Eighty-two years ago, before the sectors were divided, before the mines swallowed lives, and before the Capital rose into gold and arrogance, the land that would become Libria had still been unfinished.

At that time, the outer border remained unstable.

Beyond it lay wasteland, ruined cities from the old war, unknown creatures, poisoned lands, and scattered remnants of civilizations that had survived differently.

Inside a newly built command hall stood two brothers.

One wore military red.

His head was bald, his shoulders broad, and the red guard suit he wore still lacked the ceremonial decorations later added to Capital authority.

The other stood before a giant projection of the border lines, wearing a dark royal coat embroidered with silver threads.

The bald man bowed slightly and spoke first.

"The barrier upon the border hath been completed, my brother. With this, the threats of the outer world may no longer trespass upon our land."

The other man did not immediately answer.

Instead, he kept his eyes on the projected map.

Then his voice came, calm but carrying authority.

"Call me king."

The bald man stiffened immediately.

The older brother turned slightly and looked at him.

"That title shalt not be forgotten again."

The bald man lowered his head further.

"Yes... my king."

Only then did the king’s expression soften.

"Then it is well," he said, folding both hands behind his back. "If the barrier standeth true, then peace may at last take root. I desire only that our people may dwell here free from fear."

The projection shifted again.

Several marked locations glowed across the territory.

The bald brother glanced at them.

"What wilt thou do next, my ki—"

He nearly said brother again but corrected himself when the king’s gaze sharpened.

The king stepped toward the projection and raised one hand.

"Our research halls have confirmed the presence of portals leading unto alternate worlds. Such gates are not accidents, but opportunities bestowed by fate."

His finger moved across the marked zones.

"Thus shall sectors be established around those regions. Each sector shall serve a purpose. Industry, labor, extraction, research, medicine, engineering—every people shall be given work, and through that work, order shall endure."

The bald man listened carefully.

The king continued.

"We have already obtained formulas for Golden Genes and Silver Genes from beyond the portal worlds. Such gifts shall shape the future blood of our kingdom."

His voice lowered slightly.

"What remaineth unresolved is energy."

He looked toward the deepest highlighted zone.

"When we discover true refinement of power, this kingdom shall endure not for years, nor centuries, but for ages beyond counting."

The bald brother finally smiled.

"And what name shall this kingdom bear, my king?"

The king answered without hesitation.

"Libria."

That name became law within the month.

Soon afterward, sectors were officially announced.

Families were relocated.

Workers were assigned.

Industries were separated.

Some sectors became agricultural.

Some became medical.

Some became mechanical.

Some became extraction centers.

And some were built around secrets the public never fully understood.

At first, Libria truly had peace.

There was food.

Order.

Construction.

Growth.

People believed they had escaped the ruins of the old world.

For five years, the kingdom flourished.

Then everything changed.

Exactly five years after Libria’s founding, the king died.

Officially, it was declared sudden illness.

Privately, whispers spread and vanished quickly.

His younger brother ascended the throne immediately.

There was no mourning period.

No delay.

The bald man in red became ruler.

The first law he passed was taxation.

The second law demanded labor.

All able-bodied men from every sector were ordered to build a new Capital.

The work never stopped.

Stone.

Steel.

Gold.

Layers upon layers of construction rose at the center of Libria until the Capital itself became a monument to hierarchy.

Then came new rules.

The rich received privilege.

The poor received burden.

The sectors slowly became labor cages rather than communities.

Border guards increased.

Leaving Libria became impossible.

Records vanished.

The name of the first king disappeared from archives.

Portraits were destroyed.

Documents were altered.

The former queen was executed quietly.

The prince and princess vanished soon after.

No surviving official record acknowledged they had ever existed.

And the new ruler gave himself titles until titles became armor.

First Citizen.

The Apex.

President.

The one and only King of Libria.

His name became ceremonial law:

John Pmurt Dlanod

Years passed.

Power reshaped blood itself.

Golden Genes rose.

Silver Genes spread among upper classes.

Bronze-ranked enhancement became status.

And those without altered blood slowly became ordinary labor beneath engineered hierarchy.

---

In the present day, inside the golden heart of the Capital, the same ruler sat lazily upon an enormous golden sofa carved with beasts and crowns.

His skin shone with a radiant metallic gold, unnatural and flawless.

His body remained perfectly sculpted despite age.

Even his hair flowed in bright gold.

Before him floated life-sized hollow projections of the newly selected Capital Games participants from all sectors.

The models rotated slowly in midair.

He studied them with bored eyes.

Two silver-skinned women without clothing stood at either side of his throne, waving giant golden fans with practiced rhythm.

Neither dared speak.

The king shifted slightly and finally opened his mouth.

"Thy entertainment had best not fail me."

His voice remained smooth, but every servant nearby stiffened instantly.

He leaned his head against one hand and narrowed his eyes at one projection.

"If this game proveth dull, then shall I slay the maker of games myself."

A silver-skinned official standing nearby immediately bowed low.

"Yes, my king."

The official backed away carefully and exited.

Beyond the throne hall, the social order of the Capital remained visible even in movement.

Silver-skinned citizens walked confidently.

Bronze-skinned citizens stepped aside instinctively.

Those without altered skin looked with hidden envy at anyone carrying higher gene rank.

The official ignored all of them and stepped onto a hoverboard waiting outside.

The board lifted silently and carried him through aerial lanes toward the Game Maker complex.

As he entered the outer building, someone emerged through the opposite glass corridor.

A woman.

Silver-skinned.

Wearing glasses.

Her posture calm.

Her face unreadable.

If Tyler had been present, he would have recognized her instantly.

She was the same woman seen in the hidden laboratory footage—the one who had carried away the extracted liquid from the half-magma creature through the portal decades ago.

The official immediately bowed.

She gave only a slight nod in return and continued walking.

He watched her leave with narrowed eyes.

Then murmured quietly to himself,

"They are even bringing her this time."

His expression slowly changed into interest.

"It would seem these Capital Games shall be far more dangerous than usual."