The First: The Forger Guild Master

The man walking slightly ahead had a dark red mane of hair, cut short but thick, with streaks of metallic bronze. His steps were steady, and though he wore no armor, his presence seemed to weigh the air down with every movement. More notably, a strange, almost unnatural heat radiated from his body—not enough to harm, not even to discomfort, but enough to subtly raise the temperature of the throne room, like standing near a furnace cloaked in human form.

He was Titan Dwarfa, the Guild Master of the Star Empire’s regional headquarters of the Forger Guild. Despite his name and ancestry, his stature was closer to that of a baseline human, standing around 6 feet tall, broad-shouldered but not hulking. What defined him was not his size, but the aura of mastery that clung to him like molten steel waiting to be shaped.

The Second: The Alchemy Association Master

Beside him walked a man of more refined bearing. His emerald-green hair and deep verdant eyes immediately set him apart. His ears, elegantly elongated and adorned with fine runic silver cuffs, made it clear—he was not human. He was a High Elf, and by reputation alone, the Master Alchemist of the Star Empire’s branch of the Alchemy Association.

Named , Berlin Elfenhine.

Though he said nothing, his mere presence exuded an ancient tranquility, like a forest spirit that had learned to manipulate cosmic law. He wore robes lined with celestial patterns that shifted slightly with the angle of light, and his every movement was calculated, precise—measured.

Both men were powerhouses.

Their cultivation had long surpassed the common realms that most nobles and common folks could even dream of.

Each of them had reached the Genesis Cycle Realm, a stage two full levels above the World Building Realm, and one that only the Emperor himself had recently crossed after tens of thousands of years of focused advancement.

That comparison alone spoke volumes. Even with a lifespan stretching across millions of years, it had taken Emperor Zarvok Starborn an immense stretch of time, unparalleled talent, and resources only available to the ruler of the Star Empire to push through. And yet, standing before him now were two individuals—regional masters—who had reached that same stage.

And they were stronger than him who had a racial advantage.

Such strength wasn’t just personal—it was political.

It meant their voices could not be ignored. Their allegiance, influence, and resources were massive. Whatever they had come to speak about—it would not be simple.

The Emperor, now no longer seated upon his towering white-and-gold throne, stood calmly in front of a newly arranged space—a setting far more intimate and intentional.

Instead of ceremony, there was subtlety.

A simple yet elegant white round table sat at the heart of the chamber. It was surrounded by three identical chairs, each crafted with the same attention to detail and dignity—no one was higher, no one lower. Every edge of the setup had been meticulously arranged, giving off a quiet but undeniable aura of balance, diplomacy, and respect.

This was no accident.

Despite being the ruler of the entire Star Empire, Zarvok Starborn understood something many emperors before him had failed to grasp: power does not only sit on thrones.

Both the Guild Master of the Forger’s Guild and the Alchemy Association’s Master were not just influential—within their respective circles, they held even more sway than many civilization leaders such as him.

“In matters of creation, invention, and transcendental research, they stood as pillars. When it came to the crafting of legendary pills and weapons, both factions—the Alchemy Guild and the Forgers Guild—were not only leading authorities but also wielded influence that surpassed even emperors and other prominent leaders. As regional heads of their respective guilds, their authority was absolute and far-reaching.”

For him to remain seated upon his throne while they stood before him was not just an affront—it was a provocation that could have sparked political catastrophe.

Thus, as always, Zarvok received them as equals, for anything less would have been both unwise and unjust.

His posture was upright, his hands neatly clasped behind his back. As he saw the two powerful figures approaching—one radiating gentle heat like a forge’s core, the other emanating a forest-deep calm—he stepped forward with deliberate poise.

Then, his arms opened slightly in a warm, disarming gesture, a subtle smile rising on his face.

“Ah… what a surprise,” he said smoothly, voice echoing just enough to fill the chamber, yet warm enough to invite comfort.”Two of the most esteemed figures of such stature, visiting me of all so suddenly and in a hurry. I must say, this is not a common sight—though certainly a welcome one.”

