The name surfaced in Delvin's mind like a lifeline breaking through dark water. His chest tightened with a flutter of hope. 'He should still be in operation.' The thought settled over him like a warm hand on his shoulder. Lemond—his old friend from Apex University, the one who'd opened that small boutique in Town.
Words tumbled forward, crowding his throat. Delvin glanced at his watch, pulse quickening.
"Wait a minute, George. I know someone in town. I'm sure he could help with the transport money for tomorrow."
The two exchanged glances, silent questions passing between them. George's fingers worked nervously at his bracelet, the metal clicking softly in the stillness. They really did need that money—desperately.
"Sure, it w-wouldn't hurt." George's stutter always worsened when hope flickered. "T-to try our luck one last time."
"Good." Delvin gave a sharp nod, signaling them forward. Relief surged through his veins, lifting his spirits.
They set off together, their footsteps falling into rhythm against the cracked pavement. The little town of Plagatoscal wasn't far—thirty minutes by foot, maybe less if they kept this pace.
Light-years away, in the vast silence of space, the Eastern Milky Way Galaxy cradled a Filling Station that had stood sentinel for over a thousand years. Deep within its metallic heart, an observation chamber hummed with ancient energy.
Professor Togota stood before his cosmic machine, his shadow long against the walls. Equations glowed across the console in ethereal blues and golds, casting dancing light across his weathered face.
His three assistants hovered nearby, uncertain but magnetically drawn to whatever revelation trembled at the edge of discovery.
Togota paced, his footsteps echoing. His whisper carried the weight of reverence, of obsession.
"ΔΣ… Ω(∞)… the axis aligns… the cradle must be shown…"
His trembling fingers swept across the holographic star-map projected above the console.
Galaxies swirled like luminous whirlpools. Constellations shifted and realigned as he dragged coordinates forward, narrowing the cosmic search with surgical precision.
The machine's hum deepened, grew louder, lights pulsing in synchrony with his increasingly rapid breath.
Then—he froze.
His eyes locked onto the hologram. They widened, pupils dilating. His jaw slackened, mouth falling open as shock crashed through him like a tidal wave.
His heart hammered against his ribs, threatening to burst through bone and flesh. Disbelief. Then recognition. His mind raced through calculations, equations spinning through his consciousness at impossible speed.
'This is it. I've got it. I've solved the mystery.'
Adrenaline flooded his system, electric and overwhelming.
He erupted.
"YES! YES! IT IS HERE—THE COORDINATES CONVERGE!"
His fist slammed down on the console. The map zoomed inward—plunging past nebulae, diving through star clusters, narrowing relentlessly toward a familiar blue sphere suspended in the void. The assistants gasped in unison as the machine locked onto Earth.
The first assistant stumbled backward, stunned. "Earth…? You mean… *here*?"
Togota's eyes blazed with prophetic fire, his voice trembling with the weight of revelation.
"HERE! On Earth! Against all odds, against all ridicule, the birthplace of the God of Systems is not in some distant void—it is beneath our very feet. The System will be born among us!"
He spread his arms wide, as if embracing the entire planet in his grasp. The machine confirmed with a resonant chime that vibrated through bone and metal. Coordinates flashed across every surface: **EARTH**.
The assistants exchanged uneasy glances—awe wrestling with primal fear.
The second assistant's voice barely rose above a whisper. "Professor… if this is true… then everything changes."
Togota's hands trembled uncontrollably. His legs shook beneath him, threatening to buckle.
"*Everything* changes! The world mocked me, called me mad, but the Systems have chosen Earth. This is the axis, the cradle, the divine convergence. And I… *I* have found it!"
His voice echoed through the chamber, reverberating like ancient prophecy carved into stone. The assistants stepped closer despite themselves, caught in the terrible gravity between disbelief and reverence.
The machine hummed its agreement, Earth glowing at its center—the birthplace revealed at last.
Silence fell.
Togota stood motionless, lost in contemplation. When his voice emerged again, it cracked with ecstasy.
"Do you see it? Do you *understand*? Whoever controls the being born here… controls the universe itself. The God of Systems is not just a myth—it is destiny. And destiny can be *owned*."
He scrolled the map again, locking Earth in place. His fingers lingered over the hologram as if caressing the most precious treasure in existence. His voice climbed higher, fevered with greed.
"I will sell this knowledge across the Milky Way! To kings, to empires, to warlords and councils. They will pay in gold, in diamonds, in stones both known and unknown. Trillions upon trillions—wealth beyond mortal measure!"
His arms spread wide as if embracing the riches of entire galaxies. His assistants exchanged fearful glances—his discovery had twisted from science into a dangerous obsession.
