Chapter 10 – The Flight Toward Stillness
After all what happened, it took Arcan 20 full day of non-stop work, to take and to scavenge everything, he wanted to build a Machineworld but even though it was gonna cost him only 38 billion and he got 57 352 255 000 billion of nanocells, but still it was too early for him to conquer Vorr Kael, too early, too soon, he didn't have enough army to fight again the remaining robot of the 3 left robot dynasty, he could kill them all but there would be no fun in doing that, and he was tired after that 20 day of non-stop fighting and scavenging, now he needed to rest, he needed to hold his two daughter in his arm so that he could have a sense of happiness, he didn't come here to play the conqueror and to find himself new wives, he didn't also expect to gain two daughters instead also, but that made him happy anyway, the wives would come when the time will be, he already got one, for now it's enough for him, but if there his a next that come, he wouldn't say no,
After Arcan decided to go back to the unoccupied area first , he was away for 59 days( 20 days for mirrorbyte palace and 39 days for the dead zone), for Viraeth he was away for 59 days and somewhere deep inside he knew that she will be mad against him,
The hum of the Wing-Crawler 9T Cargo Flyer echoed through the electromagnetic stratosphere, slicing through the ash-colored skies of Vorr-Kael with predatory grace.
Its long, angular wings shimmered with burnished plating — still scorched from recent warzone entries — while its hold was filled with sealed sarcophagi of machine corpses, salvaged data-caches, fused core logic, and relic limbs of long-dead constructs. Arcan sat within the command chair, arms crossed, back relaxed — yet his eyes were anything but still.
He was silent. And heavy with the weight of everything that had just been endured.
Twenty days.
Twenty days of relentless combat, of burning through Mirrorbyte Palace with divine fury, of laying waste to 6.4 million corrupted constructs and ending the fractured reign of Echolyth, the muse of synthetic madness.
Twenty days scavenging every piece of tech, storing it in layers of his spatial vault, gathering not just nanocells and war-cores — but stories. Memories. Wounds.
And that was only half the burden.
Before that, 39 days in the Dead Zone — where the broken legions of nine fallen Nanogods tried, and failed, to erase his existence. He slew them. Took their power. Their followers. Their regions.
He emerged victorious, yes — but not untouched.
Now, 59 days later, the weight of every second crept into his bones like old code clinging to a forgotten machine.
And he was flying home.
Arcan glanced at the readout on the holoscreen. The coordinates of the Unoccupied Zone pulsed faintly in deep indigo.
His empire.
His beginning.
His haven.
The flyer coasted effortlessly through the atmospheric belts, every onboard system operating in complete silence, as though even the machine understood its master's exhaustion. Through the viewport, Vorr-Kael's tortured surface stretched endlessly — rust plains, factory craters, shattered fortresses of dynasties yet to fall.
He could have taken the fast way. Could have blinked space and arrived in an instant.
But he didn't.
He chose the slow flight.
He needed the distance.
Not as escape… but reflection.
He leaned back, eyes half-closed, remembering the last thing Seria said before he left Neo Hope:
"Come back, Papa. I'll be waiting… and I'll teach Nelyra how to cook. But not Vaelshun. She burns everything."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
He'd left the child — his second daughter — in the care of the two spared Nanogods: Nelyra Vox, the Echo Queen turned guardian; and Vaelshun, the Coil Seraph, now house commander of his rising dynasty. He had also left them 1 million Credbits, strict instruction to remain in Neo Hope, and a single promise: I will return.
And now he was.
But not yet.
Six hours later.
The flyer descended through the defense grid of the Unoccupied Zone. Old sensors recognized him. The city lights shimmered to life. Auto-runes sparked from the landing pads.
As he stepped out — no thunder greeted him. No orchestra. No AI hymn.
Just wind.
And the sound of a place that had missed its sovereign.
Arcan walked slowly down the ramp of the Wing-Crawler, each step grounding him back into the realm he had forged — a domain not of blood, not of command… but of second chances.
He passed training bots bowing in perfect sync. He passed towers whose foundations had once been cracked by war — now rebuilt, radiant. He passed the central corridor of the citadel, where the core AI Elys had etched his name into the logicseal of the mainframe as "Creator of the Second Age."
And then…
He paused before a tall set of doors. Old, metallic, but freshly adorned.
He placed his hand on the surface. It didn't scan him. It didn't need to.
It opened.
Inside, the light was dim — sunset-coded to match Earth's old frequencies. It bathed the room in gold.
And at the edge of that glow…
She stood.
Viraeth.
Human now. Flesh and warmth where once circuits and rage had ruled. Her hair longer. Her breath slower. Her form clothed in a simple drape of pale cobalt fabric — comfortable, regal, yet informal.
She turned.
Her face was unreadable. Her presence sharp, precise, still marked by the echo of her former godhood. And yet… behind the glint in her eyes, there was something unmistakable:
Hurt.
