Deep within the Aetheric Citadel, a structure carved from the core of a dying white dwarf star, the Galactic Overlord sat upon his Throne of Pulsars. His form was colossal, composed of shifting stardust and ancient gravity. To him, the twelve moons were not a kingdom, but a Sector 4-B Garden—a private plantation for soul-essence.
Suddenly, the Overlord's eyes—two burning supernovae—flared with a cold, golden intensity.
He felt a sudden, violent vibration in the "Providence Stream" of Sector 4-B. It wasn't the natural growth of a Hero; it was a leak. A jagged, indigo void was tearing through the golden energy he had been cultivating for millennia.
"A parasite..." The Overlord's voice resonated like the collision of two galaxies, shaking the foundations of the Citadel. "The 'Chosen One' is not glowing. He is being hollowed. The energy is not consolidating; it is being diverted."
He raised a hand, and a holographic projection of Moon 9 appeared in the void before him. He saw the crimson sky, the shattered mines, and the two puppets—Kaelen and Zane—locked in a death-struggle. But he saw something else. Something the inhabitants of the moons could not see.
He saw the Indigo Threads. He saw the invisible weaver standing behind the curtain of reality.
"An intruder in the garden," the Overlord growled, his golden aura pulsing with a heat that could incinerate entire solar systems. "A variable that does not belong to this cycle. Someone is trying to harvest my crop before it is ripe."
He didn't panic; gods of his scale did not know fear. He felt only the cold, celestial annoyance of a farmer finding a thief in his barn.
"High Inquisitor," he commanded, his voice tearing through the dimensions.
From the shadows of the throne room, a figure clad in armor made of collapsed neutron stars knelt. "My Lord?"
"Sector 4-B has become infected. The 'Prophecy' has been tainted by an external soul. Send the Void-Reapers. If the Hero cannot be salvaged, burn the entire garden. No one steals from the Overlord."