Chapter 234: The New Regent
The journey to the god Core was quiet and tense. The Odyssey, miraculously healed by the Forge’s life-giving energy, flew through the star-dusted void with a new, steady grace.
But on the bridge, no one was celebrating. They were a ship on a diplomatic mission, a strange and unfamiliar role for a crew so used to fighting.
They were about to walk into the most powerful and lawful place in the universe and ask for a favor that would break a hundred different rules.
As they approached the center of the god, the very fabric of space began to change. The stars became brighter, the colors sharper. The ship’s sensors, which usually showed a universe full of chaotic energy and random fluctuations, now showed a region of perfect, ordered harmony.
It felt like they were leaving the wild, untamed ocean and sailing into a perfectly calm, crystal-clear lake.
A single, colossal structure floated in the center of this perfect calm. It was the Primary Weaver, the heart of the god Core. It was a giant, shimmering sphere of woven light, miles across, that pulsed with a slow, steady, and incredibly powerful rhythm.
It was the loom of reality, and every pulse was the sound of another thread of existence being woven into the great tapestry of the universe.
As they drew closer, a single, elegant ship detached itself from the surface of the glowing sphere and moved to intercept them. It was not a warship. It was a vessel made of pure, flawless crystal, and it glided through space with a silent, majestic grace.
A message request appeared on their main screen. Emma, as the group’s chief diplomat, straightened her uniform and nodded. "Open a channel," she said.
The screen flickered to life, showing the bridge of the crystalline ship. The being that stood there was not like Regent Xylar. Xylar had been golden and warm, a guardian who felt like a noble king. This new Regent was made of a clear, diamond-like crystal, its form sharp and geometric, with light fracturing through its body into a thousand tiny rainbows.
Its face had no features, no eyes or mouth, but they could feel its attention on them, a gaze that felt like being measured by a perfect, unfeeling ruler.
"I am Regent Vorlag," the being’s voice said. It was not a sound that came from a mouth, but a thought that was projected directly into their minds.
The voice was like the sound of a crystal bell, clear, precise, and completely without emotion. "You are the vessel known as the Odyssey. Your recent actions at the Forge of Genesis have been recorded. You have ended a significant threat to cosmic stability."
There was a pause. The crew held their breath.
"We acknowledge your victory," Vorlag continued, its voice as flat and unreadable as its face. "However, your methods were... chaotic. The transformation of the entity known as Ryan Stone is an unpredictable, unlawful event.
His current state, as a conceptual seed of immense potential, represents a significant and unacceptable variable."
The cold, hard logic of the Regent’s words hit them like a physical blow. Vorlag wasn’t seeing Ryan as a hero to be resurrected. It was seeing him as a problem to be solved, a messy piece of data that didn’t fit into its perfect, ordered system.
"We have come to request access to the Primary Weaver," Emma said, her voice steady and respectful, trying to keep the conversation from turning sour.
"The seed requires a source of stable, ordered energy to be nurtured. We believe the Weaver is the only place in the universe where this can be done safely."
Regent Vorlag was silent for a long moment, as if it were processing a very complex math problem.
"Your belief is correct," it finally said. "The energy of the Primary Weaver could, theoretically, restore the entity. However, your request is denied."
The words were a hammer blow.
"Denied?" Ilsa’s voice was a low growl of disbelief from the side of the bridge. "On what grounds?"
"The law is the law," Vorlag stated, its voice unwavering. "The Primary Weaver maintains the balance of reality. To introduce such a powerful, unknown entity into its core systems poses a direct threat to that balance.
Nurturing this ’seed of hope,’ as your emotional broadcasts would call it, is a chaotic act. My primary function is to eliminate chaos and preserve order. Therefore, I cannot permit it."
This was a nightmare. They had come here hoping to find an ally, or at least a reasonable leader they could negotiate with. Instead, they had found a wall. A wall made of pure, unbending, and infuriatingly polite logic.
Emma knew she had to try a different approach. Pleading with this being would be useless. It didn’t understand emotions like hope or love. But it did understand strategy.
She stepped forward, her own mind becoming as sharp and as cold as the Regent’s. "Regent Vorlag," she said, her voice now crisp and analytical, "let us discuss the logical, long-term consequences of your decision. The First Herald may be gone, but the remnants of the Cult of Final Stillness are still out there.
Valerius’s archives have shown us other, older threats, still sleeping in the dark corners of this god. These threats will eventually rise again. Our analysis shows that a reborn Ryan Stone, a Genesis Lord with the power to impose and create order, is the only logical defense against these future chaotic events.
To deny his rebirth is to leave the god vulnerable. It is, from a purely strategic standpoint, the less logical choice."
It was a brilliant argument, a masterpiece of tactical reasoning. She was speaking the Regent’s own language, trying to prove that helping them was the most orderly, most logical thing to do.
She had laid out her argument perfectly. She had shown her work. She had solved the equation.
And Regent Vorlag, the living embodiment of logic, simply shook its featureless head.
"Your strategic analysis is noted," it said, its voice still perfectly, maddeningly calm. "But it is based on prediction and probability. My directive is based on established law. The law does not bend for a probable future. The law is the law."
The crystal being raised one of its sharp, geometric hands. It was no longer a gesture of conversation. It was a gesture of command.
"You have two options," Regent Vorlag declared, its voice now holding a new, hard edge of finality.
"Option one: Surrender the seed to the god Core. It will be placed in an eternal stasis field, where its chaotic potential can be safely contained forever.
Option two: Refuse, and be classified as an active threat to cosmic order. In which case, your ship, your crew, and your chaotic seed will be... erased."