Late afternoon cast a warm, honey-colored glow across the terraces of Solitude Spire.
Inside the cottage bedroom, Felix Vance was still sleeping peacefully beneath his faded gray wool quilt, completely oblivious to the cosmos.
Out on the cedar porch, the white porcelain Infinite Cozy Teacup rested safely beside the glowing Soul-Pearl paperweight.
Underneath the table leg, the purple Sovereign Heart Seal held the cedar frame perfectly rigid against the deck boards.
On his brass perch, Barnaby the clockwork owl stood as quiet as a statue, the black rubber stopper clamped securely in his beak while he gripped his copper brush tip.
Along the roofline, Patriarch Ao Cang and the azure flood dragons snoozed contentedly above the fluted brass downspout.
Down by the fence, the Thunder Gryphon preened its feathers, letting out a soft, crackling chirp of contentment.
Down in the Pocket Garden, however, Lord Nether-Bane was leaning against his iron rake, looking up at the sky with a critical eye.
The former Ghost King adjusted his clean hemp apron over his spectral ribs, his skeletal jaw clacking thoughtfully.
"Look up there, lads," Nether-Bane said, pointing a boney finger toward the sky.
Beside him, his two spectral corsairs paused their weeding and looked upward.
Three miles above the peak, the one hundred and eight iron-spire dreadnoughts of the Western Sky Dominion were still revolving in their flawless, circular orbit.
However, the brilliant jewel-toned formation lanterns that had blazed so brightly during the night were beginning to flicker and dim.
The spiritual auras radiating from the ships felt weak, shaky, and desperately drained.
"The floating lanterns are losing their luster, Lord Captain," the lead corsair observed, scratching his spectral chin. "The crews haven't eaten or drunk in over twenty-four hours. If their spirit reserves run completely dry, their lanterns will extinguish before sundown."
"And that simply will not do," Nether-Bane declared firmly, clicking his teeth. "Master Vance likes a clean, well-lit garden perimeter. Those floating lanterns are currently our primary outdoor patio lighting. A dim lantern is an eyesore, and an eyesore is a direct insult to the Master's landscaping standards."
"Aye, Lord Captain! What are your orders?"
"We shall provide afternoon hospitality," Nether-Bane announced with stately pride. "No guest of Solitude Spire shall starve in our airspace!"
Nether-Bane immediately set to work.
He marched through the garden rows, harvesting five large wicker baskets of sun-charged tea leaves from the spiritual tea bushes growing beside the five-star Sun-Lotus Cabbage.
In the outdoor garden kitchen, the corsairs fired up the large copper cauldrons.
Using the residual solar heat circulating through the garden’s irrigation arrays, Nether-Bane brewed a hundred gallons of pure Nine-Sun Barley Nectar.
The golden liquid steamed with soothing solar vitality, holding steady at precisely 68.5°C.
Next, the corsairs brought out five hundred plump, snow-white steamed buns made from spiritual solar wheat flour.
Each bun was generously stuffed with diced Sun-Lotus cabbage, braised mountain mushrooms, and seasoned sesame oil.
When the bamboo steamer lids were lifted, clouds of fragrant, mouth-watering steam billowed into the afternoon air.
"Load the trolleys!" Nether-Bane commanded.
To reach the high-altitude orbital ring, Nether-Bane did not need flying swords or spatial talismans.
Solitude Spire was equipped with an intricate network of garden sky-lines and rope trolleys—a counterweight pulley system originally installed to haul mountain loam and fertilizer from the lower cloud terraces.
Because the white dwarf's frictionless orbital curve acted as a closed mechanical circuit, a simple guide cable hooked into the outer perimeter slid effortlessly along the orbital track like an aerial ski lift.
Nether-Bane and his corsairs strapped the steaming brass thermoses and towering bamboo steamer baskets onto six heavy iron sky-trolleys.
With a joyful rattle of pulleys, the former Ghost King and his crew stepped aboard and pulled the release levers.
*Zzzzzzt!*
The sky-trolleys shot upward along the guide cables, gliding smoothly toward the circling dreadnoughts.
