Emisarry Of Time And Space-Chapter 183: Eight years.

(A/N Big thanks to everyone for the Power stones and Golden tickets, they mean a lot. As usual, please don’t hesitate to comment or drop a review. ENJOY)

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The next day arrived without ceremony.

By 6:00 a.m., all thirteen of them were dressed and standing in formation, gear checked, posture straight, minds clear. The past week had burned routine into their bodies. There was no grogginess, no yawning, no need for reminders. Whatever remnants of academy laxity they had left were long gone.

Commander Zion appeared in front of them without warning, his presence immediate and grounding. His gaze swept over them once, sharp and precise, as though weighing something unseen.

"Follow me," he said simply.

No one asked questions.

They turned as one and followed him toward a door they had not been permitted to approach during the entire week. It was taller than the others, reinforced, its surface threaded with faint spatial runes that hummed quietly beneath the skin of the metal.

Zion placed his palm against it.

The door slid open.

Beyond it lay a wide corridor, open and industrial, its ceiling high enough that sound echoed faintly with each step. They moved through it in silence, boots striking the floor in measured rhythm. The air changed as they advanced—cooler, heavier, carrying the scent of metal, oil, and mana discharge.

At the far end, the corridor opened abruptly.

The scene beyond was alive.

Soldiers moved through coordinated drills, carrying heavy crates, loading equipment, shouting clipped commands that overlapped without becoming chaotic. Mana-powered lifts rose and descended, while armored personnel jogged past with practiced urgency. It was controlled motion, purposeful and efficient.

Directly ahead sat a medium-sized Nexcraft.

Orion recognized its class immediately.

It was roughly the size of the craft Zion had used to retrieve him after the Ivory incident—sleek, angular, its surface layered with adaptive plating and faintly glowing runes that suggested high-grade mana engines embedded deep within its structure.

Zion said nothing.

He simply walked toward the open hatch.

Several soldiers halted and bowed as he passed. None spoke. None hesitated.

The thirteen followed him up the ramp and into the craft.

The interior was exactly as Orion remembered—strict, streamlined, built solely for function. No wasted space. No unnecessary ornamentation. Seats were arranged in two rows facing inward, restraints neatly folded, storage compartments sealed flush with the walls.

Zion took a seat near the front and gestured once.

They complied, strapping in quickly.

Zion leaned back and closed his eyes, as relaxed as if he were sitting in his own quarters. The rest of them remained silent, adjusting posture, grounding themselves. No one spoke. No one joked.

Five minutes later, the hatch sealed with a heavy hiss.

The low hum of the Nexcraft’s engines came alive beneath their feet, vibrating up through the floor and into their bones. A moment later, they felt the unmistakable shift as the craft lifted off, gravity pressing slightly before stabilizing.

The flight was long.

An hour passed.

Then another half.

Inside the craft, time stretched strangely. The atmosphere was calm, but not relaxed. It was the kind of silence born from anticipation rather than peace. Orion had half-expected Seris or Arlen to fidget, to crack a joke, to whisper something just to break the tension.

They didn’t.

Everyone understood what this was.

Most of them had their eyes closed, breathing slow and measured, focusing inward. Hearts were steadying. Minds were sharpening. The unknown had a way of demanding silence.

When the craft finally descended, the change was immediate. The hum deepened, the air pressure shifted, and moments later, the landing gear touched down with a muted impact.

The hatch unlocked.

Zion’s eyes snapped open.

He stood in one smooth motion. "Let’s go."

They followed him out into daylight.

The brightness was immediate, forcing several of them to blink as their eyes adjusted. The air outside was fresh but heavy with mana, thick enough that Orion felt it prickle against his senses.

They were standing directly in front of the forest.

The Jade Forest.

It was... unsettling.

The vegetation formed a perfect boundary, as though drawn with a ruler. One moment, open land. The next, towering trees. Every trunk began at the same invisible line, their canopies weaving together so densely that sunlight barely penetrated beyond the first few meters.

Orion frowned faintly.

That wasn’t natural.

Magic was involved—deep, old, structural magic. The forest wasn’t just a location. It was a system.

Peering into it felt like looking into a mouth that hadn’t decided whether to close.

But the forest wasn’t the only thing that drew attention.

Nexcrafts.

Many of them.

Some already grounded, others descending or lifting off. Groups of people stood before each craft, dressed uniformly within their teams but differently across groups. Orion counted quickly, his mind working without conscious effort.

One.

Two.

Five.

Nine.

Ten Nexcrafts total, including theirs.

About fifteen people per group.

Roughly one hundred and fifty individuals.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

That number wasn’t arbitrary.

That number guaranteed casualties.

He studied the others.

They were older. Much older.

Early twenties, most of them. Bodies already hardened by real combat. Mana signatures deeper, heavier, more settled. These weren’t academy students.

These were operatives.

So these were the ones they were competing against.

Orion felt no hesitation.

If anything, a quiet thrill stirred.

Around them, attention shifted.

Gazes turned.

Whispers followed.

The thirteen stood out like blades among tools.

Silver hair gleaming under daylight. White shirts beneath silver-camouflage jackets and trousers. Heavy boots. Clean lines. Chronos insignia subtle but unmistakable.

And their age.

They looked young. Too young.

But none of them flinched under the scrutiny.

They were the top of the top. Chronos descendants. A1. Thirteen of the best products the academy had ever produced.

A few stares meant nothing.

Orion’s gaze moved methodically from group to group, memorizing positions, estimating capabilities, mapping the terrain in his mind. His fingers trembled slightly.

Excitement.

The Chronos bloodline stirred.

He wasn’t the only one.

He caught Daenys out of the corner of his eye, her lips twitching as she struggled to suppress a grin. Others wore similar expressions—controlled, eager, alive.

Zion stopped and turned to face them.

They snapped to attention.

"Your mission begins in twenty minutes," Zion said. "I’ll be seeing you again in two months."

A pause.

"I’m sure you’ll have yourselves a lot of fun."

It was almost a joke.

Almost.

Nineteen minutes passed faster than expected. The Nexcrafts lifted away one by one, engines roaring as they vanished into the sky. The remaining groups arranged themselves before the forest, quiet and focused.

Orion turned to his team.

"Remember what we discussed," he said calmly. "And let’s win this."

They nodded.

"Finally," Daenys muttered under her breath, unable to hold it back.

Orion almost smiled.

Then his brows furrowed.

A sensation rippled through his senses—faint, distant, but unmistakable. A signature he hadn’t felt in eight years.

His breath caught.

"...Alice," he muttered.