Felix Vance leaned over the armrest of his hammock, looking down at the crowd gathered at the end of the cedar walkway.
Emperor Heng-Luo had returned from his audience, and the news of the Sovereign’s hospitality had spread through the waiting fleet like wildfire.
Now, dozens of galactic rulers and sect matriarchs were hovering respectfully near the edge of the docking platform, holding their wooden deli counter tickets with both hands.
They stood in rigid, silent rows, their immortal robes tucked tightly around their legs to avoid stepping on the fresh lawn patches Felix had seeded along the orbital approach.
"Look at them," Felix muttered to Barnaby. "They're standing there like wallflowers at a high school dance. If they're going to wait forty minutes for their turn at the counter, they need seating."
Barnaby rotated his polished brass head, his internal atomic chronometer clicking with soft, rhythmic approval.
"A good lobby needs comfortable seating," Felix decided, nodding to himself. "If you don't provide chairs, people lean against the wallpaper, scuff the baseboards, and complain about customer service on the forums."
He pulled up the AetherDeck's construction suite.
With seventy-two levels of stellar core cultivation and the infinite mana grid of the solar Dyson Ring humming in his veins, basic carpentry in orbital space was as effortless as dragging a rectangle in a drafting app.
Felix tapped the green [Confirm Build] icon.
A wave of warm, rose-gold light rippled from the sole of his straw sandals and surged through the porch's cedar deck.
Out beyond the existing railing, the fabric of empty space seemed to weave itself into dense, fragrant timber.
Two magnificent ninety-foot wings of polished mountain cedar shot out from the eastern and western flanks of the platform, locking into geostationary alignment with a series of clean, satisfying mechanical thuds.
Along both wings, rows of sturdy, foldable cedar lawn chairs snapped into place, each fitted with unbleached cotton backrests and individual forest-green sunshades tilted at a comfortable forty-five-degree angle.
At the entrance to each wing, a small wooden signpost swung in the solar wind:
【GUEST WAITING LOUNGE: SEATS RESERVED FOR TICKET HOLDERS. PLEASE DO NOT PUT FEET ON THE FURNITURE.】
The ancient cosmic rulers standing on the docking platform nearly stopped breathing.
To Felix, he had simply spent a few spare building points to throw together some cheap patio furniture.
To the gathered gods of the dying universe, they had just witnessed a supreme creator-entity forge two vast celestial continents of pure divine World-Tree timber out of empty vacuum with a casual tap of his toe.
"The Thrones of Celestial Mercy..." whispered Sovereign Bai-Chen of the White Tiger Galaxy, his silver whiskers twitching in absolute awe. "He... he has created seating for the condemned!"
"Look at the divine wood!" Matriarch Lin of the Eternal Lotus Sect gasped, clutching her jade staff. "That is Five-Hundred-Year Spirit Cedar, free of all earthly knots and karmic splinters! Each slat radiates the tranquil breath of the ancient mountains!"
Emperor Heng-Luo, standing proudly at the front of the queue with his ticket `#001` pinned to his chest like an imperial medal, cleared his throat softly.
"The Sovereign's signage is absolute," Heng-Luo warned in a disciplined, hushed whisper. "Only those holding verified karmic tokens may take a seat upon the Sacred Lawn Chairs. And remember the supreme commandment: do not put your feet upon the furniture!"
The ancient gods nodded frantically, approaching the eastern wing with slow, trembling reverence.
Sovereign Bai-Chen held Ticket `#004`.
With heart in his throat, the great tiger god stepped onto the cedar deck, walked toward the fourth chair in the front row, and gently lowered his massive, armored frame onto the unbleached cotton slats.
The chair gave a soft, comfortable creak.
Bai-Chen’s eyes snapped wide.
The moment his body made contact with the seat, a profound, soothing wave of gravitational equilibrium washed over his meridians.
The terrifying spatial turbulence of the dying universe, which had threatened to rip his immortal soul into shreds for three weeks, completely vanished.
The forest-green canvas sunshade above his head filtered out ninety-nine percent of the harsh cosmic radiation, casting a soft, cool shade across his face that smelled of fresh summer grass and sweet water.
"My soul..." Bai-Chen choked out, tears pooling in his fierce golden eyes. "My inner heart-demon... it has gone to sleep!"
"Is it truly so wondrous?" whispered Patriarch Yan of the Scorched Earth Domain, holding Ticket `#005`.
