The auction hall plunged into silence—a stillness so profound it seemed to tear reality itself.
The auctioneer's hammer still vibrated in the air like thunder trapped in time.
No one breathed.
No one dared move a muscle.
The auctioneer's hesitant, resonant words felt less like confirmation and more like divine decree:
"SOLD! The Capsule of Destiny now belongs to the Master of the SSSVIP Chamber!"
The announcement hung like mystic fog, echoing across gilded walls and etching itself into every cultivator's heart.
A collective whisper swept the room—not a sound, but a shared tremor of disbelief and reverence.
Billions of gold coins.
A sum so vast it felt less like commerce and more like myth.
Orion rose.
The simple gesture carried the weight of an eclipse. Light bent subtly around him, and for a moment, space itself held its breath.
His steps to the center of the hall were measured, each one heavy with the gravity of ages.
He moved not as a contender, but as an entity—a living shard of Creation itself.
His gaze swept the room: not arrogant, but incontestable. He did not belong to this arena. He was beyond it.
Beside him, Lyra watched, heart pounding. Her pride came not from spectacle or victory, but from confirmation: Orion wasn't just powerful. He was inevitable.
"You truly did it…" she whispered, eyes glistening. "I knew you were strong, but this… this is grandeur."
Orion nodded, lips curved in an enigmatic half-smile.
"Sometimes mortals need a glimpse of what lies beyond their comprehension."
The Capsule, encased in runic light, detached from its altar as if recognizing its master.
It floated slowly into Orion's hands. At his touch, a wave of subtle energy rippled through the hall—as if the universe itself acknowledged the moment.
Not an explosion.
Not a spectacle.
Something deeper.
Reality resonated with Orion's presence. A vibration that touched even Elysium's farthest corners.
The Private Chamber
Later, in the reserved room…
Atmosphere shifted to intimate quiet, broken only by the soft whir of the Capsule spinning in Orion's fingers. Its light danced across walls like reflections of a bottled star. Surfaces pulsed slowly, breathing.
Lyra sat cross-legged beside him, eyes locked on the relic.
"So… what do you think it does?" Orion asked, amusement glinting in his eyes.
"Something grand," she breathed. "Something that reshapes destinies. Like its name."
Orion tilted his head, pensive. "Or it turns someone into a magnificent dragon… Golden wings, cosmic flames, roars that warp space."
Lyra laughed—a melody that dissolved tension. "Only if I get to ride you as my personal steed!"
"Humiliating… yet acceptable," he conceded with mock resignation. "For you, I might even become a unicorn."
She giggled, leaning against his arm. "You're impossible."
Orion watched her a moment longer. Not for her answer, but for how the Capsule's light caught her green eyes. For the softness of her laugh. For her presence. That was the miracle.
He extended his hand.
"Shall we create something? The Capsule molds realities. It can weave pure desire into entire worlds. We need only… wish together."
Lyra arched a brow. "Like… a realm of magical desserts?"
"Exactly. With fairies riding mountain-sized cakes, flying on floating spoons."
"And you conjuring eternal chocolate?"
"With you as the Eternal Sugar Queen," he grinned. "Deal?"
She placed her hand over his. "Always."
Their interlaced fingers touched the Capsule.
In response, it pulsed—soft, pure light enveloping them like liquid starlight.
The world folded.
Colors dissolved into spirals. The ceiling vanished, replaced by an inverted sky of pink clouds and dancing constellations. Time… ceased.
They crossed into a plane unbound by known laws—a space between reality and imagination, where love catalyzed creation.
Eryndor
While Orion and Lyra explored realities shaped by affection, the Empire of Eryndor followed its own path of growth.
The temporal distortion Orion maintained meant one month outside equaled years within. Civilization blossomed at an impossible pace.
Even in the emperor's absence, his presence lingered—in every temple, every harvest, every birth. Temple walls hummed with residual energy. The air still carried traces of his will.
Year 15, Day 3 of the Third Month—Imperial Calendar of Eryndor
The empire's foundations held firm, but its true power grew in invisible places: transmitted knowledge, spiritual cultivation, and comprehension of the Daos.
With natural expansion came schools, libraries, academies. But above all stood the Daoist Comprehension Halls—spaces built with Orion's will, where the Fundamental Laws of Creation could be felt, almost touched.
Each hall was guided by an instructor: an omniscient manifestation of their Dao. Their words didn't teach—they reshaped reality.
Inside one hall, walls pulsed with silver-gray light.
Instructor Jhon stood before dozens of kneeling disciples. His voice was calm, eternal.
"Many believe death is the end. But death is the silence between two songs. A sacred space—not annihilation, but transition."
As he spoke, spiritual mist formed images: a babe's first breath; a warrior's fall; a flower blooming and withering in seconds.
"The Dao of Death does not teach destruction. It teaches acceptance. It reveals that every cycle holds birth, bloom, decay, and return. And the true cultivator… becomes the cycle itself."
A child named Sera, barely twelve, raised a timid hand.
"Instructor Jhon… if everything dies… why cultivate?"
Jhon knelt before her.
"Because by understanding death, Sera, you understand life. By studying the end, you learn to treasure the now. Cultivation is realizing eternity lies not in evading death… but in becoming one whose will outlasts oblivion."
He touched the stone floor. A small black flower sprouted—woven of shadow and light.
"This flower will live ten seconds. Yet in that time… it lives more intensely than those who ignore their finitude."
The class fell silent. When the flower dissolved, doubt dissolved with it.
As temples hummed with transformation, the Capsule's influence began echoing across Eryndor.
It hadn't just shaped a dream for Orion and Lyra—it amplified resonance across destiny's threads. Ancient prophecies aligned. Children were born with extraordinary talents. Dreams became premonitions.
The empire breathed deeper, its roots now touching the cosmic loom.