Date: Year 4, 31'th of December, Age of Catastrophe

Location: Ebber's Ridge orbit, Battlecruiser SES New Horizons

Elder Soul's PoV:

I materialize aboard the New Horizons, my private quarters offering a stunning view of space. The ship represents our finest achievement - a perfect blend of mortal innovation and immortal craft. Arrays pulse beneath the hull, ready to tear space itself at my command.

With a casual gesture, golden robes manifest around my frame. The ceremonial attire sparkles with embedded arrays - cooling circuits weave through the fabric while defensive formations pulse along the hem. The whole ensemble bathes me in warm light. I examine my reflection and grimace. Too much.

"Not today."

Another snap and my usual white robes settle over my body. Normally I'd seize any chance to outshine others, but this occasion calls for restraint.

Through the viewport, Ebber's Ridge spreads below like a jeweled tapestry. Streets overflow with revelers, music and laughter drifting up even to orbit. Poor fools celebrate without understanding why. But credits flow freely from government coffers, so they dance anyway.

I lumber through sliding doors and down endless corridors, my soft footsteps echoing. The bridge doors part with a hiss. Thirteen chairs form a perfect circle - six for immortals, six for the mortals, and one for the AI overseer, a relic preserved from the Golden Age.

"Talk to me Amber," I command.

"Everything is within schedule. They will arrive shortly," a soft woman's voice echoes from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

"Start preparations."

Before my eyes, the chairs and large table in the center fold into the ground, their militaristic design replaced by fine silk and beautiful ornaments. In mere seconds, the main deck transforms into an elegant dining room. Matter reconversion occurs as fine food and drinks materialize on heavy light furniture.

"Done," Amber answers shortly.

In the past 14 months, I've grown quite close with this ship. My appointment as captain stems not from leadership skills or power, which remains average at best. Instead, it's because I stood closest to Quill before and during the Siege of Ebber's Ridge 3 years ago.

The doors part and Eve glides in, her slim frame wrapped in a simple pale dress, a welcoming smile gracing her features.

"Lala will be slightly late," her voice carries across the room.

"No rush," I reply, continuing the preparations.

On the large screen at the room's end, multiple signals begin appearing, dropping out of hyperspace. Five battlecruisers pop into view, each more terrifying than the last, their hulls covered in countless burn marks and patches - testament to the brutal fights they've endured.

Through the viewing screen, I watch the fleet arrive, but before I can issue orders, three figures materialize directly on the bridge. My eye twitches at this blatant disregard for proper docking procedures.

"Dorito, it's been a while!" Dusk's voice fills the room as he wraps his arms around my belly, lifting me effortlessly.

I fight to keep my expression neutral. Today's an exception - we're using these ridiculous nicknames. The mortals started it, and somehow they stuck. I still remember choking on my tea when I first saw the Galactic News headline: "Mr. Dorito will take command of the Coalition's newest ship."

Behind him stand Murmur and Granny, shoulder to shoulder - a sight that would've sparked a cosmic war not long ago. Their newfound cooperation revolves around sharing the Grand Elder between them. The peace is... unsettling.

"Save me," Dusk's desperate voice echoes in my mind. His mental projection carries the weight of his suffering. "I can't take this anymore. They won't even allow me to leave for an hour without one of them by my side." Behind his outward smile, his eyes remain dead and pleading.

"No can do," I project back, unable to suppress a slight smirk at his predicament.

I watch with mild amusement as Dusk squirms under the attention of his wives. A chill runs down my spine as a new voice cuts through the room.

"How pathetic, Dusk." A figure in black materializes, bald head gleaming under the soft lights. His muscular frame fills the space with an oppressive aura.

"Donkey," I acknowledge him, suppressing a smile as his face twitches at the nickname.

Space ripples again as twelve stunning beauties appear around him. Each radiates power matching or exceeding my own. Classic Donkey - he never could resist collecting beautiful wives.

"You haven't changed at all." Another voice drips with venom as an elderly woman appears, her white hair and wrinkled face a stark contrast to Donkey's entourage. "Donkey."

"Nutty Nana, dear, how have you been?" Donkey's face splits into a wide grin.

"Pretty good," she returns his smile with equal brightness, "not thanks to you." The air crackles between them.

