Hours drifted by like gentle tides, yet the celebration showed no signs of slowing. Music echoed from every sector, laughter still filled the halls, and lights shimmered in waves over the vast white structure of the Super Capital Citadel.

  Mon’s fleet—vast and varied—had begun docking in the colossal docking bays. From worn-out battleships and rust-speckled frigates to sleek cargo haulers armed with automated drones, her ships poured out crates, containers, and caravans of materials. The market at the Center of the Super Capital Citadel grew with breathtaking speed, towering structures rising in white and gold. Workers moved like rivers, building stalls, merchant towers, and logistics nodes.

  At the highest peak of the Citadel, in a pristine chamber surrounded by reinforced glass and the stars beyond, Ruen, Erie, Renn, Kiana, Vermond, and Mon sat around a wide crystalline table. The blackhole spun in slow, elegant silence above them.

  They were deciding something important now—the future face of their empire.

  “We need identity,” Mon said calmly, brushing her raven hair aside, her red eyes reflecting the stars. “Something that unites all these people.”

  “A banner,” Erie added, legs up on the table. “Uniforms. Structure. Symbols.”

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  “Discipline,” Renn muttered. “And we need to start thinking about an actual chain of command.”

  “And recruitment,” Ruen sighed, his voice weary. “Millions of people and only a few trained. We need soldiers. Guards. Defenders.”

  Kiana stood, her white hair glinting in the soft glow. Her voice was quiet, but clear and strong.

  “White. Everything should be white. The symbol of rebirth. Of new beginnings.”

  Everyone was silent.

  And then one by one, they nodded.

  “White it is,” Vermond said with a small smile. “Jard?”

  A loud comm crackled on. Jard’s voice boomed through. “YOU GOT IT! ALL WHITE UNIFORMS—WE’RE GOING CLEAN, PURE, AND SHINY! I’M GONNA DESIGN THE BEST DAMN MILITARY SUIT YOU'VE EVER SEEN!”

  A second later, he added, “OH! And I’m making royalty suits too! Capes! Flow! Shine! BLIND THE ENEMIES WITH FABRIC AND STYLE!”

  Even Mon laughed at that. “Let him have it,” she smirked.

  As designs began rendering across the glass walls, elegant white uniforms took shape—sleek, armored, ceremonial. The military suits were striking: high-collared, smooth-armored, sharp-lined. The royalty suits were majestic, embroidered with light-threaded symbols, layered in flowing white and silver. The Empire’s banner was simple: a white phoenix rising above a star, a blackhole halo behind it.

  Then, the question of recruitment came.

  “We need rules,” Ruen said, staring at the simulation of the banner. “Standards.”

  “People will want power. We need to test them,” Renn muttered.

  Kiana raised a brow and crossed her arms. “Let them donate. As many credits as they can.”

  Erie laughed. “Seriously?”

  “Those who donate most prove loyalty, commitment… and well, funding helps.” Kiana smiled faintly.

  Vermond leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “Those who give… get a seat. Let them rise by devotion.”

  And so it was set:

  To become a Royal? Donate. To become a soldier? Train and prove your worth. To live in the white empire? Build it with your hands.

  Below, the people kept celebrating.

  Above, the future began to take shape.

  Somewhere in the friggin dark once again, the Watcher smiled.. < This weak bastard just wanna watch.