Korrin’s return to consciousness felt like clawing his way out of the depths of a dark, churning sea. The first thing he became aware of was the weight of his own body, pressing into the thin mattress beneath him. Sensations flickered like embers: the cool touch of sterile air, the muted beeping of a nearby monitor, the faint hum of machinery that thrummed like a living heartbeat. The silence, punctuated by the thrum, was deeper than the endless halls of the Imperial Palace, and it was this silence that made his eyes snap open.

The room was dimly lit, the glow seeping from old, buzzing panels set unevenly into the ceiling. He blinked, letting his vision clear, and took in his surroundings. The walls were a patchwork of pale metal and rough, exposed beams, scuffed with age and use. This was not the gleaming white sterility of the imperial medbays he knew; it was utilitarian, worn by necessity and time.

Korrin’s breath quickened as his fingers instinctively went to his chest. He expected to find torn flesh, pain, the remnants of Valen’s betrayal etched into his skin like a brand. Instead, his fingers brushed over smooth, unmarred skin. His heartbeat drummed in his ears as he pressed harder, feeling only the steady thrum beneath.

The confusion spiraled in him like a storm. Before he could process it, the creak of a door startled him. He looked up to see a girl step inside. She was lithe, her dark hair tied back with a simple strip of cloth, and her eyes were sharp and assessing. There was no deference in her gaze, none of the fear or awe he had grown accustomed to. She glanced at him as if appraising a task yet to be completed.

“Good, you’re awake,” she said, her voice flat and practical. There was no pause for pleasantries or ceremony. “Took you long enough.” She shifted her weight, crossing her arms over her chest. “Name’s Moxxy, by the way. Thought you’d want to know who’s been keeping you alive.”

Korrin’s throat felt raw, and when he spoke, his voice was rough, laced with confusion and a lingering edge of fear. “Where… am I?” He shifted on the bed, every muscle in his body tense, ready to react.

Moxxy sighed, folding her arms more tightly. “Outer rim. Far from Heliovar and the golden palace you’re used to,” she said, her tone unbothered, as though mentioning the distance from the heart of the Empire was a mere logistical note.

“The outer reaches?” Korrin repeated, his mind racing. The outer reaches of The Cosmos were whispered about in the imperial court like myth—wild, untamed, home to those who did not bow to imperial rule. “How… how did I get here?” His voice grew stronger, edged with the authority he had learned from birth.

Moxxy’s eyes narrowed slightly, a shadow of annoyance passing across her face. “You were tracked. The tag your precious father used to control you? Let’s just say it’s not as private as he thought. We’ve had our eyes on you for a while now.”

Korrin’s chest tightened, and he swallowed hard. “Tracked by whom? Who is we?” The question fell into the silence like a stone into deep water, rippling outward with unspoken implications.

A small, humorless smile tugged at the corner of Moxxy’s lips. “It’s better if you see for yourself,” she said, turning away from him. Without waiting for a response, she walked toward the door, the movement efficient and unceremonious. “Come on. I’m not dragging you out of here.”

The silence stretched as Korrin pushed himself off the bed. His limbs felt leaden, but they obeyed. The room spun for a moment, and he steadied himself against the cold, metal edge of the bed. The sense of dissonance prickled through him—the clash of who he was and where he now stood. He caught sight of a cracked mirror on the opposite wall, and the face that looked back at him was pale, drawn, eyes wide with questions that had no immediate answers.

Moxxy glanced over her shoulder, impatience sparking in her dark eyes. “We don’t have all day, your highness,” she said, the title laced with a sarcasm that stung more than Korrin expected. Without waiting for his response, she strode into the hallway.

With one last glance at the barren room and the unfamiliar world beyond, Korrin followed her.

As Korrin stepped out of the dim room, the world that met him unfolded like a revelation. The corridor opened up into a vast, interconnected expanse that shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Crisscrossing walkways hung suspended between immense stone columns carved with intricate, spiraling designs that seemed almost alive under the pulsating blue light. Above, the ceiling stretched high, arching in a sweeping dome that was riddled with clusters of crystal that glimmered like a captured galaxy. Below, the city unfurled in layered terraces, each one bustling with movement and life.

