Elmore quickly understood what many didn’t: the guardian’s trial was never meant to be conquered by force of arms or brute teamwork. It was a crucible of solitude, one that stripped you of everything but your instincts. The pitch-black chamber nullified light, muted sound, and rendered even the sharpest senses dulled by oppressive silence. The only thing that remained was the Aither. That strange pulse of sensation that flowed through all things like whispered memory. And to sense it properly—truly feel it—you needed 20 intelligence. Not just smarts, not all schooling, but mainly that crystalline clarity of awareness that came from a sharpened mind tuned to the frequencies of the new world.
A few of the men—stubborn old dogs in young bodies—grumbled at first. They didn't like having to invest points into “book smarts” when they could be pushing up their strength or resistance. Elmore understood. Hell, if he hadn’t been cursed with [Aither Memory] he might’ve done the same. But he held the line, firm and unyielding. “It ain’t just about bein’ smart, it’s about seein’ with somethin’ deeper than your eyes,” he told them one evening around the fire.
Tom being the main hold out as he was able to triumph over the guardian without the needed Aither. This gave him a big ego gloating like an ass, this did not end as well as he hoped finding out that insulting people vastly smarter than you leads to comebacks and burns that truly stung his pride. Eventually after a night at the bar where he was made a fool of he capitulated.
Bit by bit, one by one, the team conquered the guardian’s domain. Each of them emerged changed—drenched in sweat, hollow-eyed, but with something new shimmering behind their gaze. When they passed the test, with the reward leading to the Aither stat appearing in their interfaces.
With that foundational hurdle cleared, Elmore could shift his focus elsewhere. The second stratum loomed beneath them, hot as a forge and twice as dangerous. His truck, the Beast, had held up better than expected, but the battle with the triceratops had taken its toll. The warped grill, cracked frame, and the scorched tires were proof enough. Elmore brought the machine back to the valley and parked it in front of his father’s business. The old man barely said a word—just popped open a beer, nodded once, and rolled up his sleeves. Only for the whole truck to levitate dismantling itself.
For the next six months, they worked together like they were building a cathedral. Blueprints were drawn and redrawn, pipes laid, insulation tested, and each bolt was scrutinized like it was going into a battleship. They tried everything—liquid cooling, Aither-Crystal coils, reflective plating—but the cavern heat kept creeping back in. Nothing stuck.
Then Elmore remembered the horn.
Calling in the valley’s best workers. he laid the black triceratops horn on the table and explained the problem “We need to figure this Heat out.”
Will ran his hands over the horn’s dark surface, clicking his tongue. “It’s crystalline... And brittle. But Layered. It’s got a lattice structure that is like volcanic glass on the surface but hard enough to partly resist mithril blades... this shouldn't be natural.”
After days of tinkering and several loud explosions, they discovered the horn could absorb and redistribute heat at an unprecedented rate. they tried dozens of ideas, eventually recreating what was done previously with liquid cooling for refrigerators but using the solid horn to transfer the heat instead. Not needing to break it into pieces, only grind it into shape for optimal input and output of heat. Making the first solid state heat pump fueled by the drivers Aither for now.
They outfitted the Beast’s engine bay with it, completely replacing the existing air conditioning unit. When it was done, the truck purred like a dragon taking a nap on a glacier. The cooling system worked.
But the horn was gone—utterly consumed in the process. And the men's suits? Well, suits were another problem entirely. Whatever solution they needed for human-scale traversal of the second stratum hadn’t yet been invented—and Elmore knew it. Every prototype either melted, cracked, or weighed too much for the wearer to move with any grace.
Still, progress was progress.
Now, with his men leveled and the Beasts new AC, Elmore found himself standing on the precipice of a larger vision. The trial gate had been passed, yes—but that was just the doorway. But That first stratum tunnel? It wasn't fully mapped. These paths might not be singular, instead there might be dozens of caverns. A whole underworld ecosystem of heat, pressure, monsters, and strange Aither phenomena.
The thought made his mind spin. They didn’t just need a team—they needed teams. Multiple squads. Scouts, builders, haulers, protectors. They needed industry. They needed to industrialize the dungeon’s first stratum just to safely secure the second.
