The night air at Dubai International Airport was colder than usual, with sharp winds cutting through the otherwise quiet terminals. Soren's private jet was docked at a secured section of the runway, being refueled under tight security. Inside the business lounge, Soren sat in a sleek leather armchair, his posture relaxed but his mind alert. Zara stood behind him, her eyes focused on the screens displaying flight and fuel updates.
Arham walked in, dropping into the chair across from Soren, his expression skeptical. "What's the plan?" he asked. "And why are you fueling the jet if we're supposed to move after the meetup?"
Soren didn't look up from the tablet he was scrolling through. "You don't get it, do you?"
Arham raised an eyebrow, glancing at Zara, who seemed just as confused. "What are you talking about?"
Soren finally looked up, his gaze sharp and calculating. "Only you two will be going."
Both Arham and Zara looked stunned, their eyes widening in unison.
"What?" Arham said, voice tinged with disbelief.
Soren remained calm, a faint smirk appearing on his face. "You will act as me. Understand?"
"What the hell do you mean? You want us to go without you? That makes no sense! How the hell are we supposed to pull that off? The world knows the difference between us. You can't just have me pretend to be you!"
Arham scoffed, clearly frustrated. "You're out of your damn mind. There's no way anyone would fall for it. Your face alone is recognizable from a mile away. How do you plan to pull off that kind of stunt?"
Soren remained unfazed, glancing at his watch as if waiting for something. "When he gets here, there won't be that much trouble."
Zara leaned forward, curiosity piqued. "Who's 'he'?"
Soren gave her a sideways glance, his tone almost amused. "An old friend."
Before Arham could press him further, one of the guards entered the lounge and gave a respectful nod. "Sir, there's a man outside requesting to meet you. Says it's urgent."
Soren gave a slight nod. "Bring him in."
The guard bowed and left, and a few moments later, the door swung open. A man walked in, his presence casual and confident. He was dressed in a simple black jacket, faded jeans, and a gray shirt underneath. His hair was dark and slightly messy, and his sharp, perceptive eyes scanned the room before landing on Soren.
The man crossed his arms and gave a smirk, his voice carrying a rough, familiar tone. "The hell are you doing here at this hour, Soren? Thought you'd be halfway to Switzerland by now."
Soren leaned back in his chair, lips curling into a subtle smile. "There's work to do, Kemal. You're just in time."
Arham frowned, looking between them. "You two know each other?"
Soren gave a slight nod. "This is Kemal Ayaz—an old friend from back in the day. We fought together during the Turkey Tower break. He's... uniquely talented."
Kemal raised an eyebrow, looking at Soren. "You're flattering me. What's this about? You didn't call me out here just for a reunion."
Soren didn't waste any time. "I need you to make Arham look like me. Same face, same build—enough to fool anyone."
Kemal tilted his head, intrigued. "So that's why you called me, huh? You really planning to run a double?"
Soren nodded. "It's the safest move. If the enemy is smart enough to target seven-stars, they'll be tracking our movements. I don't plan on making it easy for them."
Kemal gave a low whistle. "Smart. You always did think two steps ahead." He turned to Arham, giving him a quick once-over. "Yeah, shouldn't be a problem. I can make you a carbon copy for seventy-two hours. No one would notice a difference, even up close."
Arham still looked uncertain. "That's all well and good, but what if they figure it out? They're not just tracking faces—they're tracking patterns, behaviors. One slip-up, and they'll know it's not him."
Soren looked at him calmly. "That's why I chose you. You've seen me fight, move, and speak more than anyone else. You'll manage. Besides... we're buying time. We're not trying to convince them forever—just long enough to figure out what the hell's going on."
Kemal approached Arham, placing a hand on his shoulder, his eyes glowing faintly with a deep, indigo light. The air shimmered around them like a heatwave, and in seconds, Arham's entire appearance shifted—his hair changed to match Soren's, his face molded to perfection, even his posture altered to mirror Soren's relaxed but intense demeanor.
Zara's eyes widened in shock. "Unbelievable... It's exactly like him."
Kemal grinned. "Told you. Appearance, voice, mannerisms—everything. You've got seventy-two hours before it wears off. Just make sure not to overexert your power—it might strain the disguise."
Arham looked at his reflection in the glass, stunned by the perfection of the illusion. "Damn... This is insane."
Soren stood up, giving Kemal a nod. "Appreciate it. You sticking around?"
Kemal shrugged, hands in his pockets. "I'll be in the area. I'd rather not get involved in whatever world-shattering mess you're cooking up, but I'll keep an ear out. Just don't do anything too reckless."
Soren gave him a faint smirk. "No promises."
Kemal rolled his eyes, patting Arham on the shoulder. "You better sell it, buddy. People are gonna notice real quick if you start acting like yourself. Just remember—you're a stone-cold bastard now."
Arham scoffed, already annoyed. "Yeah, yeah. I got it. Thanks, I guess."
Kemal gave a casual wave as he walked out of the lounge, leaving the three of them to finalize their plan. Zara looked between Soren and Arham, still trying to process the situation.
"You're really not going to the Accord?" she asked.
Soren glanced at her, his gaze serious. "No. I'll move around quietly and get some eyes on the ground. The Accord's too paranoid right now—showing up in person would only make them suspicious. If something goes wrong, they'll take out whoever they don't trust. Better to stay out of the line of fire while Arham plays my part.Just act as if you are there for a vacation Alright !?"
Zara nodded, understanding his strategy. "Understood, sir. We'll handle it."
As Soren moved to the window, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of trap they might be walking into. Whatever was hunting the seven-stars wasn't stupid—it was ruthless and calculating. One wrong move could mean death.
