Astraeus Tower
Starlight Headquarters
Orbital space station
Agartha, Anu Solar system
Divine Federation
Pleiades star sector
15th Krios cycle, Solaris prime Solaris Prime
Hovering above a cultivation pad carved with ancient astral runes, a dense concentration of Odic energy swirled around Arexander Pendragon like a cosmic storm held in check. Crimson light shimmered around him, his scarlet hair fluttering in the invisible winds stirred by his power. His eyes were closed, his brows furrowed in absolute focus as beads of sweat trailed down his temples. The sheer volume of ambient energy—the raw Cosmic Od—would have overwhelmed most cultivators, even those firmly seated in the Sage Realm. But not Rex. His control was absolute.
The space around him remained eerily undisturbed, as if the universe itself bent to accommodate his discipline. This lack of distortion was a testament not only to his mastery but to the harmony he maintained with the forces he manipulated. The Odic current flowed smoothly into him, drawn in and refined by his Soul Core, where it was broken down into purified Mana. From there, the energy flowed into his Mana pathways in disciplined streams, circulating with perfect rhythm.
But the Soul Core was not alone in its work.
Within his mind, the Star Core pulsed, feeding on the ambient Od and transmuting it into refined starlight Mana. The energy enriched his Odic force, elevating the clarity of thought and perception needed to manipulate higher realms of cultivation. Simultaneously, the Vital Core within his heart glowed with radiant force. It was the most important of the three—tasked with sustaining his life force, anchoring his essence, and balancing the harmony between body, mind, and soul.
With every breath, Rex cycled the trinity of cores—Soul, Star, and Vital—entering a state of perfect synchronization. His body shimmered with a deep crimson glow, his aura expanding outward as if shedding a former skin. He broke past the middle tiers of the Sage Realm, ascending steadily, until his presence stabilized at the absolute peak. His life force no longer wavered. His aura no longer flickered. The Vital Field Force—his body's metaphysical membrane—held firm, like a sphere of molten spirit surrounding his heart and radiating power through every fiber of his being.
As he meditated, following the sacred formula passed down through the Pendragon bloodline, Rex felt the shift. His strength surged—for the second time in five decades.
To some, it might seem strange that a genius like Arexander Pendragon—who had reached the Sage Realm in his twenties—was still refining his cultivation within this realm. But those truly versed in the art of ascension knew the truth: even for the most gifted, harmonization was not something to be rushed. Cultivation wasn't just about breakthroughs—it was about anchoring one's foundation so deeply that the climb to Sovereignty wouldn't collapse under its own weight.
Rex's generation, however, had defied all precedent. Born during the Uprising and after, he was part of a new breed of Pleiadians—alongside the likes of Leon Haravok, Emily Legens, and Meridein Karajan. Their generation was known for explosive growth, raw adaptability, and an affinity for energies thought too complex or volatile for prior cultivators.
Decades ago, at only twenty-six, Rex had stepped into the Sage Realm—a feat that traditionally took centuries for geniuses. And now, once again, he stood on the threshold of something greater. Rex's mind began to drift—no, not drift, pull. Something was calling to him, a presence at the edge of his perception, latching onto his internal senses and drawing them outward. The sensation was subtle at first, like a whisper behind a veil, but it quickly intensified, demanding his attention. His spirit was being beckoned, stretched toward an unknown origin that radiated significance. He knew—with that unshakable instinct that came only to true cultivators—that if he answered this call, it would unlock a new stage of power. A path to ascension unlike any he had walked before.
And yet… he hesitated.
Rex wasn't ready. Not because he feared the path, but because of what it would take from him. To answer this call meant detachment—detachment from the world, from the Federation, from the conflicts unfolding across the Celestial Houses. As much as his heart burned for growth, his mind refused to sever his ties to the Divine Federation. Not now. Not when so much was hanging in the balance.
He released a controlled breath, grounding his will. Slowly, the ambient energy that had coalesced around him began to settle, the swirling Od dispersing as his three cores—Soul, Star, and Vital—absorbed the remnants. His levitating form descended with gentle grace, touching down on the cultivation pad as the last arcs of radiant light flickered and faded around him. His breathing evened out. The harmonization process was complete.
Then, he opened his eyes.
Twin crimson irises snapped into focus, glowing faintly with residual power. His pupils had thinned into draconic slits—an unmistakable sign of his draconic heritage. That ancient bloodline burned within him, imbuing his physical form with sheer density and strength. His upper body was bare, revealing a frame sculpted not by vanity, but by the refined force of condensed Mana. Broad shoulders, vascular arms, and an armored core of muscle radiated latent power with every twitch. He wasn't built like Leon Haravok, who was tall and lean with an aesthetic frame—Rex was built like a weapon forged for war. He looked less like a man and more like a living battlement.
