Fang Yuan stood in the center of a silent, indigo void. Around him, thousands of translucent threads—the Aetheric Web—stretched out toward the twelve moons. Each thread represented a life, a destiny, a drop of the world's essence.
In front of him, two major threads were vibrating violently. One was bright gold, now stained with veins of abyssal violet (Kaelen). The other was a raw, jagged streak of charcoal and magma (Zane).
He reached out a slender finger, lightly plucking the golden thread. Across the cosmos, Kaelen felt a sudden, inexplicable shiver of dread.
"The seeds are planted," Fang Yuan whispered, his voice echoing through the vacuum. "One believes he is a hero fighting for his life. The other believes he is a rebel fighting for his freedom. Both are merely sharpening my blade."
He looked toward the horizon of the galaxy, where a faint, shimmering barrier marked the edge of the Overlord's domain. To the Overlord, this world was a farm. To Fang Yuan, it was a Refining Cauldron.
"Lia is performing her role well," he noted, his Indigo eyes reflecting the flickering light of the stolen destinies. "Fear is the best leash, and addiction is the best cage. By the time they realize they are puppets, the strings will have become their veins."
He waved his hand, and a new image appeared in the void: Zane, standing atop a mountain of rusted iron, his shadow-dragon roaring at a crimson sky.
"Let the Butcher meet the Beast," Fang Yuan smiled, a cold, sharp line in the darkness. "The friction of their collision will spark enough energy to fuel my next ascension. Eat well, my puppets. Grow fat on your hatred. I am almost ready for the harvest."