But if there was one thing Soren knew, it was how to play the long game. And he wasn't about to be outmaneuvered.
The plane was ready, engines humming softly as it prepared for takeoff. Arham, now looking exactly like Soren, gave a final glance back at the business lounge. Zara was right behind him, her demeanor calm but focused.
Arham adjusted his coat, still trying to get used to the illusion. "Feels weird. Like wearing a mask that's too tight."
Zara gave him a reassuring nod. "You'll get used to it. Just remember to act like him. Calm, ruthless, and no hesitation."
He gave a slight smirk. "Yeah, easy to say."
Soren watched from a distance, arms crossed, a faint smile on his face. As Arham and Zara boarded the plane, he turned and made his way to the back of the airport, where a lone black SUV waited, half-concealed by shadows. As he approached, the driver glanced up from his seat—a rugged-looking man with a weathered face and a hint of annoyance.
The driver didn't recognize him at first and spoke with a gruff tone. "Sorry, brother. This car's not taking passengers today."
Without missing a beat, Soren opened the door and slid into the back seat, settling comfortably. "222 Dragon 36. Now go."
The driver froze, his eyes widening as he processed the code. He swallowed hard and gave a quick nod, no longer questioning anything. "Sorry, sir."
With practiced efficiency, he started the engine and pulled out of the alley, merging into the main road. Soren leaned back, his eyes sharp and calculating. Only he and the driver knew the destination—no one else could trace his movements. As the car sped through the cold, windy night, Soren's mind remained locked on the plan, thinking a few moves ahead.
Meanwhile, back on Drakareth, Hakan and Xyvarion moved through the sprawling corridors of Valtheryon, the faint glow of flowing crystal veins illuminating their path. As they reached the grand castle hallway, they were met with a sight that immediately caught their attention.
A massive dragon stood near the entrance, his form gleaming with an otherworldly light. Golden and white scales shimmered like molten sunlight, and his sheer size made even the vast hall feel small. His wings arched high, adorned with glowing runes, and his presence radiated an aura of purity and overwhelming power. Next to him stood Elaris, her ethereal form shimmering as usual, her expression calm but expectant.
"You're finally here!" Elaris greeted, her tone gentle but laced with urgency.
As both she and the massive dragon shifted into their humanoid forms, their appearances shrunk to human size. The new arrival retained golden eyes and flowing white hair, with horns curling back elegantly and faint golden patterns tracing his skin. Wings and a serpentine tail still marked his draconic heritage, but he appeared almost regal.
Hakan's eyes narrowed as he approached, his voice cold and commanding. "May I ask who this is?"
Elaris gave a graceful bow. "This is Rhalvion, the Aetherfire—a messenger and guide for the Dragon Monarchs."
Hakan's gaze didn't soften. "Appreciated, but I don't need him. He can take his leave."
Rhalvion remained composed, giving a respectful nod, but before he could respond, Elaris stepped forward. "You can't just dismiss a Celestial Dragon like that! You should—"
But her words faltered under the weight of Hakan's monarch aura. The sheer intensity of his presence silenced even her protests. Just as he turned to leave, Rhalvion spoke calmly, his voice clear and unwavering.
"Azharel said to say hello to you."
Hakan froze. His expression darkened instantly, his muscles tensing like coiled steel. In a blink, he vanished and reappeared, his hand gripping Rhalvion's throat, slamming him against the stone wall with enough force to crack it.
"Should I send you back to him in pieces?" Hakan snarled, his eyes blazing with fury.
Rhalvion didn't flinch, his voice steady even with Hakan's grip around his neck. "You are as he described—impatient, impractical, and full of fury."
Before Hakan could tighten his grip, Rhalvion disappeared in a flash, reappearing behind Hakan with effortless grace. Just as Hakan turned to strike again, Rhalvion dropped to one knee, bowing deeply.
"The high and mighty Dragon Monarch. I, Rhalvion—messenger from Lord Azharel—hereby officially declare you as the Dragon Monarch and the rightful ruler of Valtheryon."
The declaration hung in the air like a thunderclap. Hakan remained rooted to the spot, his mind spinning. Xyvarion and Elaris were visibly stunned, and a smile broke out on Xyvarion's usually stoic face, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
Elaris seemed equally taken aback, but her expression softened into a rare, joyful smile. "The Primordials... they've accepted him."
Xyvarion couldn't contain his pride. "The Monarch's reign is secured. Finally..."
But Hakan wasn't celebrating. His thoughts churned with confusion, fragments of past memories flooding his mind. He remembered everything that happened in the Astralis Rift—how he had fought to against thegourds of the Primordials, how Azharel had denounced him, claiming he wasn't the Chosen One. The fight l, the overwhelming power—none of it made sense.
His jaw clenched, his glare piercing into Rhalvion. "What... what are you?"
Rhalvion remained kneeling, his tone unwavering. "I am your guide, Monarch. Appointed by Lord Azharel to assist and serve you. Whenever you need me, I will be there—at all times. These are the orders of my master."
Xyvarion stepped forward, his voice firm but reverent. "My liege, this changes everything. You are not just the ruler of Valtheryon—you are the one the Primordials themselves have acknowledged."
But Hakan wasn't convinced. A hint of suspicion lingered in his eyes. "Why now? Why acknowledge me after they threw me out of the Astralis Rift? What game are they playing?"
Rhalvion remained silent, his head still bowed. Hakan glanced away, his thoughts dark and tangled. Something didn't add up, and he wasn't about to lower his guard just because of a sudden proclamation.
"Keep your guiding to yourself, for now," Hakan muttered, his voice low and edged with distrust. "If Azharel thinks I'm going to just follow his will, he's dead wrong. I rule Drakareth—not his damned prophecy."