He chuckled softly, with the ease of someone used to commanding armies but now choosing to host guests as a friend.

It was a clever move—calculated, yet genuine.

As Emperor of the Star Race, he did wear a crown—but even a crowned ruler must descend from his lofty throne when facing equals, some of whom held power that rivaled or even surpassed his own. Emperor Zarvok’s willingness to step down was no weakness; it was a calculated move, a mark of a wise and diplomatic leader who understood that true strength often lies in humility.

When needed, that is!!

The Guild Master of the Forger Guild, Titan Dwarf by blood and fire in spirit, gave a broad grin as he walked beside his companion—the Alchemy Association Master, Berlin Elfenhine.

He chuckled lightly at the Emperor’s greeting, his voice deep and laced with a subtle edge.

“Surprised, are we, Your Majesty?” he said with a raised brow, the smile never leaving his lips. “That’s quite the performance… But thank you nonetheless for accepting our urgent request.”

He turned slightly, glancing at Berlin with an arched eyebrow.

“Don’t you agree, Association Master Elfenhine?”

Berlin, ever calm and elegant in his movements, gave a slight bow of agreement. His voice was soft, but not weak—like leaves brushing against stone.

“Indeed, I do, Guild Master Titan. We are grateful for the audience.”

The words were courteous. The tone, however, hinted at something more. A message between the lines.

And Emperor Zarvok, seasoned as he was in diplomacy and deception alike, heard it clearly.

Titan’s meaning wasn’t lost on him.

‘We both know why we’re here, so let’s not pretend you didn’t expect this.’

But the Emperor, ever composed, didn’t let the subtle jab stir even a ripple in his expression. Instead, he waved it off with a relaxed chuckle, as if brushing away the wind.

“Ahh, no need to dwell on such things,” Zarvok replied smoothly, turning slightly as he gestured toward the round table. “I wasn’t so consumed by imperial duties that I would overlook a request from two pillars of our Empire.”

There was charm in his tone, but something more as well: the same kind of restrained authority that could crush a mountain or lift an ally—depending on how the meeting played out.

Zarvok stood tall and poised, and with a smooth beckoning motion of his hand, he smiled.

“Alright, gentlemen—shall we sit and talk? That would be alright with both of you, yes?”

Both the Guild Master and the Association Master responded with a simple nod of their heads—no words, no ceremony. They understood this wasn’t a courtly affair, but a meeting of power.

The Emperor turned, robes shifting gently as he walked to his seat. Once they had all taken their places around the white marble table, he sat as well, then glanced between the two with calm confidence.

“Shall we begin?”

Another pair of nods.

Zarvok’s smile returned, a touch sharper now—still pleasant, still composed, but layered with intent.

“So, tell me—what was so urgent that both of you rushed to meet me? I’m all ears.”

He lifted one hand and pointed playfully at his ear. The meaning behind the gesture, however, was anything but playful:

“You asked for this meeting. You speak first.”

The two leaders exchanged a glance. It was Titan, the Guild Master, who spoke first, his smile matching the Emperor’s in sharpness.

“Let’s not pretend, Emperor. You know exactly why we’re here.”

His aura surged for the briefest moment—not in aggression, but in assertion. It was the energy of someone not interested in games.

Zarvok remained unfazed.

“Of course I know,” he replied, voice smooth like oiled steel. “But I want to hear it from your own mouths. Speak it plainly.”

At that, both the Guild Master and the Alchemy Association Master raised their eyebrows—not in irritation, but in acknowledgement of Zarvok’s stubborn subtlety. He wasn’t going to give them even a sliver of initiative.

Berlin Elfenhine leaned forward in his chair. His fingers tapped lightly on the cool marble surface of the round table—each tap deliberate, like a countdown.

“It’s about the Holy Region—the one the Minotaur delegation spoke of,” he said plainly. “We’re not here on personal interest. We’re here representing our respective associations.”

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