The first assistant found his courage, though his voice emerged as barely a whisper. "Professor… This is dangerous. If such power is sold, chaos will consume everything."
Togota didn't even glance at him, intoxicated by visions of glory.
"Chaos? *No.* Order! Whoever holds the God of Systems will rule the stars. Planets will kneel. Galaxies will obey. And I… I will be the one who found it. My name will be carved in diamonds, sung in every system across the cosmos!"
His knuckles whitened around the console's edge. His eyes gleamed with unholy light—greed and glory merged into something unrecognizable.
The machine hummed louder, as if resonating with his terrible ambition. The assistants stepped back, sensing the madness flowering in his joy.
Back in Plagatoscal, evening shadows stretched long across cracked streets.
Delvin and George stood inside Lemond's boutique, hearts hammering with fragile hope. The small shop smelled of cedar and lavender—expensive fabric waiting for customers who never came.
After brief greetings, Delvin leaned forward across the counter, voice dropping low but urgent. "Lemond, just a little—anything you can spare. We'll pay it back. I promise."
Behind the glass display case, Lemond's hands tightened until his knuckles went white. His boutique stretched silent around them—shelves neat but untouched, the air thick with the weight of unsold dreams. Dust motes drifted through pale light.
He shook his head slowly, exhaustion clouding his eyes. His voice came out rough, defeated.
"Not a single sale in twenty-four hours. I can't help you, Delvin. I'm barely holding on myself."
The words landed like stones dropped into still water, sending ripples of devastation outward. Delvin's shoulders sagged, his spine curving under invisible weight. Beside him, George exhaled sharply—the sound of hope collapsing inward like a dying star.
The two men exchanged a glance—silent, hollow, heavy with shared disappointment—before turning toward the door.
Pity flickered across Lemond's face, but pity couldn't pay debts. Times were harsh, unforgiving.
"It's fine, man. Thanks for considering. And… it was good to see you."
Delvin looked back one last time, drinking in his friend's defeated posture, then stepped out into the failing light.
Outside, the street stretched empty and accusing. Their plans lay shuttered once more, the weight of disappointment pressing against their ribs like iron bars.
This had been Delvin's last hope. His final card.
Fury erupted, volcanic and sudden.
"*God-damned!*"
He wheeled around and slammed his fist into the steel door of a closed shop. The impact sent a thunderous **BANG** echoing through the vacant street, rolling down alleyways and rattling windows. Pain bloomed across his knuckles, but he welcomed it.
"This was my last hope of making our movement easy tomorrow." His voice cracked, raw with rage and desperation.
He stood there, chest heaving, breath coming in ragged gasps. His heart pounded violently against his sternum.
George felt conflict tearing at him too, but he held his emotions in check, jaw clenched tight, refusing to unravel.
When George spoke, his voice carried unexpected steadiness beneath the stutter. "T-take heart, Brother. W-we've made it this far. T-the same strength will c-carry us tomorrow."
He paused, then gestured down the empty road. "C-come on, l-let's get going. W-we have a long way home."
Delvin stood motionless, listening. Thirty seconds of silence stretched between them. He breathed in slowly—one, two, three—then released it. In. Out. Harmonious. Deliberate. His racing pulse gradually steadied. His clenched fists slowly relaxed.
When he spoke again, his voice had dropped to something quieter, calmer. "I guess you're right. Let's go."
They'd barely taken three steps when the town hologram suddenly blazed to life.
Delvin and George froze mid-stride, instinct overriding intention. They knew what was coming.
A man materialized in the flickering projection—handsome despite his age, maybe sixty, with sharp features and calculating eyes. "Attention, everyone!"
He paused deliberately, giving people time to gather. The hologram's light painted the street in shifting blues and whites.
Delvin and George moved closer, drawn like moths to flame. Whenever the hologram activated, it meant military news—and military news meant change, danger, or opportunity. Around them, others emerged from doorways and shadows, faces upturned.
The man towered in the projection, his face rough and weathered like ancient stone. His chin was clean-shaven, jaw strong. Combat fatigues stretched across his barrel chest, main stars glinting on his left breast. Military. High rank. Authority that commanded silence.
He resumed speaking, his voice carrying weight and power. "Good citizens of Plagatoscal city. Good evening?"
The question hung rhetorical in the cooling air.
"My name is General Martins. I am here to announce to you that a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity has arrived—your chance to change your fate forever."
The words echoed through empty streets.
Hearts began to pound.
Breath caught in throats.
The world held still, balanced on the knife-edge of revelation.
And in the silence that followed, destiny began to whisper its terrible promises.