Rhalvion raised his head slowly, his expression calm. "As you wish, Monarch. But my presence will remain. I am yours to command."
Xyvarion gave a faint smile, knowing Hakan's wariness all too well. Whatever lay ahead, it was clear that Drakareth had truly acknowledged its new ruler—whether Hakan fully embraced it or not.
Perspective: Ren Tianlong
The morning fog hung heavy over Hong Kong, shrouding the towering skyscrapers like specters against the gray sky. From the rooftop of a high-rise overlooking the bay, Ren Tianlong stood alone, his silhouette sharp and composed. A faint wind stirred his long, jet-black hair, but he remained unmoving—like a statue carved from shadow.
He sipped from a small porcelain cup, the rich aroma of oolong tea mingling with the cool, damp air. Ren's eyes were half-closed, but his mind was sharper than ever—quiet, calculating, always moving ahead.
A soft chime echoed from his pocket—a signal from one of his personal devices. With a subtle movement, he pulled out the small encrypted communicator and flicked it on. A calm, efficient voice came through, one of his most reliable informants.
"Master Tianlong, the reports have arrived. No movement from the Accord that directly implicates the seven-stars. The public is still reeling from the death of Jirrah Rourke, but no concrete actions have been taken."
Ren took another sip of his tea. "And the others? Any sign of Luxarion or Dimitri Volkov?"
A brief pause. "None, sir. It's as if they vanished from existence. No recorded sightings or communications. Hakan Raihan is also still unaccounted for. Speculations about his death are spreading among rogue factions."
Ren didn't flinch. "Any new traces on Soren Raihan?"
"None, Master. He has completely vanished from all known surveillance and intel networks. Our best trackers found no evidence of his movements. It's as if he erased himself."
Ren's eyes narrowed slightly, his fingers lightly tapping the porcelain cup. Of course Soren wouldn't move carelessly. If he vanished without a trace, it was intentional—and meant he didn't want to be found.
Impressive.
Ren allowed a faint, almost imperceptible smirk to cross his face. He'd always known Soren was meticulous, but to completely vanish without leaving even a whisper behind was a feat in itself. Most would panic and make mistakes—but Soren? He moved like a ghost when he needed to.
"Continue monitoring. If anything even remotely relevant comes up, inform me immediately."
"Understood, Master." The communicator fell silent.
Ren set the cup down on the stone railing, the fog rolling in thicker around him. His thoughts moved rapidly, tracing threads of logic and intuition. Luxarion and Dimitri were missing—Jirrah dead. Soren in hiding. The Accord was likely panicking, trying to figure out what to do next, but Ren didn't care about their bureaucratic chaos.
His instincts told him to stay in the shadows—to watch and move without being seen. The enemy was smart, precise, and ruthless. Going in headfirst would be playing into their hands. Ren had seen patterns like this before—assassins hunting the strongest to break morale and sow chaos.
And yet... something felt different this time. The way Jirrah died—no struggle, no sign of battle—meant it wasn't just about brute force. It was planned, a calculated removal of a vital piece from the board. Whoever did it didn't want to risk failure.
Ren's thoughts shifted to Hakan—the one enigma among them. If Hakan was dead, there would be proof—something unmistakable. A monster like him didn't just disappear. Ren couldn't help but be intrigued. Even among the seven-stars, Hakan was unique—brutality and power wrapped in unstoppable will. Yet now, silence.
A whisper of wind carried a chill through the air, and Ren remained rooted in place, his expression unreadable. What if Hakan was targeted first? What if whoever was behind this started with him and moved on to the others? The idea was unsettling, not because Ren feared for Hakan, but because he knew what it would take to remove someone like that.
His phone vibrated—a personal line, one only a few trusted operatives knew. He glanced at the screen. A single message displayed:
"Anomaly detected at the Atlantic Rift. Energy signatures comparable to Tower Breaks. Situation escalating."
Ren slipped the phone back into his coat pocket. Another Tower Break? Or something worse? If the towers were becoming active again, it could mean a resurgence of ancient threats—or entirely new ones.
His gaze shifted to the horizon, the city below just beginning to awaken. The familiar hum of life resumed—oblivious to the chaos lurking beneath the surface. The world was on the brink of something catastrophic, and yet most people remained blissfully unaware.
A slight movement behind him caught his attention—a stray cat, cautiously padding across the rooftop. Its ears perked up, sensing something, and it froze mid-step. Ren glanced down at it, and for just a moment, his aura flared—cold, unyielding, and suffocating. The cat bolted, vanishing into the shadows without a sound.
Ren allowed himself a quiet breath. It was better this way. Let the others gather and form alliances, pooling their strength to feel secure. Ren didn't need that. He thrived alone—invisible, untouchable, always a step ahead. If the enemy thought they could eliminate him as easily as the others, they would soon learn the difference.
His fingers lightly traced the rim of his teacup. Soren... You're preparing for war, aren't you? Clever as always. But pulling the strongest together was risky—it painted a target on their backs. If Soren wanted to gather them, he must have a reason—a plan.
Ren closed his eyes briefly, letting his aura settle back to its dormant state. He wouldn't interfere—not yet. Instead, he would keep to the shadows, moving silently while the others made noise. There was more to this than just a coordinated assassination. Something ancient. Something forgotten.
If the enemy was truly after the seven-stars, they would come for him eventually. He wasn't about to wait helplessly—he would track them first. Let them think they were the hunters. He would be the shadow that devoured them.
And if the trail somehow led to Hakan... all the better. That man wasn't easy to kill. If he was still alive, Ren would find him.
