Weeks later, within the cold, unfathomable depths of the intergalactic void, the flagship of the Starlight Sanctum continued its relentless flight towards the Andromeda Galaxy.

Within its expansive command deck, Jace, the High Rule Stage intelligence disciple who had first detected the Chime of Consciousness, stood rigidly before the central console. Sweat beaded along his temples as he maintained his focus, his hands hovering over the glowing runic interfaces of the ship's observation arrays.

He was using the exact same highly advanced scrying formations they had placed at the borders of the Andromeda Galaxy to check the current status of the region, and the things he saw reflecting on his screens simply didn't make sense.

"This makes no sense," Jace muttered, his eyes darting frantically across the incoming data streams. He turned sharply toward the junior inscribers managing the secondary arrays. "Recalibrate the anchors. Bypass the outer layers entirely. I need a direct feed into their border sectors, now!"

"We have already bypassed the outer layers, Sir," an assisting inscriber replied, his voice laced with the same underlying confusion that gripped Jace. The inscriber tapped the floating runes rapidly, attempting to verify the integrity of their systems. "The arrays are functioning perfectly. The feed is entirely unobstructed, and there is no degradation in the signal".

Elder Malakor, who had just entered the command deck and saw the strange, panicked scene unfolding among the intelligence crew, narrowed his gaze.

"Is anything wrong, Jace?" Malakor asked, his voice calm but carrying an oppressive tone that immediately silenced the murmurs of the surrounding crew.

Jace stiffened, quickly turning towards Elder Malakor and bowing his head respectfully. He swallowed the lump of anxiety in his throat before he replied, "Elder... we have scanned the borders of the Andromeda Galaxy, specifically focusing on the territories surrounding the Crimson Vital Sect".

Jace brought up a massive holographic projection of the galaxy's edge, highlighting the targeted sectors in pale blue light. "We expected to find them in a state of mass mobilization, for them to expect the Major Sects' arrival and stand ready for a siege, or at least a display of defensive readiness."

"And?" Malakor prompted, his tone sharpening with impatience.

"And... there is nothing, Elder," Jace replied, swallowing hard as he pointed to the empty projections. "It is completely silent".

Malakor's eyes narrowed further. He found that answer difficult to accept. Usually, when minor sect leaders ascended to the Astral Stage, effectively stepping into the domain of potential Major Sect founders, they immediately anticipated the arrival of multiple Major Sect parties.

Throughout his long life, Malakor had seen countless newly ascended leaders mobilize their entire armies to face Major Sect envoys, establishing massive defensive perimeters to display their strength and deter immediate subjugation. That sort of militarized readiness was common across the universe. A being capable of ascending to the Astral Stage was never a fool, and anyone who reached that level should be able to guess that cosmic titans would undoubtedly come to them. So why had the Crimson Vital Sect not mobilized its troops?

"Has any other Major Sect deployed blinding arrays to obscure our vision?" Malakor asked, his mind searching for a logical, tactical explanation for the inexplicable emptiness. "If the Veiled Horizon Sect or the Cerulean Spear Sect arrived first and shrouded the galaxy, that would explain the lack of visible movement."

"No, Elder," Jace replied quickly, shaking his head. "There is no external interference. Our formation is functioning perfectly." He expanded the holographic feed, revealing the space within the Andromeda Galaxy. "It is Andromeda itself. The chaotic environment created by their recent supremacy war is completely gone. Their spatial lanes have been perfectly stabilized, their trade channels are reopening, and the beings within the galaxy have already started living normally, almost as though the supremacy war never happened."

Jace paused, his expression reflecting disbelief as he zoomed in on the sect's immediate borders. "Furthermore, the Crimson Vital Sect has not laid any extensive patrol across the Andromeda Galaxy. Their borders are wide open."

Malakor sat slowly in the command chair, the lazy indulgence vanishing entirely from his posture. He could not understand this situation. Newly ascended factions typically pooled their pathetic resources into desperate displays of defense against approaching titans.

Even if those preparations were meaningless against a true Major Sect fleet, the act itself carried political meaning. It told the universe that the new power intended to resist being swallowed whole.

But the Crimson Vital Sect had done none of that.

"They have swept the path clean," Malakor murmured, a dark, calculating glint entering his eyes as he analyzed the psychological warfare at play. "So they are not running. Interesting…"

...

Days passed as the flagship tore through the final stretches of the cosmic divide.

The infinite darkness of the intergalactic void finally gave way to the faint, distant glow of the Andromeda Galaxy. From the outside, the galaxy looked like a sprawling, glittering disk of spiraling starlight, serenely beautiful and entirely unaware of the apex predators gathering at its threshold.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

Suddenly, the void just outside Andromeda's gravitational boundary tore open.

Three massive spatial rifts ruptured the emptiness almost simultaneously, the sheer force of their arrival causing the fabric of reality to groan and warp in protest.

From the "northern" vector, the Starlight Sanctum's fleet appeared, their vessels radiating blinding, majestic light that pushed back the absolute dark. From the "southern" vector, the Cerulean Spear Sect's fleet emerged, their brutal, heavily armored dreadnoughts bristling with dense combat runes that pulsed with aggressive cerulean energy. And from the "eastern" vector, the fleet of the Veiled Horizon Sect slid into real space, their cloaked, obsidian hulls absorbing the ambient starlight and projecting an aura of suffocating malice.