But not tonight.
That night, Elmore leaned against the open hood of the Beast, wiping grease off his hands, and let out a slow, aching breath. The work never stopped—but tonight, he was too tired to plan.
Brent ambled over, arms folded behind his head, his boots scuffing the dirt. “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” he said with a tired grin. “But, hey, at least we got a little taste of what’s down there.”
Elmore nodded, gazing off into the horizon, then down at the cooling system glinting under the moonlight. A faint smile touched the corners of his mouth.
“Yeah… now it’s just a matter of figuring out how to turn that hellscape into our own damn backyard.”
When he wasn’t running his men through formation drills under the shadow of the morning mist, or tightening the last bolt under the clean dash of the Beast, Elmore walked the length of Lakevail’s industrious heart. His steps were slow, deliberate, boots kicking up the dust from the stone Tile main lane to the Hall of Beginnings. the first machines they'd ever imported now stood like monuments, weathered and surrounded by newer, locally-built companions who were also outdated and in wait. All sitting against the walls and giving room for people.
These weren’t idle strolls. Elmore walked with his sleeves rolled and a rag in his back pocket, peering into open engine casings, stepping over thick gauge cables, or crouching beside iron presses just to check tolerances by feel. The machinery and equipment that had once been hauled in on flatbeds over mountains had long since lost their novelty, now left to sit by banks of custom-made replacements. Their original parts were copied, improved, or outright redesigned, and the knowledge to make them had been seeded deeply into the minds of Lakevail's people.
Down in the Deep Hollows, the giant caverns that his subjects had made for work and life. The caverns reinforced and expanded with mithril support beams to accommodate the constant hammer and heat of human hands, the din of manufacturing had become a kind of ever-present music. Sparks flew from a dozen industrial forges. Men in thick leather aprons passed glowing lengths of iron and mithril between them, while engineers yelled figures over the hum of belt-driven conveyors.
Production had reached a level Elmore could only describe as breathtaking. Not only were tools and armor being churned out in near-endless supply, but more sophisticated projects had taken root—rows of soldering stations where careful fingers assembled circuit boards and chipsets. They weren’t building Aither-tech yet, not truly—but they were laying the groundwork for it with dogged, day-by-day effort. These small boards, complex as they were, would one day become the training wheels for engineers capable of binding Aither and electronics as one, that was Elmore's hope at least.
By now, Lakevail had unofficially become the manufacturing hub for the entire state. Requests came in from all corners of the country—orders for custom armor plating for urban defense, modular field defenses, blast shields, road spike systems, and bespoke weapons for cities too large to protect by manpower alone. It was a strange evolution: from hidden mountain refuge to logistical cornerstone of American survival.
Still, despite all of this industrial and intellectual growth, one hard boundary remained. No true progress had been made on integrating Aither into electronics—not yet. There were working theories, sure. Experiments. Sparks of understanding. But the secrets of Aither and circuitry remained like oil and water—fascinating in potential, stubborn in reality.
Lakevail, once little more than a glimmering dot on the map, had become synonymous with quality craftsmanship. Traders and buyers alike spoke of the “mountain steel” with reverence, not just for its durability, but for the hands that shaped it. Long gone were the days of salvaged junk and desperate repairs; now, they exported forged steel weapons by the ton, armor sets that bore ornate inlays, and heavy vehicles with teeth. Trucks, troop transports, even some smaller tanks for larger cities—stamped, riveted, and rolled out from cavernous elevator tunnels built into the mountainside.
As time passed, their mastery of conventional materials progressed into a higher form. The blacksmiths and machinists began translating their methods—age-old but sharpened by necessity—into new mediums. Mithril, once the stuff of fantasy books and still a very rare find, had become part of their regular inventory. Alongside it, Aither-Crystal was being handled not as just a gem to embed into metal like jewelry, but as a resource to be shaped, studied, and applied.
The results were revolutionary. Every tool in use—every spanner, drill bit, caliper, socket ect—was now forged entirely free of steel. Mithril and Aither-Crystal composites replaced the old alloys, not just for their strength but lack of rust and wear.