With one final glance at the sprawling cityscape, Ren stepped back from the edge and vanished into the swirling fog—a shadow among shadows.
The cold, misty air of Hong Kong faded in an instant. One moment Ren was standing on the rooftop, his presence blending with the shadows, and the next, he was in the frigid wasteland of the Atlantic Rift—a vast, frozen expanse bordering the Antarctic.
Snow whipped across the jagged terrain, and the piercing wind howled like a dying beast. Ren stood at the edge of the monitoring outpost, his coat billowing around him as if the cold dared not touch him.
Startled gasps erupted from the gathered officials—technicians, scientists, and security personnel—all struggling to maintain composure despite the biting cold. They knew who he was, but seeing him materialize out of nowhere shook them to the core.
One of the senior technicians hurried forward, his face pale with both awe and fear. "Sir! You... You just—"
Ren didn't waste time on explanations. His gaze was sharp and unyielding. "What's the status?"
The technician swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay calm. "Massive energy spikes detected from the center of the Atlantic Rift, sir. We've been trying to pinpoint the source, but all attempts to approach have failed. Every drone and probe gets wiped out before getting close."
Ren's eyes narrowed. "You're saying the source is too hostile for even remote observation?"
The technician nodded. "Yes, sir. We've never seen energy signatures like this. It's... unnatural. Way beyond typical Tower Break readings."
Ren looked past him, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Even from here, he could feel it—a pulsing, unnatural presence like a heartbeat vibrating through reality itself.
He turned his cold, piercing gaze back to the technician. "Leave it to me. Evacuate the area. All personnel out."
The man hesitated. "But sir—"
Ren's aura flared—an invisible wave of authority that slammed into every person present. Even the most stubborn officers immediately dropped what they were doing and rushed to follow his command, their instincts screaming that staying meant death.
Authority Manipulation—Ren's will enforced without resistance.
The outpost was cleared within minutes. Ren remained where he was, his presence alone exuding a pressure that even the air seemed to bend around. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the far distance—on the center of the rift, where the energy was most concentrated.
"Absolute Dominion."
A low, vibrating hum rippled through the area as space itself twisted to his will. The snow stopped falling around him, and the howling wind ceased, as if frozen in time. Reality itself bent to his command, and he vanished from the outpost—reappearing miles away, directly above the epicenter of the anomaly.
The sky above the Atlantic Rift seemed to warp, the clouds swirling unnaturally around a massive structure that towered into the heavens. Ren landed gracefully on a jagged ice formation, his eyes locking onto the tower—a colossal, obsidian-black spire that hummed with unholy energy. It had not been there before.
His gaze sharpened. "A new tower... Or an awakened one."
He could feel the energy pulsating from within—chaotic, violent, ancient. Just as he was about to assess further, a deafening crack split the air. The tower shattered like glass, massive chunks crumbling away as a torrent of monsters poured out—dark, twisted abominations wreathed in corrupted energy.
Ren remained motionless, his aura stretching out like an invisible net, assessing the creatures as they surged forward. Some of them were familiar—typical tower beasts with grotesque forms and malformed limbs. But others—no, these were different.
Among the horde were beings that moved with a predatory grace—humanoid figures with ashen-gray skin, long, jagged ears, and dark, armor-like plating etched with runic symbols. Their eyes glowed an unnatural violet, and they wielded elegant, sinister weapons that pulsed with malevolent energy.
Ren's eyes narrowed. "Dark Elves..."
One of the Dark Elves—clearly a commander—barked orders to the beasts in a harsh, guttural language. They moved with purpose, unlike the usual chaotic monster swarms.
Ren didn't even blink. His aura intensified, and his Absolute Dominion expanded—seizing control of the space around him. The ground itself seemed to bow under his presence, and the monsters faltered, feeling an unnatural pressure that made their movements sluggish.
The Dark Elf commander took notice of him, its eyes narrowing with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. With a smooth motion, it raised a blackened blade, gesturing to Ren as if issuing a challenge.
"Perish."
Ren's voice carried like a death sentence. The word itself seemed to bend reality, and the monsters in his immediate vicinity collapsed to the ground, their bodies shattering like brittle glass.
The Dark Elf commander gritted its teeth, but before it could react, Ren appeared right before it—moving faster than a shadow in the night. His hand pressed against the Elf's chest, and the air around them distorted violently.
"Sovereign's Decree."
A crushing wave of pressure exploded outward, forcing the Elf to its knees. The commander tried to resist, but Ren's willpower crushed its very essence. The creature's armor buckled and cracked, its body sinking into the frozen ground as if gravity itself had increased a hundredfold.
Ren's cold eyes didn't waver. "Where did you come from? Who sent you?"
The Dark Elf's mouth twisted into a defiant sneer. It opened its mouth to speak, but before it could, a pulse of dark energy burst from its body, and it dissolved into ash, leaving nothing but fragments of armor behind.
Ren didn't react—only narrowed his gaze at the remains. A failsafe. Whoever sent them didn't want them to be interrogated.
More Dark Elves emerged from the tower remains, accompanied by larger, more grotesque monsters. They hesitated, clearly wary of the imposing presence of the man who just crushed their leader without effort.
Ren raised his hand, and space itself distorted around him, creating a swirling barrier of controlled reality. His presence alone sent shockwaves through the battlefield, and the monsters hesitated, fear instinctively taking root.
His gaze sharpened as he spoke, his voice cold and absolute.
"You dare challenge me?"
The monsters cowered, and the Dark Elves faltered. Ren didn't give them a chance to respond. With a single motion, he collapsed the space around them—crushing dozens of creatures under the sheer force of his Imperial Convergence.
