Chapter 3113: Tartarus Councils

The South Star Fortress’s stargate had grown increasingly unreliable as the Scourge’s grip tightened across the realm. It would sometimes flicker out in the middle of activation or refuse to stabilize at all.

Even so, once a week, when the alignment was favorable, the ancient device could still manage to establish a connection. It was no longer a true gate capable of transporting people across space, but it remained functional enough to carry voices and images between what remained of Tartarus’s surviving strongholds.

Today was one of those days.

"It’s time," King Valder Pardera said.

He settled into the center of the great formation etched across the fortress’s inner chamber. Intricate runes covered the floor beneath him, their ancient patterns worn by countless years of use but still carrying a faint power of their own. The Sea Tide Emperor took his place beside the throne, silent as ever. His pale blue skin caught the first flickers of the formation’s rising glow, giving his already ethereal appearance an almost translucent quality.

A deep hum spread through the chamber.

Then a column of light tore upward through the open aperture above, shooting into the sky as the ancient stargate formation finally responded. One after another, the artifacts embedded along the chamber’s outer rim flared to life, their lights connecting in a vast circular pattern.

The air shimmered.

Space itself seemed to ripple as ghostly figures gradually began resolving into existence around the chamber. Some appeared alone, their projected forms standing silently within their own circles of light, while others materialized together in small groups.

Fifteen presences in total.

And every single one were Supreme realm.

The chamber immediately felt different.

Even though these were only projections, the sheer concentration of Supreme-level presences gave the room an oppressive weight. These were not merely powerful cultivators. They were the surviving rulers and highest authorities of a realm that had already lost most of its worlds, armies, and people.

The largest shadow belonged to a towering giant.

He stood easily thrice the height of anyone else present, his enormous frame covered in battle-worn armor that bore countless scars. One of his eyes had long since been lost, replaced by a crystalline orb the color of dried blood.

The remaining eye burned with quiet intensity.

King Thrumgar Oathbound, the Ashbound Colossus, ruler of the giant-kin.

His presence alone seemed to make the surrounding projections look smaller.

Across from him stood three figures together, distinct in appearance and temperament yet unmistakably united by their shared elven heritage.

The first wore silver and starlight.

His robes carried an almost regal elegance, their pale fabric shimmering softly beneath the formation’s light. His posture was straight, his expression composed, and there was an unmistakable dignity in the way he carried himself.

King Ellendir Starweaver of the High Elves, sovereign of Sylmareth.

His realm had become the sanctuary world sheltering what remained of three displaced races, making his position one of immense importance among the surviving civilizations.

Beside him stood a darker figure.

His robes were the color of a moonless sky, absorbing much of the surrounding light rather than reflecting it. Only the faint violet glow of his eyes stood out clearly against the darkness.

King Azaroth Duskthorn, ruler of the Dusk Elves.

The third carried herself with none of the other two’s formality.

Her posture relaxed but alert, Queen Faelwen Greenward of the Wood Elves.

Her sharp eyes swept across the chamber as the final projections continued to stabilize, silently taking in the gathered rulers and assessing the situation before the meeting had even begun.

On another side of the chamber stood three figures.

At the center was a woman with long silver hair that flowed gently around her shoulders, surrounded by drifting petals that constantly shifted between pale blue, violet, gold, and soft green. No single color ever remained for more than a moment, giving her spectral form an almost dreamlike quality.

Moon Guardian, chosen proxy of the Fey.

Flanking her were two smaller figures.

They resembled delicate fairies, their bodies tiny compared to the Supremes gathered around them, with translucent wings folded neatly against their backs. Yet their appearances were deceptive. Both possessed an ancient stillness that seemed completely out of place within such small frames, their eyes carrying the weight of countless years.

Elder Mossgleam and Elder Thistlewing, elders of the fairy folk.

They had lived long enough to predate most of the Supremes in the chamber, and their seemingly fragile forms concealed depths of cultivation that made others treat them with caution.

Another corner of the chamber held two more figures.

The first was a human noble dressed in finely made silks rather than formal royal robes. His appearance was refined, but his sharp eyes and tightly controlled expression revealed little patience for the gathering. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, studying the other projections with the detached scrutiny of someone accustomed to weighing political interests rather than battlefield strength.

Lord Rendry Pardera, the king’s cousin.

He had been entrusted with overseeing the kingdom’s migrant settlements.

Beside him stood a stout dwarf lord clad in dark iron plate. His broad arms were folded across his chest, and his thick beard was streaked with grey. Unlike Bragnir, whose bearing carried the rugged spirit of a battlefield warrior, this dwarf possessed a more guarded and political air. His eyes moved constantly from one speaker to another, his expression marked by open wariness.

The remaining four presences carried no crown, no throne, and no title tied to any single race.

They were different from the rulers gathered around them.

Each had earned a place in this council through nothing but strength.

All four were Supreme Emperor, beings whose power placed them among the strongest individuals remaining in Tartarus.

They were powers that could not simply be commanded.

King Valder let the formation finish stabilizing, drawing a slow breath as he prepared to open the session.

He never got the chance.

"What’s the use of these meetings?" The giant monarch voice boomed across the chamber. "My people are dying. I need real action, not another round of talk!"