Far beneath the surface of the Skyward Cities, in the endless shadows that flickered with faint pulses of aetheric energy, Zaros stood still, his eyes closed. To any outsider, it would seem as though he was meditating—engaged in a quiet, inner dialogue with himself. Yet beneath the surface of his calm, there was something far more profound occurring. His mind was an abyss of strategies, calculations, and visions that would overwhelm a lesser being.

For Zaros Valen, however, this was not merely a test of patience. It was where his true power lay, and with every passing moment, he saw further into the future, predicting movements, shifts, and tides in the power dynamics of the world. His eyes, though closed, saw everything with absolute clarity. Like a master weaver, he wove together the threads of destiny, pushing them toward his desired outcome, yet leaving no visible trace of manipulation.

In this particular moment, Zaros’s mind wandered across a multitude of possibilities. His mental faculties, now rivaling those of gods, allowed him to perceive futures that extended not just weeks or months ahead but years, even decades into the coming tide of events. What he saw did not surprise him, nor did it bring any sense of discomfort. He had planned for these eventualities long ago.

His thoughts were disrupted by a familiar presence entering the chamber. Without opening his eyes, he acknowledged the newcomer.

“Eira,” Zaros spoke softly, his voice carrying effortlessly in the silent room. “What news do you bring?”

The figure stepped closer, a woman clad in dark, flowing robes that matched the gloom around her. Eira, one of Zaros’s most trusted advisors and a gifted weaver of illusions, knelt before him, head bowed. Her silver hair shimmered faintly in the dim light as she spoke.

“My lord,” she began, her voice a quiet echo, “the Aetherborn are stirring. Their Great Houses convened just yesterday in the halls of House Elara. They are beginning to discuss your rise. There is fear among them, but there is also a growing resolve. They will not remain idle for long.”

Zaros did not respond immediately. His eyes remained closed as he let Eira’s words hang in the air, considering them carefully. Of course, the Aetherborn would begin to react. He had foreseen this many times. Their arrogance and pride had always made them predictable. But even predictability could have its use. In fact, it was precisely what he had counted on. The Aetherborn, like so many others, could not stand the idea of someone achieving godhood without their sanction.

“They will try to form alliances,” Eira continued, her eyes shifting toward her master, observing his reaction—or lack thereof. “Already they speak of the Verdant Communion, and there are whispers of reaching out to the Iron Dominion and even the Twilight Consortium.”

At this, Zaros finally opened his eyes, revealing cold, piercing irises that seemed to glint with endless knowledge and depth. His expression was calm, almost serene, yet there was a chill to it that even Eira could feel despite her familiarity with his presence.

“Desperation,” Zaros murmured, standing to his full height and walking to the edge of the chamber where the dim glow of aether pulsed through the walls. “They will seek out any who they believe might oppose me. But desperation breeds weakness. They will soon learn that forming alliances out of fear will do nothing but hasten their downfall.”

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Eira rose to her feet, her voice soft but certain. “Shall we prepare for a preemptive strike, my lord? We could sow discord among the Great Houses or disrupt their negotiations with the Verdant Communion.”

“No,” Zaros replied, turning to face her. “Let them gather their allies. It will serve my purposes better if they believe they have a chance at success. The illusion of hope is far more effective than outright defeat at this stage.”

His words hung in the air like a slow-building storm, and Eira knew better than to question his logic. Zaros’s foresight was unparalleled. Every move he made was calculated, with contingencies upon contingencies in place. The minds of his enemies could never hope to fathom the depths of his thinking. That was his greatest weapon—their inability to comprehend the scope of his plan until it was far too late.

“Send a message to the Abyssal Collective,” Zaros commanded, his voice steady and cold. “I want them to stir. The Voidcallers should remind the Aetherborn that there are worse things to fear than me. Have the Abyssal Lords release some of their pets into the lower regions of the Skyward Cities.”

Eira nodded. “As you command, my lord. Shall I also inform the Phantom Court?”

Zaros paused, contemplating. The Phantom Court, with their mastery over death and necromancy, would eventually come into play. They had remained neutral thus far, watching from their hidden realm beyond the veil of life, but neutrality would soon become a luxury they could not afford. The Court respected power, and Zaros knew they would eventually seek to align themselves with the side they believed would prevail. It was only a matter of time.

“Not yet,” Zaros finally said. “Let them continue to observe. Their allegiance will come, but only when it suits us. For now, I want the Aetherborn to feel the pressure building around them. They must believe that they are in control of their own fate.”

“As you wish,” Eira said, bowing her head once more. “I will see to it immediately.”

Zaros watched her as she turned to leave, his mind already returning to the myriad threads of fate he was weaving. The Aetherborn, the Verdant Communion, the Iron Dominion, the Twilight Consortium, the Abyssal Collective, the Phantom Court—each of these factions played a part in the grand design. They were all pieces on a board, and Zaros was the only one who truly saw the whole game.

He walked to the center of the chamber, his hand tracing the air as if drawing invisible lines between worlds. His mastery over illusions was unparalleled, yet his true power went far beyond mere deception. He had become something far more dangerous than any one faction could understand—a being whose mastery of magic, manipulation, and strategy had transcended mortality.

Zaros’s thoughts drifted back to his moment of ascension, the culmination of years of planning and sacrifice. He remembered the ritual, the convergence of the arcane and the forbidden knowledge he had sought for so long. The void between life and death had opened to him, granting him power over both. His understanding of the Wheel of Forms had deepened to the point where he could control not only his own magic but the very essence of those around him. And now, with every passing moment, his influence grew.

Yet, Zaros was not content to rest on his accomplishments. His mind was always moving forward, always seeking the next step. Ascension was not the end—it was merely the beginning. There were realms beyond this world, dimensions that even the most powerful beings in his realm could not comprehend. The Void of Impossibilities called to him, and Zaros intended to answer that call. But first, he would solidify his control over this world.

The Aetherborn, the Verdant Communion, the Iron Dominion—they were all distractions, challenges to be overcome. But once he had fully asserted his dominance over them, he would move on to grander designs. The Abyss itself would tremble before him, and even the gods would be forced to acknowledge his power.

Zaros’s eyes gleamed with a cold, unwavering determination. The future was his to shape, and no one—no mortal, no god—could stand in his way.