Several weeks had passed since the Tiny Tots had awakened. The news of their awakening had spread throughout the entirety of Heka. There was a buzz of excitement and renewed confidence for things to come. As such, the festival today was much livelier than last year. The festival took place at the main Persequion base. Where The Fury of Dreams happened.

On the island's surface, a symphony of celebration unfolded beneath canopies of luminescent vines that pulsed in rhythm with the holographic displays projecting above. Digital fireflies floated around, giving a gentle light to the night festivities.

Bass-heavy music thundered through those vines. Persequions and Chasers from all over the world had gathered among floating market stalls, their vendors offering everything from carnival games adjusted to be entertaining even for Persequions. Traditional Egyptian belly dancers moved between clusters of attendees. They used their control of the elements to add a mesmerizing flair to their dancing.

The newly initiated moved wide-eyed through the crowd, guided by seasoned members eager to share firsthand accounts of that fateful day. Though video recordings existed of The Fury of Dreams, they remained deliberately hidden. Some truths, the elders believed, could only be understood and controlled through the spoken word and shared experience.

At the heart of the festivities stood the Table of Honor—a massive slab of meteor stone embedded with touch-based tech. The table was reserved for the Elders and leaders of the Persequions and Chasers, remaining empty for most of the celebration—used only to begin and end the festivities. It was also used for important announcements.

Currently, only Selistar and Seren occupied the ancient seats, their forms dwarfed by the table's impressive scale as digital fireflies danced in the air around them, their programming synced to the rhythm of nearby wind chimes made from crystallized tree sap.

"Are they coming?" Seren leaned in and whispered to Selistar, her voice barely audible above the harmonious blend of technological symphony and nature's own evening chorus.

"Everything I've been told pointed to yes," Selistar responded, his fingers absently tracing the living crystal veins in the table's surface, which flickered with muted blues in response to his uncertainty.

"Have you seen anything?"

"The only thing I've seen is their empty Chrysalis." Selistar groaned,

"I thought the two of you had made progress on reconciliation?" Seren raised an eyebrow.

"So did I!" Selistar threw his arms up in frustration, causing nearby digital fireflies to scatter in startled bursts of light. "But I haven't heard a word from him since that day. When I went to check on him several days ago, all I was told was that they'd be here. Then radio silence."

"Well, all we can do is wait. There are still several hours left before festivities come to an end—" Seren's words caught in her throat as she turned her head, noticing the sudden shift in atmosphere.

The cacophony of celebration began to ebb like a retreating tide. The holographic displays flickered and dimmed as if responding to some unseen force. Even the music coming out of the vines began to lower its volume of its own accord.

Both Selistar and Seren rose instinctively from their seats as they laid eyes on what was making its way toward them. The crowds didn't just part—they seemed to be gently pushed aside by an invisible force, creating a perfect corridor through the festivities.

In the center of this pathway, the Tiny Tots moved with an otherworldly grace. Lord Mythara led the procession, In finely tailored suit, his young form somehow commanding despite his apparent age. On his right arm strode Amaterasu, wearing an ornate kimono. Behind her walked The Conductor, whose every step seemed to harmonize with every bit of tech in the area. Shango, whose aura made the floating market stalls sway gently as if touched by an unfelt breeze. The remaining Tiny Tots followed in perfect formation, each one radiating a power that made the very air shimmer, and echo of them wearing their Chaser gear.

As they passed through the crowd, a primal instinct awakened in every observer. Persequions found their enhanced abilities temporarily overwhelmed by a need to show reverence. Chasers felt their training dissolve into primordial recognition of something greater. Even regular humans, despite lacking any supernatural awareness, felt compelled to lower themselves in the presence of these beings who wore the faces of young adults but carried the weight of something far more profound.

Selistar, despite his own considerable power, felt the overwhelming pressure these "children" exuded—a force that spoke to something deeper than magic or technology. Even with his enhanced senses screaming warnings about the magnitude of energy approaching, he couldn't help but smile at the infinite possibilities stretching out before them all.

"Good evening, Mythara," Selistar said, his voice carefully controlled despite the weight pressing down on him.

"Hey." Mythara's response was flat, almost dismissive.

"Myth… where's your mother and father?" Seren asked, her tone shifting to something more familiar and warm, though even she seemed affected by the otherworldly presence surrounding the Tiny Tots.

"They're training." Mythara chuckled,

"After seeing them—after seeing what they've become—they felt like they weren't working hard enough." His demeanor toward his aunt was clearly warmer than what he'd shown Selistar, though even this familial affection seemed filtered through what appeared to be a sense of superiority.

"I can imagine why."

Selistar could feel that they were no longer human, that they had transcended the boundaries of their former existence. The realization sent a tremor through him, and all he could think about was ingesting the Nevilara Mystara himself to undergo this transformation. His gaze was drawn irresistibly toward Amaterasu.