As the dust settled, Ren remained alone among the shattered remains and scattered ash. His expression remained calm, but his mind raced with thoughts.
Dark Elves. That's new. No known tower before had spawned such creatures—intelligent, organized, and clearly trained.
He didn't move from his spot, his aura still emanating cold, unwavering dominance.
If these were invasive forces, it wasn't just the seven-stars who were in danger—it was every living being on Earth.
Ren allowed his presence to fade, and the wind resumed its howling around him. The world was shifting—and he intended to stay ahead of it.
The world was buzzing with breaking news. Every major network had dropped their scheduled programming, cutting straight to the latest development that had the entire planet holding its breath.
A polished news anchor, her face tense but composed, addressed the camera.
"Breaking news: A massive Tower Break has occurred at the center of the Atlantic Rift, and for the first time in months, humanity has seen a glimmer of hope."
The screen cut to shaky footage recorded from a military drone. The colossal black tower loomed above the frozen wasteland, dark energy crackling along its surface. Hundreds of monsters poured out—twisted, grotesque beings with unnatural forms—filling the air with guttural roars.
The anchor continued, her voice steady despite the grim visuals.
"This Tower Break is unlike any before. Reports confirm the emergence of new hostile entities—humanoid figures identified as 'Dark Elves.' Initial assessments suggest they are far more intelligent and organized than typical tower monsters."
The feed shifted, showing Ren Tianlong—alone against the tide of chaos. The sight was surreal. Despite being dwarfed by the monstrous swarm, his presence was like an immovable force—calm, unyielding, and commanding.
"But in a stunning turn of events," the anchor said, her tone lifting with cautious optimism, "Ren Tianlong—one of the Seven-Star Heroes—single-handedly annihilated the threat. Eyewitnesses and military personnel reported that his mere presence immobilized the monsters. With a single word, he obliterated entire groups of enemies."
Clips played of Ren's crushing pressure forcing monsters to collapse into dust, and Dark Elves faltering under his authority before being destroyed. The footage lingered on his silhouette, unmoved and unaffected by the chaos around him.
The anchor continued, almost in disbelief.
"Ren Tianlong disappeared shortly after neutralizing the threat. His current whereabouts remain unknown. But for the first time in weeks, the public is voicing hope, praising his decisive and overwhelming power."
The screen switched to public reactions—people cheering in the streets, praising Ren for his strength. Social media buzzed with hashtags like #RenTheSavior and #HopeReturns. Crowds gathered outside government buildings, demanding that Ren be recognized as humanity's primary defender.
The anchor concluded with a hint of admiration.
"Though the Hero Accord remains silent on the incident, one thing is clear—Ren Tianlong's intervention has given the world a much-needed beacon of hope. The question now is... where will he strike next?"
The news feed continued playing on the tablet, but Soren barely glanced at it. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, a faint, calculating smile curling his lips. The soft glow from the screen reflected in his sharp eyes, but his mind was far beyond the confines of the hotel room.
The world was buzzing about the Atlantic Rift incident—Ren Tianlong single-handedly obliterating a Tower Break without a hint of struggle. Every news channel was plastered with clips of his unfathomable power—monsters collapsing to dust, Dark Elves shattering like brittle glass, and Ren himself standing untouched and indifferent amid the chaos.
Soren tapped his finger lightly against the armrest, his smirk deepening. Ren Tianlong—making his presence known in the most brutal, efficient way possible. Typical. He couldn't help but let out a low, almost amused chuckle.
He knew exactly how the world would react. People needed hope—someone to look up to. And now they had it, served on a silver platter by Ren's overwhelming show of dominance.
"Well played," Soren muttered to himself. "You just gave the Accord the perfect out."
The public wouldn't be questioning the vanishing heroes anymore—not with Ren back in the spotlight. The Accord would cling to that hope, milking it to stabilize the chaos. It was the perfect distraction—one Ren probably didn't even care about. But for Soren, it was a golden opportunity.
He glanced out the window, his eyes narrowing as he watched the neon-lit skyline of Dubai stretch into the night.
"The moment Ren showed up and annihilated that Tower Break, the public's faith shifted to him," he murmured. "That one act alone leveled the field. Now I can move without worrying about eyes on me."
A low, humorless chuckle escaped his lips.
"You're telling me you're using Ren's dominance as cover? That's pretty damn twisted," he whispered to himself, as if echoing what Arham would have said.
Soren just gave a faint shrug, his mind already a few steps ahead.
"Let them focus on him. Right now, the world needs a hero to rally behind. Ren's making waves—I'm staying in the depths, watching them crash."
He leaned forward, tapping on the tablet to replay the footage. The clip showed Ren standing before the shattered tower, his imposing figure barely moved by the wind, while soldiers cautiously approached from a distance—too scared to get closer. As expected, Ren gave them no acknowledgement before vanishing from sight.
Soren couldn't help but smirk again. "Ren doesn't wait. He anticipates." That man didn't move without reason—he must have sensed something was coming, or maybe even knew about it beforehand. It wasn't just raw power with Ren—it was instinct.
A faint vibration interrupted his thoughts—the secure phone on the table. He picked it up and glanced at the screen.
"They're here."
Soren's smile faded, his demeanor shifting to something colder—more calculating. He set the tablet aside and rose to his feet, stretching his arms out as if brushing off the tension from waiting. He took one last look at the news feed, Ren's figure still frozen on the screen.
"You just made my job a whole lot easier, Ren," he whispered. "You take the stage—I'll work from the shadows."