The city, which Moxxy introduced with a sweep of her arm and a hint of pride in her voice, “Welcome to Nyxora,” she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips as she watched Korrin take it all in. “The last place anyone would think to look for a lost heir to The Cosmos.”

Nyxora was unlike anything Korrin had seen. It was raw, a living labyrinth of metal, stone, and light, where natural rock faces met sleek panels of steel. Pipes and conduits wound like serpents through walls and across high bridges, and neon symbols in unfamiliar languages glowed in patches along the darkened alleys. Lanterns suspended on thin cables flickered, casting rippling shadows that seemed to dance in time with the murmured voices and the distant hum of generators.

“It’s an asteroid, hollowed out long before your empire’s maps even touched this edge of The Cosmos,” Moxxy said, her tone clipped but tinged with pride. “It moves, constantly skirting the farthest reaches, spinning just fast enough that even the sharpest imperial tech can’t track it. No one knows where Nyxora will be next.”

Korrin’s gaze followed the network of bridges that spanned from one end of the city to the other, connecting multileveled platforms where makeshift market stalls thrived and voices bartered over goods. The scent of burning fuel mixed with that of roasted meats and tangy spices, a heady blend that prickled at his senses. The faint thrum of engines, deep and constant, reverberated in his chest, a heartbeat that was more alive than any courtly ceremony he had known.

“You’re in the heart of freedom now,” Moxxy said as they walked, her voice losing a touch of its edge. “No imperial banners, no watchful eyes.” She glanced at him, reading the astonishment that still lingered in his expression. “Bet you’re wondering what happened to your chest, aren’t you?” She didn’t wait for his response. “Follow me. You’ll get your answers soon enough.”

With a final glance at the city, Korrin fell into step behind her. The noise of Nyxora pulsed around him—voices calling out, laughter rolling down from the higher terraces, the distant grind of machinery. Yet beneath it all, a deeper silence thrummed in his heart, a reminder that everything familiar had slipped beyond his reach, leaving only this strange, hidden world and the girl who led him further into its depths.

Korrin followed Moxxy through the maze of Nyxora, the humdrum of the city enveloping him in a sensory whirlwind. The hum of chatter, the clang of metal on stone, and the sizzle of open grills blended into a chorus of life that was as chaotic as it was fascinating. He glanced at the people clustered around market stalls, haggling over strange wares, and speaking in dialects he didn’t recognize. But what caught his attention the most was the absence of lenses. In the imperial city, everyone had them—thin, sleek devices that rested on their noses or ears, feeding them a constant stream of data: news, encrypted messages, commands. Here, the people were untethered from the digital web that Korrin had taken for granted. They moved without the subtle, distant expressions that came from reading unseen words, their faces lit only by the world around them.

As he walked, Korrin’s eyes couldn’t help but drift to Moxxy. There was something disarming about her no-nonsense stride, the sway of her movements hinting at a confidence that was rare even among the aristocracy he knew. He blinked and forced his eyes forward, reminding himself that this place, this moment, was not the time for distraction.

Moxxy led him to an elevator set into the side of a colossal, rust-streaked column that rose high into the ceiling above. The doors slid open with a groan, revealing a platform barely wide enough for the two of them, its metal floor scarred and patched with uneven welds. Korrin stepped in, the floor creaking under his weight. The chamber shuddered as the doors closed behind them, and the platform jerked upward, rattling as it ascended.

Korrin’s fingers gripped a side rail, knuckles whitening. Moxxy glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, a grin playing at her lips. “Afraid it’s going to break?” she teased. “We haven’t lost anyone in… well, at least a few days.”

He looked at her, half disbelieving, half resigned. “Comforting,” he muttered, trying to mask his unease. But the floor beneath them lurched with every shift in altitude, and he felt every bolt and screw trembling as if ready to give way. The rickety contraption defied everything he knew about imperial engineering, where smooth, silent lifts glided with the grace of silk.

After a tense minute that stretched like an eternity, the elevator halted with a metallic jolt. The doors opened to reveal a chamber unlike any part of Nyxora he had seen so far. The room was pristine, gleaming under an array of bright, angular lights that shone from above. Smooth panels lined the walls, broken only by the intricate filigree that traced designs as ancient as they were mysterious. The hum of machinery was quieter here, more precise, a low purr that resonated beneath the polished floors.

