Prologue

Prologue – Year 2093
Three years after the destruction of Earth.
The Kratar remained inert.
The square, sea-green emerald with its glowing central K… was now dark. No shine. No voice. No will. The wear inflicted by Kronnor had reduced it to nothing more than a simple object.
Inside an immaculate white room—cold, technological, flawless—Kronnor studied the artifact within an energy containment box.
His pale blue skin contrasted sharply with his fitted black suit. Violet eyes. Long silver hair. He held his signature white smiling mask in his hand. For the first time in centuries… his face was uncovered.
Around him, Trinita soldiers watched his every move.
Humanoids with stark white skin, intense light-blue eyes, and spiky white hair. They wore white armor accented with faintly glowing light-blue lines—energy humming just beneath the surface.
They possessed no magic.
They didn't need it.
Their technology was enough to match… or even surpass… the power of an archmage.
Kronnor took a step toward the box.
His fingers trembled slightly.
"That… is mine," he murmured.
He reached for the containment field.
In less than a second, microscopic cameras detected the anomaly.
A jolt of electricity tore through his body.
The sound was dry. Brutal.
Kronnor collapsed to the floor, paralyzed, muscles locked rigid, body faintly smoking.
He didn't scream.
But the pain was real.
---
The Trinita Presidential Tower
He was dragged to the central hall of the white tower—a colossal structure that pierced the clouds of the planet Trinita.
There, on the elevated throne, sat Germon.
Flawless white skin.Light-blue eyes sharp as ice.Spiky white hair.White armor with light-blue lines radiating absolute authority.
He watched Kronnor without emotion.
"Kronnor…" His voice was firm. "The first thing I warned you about… and the first thing you do."
Kronnor, still on his knees, looked up with barely contained fury.
"I woke up, Germon. You won't take what belongs to me."
Germon tilted his head slightly.
"Belongs to you? Perhaps. But if we return it… who guarantees you won't try to conquer again? Knowing you… it would be naive to trust you."
Silence.
"Lock him up."
The soldiers moved instantly.
"Maximum security prison. Twenty years."
Kronnor's eyes widened with fury. He clenched his teeth so hard they nearly bled.
But there was nothing he could do.
---
The Prison
The Trinita prison complex wasn't dark or dirty.
It was white. Perfect. Cold.
Prisoners were observed as data… not as people.
Kronnor was taken to a special cell—designed years ago exclusively for him.
Invisible to the naked eye, microscopic cameras monitored every heartbeat, every muscle movement.
If he tried anything suspicious…
They wouldn't kill him.
They would electrocute him.
Harder. More aggressive.
A pain so extreme he would wish for death.
Twenty years.
No empire.No followers.No Kratar.No power.
Technology had defeated magic.
Kronnor sat on the metal floor of his cell.
For the first time in centuries…
He had no plan.
---
Meanwhile…
Germon observed the Kratar from a sealed chamber in another sector of the planet.
"It's a magical artifact," he murmured. "And the unknown… is dangerous."
He ordered it transferred to an even more remote, classified location.
Germon had already decided what to do with it.
But the time wasn't right yet.
And in the silence of confinement…
Kronnor's eyes, for the first time… did not reflect hatred.
They reflected something else.
Thought.