She stood apart from the others, an aura of controlled power radiating from her small frame like heat from a forge. When their eyes met, the corner of her mouth curved into a faint smile.

"What happened to you all?" Selistar asked, his voice barely steady.

"Gather everyone here, and I will explain everything." Amaterasu's command wasn't loud, yet it carried the weight of absolute authority.

Selistar found himself moving without hesitation, his body responding before his mind could question. Following her suggestion felt as natural as breathing. He pressed his palms against the table's surface, and he channeled his voice through the island's communication network.

"Everyone, please gather at the Table of Honor. The ones we've all been waiting for have arrived." His amplified voice echoed across the island, carried by both technological Systems and the wind itself. The moment his words faded, the hushed anticipation exploded into renewed celebration. The holographic displays burst back to life with even greater vibrancy, and the luminescent vines overhead began pulsing in excited rhythms as thousands of feet moved toward the great table.

Several minutes passed as the crowds assembled in concentric circles around the honor table, their excited murmurs creating a living symphony. The floating market stalls drifted closer, their vendors abandoning their posts to witness history in the making. Even the digital fireflies seemed to gather, creating a constellation of light above the assembly.

Selistar gestured to the seats carved from the meteor stone.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Please, join us."

Only Mythara, Amaterasu, The Conductor, and Shango accepted, taking their places with a grace that made the ancient furniture seem built for them. The others remained standing in a protective formation, with The Hoarder positioning himself directly behind Amaterasu like a sentinel.

Selistar observed their behavior with growing unease mixed with fascination. They had formed a natural hierarchy among themselves—not through discussion or decree, but through some deeper understanding of their new nature. The way they moved, the way they positioned themselves, even the way they breathed seemed choreographed by instincts beyond human comprehension.

"Everyone's here." Leonie, who had claimed the seat beside Selistar, reported. Her voice carried a tremor of excitement.

"You ready?" Mythara asked, turning to Amaterasu with an expression that mixed pride and uncertainty.

"Always." Amaterasu rose from her seat with fluid motion, and the moment she stood, every conversation died. The very air seemed to hold its breath.

"We are human, but also something more. What exactly that is, we do not know, but what we do know is this."

She extended her hand toward the night sky, and reality responded to her will. A massive System materialized above them—not a hologram or projection, but something far more substantial. Geometric patterns of Vaylora formed. At its center, what appeared to be a miniature sun blazed into existence, casting warm light across the gathering without emitting any heat.

"Dragons are no longer impossible goals. Only worthy rivals." Amaterasu's voice had changed, becoming something that transcended mere sound. It melded with creation itself, bypassing the ears entirely and speaking directly to the soul of every person present. They had witnessed similar phenomena from Lord Cefketa and Mythara, but never with such raw, controlled power.

The assembled crowd stood transfixed, feeling the words resonate in their bones, their enhanced senses overwhelmed by the magnitude of what they were witnessing.

"However, do not delude yourself into thinking we are some chosen people, some sort of gods. We have simply exceeded the limits set on us by nature, and Creation, in its favor and wisdom, has decided to smile upon us."

Amaterasu lowered her hand, and the giant orb of flames began to rise, ascending toward the clouds with stately grace. When it reached the upper atmosphere, it burst in a silent explosion of light, fragmenting into countless smaller flames that began to drift downward like celestial snow.

Panic should have followed—would have, in any other circumstance. But Amaterasu's presence filled the air with calm assurance.

"Do not fear the unknown. Embrace it! Let it fuel your curiosity and your desire for knowledge. Let it push you forward to exceed the preconceived ideas you have of yourself."

Her words washed over the crowd like a gentle tide, transforming terror into wonder. Instead of fleeing, thousands of hands reached upward to touch the falling flames.

Stefan, sitting at the Table of Honor, reached out tentatively and caught one of the tiny flames. It was neither hot nor cold, but filled him with a sensation he couldn't name—like touching the edge of infinity. More flames danced around him before slowly fading, leaving behind only the memory of boundless possibility.

Throughout the crowd, similar scenes played out as each person experienced their own moment of transcendence, however brief.

"Break the shackles of humanity, and become what you are meant to be." A warm smile spread across Amaterasu's face as she surveyed the gathering.

Mythara watched her with an expression of blank fascination, his enhanced senses analyzing every micro-expression, every shift in her energy patterns. She was so vastly different from the person she had been before their transformation. However, he couldn't determine whether this change was positive. An uneasy mixture of emotions churned within him—caution born from recognizing a potential rival, competitiveness that might have stemmed from his draconic nature, and genuine worry for someone he cared about who had changed so rapidly and dramatically.

"Not like I'm one to talk," he thought to himself, remembering his own radical transformation. "I've changed more than anyone here."

"Does this mean you will grant us the ability to undergo the CSP?" Selistar asked, his gaze fixed on Mythara with desperate hope.