He pocketed the phone and walked toward the door, his footsteps calm
Soren stood near the wide hotel window, the city lights of Dubai stretching out like a sea of fireflies. He felt their presence before he heard them—Kaelen Drakenhart and Colton Blackwood moving through the corridor, footsteps deliberate but heavy with tension. A moment later, the door opened, and they walked in—both dressed casually, but the air around them was anything but relaxed.
Kaelen was the first to speak, his tone blunt and almost annoyed.
"You know, calling us to Dubai without any details was a risky move, Soren."
Colton just gave a smirk, his rugged face showing traces of curiosity.
"Wouldn't be Soren if he didn't keep us guessing. Though I'll admit, I half expected an ambush on the way."
Soren gave them a nod, gesturing toward the couches.
"Sit. We've got a lot to discuss."
Kaelen dropped into one of the armchairs, his coat folding neatly around him, while Colton chose to lean against the wall, crossing his arms. Despite the casual posture, both of them were on high alert. Years of surviving as seven-stars had drilled caution into their bones.
Soren didn't waste time.
"First off, Ren's little stunt in the Atlantic just handed us an opening. The public's latched onto him as the new hero figure—no one's questioning the Accord or the missing seven-stars anymore. That one move gave us a lot of breathing room."
Colton raised an eyebrow.
"You're saying we ride the wave and keep our heads down while Ren's the distraction? Sounds like your kind of play."
Kaelen shot Soren a piercing look.
"You really think he did it intentionally? Or was it just Ren being... well, Ren?"
Soren shook his head.
"Intentional or not, it doesn't matter. The Accord's already reaping the benefits. They're clinging to the hope Ren just handed them on a silver platter. Makes our lives a hell of a lot easier."
Colton shrugged, giving a dry chuckle.
"Can't say I'm surprised. Ren moves, and the whole world watches. That man's more of a force of nature than a person. Hell, even the military's probably relieved."
Kaelen didn't look convinced.
"That's the problem. They're relying on him now. The Accord's going to sit on their asses and wait for Ren to make the next move. We can't let them get complacent. That's how we ended up in this mess—blind reliance on the strong."
Soren nodded slowly, acknowledging the point.
"That's why we need to take control of the narrative. The Accord needs to know we're not dead or missing—we're operating. We can't just let them dictate how the world handles this crisis. If they act like we're gone, it'll give every rogue power the courage to act up."
Colton gave a thoughtful hum, rubbing his chin.
"You're saying we should make contact? Show the Accord we're still around and active? I don't know... that's risky. We're practically handing them our position."
Kaelen shook his head.
"Not necessarily. We don't need to meet them directly—just leave breadcrumbs that hint we're moving. Make them second-guess the idea of calling us gone. Maybe leak intel on minor threats being handled—just enough to keep the narrative uncertain."
Soren gave a slight nod, considering it.
"That would force them to stay active instead of just hiding behind Ren's shadow. We can't have them getting comfortable. The moment the Accord relaxes, the world starts crumbling."
Colton looked between them, his eyes narrowing.
"Sounds like a good idea, but that doesn't fix the root issue. Missing seven-stars, weird tower breaks, and now... Dark Elves? That's not something we can just dance around. We need hard intel—more than just damage control."
Soren met his gaze, his voice colder.
"That's why we're here. We're regrouping, assessing the threat, and getting a plan that doesn't involve waiting around to die. Ren just gave us the space to move without being tracked. We need to capitalize on that."
Kaelen leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Fine. We use the breathing room Ren gave us, but we can't afford to split up. Not entirely. If the enemy is picking us off, staying alone is just signing our own death warrants."
Colton huffed.
"I hate to say it, but Kaelen's right. Strength in numbers. We need to move as a unit. Even if we're not in the same spot, we need to coordinate and stay connected. One isolated target is a dead target."
Soren gave a faint, thoughtful hum, tapping his fingers against his knee.
"Agreed. We'll set up safe houses in key locations—Dubai, Paris, Osaka—places with established networks and reliable surveillance. If one of us has to move, we regroup at the nearest point."
Kaelen nodded, satisfied.
"That way, we never lose track of each other. If someone goes dark, the others converge immediately. We can't let anyone fall off the grid like Luxarion and Dimitri."
Colton grinned, though it was more grim than amused.
"I've got a few connections in Europe. I'll secure a spot in Paris. Safe, secluded, but close enough to keep tabs on the Hero Accord if they make a move."
Kaelen gave a curt nod.
"I'll take Osaka. The network there is tight and clean. I'll make sure we have intel flowing without attracting attention."
Soren met their eyes, his gaze firm and unwavering.
"Good. I'll stay mobile for now—keep feeding the narrative that we're not all in one place. The last thing we need is to make ourselves an easy target. We'll use Ren's move as cover to reposition and gather more intel."
Colton let out a breath, relaxing slightly.
"Gotta admit, I didn't think I'd be part of a covert op with you two. But I guess desperate times call for desperate plans."
Kaelen shot him a dry look.
"Just make sure you don't blow our cover like you did in Cairo last year."
Colton scoffed.
"That wasn't me—that was the damn cartel setting off fireworks in the middle of a raid. You think I'd make that kind of noise on purpose?"
Soren smirked, glancing at both of them.
"Just make sure your movements are clean. The second the Accord gets wind of us acting on our own, they'll try to pull us back under their control. We don't need that kind of leash."
Kaelen gave a slight nod of agreement.
"Understood. We move as shadows—nothing that can be traced back to us. If we're gonna survive whatever's hunting us, we need to act smarter than we ever have before."
Colton just grinned and pushed off the wall.
"Guess it's time to see if we're as good as we think we are."
Soren's eyes sharpened, his tone deadly serious.
"No mistakes. We move fast, think faster, and stay ahead of whatever's coming. Ren gave us this opening—let's make sure we don't waste it."
