Hearing Valvan's reply, the man nodded toward the open box. His thoughts were already moving ahead, aligned with the next phase of his plan.
"That is good to hear," he said.
"You can begin creating the princess body now. Make sure to embed the images and scenes I showed you into her memories."
"Understood, creator," Valvan replied at once.
There was no hesitation in the response. During the man's reconstruction, he had allowed Valvan limited access to his thoughts. Through that connection, Valvan had already pieced together the true intent behind his creator's actions. What his creator wanted to accomplish on the surface was no longer unclear. Because of that, there was no need for further questions or confirmation.
"Starting the conversion process in 3, 2, 1."
The sequence began immediately. A familiar bluish vertical beam manifested several steps away from the man, rising from the floor and extending upward in a straight column. The air within it shimmered faintly as energy gathered and stabilized.
The man did not flinch at the sight. Instead, he shifted his full attention toward the forming beam as he prepared his mind for the next stage.
'The situation above is far more severe than I had anticipated.'
That was the conclusion the man reached after reviewing the memories of the draconians who had died during the chamber cleanup. During his own reconstruction, he had specifically instructed Valvan to extract and integrate their data into his mind. The process was imperfect due to low synchronization, but enough fragments remained intact for analysis. Through their experiences, he gained a clear picture of the political tension, the breakdown of command, and the scale of disorder spreading across the upper layers.
With this information now anchored in his thoughts, the man was able to reassess his approach. His original plan was no longer sufficient. Adjustments were required, and those adjustments needed to be decisive. The situation demanded a catalyst, something that could influence multiple factions at once and destabilize the existing balance in a controlled way.
That catalyst would be the fallen princess.
Feranaire Ubrus Loth'garth was supposed to have died six years ago, lost during the disaster and officially recorded as such. Her absence would, of course, create fractures within the empire. Her return, under the right circumstances, would force those fractures to widen.
Pulling his focus back to the present, the man continued to observe the ongoing conversion. Within the vertical beam, the growing mass of tissue had begun to take on a recognizable form. Limbs extended in measured stages, proportions stabilizing as the structure refined itself. At last, the clear silhouette of a female figure emerged, suspended within the light. Even without fine details completed, the outline was unmistakable.
The princess's form was taking shape.
Unlike his own complete reconstruction, the creation of Fera's body was a straightforward procedure and required only a minimal amount of yuan energy. This was expected. The vessel being formed was low tier by design, meant only to house a single consciousness without any advanced reinforcement or autonomous systems. It could not be compared to the man's apotheosis level body, which demanded extreme precision, prolonged energy supply, and years of uninterrupted conversion.
The difference was evident in the time required. Fera's body reached completion in a matter of minutes. In less than half a quarter of an hour, her form stabilized completely. Bone density settled first, followed by muscle fibers, skin, and finally surface features. There were no long pauses or layered refinements. The process was efficient, controlled, and simple, especially when contrasted with the man's six year reconstruction that had unfolded in countless stages.
As the conversion reached its end, the bluish vertical beam began to dim. Its intensity weakened steadily until the light thinned and started to retract upward. Watching this, the man stepped forward without hesitation and entered the fading beam. When the light finally vanished, the sleeping princess lost the support holding her aloft. He caught her calmly, supporting her weight with ease as her body settled into his arms.
The princess's body lay completely naked in his arms. Her draconic traits were dormant, leaving no visible tail or scales. In this state, her form resembled that of a humanoid, her height reaching only 1.7 meters. The silvery horns on her head were still present but greatly reduced, each measuring no more than three centimeters. They curved slightly upward, smooth and undeveloped. Her skin carried a faint whitish purple tone, even and unblemished, with no marks to suggest injury or decay.
Her long dark blue hair flowed loosely, falling over her shoulders and down her back. Strands of it slipped across her face, partially concealing her closed eyes and calm expression. Her breathing was steady, shallow, and quiet. Looking down at her, the man observed her features in silence. Her face was well balanced and refined, enough that even by human standards she would be considered beautiful. However, his reaction was not admiration in a personal sense. It was closer to detached amazement, as if he were examining a successful outcome rather than indulging in emotion.
He spoke softly, directing his words toward her sleeping form.
"Even though you are asleep right now, your senses are still working. A day will come when you will remember this scene in your dreams."
His voice remained calm and measured as he continued.
"So let me introduce myself to you. I am the creator of databooks, the custodian of the Heaven's pathways. In your draconian language, you may call me Relict."
Relict spoke those words in Valkoris, the national language of the Dragonvail Empire. The unfamiliar tongue came to him without effort, formed from the memories he had absorbed from the fallen draconians. The pronunciation was precise, and the tone was natural.
"Listen carefully, little lizard. From this moment onward your new life will undergo a celestial baptism. Complete the ritual so that you may gain the chance to save your brethren from the coming apocalypse."