"Why are you asking him?" The Conductor's voice cut through the moment like a blade. "He's not human and has no right deciding who can and cannot undergo the CSP."

Mythara met The Conductor's challenging stare with calm indifference, though those with enhanced senses could feel the pressure building between them like the calm before a storm.

"Don't get so worked up," Mythara said with a casual roll of his eyes. "The Conductor has simply decided not to be part of The Theronites. He doesn't like the idea of us hogging all the good stuff."

"Is he the only one?" Selistar asked, though something in his enhanced intuition already suggested otherwise.

"I also will not be part of the Theronites," Amaterasu said with a slight shrug, as if discussing the weather. "The others don't seem fond of the idea of me being under Myth."

Selistar's gaze swept across the remaining Tiny Tots, noting the subtle but distinct separation in their formations. When he looked back at Mythara, the young leader simply shrugged in confirmation.

"The Hoarder, too—he wants to—"

"I'm starting the Korvalen!" The Hoarder interrupted with explosive enthusiasm, his laughter echoing across the gathering and causing several digital fireflies to scatter in startled spirals. "AHAHAHAHA!"

"Korvalen? A Royal Guard?" Selistar didn't need to ask for whom. Some deeper instinct told him immediately that it was for Amaterasu. The certainty of it struck him as strange—why didn't he feel the urge to question or deny such a presumptuous arrangement?

"Who else is in the Korvalen?" Stefan called out from the crowd.

"Only me... for now," The Hoarder responded with shameless pride, standing straighter behind Amaterasu's chair.

"This brings us to the most pressing matter we—they—wanted to discuss today." Mythara's slight correction didn't go unnoticed by those paying attention. Shango stepped forward, and like Amaterasu before him, his voice began to meld with the fabric of reality itself.

"We've all come together because of what happened two years ago, yeah? However, things are still too bloody unclear. No one really knows where anyone stands. So we came up with some solutions."

When Shango finished, Mythara seamlessly took over, his own voice carrying the same otherworldly quality. "The UN refuses to take us as seriously as they should. We're just thugs to them. But if we became a nation, they would have no choice but to acknowledge us."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd like waves, carried by the night air still illuminated by the lingering traces of Amaterasu's celestial display. The Conductor raised his hand, and everyone who saw that gesture felt an inexplicable compulsion to fall silent, as if his will had become temporarily their own.

"The name of this nation will be Heka. Chasers will be the designation of our military. The Renegades, Twin Adders, and Oleanders will form our divisions. Their specific roles will be determined later."

Shango continued the explanation with practiced authority. "The Theronites and Korvalen will serve as our elite forces. The best of the best. The Theronites will remain under Myth's direct control and will act as our last line of defense—or our nuclear option."

An elderly Elder near the front of the gathering found his voice, though it trembled with emotion. "What of Persequions? It is a name that has defined us for multiple millennia. Would you have us simply abandon it?"

He harbored no resentment toward these transformed children—it was clear they represented the future, and there was little any of them could do to change that reality. But the thought of losing their ancient identity struck him to the core. Though few dared to speak, many in the crowd shared his sentiment.

"I... we struggled with what to call ourselves, our new species," Amaterasu admitted, her voice softening with something approaching humility.

"Persequion embodies the concept of chasing truth through darkness, illuminating the future. It represents a relentless pursuit—not just of truth, but of enlightenment—even when the path is obscured or treacherous. It means having the courage and determination to seek greater truths and transcend what we are."

The Mytherian language possessed a beauty and complexity that allowed single words to hold boundless profundity and depth, and Amaterasu's pronunciation carried all of that ancient meaning.

"Persequion is a wonderful concept, and I believe it will make a wonderful name for our species. Persequions—humans who have transcended the shackles of humanity."

The Elder who had spoken before now found himself overwhelmed with joy and emotion. He was not alone; many of the older Persequions began a thunderous round of applause and cheers. After everything they had endured, they were finally able to see light at the end of the tunnel.

But as the roar of applause and cheering reached fever pitch, a different rhythm cut through their celebration—slow, deliberate, thunderous clapping that somehow drowned out thousands of voices and threw cold water on their joy.

"Well, well, that was quite the rousing celebration, wasn't it?"

The sky above them split open like torn fabric, reality parting to reveal a dimensional rift. Lord Cefketa stepped through with casual arrogance, accompanied by Sage, The Twins, and over twenty other figures no one had seen before. They all wore the distinctive Veridahn uniform, and each radiated the same otherworldly presence as the Tiny Tots.

"I think if you're going to name an entire species, you should at least ask everyone involved." Lord Cefketa's fanged smile was predatory, and his presence alone transformed the celebratory atmosphere into one of trepidation and barely contained dread.

"Hey, kids!" His greeting carried the weight of a challenge, and everyone present understood that their celebration had become something far more dangerous.

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