Fortunately, the quarters assigned to him had been designed with high-tier cultivators in mind. The room included a private cultivation chamber, lined with Ether-absorption tiles and spiritual dampeners to keep outside disturbances at bay. It had been decades since Rex left Terra, choosing instead to return to the Divine Federation and serve under Admiral Wilcock. Now, he was stationed aboard Astraeus Tower, a massive orbital fortress circling the capital world of Agartha—one of the Twelve Great Worlds of the Celestial Houses.
Stripping off the rest of his clothing, Rex stepped into the adjacent shower. The hot cascade of water rushed over his body, washing away the sweat and energy residue left behind by hours of cultivation. The scent of charged ozone and dragon-blood musk slowly faded. Once clean, he donned his uniform—a deep green longcoat with silver embroidery and a high collar. Upon his chest gleamed the sigil of a Star Knight, its design denoting not only his military rank but his role as a guardian of cosmic order.
With a final glance at the mirror—where his crimson eyes stared back, calm but alert—Rex exited the room and began his walk toward the tower's central hub.
As he passed through corridors filled with officers, artificial attendants, and glowing command panels, Rex couldn't ignore the tension in the air. Whispers, glances, and half-finished conversations hinted at something larger—a crisis brewing. The era of the Divine Federation was no longer one of stability. And deep down, Rex knew that war was inevitable.
****
The lift ascended in silence, a low hum vibrating through its core as Rex stood motionless within. Glass walls revealed the vast curvature of Agartha below, the capital world gleaming like a jewel in the dark sea of space. Towering cityscapes, orbital rings, and cascading lightflows shimmered like a divine circuit board—evidence of the Celestial House's grandeur. Yet beneath the beauty, Rex could sense it: instability, unrest, war on the horizon.
A soft chime sounded.
The doors parted, revealing a circular chamber illuminated by ethereal skylights that mimicked natural sun. This was the Strategium Sanctum, the highest authority hall within Astraeus Tower. Silver banners bearing the sigils of the Twelve Celestial Houses fluttered along the walls, each embroidered with threads of light spun from raw mana. A domed ceiling displayed a holographic projection of the known universe, constellations rotating gently like a celestial clock.
Rex stepped into the chamber just as the other Star Knights were arriving, each radiating the unmistakable aura of high-level cultivation. These were not ordinary warriors—they were paragons of their generation. Fleet commanders who had charted new systems, slayers of Abyssborn abominations, and wardens of planetary strongholds lost to time and void. Each one carried with them the weight of countless battles and decades—if not centuries—of hardened experience.
Most of them had reached the Sage Realm or the even rarer Saint Realm, the second tier of the Harmonization Stage. They were living legends within the Divine Federation, veterans of celestial wars and cosmic incursions. And yet, amid their presence, Rex stood as an anomaly.
The youngest Pleiadian in recorded history to be inducted as a Star Knight.
He had achieved in less than a century what took others lifetimes to even approach. It was not due to lineage alone, but sheer will, clarity of cultivation, and a soul tempered through fire and sacrifice. For this reason, none of the warriors in the room dared to underestimate him. There was no condescension in their gazes—only acknowledgment.
Some dipped their heads as he passed, a subtle bow in deference. Others offered brief but solemn nods, meeting his crimson eyes with silent recognition. Among Star Knights, respect was never bought with rank or title—it was earned through presence, through power.
And Rex Pendragon commanded both.
At the center of the room stood a tall, broad-shouldered man clad in a black and silver admiral's coat, adorned with golden epaulets and battle-worn insignias. His hair was steel-gray, cropped close, and a jagged scar crossed one cheek like a faded lightning bolt. Admiral Wilcock, commander of Astraeus Tower and one of the most decorated officers in the Divine Federation, turned his gaze toward Rex as he approached.
"You're late, Pendragon," Wilcock said, his tone gruff but not unkind.
Rex bowed slightly, folding one fist over his heart in the Pleiadian salute. "My apologies, Admiral. I was in the final phase of harmonization."
Wilcock gave a curt nod. "You're here now. That's what matters."
Wilcock activated the projection at the center of the table. A hologram appeared—Alexander Pendragon. Regal, composed, chained at the wrists. His hair was darker than Rex's, but the same fire burned behind his eyes. And beside the image: a flashing header. "Re-Trial Authorized: Case File – Fallen Star Incident."
"After fifty years…" Admiral Wilcock said, folding his hands beneath his chin, "they've finally opened the doors."
Rex said nothing. His jaw clenched tight, the muscles twitching beneath his skin. His gaze locked on the holographic image of his father—chained, stoic, and burdened by seven decades of silence. A storm churned behind Rex's eyes, one he had long learned to keep contained.
