As the kingdoms of Utopia slowly settled into a peaceful night, the lights dimmed one by one, and families prepared for rest. But within the palace, the sudden blare of warning alarms shattered the silence. The leaders of Utopia, startled by the commotion, were soon presented with a recording from the observatory.


    As soon as they played the message, a wave of horror filled the room. Agonized screams and distorted noises echoed through the speakers, making it nearly impossible to discern anything at first. Then, a trembling voice broke through, its tone laced with fear. The speaker desperately warned of an impending disaster—something approaching Utopia from beyond the sky. Its nature was unknown, but one thing was clear: it was not coming in peace. Before any further explanation could be given, the transmission was abruptly cut off by the speaker''s final scream, followed by eerie, deranged laughter and the gruesome sounds of repeated stabbing. Then—silence.


    The recording ended, leaving the leaders frozen in shock. A heavy dread settled over them as they struggled to process what they had just heard. Panic threatened to consume the room, but before chaos could take hold, another message arrived.


    At first, none of them dared to open it. Who knew what horror it might contain? But upon closer inspection, they realized the sender was none other than the King of Atlantis himself. A collective sigh of relief passed through the chamber. With cautious urgency, they opened the message.


    The King''s voice was hurried but firm. He informed them of the observatory''s last findings and commanded all kingdom leaders to assemble in Atlantis immediately. The reason was clear: a catastrophe from beyond the sky was coming, and Utopia had little time to prepare.


    Without hesitation, the leaders swiftly gathered their courtiers and set off for Atlantis. Upon arrival, they were escorted directly to the throne room, a grand hall that had not hosted such a gathering since the founding of Utopia itself. As they took their seats, their trusted advisors stood behind them, silent yet watchful.


    Though outwardly composed, fear lurked beneath their expressions. The weight of uncertainty pressed down on them, and unspoken questions filled the tense air.


    For a long moment, the King of Atlantis did not appear. Doubts began to creep in—was this truly happening? Had they misinterpreted the threat?


    Then, the massive doors behind them swung open.


    A royal announcer''s voice boomed across the chamber:


    "His Majesty, the King of Atlantis, has arrived."


    All eyes turned toward the entrance.


    The King stepped forward, his regal presence commanding the room. Unlike the others, he showed no signs of fear. His composed expression and steady steps radiated authority and confidence, a stark contrast to the turmoil within his audience. Behind him followed his most trusted magicians, top scientists, and the few surviving astronomers—those who had witnessed the horror firsthand.


    As he advanced, the assembled leaders instinctively rose and bowed in respect. The King acknowledged them with a nod before taking his seat upon the throne. With a simple gesture, he bid them all to return to their seats.


    His first words were spoken with measured calm:


    "I must first apologize for my delay. Before arriving, I conferred with my scholars and sent a rescue team to the observatory. Now, we shall begin."


    The air in the room grew heavier.


    This was not just a meeting—it was a discussion on the very survival of Utopia.


    The King wasted no time. He officially acknowledged the existence of the entity that had driven the astronomers to madness. This was not mere superstition—it was real. And it had a name.


    The scientists, after analyzing the data, had dubbed it:


    The "Star Eater."


    The King signaled for his scholars to present their findings. The room fell into grave silence as the report was unveiled. Three key concerns stood out:


    Its Colossal Size – Estimated to be one-third the size of Utopia''s moon, the Star Eater''s sheer mass meant that a direct impact could annihilate the planet.


    Spatial Distortion – The creature warped space around itself as it moved, making it nearly impossible to predict its trajectory, let alone stop it. Any attempt to intercept it would require precise calculations and extraordinary measures.


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    The Eyes of Madness – The most terrifying aspect. The Star Eater''s eyes were an enigma—those who gazed directly at them descended into instant insanity. Strangely, scientists studying indirect images of the creature remained unaffected, though they still described a profound, unnatural fear.


    One by one, the leaders examined a photograph of the Star Eater''s eyes. Even through mere images, the sight was disturbing—soulless voids that seemed to gaze directly into them, filling their minds with unease.


    Someone finally broke the silence:


    "What ability do these eyes possess? How does merely looking at them drive a person mad?"


    The King remained composed.


    "For that answer, you should hear it from someone who has experienced it firsthand."


    At his signal, one of the surviving astronomers stepped forward.


    The man was barely standing. His body bore deep wounds—scars inflicted by his own colleagues during their madness. His eyes were hollow, his face one of a man who had glimpsed hell itself.