The moment the three massive armadas detected one another, automated defense systems engaged instantly across all three fleets. Millions of weapon arrays powered up, targeting locks engaged, and defensive barriers flared to life as the deeply ingrained hostilities of the Major Sects threatened to ignite a catastrophic battle right there in the void. However, before any kind of fight could begin between them, a secure transmission was broadcasted simultaneously across the three flagships.

Immediately, a neutral holographic conference room materialized in the command deck of all three fleets, bridging the vast distances between the flagships. Within the shared virtual space, the three Astral Stage elders appeared, their projected forms crackling slightly with condensed data.

They looked at one another, and visible tension appeared on their faces. All three had known that the moment other sects learned of the anomaly, they would rush toward Andromeda as quickly as possible.

The Kyros Galaxy, Vanguard Galaxy, and Oryx Galaxy were the closest galaxies controlled by Major Sects around Andromeda, making their sects the first responders to any cosmic shift in this region. Each of them had hoped to arrive first, secure the anomaly, establish terms, and force the others to accept the outcome after the fact.

But now, it seems everyone had rushed their mobilization and made their way nearly at the same time, resulting in this volatile standoff.

It was a deep political situation between titans, and none of them could afford to misstep.

"I see the scent of a Prime Arcane Concept travels fast," Malakor began, his voice smooth and dripping with aristocratic arrogance, masking his irritation at the presence of his rivals. His eyes swept over the other two elders with thinly veiled disdain. "I had hoped the Starlight Sanctum would be permitted to conduct its business in peace, without the interruptions."

Elder Tyberius of the Veiled Horizon Sect let out a raspy, echoing hiss. His gaunt, shadow-wreathed figure leaned forward in the holographic projection, "Do not play the fool with us, Malakor. An epoch-defining anomaly has emerged. A boy wielding Causality and touching the Chime of Consciousness upon his very ascension. Did you truly believe the rest of the universe would close its eyes while you attempted to steal such a prize?"

Elder Voss of the Cerulean Spear Sect crossed his massive, heavily muscled arms over his cerulean armor, his scarred face twisting into a savage, bloodthirsty grin. "You can both save your political posturing," Voss said, "We all know why we are here. That boy is a god of war who weaponized the mortal foundations of the universe to humiliate beings who relied on authority. He belongs on a battlefield, not hidden away in your pathetic, stagnant libraries."

They all recognized the necessity of the situation. Everyone knew why they were here, and everyone knew it was impossible to stop the others through force without sparking an intergalactic war that would destroy the very prize they sought. A battle between their three armadas would shatter the borders of Andromeda, destabilize half the surrounding sectors, and likely cause the boy to flee or perish in the crossfire. None of them wanted that.

Instead, they implicitly agreed to compete over who could take the disciple first.

"Let's make this a competition," Malakor stated, "We offer our terms, and we let the anomaly choose his own path. If he is as intelligent as his ascension implies, he will recognize the unmatched wealth, resources, and refined inheritances of the Starlight Sanctum."

"Resources are the bait of the weak," Tyberius countered, his mind turned toward the boy's attachments to the Crimson Vital Sect. "True loyalty is bought with security. But the rules of engagement are acceptable. We present our offers. If one takes him, then the others remain silent and withdraw. Are we agreed?"

"Agreed," Voss roared with fierce enthusiasm, entirely confident that his offer of infinite battlefields, non-binding trust pacts, and martial freedom would appeal to the boy's raw instincts. "If he chooses my Cerulean Spear Sect, you two back off, and your armadas stand down immediately."

Malakor's lips twitched faintly, and Tyberius's eyes narrowed, but neither contradicted him. The agreement was fragile, built more on necessity than trust, but it was enough to prevent the immediate outbreak of war.

Each elder believed they understood Adrian better than the others. Malakor saw a peerless genius who needed resources and structure. Tyberius saw an anomaly anchored by attachments and therefore vulnerable to guarantees of protection. Voss saw a warrior who had rejected the arrogance of authority and fought with the raw foundations of reality itself. None of them intended to lose.

With the terms of their competition settled, the conversation shifted toward the anomaly within the Andromeda Galaxy. As their tactical arrays continued to scan the open borders, all three elders recognized that the Crimson Vital Sect was strange.

It was not scrambling like other newly ascended factions they had seen in the past. Instead, Andromeda waited for the Major Sect envoys with an almost disturbing level of composure.

"He is not hiding," Tyberius whispered, "He is waiting for us."

Malakor felt an uncharacteristic chill run down his spine, a sudden and inexplicable sense of dread that defied his immense Astral Stage cultivation. For a newly ascended entity to leave his doors wide open to the predators of the universe indicated either supreme foolishness or confidence that bordered on the terrifying.

"A trap?" Malakor murmured, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the quiet of the galaxy.

Voss's scarred face twisted into a bloodthirsty grin, his battle-hardened instincts flaring with wild anticipation. "No, this feels like a challenge".

Without another word, the holographic conference dissolved entirely, severing the connection and leaving the three elders alone on their respective command decks to ponder their next moves. The virtual chamber vanished, and the cold reality of the intergalactic void returned in full.

Outside the viewports, the three massive armadas hovered in the darkness, their weapons still locked on one another in a precarious, silent standoff.

Ahead of them, the borders of the Andromeda Galaxy lay perfectly still, bathed in an eerie and welcoming silence that beckoned the titans of the universe to step inside.