I remember their story well - once like Dusk and Granny, ruling as husband and wife before their fall from grace. Now they sit at fourth and fifth strongest, their chance at supremacy long gone.

"Here to mock me, Donkey?" Dusk's dejected voice breaks my reverie.

Twin slaps echo through the room as Granny and Murmur's hands leave matching red marks on his cheeks.

"Obviously," Donkey chuckles, his wives giggling at Dusk's misfortune.

'Hapchoo!'

A young girl appears in the room's center, her silver hair a mess. Despite being barely 200 years old, her presence commands attention, but her figure doesn't.

"Now that Hapchoo is here, we can start I guess." I snap my fingers, and Amber responds instantly.

Six shadowy figures materialize - three men, three women, their faces obscured from view. The mortal representatives shift uncomfortably, even though they are not present in person. Can't blame them - seven of the strongest cultivators in one room would make anyone nervous. Their fear bleeds through even the digital interface, their shadowy forms flickering with each movement we make.

Every five years they are supposed to rotate representatives, never daring to meet us in person. The few that did that at first... well, let's just say their careers ended prematurely. Hard to govern when you wet yourself at the sight of your allies.

The door slides open with a soft 'swish'. Lala enters, her violet hair flowing behind her as she makes her way to the center. Her azure eyes scan the room, taking in both immortals and mortal representatives with that calculating gaze she inherited from Quill.

I give her a slight nod but nothing more. No point in special treatment - she'd hate that anyway.

Three years. Three long years since the Siege of Ebber's Ridge. Since Quill vanished into the Abyss. The time has finally come.

I thank everyone for attending today's meeting," I open, my voice cold but eloquent. "It's been exactly four years since Quill opened the heavens and allowed cultivators to return to this universe." I pause for a second. "And tomorrow the fourth year of the Age of Catastrophe shall begin."

The six human figures shift in their seats. Their shadowy forms flicker with nervous energy. Around me, the cultivators nod solemnly, each lost in their own thoughts about the past and future.

"Tomorrow we shall begin with our first incursion in the Abyssal Depths," I continue, my words hanging heavy in the air. "But today we have to hold a moment for the one who made everything possible." I reach for my glass, watching as others follow suit. "For Quill."

"For Quill," echoes through the room, a mix of mortal and immortal voices blending together. We down our glasses in unison.

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Indeed. Tomorrow we finally go on the offensive. As for today, more than 3 years after he disappeared, despite our best efforts to find even a trace of his presence, we have to accept that he is dead.

I watch Lala's jaw tighten, her fingers gripping the glass until her knuckles turn white. That stubborn glint in her eyes tells me everything - she'll never accept her father's death. Not without proof.

My chest tightens. Part of me wants to keep searching too. But after three years of scanning every corner of known space, deploying our most advanced arrays, even sacrificing countless resources... nothing. Not a whisper. Not a trace. The Abyss consumed him completely.

Yet what Quill accomplished that day defies explanation. In less than an hour after charging into that portal, every abyssal monster got yanked back through it like water down a drain. The portal snapped shut with a sound that still haunts my dreams.

Eve's mother, Lisa, and the new guy Seven - they rushed in after him in some foolhardy rescue attempt. We lost them too. Gone, just like that.

The universe celebrated while we mourned. But three remarkable things happened that we only discovered later.

First came the cascade - nearly half the abyssal portals across known space sealed themselves shut, as if following some hidden command.

Then the virus appeared. Purple veins spreading across abyssal flesh like delicate lacework. When we killed them, blood lilies burst from their corpses, exploding with pure Qi. Those battlefields became cultivation grounds, solving our greatest weakness in this technological age.

And finally, the mortals reached out. They'd watched us fight, seen what we could do. They offered partnership instead of fear. We accepted, knowing neither side could face what was coming alone.

I take another sip of wine, studying Lala's rigid posture. She hasn't touched her glass since the toast.

I watch the silence settle over the room like a heavy blanket. No one speaks - what else is there to say?

'Beep'

The sound cuts through the quiet. A small personal vessel approaches on the main display. Multiple divine senses, including my own, rush out to scan it. Just two mortals inside. Probably drunk tourists who strayed too far from their designated lanes. The ship's shields could withstand a direct collision without a scratch, so I dismiss it.