Moxxy stepped out first, glancing over her shoulder at Korrin with a mix of curiosity and unreadable expectation. “Welcome to the heart of Nyxora,” she said, her voice dropping the teasing edge, now carrying an air of importance.

Korrin’s eyes roved over the space, trying to piece together why they had come to this place that felt so different, so vital. Here, the raw energy of the city outside felt muted, concentrated, as if this room held the essence of something bigger than itself.

The room’s silence grew heavier as Korrin watched a seam in the smooth wall shift, revealing a doorway that had not been there moments before. From within, a figure emerged, draped in robes of deep, shadowy blue that caught the light with an iridescent sheen. His face was partially hidden by a cowl, but his eyes shone through like coals, bright and knowing. Korrin felt an unexpected force, a compulsion that pulled him to his knees as if unseen strings had tightened around him. He fought it for a heartbeat, but his body betrayed him, folding in a gesture of reverence he hadn’t meant to give.

The figure regarded him with an expression that was difficult to read—somewhere between solemnity and curiosity. Moxxy’s voice cut through the weight of the moment, snapping him back into focus. “I’ll leave you to your talk with the Archbishop,” she said, the sarcasm she wielded so easily now replaced by a rare seriousness. “Find me at the Crumbling Rocket when you’re done.” Without another word, she slipped out, the echo of her boots swallowed by the chamber’s austere silence.

The Archbishop inclined his head ever so slightly, acknowledging Korrin’s presence. “Welcome, Korrin Valen, son of the Emperor. The Cosmos itself has turned its eye to this moment.”

Korrin’s throat tightened, and he rose from his knees, willing his voice to stay steady. “Who are you?” he demanded, eyes narrowing.

The figure raised his hands, palms facing outward, a gesture of peace. “I am the Archbishop, head of the Church of Dreams. We are a congregation committed to seeing the Empire freed from its own chains. Your father’s rule binds more than just its citizens; it binds truth itself.”

Korrin’s breath caught. The weight of the last hours—Valen’s betrayal, the strange awakening, Moxxy’s revelations—crashed over him. “You tracked me,” he said, cutting through the Archbishop’s rhetoric. “You knew where I was, didn’t you? Through the tag.” His voice trembled on the edge of desperation. “I need answers, especially about… this.” He motioned to his chest, where smooth, unbroken skin met his touch.

The Archbishop’s lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. “The powers we hold are not those your Empire understands. Just as they possess their own forms of influence, we have ours.” His eyes met Korrin’s, searching. “But that is not the heart of this moment. What matters is why you are here now.”

Korrin’s temper flared, impatience slicing through his confusion. “And why would I help you?” he spat, stepping forward with clenched fists. “You want me to betray everything my family built? You and the citizens of this place are nothing but a rebellious echo that must be silenced.”

The Archbishop’s expression remained placid, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze, a restrained amusement. “We do not seek to overthrow the civilization your ancestors forged,” he said. “We wish to refine it. We believe that you, Korrin, have the potential to be more than just an extension of Valen’s tyranny. You can be a steward, a leader who shapes The Cosmos into something that serves its people, not one that devours them.”

Korrin’s chest rose and fell with quick, sharp breaths. He felt exposed, as though this man could see into the marrow of his doubts. Before he could respond, the Archbishop stepped closer, lifting both hands and resting them on either side of Korrin’s head. His touch was cool and commanding.

“Look, and understand,” he whispered.

Korrin’s vision darkened, and then he was thrust into a scene so vivid it felt like falling into another life. He was in Heliovar, the grand capital of The Cosmos, where spires of silver and obsidian clawed at the sky and sunbeams were fractured by an endless array of glass facades. The air buzzed with the low hum of power and industry. Before him loomed the narrative factory—a colossal structure of twisting metal and belching smokestacks, its walls painted with imperial emblems that gleamed menacingly in the muted light.

The interior was a maze of machinery: gears that turned with the precision of clockwork, pipes that hissed with steam, and conveyor belts laden with reams of paper and holographic screens. The smell of oil and scorched metal tinged the air, mingling with the acrid smoke that drifted in thick, roiling plumes. Workers, their faces covered with soot and exhaustion, moved like automatons, barely lifting their eyes as Valen entered the chamber. His boots struck the polished metal floor with a sound that cut through the whirring din.

