Lotus City rose at the very heart of Nevarion with a grace worthy of its name. The city was a fusion of colossal glass-faced towers reaching toward the sky and structures where aesthetics and engineering were seamlessly intertwined. Some buildings consisted of modest five-story boutique designs, while others were forty-story monuments of technology that pierced the clouds themselves. Massive holographic screens adorning the façades, dazzling neon signs, and ever-changing digital advertisements gave the city the aura of a living, breathing organism.
Below, along wide and flawlessly smooth avenues, pedestrians flowed in harmonious streams toward their destinations, while advanced magnetic vehicles glided silently through the air. Lotus functioned like a perfectly assembled clockwork mechanism—cafés were packed, children laughed in the parks, and despite the age of the Awakened, the people enjoyed the unshakable sense of security provided by Turanya.
At the very center of this order, in the back seat of a luxury SUV heading toward the Imperial Palace—the beating heart of the city—sat a man watching all this splendor with dull, distant eyes. The white laboratory coat he wore was wrinkled, and his short gray hair was tangled as though it had not met a pillow for days. Though he was in his seventies, his face appeared astonishingly smooth and youthful thanks to the high-grade anti-aging serums he used regularly. Yet the ancient fatigue in his gaze ran too deep for even those serums to conceal.
This man was Soren Altarez—the brightest mind Turanya, and perhaps all of Nevarion, had ever produced. Through revolutions he had signed across dozens of scientific disciplines, he had single-handedly multiplied the pace of the world's progress and pushed humanity one step further. Even now, as his exhausted mind stared blankly out the window, it was solving complex formulas in the background, laying the foundations for new projects.
Soren rested his chin in his hand and let out a deep sigh. His voice carried the rough edge of sleeplessness.
"I don't understand, Omar… Why does the Empire still insist on banning flying cars? I perfected them when I was barely ten years old. Their engines are completely safe. Their balance is flawless."
The driver, Omar—a powerfully built, dark-skinned man in an elegant suit—glanced at Soren through the rearview mirror and chuckled softly. His voice was reassuring, yet grounded in reality.
"Sorry, Soren, but the problem isn't the vehicles. No matter how safe the machines are, the people driving them are always a margin of error. Ground-level traffic accidents are already enough of a headache—just imagine the cost of chaos in the sky. The current air traffic control system simply isn't ready for the madness millions of amateur pilots would create."
Soren frowned and protested like a child who felt wronged.
"Oh, nonsense! I could design hundreds of solutions for autonomous flight and safe routing for those cars in a single day!"
At that very moment, a piercing siren tore through Lotus's tranquil silence. A modified luxury sports car screamed past Soren's vehicle at full speed, making the asphalt cry out beneath its tires. The exhilarated shouts of the young people inside echoed all the way into the SUV. Right behind them, eight police vehicles flooded the city with sirens as they launched into a relentless pursuit. Soren blinked in surprise.
Omar kept a steady grip on the wheel and burst into loud laughter.
"HAHAHAHAHA! There it is, Soren—that's exactly what I'm talking about!"
His voice shifted into a tone of mocking seriousness.
"This is living proof of why flying cars should remain a dream for now. If those reckless kids were driving one of your inventions, they'd either have crashed straight into the fortieth floor of a building by now or slammed into the top of the city. Your hundreds of brilliant solutions can't stop human stupidity—they can only delay the disaster."
Faced with that devastating retort, Soren crossed his arms over his chest and sank back into his seat with a sulky expression. Still watching the city outside, he muttered,
"Stop ganging up on me, Omar."
The grin on Omar's face softened into a wise, teasing sarcasm.
"That's your problem, Soren—you're too smart. But when it comes to human nature, especially the temperament of Turanya and Azera's people, you're practically clueless,"
he said, never taking his eyes off the road.
"Our people are wild; adrenaline races through their veins alongside that awakened energy. Some technologies may be safe in theory, but humanity isn't ready for the freedom those technologies bring. Even the Emperor and the princes are secretly bothered by this—they're itching to get behind the wheel themselves. But they have to set an example. And let me remind you—didn't the first flying car you built at age ten explode? You wiped half a kilometer off the map."