'Beep'

Another alert. This time a red notification blinks on the control panel. A message.

"What is the meaning of this, Amber?" I snap, irritation creeping into my voice. This is hardly the time for interruptions.

"The message has been analyzed and deemed worthy of the disturbance," Amber replies smoothly. "It's from Noriel Von Michete."

My brow furrows. That bastard vanished over three years ago without a trace. The timing of his return, on today of all days, sets my teeth on edge.

Still, Amber's judgment has proven reliable. I force myself to take a calming breath and snap my fingers. The teleporter hum to life, materializing two figures directly onto the bridge.

Nor looks exactly as I remember - thin frame, those same glasses perched on his nose, that familiar short black hair. But the boy beside him makes me pause. Every visible inch of the child's body is covered in mechanical augmentations. Not the usual subtle enhancements most citizens opt for - these are prominently displayed, almost flaunted.

I watch in disbelief as this augmented child darts around the room with reckless abandon. The sheer audacity of his behavior stuns me into silence.

The boy moves with purpose, studying each of us like specimens in a lab. His augmented eyes whir and click, probably recording everything. When he stops in front of me, I resist the urge to swat him away like an annoying insect. His gaze lingers uncomfortably long on my face, my robes, even my posture.

He repeats this process with Dusk, who merely raises an eyebrow in amusement. The child's mechanical limbs twitch and adjust as he catalogs every detail of the strongest cultivator in existence.

My jaw clenches as he spins to face me again, his metallic finger thrust in my direction.

"Dorito."

The word drips with such casual disrespect that my hand twitches, ready to crush him where he stands.

"Dusk, or Gramps and even Grandpa sometimes," he adds with infuriating familiarity.

An odd sensation builds in my chest as I frown.

"Murmur I assume," he declares, pivoting toward the towering foxkin.

I watch in stunned silence as Murmur's delicate fingers wrap around the boy's throat. Her nine tails lash behind her, a clear sign of her rising anger. The temperature in the room plummets.

"You dare..." Her voice exudes pure wrath.

"As fiery as expected," the boy chokes out, his augmented voice box somehow still functioning despite the pressure. A grin spreads across his face, making my skin crawl. "Now I understand how that Snoring Dragon incident was all your fault."

My eyes widen. That incident... no one outside our inner circle knows about it. Even among us, only a handful were present when...

"Although I can't understand why you waited so long to make a move on Dusk," he adds, his smile morphing into a thoughtful frown.

His head swivels toward Elder Primordial Ambition with an unsettling mechanical whir. "Hey, Donkey," he calls out casually, as if he wasn't still dangling from Murmur's grasp. "If you help me, I will keep the origin of your nickname a secret."

Then he winks.

I feel my blood run cold. That nickname's origin... impossible. Only three people know that story - myself, Quill, and Donkey himself. And I know for certain I never told anyone.

"Quill?" I ask, my voice wavering with uncertainty.

The augmented child's face scrunches in disappointment. "What, no, obviously." He shakes his head, mechanical parts whirring. "He did mention you were not the sharpest tool in the shed, but never thought it was this bad."

My divine pressure crashes down, the very air crystallizing around us. "Explain!"

The boy brushes off my power like it's nothing more than a gentle breeze. "Let me introduce myself." He bows with exaggerated formality, still hanging from Murmur's grip. "Dark Age Collector number 173, codename Ratticus."

The name fits him perfectly - there's something inherently rodent-like in how he scurries about, analyzing everything with those beady augmented eyes. Smart and calculated, yes, but ultimately just vermin. His every movement reminds me of those ancient creatures, always searching for scraps of information, hoarding secrets like pieces of cheese.

I've seen my share of rats in my time as a cultivator. This one might wear fancy augmentations and speak with authority, but underneath all that chrome and circuitry beats the heart of a scavenger.

I watch as Ratticus pulls out a small booklet bound in obsidian, its cover adorned with unfamiliar text. "And this right here is Artifact Nr. Zero from my collection. My most prized possession." His mechanical eyes whir with excitement. "A genuine relic from the Dark ages."

I extend my divine sense, expecting something extraordinary from such a supposedly important artifact. Nothing. Just paper and ink. Old, yes, written in what appears to be a dead language, but otherwise unremarkable.

