Dozens of boots hit the metal flooring—one pair heavier, sharper, more deliberate than the rest.
The air thickened.
The portal room, usually a storm of noise and movement, fell into a suffocating silence.
Every soldier in sight—Retrieval Unit, transport controllers, even hardened C.O.S.M.O.S. veterans—dropped to their knees as if gravity itself had changed.
They didn't kneel out of habit.
They knelt because of him.
A higher official had arrived.
Someone whose presence made even experienced soldiers tremble.
But Michael?
He didn't kneel.
He remained standing in the center of the room—alone, upright, unshaken—while a tide of bodies knelt around him like waves bowing to a rock.
And then the old man appeared.
Vyaan Sahay.
Head of C.O.S.M.O.S.
Eighty-nine years old, yet moving with the calm certainty of a man who had long ago defeated the concept of age.
His grey hair fell neatly to his shoulders, his uniform was pristine, and his eyes carried a depth sharp enough to make the bravest soldier's spine crawl. He was the law. The executioner. The authority that no one dared challenge.
He came… for one person.
The heir of the Vellory household.
Adhitya Vellory.
Michael.
The second Vyaan's presence touched the room, panic erupted among the kneeling personnel.
"GET DOWN!"
"ARE YOU MAD!? KNEEL!"
"KNEEL IN FRONT OF HIM, YOU FOOL!"
"ARE YOU SUICIDAL!?"
The shouting ricocheted through the metal hall, but Michael didn't even flinch. His hands stayed in his pockets. His posture didn't lower an inch.
And Vyaan Sahay stopped before him.
A breath of silence.
Then, in a calm, almost gentle voice:
"No need to kneel.
Let him remain as he wishes."
The entire room froze.
Shock.
Horror.
Disbelief.
People who had served C.O.S.M.O.S. for decades stared with wide, trembling eyes. They had seen Vyaan tear apart rebellions, execute traitors, dismantle entire strongholds… but never had they heard him show such softness.
Especially not toward a nineteen-year-old soldier.
Even Michael felt his eyebrow twitch.
Why…?
For a moment, his thoughts spun like gears grinding against each other.
"The most feared and powerful person in the entire Indravana Dominion is being humble… to me?
To me? Why? Just because I'm wearing Adhitya Vellory's skin?
Come on, man… he could crush dominions with a sentence. Change the fate of strongholds with a breath. Why the hell would someone like that humble himself for me?"
The whispering around them began, slow and disbelieving at first…
"What is happening…?"
"Why is the Head treating him like this?"
"Is he really the next Vellory Saint…?"
"Did something change in Assembly…?"
"No way… no way… this is insane!"
A ripple passed through the air.
Then Vyaan Sahay's voice dropped—low, cold, and carrying the weight of an entire Dominion's authority.
"Silence."
The effect was instant.
Every soldier—every Retrieval Unit member, every controller, every technician—collapsed flat onto the floor. Some fell to their knees, others slammed down on all fours, and a few even whimpered as if a crushing invisible force pressed on their spines.
The entire room broke under a single word.
Except for one person.
Michael.
He stood there, arms loose at his sides, eyebrows raised slightly as he looked around.
Confusion flickered across his face.
"Why are they all whining on the ground?" he muttered, genuinely puzzled. "He just said one word… what's wrong with these people? Why are they reacting like this?"
Then he noticed something.
The guards standing behind Vyaan Sahay—elite officers selected as the Head's personal escort—were completely unaffected. Calm. Still. Unshaken.
Only the soldiers around Michael had been forced down.
And that's when understanding clicked into place.
He didn't suppress the entire room…
He suppressed only those who dared to speak.
The murmurers.
The whisperers.
The ones losing discipline.
A skill.
A terrifying, absolute skill.
Absolute Obedience.
A domain-type command skill.
One uttered word that turned every living being within its range into loyal, obedient subjects—crushing their will, breaking their stance, and forcing them into submission.
Michael's eyes narrowed slightly.
So this is the power of C.O.S.M.O.S.'s Head…
After a minute, the invisible pressure faded.
One by one, the soldiers gasped for breath, lifting themselves off the floor with trembling arms. Sweat drenched their uniforms. Their faces were pale, eyes wide with the leftover terror of mental domination.
They looked at Michael—not with suspicion, but with disbelief.
He was untouched.Perfectly steady on his feet.Not even a hair out of place.
Vyaan Sahay watched him with unreadable eyes.
And then, as if nothing had happened at all, he continued speaking—his tone now calm, collected, and chillingly precise.
"Now that the noise has settled," he said, "let us speak clearly." with.an smile in his face.
Everyone was frozen.
Staggered.
Utterly unprepared for what they were witnessing.
The stern, iron-faced Head of C.O.S.M.O.S.—the same man whose name alone could silence entire dominions—was smiling.
Smiling at a nineteen-year-old brat standing awkwardly in front of him.
Michael felt it too.
That wrongness.
He stood there stiffly, expression caught somewhere between guarded and uncomfortable, as if he'd accidentally walked into a conversation he wasn't meant to be part of.
Vyaan Sahay's smile didn't waver as he spoke.
"I've heard much about you," he said calmly. "You are Adhitya Vellory, correct? Tell me—where have you been all this time?"
Michael answered as if nothing extraordinary was happening.
"Just roaming around Dhruvansaar."
No hesitation.
No embellishment.
Inside, though, his thoughts churned.
If I tell him where I actually lived…
If I let even one detail slip…
Someone like Vyaan Sahay wouldn't just investigate—he would excavate. Dig until the truth came out that Michael wasn't the Hammer Saint's legitimate elder son, but the product of an affair.
It wasn't shame that stopped him.
It was timing.
I'm not strong enough yet.
When I reach the pinnacle… then I won't walk as Adhitya Vellory.
I'll walk as Michael.
Vyaan Sahay's smile never changed.
"Well," he said pleasantly, "that's good to hear."
He turned away, already walking.
"See you later, champ."
Just like that.
The Head of C.O.S.M.O.S. left, guards falling into step behind him.
Michael remained standing there, rooted in place, confusion twisting in his chest.
Not just him.
The entire portal hall buzzed with stunned murmurs.
What they had witnessed felt less like an official interaction—and more like a casual exchange between a grandfather and his grandson.
Not between the most feared authority in Indravana and a low-ranked soldier.
Michael shook his head slightly.
What the hell was that?
I thought he was supposed to be terrifying.
With no answers forthcoming, he turned and headed toward the training grounds.
The massive gates loomed ahead—towering steel reinforced with runic frames. A control panel glowed faintly on the right.
Michael slid his ID card through the slot.
ACCESS GRANTED.
The gates parted with a deep mechanical groan.
What lay beyond made his heartbeat spike.
Hundreds of soldiers.
Sparring,
Clashing,
And Bleeding.
Blades rang against blades. Skills detonated in controlled bursts. Aura pressure filled the air so thick it felt like breathing through smoke.
Everyone here was serious.
Desperate.
Hungry for strength.
Michael's lips curved faintly.
"So everyone's serious about getting stronger, huh," he muttered.
He stepped inside.
"Then let's join them."
His eyes sharpened.
"Time to see what stage I'm really at."