"Sit, brother Yan!" Bai-Chen urged in an ecstatic, reverent whisper. "It is not merely a chair! It is a Throne of Karmic Forgiveness! The angle of the lumbar support conforms precisely to the natural curve of the Grand Dao!"
Patriarch Yan immediately took his seat, sinking into the cotton weave with a ragged gasp of bliss.
As Yan rested his forearms on the wide wooden armrests, he gasped again.
Carved into the end of each armrest was a circular recessed indentation, lined with polished copper rings.
"Look here!" Yan whispered excitedly, pointing a trembling claw at the recess. "A Divine Vessel Basin! It is precisely shaped to cradle a celestial chalice!"
Yan pulled a small gourd of thousand-year dragon-marrow wine from his spatial ring and slid the base into the cup holder.
The wooden recess gave a soft, magnetic hum.
A delicate thermal rune at the bottom of the holder flared faintly, instantly adjusting the temperature of the wine to an optimal sixty-four degrees.
"The Throne regulates the temperature of my wine..." Yan breathed, his lower lip quivering. "Even the great Ancestral Courts of the Nine Heavens never possessed hospitality of such divine elegance!"
Across the aisle, Matriarch Lin placed her porcelain tea gourd into her armrest holder.
The fragrant scent of jasmine and lotus blossomed in the cool orbital shade, untouched by the biting frost of the outer void.
Within minutes, sixty ancient sovereigns had taken their places in the western and eastern wings.
Kings who had spent ten million years slaughtering each other for territory, emperors who had incinerated whole solar systems in ego-fueled wars, now sat side-by-side in tidy, polite rows on foldable wooden lawn chairs.
None of them spoke above a whisper. None of them dared lean too heavily on the armrests.
When Sovereign Bai-Chen accidentally brushed the edge of his embroidered silk sleeve against the polished arm of his chair, he immediately pulled out a silk handkerchief and buffed the wood until it shone.
Meanwhile, back at the shuttle gangway, a minor commotion broke out.
Grand Elder Qiu of the Blood-Sun Sect, holding Ticket `#118`, approached a young disciple from the Lotus Sect who held Ticket `#012`.
"Young sister," Qiu hissed in a frantic, desperate whisper, pulling a shimmering spatial ring from his robe. "I will trade you nine celestial spirit veins and thirty ancient immortal swords for your ticket! Let me sit in the front row before the universe collapses!"
Before the frightened girl could answer, Emperor Heng-Luo appeared behind Qiu like an avenging shadow.
Heng-Luo’s hand clamped down upon Qiu’s shoulder with the crushing weight of an entire galaxy.
"Elder Qiu," Heng-Luo whispered, his voice cold enough to freeze magma. "Did you fail to read the divine terms of service? The Sovereign's tokens are soul-bound. Scalping and line-cutting are strictly forbidden under the supreme penalty of orbital towing. If you disturb this lobby again, I shall personally throw you into the solar wind."
Elder Qiu turned pale as chalk, frantically bowing and retreating to the back of the line.
A heavy mechanical clunk sounded from the porch's pneumatic delivery hatch.
Felix sat up in his hammock as the brass lid hissed open, revealing a stack of hand-woven straw seat cushions sent up by Lyra from the mountain peak.
A small paper tag was pinned to the top cushion:
*To Senior Brother: The Disciples of Solitude have woven twenty-four Meditation Pads of Pure Serenity for your honored guests.*
Felix shook his head with an amused chuckle.
"She didn't need to weave cushions," he murmured, picking up one of the pads and slipping it behind his lower back. "The cotton slats on those lawn chairs are already pretty comfortable. Still, extra lumbar support never hurts."
He opened his AetherDeck’s facility management dashboard to review the guest metrics:
"Not bad for a five-minute DIY build," Felix murmured, setting the slate on his stomach.
Down in the waiting lounge, the sixty seated sovereigns sat in profound, motionless meditation, their minds drifting into states of unprecedented clarity as they bathed in the seventy-two-degree cedar breeze.
Beyond the green canvas sunshades, the outer cosmos was dissolving into roaring clouds of gray entropy ash.
Entire galactic superclusters were vanishing into nothingness, their dying light winking out against the void.
Yet here, thirty miles above Aethelgard, beneath the gentle shade of cedar canopies, the surviving masters of the universe sat quietly in folding chairs, their drinks resting in wooden cup holders, waiting patiently for their numbers to be called.