"Try to read the first page," the boy says, then quickly corrects himself. "Or at the very least memorize the characters."

My patience wears thin, but I comply. Around me, everyone focuses on the strange symbols. The squiggles make no sense, yet I commit them to memory with practiced ease.

"Can you replicate them?" Ratticus asks.

I move my hands, drawing the symbols in the air with traces of Qi.

"Good Dorito." The rat's smugness grates on my nerves. "Now do the same for the last page."

I hesitate, but decide to humor him one final time.

I study the last page carefully, memorizing each bizarre character. Then I try to recreate them.

Something's wrong. I return to the page, memorizing it again. Everyone else does the same. We all attempt to write the symbols, but... nothing.

It's baffling. We can read and memorize these characters perfectly, yet the moment we try to reproduce them, they slip away like smoke. Even trying to recall them yields nothing but fuzzy, incomplete fragments.

"The hell?" Donkey's voice breaks the silence, his Qi fluctuating wildly as he struggles to recreate even a single character.

I watch Eve step forward, her voice cutting through the tension. "It's a paradox," she states with certainty. "Something that shouldn't exist but still does."

We all turn to look at her, confusion evident on our faces.

"Mother told me stories about the obsidian books that no one could read." Her voice catches slightly at the mention of her mother. "The language is actually the one used during the Dark Ages, so nothing special. What's special is that the knowledge inside is prohibited by the universe itself."

"Oooh, impressive." Ratticus's mechanical eyes whir with excitement. "Didn't think any outsiders would know so much about my beauty." He strokes the obsidian book lovingly. "Just like she said, it's a paradox, or to be more exact a part of a larger paradox divided between multiple books just like this one." His playful demeanor vanishes, replaced by an uncharacteristically serious expression.

"Then, there are more of those?" Dusk leans forward, his interest piqued by this reality-defying artifact.

"24 in total," Ratticus confirms. "But this is the oldest so we assumed it was the first in the series. My most prized possession." He pauses, still caressing the book. "The Dark Ages Collectors spent over 7000 years trying to read it and we barely managed to decipher the title. But then, 3 years ago, the first page became readable out of the sudden."

My divine sense returns to the first page along with everyone else's. Indeed, it's perfectly legible now. Moving through the second and third pages, everything remains clear. But around the seventeenth page, the text becomes increasingly blurry. Attempting to recall the markings proves futile.

"Every couple of months, a bit more of the paradox is being solved," Ratticus continues. "At first we couldn't figure out why. Not to mention that the content was so meaningless, just a bunch of short stories."

I watch as Ratticus pulls out a sleek pad from his inner pocket, his augmented fingers dancing across its surface. "For example, this is page 9, a short story called 'The Donkey Show.'"

A holographic page materializes in mid-air, the indecipherable squiggles transformed into clear galactic script. My eyes scan the text, and my mind goes blank at its contents.

"No!" Donkey's hoarse voice thunders through the room as his power pulverizes the pad into dust.

Too late. We immortals only need seconds to read a single page. Looking around, I see the same stunned expressions on everyone's faces. They all know.

"Ew." Murmur's single comment makes Donkey slump in his seat, all fight leaving him.

"If only you helped me earlier." Ratticus shakes his head with mock sympathy. "Anyway, this is also how I managed to piece the puzzle and get here." He gestures at me. "When I saw Mr. Dorito on the Galactic News, everything fell into place."

The implications hit us all at once. This book... it has to be Quill's work, or someone intimately connected to him. He's alive - or was alive? Even for a master of temporal laws like him, reaching back to the Dark Ages seems impossible.

"You said there are others like it, right?" Granny breaks her silence, determination hardening her voice.

"23 others, yes," Ratticus confirms. "Although they're useless for now."

"Doesn't matter." Dusk leans forward. "We need all of them."

Ratticus's mechanical face splits into a grin. "I hoped you'd say that. Some are easy to get. Most aren't. But I'm sure it's no issue for a bunch of immortals."

"How do we search for them?" Dusk presses.

"By their title, obviously."

"And what would that be?" Murmur's fingers twitch impatiently.

Ratticus touches his throat where Murmur's fingerprints are still embedded in the metal. "We deciphered the title long ago, which is how we managed to discover that there are 24 in total," he says, pausing dramatically. "And they are called... Melon Encounters."