Crown's Power

The storm had passed, but unease still clung to the wind.

Inside the secure TSM transport, Wrex sat beside the Normalists as the vehicle advanced beyond known territory. The border had long been declared impassable, protected by history and fear. But now, as they moved toward the Outcast Territories, something ancient stirred in him—a tension at the back of his mind, a whisper of a memory just out of reach.

His eyes were heavy, but his thoughts raced.

“You were never meant to see beyond the walls.”
“This world... it was created for them.”

The words from his past—fragmented and dreamlike—pressed against his chest.

Rizor stood at the front of the transport, arms crossed. He hadn’t spoken for some time, but his presence was heavy. Watching. Waiting.

Wrex finally broke the silence.
“Tell me the truth, Rizor. The Raid, Montlaif, the Royal Family. What do they really want?”

Rizor’s eyes met his.
“They want control. Not peace. Not harmony. Not even order. Just legacy.”

“Montlaif was never about powering cities or sustaining life. It’s a filter, Wrex. A filter for people. Those who are chosen ascend. The rest... vanish.”

The words hit like a hammer.

“What do you mean, vanish?”

“Facilis was always a test. An experiment. With Montlaif, the Royal Family controls more than energy. They control who gets to be part of the next version of Earth.”

Wrex leaned forward. “What version?”

Rizor turned away, speaking with quiet gravity.
“They call it ReGenesis. A plan to recreate Earth into a more 'refined' world. One without history. One without chaos. One without the unchosen.”

“ReGenesis… a world without us.”

Wrex’s hands trembled. “They’ll erase everyone?”

“Not erase. Replace. And only the loyal, the elite, the selected, will inherit the new world.” Rizor glanced back. “And it gets worse. You’re not just a piece in this plan—you’re connected to its beginning.

Meanwhile: Inside the Royal Domain

In the heart of Freol, within a room veiled in light and silence, the Royal Family convened.

High above the city, they looked down from polished marble balconies. Members of the elite circle—those who knew the full scope of the plan—stood in the shadow of the Crown’s Power.

An elder voice broke the stillness.

“It is time. The Event will go forward. The culling must begin.”

A younger noble bowed.
“The Montlaif has selected potential candidates. The rest will be redirected to the Program.”

At the center of the chamber, a holographic globe spun. On it, hundreds of names and ID numbers flickered with strange symbols. One name glowed brighter than the others:

Wrex Stroggan.

“His memories are beginning to return,” one of the royal advisors warned.
“If he remembers everything, he may become... problematic.”

The Crowned One leaned back, calm and collected.
“Let him. The usurper path always reveals itself. We will use him to finish the cycle, or let him burn in it.”

Back with Wrex: The Echo of Truth

Later that night, as the transport stopped for rest in the Dead Valley, Wrex wandered a short distance from camp. The stars above were clearer than they’d ever been in the cities of Facilis.

Something pulsed in the earth beneath his feet. A sensation... like returning.

And then, it hit him.

He remembered the room. The doctors. The experiments.

The truth that had been taken from him.

He wasn’t born in Facilis. He was taken into it.

“Those who seek you will retain that which is yours.”

The phrase returned—this time, with weight. With purpose.

He looked up to the horizon, beyond the scorched valley and toward the mountains that guarded the Outcasts' lands.

“I wasn’t made to serve their world.”
“I was born to destroy it.”

Meanwhile: In the City

Loria stood silently in the hideout, watching the broadcast about the Royal Event. The smile on the face of the Royal Speaker was warm, inviting.

“Every citizen will receive a gift. A lesson. A future.”

She narrowed her eyes.

The woman who saved her stepped beside her. “Do you see it now?”

Loria’s fists tightened. “I see it too clearly. The people believe in peace, but it’s all a screen. A net to keep them in place.”

She turned. “We have to stop them.”

Somewhere deep beneath the core of Freol, in a vault no one outside the Royal Bloodline had entered in over 70 years, a terminal blinked awake.

A soft hum echoed through the dark.

The Montlaif core.

And beneath it—something older. Something not human-made. Something that pulsed like a beating heart.

The true source of Montlaif’s power.

And the final secret Wrex must uncover to change—or shatter—the world.

But above the Outcast mountains and beneath the buried remnants of forgotten kingdoms, an ancient prophecy stirred.

A whisper once sealed in time now began to rise again:

“When harmony is forced, and truth is lost, one true human shall rise. Not to save, but to break. Not to obey, but to usurp. Only through fracture can the world be freed.”

And though Wrex did not yet know the full weight of those words, someone did.

Rizor.

He had seen the signs. He had read the forbidden texts.

And now, he watched Wrex with quiet intent—because when the time came, he would be the one to choose whether to guide the Usurper… or stop him.

For no power—no Montlaif, no Crown—was greater than the ambition of a kind and strong-willed man who, even through storm and steel, walks willingly into fate’s fire.

A man who understands that there are always prices to pay… that some truths demand sacrifice…
And that sometimes—just sometimes—not all sinners sin.