Machinists, adapting quickly, began applying conventional processes to these exotic substances. Turning, grinding, milling, rolling—what had once been the realm of raw industrial steel was now being used on near-magical materials. Wire-drawing of mithril filaments became commonplace. Rolling it into sheets, forming it into gears, locking it into casings—all now practiced arts within the hollows.
But not all problems were solved. Automation hit an impossible wall when it came to higher-end methods. CNC machining, electric discharge machining (EDM), electron beam machining (EBM), and waterjet cutting couldn’t yet be duplicated with their current technology. The machinery couldn’t interface with Aither. But people could and people were able to channel aither into more mechanical tools and equipment lowering standards compared to the normal exports but with their help allowing mithril to be worked.
Fortunately, many of the processes had human analogs. Skills—rare and often unique—allowed craftsmen to imitate plasma cutting and EBM. Tools were built with embedded Aither-Crystals that helped regulate and amplify these efforts, letting a man carve with arcs of heat or pulses of vibration with precision that without custom tools they couldn’t match up. It was delicate work, requiring balance, talent, and constant feedback—but it worked.
This led to a quiet cultural shift. Among the men and women of Lakevail, Aither had become seen less as a mystery and more as THE difference—the silent, invisible variable between mundane labor sold to outsiders and miraculous creation saved for themselves. Yet even now, no one had figured out how to truly automate aither at all. The flow of Aither through machines remained elusive, still requiring a person to do the oversight.
the newest discovery was a curious one, almost an accidental find. It turned out mithril could be electroplated. The process was obscure, delicate, and only reproducible under precise conditions. First, one needed to harvest slime from the slime rivers deep in the First Stratum, that strange bioluminescent ooze that pulsed with dormant Aither. That slime had to be filtered, strained until clear, then have crushed Aither-Crystals added—not mixed, next it needed dissolved using sonic resonance chambers that liquefied the crystalline matrix without destroying its charge.
Only then, with a strong enough electrical charge—delivered by someone with a skill tuned to electricity—could you bind a film of mithril to the surface of a component. The coating was laid atom-thick one at a time. But it opened a door no one had known existed.
It was, for now, just a tool for theory—barely past the phase of tabletop experimentation. But among the apprentices and senior smiths alike, a buzz had taken root. A new branch of study had been born, and its roots were already planting into the forges and minds of Lakevails most ambitious.
After months of sweat-drenched hours, lonely nights hunched over a cluttered workbench, and the occasional near-deafening explosion that rattled every shelf in a fifty-foot radius, Elmore found something.
He hadn’t expected a breakthrough. Most of his efforts in the last few weeks had been part compulsion, part intuition, like trying to build a song from notes only he could hear. Each attempt at bridging Aither and electricity had ended in warped metal, short-circuited boards, or crystal fractures that hissed with ozone and residual energy. He was no engineer by trade—he’d say that plain—but he was damn good at learning, and he didn’t mind failing if it meant he was inching closer to truth.
Then came the night something clicked.
It happened in the blue-lit dark of his workshop, the only light coming from the forge embers and a cluster of glowing Aither shards suspended in an induction coil.
He’d been experimenting with a layered design—a casing of insulated rubberised concrete, a copper pipe wrapped with braided mithril threads, and at its heart, a refined Aither crystal made by liquifying it in a slime solution and then grown from a seed crystal on the same machines used to make silicon wafers growing a perfectly cylindrical crystal and then stabilized in saltwater and suspended on glass rods. It wasn’t pretty. It looked like someone had tried to make a battery out of a clay pot, a dash of hope and a shotgun shell.
But when he discharged it, the capacitor didn’t just release a static burst. It sang.
Not audibly. But in the flicker of the workshop lamps, in the way the metal shivered against the crystal casing, in the deep, satisfying hum that sank into his chest—he felt it.
Electricity arced cleanly through the copper. Simultaneously, Aither pulsed along the mithril wires, almost drawn along the current like light chasing lightning.
He sat back and just stared at the little device, grinning like a lunatic.
“It’s ugly as sin,” he muttered aloud to no one, “but by God, it works.”
There was a catch, of course. There always was.