His voice ceased, and the chamber fell into silence. The faint hum of dormant systems and the distant echo of metal settling were the only sounds that remained. Several seconds passed as he allowed the words to settle into the sleeping princess mind, embedding themselves deep within her senses.
Then he spoke again.
"Or die trying."
There was no change in his expression as he continued, his voice neither rising nor softening.
"You have no other choice. This is your punishment for trespassing into the sacred territory of heaven. Your people scavenged what remained of the heavenly domain for millennia. Even in ruin this place was not meant for you. By doing so you incurred the wrath of the Heaven's will."
With those words spoken, Relict did not linger. He continued to hold Fera carefully in his arms, and turned his body toward the box.
"Fortunately, before you died you managed to awaken me from my eternal sleep. This unintentional act of yours has granted your species enough time to avoid immediate extinction."
As he spoke, he lifted one hand slightly. Without touching it, the lid of the box rose from where it rested, suspended by an unseen force. It hovered for a brief moment before aligning itself with the box. With a soft mechanical click, the lid settled into place, sealing everything inside. Relict never broke his hold on Fera, keeping her close as if she weighed nothing at all.
"I have sealed the Heaven's will for now. However, the impending apocalypse cannot be stopped entirely. It has only been delayed."
His tone remained steady, free of emotion, as if he were stating a simple fact rather than a fate that would decide countless lives.
"From this point onward, the survival of your people will rest upon your shoulders."
As he said those words, Relict turned away from the box without hesitation. He began walking toward the exit of the chamber. Each step carried him an impossible distance, as if space itself folded beneath his feet. To an outside observer, it would appear as though he was advancing in short intervals of teleportation rather than walking.
Fera remained asleep in his arms, her body limp and unmoving, unaware of the responsibility that had just been placed upon her existence.
Within only a few seconds, the surroundings shifted. The smooth metallic walls of the chamber were replaced by the familiar expanse near the elevation hall. Damaged structures surrounded the area, warped metal and fractured surfaces bearing clear signs of earlier destruction. The remains of countless insects littered the floor and walls, their bodies dried and brittle after more than a year without life.
Relict looked over the scene without reaction and spoke again in a calm and level tone.
"Fear not. I will guide you from afar. You may request my assistance when needed, or you may ignore my existence entirely. The choice is yours."
With one final step, Relict crossed the remaining distance and appeared directly before the towering gates. He came to a complete stop at the center of the platform. Adjusting his hold slightly, he shifted Fera in his arms so that her head rested more securely against his chest. His gaze lowered to her sleeping face, studying it for a brief moment before he spoke.
"Wake up, my little lizard."
The instant those words left his mouth, the platform responded. A deep vibration ran through the structure, spreading outward in heavy pulses. The floor trembled beneath his feet as the towering gates began to react. Cracked and damaged technological sigils carved along their surface flickered erratically before flaring to life. Despite their degraded state, they shone with intense brightness, as if releasing the last of their stored power.
The gates slowly separated, metal grinding against metal as they opened on their own. A powerful white light poured out from the widening gap, spilling across the platform and flooding the elevation hall. The illumination swallowed the damaged pillars, the scattered insect remains, and the surrounding structures until every detail was reduced to a featureless white glow.
Unbeknownst to those present, this exact moment would later be recorded within the Book of Salvation. It would stand at the very beginning of its chapter, preserved as a defining image of the era. In the records of future generations, this event would be referred to as the god's favor.
...
The current year was 3051 according to the Dragonvail Empire's calendar. Six full years had passed since the disaster within Valkor, the massive underground dungeon, had occurred. In that span of time, countless changes had swept across the empire, many of them directly tied to the death of Princess Feranaire.
In the months following the incident, the capital and surrounding provinces were filled with mourning. Memorial rites were held repeatedly, and banners bearing the royal crest were lowered across major cities. Citizens gathered in public squares to grieve, while temples conducted continuous prayers for the fallen princess. At the same time, unrest spread beneath the surface. Groups questioned the official reports, whispering about hidden truths and suppressed information. Some openly accused the court and military of concealing what truly happened inside Valkor. Others outright refused to believe that the princess had died at all, insisting she had been taken or imprisoned somewhere beyond imperial reach.
Despite the conflicting beliefs, one undeniable fact silenced most arguments. Within the royal palace, the life artifact bound to Princess Feranaire had gone dark. The light that symbolized her continued existence had vanished completely, leaving no room for doubt. In the Dragonvail Empire, such an event was absolute proof of death.
No matter how heavy the loss was, life within the empire did not stop. Trade resumed, borders were reinforced, and political struggles continued behind closed doors. New disputes replaced old grief, and fresh concerns demanded attention. As the years passed, public discussions of the princess faded. Her name was spoken less frequently, her memorials visited less often. What was once a national tragedy slowly receded into memory, until for most people, Princess Feranaire became little more than a figure from recent history, her death acknowledged but no longer felt.