The void stretches out around us, endless and quiet, no ground under my feet but somehow I’m not falling. Just floating there, stars scattered everywhere like someone spilled glitter across black paper. My harem drifts close beside me — Viperess coiled loose and alert, scales catching starlight. Shadow barely visible, just an outline against the dark. Frostine’s ice steaming faint even out here, like her cold doesn’t care there’s no air. Solnix glowing soft, wings tucked in, the only real warmth in this whole empty place. Demitress silent as always, watching everything at once.
I just stand there a second, taking it in.
And my mind goes back, unwanted, to Sector 7.
The smell of rot and scrap metal. Eating whatever I could scavenge off broken gear nobody wanted, because the guild wouldn’t even look at me twice. I remember the hunters — the real ones, ranked, geared up in shining armor — laughing when I showed up to the boards looking for scraps of work. "This one? He can’t even summon a familiar. Waste of a slot." I remember the shove that sent me into the mud outside the guild hall, everyone walking past like I wasn’t even worth the trouble of noticing.
I was nothing back then. Poor. Weak. Invisible.
And now I’m floating in the void between worlds, four maidens bound to me by choice, power humming warm in my chest like it’s always belonged there.
"Feels like a different life," I say out loud, mostly to myself, voice small against all that silence.
Viperess tilts her head toward me, eyes sharp but not unkind. "It was a different life," she says. "This one’s yours now."
I let out a breath, shaky, and look around at the four of them — the only people, if you can even call it that anymore, who ever looked at me like I mattered.
"Yeah," I say, quiet. "Guess it is."
The system chimes, sharp and sudden, cutting through the quiet.
[Realm Transition Detected: Currency Protocol Updated] [Multiversal Dollars — INCOMPATIBLE with Void Expanse] [Converting to Void Credits...]
"Wait, what—"
[Conversion Complete: 10,000 Void Credits]
I stare at the number, doing the math in my head, and my stomach drops. Ten thousand. That’s it. Millions gone, just like that, shrunk down to something that sounds like pocket change compared to what I had a minute ago.
"That’s — that’s not enough," I mutter, running through everything I don’t know about this place. No idea what things cost here. No idea what’s dangerous, what’s safe, how far ten thousand even stretches when I can’t read the terrain.
Frostine drifts closer, arms crossed. "Trouble?"
"Money’s basically reset," I say, still staring at the notification like it’ll change if I look hard enough. "Ten thousand. That’s all I’ve got now."
But then something clicks, and I almost laugh at myself for panicking so fast.
The multiplier.
I still have it.
I pull up the system fast, deposit the full ten thousand without hesitating, and watch the interface shift, numbers ticking upward slow at first, then faster, feeding off exp same as always.
[Multiplier Active] [Bond Count: 4 Maidens] [Growth Rate Boosted]
The number climbs. Ten thousand. Twenty. Fifty. I watch it tear past a hundred thousand, then keep going, void around us humming faint like even the space itself is reacting to the surge.
[Void Credits: 300,000] [Threshold Reached]
I let out a breath, grinning despite everything, some of that old Sector 7 panic finally loosening in my chest.
"There we go," I say, mostly to myself.
Viperess raises a brow, watching the number settle. "You went from broke to fine in under a minute."
"Story of my life lately," I say.
Before I can enjoy it, the system chimes again, tone shifting sharper, more urgent this time.
[ALERT: Distress Signal Detected] [Entity: Void Dragon] [Status: Critical] [Matching System: Taming Protocol Available]
I go still, staring at the notification hanging bright in front of me.
A dragon. In distress. And the system’s already lining up a way for me to reach it.
I look at my harem — Viperess sharp-eyed and ready, Frostine’s ice crackling faint with anticipation, Solnix’s wings flaring slightly, Demitress silent but alert, watching me for the call.
"Well," I say, feeling that old fire settle back into my chest, the one that got me here in the first place. "Guess we’re not done tonight."
I pull the distress signal up, locking onto the coordinates.
"Let’s go save a dragon."
The system chimes once more, softer this time.
[Bond Contact Established: Seraphina] [Realm Transition Synced]
Light flickers beside me and there she is — Seraphina, arms crossed, silver hair drifting weightless in the void, that same cold look on her face like she’s already annoyed before she’s even said a word.
"So this is where you dragged us," she says, glancing around at the endless black and scattered stars, voice flat. "Wonderful."
"You’ve got nothing on this place either?" I ask.
She pulls up her own interface, scrolling fast, brow furrowing the longer nothing useful comes up. "Nothing," she admits, and I can hear how much it costs her to say it. "No records. No maps. This realm isn’t in anything I’ve ever handled." She crosses her arms tighter, jaw tight. "I hate not knowing things."
"First for everything," I say.
She shoots me a look sharp enough to cut glass, but doesn’t argue.
We’re still figuring out which direction even means anything out here when a low hum rolls through the void — engines, distant but closing fast. A shape cuts through the dark, sleek metal catching starlight, running lights blinking steady along its hull.
A spaceship.
It slows as it gets close, like whoever’s flying it just noticed six people standing in open space like it’s solid ground. The hum shifts, engines throttling down, and a second later a voice crackles rough over some external comm, aimed straight at us.
"You. Blue-haired one. You’re in my flight path — move, now."
Frostine doesn’t so much as flinch, ice curling slow around her feet like frost creeping over glass. She turns her head toward the ship, unbothered, eyes narrowing just slightly.
"Excuse me?" she says, voice cool, edged.
"I said move," the voice snaps again, static crackling around the words. "I don’t have time to babysit whatever you people are doing out here."
I glance over and see it in her expression immediately — that particular stillness she gets right before she stops being polite about something. Frostine doesn’t take disrespect well. Never has.
"He’s talking to you like that," Viperess murmurs beside me, sounding almost entertained, "in front of everyone."
Frostine’s arms fold, ice sharpening faint at her fingertips, gaze locked on the ship like she’s deciding exactly how much of it she wants to leave intact.
"I don’t move," she says, calm and cold as the frost spreading slow beneath her, "for anyone who can’t ask nicely."