The three shared a look of grim determination. There was no room for error—no space for hesitation. If they slipped up even once, they knew they'd end up like Jirrah—a corpse on a coastline, torn to shreds by an unseen enemy.
And none of them had any intention of going out that way.
The Hero Accord Headquarters, nestled deep within the fortified heart of Geneva, was in chaos. The grand assembly hall—typically an epitome of calm diplomacy—was now buzzing with tension. Reports and documents cluttered the long oval table, holographic projections flickered on the screens, and the global communication feed kept rolling with updates on the Atlantic Rift incident.
The chairpersons of various nations were gathered—some seated, others standing, pacing, or arguing. The gravity of the situation had shattered the usual protocol, and it was clear that everyone had something to say.
The screen at the end of the hall replayed the footage on loop—Ren Tianlong annihilating the Atlantic Tower Break, his mere presence forcing monsters to collapse into dust, the Dark Elves disintegrating like brittle ash. It was mesmerizing—and terrifying.
John Marshall, the representative from the United States, slammed his hand down on the table, silencing the room.
"Enough! This bickering isn't solving anything. We need a decision—now!"
Sofia Müller from Germany crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed.
"A decision on what? We've just seen Ren Tianlong take down an unprecedented Tower Break single-handedly. What's left to discuss? We should be mobilizing under his leadership."
Sergei Volkov of Russia scoffed.
"You want to make him the de facto leader? Are you mad? We don't even know where he is now. The man vanishes like a ghost."
Iqbal Khan of Pakistan leaned forward, his eyes narrowed.
"But the public believes in him now. They're calling him humanity's savior. After weeks of fear and uncertainty, his actions gave the world a beacon of hope. We can't ignore that."
Priya Rajan from India nodded.
"It's true. Even here at the Accord, we've been debating the Vanguard Sentinels' mobilization for days. Yet one man just did the job of an entire squadron without a single casualty."
Jacques Moreau of France frowned, clearly troubled.
"And that's exactly the problem. One man with that much power... what happens when he decides we're in his way? Luxarion kept him in check. But now? There's no one to balance him."
William Carter of the United Kingdom interjected, his tone measured.
"Let's not overreact. Ren has never shown any interest in leading or dominating. He's always operated independently. Making him our central figure could backfire. We need stability—not just brute force."
Thiago Santos of Brazil stood up, his frustration evident.
"Stability? We're facing unknown entities coming out of these towers! Dark Elves? Since when did we ever encounter humanoid enemies from Tower Breaks? We can't afford to hesitate!"
The room grew louder again, arguments flaring as the leaders fell into conflicting opinions. The Vanguard Sentinels became the focus of debate, with some questioning their effectiveness when Ren alone could wipe out entire breaks.
Hannah Berg of Sweden finally raised her voice, cutting through the noise.
"We're losing sight of the real issue. It's not just about Ren. It's about the pattern of disappearances and the sudden surge of stronger entities. If we rely solely on one man, we're setting ourselves up for disaster if he ever falls."
Yuri Petrov of Ukraine spoke up, his deep voice carrying across the hall.
"Hannah's right. Ren's strength doesn't make us invincible. If something took down Luxarion and Dimitri—hell, even Jirrah—we can't assume Ren's untouchable. We must mobilize the Sentinels regardless."
Gabriel Costa of Argentina gave a hesitant nod.
"But the Sentinels were designed to handle rogue heroes and isolated threats. If the Tower Breaks are evolving—if monsters are becoming intelligent—then are they even enough?"
The room fell into a tense silence. The projections still played the footage on loop—Ren obliterating the enemies without a second thought. The confidence in his movements, the effortless destruction—it was enough to make anyone believe he was unstoppable.
But Mr. John Marshall cleared his throat, breaking the uneasy quiet.
"Ren Tianlong's strength is undeniable, but we can't afford to put all our faith in one man. We need to be prepared for any outcome. I say we proceed with the Vanguard Sentinels' mobilization. Ren can act independently as he always has, but we must be proactive."
Sofia Müller hesitated, visibly torn between relying on Ren and following Marshall's logic.
"We need to maintain public morale. The people are clinging to the hope Ren gave them. Mobilizing the Sentinels might send the message that we don't trust him."
Jacques Moreau spoke up with a decisive tone.
"That's why we need to frame it differently. We mobilize the Sentinels as a support network—an auxiliary force that responds to smaller threats while Ren handles the most critical ones. That way, we're not undermining his role, but we're not being entirely dependent either."
A few murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. William Carter nodded thoughtfully.
"Present it as a collaboration rather than a replacement. That might keep the public reassured while maintaining our operational capacity."
Thiago Santos still looked unsure.
"And what if Ren decides he doesn't like it? We're still assuming he'll just let us do as we please."
Chidinma Okeke of Nigeria interjected.
"Ren has never cared about our decisions before. He's never interfered with the Accord, only acting when he deems it necessary. As long as we're not stepping on his toes, I doubt he'll object."
John Marshall took a deep breath, sensing the room's pulse settling.
"Very well. We'll move forward with the mobilization of the Vanguard Sentinels as an auxiliary force—not to replace Ren, but to complement him. We'll monitor his movements and coordinate only when absolutely necessary."
The motion passed with a majority vote, and the room finally began to calm. Some members seemed relieved, others still wary, but the decision had been made.
As the meeting wrapped up, William Carter couldn't help but mutter under his breath, almost as if reassuring himself.
"Ren Tianlong... You may be humanity's hope right now, but God help us if you ever turn your back on us."