Seventy years ago, the Federation had shaken under a coordinated assault. A faction of elite Paladins had struck the Stellar Council—the governing body of the Starlight Order—in a brazen attempt to seize one of the Divine Federation's most sacred artifacts. On that same day, several other institutions across the Federation had been attacked in synchrony. Chaos reigned.
The man named as the leader of those coordinated attacks... had been Alexander Pendragon.
And the man credited with stopping him—hailed as the hero of the era—had been Jonathan Haravok, father of Leon Haravok.
Rex had grown up under that shadow. He had worn the shame of the Pendragon name like a brand, carrying the burden of betrayal and dishonor. His father had been labeled a terrorist. A traitor. A man who had plunged the Federation into chaos for reasons no one ever truly understood.
For years, Rex resented him. Hated him. Hated the legacy that haunted every room he entered, every command he gave, every promotion he earned. He'd dedicated his life to reclaiming honor for the Pendragon bloodline, vowing to be better than the man who had thrown it away. But then came Julia Haravok—Leon's mother. It was through her that Rex discovered the truth.
The Uprising had been a lie. Orchestrated. The attack on the Stellar Council, the bombings of civilian structures, the chaos that had justified a new age of martial law—all of it had been meticulously planned by a hidden hand within the Federation. A group that saw the growing dissent among the middle and lower classes as a threat to their power. They needed an enemy. A symbol of rebellion. And Alexander Pendragon had become their perfect scapegoat.
Everything Rex thought he knew had been built on a foundation of propaganda and betrayal. And now, staring into the hollow eyes of his father's projection, Rex felt the cold steel of resolve that had been burning within him since he learned the truth.
"The trial for your father begins next cycle," Wilcock continued. "The Progressive Bloc finally pushed it through with the evidence you gathered during your stay in Terra. You did well, Pendragon." Rex only nodded. "The confession we pulled from Delacroix—coupled with the classified footage you retrieved—has forced the Justice Committee's hand. Turns out, the Fallen Stars weren't the ones who placed the detonators that triggered the former council massacre. They were scapegoats."
"Then the real culprits—?" one of the Star Knights began.
"Are the same ones we of the Jaeger corp has been hunting since we were established," Admiral WIlcock stated.
"Sector Zero," Star Knight—Iliya Morek, a Knight from the House of Gemini—spoke up. ""A shadow group, operating within the Federation itself. We still don't know who is behind them, backing them."
"No," Rex said. It was a shame. Rex had infiltrated Sector Zero to find out who was the one backing them, but he had failed to achieve that. The times he spent there had not given him that much insight into who supported Sector Zero, but he had discovered the existence of a third political faction within the Federation that wasn't known. The Purists.
"And what happens when this gets out?" asked Vaeron Sorr, a war-hardened knight from the House of Taurus."You think the conservatives will sit quietly when the public finds out the bombing was an inside job?"
"They won't," Wilcock said darkly. "And neither will the Progressives. As tragic as the Uprising was, it gave the Progressive faction the political leverage they needed to consolidate their influence within the Federation's government. If Alexander is acquitted—if he's cleared of all charges—they stand to gain even more ground. But if this trial spirals out of control, the Conservatives will pounce. They'll weaponize public fear, claim the Progressives are protecting terrorists, and move to strip power from the current administration."
It was important to remember: the sitting President of the Divine Federation was a member of the Progressive faction. In the aftermath of the Uprising, public sentiment had leaned heavily in their favor—largely due to the role of Jonathan Haravok, the hero who had prevented what could have been the total collapse of the capital. His legacy had cast a long, protective shadow over the Progressives for decades.
But that was years ago. Since then, fractures had begun to spread across the foundation of the Federation. Economic unrest. Factional disputes. Outworld tensions. All this happening within the Colony region. A reckoning had been building—and the trial of Alexander Pendragon might be the match to ignite it.
"A civil crisis," Vaeron muttered. "Another Uprising."
"Possibly worse," Wilcock replied. His tone was heavy, grounded in grim foresight.
He tapped the air again. A new hologram materialized above the table—a political star chart of the outer systems. Red borders pulsed ominously around the Ganymede Empire, their fleet concentrations edging closer to neutral space.
"We're already locked in a Cold War with Ganymede," Wilcock continued. "They've been increasing their Ascendant production, testing quantum-class weaponry, and reinforcing their border fleets. One misstep from us—one scandal they can exploit—and they'll have justification to strike."
He let the map hover in silence for a moment.
"Alexander's trial could be that misstep. If we don't handle this with surgical precision… we won't just lose political control." He looked up, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "We could lose the Federation."