    With a hoarse voice, he addressed the room:


    "Honored leaders… I, like my fallen comrades, am grateful for this audience."


    A leader impatiently interrupted:


    "Spare the pleasantries. We are running out of time."


    The astronomer nodded, taking a breath before speaking:


    "When we looked into the Star Eater''s eyes… we were no longer in our observatory.


    Our minds were dragged into another space, an abyss where an unknown liquid swallowed our feet and endless darkness surrounded us. From that darkness, shadows emerged—twisted figures that screamed and cursed us in words we could not understand.


    If we succumbed, we became like my colleagues—lost in madness forever.


    But if we resisted, enduring the torment with sheer willpower, we could break free. And when we awoke… not even a second had passed in the real world."**


    A shudder ran through the room.


    Though many leaders were relieved that strong willpower could resist the Star Eater''s influence, they also understood the horrifying reality—most common people would stand no chance.


    The King reassured them. His mages had devised a magical barrier capable of distorting the creature''s gaze, making it impossible to see its true form. However, shielding all of Utopia was impractical. The best they could do was fortify the major kingdoms and gather the population within when the time came.


    Additionally, the King proposed an array of anti-air defenses—artillery, magic missiles, and spatial warping techniques—to counterattack should the illusion spells fail. The method was untested, but with so little information, it was their best option.


    A leader hesitantly asked the question on everyone''s mind:


    "How much time do we have?"


    The King''s answer was cold, unwavering.


    "Five years… or less."


    A heavy silence fell over the room.


    As panic spread, arguments broke out among the leaders. Some proposed escape, others questioned if surrender was even an option. The room was descending into chaos—until a thunderous roar silenced them all.


    The Dragon King slammed his fist against the table, cracking the solid stone beneath it. His golden eyes blazed with fury as he rose from his seat.


    "Enough!"


    The sheer force of his voice sent a shudder through the chamber. His presence alone was overwhelming—a being who had led countless battles and whose name was spoken with both reverence and fear. He cast a scornful glance across the room, his gaze settling on those who had spoken of retreat.


    "Are you leaders… or weaklings pretending to be kings?"


    A heavy silence followed. The Dragon King scoffed, shaking his head.


    "You speak of fleeing like frightened prey, as if abandoning Utopia would save you. Do you truly believe an entity capable of devouring stars will simply let you escape? No… If we turn our backs now, we will die as cowards—hunted down one by one, without honor or resistance!"


    His words struck deep. The leaders averted their eyes, shame creeping into their expressions. The Dragon King''s lips curled into a smirk, but there was no amusement in it.


    "If you fear death, then fight. Prove that Utopia is worth saving. That our ancestors did not build this world for it to be consumed by a mindless beast."


    Silence lingered for a moment. Then, one by one, the leaders straightened their backs, their fear now tempered by the Dragon King''s defiance.


    The King seized the moment. He rose and spoke:


    "If you do not wish to be prey, then fight. This creature sees us as nothing—but I refuse to let it decide our fate."


    The King''s words struck deep, stirring something primal within the gathered leaders. Their fear boiled into pride—a burning defiance that refused to accept the fate of prey.


    They were warriors, rulers, and hunters. If death awaited them, then they would face it on their feet, with weapons drawn, rather than cowering in the dark.


    The chamber, once drowning in anxiety and hesitation, now roared with determination. A chorus of voices rose, declaring their will to fight.


    Amid the uproar, the Dragon King turned toward The King. A knowing smile crossed his lips—he understood the razor-thin line the king had walked. One misstep, and all hope would have shattered into despair. But the king had done it.


    He had succeeded.


    The King looked at him and smiled back, a silent acknowledgment between rulers who had weathered countless storms.


    The Dragon King joined them, his presence solidifying the resolve in the room.


    Yet the moment he turned away, King of Atlantis smile faded.


    The King''s expression darkened., his golden eyes narrowing as a deep silence fell over him. Something weighed on his mind.


    After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice steady but carrying an undeniable gravity:


    "Alright, everyone. I don''t want to ruin the mood… but there''s something we must address."


    The shift in tone silenced the room. Every leader sat down, their expressions turning serious.


    "You all remember the discussions I had with the scientists—the plan we devised to counter the Star Eater?"


    He let the question hang in the air.


    No one dared to interrupt. They were waiting.


    The King exhaled., then spoke the words that would decide their fate.


    "Now, I will tell you all about it. Not just a plan... but our one and only hope for survival."


    "The Abyssal Breaker Project."