"You were gone," she said, not accusing — simply naming the truth.
Arcan stepped inside.
"I know."
She crossed her arms.
"For forty-one days."
"Yes."
A pause.
"Why?"
He looked at her then — truly looked.
"Because I needed to finish something," he said. "And I needed to come back… ready to stay."
The words sank between them like gravity. He could have explained the battles, the logic cores harvested, the AI ghosts vanquished — but none of that would have mattered.
All she had wanted… was for him to come back.
She stared at him a moment longer — then stepped forward.
And embraced him.
There was no ritual. No ceremony. No protocol of dynasty or empire.
Only daughter. And father.
And arms that remembered what it meant to protect.
That night, he remained in the citadel. He did not call for council. He did not review maps of the Crystal Cog or the Iron Vow or the Verdant Shell. He did not speak of Mirrorbyte or the 57 352 255 000 billion nanocells waiting to be spent.
Instead…
He sat in the high garden of the tower — a chair of stone and vine-steel, under an artificial sky laced with coded constellations. Viraeth sat beside him, eyes on the stars.
And miles away, in Neo Hope…
Seria laughed while chasing fireflies conjured by Nelyra's amusement routines.
Vaelshun pretended to be annoyed — but her expression always betrayed her.
And all of Vorr-Kael, for the first time in millennia, rested.
Arcan looked up.
And for just one moment, in the quiet between futures — he allowed himself to breathe.
Elurya Venn also was waiting for him when he returned.
No grand entrance. No words of demand. No anger. She simply stood in the atrium of the crystal-boned hall, where the memory-lights still flickered from his long absence. She had changed her robe — not into something regal, but something soft. Cerulean silk laced with kinetic thread, sleeves long enough to hide her hands. Her hair was pinned in a shape close to a crown, but it was quiet. Like her.
Arcan stepped inside, his frame carrying the exhaustion of 41 days of slaughter, conquest, and silence.
Elurya said nothing.
She just walked up to him — no armor, no guards — and placed her palm on the side of his chest, where the warline of his divine core pulsed beneath skin and plating.
"You came back," she whispered.
"I always do," he replied.
But she didn't believe it. Not yet. She simply nodded, and when he offered his arms, she stepped into them. Not like a queen. Like someone who had waited — unsure if she was allowed to miss a god.
In the days that followed, Elurya said little. But she acted. She took care of Viraeth with calm precision — morning rituals, sleep calibrations, emotional syncing. She learned how to cook again using leftover protocols from before the Collapse. She smiled more often — carefully, but sincerely. And though she slept in the chamber beside Arcan's, she never crossed the threshold unless invited.
He noticed. And he invited her on the seventh night, and they kissed each other all night long.
—
When it was time to return to Neo Hope, Arcan made no secret of who would accompany him.
Not just 850 M-Series "Mirage Operatives" — they were silent shadows, programmed to blend into all environments, defend his daughters and queens at any cost. Not just 150 Valorian Frames, towering sentinels made of vowsteel and lunar bone, now reassigned from Viraeth's protection to full family guardian protocol.
But Elurya. She would go, too.
She hesitated only once, standing before the loading chamber of the Swarmspine Carrier. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be there," she admitted.
Arcan turned to her, eyes quiet but blazing with absolute certainty.
"You are my queen," he said. "That is enough."
She boarded without another word.
—
The Carrier ascended in silence, pulsing with deep internal engines as it cut through the shielded skies of the Unoccupied Zone. Inside, Arcan didn't stay in the command deck. Not this time.
He walked the main hall with Viraeth, showing her the memory crystals embedded into the spine of the ship. She ran ahead, occasionally placing her hand against the humming walls, asking what each one held.
"Galaxies," he said. "Lost cities. Sometimes… regrets."
"Do you have a lot of those?" she asked, her voice small but curious.
He knelt beside her and traced his thumb under her chin.
"Fewer since I met you."
Viraeth giggled and pulled him toward the holographic recreation deck. They played a game together — her invention this time: "Hunt the Light," where Arcan had to find and disable rogue light-beacons hiding in a mock cityscape within 60 seconds. He lost twice. Maybe on purpose.
Elurya watched from above, her arms crossed, eyes warmer than usual.
Later, while Viraeth slept in one of the carrier's adapted rest-chambers, Arcan found Elurya seated near the starlight viewport. She didn't speak when he approached. Just leaned her head on his shoulder as he sat beside her.
"I think I'm learning," she murmured.
"Learning what?"
"How to be loved by a god… without having to deserve it."
He turned to her, kissed her brow — once, gently.
"You already do."
The Swarmspine Carrier continued its descent toward Neo Hope, gleaming under the fractured auroras of Vorr-Kael. And within it, for the first time in 41 days, Arcan did not feel like a conqueror, or a war-forged architect.
He felt like a father.
Like a man with something — someone — to return to.
The arrival at Neo Hope was not marked by fanfare, but by precision.