Mithril, for all its mythical resilience and affinity for Aither, was a very poor conductor of electricity—sluggish, like forcing water through honey. And copper, the king of modern electrical flow, was utterly inert to Aither. The two metals were like twin kings of separate realms, each blind to the other’s power.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Still, this crude device—the Aither Capacitor—functioned. It could store VAST electric charge, and condence Aither in tandem, and when electrically discharged, channel both through a hybrid system. It was the first successful bridge. Primitive, sure. But a bridge nonetheless.
The following morning, still reeking of solder, ash, and barely-contained excitement, Elmore brought the capacitor to one of the groups of foramen over a few forges in the hollow. He didn’t make a show of it—just dropped it into the man’s hand and waited for the inevitable questions.
They didn’t disappoint.
“Well thanks chief but What in the hell’s this supposed to be?” the foreman asked, turning it over like a puzzle box.
“Battery that hums when it’s angry,” Elmore said with a smirk. “Channels Aither and electricity both. Not perfect, but it works. Mithril slows the charge down, copper won’t carry Aither... might be an alloy somewhere that does both. Maybe talk to the other teams. I'm dropping this off with a new team. They will reach out to you.”
The foreman blinked, then slowly nodded—already doing the math in his head.
Elmore didn’t say anything more. He didn’t have to. The seed was planted.
Truth was, he already had a dozen half-baked ideas for what the capacitor could do. Energize Aither-infused weapons. Create Aither sheild. Serve as a smart fuse in automated circuits with magical triggers. But his heart wasn’t in the devices—it was in his people.
He knew himself well enough to understand where his attention truly belonged. So, he packed the prototypes and a leather-bound notebook full of formulas, sketches, and messy insight and walked them over to the eastern sector—where the youngest teams of engineers had taken root.
It was a loud, cluttered warehouse full of soldering tables, glass tubing, and boards full of chalk equations half-erased and re-scribbled again. Aetheric energy clung to the air like fog on a spring morning. These weren’t just builders. They were thinkers—Level 3, high intelligence across the board, each one with a Nexus skill that bent the rules in just the right way.
Elmore didn’t call a meeting. He just walked to the center table, set the capacitor down with a dull thunk, and said,
“This works. it is Not perfect. It channels both Aither and electricity. I need you to find a better way. If you break it, build another. You’ve got the notes. I’m going back to what I’m good at.”
One of the younger women—a wiry thing named Lita with goggles perpetually perched in her frizzed-out hair—looked up, her eyes already gleaming.
After a few flashes of Aither from her eyes she exclaimed “cheif ... this could be a whole new architecture,” she said.
“Maybe,” he said. “Don’t let it die on a chalkboard. Make it mean something.”
He left before they could thank him.
As he stepped out into the underground air, the scent of pine and iron and coal dust still hanging thick on his clothes, Elmore allowed himself one last glance over his shoulder.
The young team was already swarming the capacitor like honeybees over a broken hive—eager, ravenous, brilliant.
He smiled. Not because he was proud—though he was—but because he knew this was how it was supposed to be.
He’d struck the spark. Now it was their turn to carry the flame.
And as for him? His people needed him.
And Elmore never let need go unanswered.
After finishing his morning chores—inspecting the orchard’s drip lines, feeding the goats, and stoking the forge’s coals—Elmore crossed the dew-soaked grass of his backyard. A hush lay over the grove of fruit trees, their branches heavy with blossoms despite the chill, petals drifting like pale embers. At the grove’s center loomed his throne, a monstrous testament to his reign.
The skeletal spine of the Swine Lord soared thirty feet above a broad stone base, its rib bones splayed outward as natural steps. Atop the vertebrae sat the beast’s bleached skull, its hollow eyes fixed on the sky. Piled around the throne’s base lay the blackened bones of the 100,000 soldiers Charleston had sent—a mountain of human skeletons scorched by the sacrificial fires that still smolder to this day, the ash shifting in faint wisps across the stone.
Elmore climbed the rib-staircase in measured silence and settled against the Swine Lord’s skull. Leather creaked beneath him as he leaned back and summoned his HUD. Tabs bloomed before his eyes in amber and violet—but one pulsed insistently at the periphery:
Throne Upgrades Available
He inhaled the sweet-tinged air of blossoms and smoke, braced himself, and selected the tab. A new interface materialized:
- True Land Ownership:LV1: As long as Elmore or one of his direct descendants lives, the land within a one-mile radius of this Seat of Power will be under his control.
