Over the empty vastness of the desert, a lot of perfectly spherical objects seems to be floating high in the sky, linked together with long metallic chains.
It's shining under the harsh desert sun, their surfaces catching and refracting light in strange patterns that suggested something ancient, or alien, or both.
From far below, a small airship approached — its shadow slicing across the golden haze as it ascended. Two riders stood on its narrow deck, cloaked against the wind.
"Master, I think we've reached the Starcircles," said the younger of the two, squinting up. "We'll have to meet the traders."
"Yes," the elder replied, voice like cooled iron. "They've assumed control of border security. That's precisely why we've been sent here, young one."
The apprentice frowned. "But Master Oligar, our mission is to escort the king back to our capital. Most of Zedah's land lies within our jurisdiction. Why is this even an issue? Shouldn't we have full clearance?"
Oligar nodded grimly. "Unfortunately, just before we departed, Zedah's ministers passed an emergency act. It granted the trader guilds full control over the borders — supposedly for the kingdom's protection. The act was signed under pressure."
"Pressure? From who?"
"From reality, Haaskin. After the third attack on the capital by "the Authority", the kingdom was in chaos. The traders stepped in — offering defense networks, high-tech surveillance, and weapons. They have more wealth than the king now. And with that comes leverage. and to investigate this sudden shift in attitude towards us is the reason why the council has sent us here."
Haaskin looked uneasy. "So the king just... gave them power?"
"He may not have had a choice but not hearing any words from him for weeks at this point raises ....Questions," Oligar said. "Blind trust can become fatal. And if the traders desire more than influence — if they seek actual control — then this law was their first step."
Haaskin murmured, "We've always been taught: the hunger for power draws one toward authority. THE AUTHORITY. the selfishness to not share things with others and never-ending, devouring greed"
As if on cue, the Starcircle shimmered. One of the great metallic spheres groaned softly and began to shift. Its upper hemisphere rotated and split open along a hidden seam, revealing a narrow docking platform that extended outward like a silver tongue.
The airship adjusted its course, aligning with the platform. With a soft hum, it hovered and docked. From within the gleaming entry, a group of robed figures emerged — their garments long and flowing, etched with red symbols. Blue scarves looped from their necks and draped down past their hips.
Oligar and Haaskin disembarked. Haaskin paused near the edge of the platform, staring at the desert spread out below them — a dizzying drop that made his knees lock.
"Focus," Oligar muttered.
The traders approached. Their steps were measured, ceremonial, but there was a stiffness in their posture. They wore pristine white robes etched with crimson sigils. Haaskin noted the material looked unusually light, like it might shift colors under different light.
The tallest among them stepped forward and hesitated when he saw Oligar. His eyes narrowed slightly, then he forced a smile.
"Ah… Master Oligar. We hadn't expected… you."
"And this must be your apprentice?" another asked quickly, trying to fill the awkward pause.
"Yes. I trained him myself. Haaskin, stop gawking. We're safe here — for now. Our hosts know better than to provoke a diplomatic breach. Democracy oversees Zedah and its neighbors. We are allies."
Haaskin nodded. "Yes, Master. I'm Haaskin. It's an honor to meet you."
One of the traders stiffened, eyes flickering toward his companions. They might already know everything about us, he thought, uneasily.
Oligar's tone shifted, polite but deliberate. "Lead the way. I trust you've prepared a briefing?"
The trader hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, of course. This way, please."
They entered the Starcircle through a circular archway. Inside, the heat of the sun vanished. Cool, conditioned air greeted them in a long, narrow chamber that resembled a council room. A long table stretched its length. Dim lighting framed the edges of the room. Oligar noticed the walls weren't metallic — but a composite he couldn't identify.
Haaskin whispered, "Master... this doesn't look like something desert engineers could build."
"You're right," Oligar replied quietly. "This is imported tech — or reverse-engineered. Either way, it's not theirs."
A trader placed a thick folder on the table. "These are last month's reports — forty attacks. The kingdom is unravelling. The people of Zedah owe much to Democracy's support."
He bowed and turned to leave.
"Stop," Oligar commanded.
The trader froze.
"My network has been operating in this region long before you realised it," Oligar said. "That's why the High Council sent me. These reports—"They don't match. They're distractions." Our mission is to safely take the king to the capital. We are not here to solve any of your problems. And if there have been issues with the authority, it's up to the king's choice to ask for our help, who gave you guys the allowance to command the area, why we haven't heard from king for so long.
He stepped forward, gesturing toward the room's walls. "Where did you get the materials to build this? The schematics? This is beyond Zedah's capacity. You wear desert robes and speak like merchants, but this —" he waved at the chamber — "this was forged with precision tech. Possibly off-world."
The trader's expression cracked. He bolted for the exit.
But the moment he moved, he was flung backwards by an invisible force and hit the floor with a painful grunt.
"You tried to flee from a Grand Mana User?" Oligar said coldly, stepping forward.
Suddenly, the chamber's doors sealed with a hiss. A faint sound — like gas escaping — filled the air.
"Poisonous gas," Haaskin gasped.
The trader's eyes widened as he tried to speak. His knees gave out. A moment later, he lay still.
With a sharp inhale, both master and apprentice closed their eyes briefly—then focused. Threads of mana curled outward from their bodies, weaving together in the air like invisible filaments. Around their heads, the threads tightened and shimmered, forming a swirling veil of compressed air—thin, but dense enough to push back the invisible poison that lingered in the chamber.
It wasn't just a filter. It was a barrier.
A sphere of clean breath, maintained by will.
Oligar exhaled slowly. Haaskin's mask flickered once as the mana settled into rhythm. The poison outside hissed faintly, repelled.
Oligar's right hand's palm is facing the floor beneath. he focuses his mana to release flames burning the floor, and then Haaskin uses mana to strengthen his fist, making it glow green and strikes the ground open, making way for him and his master.
Both the teacher and apprentice land on the ground only to meet with more soldiers.