It wasn’t sound in the traditional sense—more like a tone that vibrated faintly at the edge of Elias’s senses, like a distant note of anticipation held just long enough to be noticed but never resolved. He was beginning to love the quiet. In this space, he felt… sovereign. Unburdened.
But also aware of how much he still didn’t know.
He stood now with the Tower Panel before him again, watching the slow rotation of his planet. It had matured considerably since his first few days of tinkering. Forests spanned equatorial belts. Mountains stood sharp and proud along the edges of tectonic convergence. The first weather cycles danced through the clouds, bringing lightning to thunderheads and mist to lowlands.
Elias folded his arms, thoughtful.
“GAIL,” he said, “I need to understand something before I go further.”
“Yes, Administrator?”
“What exactly does a planet need to work? I don’t mean life—I mean function. What holds it together, literally and figuratively?”
GAIL hovered forward, its bronze plating gleaming faintly.
“An excellent question. Planets require the following for long-term viability, especially in the Tower’s synthetic construct model.”
A list populated before him:
Planetary Fundamentals:
Core Stabilization
Gravity Equilibrium
Magnetic Field Continuity
Atmospheric Cycling
Plate Tectonics
Tidal Regulation (Optional for moons or orbitals)
Solar Energy Flow
Radiation Balancing
GAIL elaborated on each, Elias listening intently. The core’s spin regulated heat flow, tectonics redistributed nutrients, the magnetic field protected life from radiation. He understood now why every little system mattered.
He felt like an architect learning not just how to build a city—but how to make sure the ground beneath didn’t fall apart.
He closed the panel slowly.
“I think,” he said, “it’s time.”
“For?”
“My first sapient species.”
GAIL didn’t chirp or whirr excitedly this time. It simply rotated and opened a new menu—massive, intricate, and rich with subcategories.
Sapient Species Creation Panel:
Morphological Design
Cognitive Layering
Emotional Range
Social Instincts
Language Archetype
Technological Ceiling (Unlocks with development)
Cultural Bias (Optional)
Essence Integration
Elias inhaled sharply.
“Before we go all in, I have to ask,” he said. “You’ve seen my fiction shelf, right?”
“Indeed. You favored high fantasy, noble races, and morally complex worlds.”
He smirked. “So. Orcs. Elves. Dwarves. Magical humans. That kind of thing—can I make those?”
“You are the Creator,” GAIL said smoothly. “Anything you can afford with Tower Points, you may design. Fantasy has limits only where your imagination ends.”
A thrill ran up Elias’s spine.
“Alright,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s get to work.”
He started with the basics.
He selected the Humanoid Template, then adjusted body ratios—taller than a human, more lithe. Their ears curved upward, delicate but distinct. Their eyes, he decided, would be large and luminous, reflecting the emerald canopy of forests. But he didn’t want to just copy elves.
So he renamed them: Alves.
Under Lifespan, he paused. He wanted these beings to see history, to feel the weight of centuries.
+15 TP: Lifespan Extension (600–800 years)
Purchased.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Then came the matter of magic.
He scrolled to the Essence Integration menu. A popup warned him: “Magic manipulation requires a source of ambient mana.” The world he had built had none by default. Infusing the entire atmosphere would cost hundreds—more than he could spare.
So instead, Elias gave the Alves something special.
+100 TP: Internal Mana Core (Invisible Soul-Linked Organ)
A self-contained source. It would generate mana slowly from within and draw in residual energies. But without external mana, it would stay dormant for most.
Unless…
“GAIL,” Elias said suddenly. “World Trees. Are they real?”
“Yes. They are categorized as biome-core phenomena—localized anchors of excess energy. One can be grown with limited TP but requires careful placement.”
“Are they… good for generating mana?”
“They are ideal—for species adapted to them. Less ideal for highly industrialized or subterranean societies.”
“Perfect,” Elias murmured.
He spun his chair to face the Geographical Transformations tab. The map of his world unfurled. He pinpointed a vast jungle basin at the planet’s equator. Thick with unbroken forest. Lush. Isolated.
He scrolled and selected:
+75 TP: Mana-Generating World Tree — Roots Extend to Core; Enriches Soil and Air in a 150km Radius
He dropped the tree into the jungle.
It took root instantly.
In the White Room projection, Elias could see the mana begin to bloom—hazy blue threads filtering into the air like soft mist. The ground began to glow faintly. Insects stirred in patterns they hadn’t before. Plants leaned slightly toward the tree like worshippers.
Elias grinned.
He returned to the Alves Design Panel, finalizing traits.
Social instinct: cooperative, non-hierarchical. Language: melodic phonetics, glyphic writing. Affinity: forest biomes, particularly high-canopy settlements. Special trait: star-shaped irises. Optional variance: High Alves — rare mutations of exceptional mana sensitivity and cognitive complexity.
Species Cost: 200 TP (Bundle of 500 individuals)
“Do it,” he whispered.
And he clicked Confirm.
A pulse of light washed over the White Room.
Then the jungle bloomed with life.
The Alves awoke.
They didn’t crawl or cry—they stood. Blinking, stretching, eyes wide as though they had emerged from deep, ancient dreams. They were adults, gifted with instinctual motor skills but no knowledge. They looked to the towering World Tree, drawn instinctively to its mana-rich heart.
