Antionette was guiding Matthias through the palace of the Empire. It was an impressive construction by any conventional measure, which was precisely why he found himself cataloguing it rather than admiring it. The entire structure was marble, granite, and hardwood — materials quarried, transported, shaped, and maintained at a scale that implied staggering expenditure. Polished floors reflected the glow of crystal chandeliers with mirror clarity, forcing careful steps from anyone unused to such surfaces. Each footfall produced a restrained echo that traveled farther than seemed necessary before dying in the high vaults above. The air carried the layered scents of beeswax polish, cedar oil, and long-cooled incense, the sort of curated mixture that suggested constant upkeep rather than recent use. Cool stone pressed through the soles of his boots, unchanging and indifferent to the sunlit bands spilling through tall arched windows.

  The number of mages required to produce so much finished material alone must have been extraordinary. Matthias would also have to admit, if pressed, that it was ostentatious — not in ornamentation alone, but in the sheer refusal to allow anything to appear unfinished, worn, or repurposed. Precious metals traced edges and borders throughout the halls, thin seams of gold and silver that caught the light with calculated efficiency. Murals, drapes, and tapestries covered nearly every wall, leaving very little bare stone visible. Their colors remained vivid, their scenes frozen in triumphs that had no dust, no smoke, no blood, and no aftermath. The fabrics were thick enough to dampen sound when they shifted, releasing faint notes of wool and old dye.

  Servants moved with disciplined quiet, soft shoes whispering over the floors as they adjusted decorations, polished already immaculate surfaces, or carried items whose purposes were not immediately obvious. No one lingered. No one spoke above a murmur. Somewhere in the distance, metal chimed softly — regular, controlled, and quickly silenced. Matthias had long since stopped trying to count how many people must be required to sustain a place like this. Their labor was most visible in what was absent: dust, clutter, wear, or any sign that the building endured the same world as everything outside its walls. Even the potted plants were trimmed into obedient shapes, their soil hidden beneath decorative stone, as though uncontrolled growth itself would be considered a flaw.

  "His visitor chamber is just up ahead," Antionette noted.

  "Are you sure you want to be here for this?" Matthias asked.

  "I have to be honest with him," she confessed. "When you head across the ocean, I am going with you. My kin can thrive over there just like the Fey."

  "You know that he will want to follow as well," Matthias said with a sigh.

  "He has his own Empire here," she replied. "He has his own responsibilities. Besides, naval development is a slow process, or so you claimed."

  "Building ships is not as simple as people think," he admitted. "Especially ships that can cross the distances they will need to follow."

  Their conversation ended as Antionette reached a door and knocked. Matthias heard only a muffled sound from within before Antionette opened it. Inside was a simple conference room. At the head of the table sat Maximus; to his left was his general, and to his right sat his minister of the interior. The room was plain but furnished with potted plants. The table and seats were nondescript. Matthias guessed the entire room was designed to remove as many distractions as possible.

  "Greetings and welcome," Maximus stated without getting up.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Antionette paused. She seemed to be analyzing the situation.

  "Ah, so that is how it is," she muttered.

  "And what do you mean by that?" the minister of the interior — a woman who looked to be a secretary bird of all things — asked with narrowed eyes. "For mere monsters…"

  "This is the Father of Monsters," Antionette said, pointing at Matthias. "Domain holder of life, narrative, monsters, and hearth. He is no monster; he is my father. He is akin to a god. In fact, he slew the avatar of Order and used her remains to handcraft an item he plans to entrust to you. And this is how you greet him?"

  "Lady Antionette," Maximus cut in as his companions paled at the realization of whom they were addressing. The general, a bear-man, held a stern expression, but Matthias detected the moment his heart skipped a beat.

  "It's fine," Matthias sighed. "I did not plan to stay long anyway. I just needed to drop something off before getting back to work. You know how things are, Maximus."

  With those words, Matthias placed a simple-looking holy grail on the table.

  "This cup is what I call a Holy Grail," Matthias explained. "It may look like a simple cup, but it is much more. It removes your connection to the system and integrates that power into your body. There are three outcomes. First, the power settles into your spirit and you become a cultivator. Second, it settles into your body and you become a Remnant. That means all that power is converted into stats and lifeforce. From what I have seen, Remnants are immortal."

  "And the third possibility?" Maximus asked.

  "Death," Matthias admitted. "If the energies are too much, you simply die. It should only be an issue for the elderly, the sick, or those far too young to use this anyway."

  "Why give this to us?" Maximus asked imperiously.

  "The system is decaying," Matthias said. "It may have stopped decaying since Order is trying to pay closer attention now, though. The leveling system is a direct connection to Order, and thus I would not trust it. This cup can break that connection. It does not matter what you drink from it, only that you drink."

  With that, Matthias slid the cup down the table to Maximus. Maximus was about to grab it when Matthias simply vanished.

  "He really is busy," Antionette noted. "The world spirit has him doing much of the work since this was his plan."

  "His plan?" Maximus asked.

  "Across the ocean he is working on new fertile lands," Antionette explained. "New monsters, new plants, new resources, and more energy to cultivate."

  "The world is getting bigger?" Maximus asked, eyes sparkling.

  "Much bigger," Antionette admitted. "I am going with him. I came today to say goodbye."

  Maximus paused. "Surely I could go with you… or maybe you could delay your departure?" he asked, hope tinging his voice.

  "I cannot delay," she replied. "You also cannot follow. You have a responsibility to your people here. Unless you ascend like my father, your responsibility is to them."

  Maximus snatched up the cup, filled it with water, and drank greedily, certain he was strong enough to endure what was to come.

  Maximus was a dragon cursed to the bipedal body of a mortal. He had two classes: six hundred levels in Dragon Emperor and six hundred eight levels in Legate. All that power now coursed into him due to how the cup functioned. Even the curse buckled under the authority of the Holy Grail. But he felt it the moment his biology betrayed him — felt it as his draconic nature drank deeply of the power pushing into him. Maximus needed no one to tell him that he was becoming a Remnant as his body claimed the power like it had been designed to do by the dungeon that had crafted him millennia ago.

  "I see," Antionette noted with a hint of sadness as the power fully settled into Maximus’s body. "You at least seem free of your curse. You should be able to control your size now. And as a Remnant, you can only die in battle."

  "But what is the point?" Maximus despaired.

  "The point is that we will meet again later," Antionette said. "Manage your lands. Save your people. Guide them as they grow. Then, one day, you will guide your kin across the ocean on ships."

  Maximus raised his head and looked deep into Antionette’s multifaceted eyes.

  "This goodbye is not forever," she promised. "I look forward to seeing you across the sea when you are ready."

  With that, she turned and left the room.

  "On second thought," the secretary bird said, "I think she is a good influence on our Emperor."

  Both men in the room glared at her.