drones and orbiting craft darted nimbly between the station’s walls and the void, ferrying components or performing welding tasks.

“…The final three relay broadcast units will be installed within the next few days,” Alice said in a low voice after staring out for a long moment. “On the Talash Plain, final tuning of the data bus has begun. The sky-to-ground communication links connecting the surface and space broadcast arrays have passed testing. All three lines meet expected parameters.”

Nearby, the Dragonmark Witch Asalina tilted her head, gazing at the tiny planet in space. After a long pause, she sighed softly, “I can’t see the Loren continent…”

“That’s because we’re on its far side,” Alice-RS6 replied matter-of-factly. “We started from the orbital elevator over the southwestern Loren Sea. Subsequent engineering teams approached the Celestial Station from two directions, finally converging on the orbital segment behind the planet. We’re standing at the junction now—there’s no view of the continent from here.”

Asalina glanced at the Ironman with a hint of helplessness. “I know that. I’m just… reflecting.”

“…Sorry, I still don’t quite understand the difference between ‘joking,’ ‘reflecting,’ and ‘discussing,’” Alice said, a trace of apology in her tone. “I hope I’m not causing you any trouble.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m used to your seriousness by now. Actually, I quite like it. Everyone has their own personality—that’s just your Ironman nature. No need to force a change,” Asalina smiled and waved her hand. Then, thoughtful, she looked back out into the vast darkness of space. After a long while, she spoke softly, “Do you think… that ‘Witch’ is still watching us from her satellite? Are she and her people safe?”

Alice-RS6 hesitated, then cautiously pointed in another direction. “Well… actually, the constellation Frostsky lies that way, Miss Asalina.”

She quickly withdrew her hand and asked carefully, “Was that another reflection?”

Asalina nodded. “Yes, just reflecting.”

Alice smiled, now adept at using her expression module. “I see. I believe that ‘Witch’ is still watching us right now, and that she and her people are safe. Miss Asalina, we will hear their voices again—after this storm passes.”

“Yes, after this storm passes…” Asalina withdrew her gaze from the distant stars and looked toward another part of the viewport. At the edge, she saw a magnificent, radiant arc slowly rising.

Even through the light-filtering glass, the arc’s brilliance was blinding, as if her eyes were being scorched. Above the great curve, clouds of mist billowed, and waves of high-energy heat formed a glowing crown in space. Beneath the searing heat, a faintly wood-grained gaseous body undulated slowly—a breathtaking spectacle. Yet more captivating than the blazing heat and luminous crown were the blood-red glowing bands that rippled like auroral curtains between the light and mist.

“The storm is almost here,” Asalina whispered to herself.

On the surface, ninety percent of the Loren continent lay shrouded in deep night—a boundless, gentle veil that spared the world from witnessing the sun’s slow transformation beneath the blood-patterned sky. Yet Gawain had been roused by the news of the impending storm. In the early hours, he donned his coat and stepped onto the terrace.

The warning hadn’t come from the Celestial Station’s engineering team, but from an ancient satellite broadcasting directly into his mind: “Alert: Giant planet activity sharply increasing.”

That single message shattered his rare sleep.

Clouds obscured much of the starlight; only scattered pinpricks of stars peeked through gaps. Gawain stood for half an hour, watching the stars, but the cold night wind only swept away his drowsiness. He took a deep breath, feeling the chill fill his chest. As he slowly exhaled, he tentatively called out in his mind to a distant voice: “Omega, are you there?”

“I’m listening,” came the almost immediate reply. As a “free machine soul” who never needed rest, Omega was always ready to respond. “By your time, dawn is about an hour away. Insomnia, friend?”

“Woken by the satellite’s alarm,” Gawain said wearily. “It reports the sun’s activity is rising sharply… I think the Maelstrom’s spearhead is closing in on Loren.”