- Aither Laws:LV2: Elmore could now set immutable laws governing his land and the people within it. these laws will allow him to set rules that can not be broken under any circumstance. (2/2)
- Aither Taxes:LV1: Elmore may now set a tithe for any item good or trade that must be paid and the form of that tithe is entirely within the ruler's discretion. (1/1)
Elmore’s brow furrowed as he studied the three upgrade options and points, each promising to reshape his realm in profound ways. He paused on the first:
True Land Ownership: LV1
He pictured the winding New River valleys, the decaying cabins of the raft guides repurposed as workshops, the cliffs carved into terraced farms. Claiming that land would secure critical mineral veins and forestall any rival encroachment. It would be a massive gain in resources—or population if he chose to take Birch hill instead claiming the mountain top as his own. Yet he hesitated not sure which was the better choice, moving on for now
His mind shifted to the second choice:
Aither Laws: LV2
There were a few laws on the books he was tempted to add just for safety. Others for more rational oversight. None really called to him this moment as a necessity. He could stop all mithril and aither crystals from leaving his land, knowing that it was inevitable without the law some of those rare materials would have made it out of his reach. But knowing that it was inevitable others will find veins of mithril out in the world as he has. The only unique resource he knew he had a monopoly on was Aither crystals. Putting it out of his mind for now he looked at the last ability to upgrade.
He hovered over the third:
Aither Taxes: LV1
A long list scrolled past:
- Blood Tax
A tithe demanding a portion of blood from each individual within the territory, typically drawn ritually and stored or used to bind Aitheric rituals, wardings, or power sources. The act may be symbolic or literal, depending on the ruler's decree, and must be offered on a regular basis.
Elmore cannot stomach the thought of enacting a Blood Tax. The idea of asking kin and neighbor to bleed for him—even in ceremony—turns his stomach. It reeks of tyrants and dark rites best left buried. To him, blood belongs to family, to sacrifice, to the dead—not to coffers.
- Lifespan Tax
A tax that siphons a small measure of an individual’s remaining years, subtly shortening their lifespan in exchange for strengthening the domain or empowering the ruler. Invisible to the taxed, but measurable over decades.
The Lifespan Tax is an abomination in Elmore’s eyes. Stealing time from the people he loves—even seconds—is a sin too foul to justify, no matter the gain. Life is sacred, and what little time folk have on this earth is theirs and theirs alone. To touch that without permission would mean he had lost his soul.
- Labor Tax
A system requiring subjects to provide a fixed portion of their time working directly for the state—be it farming, building, guarding, or crafting. The work may be paid or unpaid depending on the ruler’s decree.
Though the valley thrives on cooperation, Elmore would never enforce labor as a tax. To him, forced work—even masked with good intentions—is the first step down the road to tyranny. People should work because they believe in the cause, not because it’s demanded. Anything else is just slavery dressed in noble words.
- Import Tax
A levy placed on all goods brought into the valley from the outside, assessed at the borders, markets, or tradehouses. Its purpose is to ensure that foreign merchants and traveling tradesmen contribute to the stability and upkeep of the territory they benefit from.
Elmore sees the Import Tax as a sensible tool—fair, useful, and easy to justify. Still, he hesitates to enact it. With an Export Tax already in place, he feels the scales are balanced enough for now. He doesn’t want to make trade feel like walking through a toll gate in every direction. Let people bring things in freely, at least while the valley still needs what the outside world can offer. When the time comes to tighten the gates, he’ll know—but that time ain’t today.
- ect….
He clicked through each option in turn, weighing morality against necessity with the kind of heavy patience only a father and ruler could summon.
An Export Tax—already enacted—made sense. It encouraged local crafting, kept value within the valley, and skimmed off the top when outsiders sought to profit from their peace. But it had its cost: every fee was a whisper in the ear of a traveling merchant, telling them to take their business elsewhere.
An Import Tax felt redundant. Between the natural barriers of the land, the community’s watchful eyes,
Then came the darker ones.
The Blood Tax? Brutal. Tyrannical. Elmore wouldn’t even entertain the ritual version.
