Birth of the Ruler: The Emergence of the Primordial Race

Hung leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but carrying the weight of expectancy. "Nyxander," he began, his words slicing through the air like the first crack of a storm, "why don't you become the fifth Astro leader?"

A heavy silence settled over the official table, suffocating, absolute. It stood in stark contrast to the distant murmurs of subordinates still receiving their resource rewards, oblivious to the brewing tempest among their leaders.

Nyxander allowed a faint smile to curl his lips, his eyes glinting with a knowing sharpness. "So, you want me to absorb all those rough fighters under my control?" He leaned back slightly, his posture unreadable, yet each movement carried a deliberate ease, as if he had expected this all along.

The words struck like a sudden gale. The eyes of every seated leader widened, Hildred and Hung, in particular, felt as though their very thoughts had been pried open and laid bare. A moment ago, they were orchestrators of this proposal; now, they had the eerie sensation of being pieces in Nyxander's own game.

Hung instinctively tried to press forward, to regain control of the conversation, but Nyxander's next words cut through the air with chilling finality. "What makes you think I'll just accept it because you said so?" His fingers laced together, resting atop the table in a gesture of composed authority.

A bead of sweat traced its way down Hung's temple, mirrored by the sheen forming across Hildred's brow. The other Astro leaders remained deathly still, their gazes flitting between Nyxander's unyielding demeanor and the barely-contained shock on their superiors' faces.

Hung opened his mouth to push further, but before he could utter another word, Hildred's firm hand landed on his shoulder. The touch was light, yet it carried a silent command. Hung hesitated, then turned toward Hildred, who gave a slow, deliberate shake of his head.

Understanding passed between them unspoken. This wasn't a negotiation they could force.

Hildred's gaze returned to Nyxander, the weight of his presence more pronounced than ever. "So, what are your conditions?"

A unified hum of disbelief rippled through the seated leaders. Their throats tightened, their hearts pounded in unison. It was rare, almost unheard of, for anyone to dictate terms to an Astro Lord.

Nyxander exhaled softly, tilting his head slightly. "Fine," he mused, his voice laced with a quiet authority. "First, my team will not be an official division under the Astro Station."

The tension in the room thickened like the prelude to a storm. Beads of sweat formed on the foreheads of the other leaders, their discomfort now visible. Centric's fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, but he remained silent, bound by the unspoken restraint of the Astro Lord's presence.

The pressure finally ruptured when Seraphina slammed the table, her golden hair trembling with the force of her outburst. "Pervert, you're going too far! That can't be possible!" she shouted, her voice a spark that shattered the room's tenuous stillness.

The hall's previous hum of conversation faltered for a brief moment, heads subtly turning toward the high table. Yet, sensing the volatility of the moment, the lower-ranked members quickly averted their gazes, feigning disinterest as they continued counting their resources.

Back at the table, Nyxander barely spared Seraphina a glance before raising his right hand in a casual wave beside his shoulder. "Golden Stalker," he mused, addressing her with a teasing familiarity that only further stoked her frustration. "Don't worry, there are no ill intentions behind it. But if that's your superior's answer, then there's no need to continue this deal any longer."

His expression remained calm, unreadable, but his posture shifted. He crossed his arms over his chest, one leg lazily draped over the other. His presence alone was enough to assert dominance, and it gnawed at Seraphina more than any words could.

"You..." Seraphina started, her anger flaring, but before she could continue, Hildred raised a hand, his tone steady yet absolute. "Fine," the Astro Lord conceded, silencing the room once more. "What is your next condition?"

Nyxander's smile deepened, the gleam in his eyes betraying a mind that had already mapped out every step of this game. "Good. The second condition, my team will receive an equal share of resources, just like the other Astro teams."

The words lingered like a whispered challenge.

For a moment, it seemed as though more resistance would follow, but before the tension could mount any further, Hildred simply extended his hand across the table. "Okay," he said, sealing the deal with a handshake.

Nyxander's fingers met his in a firm clasp, the unspoken agreement binding them both in an alliance neither side could fully predict.

Hung stood abruptly, breaking the momentary silence. "It's time to dismiss the lower subordinates," he announced, his voice echoing through the hall. He stepped away from the table, taking his place at the front of the room. "The gathering is officially concluded."

Without hesitation, the subordinates began their evacuation, their footsteps a rhythmic march toward the exit. The energy in the hall shifted, the tension thinning but not dissolving entirely.

As the last of the lower members filed out, Hung returned, now flanked by two men carrying a sealed box. Their faces were unfamiliar, their presence almost ghostly in its solemnity.

"Now, it's time for rewards," Hung declared. One of the men stepped forward, lifting the lid to reveal neatly stacked sacks within.

Each Astro leader was handed a box and a sack, the weight of their rewards a tangible reminder of their contributions. Hung's voice remained level as he continued, "This time, the amount has increased by ten fate coins, bringing the total to thirty per leader."

When it was Nyxander's turn, both Hung and Hildred exchanged a quick glance before nodding in silent agreement.

"Take sixty fate coins," Hung said, passing two sacks toward Nyxander. His voice held a subtle shift, respect, intrigue, perhaps even wariness. "Consider this an investment in your new team."

The air around the table tightened once more. The other Astro leaders did not protest, but the questions burned in their gazes, unspoken yet palpable. None, however, dared to voice them.