Soren shot up in his seat like a spring and shouted in fury:
"THAT WAS DUE TO A TECHNICAL ERROR! MY INVENTIONS ARE PERFECT—PHYSICS JUST CAN'T KEEP UP WITH MY SPEED SOMETIMES!"
Omar stared at him through the rearview mirror with a blank are you serious? look.
"Don't make me open my mouth, Soren," he said, his voice turning a notch more serious.
"Some of the scars your 'perfect' inventions left on my body still ache when the weather changes."
Soren froze for a moment, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. Omar was more than just his driver; he was his closest friend, his confidant, his shadow. An S-rank Awakened, Omar had been personally selected by the two emperors after his past, integrity, and loyalty were examined down to the finest detail. Soren had initially vehemently opposed the idea of having a bodyguard. He himself was an S-rank, a peak-tier mage—on paper, one of the most powerful Awakened in the world. Yet that power had been utterly useless on the darkest night of his life.
Twenty years earlier, enemy nations terrified by Turanya's technological supremacy had commissioned the bloodiest assassination squad in history to eliminate Soren Altarez. At the time, Soren was far from home on a classified field research mission. His arrogance exceeded even his intellect; claiming that "my own security systems could stop an army," he had repeatedly rejected the Empire's offers of protection. But the enemy had made a move designed to shake even his genius: they deployed four S-rank Awakened, rare talents specialized solely in assassination, infiltration, and silent slaughter. The Empire was powerful, but no system was absolute. That night, the assassins breached Soren's so-called "impenetrable" barriers one by one and slipped inside.
That night, his entire family was wiped out… at least, that was what the world believed.
Omar and the imperial guards who arrived just in time managed to pull only one soul alive from that sea of blood: his three-year-old granddaughter, Elenor. Soren's son, his daughter-in-law, his wife, his other two daughters, their husbands, and all of his remaining grandchildren… every single one of them had perished in that horrific raid.
When the news reached them, the two emperors were driven mad with fury. Borders were sealed, and the assassins were hunted down one by one before they could flee the country. By the time Soren returned to the capital, every family member of the assassins—and every individual belonging to the factions that had hired them—had been identified, captured, and dragged before him.
When Soren learned the truth, his world collapsed. His sanity teetered on the edge of complete rupture. He personally slaughtered the families of the assassins before their very eyes, then condemned the assassins themselves to slow, agonizing deaths.
The emperors could do nothing but bow before Soren and beg for forgiveness, admitting that they should have been more vigilant. But Soren never accepted their apologies. Because the fault was not theirs—it was his own arrogance. That night, he clutched the trembling Elenor amid blood-soaked blankets and wept uncontrollably until dawn. Omar, who had protected Elenor during the attack, had barely escaped death himself, his body sustaining irreparable damage. Soren owed Omar more than his life.
With a deep sigh, Soren turned his gaze out the window, toward the glittering streets of Lotus City. His voice was barely above a whisper now.
"They were just minor mishaps, Omar… truly, just minor mishaps."
Omar's eyebrows twitched—not with anger, but with disbelief.
"Because of those minor mishaps of yours, every doctor in the capital's central and private hospitals knows my name by heart. They don't see you as a scientist anymore—they see you as a walking natural disaster!"
Soren pretended not to hear the accusation and smoothly changed the subject. Omar, though distracted, couldn't suppress his curiosity.
"So," he asked,
"what exactly are you working on that's worth depriving yourself of sleep like this? You practically live in the laboratory now."
Soren replied, trying to sound indifferent.
"I'm working on the Awakened. The Emperor hopes I can increase their numbers—perhaps even standardize the process."
Omar's hands went rigid on the steering wheel, and the car shuddered slightly.
"What? The Artificial Awakening Project? Wasn't that project shut down by direct imperial decree ten years ago because of the rising death toll and horrific side effects?"
Soren sank deeper into his seat and exhaled heavily.
"Yes. It was secretly restarted eight years ago. And at this moment, I am the project's sole researcher."
Omar couldn't hide his shock. He knew better than anyone how dark and dangerous that project was. The serums, elixirs, and genetic surgeries tested in the past had almost always ended in disaster. At best, those who survived Awakening barely reached C-rank—and even they spent the rest of their lives bedridden. Because the emperors of Turanya and Azera were almost obsessively devoted to human rights, all experiments were conducted strictly on a voluntary basis. The Empire disclosed every potential horrific side effect honestly, while guaranteeing lifelong prosperity to volunteers and their families. Without such self-sacrificing individuals, the emperors would never have continued the project in the name of power alone.