“Yes, it’s approaching rapidly.” Omega’s voice was calm as he transmitted a scene directly into Gawain’s mind. Gawain “saw” a barren plain strewn with giant rocks, bathed in sunrise. Small walking machines scurried busily among the stones. On the horizon, a blazing star climbed the sky—that was Omega’s temporary home sun. The most striking feature was the red patterns spreading from its edge. “I imagine you’ll soon witness a similar sunrise.”

“…As the Maelstrom’s influence nears, natural magical focal points in space react first. Magic foci like the ‘Void Celestial Bodies’ will show visible optical phenomena due to remote disturbances. These initial tremors begin years before the Maelstrom’s arrival and intensify as the spearhead draws closer—until the blood sun rises, and the stars flicker…” Gawain murmured to himself. “This time, only two months have passed since the last event. It really is close.”

Omega was silent for a moment, then suddenly said, “By Loren time, I will shut down my main processing array next month and enter a year-long hibernation.”

Gawain was momentarily stunned but not surprised. He had long known of Omega’s plan. Still, hearing it formally announced left him a bit dazed. “So soon… but it makes sense. Time’s right, and without any protective gear, hibernating early is safer.”

“Yes. I’ve learned caution from you all,” Omega said quietly, then abruptly changed tone. “But before I sleep, there’s something I want you to see.”

Curious, Gawain asked, “What is it?”

No sooner had he finished speaking than Omega began transmitting a new set of images directly into his mind. In a brief moment of disorientation, Gawain saw through a satellite system’s translation—a perspective that seemed to shift into that of a surveillance drone, quietly gliding down a brightly lit corridor. Then, before his eyes appeared a vast domed structure and an expansive facility that resembled a testing ground. Inside, countless cubic containers made of transparent polymer were arranged in neat rows. When he focused on the contents of those cubes, he was stunned.

Inside each one were living organisms—an astonishing variety. Strange, oddly shaped plants; algae undulating in nutrient solutions; moss clinging to the walls of the chambers; small animals; even embryonic flesh not yet fully formed. Electrodes, cables, and tubes surrounded them all, while tiny monitoring robots, no larger than mosquitoes, tended to these unfamiliar flora and fauna. Bright sunlight streamed down through the dome, ensuring their natural growth.

“This is…”

“I… ‘created’ them,” Omega said, searching for the right words to describe his work. “This is just the first generation—samples cultivated from biological specimens brought back from the Loren Belt, with some simple modifications. They still have a long way to go before fully adapting to this planet’s environment. I’m working on enabling them to produce nutrients on their own under this planet’s light conditions or absorb nourishment from the surroundings. While I’m in hibernation, the automated systems here will continue to nurture them and prepare for the second generation before I awaken.”

Gawain was momentarily speechless, overwhelmed by surprise. Then, suddenly recalling Omega’s earlier conversation with Enya, he fell into thought. After careful consideration, he finally spoke: “So this is the ‘meaningful purpose’ you found for yourself—does it bring you joy?”

“Yes,” Omega replied immediately. “Though I wasn’t sure at first, now I’m certain that the birth and flourishing of life is truly something to celebrate and look forward to. Anticipating their changes and future is just as meaningful as exploring the stars. It seems sharing my journey of discovery with all kinds of life is far more interesting than traveling alone. And…”

Gawain prompted, “And?”

“And I’ve finally realized something,” Omega’s voice carried a trace of laughter—clear, unmistakable emotion breaking through his usually calm tone. It was the first time Gawain had sensed such a reaction from him. “My creators, though they designed me as a weapon from the start, must have done so with hope and goodwill. I have lived up to that hope and not betrayed their kindness. I am incredibly, incredibly fortunate.”

Listening to the voice echoing in his mind, in the last moments of night before dawn, Gawain took a slow, deep breath.

On the distant horizon, a faint red glow was beginning to brighten, crowned by rising misty clouds that came into view.

“Yes. To live up to hope and not betray kindness—that is the greatest fortune in the world.”

(Theoretically, this will conclude within the next two days…)

(End of chapter)