Beside Valen, a man with a gaunt, sharp face and eyes that gleamed with keen intelligence moved in lockstep. His clothing bore the mark of the royal office—a blend of dark silks and brocade etched with intricate, golden lines. This was Quakelance, the chief Ganda of the Empire, the architect of stories that bent the will of millions.

“Your Excellency,” Quakelance said, his voice smooth, practiced. He offered a slight bow. “I assume you have come to review the day’s progress?”

Valen’s lips thinned in a semblance of a smile. “Not today. I am here for a different task, Quakelance. I require a story, one spun so tightly that no one questions its truth.” His eyes gleamed with a mix of command and anticipation. “My son was attacked on the sacred journey to lay Zaylen to rest. The assassins were from the far reaches.”

Quakelance’s thin mouth curled upward in admiration. “An act of cowardice from the outliers, to strike at such a moment,” he mused, nodding with approval. “Brilliant, Your Excellency. It will stoke anger and unify the Empire in grief.”

Valen’s expression softened, and a fleeting moment of something that might have been camaraderie flickered between them. “You’ve always known how to turn a word into a weapon, Quakelance. Just as you did when we were young.”

Quakelance’s eyes glimmered with a touch of memory. “We were trouble then, weren’t we? The system-born lord and the heir to The Cosmos, defying tutors and sparring until bruised.” His smile faltered, becoming wistful before hardening again. “But some lessons were learned well.”

“Yes,” Valen agreed, his tone darkening. “Some lessons were learned too well.”

Korrin’s vision shuddered, the image blurring like smoke dispersed by a sudden gust. The clamor of the factory, the menacing laugh of Valen, faded, and he was yanked back to the present, the pristine chamber around him sharpening into view. His knees buckled, and he gripped the edge of a nearby table to keep from collapsing. “Curse him,” he hissed, the words barely escaping his lips as he tried to steady the storm in his chest.

The Archbishop stepped back, his eyes searching Korrin’s face. “The narrative machine is your father’s greatest weapon, Korrin. It feeds the Empire lies that are taken as truth, and it will twist even your story to serve its purpose.”

Korrin would have usually lashed out at such treason to his father, to the mpire he had been raised to love. The events of the last day had him listening. “So what is true? The tales of my family’s conquests? The barbaric nature of your people? The unity of the empire? What!?”

The Archbishop paused in reflection for a moment before responding, “Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot.”

Korrin’s mind spun, a rush of anger and realization colliding inside him. He looked at the robed man before him with a mixture of defiance and bewilderment. “You want me to betray everything? To turn against the Empire itself?”

The Archbishop’s lips curved into a thin smile. “Not betray, Korrin. See. See the Empire without the filter of the machine, without the shadows cast by your father’s rule. Give us a chance to show you what could be.”

“And if I don’t?” Korrin’s voice wavered, the challenge a final grasp at control.

The Archbishop’s eyes sparkled with a hint of wry amusement. “Do you really want to know?” The question hung between them, a silent challenge in itself.

The tension in the room thickened, and then the Archbishop’s demeanor changed, more commanding now. “Find Moxxy at the Crumbling Rocket. Tomorrow, your work with the Church begins.”

Korrin stared at the man before him, the enormity of his situation pressing down like a physical weight. Without another word, the Archbishop turned away, leaving Korrin to make his choice in the silence that followed, the echo of the vision still burning behind his eyes.

orrin stepped into the elevator, the iron taste of dread still heavy on his tongue. The platform shuddered beneath him as it began its descent, the vibrations amplifying the thrum of his pulse. The rickety metal contraption groaned and clanked, yet Korrin felt removed from it, as if he were watching himself from a great distance. The city of Nyxora pulsed with life beyond the thin elevator walls, voices rising and falling in a cacophony of human sound, the grinding of gears and hiss of steam whispering around him. But to Korrin, the noise was dulled, caught beneath the suffocating weight of realization.

His father’s betrayal, the revelation of lies spun with expert precision, bore down on him like the crushing press of deep waters. The life he had known—structured, resplendent, ruled by an iron will—felt like a shell splintering under the sheer force of truth. It left him exposed, raw, with nothing but the echo of his own disbelief.