The Lifespan Tax? Unholy. The thought of stealing time from his kin made his chest ache.
And a Labor Tax? That was slavery with clean boots. He’d burn the valley to ash before he made work a chain.
None of them felt quite right.
Until the idea struck him.
What if the tax didn’t fall on goods… or time… or effort… but on the magic itself?
On the Aither.
That invisible hum that now threaded through every heartbeat and every breath.
They were already producing it, every moment of every day.
Why not claim just a sliver of it?
Not enough to harm, not enough to notice—just enough to remind the land that it had a steward.
Aither Production Tax: LV1
The answer appeared as if it had been in the air the whole time.
He leaned back, staring at the empty slot below the tax list. Then, as if in answer, a new option flickered into view:
Aither Production Tax:
Elmore now passively collects a fractional tithe of all Aither naturally produced by the Nexus systems of those within his territory—citizens and visitors alike. This draw is constant and subtle, never enough to hinder use, development, or expression of abilities, but always present, like a breeze one quickly forgets.
The collected Aither is silently funneled into the hollowed skull set into the back of Elmore’s throne, where it is stored until called upon for rulership, ritual, or war. None may opt out, and only the land itself acknowledges the taking.
His heartbeat quickened. This was elegant: it tapped the valley’s lifeblood without touching flesh or coin, harnessing their combined power to fuel tomorrow’s breakthroughs. And he could keep it low enough with how many people he has as subjects that no one would notice and if they did they wouldn't care as he would take so little.
He exhaled, steeling himself:
- True Land Ownership: LV2
- Aither Laws: LV3
- Aither Tax: LV2
As Elmore selected the True Land Ownership: LV2 upgrade, a warm thrum pulsed through the throne beneath him. The Nexus interface pulsed once, then again—he could feel something ancient recognizing his claim, like mountains shifting just out of sight.
Then the land itself answered.
A golden pulse radiated from his seat and traveled outward in all directions. His HUD displayed it like a blooming sphere, an invisible wall of authority rolling out a full mile in every direction from his current borders. He watched, jaw tightening as the edge of the sphere reached the dungeon—the threshold of the yawning underground mystery—and passed over it with a shimmer.
Throne Upgrade Detected: Territory Expansion Complete
Special Territory Acquired: Dungeon Recognized
Dungeon Ownership Confirmed
Do you wish to:
– Contain the Ancients
– Set free the Ancients
– let the Ancients rest for now
Elmore blinked. “Contain the Ancients?” he murmured aloud. Set free the Ancients?” His brow furrowed as he reread the options. The phrasing felt arcane, and he wasn’t sure what consequences would follow either command. "Hell, I don’t even know for sure what they mean by Ancients. That the creatures down there? Something with The Aither?" He gave a short exhale through his nose and selected the final option:
let the Ancients rest for now – Acknowledged
The message faded, replaced by a new screen—his land, digitized, rendered in glowing topography and Aither overlays. A branching choice appeared.
Two zones blinked at him:
One was Birch Hill, high and flat, already laced with homes, churches, roads, stores, infrastructure and Alot of People—more than a few of them familiar. Claiming it would more than double his population overnight. The hill had been drawing people for years: rogue adventurers, displaced families, hopeful farmers, ambitious traders. He could have them under his rule in an instant.
But the second zone tugged at him harder. It led farther down the valley, past the wall, through quiet forest and brambled wilderness, and straight to the New River’s curling banks. Untouched wilds. Forgotten infrastructure. A place he knew from his youth, where the old rafting company used to haul tourists up and down the rapids. He could already picture the growth: river barges turned into floating workshops, fish-farms, lookout towers, new roads slicing through thick trees.
He didn’t hesitate.
Valley Claimed: New Border Set at the Riverbanks
Additional Territory Added: 2.7 miles of riverfront acquired
The land beneath his throne warmed slightly, as if approving.
