The Lower Gardens of the Royal Palace were a relic of a more prosperous era. While the upper levels of the settlement were dominated by functional stone and clay, the gardens were a lush, humid sanctuary carved into a massive geode-like cavern. Phosphorescent moss hung from the ceiling like weeping willow branches, casting a soft, ethereal teal glow over the tiered stone terraces.
Antares led the procession down the winding quartz stairs. Behind him, the three Pillars that were present followed in a daze of anticipation. Ian walked a half-step behind the King, his eyes scanning the greenery for any sign of irregularity. This area had been designated as a neutral zone, far from the restricted mysteries of the King's Tower, but today, it would become a holy site.
At the base of the stairs, the twenty youths stood in four disciplined rows of five. As Antares approached, he took in the sight: ten young men and ten young women, their posture rigid. They were the finest physical specimens the Arcanis Clan had to offer, strong limbed and clear-eyed, yet currently devoid of a single spark of mana.
Lord Velas stepped forward, his robes rustling against the mossy floor. He bowed so low his long whte hair brushed the soil. "Your Majesty, as you commanded. Twenty of the Arcanis line, healthy of body and pure of mind. They are ready for... whatever purpose you deem fit."
Antares smiled, a genuine expression of approval. "You have done well, Velas. Your efficiency is praiseworthy."
As Antares stepped into the center of the garden, the twenty youths moved as one, dropping to their knees. The sound of their chitin hitting the stone floor echoed in the quiet cavern.
"We greet His Majesty, the Light in the Deep!" they shouted in a synchronized chorus.
Antares paused, a flicker of genuine curiosity crossing his mind. How do they know me so instinctively? he wondered. I was in a coma for cycles. Many of these men and women have likely never seen my face, yet there is no hesitation in their recognition.
As if sensing his confusion, the translucent blue interface of the System flickered into his field of vision.
[System Note: Biological Recognition Protocol : Host, the loyalty of the Antmen is not merely a matter of education or culture. It is chemical. Your body secretes high-grade 'Royal Pheromones' a unique olfactory signature that acts as a master key to the limbic systems of all sub-castes. To them, your scent is the command of life itself. Betrayal is not just a crime; it is a biological impossibility.]
Antares dismissed the message with a subtle blink. It was a chilling thought that his "people" were essentially hard-wired to love him but it was a tool he could not afford to ignore.
He looked down at the kneeling youths. Their faces were a turbulent mix of raw excitement and paralyzing fear. They knew something monumental was about to happen, but they were Antmen; to be used by the King was the highest form of existence.
"You have been brought here for a sacred purpose," Antares began, his voice projecting through the humid garden air. "The tribe has grown weak in spirit and parched of power. Today, that drought ends."
He extended his right hand over the first row. As he did, a sharp, golden notification pulsed in his mind.
[System Inquiry: Genetic Restoration: Detected 20 targets with dormant Elven lineage. Cost: 6,000 Essence Points. Do you wish to initiate the 'Gene Awakening' sequence?]
Yes, Antares thought, his pulse quickening. Initiate the blessing.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the garden was filled with a low-frequency hum that made the very air vibrate.
The twenty youths suddenly gasped in unison. Their backs arched, hands clawing at the dirt. Their body temperatures began to spike rapidly a "mana fever" that turned their carapaces hot to the touch. Inside their chests, a localized burning sensation began to roar. This was the System forcefully carving out a Mana Chamber near their hearts, weaving the ethereal energy into their physical biology.
The Clan Leaders watched in horror and awe. Lady Sira gasped, clutching her throat, while Commander Yajin reached for his weapon, his instincts screaming that his King was performing a miracle.
"Stay back!" Antares commanded, his voice laced with the Authority.
Slowly, the youths collapsed forward, gasping for air. The fever broke as quickly as it had arrived. One by one, they began to push themselves back up. They looked different; their eyes, once dark, now held a faint, shimmering iridescence.
[System Notification: Awakening Successful]
20 Novice Mages registered. 1000 Essence Points remaining.
Antares's eyes glittered. He could feel it, twenty new sparks of mana pulsating in the room like small lanterns.
Lord Velas was the first to react. As a peak-rank mage, his sensitivity to mana was exquisite. He felt the sudden "pop" of twenty new mana signatures where there had been none. He staggered forward, his eyes wide and watery. He grabbed the hand of one of the girls in the front row, feeling the raw, unrefined mana flowing through her veins.
"It... it is impossible," Velas whispered, his voice trembling. He turned to Antares, his expression one of complete, shattered reality. "Your Majesty... I have studied the arcane for a hundred cycles. I have tried every ritual, every potion, every prayer. How? Where did this power come from? This is not just healing... this is creation."
The garden went silent. Every eye was on Antares. The King turned slowly, his silhouette framed by the glowing moss, looking every bit like the mythical figures carved in the Gallery of Kings. He had prepared for this moment.
"While I slept in the long silence of my coma," Antares said, his voice dropping into a solemn, reverent tone, "my soul did not wander the darkness. I was taken to the Great Nest beyond the stars. I met the Architect of our Race. I met Antarion, the Ant God."
A collective gasp filled the garden. The name Antarion was an ancient one, a myth from the dawn of their history that many had dismissed as a fairy tale for larvae.
"Antarion saw the suffering of his children," Antares continued, his eyes scanning the crowd with magnetic intensity. "He saw the plague of the Goblins and the rot in our veins. He has chosen me as his Vessel, his hand in this world. This power is his blessing, granted to me so that I may lead us back to the surface not as foragers, but as masters."
The effect was instantaneous. Lord Velas didn't just kneel; he collapsed into a prostrate position, weeping openly.
"The Chosen One..." Velas choked out. "The God-King has returned!"
Following his lead, the twenty new mages threw themselves back to the ground. Then Lady Sira, then Lord Kael, and finally even the iron-willed Commander Yajin Ashfang lowered his massive frame to the earth. No one stayed standing except for Antares and his two silent shadows, Eli and Levi.
"Hail the Ant God!" shouted one of the youths, his voice cracking with emotion.
"Love and life to the King! Glory to Antarion!" the others joined in, their voices rising in a rhythmic, tribal chant that shook the very leaves of the garden.
Antares stood in the center of the storm of worship, his face a mask of calm, royal dignity. Internally, he was already calculating his next move. He had 1000 Essence Points left, twenty mages at his command, and a kingdom that viewed his every word as divine law.
The age of survival was over. The Age of Conquest had begun.