The Black Dragons' Headquarters stood tall in the heart of Shizumi, Japan. The air was heavy, the once vibrant and spirited guild now drowning in a thick, uneasy silence. Outside, the city was bustling as always—people moving on with their lives, pretending nothing had changed.
But the Black Dragons knew better. The weight of uncertainty bore down on them like a crushing vice. The absence of Hakan—their leader, their unbreakable force—left a void that not even Alaric, his most trusted second, could fill.
Inside the main hall, the core members had gathered—Alaric, Sylvia, Torren, and Rina Takamura—sitting around a low wooden table, the dim light casting long shadows on their faces. A small television screen was mounted on the wall, replaying the news footage from the Atlantic Rift incident.
The screen showed the tower break—dark, grotesque creatures swarming the frozen landscape. The Dark Elves, unlike anything the world had seen before, moved with coordinated precision. Then Ren appeared—calm, indifferent, his presence alone making the monsters collapse into dust.
His voice was barely audible over the roaring wind on the recording, but the way he spoke a single word—"Perish"—it was like reality itself bent to his will. The footage continued to show Ren's complete and overwhelming domination, obliterating enemies without moving from his spot.
Sylvia let out a low breath, rubbing her temples.
"I still can't believe it," she muttered.
"One man... alone... against all of that."
Torren, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, scoffed.
"One man? That guy isn't human. Hell, he made us all kneel without even looking at us. And then he just walks into the Atlantic and wipes out an entire break? Monsters and all?"
Rina, usually quiet, gave a soft nod.
"The public's calling him a savior now. Everyone's acting like he's the new hope. They've already forgotten about Jirrah's death."
Alaric clenched his jaw, forcing down the frustration gnawing at his chest.
"Ren Tianlong... that bastard doesn't care about hope. He's not doing it for anyone but himself. I don't buy into that hero crap."
Sylvia frowned, her tone unusually reflective.
"But he did take down the Tower Break. Whether he cares or not... people see it as hope. Something to hold on to."
Alaric looked at the screen again, his mind spinning.
First, Jirrah Rourke's death—found dead and washed up on the coast. No signs of a struggle, no evidence. Just... gone. Then came the news of Luxarion and Dimitri Volkov vanishing—no communications, no sightings. It was like they'd been wiped from existence.
And then...
Soren Raihan—Hakan's brother and the Dragon Prince himself—missing as well. They had tried contacting him—repeatedly. Nothing. No response, no acknowledgment. It was like he'd disappeared just like the others.
Sylvia spoke up, breaking the tense silence.
"We've tried everything. Our connections to the White Dragons haven't heard from Soren. They're worried too, but they're not making it public."
Rina leaned forward, her dark eyes steady.
"If even Soren is missing... what the hell is going on? It's like someone's picking off the strongest, one by one."
Torren banged his fist against the wall, the impact leaving a crack.
"Damn it! And we're just sitting here like a bunch of weaklings while monsters and freaks are running wild. This isn't how it's supposed to be."
Alaric shot him a glare.
"Calm down. Losing your head won't solve anything. Besides... it's not like we have any leads. Ren showing up here two weeks ago was our best chance at getting some answers, but he didn't give a damn about us. Just wanted to know where Hakan was."
Sylvia's expression darkened, remembering that moment.
"And when we couldn't answer, he just... looked down on us. Like we weren't even worth his time."
Alaric's knuckles tightened.
"He doesn't understand what Hakan did for this place. What he built here."
They fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Shizumi—a city that had been torn apart and rebuilt from the ashes. Once overrun with crime and chaos, it became a beacon of strength when Hakan took control. He had fought tooth and nail to gain the respect of the people, protecting them when no one else would.
Torren finally spoke up, his voice lower than usual.
"Hakan beat Vealzaryon to hell and back. He crushed that bastard and dragged his sorry corpse through the streets. Shizumi was wrecked in the process, but... he rebuilt it. Made sure no one here would ever feel fear again."
Sylvia nodded, her voice steady.
"People look up to him. They trust him. Even now, they think he's out there fighting somewhere... or coming back any day. If we lose that belief... we lose everything."
Rina looked at Alaric, her gaze unwavering.
"So what's our move, Boss? The public's asking where Hakan is. They're getting restless. We can't just keep saying 'He'll be back.'"
Alaric exhaled, rubbing his temple.
"We keep the guild moving. Stay visible, stay active. Patrol the city—let them see us. Remind them we're still here, even if he isn't."
Sylvia gave a slight nod of approval.
"And what if someone challenges us? You know how rival gangs are—they're just waiting for a chance to hit us while we're weak."
Alaric smirked faintly.
"Let them try. They'll find out real quick that the Black Dragons don't bow to anyone—even if the Monarch isn't here."
Torren scoffed, cracking his knuckles.
"Damn right. If they want a fight, I'll give them one they won't forget."
As the conversation lulled, Alaric glanced at the large window, looking out over the city. Shizumi was quiet tonight, but it felt different—more vulnerable than it had in years. Without Hakan's presence looming over the city, even the air felt lighter.
Alaric muttered under his breath, almost as if he were talking to the sky.
"Where the hell are you, Hakan? You left us a damn empire to hold... but it's crumbling without you."
Sylvia, hearing him, softened her gaze.
"He'll come back. You know how he is—always picking fights in places no one else dares to go."
Torren grinned, though it was forced.
"Yeah, probably cracking skulls in some other dimension or whatever. The guy's too damn stubborn to die."
But despite their words, the reality hung heavy over them. The world was changing—powerful figures were vanishing, towers were breaking again, and the strongest heroes were being picked off like prey.
And in the midst of it all, the Black Dragons were stuck waiting, hoping that the man they followed would walk through those doors again—alive and unbroken.