Three miles above the peak, the command bridge of the flagship *Oblivion Talon* was a portrait of quiet, pious agony.
Grand Marshal Vane-Talon and his fifty bridge officers had been kneeling in synchronized prayer for sixteen consecutive hours.
Their lips were chapped, their throats were parched like dry desert sand, and their stomachs were growling loud enough to echo off the iron bulkheads.
None dared to move.
None dared to break their breathing rhythm, terrified that the slightest disturbance might offend the resting Sovereign below.
Suddenly, the starboard boarding hatch chimed with a polite, mechanical tone:
*Ding-dong.*
The sound struck the bridge like an explosive talisman.
Vane-Talon flinched, his blood running cold. "The boarding hatch?! We are in an isolated, sealed gravity orbit! Who could possibly ring the doorbell?!"
"The... the Void Executioners!" Vice-Admiral Gou wheezed, his eyes rolling back in terror as he clawed at the iron deck. "The Sovereign has awakened! He has sent his reapers to harvest our heads!"
"Prepare yourselves, men," Vane-Talon whispered solemnly, bowing his head in resignation. "Meet your karma with dignity."
The heavy iron airlock hissed.
The outer wheel spun, and the reinforced hatch swung smoothly open.
Through the mist stepped Lord Nether-Bane.
The towering skeleton was clad in a neatly ironed hemp gardening apron, carrying a gleaming brass tea kettle in one boney hand and a massive stack of steaming bamboo baskets in the other.
Behind him, two spectral corsairs pushed a rolling wooden service cart laden with porcelain cups.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Nether-Bane said in a cheerful, cultured voice, bowing from the waist with impeccable aristocratic decorum. "Apologies for the intrusion. On behalf of Solitude Spire and Senior Brother Vance, I have the honor of presenting your afternoon refreshments."
The bridge officers stared at him, their jaws hanging slack.
"Refreshments...?" Vane-Talon croaked, blinking in disbelief.
"Indeed," Nether-Bane replied, setting a delicate porcelain cup onto the command console before Vane-Talon.
The skeleton tipped the brass kettle, pouring a stream of clear, amber liquid into the cup.
A heavenly fragrance of roasted barley, wild mountain honey, and concentrated solar herbs instantly filled the entire bridge.
His Inspector HUD tooltip hovered faintly above the cup:
【Item: Solitude Nine-Sun Tea】 【Temperature: 68.5°C (Perfect Harmony)】 【Effects: Cleanses meridians, dissolves spiritual fatigue, restores 100% mana】 【Inspector Note: Mundane barley tea infused with passive stellar radiation from Felix's garden. To high cultivators, it tastes like distilled liquid enlightenment. To Felix, it's just Tuesday afternoon refreshments.】
"Served at precisely sixty-eight point five degrees," Nether-Bane noted helpfully. "Please drink while it is warm. And here are two steamed Sun-Lotus buns to restore your blood vigor."
A corsair placed two plump, piping-hot white buns on a clean bamboo leaf beside the cup.
Grand Marshal Vane-Talon stared down at the tea.
His throat was burning. His meridians were screaming for spiritual nourishment.
With trembling hands, he lifted the porcelain cup to his lips and took a slow, desperate sip.
*Gulp.*
The warm liquid washed over his tongue like melted silk and mountain nectar.
The moment the tea crossed into his throat, an explosion of pure, radiant solar vitality erupted through his chest.
It did not burn or scorch.
Instead, the pure golden energy surged through every meridian in his body, gently melting away decades of accumulated combat toxins, dissolving the stubborn impurities in his Golden Core, and soothing his exhausted soul with boundless, restorative peace.
Vane-Talon gasped, his eyes flying wide.
His vision cleared. His spiritual fatigue vanished in an instant.
He grabbed a steamed bun and took an eager bite.
The soft, pillowy dough gave way to the crisp, savory richness of five-star Sun-Lotus cabbage and spiritual mushrooms.
The burst of flavor was so overwhelmingly wholesome that it struck the hardened conqueror straight in his emotional core.