The landing pad hissed beneath the weight of the Swarmspine Carrier, its hull gleaming with pale violet reflections from the city's shielded skyline. As the carrier's ramp extended, the figures waiting at the base stood immobile — three pillars of leadership, unflinching beneath the gaze of their emperor.
General Kael Veyran stepped forward first. His frame was broad, plated with dense cybernetic armor grafted into his flesh, each step resounding like a war drum. The crimson glow of his ocular implant flickered once as he saluted.
Beside him, High Engineer Rinna Sol, cloaked in a cascade of white synth-silk, stood with hands clasped neatly. Her eyes shimmered with data streams, reading not just Arcan's vitals, but the residual signatures from his long absence — war, grief, exhaustion layered beneath sovereign calm.
Lastly, Speaker Alix Tyr, tall and slim, his nano-woven robe fluttering faintly as his neural filaments shimmered behind his skull. He inclined his head, the gesture more intimate than formal — acknowledging the god who now ruled Neo Hope.
"Welcome home, Emperor Arcan," the Speaker intoned, his voice layered with subtle neural resonance that touched not just ears but emotion.
Arcan nodded once, his gaze scanning the three of them. No words of conquest, no declarations of war. Just presence — and that was enough.
"Prepare a transport," Arcan ordered, his voice steady. "I go to meet my daughter."
There was no confusion. No need for elaboration.
"Of course," Rinna replied, her hands moving to summon a fleet-class VantaRay Zephyr transport, its sleek curves already gliding toward the landing bay, polished and silent.
The transport was ready within minutes — black-violet alloy, designed for comfort but armored like a warship beneath its skin. Arcan stepped aboard, followed by Elurya and Viraeth, the latter peeking out the viewport, her gaze tracing the shifting towers of Neo Hope.
The city pulsed with life — 1.8 million souls, layered across strata of industry, commerce, and sanctuaries. Shielded domes glowed with soft auroras, while kinetic highways braided through the air above.
Yet none of that mattered now.
They arrived at the outer enclave — where the living quarters of the Nanogods had been retrofitted into something softer, almost serene. Vaelshun stood waiting at the entrance, her once-imposing frame cloaked in simple robes, the coils along her arms dormant, eyes softer than the Coil Seraph reputation would suggest. Beside her, Nelyra Vox, the Echo Queen, wore no crown — only a simple expression of guarded warmth.
And between them, Seria Vel-Nyra.
Seven years old, though her eyes told stories of more. She stood poised, hands behind her back, a practiced calm that only slightly betrayed the flicker of excitement she held within. Her hair was tied loosely, a few strands slipping free as she spotted the approaching transport.
The vehicle's door hissed open.
Seria didn't rush. She waited.
But when Arcan stepped out — the air seemed to still.
He approached her slowly, Elurya and Viraeth behind him. Viraeth's gaze flickered between the two Nanogods, studying, calculating, but there was no hostility — only curiosity.
Seria lifted her chin, eyes bright but steady. "You kept your promise."
"I did," Arcan replied, voice low but carrying.
Without waiting for permission, Seria stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. No hesitation. No fear.
Arcan knelt, holding her close — one arm pulling her against the same chest that had borne the weight of dynasties fallen. For that moment, he was not empire or god or conqueror.
He was a father.
Seria leaned back, eyes scanning Viraeth, curiosity sparking behind her gaze. Viraeth crossed her arms, expression cool but uncertain.
Arcan rose slowly and turned, gesturing between them.
"This," he said, placing a hand gently on Viraeth's shoulder, "is Viraeth. My first daughter."
Viraeth inclined her head slightly, her posture careful — regal, but cautious.
Arcan turned toward Seria, laying a hand on her shoulder as well. "And this is Seria Vel-Nyra. My second daughter."
He looked between them, eyes steady. "You are sisters now."
The words settled like truth woven into code.
Seria tilted her head, a flicker of mischief surfacing. "You're taller than I thought," she said to Viraeth.
Viraeth smirked faintly. "You're smaller than I expected."
Seria grinned. "I'm seven."
"I'm three," Viraeth replied flatly.
Seria blinked. "No, really."
"She is," Arcan confirmed, amusement touching the edges of his voice.
Vaelshun folded her arms behind Seria, her voice soft but firm. "They'll figure it out."
And they would.
The two girls stood there for a moment, measuring, curious, and then — as if the air between them decided — they stepped closer. Not fully comfortable. But close enough.
Arcan stood beside Elurya, who watched the exchange with a quiet, knowing smile.
"Family," Elurya murmured.
Arcan nodded.
"Family."
For the first time, the dynasty of a god was no longer just steel and dominion.
It was blood. And bonds.
And it had begun.
End of Season 1, Teaser(next part begin with a bit of romance and a long conquest) , thanks for having reading so far. To support and follow on intagram @sleyghos and Patreon sleyghos .