Omar asked quietly,
"And now? Any progress?"
Soren hesitated for a moment. That brilliant yet unsettling gleam appeared in his eyes.
"I'm not entirely sure… There's something I'm working on. It hasn't been tested yet, but it will likely be the greatest invention of my life. A masterpiece, Omar. It just needs to be tested under the right conditions—but I know it. This time, it will definitely work."
Omar chuckled. He knew his old friend well—when Soren said "definitely," it meant countless sleepless nights and monumental effort lay behind it. The two of them shared their deepest secrets. Omar was one of the very few who knew Elenor was still alive. Soren hadn't wanted his granddaughter to grow up amid the intrigue-filled corridors of the palace; to protect her, he had told the world she was dead. He had placed her in Omar's distant, peaceful hometown and visited her in secret whenever he could.
Omar returned to the issue at hand.
"But why was the project accelerated again? What's making the emperors rush like this?"
Soren's face darkened.
"Why do you think? Our number of Awakened is no longer sufficient. Across the entire continent of Valthera, there are only 276 S-rank Awakened. It's a laughable number. We're Nevarion's third-largest continent, yet just last year, 400 S-rank rifts were detected. Our current heroes close one rift, and a week later, two more erupt from the same location. The emperors are cornered. That's why they banned human experimentation unless it yields a 100% success rate—and handed the entire project over to me."
"Another serum?" Omar asked suspiciously.
Soren smiled enigmatically.
"Perhaps. Or perhaps something far greater. Who knows…"
Omar's eyebrow twitched. Soren's habit of speaking in riddles usually meant someone was going to get hurt.
"Please," Omar said sincerely.
"This time, let it not be me. Last time, I nearly lost my arm."
Soren screeched like an offended cat.
"WHAT KIND OF S-RANK AWAKENED ARE YOU?! Complaining over simple scratches! You're a fighter, Omar—a thick-skinned, steel-bodied fighter!"
Omar snapped back just as fiercely.
"BEING S-RANK DOESN'T MEAN I'M IMMORTAL! That's exactly why I'm afraid of your inventions! I've faced death in those horrific rifts, but I've never felt that sense of 'absolute death' that I feel inside your laboratory, you lunatic!"
Soren hesitated for a moment, his voice suddenly softening.
"…Really? Do my inventions look that dangerous?"
Omar replied with a bitter smile as he calmly guided the car forward.
"Soren, my body carries exactly eighty-nine scars. Forty-seven of them were caused directly by your inventions. And those are just the ones that left marks… I'm not even counting how many times my bones cracked, or how many times I brushed against death."
Soren was stunned.
"That's impossible! It can't be that many. I always prioritize safety."
"Have you forgotten Garuda?" Omar asked, raising a single eyebrow.
Soren nearly choked on his own saliva.
"…That mecha… I didn't anticipate its control system becoming so aggressive. The mental link with the pilot was supposed to be flawless, but Garuda turned the pilot's survival instinct into a feral hunger."
Omar continued with a chuckle.
"That mecha was a complete monster. A half-biological giant that fed on the blood of creatures and regenerated itself as it took damage… Everyone was shocked. But when its bloodlust spiraled out of control, the two emperors and I had to intervene personally to stop it. You built a war machine at the very peak of S-rank, Soren—the most advanced and most dangerous mecha in Nevarion's history."
At the mention of Garuda's name, dissatisfaction crossed Soren's face. He wanted to defend that colossal machine, to prove it was a masterpiece of engineering, but faced with Omar's undeniable truth, the words clogged in his throat.
"Sealing it away in those cold vaults was truly a great loss,"
he said wearily, sinking deeper into his seat.
"If it had possessed a true artificial intelligence, its biological hunger could have been regulated, its data flow stabilized within seconds. Everything would have been so much easier."
Omar shot Soren a hard glare through the rearview mirror.
"You know just as well as I do that we can't do that—that we can't play with that fire, Soren. Artificial intelligences were banned across all of Nevarion exactly one hundred and seventy years ago. Every single line of code was burned. You know the reason better than anyone."
