The transition from the commercial thoroughfare to the Portal Hub was like stepping from a roaring furnace into a high-voltage storm. The clamor of trade gave way to a constant, powerful hum—the sound of thousands of dimensional gateways vibrating simultaneously—and the smell of metal and spice was replaced by a thousand competing exotic airs.
Akira pushed through the last knot of merchants and stopped abruptly at the edge of a vast, circular plaza. This wasn't just a hub; it was a gallery of necessity, a terrifying window into the New World.
The entire circumference of the plaza was lined with portals, not the sterile, sci-fi glowing ellipses he had expected, but shimmering, ornate gateways. They were customized, a blatant advertisement or warning of the worlds they connected to. Akira was absolutely stunned by seeing thousands of different portals, each one unique in its design, size, length, and width.
He began to catalogue them, his initial awe quickly replaced by his habitual, cold analysis.
Near his position, a gate framed by gnarled, luminous wood shone with a deep, vibrant green, the surface swirling with complex, organic patterns—a green portal with leaves design. A faint, chilly, earthy scent drifted from it, suggestive of vast, untamed forests. Directly across the plaza, another churned with an electric blue portal with water waves, the very air around it feeling humid and smelling faintly of brine and ozone, the perfect gateway for a civilization focused on naval power or deep-sea resource extraction.
Most chilling was a distant archway rimmed with razor-sharp black crystals. The gate itself was a pulsing, scarlet hue, stained with sporadic, darker patches—a red portal with drops of Black design. The air coming from the other side was a wave of suffocating, hot wind, carrying the faint, metallic scent of ash and fear. That was a kingdom perpetually at war, likely a resource-rich but volatile domain that knew little peace.
These gates were not permanent fixtures; they were the private, temporary connections of the realm-builders. The reason why people were placing those portals was simple: only then could the hard-won materials brought, sold, or exchanged be transported safely from the newly constructed worlds into the secure interior of the Human Realm. Every gateway was evidence of a gamble, a risk taken in the name of profit or power.
Akira knew the truth of what lay beyond those shimmering veils. At the age of eighteen, every human was given their own realm and species to build an army and a colossal kingdom. This wasn't a privilege; it was a cold, hard necessity for survival. Humans were not the only ones in this world—far from it. On the other side of these portals were the thousands and thousands of different species in different realms: the territorial dragons, the tribal Demi-humans who shared a passing resemblance to their human counterparts, the arcane elves, the industrious dwarfs, the brutal giants and Titans, the endless swarms of insectoids, and the mysterious spirits civilization.
He recalled the chilling geopolitical reality that defined his existence: The human empire was xenophobic towards all other species in this New World. This prejudice dictated every interaction and every alliance. The relationship between the human empire and others was complex and purely self-serving. Demi-humans, for instance, were reluctantly tolerated simply because they looked like humans and were often weak enough to be exploited or controlled. In contrast, the Empire harbored a visceral fear of the high-level threats: the ancient, destructive power of the giant and dragon kingdoms, and the unpredictable strength of the divine beast of this world.
The Empire's first emperor had created this sanctuary—a single, massive, fortified realm for humans to live in. Akira and every other human were currently in this realm, safe from the other species. The enemy races could not invade this territory. But the safety was illusory, a cage built of paranoia and steel. The creatures, kingdoms, and civilization attack the realms of other humans—the ones who had stepped through these portals to build their own domains. These new realms were the meat shields, the resource farms, and the battlegrounds for humanity.
Akira's gaze swept over the entire panorama—from the smallest, quietest, personal portals used for retrieving common herbs, to the colossal, roaring war-gates of the most powerful realm-builders. Every human was an architect of war, whether they wanted to be or not.
He felt the heavy, distant pressure of a ticking clock. He was seventeen. The entire, chaotic, beautiful, and monstrous New World lay right there, accessible yet deadly, and he was mandated to enter it in a year.
I still have a year to prepare myself for the awakening ceremony I have.
He didn't have time to be stunned, only to learn. He had analyzed the economy; now he had to understand the political and martial threat. He stepped closer to the portals, ignoring the security guards, focusing on the sheer size, length and width of the strongest gates, trying to estimate the power it took to maintain such a massive tear in reality.
His preparation had only just begun. The market was a lesson in coin; the portal hub was a lesson in blood. He would master both.
END OF CHAPTER