I ended the system chat.
Not out of fear, but necessity.
Plans made in abstraction were useless unless tested against reality. If we were going to build the Foundation, we couldn't do it as twelve souls whispering in a void. We had to become who this world already believed us to be.
Rulers. Commanders. Architects of fate.
I focused inward.
The system interface shifted, responding to intent rather than voice.
[STATUS — SHAMMURAMAT]
Information unfolded in layers—not glowing numbers or game-like stats, but structured intelligence. Clean. Efficient. Designed for governance.
Good.
Political Authority
I was not a queen yet.
But I was close.
Shammuramat existed at a precise intersection of power—wife, regent, strategist. My influence extended through courts, generals, priests, and scribes. Decisions attributed to others already bore my fingerprints.
That was better than a crown.
A queen could be challenged.
A necessity could not.
I had:
Influence over royal succession
Direct authority over multiple governors
Access to state treasuries through proxies
Religious legitimacy via priesthood alliances
No riots. No instability.
Just quiet compliance.
I exhaled slowly.
"This is workable."
Military Strength
I turned my attention next to the armed forces.
The numbers came automatically.
Standing army. Reserve levies. Auxiliary units. Supply routes. Training quality. Officer loyalty.
Not the largest force in the world.
But disciplined.
Veteran-heavy.
And—most importantly—centralized.
I could move troops without public declarations. Redeploy without justification. Train units under the guise of border security or internal stability.
Perfect.
They didn't need to know why they were being reorganized.
Only that orders came from above.
Intelligence & Secrecy
This part concerned me the most.
An SCP breach didn't care how large your army was. It cared how fast you could suppress knowledge.
Fortunately… Shammuramat had never been naive.
Spies already existed.
Messengers who listened too closely. Merchants who remembered too much. Priests who heard confessions never meant for gods.
I had eyes everywhere.
What I didn't have yet was structure.
That could be fixed.
I marked names. Quiet men. Quiet women. People who didn't ask questions when paid well and disappeared when ordered.
Seeds.
Testing My Power
Finally, I turned inward.
Flash Forge.
I needed limits. Unknown abilities were dangerous.
I pictured something simple.
A measuring rod.
It formed instantly in my hand—wooden, marked precisely in standard units my mind supplied without effort.
No fatigue.
No backlash.
I dismissed it and tried again.
A steel plate.
Heavier. Denser.
Still effortless.
I stopped.
That alone was terrifying.
This ability wasn't about raw power.
It was about solutions.
If I wasn't careful, I could destabilize entire economies just by replacing scarcity.
I set myself a rule immediately.
No mass creation. No public miracles. No repetition without documentation.
The Foundation could not begin with gods walking openly among mortals.
The Weight of Responsibility
I stepped out into the open air.
The world looked… normal.
People walked. Markets buzzed. Soldiers trained. History continued, unaware that its trajectory had already shifted.
I realized then what truly scared me.
Not the SCPs.
Not Thanos. Not Celestials. Not gods.
It was the fact that we could reshape everything, long before those threats ever arrived.
And that meant restraint mattered more than power.
I turned back toward the palace, resolve hardening.
"Alright," I murmured. "Let's see what kind of foundation we can lay without cracking the world."
Somewhere, far beyond sight or time—
[FIRST SCP SUMMONING — 27 DAYS REMAINING.]
The clock was ticking.
And now, we were finally moving.