Docking AreaOutland Area B

A small spacecraft hovered low, its engines humming softly as it eased down and came to a careful stop just above the frozen ground. Pale vapor curled beneath its hull, disturbed by the heat bleeding from the thrusters. In the pilot's seat, Master White lifted one hand and formed a series of precise signs, fingers moving with practiced ease as he signaled their assigned docking number.

Despite the layers upon layers of security, landing on the ice world was still a drawn out ordeal. Scans overlapped scans, signals cross checked and delayed, every procedure stretched thin by suspicion. There was reason for it. Smugglers still found their way through the cracks, and this world had learned the cost of being careless.

"Docking area B234. After docking, prepare for inspection."

The voice burst from a loudspeaker, authoritative and cold, echoing off metal walls and sinking into the cabin. It carried no warmth, no patience, only expectation. Those onboard felt it settle on their shoulders like weight.

Thirty minutes passed before the hatch finally opened. Cold air rushed in, sharp and biting, as the group stepped off the ship one by one. They were ushered into a stark processing area where an officer stood waiting, posture rigid, eyes already judging.

"You are refugees?" he said, his lip curling slightly as his gaze swept over them. "What war torn world is ẽard?"

Disgust was plain on his face, as if the answer itself offended him. The expansion of the universe had not erased conflict. Worlds still burned, borders still bled. Man, after all, remained the truest architect of war.

What would war even be without him. Political analysts loved to speak of balance, of treaties and deterrence, of how the universe might have collapsed into endless bloodshed if not for forces unseen and unnamed.

"Strip search," the officer cut in. "Let's see if anyone is hiding something."

He did not leave the room. Instead, he remained where he was, eyes sharp and unblinking, scanning every face as though daring one of them to move.

Of course, this was met with looks of confusion from those around him as their gazes drifted back to the ordinary weaver standing before them. He looked unremarkable, almost dull, yet the words he had spoken carried an authority that felt misplaced. Asking them to strip felt wrong on every level, especially when two tyrants stood calmly among the group, their presence alone enough to warp the air.

"What? You don't want to strip? Or are you terrorists?"

The man snapped the words out as he pulled a metal baton from his belt, waving it lazily in front of them. The gesture was crude, almost theatrical, as if he were daring someone to give him an excuse.

He was an inspector. He alone decided who set foot on this planet and who was turned away. At least, that was the illusion of power he lived by. In truth, his role was largely ceremonial. No one made it past the outer rims of this world without authorization. Anything else was reduced to drifting wreckage long before it ever came close.

"There's a woman here. Isn't that a bit excessive?"

Enzo's voice cut through the tension, sharp enough to pull every eye in the room toward him. The inspector reacted instantly. In the blink of an eye, he stepped forward, hand rising as he loomed into Enzo's space, eyes cold with practiced intimidation.

To anyone watching, it looked almost laughable. A uniformed man threatening someone far larger than himself, puffed up by borrowed authority.

But the inspector did not see it that way. To him, the uniform was law. It placed him above all others. That alone had always been enough to command obedience.

"We are guests of the snow elve clan. I don't think this is a good way to treat us."

Master White's voice rang out, calm but heavy, his presence settling behind Black. Unseen by most, Black's hand had slipped beneath his jacket, fingers wrapped firmly around the grip of a concealed firearm.

The inspector did not notice. His temper flared, ready to erupt once more at what he saw as continued defiance. He opened his mouth to speak.

Then he stopped.

The main door slid open behind him. Someone had entered without his permission and was now walking steadily toward the group. The sound of footsteps echoed softly across the floor.

From the corner of his eye, recognition struck.

His boss.

"Welcome to Snowfall territory, young lords. We are happy to have you."

The man bowed deeply, his movement smooth and reverent.

For a moment, the entire room seemed to freeze. The inspector's baton slipped from his fingers and clattered against the floor.

Master White's words replayed in his mind, slow and dreadful as understanding finally set in. Snow elves.

On the ice super world, that name was sacred. Not just anyone could even speak a title associated with ice. Even code names were forbidden from carrying such meaning. To do so was blasphemy.

After all, only gods dared to claim an entire world of ice as their own.

"I…The inspector tried to speak, lips parting as if words alone could save him. No one paid him any attention. Every gaze had shifted to the other gentleman who had arrived unannounced, his presence quietly rewriting the hierarchy of the room. He did not need to announce authority. It clung to him naturally.

"Thank you. The pleasure is ours."

White smiled, the tension easing from his shoulders now that the situation had been resolved quickly. It was for the best. Enzo was still young, and hearing something as vile as a demand for his mother to strip would have ignited something ugly inside him.

"Hehe. Die for me."

White had not expected the reaction to come from his own brother.

The gunshot cracked through the room. The bullet did not pierce flesh or tear skin. It struck with overwhelming force, hurling the inspector backward into the wall. His body slammed hard, the impact stealing the air from his lungs as blood spilled from his mouth.

"Weakling."

The word was spoken with indifference as the weapon was holstered once more. The ice world was vast and powerful, but the gulf between a tyrant and an ordinary weaver was immeasurable. Some insults could not be swallowed.

"It's fine. He's been begging for a beating for a while," the boss said with a small nod. He turned and gestured for them to follow, leading the group out of the docking area and deeper toward a processing hall.

Inkous had not sent them to this super world to rot in some forgotten corner. He had purchased land. Vast land. A towering structure already stood there, designated to serve as a new branch of the institute.

It was a diplomatic gesture on one hand, a quiet message to the rulers of Gaia that relations were cordial. On the other, it was a calculated move to strengthen their influence.

Land on Gaia was absurdly expensive. So costly that even gods hesitated before such purchases. Inkous, as a creation god, had methods others lacked. Time itself could be shaped into wealth.

"The area is one of the best in the outer city, I assure you. But first, we will need to meet with the minister so he may confer you a title."

The land Inkous had acquired was so outrageously large that a ceremonial title came bundled with it. Transactions of that scale were never simple.

The title held no real authority. No armies, no laws. Only prestige. And on worlds like this, prestige alone could open many doors.

Their first destination was the city of elves, nestled within the western hemisphere of the planet. Snow blanketed the land endlessly, untouched by season or sun, much like the rest of the world. The cold here was not hostile, but ancient, as though it had settled long ago and simply decided to remain.

The city was rumored to be the birthplace of the elves, or at least what remained of that history. Time had worn much away, yet traces endured. Elvish runes etched into ruined spires, faded murals buried beneath ice, remnants of a culture that refused to vanish completely.

Because of this, pilgrims came in droves. Those who bore the Ice Elve Avatar often traveled great distances just to walk these streets, to pray, to kneel before shrines dedicated to Mother Gaia. Faith lingered heavily in the air, quiet and solemn, woven into the snowfall itself.

The city rose high into the sky. Towering skyscrapers gleamed beneath layers of frost, while entire buildings floated above the streets, suspended by massive chains that groaned softly as they swayed. Strange structures curved and spiraled in ways Enzo had never seen, defying both gravity and common sense.

It was the very image of a futuristic metropolis. Cold, grand, and overwhelming.

"We are approaching the estate. The minister has wished to meet the envoy of the creation god for a long time."

The boss spoke casually now, as though he had shed his earlier authority. He guided the vehicle smoothly through the city, turning toward a massive gated community located in the east central district. Tall walls of reinforced crystal and steel rose before them, symbols of wealth and quiet power waiting beyond the gates.

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