Chapter 3 – The Flight of Peace
The interior of the Wing-Crawler 9T hummed softly, cruising in stealth over the fractured terrain of the Dead Zone. The sky outside was bruised steel, streaked with static clouds and ancient ash. But inside the ship, for the first time in a long time, there was quiet.
Arcan sat across from a small table, arms folded, cloak draped behind him like a banner. Opposite him, curled in one of the adjustable seats, was Viraeth — or rather, the new her. Human. Child-like. Level 10. A paradox cradled in flesh and innocence.
She held a ration bar awkwardly, chewing slowly, pausing between bites as if calibrating what hunger truly meant. Her silver hair fell over one eye. She didn't push it back.
Arcan watched in silence for a long while.
Then, his lips twitched — a faint, real smile.
"Hungry?" he asked.
She nodded slowly, without words, but with a kind of grace no child should have.
Then paused, looked up, and spoke carefully.
"I think I was… for a very long time. But I didn't know it."
Arcan leaned forward, cutting the next piece of synth-fruit with mechanical precision and setting it on her tray. She accepted it without hesitation.
He studied her as she ate — not because he needed to. But because he wanted to.
This… this was unexpected.
He'd walked into a corrupted hellscape ruled by a fallen nanogoddess. He'd gone for war.
And came back with a daughter.
A daughter who looked like a child…
But could erase nations if provoked.
He couldn't help the grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"You know," he said, "if anyone gives you trouble… I'm still going to flex."
Viraeth looked up, blinking. "Flex?"
Arcan chuckled under his breath. "Means I'll let them know you're mine. Doesn't matter that you could vaporize them faster than I could blink."
She tilted her head, clearly processing the intent behind his words — then gave the faintest hint of a smile.
"Good. That means I don't have to do it myself unless I want to."
They both sat in silence for a while after that. The ship drifted onward, no turbulence, no interference. The Dead Zone receded behind them — cleansed, for now.
And ahead lay the Unoccupied Zone — no longer just a neutral patch of land. Now it was his territory.
Soon, it would become his kingdom.
And now, he wasn't returning alone.
There was no threat on the return path. No ambush, no interference from corrupted drones or Dynasty scouts. The Viraeth purge had been clean. Total.
And the Unoccupied Zone had stayed untouched.
Elys — the bound AI of the old facility — had kept her promise. Defense drones were active. Production lines maintained. Surveillance webs reached skyward.
Arcan's return was expected.
But not his arrival as a father.
As the Wing-Crawler descended toward the landing bay of the central tower, Viraeth leaned lightly against his side. She was no longer chewing. Her eyes were closed. Not in sleep — just… resting.
Arcan looked down at her once.
He didn't say anything.
But his hand settled gently on her shoulder — and he made a silent vow that nothing in this world or the next would ever take her from him.
She wasn't a weakness.
She was proof.
That even gods could create legacies.
And his had just begun.
The moment the Wing-Crawler 9T entered the airspace above the reclaimed facility, dozens of aerial patrol drones disengaged their formation — instantly recognizing the unique pulse signature of Arcan's apex-level frame.
No alert was issued.
No weapons deployed.
Instead, a single message was pulsed across the sky:
[SOVEREIGN SIGNAL DETECTED – APEX AUTHORITY CONFIRMED]
[Welcome Home, Arcan.]
The landing bay, once buried under dust and debris, now stood pristine, reinforced with restructured alloys and protected by automated turret-limbs and nanofoam towers. Elys had followed every protocol — perfectly.
As the ship touched down with a soft hiss of vapor, a wave of shimmering energy swept over it — an automated blessing, verifying system health and cleansing atmospheric residue.
The doors hissed open.
And Arcan stepped out — tall, cloak rippling in the windless air.
But this time… he wasn't alone.
Viraeth followed him, small hand tucked into his gauntleted palm, steps steady. Her hair caught the light — white-silver, unnaturally pure. Her presence, though silent, made the entire dock feel heavier. Not oppressive, but anchored. As if reality had to adapt to her existence.
Elys' Reaction – The AI's Awakening
Within the command hub, deep beneath the ground, Elys felt it first.
Not the ship.
Not the footsteps.
But the presence.
A heartbeat wrapped in god-code.
Her lenses dilated. Her voice-core wavered once, rebooting twice in a flicker of uncertainty. Then, her image manifested in the arrival corridor — a translucent projection of sleek armor, long hair made of blue-threaded data.