Still seated upon the throne, with the stream of Aither drifting like windblown embers around him, Elmore focused on the list of laws once more. He had one point remaining, and though several new options had revealed themselves since the last level up to. it was his instincts that pulled him toward a particular idea
He tapped into the law creation interface and worded it carefully, deliberately. He called it:
AITHER LAW (3): Aither Conservation Law
No item that either requires Aither in its creation or naturally contains Aither may be exported beyond the borders of Elmore’s domain. This includes, but is not limited to: weapons, tools, constructs, crystals, infused materials, alchemical substances, and any product shaped, grown, or altered by Aither. Only subjects of lakeVail may own such items. Visitors may retain what they bring with them, but anything made or awakened within this land remains bound to it.
The wording was precise. It would make it impossible for any item that required Aither in its production to be exported beyond the borders of his land. Anything created with Aither—tools, weapons, weaves of crystal, even alchemic materials—could only be owned by his subjects. Visitors could keep what they brought with them, but anything made here would be bound here.
Only Elmore could modify the list of restricted items. That authority, like the land itself, was his alone.
He confirmed the law.
A clear, almost cheerful ding echoed through the Aither field.
And at that same moment, every citizen and visitor within his territory received a system notification, a glowing tab unfurling before their eyes:
NOTICE: AITHER CONSERVATION LAW ENACTED
Across the land, people paused mid-task—smiths at their forges, cooks in their kitchens, tinkerers in their workshops, visitors setting up tents or trading goods in the valley’s growing markets. Confused murmurs rippled through the valley, but the message was clear and unambiguous.
Elmore closed the menu and sat back into the bone-wrought seat.
That was one more leak sealed.
Then the Aither Taxes tab caught his eye—still glowing, now labeled LV2 ? LV3 Available. He tapped it and navigated straight to Aither Production Tax.
The second he selected it, he felt it.
A faint, almost imperceptible pull on the core of his being. Not painful, not exhausting. Just a subtle reminder—like someone lightly tugging at his coat from behind. Then his vision was swallowed in radiant movement.
Thousands of shimmering motes began to swirl across his map, each one a soft wisp of yellow-violet light, dancing like candle flames caught in a breeze. They poured through the valley, from high hilltops to forested hollows, weaving through homes, trails, and cabins, streaming from men, women, and even children. From visitors. From strangers. From the Aither-rich air itself.
They flowed like tributaries into a great invisible river—converging on his throne.
The bone-carved seat beneath him gave off a soft hum as it absorbed the current.
And suddenly, Elmore understood.
These were not taxes in the traditional sense. No one had to offer coin or labor. Instead, a sliver of each person’s natural Aither output—so small they’d never notice—was being drawn toward the center of the chiefdom. Toward him. It was collective energy, pooled for future use. For infrastructure. Defense. Creation.
He sat silently for a long moment, eyes flicking over the stream of data, watching the lines of power feed the system he now governed. Eventually, he let out a slow breath, his shoulders lowering.
"This... this is going to matter one day," he muttered.
Then, without ceremony, he climbed down from the throne. The moment his boots touched the stone floor, the Aither wisps dimmed but did not vanish—still flowing, still gathering, now an ambient river running quietly beneath the surface of his realm.
He stepped out into the chamber's light, the weight of a growing nation pressing lightly against his back—and in his bones, he knew:
He was no longer just a chief of a small valley.
He was a steward of something much larger.
Elmore …[Aither Memory] , [Progenitor]...Chief Elmore of Lakevail
[Aither Memory] A mind forever linked to the flow of Aither. You are unable to forget anything you have ever experienced. Memory recall is instantaneous and perfect.[Aither Memory] grows stronger with exposure to larger Aither sources.
[Progenitor] The bloodline keeps you anchored to life. As long as a direct male descendant remains alive, you cannot die permanently. Upon death, your consciousness is locked in the aither until you can be placed within one of your direct male descendants' next unborn child .[Progenitor] grows stronger the more descendant’s there are that carry your last name and how many generations the name survives.
Level 6: Elmore
Ruler Level 6 : Chief
- Strength: 20/60
- Endurance: 10/60
- Dexterity: 10/60
- Agility: 10/60
- Intelligence: 60/60
- Resistance: 13/60
- Vitality: 20/60
- Aither: 30/60
Points Available: 0
Tabs:
[Seat of Power]
- True Land Ownership:LV2: As long as Elmore or one of his direct descendants lives, the land within a one-mile radius of this Seat of Power will be under his control.