The elevator came to a rattling stop, and Korrin stepped out into the restless flow of Nyxora’s streets. The city was a labyrinth, a chaotic mesh of walkways that looped and veined through the towering stone and metal columns. The din of machinery and voices enveloped him, but he moved as if in a trance, the weight of the Archbishop’s vision still pressing into the corners of his mind. He drifted through clusters of people who spoke in rapid, strange dialects, their eyes filled with laughter or calculation, none of them casting him more than a passing glance.

Korrin stopped when a flash of color caught his eye—a shopfront lined with foods that seemed plucked from another world. He stared at the display, an array of dishes spread under glass cases that hummed with faint blue light. There were skewers of spiced meat, their surfaces glistening with a sheen of oil that reflected like molten amber. Next to them, bowls of something pale and gelatinous quivered under the light, flecked with what looked like charred herbs. Further along, a spread of small, round pastries sat, their tops glazed with a syrup that held an iridescent hue, shifting colors with each flicker of movement.

“See something you like?” A voice brought him out of his daze. The woman behind the counter leaned forward, her face a striking canvas of ink and pattern. Swirls of dark blue and violet traced across her cheekbones and over the bridge of her nose, weaving into intricate patterns that spoke of stories he could only guess at.

Korrin blinked, momentarily mesmerized by the designs. “No—I mean, I’m looking for the Crumbling Rocket. Can you tell me where to find it?”

A warm, hearty laugh bubbled out of the woman, surprising him. “Ah, a stranger in town, are you? It’s down three tiers, to the left when you see the old turbine with the red rust.” She narrowed her eyes, mischief glinting. “And a word of advice: don’t drink the jet fuel. Some rookies think it’s a local spirit. It isn’t.”

Korrin managed a faint smile, the first break in the mask of tension that had taken hold of him. “I’ll remember that. Thank you.”

“Stay safe out there, stranger,” she said, her tone softening as she turned to tend to another customer.

Following the woman’s directions, Korrin wound his way through the crowded tiers until he found the Crumbling Rocket. The bar was a patchwork of metal and stone, its sign creaking on rusted hinges. Inside, the room was dimly lit, with rough lanterns hanging from cables that cast erratic shadows across the walls. The scent of smoke and spiced drink mingled with the sound of laughter, rough and unpolished, as patrons leaned over cracked tables, their voices blending with the low notes of a stringed instrument being played in a corner.

Moxxy was seated near the back, one leg draped over a chair, a smirk already forming as she spotted him. “Took you long enough,” she teased, tipping her glass in greeting.

He approached, exhaustion threading through his limbs, and sank into the chair across from her. “The Archbishop said my work begins tomorrow. I suppose I’m staying with you tonight?”

Moxxy’s grin widened, eyes dancing with a mischief that felt oddly familiar now. “That’s the plan, your highness,” she said, the last word laced with mockery. “But don’t get too comfortable. The Church isn’t known for cushy accommodations.”

Korrin leaned back, trying to shrug off the tension. “And what exactly is this work?”

Her eyes narrowed, the teasing edge deepening. “You’ll have to wait. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.” She pushed a drink toward him, amber liquid catching the light like fire. “But for now, we drink. Consider it your initiation.”

He took the glass, the scent sharp and heady, and sipped tentatively. The liquid burned its way down his throat, spreading warmth through his chest. He coughed, eyes watering, and Moxxy’s laughter rang out like a challenge.

“First time, huh? You’ll get used to it,” she said, lifting her own glass and downing it with a practiced ease.

They drank, the noise of the bar swelling around them, carrying the weight of their conversation into a blur. Korrin felt the warmth grow, creeping into his limbs, unwinding the knots of tension that had seized him since the moment he awoke. Drink after drink, Moxxy filled his glass, her grin widening with each one. The edges of the room began to soften, the faces of patrons turning into smudges of color and sound. A sudden, strange lightness filled him, as if the weight of his bloodline, his title, and his past had been gently lifted away, leaving him untethered and free.

His laughter came more easily, and Moxxy’s voice slipped through the fog like a playful current. The room spun, a slow, dreamlike reel, and his thoughts scattered like dandelion seeds in the wind. He tried to focus on her words, the curve of her smile, the way her eyes sparked with secrets. But the world grew softer still, and then, without warning, the lights and laughter dissolved into darkness.