CHAPTER 384: POWER! I

Above them, the skies burned with the fury of cosmic titans locked in battle!

Stellar forces clashed, their violence painting aurora streams across Aethermoor’s atmosphere in colors that had no names.

Yet here, in the shadow of that celestial war, something far more intimate was unfolding.

The witches and sorcerers who had risen to greet their unexpected savior found themselves caught in a moment of profound disorientation!

This mysterious figure, this being who had arrived at their darkest hour and somehow orchestrated their salvation...spoke to them as if he had known them for centuries.

Worse, he spoke a name with casual familiarity that suggested knowledge no outsider should possess.

"Archon Stellarix Morwyn."

The words carried weight beyond their simple syllables.

Without waiting for a response, Achilles began moving toward the tallest tower of their capital...the Verdant Tower that housed the seat of their civilization’s power.

His movement was casual, almost leisurely, as if he were simply returning home after a long journey rather than entering a sovereign nation’s most sacred space.

"Follow me," he said over his shoulder, and the casual assumption of authority in those words sent ripples of unease through every consciousness present.

Stellarix felt the weight of dozens of eyes upon him, his people looking to him for guidance in a situation that defied all their accumulated experience.

Above them, the battle continued to rage with intensity that suggested neither combatant was holding anything in reserve.

Below them, their world’s fate seemed to be shifting in ways they couldn’t yet comprehend.

"Secure the perimeter," he commanded, his voice carrying the trained authority of someone who had led his people through countless crises.

"Eliminate any remaining enemy forces. Ensure the civilians remain in protected areas until this situation resolves!"

HUUM

His words were directed at his subordinates, but his eyes never left the figure moving ahead of him with such unsettling confidence.

The Verdant Tower was a masterpiece of architectural achievement that had taken three centuries to complete.

Its walls were carved from living crystal that pulsed with the world’s own life force, while its corridors were inscribed with Runescriptures that represented the accumulated magical knowledge of dozens of generations.

As they ascended through its spiraling passages, Achilles found himself genuinely impressed by the sophistication of what had been accomplished here.

Runes. Always, inevitably, it came back to Runes.

The fundamental building blocks of reality itself, written in languages that transcended species and dimensional barriers.

He had seen variations of these same patterns in technologies scattered across the Star Seas through his memories.

There was a universal grammar to power itself, and these beings had intuited portions of it through nothing more than careful observation and experimentation.

Remarkable, really. And useful!

Behind him, Stellarix maintained a respectful distance while his enhanced senses tracked the ongoing battle above them.

The impacts were getting stronger, the roars of conflict more intense. King Edmond’s voice carried notes of desperation that suggested the tide of battle was not flowing in his favor, while his opponent’s laughter held the bright edge of predatory satisfaction.

"Should you not be assisting in the battle above?" Stellarix asked, unable to keep the question from his voice despite his growing unease. "The enemies you face are... formidable."

Achilles waved his hand dismissively without turning around. "I have already seen the end of this battle. That should not be your concern."

...!

The certainty in those words was absolute, carrying the weight of genuine prophecy rather than mere confidence.

But before Stellarix could parse the implications of such a statement, they had reached their destination.

The throne room of Aethermoor stretched before them like a cathedral built to honor the concept of power itself.

The chamber was vast enough to hold a small city, its walls rising in graceful arcs that seemed to defy conventional understanding of structural engineering.

At its heart, elevated on a dais of polished emerald, sat the Verdant Throne...a seat of power that had been carved from a single massive crystal and inscribed with the accumulated wisdom of their civilization.

Achilles moved toward it with the same casual confidence he had displayed throughout their ascent, and Stellarix felt his breath catch as he realized what was about to happen.

No one approached the throne without permission. No one sat in its presence without formal invitation. The protocols that governed this space had been established before his grandfather’s grandfather had been born!

But instead of claiming the seat for himself, Achilles moved to the steps leading up to the throne and simply... sat down.

Not on the throne itself, but on the stairs below it, as if the most powerful seat in their civilization was nothing more than convenient furniture to lean against!

Then, with a gesture that somehow managed to be both invitation and command, he patted the cushioned surface of the throne itself.

"Come," he said, his voice carrying across the vast chamber with perfect clarity. "Sit."

Stellarix found himself frozen between shock and confusion. The casual reversal of power dynamics was so complete, so unexpected, that his mind struggled to process what was being offered. Or demanded. The distinction seemed increasingly irrelevant.

Slowly, carefully, he approached his own throne and settled into it with movements that felt foreign despite centuries of familiarity. Above them, the battle continued its cosmic percussion, but here in this chamber, the only sound was the quiet whisper of his own breathing.

Achilles stared out into the empty expanse of the throne room, his posture relaxed but somehow commanding despite his position below the formal seat of power.

When he spoke again, his voice had taken on a different quality...smoother, more conversational, like someone sharing words over a fine meal rather than dictating terms to a conquered ruler.

"Power," he began, the single word carrying weight that seemed to press against the chamber’s crystalline walls, "is a fascinating concept. We spend so much time discussing it, analyzing it, fighting over it. But very few people truly understand what it means to wield it responsibly."

...!