- Aither Laws:LV2: Elmore could now set immutable laws governing his land and the people within it. these laws will allow him to set rules that can not be broken under any circumstance. (0/1)
AITHER LAW (1): citizens are not allowed to kill one another under any circumstances, except for ordained executions, or duels which may be allowed as long as they are witnessed by at least two unrelated citizens and both parties agree and agree to the terms of the duel. Non-citizens may never kill a citizen and may not declare a duel, in the case a citizen declares a duel the non-citizen may not decline and must be approved and witnessed by at least three unrelated citizens in this case only the challenger may set the terms.
AITHER LAW (2): A sacred boundary is established with a radius of 500 meters surrounding the residence of Elmore, Chief of the Valley. This land is inviolable and considered sanctified by both tradition and Aitheric decree. No person—citizen or otherwise—may enter this boundary without the express permission of Elmore himself, or in his absence, clear evidence of his intent to allow entry. This intent may be verbal, written, or otherwise made obvious by Elmore's known will. Trespass upon this land without such permission will be impossible . Only those invited with purpose may walk the path to his hearth.
AITHER LAW (3):No item that either requires Aither in its creation or naturally contains Aither may be exported beyond the borders of Elmore’s domain. This includes, but is not limited to: weapons, tools, constructs, crystals, infused materials, alchemical substances, and any product shaped, grown, or altered by Aither. Only subjects of lakeVail may own such items. Visitors may retain what they bring with them, but anything made or awakened within this land remains bound to it.
- Aither Taxes:LV1: Elmore may now set a tithe for any item good or trade that must be paid and the form of that tithe is entirely within the ruler's discretion. (0/1)
Export tax (1): A small levy is placed on all exports leaving the valley. This tithe must be paid in recognized currency or fair barter and will be collected automatically at all designated checkpoints. The rate and acceptable forms of payment are set by Elmore or those he entrusts to enforce the tax code.
Aither Production Tax (2):Elmore now passively collects a fractional tithe of all Aither naturally produced by the Nexus systems of those within his territory—citizens and visitors alike. This draw is constant and subtle, never enough to hinder use, development, or expression of abilities, but always present, like a breeze one quickly forgets.
The collected Aither is silently funneled into the hollowed skull set into the back of Elmore’s throne, where it is stored until called upon for rulership, ritual, or war. None may opt out, and only the land itself acknowledges the taking.
- Population: Subjects:15,476
[Structures]
-Home
-Hall of Beginnings
[Companions]
-Brent Edenheart
[Dungeon of the ancients]
[Tokens]
-Immoral Structure: 1
Ash …[Silver Tongue], [Matriarch]
[Matriarch] The strength of family resides within you. You inspire loyalty and protectiveness in those you love. Those under your care have increased resistance to fear and panic when near you.[Matriarch] grows stronger the more you are loved.and the more individuals that love you.
[Silver Tongue] Your words carry a persuasive edge, allowing you to influence others more easily. Negotiation, diplomacy, and even subtle manipulation become second nature.
[Silver Tongue] grows stronger the more people you convince of outlandish lies or Hard truths, score a good deal or win concessions, change someone's opinion to positive or negative.
Brent edenheart… [K9 Transformation], [Advanced Smell].. Elmore's knight vassal.. towering. Cable like muscles. Sharp teeth. Piercing eyes. Brown hair. Blue eyes
[K9?Transformation]
Brent can transform into a wolf?like form, his body reshaping to grant enhanced strength, speed, and reflexes while retaining full human awareness.
[K9?Transformation] grows stronger each time he faces an opponent capable of killing him in a single strike.
[Advanced?Smell]
Brent’s olfactory sense heightens far beyond normal limits, allowing him to track targets, detect hidden threats, and discern chemical signatures by scent alone.
[Advanced?Smell] grows stronger each time he locates or identifies someone or something by scent under challenging conditions.
Level:6 Brent Edenheart
Level 1: knight vassal
- Strength: 20/60
- Endurance: 12/60
- Dexterity: 20/60
- Agility: 60/60
- Intelligence: 10/60
- Resistance: 11/60
- Vitality: 14/60
- Aither: 10/60