Adrian's Node flickered as he scrolled through the Origin Clan registry. He frowned at the line beside Members, it read zero.
The armies, the civilians, even the administrators of twenty-three star systems weren't members. All of them were listed as assets. Belongings.
"The Drakenholt clan was cruel," Adrian muttered, his voice tight. "Treating its own people as assets and slaves."
The same structure had followed him as he inherited it. His jaw tightened.
"I'll change this soon."
First, he added Core Founders: Aurelia, Septimus, Draven, Cassian, Lucian, Thomas, Elara, Kael, Selena. One by one, names appeared under the designation.
The system confirmed the change with a chime that echoed through their Nodes.
Draven grinned, thumping his chest. "Finally! About time the galaxy knows who we are."
Aurelia gave only a faint nod. Her approval was quiet but sharp.
"When the rest of the Celestial Eleven return, they'll be listed as founders too," Adrian added.
They nodded in agreement. Then they checked their own Nodes.
For the first time, beside their names appeared a line: Clan: Origin | Status: Founder. It was official.
The galaxy could see them now. They weren't wanderers anymore, they had their own clan.
They began exploring the endless data linked to the clan. Each drifted toward their own instinctive focus.
Septimus's brows furrowed as he scanned vault inventories. "Natural Treasures enough to raise hundreds to SSS-rank..."
His voice carried a disturbed undertone. The sheer volume was staggering.
Kael's gaze narrowed on military readouts, rows of army rosters filling his vision. "Thousands of trained soldiers across the twenty-three systems."
"But the way they're used..." His expression darkened. "Nothing but tribute extraction."
Adrian's gaze swept across star system reports, maps, vassal records, populations. His chest sank.
"This isn't wealth. It's suffering."
He saw suffering woven into every record. The Drakenholt clan wasn't merchants or scholars.
They were predators. Their foundation was blood and tribute.
Their wealth came from forcing volcanic worlds to mine Fire Mana Crystals. Rare resources used to forge weapons and armor.
Harsh tribute quotas bled every system of crystals, resources, and lives until they cracked. Children were torn from families through conscription.
Most were never seen again. The vault inventories painted the rest of the picture.
Mountains of Fire-aspected mana crystals gleamed in digital displays. Rare elemental natural treasures, Ice Lotuses, Stone Hearts, Water Pearls, all harvested or seized.
Weapons blackened with fire-essence filled armory after armory. Armors tempered in molten flame lined countless racks.
Aurelia's lips pressed tight. "These vaults shine because of the deaths of countless innocents."
Silence fell over the group. They all knew the truth, they had inherited this, yes.
But this felt more like a prison than power.
They wanted to see it for themselves, so they left the outer ring and traveled to the Inner Ring.
Using the new clan seals bound to their Nodes, the gates opened with a grinding screech, revealing the land once held by Drakenholt.
What awaited them was ruin.
The once proud Drakenholt hall loomed, its obsidian walls scorched and cracked like broken teeth. Blood still pooled in the courtyard stones, dark stains that hadn't yet dried.
Rival clans had struck in the chaos after Tharion's death, slaughtering elites. Scorch marks from fire spells blackened the towering pillars.
Dozens of administrators, inscribers, and vassals from the twenty-three systems waited in trembling clusters. Their robes were torn, faces gaunt with exhaustion and terror.
They caught between fear and desperate hope as Adrian's group approached. Their star systems now belonged to the Origin Clan, binding them to this new ruler whether they willed it or not.
"Look at them," Elara whispered, her golden eyes soft with pity. "They're terrified."
Thomas's hands clenched. "They expect us to be monsters."
Inside the broken hall, a middle-aged man stepped forward from the cowering group, his movements careful and measured.
His robe was plain grey, his face lined with years of exhaustion that had carved deep furrows around his eyes. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of countless burdens.
"I am Varik. Former overseer of logistics for the Drakenholt territories."
He bowed deeply, the motion practiced from decades of survival. "I managed the flow of tribute, armies, and reports for all twenty-three systems… before the Patriarch's death."
His gaze lifted briefly, meeting Adrian's, "Now, I serve you, Lord Adrian."
Adrian studied him through narrowed eyes. Varik wasn't strong, only S rank, but his loyalty was born of necessity, not choice.
A useful man, forged by fear into perfect compliance.
Varik straightened and began explaining quickly, like a teacher reciting lessons carved by pain. How the systems had been bled dry through impossible quotas that rose each year.
"Fire crystals, rare ores, young warriors, everything taken," Varik said, his voice hollow. "No matter the cost to the people."
His hands trembled as he spoke. "Families torn apart, Children conscripted and never returned."
Thomas's jaw locked tight. Elara whispered under her breath, "Monsters…"
"The people of those systems now look to you as their ruler," Varik continued, his voice dropping. "In hope… or dread."
Then the ground trembled beneath their feet.
The SSS-rank commanders of the armies entered through the shattered doorway, their boots echoing. Dozens of them, armored in blackened steel.
Their faces were masks of grim resignation. One by one, they knelt on the blood-stained floor.
The hall echoed with their unified voices. "By Imperial law and galactic decree, we acknowledge you as our lord."
The words rang hollow in the broken space. Their faces showed no joy, no relief, only the weight of serving another master.
None knew what awaited them under this new banner. Whether they would face mercy or a different kind of cruelty.
Adrian stood at the center of the blood-soaked hall, his parents, Aurelia, and the others arrayed behind him like pillars of strength. Before him knelt commanders, vassals, administrators, all chained to this name through conquest and law.
He looked at the kneeling commanders, at Varik's bowed head, at the vassals who dared not breathe. The weight of their fear pressed against him like a physical force.
"This…" Adrian's voice cut through the silence, "This does not feel like a clan."
His hand clenched into a fist, white-grey light seeping between his fingers, "You were treated as slaves, stripped of life and choice."
The light pulsed brighter, and several vassals flinched back. "From this day forward, that ends."
"I will not rule as Drakenholt ruled. I will not build power on chains and blood."
His voice rose, carrying the weight of absolute conviction. "We will rise together. The Origin Clan will be different."
The hall shuddered as if the ancient stones themselves believed him. Dust fell from the cracked ceiling like snow.
Varik slowly raised his head, his face showing something that hadn't been there before. He bowed again, this time not out of fear, but something closer to faith.
"Lord Adrian," he said quietly. "We… we are yours to command."
The vassals remained frozen, afraid to hope. The commanders kept their heads bowed, uncertain whether this was truth or another kind of trap.
But a flicker passed through the room, something that had been absent for centuries under Drakenholt rule. Something fragile but real.
Hope.
And so, in the ruins of one clan built on suffering, another truly began.