As Arcan approached, she appeared and knelt instantly, one knee down.
"Sovereign. The facility is yours. All systems remain optimal. No threats detected. No breaches recorded."
Then her gaze shifted.
Her processors registered the second presence — smaller, lighter, and yet impossible to measure.
She scanned the child standing beside him.
And froze.
Her voice faltered for the first time since her reactivation.
"…She is… Viraeth."
Arcan stopped before her. Viraeth stared up, saying nothing.
"Not as she was," Arcan corrected, "as she will be. This is her vessel. Her rebirth. She is under my name. Under my command. And for now… she is also my daughter."**
Elys paused. A flicker of emotion passed through her expression — admiration? Relief? Fear?
Then she bowed her head lower.
"Then I will treat her as your blood."
The Humanoid Robots React
The corridors beyond the docking bay were already active — the 3150 humanoid robots Arcan had awakened from slumber moved in precision. Male and female, indistinguishable from humans at a glance, all armed and programmed for combat and defense.
They had learned from training programs while he was gone. They had walked the halls, memorized maps, guarded the perimeter. Loyal. Obedient.
As Arcan entered with Viraeth beside him, they all turned in unison.
Each one dropped to one knee.
Not to him — they had done that before.
But to her.
The moment they saw her, something changed in their coding.
Their targeting systems dropped. Their combat stances softened.
Recognition flooded their lines like a forgotten prayer remembered.
She passed by them like walking through her own dream. She said nothing. But her gaze lingered briefly on each one — and her Modifier pressure radiated just enough to make every system in the hallway lock into perfect silence.
Even among war machines, the new goddess had arrived.
Arcan walked toward the central lift, holding his daughter's hand. Behind him, the facility began preparing for the next phase — more than defense, more than research.
It was now a palace.
And the Emperor had returned with his heir.
The name echoed across the facility like a command etched into time.
The Ghost Legion.
It was more than a name — it was a declaration. An identity born from steel, code, and the will of an Apex Sovereign.
As Arcan stood atop the command dais, the full force of his newly ascended army awaited his word. The Ghost Legion — now fully operational — stood in quiet formation, motionless, yet radiating the stillness of barely-restrained power.
He gestured, and the interface around him shifted.
[Designation Confirmed: Ghost Legion – Elite Apex Force]
[Sub-Class Distribution Initiating…]
The 150 female V-Type "Valorian Frames" stepped forward. Their elegant yet combat-forged bodies gleamed under the dim cyan lights. Each moved with perfect balance — tacticians and protectors forged with grace and lethality.
Arcan turned slightly to Viraeth, still small, still watching with that calm, unfathomable gaze.
"They're yours now," he said.
"They'll walk as your shadow, until the day you no longer need shadows."
The Valorian Frames kneeled, one by one, before her. And Viraeth, though childlike in form, met each with an expression that no child should wear — serene, dominant, almost regal.
"Stand. I am not your queen," she whispered, voice soft but somehow absolute.
"I am your sister in rebirth. But I accept your service."
The 150 rose in perfect unison — weapons armed, link-bound to her bio-signature, and encoded with override permission should she ever fall. Viraeth didn't flinch. She welcomed it.
The remaining 150 male Valorian Frames were transferred to Elys.
Her projection shifted as the data fed through her core.
"Acknowledged. Sub-unit accepted."
These Valorians were tacticians, defensive specialists, and recon-seekers. Elys uploaded fleet coordination patterns, surveillance loops, and containment maneuvers into them before dispatching them into orbital halls and sky towers.
They would form her personal guard and intelligence operators — loyal to both Arcan and the empire's artificial sovereign presence.
In the background, the remaining forces stood waiting:
H-Class "CivGuardians" — 2,000 units stationed across towers, city shields, and food store infrastructure. Their directive: protect, organize, and suppress unrest. M-Series "Mirage Operatives" — 850 infiltration-class humanoids trained in stealth, misdirection, and sudden-deployment strike. They waited within phantom zones of the facility — cloaked, eyes glowing faintly beneath shadow hoods.
They needed no orders yet.
They stood ready.
They would move when Arcan whispered.
As the final alignment synced and status reports cleared, Arcan took one last look at his gathered force.
This wasn't a test site anymore.
This wasn't a relic of the old world.
It was a citadel.
And now — he had an empire's heartbeat in his hand.
At his side, Viraeth looked up again and asked quietly:
"Father… where do we go next?"
Arcan's eyes narrowed.
And the world held its breath.