A tear welled in Vane-Talon’s eye.
Then two tears.
Then, a torrent of hot, uncontrollable weeping poured down the Grand Marshal’s weathered cheeks.
"The Nectar of Absolute Surrender..." Vane-Talon sobbed, falling forward until his forehead touched Nether-Bane's leather gardening boots. "He... he does not butcher his captives! He does not feed us the bread of humiliation!"
Across the bridge, officers were wolfing down steamed buns and gulping down hot tea, sobbing uncontrollably into their iron gauntlets:
"This tea... it healed my twenty-year meridian injury!"
"These buns... they taste like the warmth of my mother's hearth!"
"The Great Sovereign is not a tyrant... he is the Father of Universal Compassion!"
Via the still-active comm mirrors, identical scenes played out across all one hundred and eight dreadnoughts as Nether-Bane's corsairs completed their rounds.
Fifty thousand hardened warriors of the Western Sky Dominion were weeping in collective, hysterical gratitude.
"Lord Nether-Bane!" Vane-Talon cried, lifting his tear-streaked face. "Please, convey our absolute, unconditional submission to the Great Sovereign! We forfeit our imperial commissions! We renounce all claim to these skies! From this day forth, the Western Sky Armada pledges itself as the eternal outer lantern guard of Solitude Spire!"
"Splendid," Nether-Bane chuckled, clapping his boney hands together. "Keep the lanterns polished and the formation steady. Master Vance does not like crooked yard decor."
Twenty minutes later, the wooden screen door of the cottage creaked open.
Felix Vance stepped out onto the cedar porch, yawning widely and scratching his messy hair through his yellow dragon-scale poncho.
He had just enjoyed a legendary two-hour snooze beneath his 500-pound weighted blanket, and he felt like a million bucks.
He walked over to the cedar table, lifted his Infinite Cozy Teacup, and took a refreshing sip of barley tea at 68.5°C.
He glanced toward the garden path, noticing Lord Nether-Bane and the corsairs returning from the sky-line trolley terminal, carrying empty bamboo steamers and tea kettles.
A soft chime sounded from his poncho.
Felix pulled out his AetherDeck and looked at the notification:
Felix read the text, blinking in mild confusion.
He looked up at the sky.
The one hundred and eight iron dreadnoughts were still circling peacefully three miles above, their formation lanterns freshly polished and glowing with steady, warm light against the evening clouds.
Felix looked down at Nether-Bane, who was wiping off the wooden trolley with a rag.
"Hey, Nether-Bane," Felix called out, his voice casual and relaxed. "Did we have guests over while I was asleep?"
Nether-Bane bowed deeply from the lawn, his hemp apron fluttering in the breeze.
"Just a few weary travelers passing through our airspace, Senior Brother Vance," Nether-Bane replied smoothly. "They were admiring your garden lanterns. I took the liberty of offering them some afternoon tea and extra cabbage buns."
Felix smiled, taking another sip from his cup.
"Nice work, Nether-Bane," Felix said, nodding in approval. "Better to feed the neighbors than let the leftover buns go stale in the pantry. Waste not, want not."
Near the porch railing, Lyra Ashford stood with her hands tucked inside her silken sleeves, looking between the humble mortal on the porch and the weeping, surrendered armada in the sky.
*To conquer an entire empire without drawing a sword...* Lyra thought, her soul vibrating with transcendent reverence.
*To feed the very men who came to slay him with the bread of his own garden...*
*And to dismiss the absolute subjugation of the Western Sky Dominion as merely 'not letting leftover buns go stale.'*
*Senior Brother Vance does not rule through violence.*
*He rules through the effortless, infinite gravity of his peace.*
Lyra knelt beside the cedar table, bowing with utmost elegance toward Felix's slippers.
"Senior Brother's hospitality... has united heaven and earth."
Felix looked down at her, letting out a weary sigh.
"Lyra, please," Felix muttered deadpan, rubbing his temples. "I just woke up. If you're going to bow every time we finish leftovers, we're going to need a lot more tea."