Especially Centric.

From the beginning, he had opposed every word, every motion of this deal. Now, he sat rigid, his hands balled into fists, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed it might shatter under the pressure. Yet he remained silent, bound by an unspoken restraint, a prisoner of circumstance and command.

And amid it all, Lumina sat unmoving.

Her fingers curled into her palms, her head bowed slightly. But her silence was not one of indifference.

It was the silence of betrayal.

The flickering light cast shadows across her face, but even the dim glow could not mask the pain that settled deep within her features. It was not the anger of a rival, nor the frustration of a soldier outplayed, it was something far colder, far more wounding.

It was the quiet ache of someone who felt that the person she had trusted most had betrayed her trust.

The gathering had long since ended, and the Astro leaders departed the hall one by one, their footsteps fading into the vastness of the station. The weight of negotiations still lingered in the air like the dying embers of a once-roaring fire.

Lumina stepped out, her movements slow, almost reluctant. The soft glow of celestial lanterns cast elongated shadows across the ground, and Nyxander followed a few paces behind her, his gaze fixed on her retreating form. There was a heaviness in her steps, an invisible burden pressing upon her shoulders.

A familiar voice sliced through the air.

"Zion."

Nyxander turned to see Beorn approaching, his expression relaxed but inquisitive.

"Oh, Beorn. You haven't left yet?" Nyxander responded, his tone steady as they fell into step beside one another, trailing behind Lumina, who remained wrapped in her own thoughts.

Beorn glanced at her figure ahead, noting the unusual silence that clung to her like a second skin. He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. "What's wrong with her?"

Nyxander's eyes flickered for a moment, the question striking something unspoken within him. A bitterness coiled in his chest, though regret never found a place in his heart.

"Her reaction comes from what was discussed at the gathering," he replied simply.

Beorn parted his lips to press further, but before he could, Nyxander came to an abrupt halt. Beorn instinctively followed his gaze forward.

Lumina had stopped in her tracks.

She stood still, her back to them, but something about her posture sent a ripple of tension through the air. A storm was brewing in the silence between them.

Meanwhile, within the grand hall, the Astro Lord sat at the table, fingers lightly drumming against its surface. Hung stood before him, his back turned, his three pairs of wings folded neatly against his form, a silent testament to the power he wielded.

"You felt it too, didn't you?" The Astro Lord's voice was measured, but there was an edge to it, a whisper of something deeper beneath the surface.

Hung exhaled, his gaze fixed ahead. "Yeah," he admitted. "When I tried to probe his body with my energy, it was repelled, completely. Like an invisible force blocking me out."

The Astro Lord's eyes narrowed slightly. "Is that why you suspected he was holding back during the spar?"

Hung turned sharply, his expression taut with contemplation. "Yes. It was brief, but for that moment… the energy I felt was formidable."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of realization.

"Then who. what..might he be?" Hung finally asked, his voice tinged with hesitation.

The Astro Lord's fingers stilled against the table. He met Hung's gaze, the air between them thick with unspoken understanding.

"There's only one group within the celestial race capable of resisting immortal energy."

A quiet gasp left Hung's lips. His mind raced, his breath catching as the answer surfaced like a specter from the depths of forgotten knowledge.

"The Saint Race," he whispered.

"Yes," the Astro Lord confirmed. "Only those at godhood can defy immortal energy."

Hung exhaled sharply, the revelation sitting heavy upon his shoulders. He studied the Astro Lord for a long moment before speaking again. "That explains why you took it upon yourself to explain things to him instead of delegating the task to the other leaders."

The Astro Lord nodded, then fell into a pensive silence before continuing. "It's rare, nearly unheard of, for a god to leave the heavens, let alone conceal his identity among mortals. But I came to a conclusion after observing him." He leaned back, his expression unreadable. "The deal we offered him wasn't our plan rather, it was a stage he set. He was waiting for it. Which means… he might have grown bored of his domain and come here to seek amusement."

A dry chuckle escaped Hung. "So, you played along."

A small, knowing smile crossed the Astro Lord's face.

Back outside, the stillness between Nyxander and Lumina fractured in an instant.

Without warning, Lumina's hand moved, summoning her celestial bow in a fluid motion. The weapon pulsed with raw energy, its silver sheen reflecting the ambient glow of the station's lights. In one seamless movement, she turned, her bowstring drawn, an arrow of luminous energy materializing, aimed directly at Nyxander's throat.

Beorn's breath hitched. His eyes widened in alarm as his hands shot up, waving frantically. "Astro Leader! What are you doing? That's dangerous, please, calm down! We can talk about whatever misunderstanding this is!"

But Lumina's gaze was unwavering, her eyes dark with hurt and something deeper, betrayal, perhaps. The arrow trembled slightly against the tension of the bowstring, but her grip remained firm.

Nyxander, in contrast, did not flinch. His expression was unbothered, his eyes calm pools of quiet intensity. The sharp point of the energy arrow hovered a mere breath away from his throat, yet he stood as still as stone.

Her voice, when it came, was quiet, yet it carried the weight of all the emotions she had suppressed.

"Was our meeting also part of your plan?"

The question hung between them, charged with the sting of disappointment. It was not merely about tactics or negotiations. It was about trust. About the unspoken bond they had formed before this moment.

And now, as her arrow pointed at his throat, it was clear, she feared she had never truly known him at all.