Elias watched from above, his breath caught in his throat.
One among them stood still.
He had longer ears, sharper eyes. He stared upward, not at the tree—but into the sky.
Elias zoomed in, curious.
Name: [Unassigned] Classification: High Alve Age: 0 Status: Stable Mana Core: Active Cognitive Sync: 112% Linguistic Potential: High
A little icon pulsed.
Designate?
Elias didn’t hesitate.
“Jiron,” he said aloud.
Jiron Confirmed.
And as Jiron blinked, Elias spoke—into him, not with words, but with divine intent.
He planted knowledge like seeds. A concept of language. Simple magic. Writing. Shelter. Fire. Not enough to change the world. Just enough to start one.
He whispered a prophecy—not with grand declarations, but quiet conviction.
“Build. Not a kingdom. Not an empire. Build a place to belong. You are the first. You are not the last.”
Jiron inhaled sharply.
Looked at his hands.
And began to speak.
The Alves gathered.
They listened.
And then—just as Elias had done days ago—they began.
To imagine.
To build.
To dream.
Jiron stood beneath the arching roots of the World Tree.
He was motionless, save for the occasional blink. The other Alves milled around him, whispering in their strange, melodic tongue—barely more than instinctual syllables at this stage—but Jiron didn’t speak.
He was listening.
Above them, the tree’s branches swayed with a grace no wind could explain. Wisps of mana drifted in the air like pollen, glowing softly in the rising light. The Alves were born with lungs, muscles, cognition—but no culture. No past. They were blank pages—except for Jiron.
Elias sat in his conjured chair in the White Room, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the panel. He zoomed closer to Jiron, watching the slight furrow of the young Alve’s brow. His green irises shimmered faintly with threads of silver—residue from the mana core he’d given him.
GAIL hovered quietly at his side.
“He’s different,” Elias murmured.
“He is rare,” GAIL replied. “A High Alve. One in a hundred thousand births, by default.”
“But I gave them 500…”
“Statistically improbable,” GAIL admitted. “But not impossible. Perhaps your intent bled into the creation process.”
Elias narrowed his eyes. “Or perhaps the Tower knows what it’s doing.”
He didn’t speak again for a long time. He simply watched.
Jiron finally moved. He picked up a branch from the ground, examined it, and scraped it against a tree root. When it didn’t produce the result he wanted, he snapped it in half and tried again with a stone.
Sparks.
A small fire.
The other Alves gasped and fled at first. Jiron didn’t flinch. He huddled near the flame, as though it were something sacred.
+2 TP Earned: Technological Spark — Fire Mastered by High Alve
Elias allowed himself a small grin. “And so it begins.”
The days passed—at least, in simulated time. Elias adjusted the flow in the White Room to match a 10:1 ratio. Ten days on the planet for every hour that passed for him. It was just enough to let civilization tick without him losing oversight.
He created a large scrying field beside the Tower Panel—a window that constantly projected a top-down view of the Alves' settlement zone. GAIL helped him fine-tune the filters: tracking language growth, tool formation, mana usage patterns.
Jiron began carving symbols into the trees.
Primitive glyphs. They weren’t letters, not yet, but they held meaning. “Water here.” “Safe roots.” “Watch for snakes.”
And the Alves learned.
They followed.
They built.
Small domes of interwoven branches and massive leaves formed shelters along the banks of a stream. Jiron taught them to dry meat on hot rocks. He sketched shapes into bark and gestured until they mimicked his meaning.
It wasn’t leadership by command—it was leadership by example.
“He doesn’t speak more,” Elias observed. “He moves. Shows. Teaches without words.”
“Perhaps he is listening for the sky,” GAIL offered.
Elias glanced at her. “The sky?”
“He often looks upward. When alone. When lost. When thoughtful.”
Elias felt something tug at him. Guilt? No… something gentler. Something distant.
He watched Jiron stand at the edge of a cliff one twilight, looking at the stars.
And Elias, from his own vantage point in the White Room, whispered a simple phrase:
“You are not alone.”
Jiron didn’t react.
Not outwardly.
But he sat down. Closed his eyes. And breathed in rhythm with the wind.
On the fortieth day of their birth, the Alves held what could only be described as a gathering. Not a ceremony—not yet—but something close. They formed a circle around the World Tree’s roots, each holding a different item: bark, stones, leaves, feathers, bones. Offerings of identity.
Jiron stood at the center.
He lifted both hands slowly, then opened them toward the sky.
He spoke.
Elias leaned forward sharply.
The panel captured the words in raw glyphic script, translated roughly into:
“We are. Because the sky dreamed.”
A long pause followed.
Then another Alve repeated it.
Then another.
Until the whole circle whispered it together.
Elias’s breath hitched.
“They don’t know what a god is,” he whispered.
“No,” GAIL said. “But they believe something gave them breath. They do not know your name. But they know the feeling of a guiding presence.”
Jiron touched his chest with one hand, then looked up again.
“Thank you.”
It was quiet.
It was unassuming.
It was the first prayer Elias had ever received.
He stood in silence.
His conjured chair dissolved behind him.
And the White Room… didn’t hum this time.
It sang.