This time, Soren's face darkened not with displeasure, but with deep pessimism.
"I know… Because of the S-rank robotic entity that leaked through a Rift… It corrupts even the most complex artificial intelligences within seconds, binding them entirely to its will. An entire empire collapsed because of that heap of metal. Now it rules over the ruins, having built a mechanical kingdom of its own."
The disgust in his voice intensified as he continued.
"And we can't thank that idiot Emperor Julius enough—for trying to fuse human flesh with machines! Those half-mechanical, grotesque, revolting warriors he created are now slaves to that creature. A people who were once human now function like machine parts imprisoned within their own cells… Thankfully, our emperors have always been repulsed by that so-called 'transhumanism.' Such a stain has never existed on our lands."
Omar felt his hands trembling on the steering wheel. For a brief moment, he imagined his flesh being replaced by metal gears, cables burrowing into his brain. The thought made his stomach churn violently.
"Please stop, Soren," he said quietly.
"Those images turn my insides upside down. Remaining human is more valuable than anything."
Soren chuckled softly; his friend's deeply human reaction lifted his mood slightly. After a brief silence, Omar spoke again, his tone unusually serious.
"Soren… sometimes I think we're incredibly fortunate."
Soren flinched and looked at Omar's profile.
"Why are you suddenly getting emotional? What is this—are you delivering a farewell speech or something?"
Omar laughed lightly, but the sadness in his eyes did not fade.
"I'm just seeing things clearly, my friend. I've seen other empires—those so-called 'civilized' societies. I've seen how they treat their own people like commodities… and I can't forget the way they look at dark-skinned men like me. To them, we're either slaves to be exploited or trash to be discarded. As someone born in Turanya with roots in Azera, I've never faced such humiliation here. Here, it's not your skin color that defines you—it's your heart and your ability."
Soren was momentarily taken aback, then a gentle smile spread across his face.
"When you put it that way… I realize our leaders really are made of a different fabric than the rest of this world. They've always treated their people like a sacred trust. Isn't the way they separate their treasuries proof enough? Their personal wealth on one side, the state's and the people's treasury on the other. They wouldn't touch a single coin of public money for their own luxury. In such a selfish world, that kind of nobility is rarer than we realize."
Omar nodded in agreement.
"And that's exactly why we'd march to our deaths behind that crown."
Soren laughed along, but soon turned his gaze back out the window, slipping once more into his familiar grumpy mood.
"So when is this cursed traffic going to move? Lotus City's obsession with order suffocates me sometimes!"
Omar knew Soren was using traffic as an excuse to escape the emotional atmosphere. They could have activated the sirens and cleared the road if they wanted, but the intimacy of this conversation was worth more. Omar steered the topic toward Soren's most sensitive point.
"Elenor's birthday is coming up. I know you've been cooking something up in that secret laboratory of yours. What did you prepare for your little granddaughter?"
At the sound of his granddaughter's name, all of Soren's irritability vanished, replaced by a childlike excitement.
"Of course I did! I built her a custom motorcycle, Omar! Elenor's had a special fascination with motorcycles for the past few years. But I didn't make anything ordinary—thanks to its special structure, it can switch modes and fly through the air, traverse any terrain on land, and move both on and under water! It has a completely silent 'Ghost Mode,' and a roaring sound mode when needed. With its specialized wheel mechanism, it can even climb vertical walls like a spider! It's slightly bulkier than standard bikes, but its speed… ah, its speed comfortably reaches five hundred kilometers per hour—and with the nitro module, it can shatter even that limit!"
Soren continued without taking a breath.
"Safety is at the highest level; the bike only responds to Elenor's biological signature. It has a voice-command-controlled semi-artificial intelligence autopilot—Elenor just presses a button on her phone, and no matter where it is, the bike comes to her as if it were teleported! I also installed a 'Spatial Compression Field' in the storage compartment. It's not as large as a standard room, but it can hold enough supplies to feed an army! It has three different energy sources—solar, liquid fuel, and pure mana stones… Plus hidden weapon systems and—"
Omar's initially smiling face turned chalk-white as Soren went deeper into the details.
"WAIT—WAIT! HOLD ON A SECOND, SOREN!"