The Naught's ship was unlike any vessel Kiro had ever seen.
It pulsed. It whispered.
It bled starlight.
Engines sculpted from compressed dreams groaned as they bent space, folding Kiro through layers of dead galaxies. The stars outside weren't stars—they were scars. Trails left by ancient wars and shattered gods.
The Naught remained silent, watching Kiro from the shadows of the bridge. But as they neared Vevadexus, the ancient being finally spoke.
"You won't be alone, boy. The trials have begun. And they've chosen Vevadexus as their battleground."
Kiro narrowed his eyes. "The heirs?"
The Naught nodded slowly.
"All thirteen. Armed. Angry. Blessed and cursed with power old as empire. Your enemies aren't just the Voidlings anymore. They are your kin in fire."
Kargal Prime – Neirko | Imperial Conclave Broadcast
The High Minister of the Crimson Scepter, robed in molten-thread and command, stepped into the center of the galactic broadcast dais. A hush fell over the twelve billion watching.
His voice, amplified by psionic glyphs and throne-tier AI, rang out like law across star systems.
"The Emperor Lucius Karo is dead.The bloodline stands in its final hour.The Prime Heirs will not be protected. They will be tested."
Behind him, the thirteen banners of the Prime Worlds unfurled—each representing one of the heirs, from iceborn assassins to flame-crowned warrior queens.
"They will descend upon Vevadexus, the crucible of gods, the grave of a thousand empires.They will fight. They will bleed.And only one shall stand."
"There will be no mercy."
Across the stars, war engines powered up.
The Trials had truly begun.
In Orbit of Vevadexus
The Naught's ship emerged from nullspace like a dying god's whisper.
Below, the world of Vevadexus groaned.
Its continents were scorched tapestries of endless war—rivers of molten steel, mountain ranges made of broken mech-titans, and ruins where even time refused to flow properly.
Above, dozens of other ships had already arrived.
Royal banners. Heir-marked dreadnoughts. Death cult carriers painted in burning scripture.
Each ship housed one of the thirteen heirs.
Each heir carried a different weapon, ideology, prophecy.
And none of them knew Kiro had survived Nightfell.
Onboard – Kiro's Descent Begins
The Naught approached Kiro at the final hangar gate. Its expression unreadable.
"You are not one of them. Not royal. Not chosen. Not supposed to survive."
"Yet here you are. The one who dreams with blood and stands in the shadow of forgotten gods."
It handed Kiro a shard.
It pulsed with energy not of this world.
"This is your passkey. The God-Spoken Archive lies buried beneath Vevadexus' oldest battlefield.You'll find what you need there. If the others don't kill you first."
Kiro strapped on his gear—no longer a boy, no longer merely human. His Viora lines shimmered, his system burning like a second soul inside him.
"Let them try."
And then he dropped.
From the ship, down through atmosphere, through red clouds and thunder-laced warstorms—
Into the forge of empires and the jaws of fate.