Chapter 1: Where Did You Come From?
"My lord, I do not understand."
"Malcador, it is necessary. A preliminary experiment will reduce the margin of error."
Within a sealed laboratory complex buried deep beneath the Himalayan massif, two figures stood in silence before a nutrient tank. Suspended within the amniotic fluid floated a tiny infant, pale and motionless, umbilical conduits feeding data and sustenance into the fragile form.
The chamber hummed with restrained power. Gene-forges whispered. Sigils of warding glowed faintly along the walls.
…
What the hell?
Why is everything so sticky?
Yuki drifted in a fog of grogginess. She hadn't drunk that much at last night's gathering. Had she thrown up on herself?
Disgusting.
She needed to get up and shower.
She struggled to open her eyes.
A breathtakingly beautiful face filled her vision.
Silken white hair framed skin luminous as moonlight. Cherry-pink lips. Willow-leaf brows. And eyes — violet, crystalline, impossibly clear. The beauty was unreal, almost divine.
For a moment, Yuki wondered if she were looking at an angel from myth.
"Holy— wait. Who are you? I live alone. How did you get in?"
The other "person" mirrored her surprise perfectly, as if asking the same question.
Yuki reached forward.
Her fingers met something cold and smooth.
Glass?
Her mind sharpened.
She lay inside a capsule — a transparent pod. Beyond it stretched a vast golden chamber filled with unfamiliar instruments and arcane machinery. The beautiful face was not another person.
It was her reflection.
"Haha… this can't be real. I must be dreaming."
She had gone home, fallen asleep — that was all. How could she be here?
Where was here?
The sticky residue clinging to her skin and the chill beneath her palms argued otherwise.
Reality answered bluntly:
You're not dreaming.
"Surprised my foot! There's nobody here? Can someone explain what's going on?!"
Looking down, she saw her body wrapped in a viscous, translucent membrane — like a sculptor's protective film over a finished masterpiece. Her figure was balanced and elegant, not thin but perfectly proportioned.
"Damn… those legs."
Her voice emerged soft, slightly hoarse — the voice of someone newly awakened, low and clear enough for a late-night broadcast.
As she shifted, something brushed the back of the capsule.
Something attached to her back.
Unfortunately, the pod was too narrow to see.
"Hello? Anyone there? Anya? Sawandika? Anyone?!"
Her thoughts raced.
Looks like I transmigrated.
No idea where to.
Well… transmigrators usually get systems, right?
System?
System!
…
Nothing.
After several minutes of silence, Yuki accepted reality and decided to escape.
She inspected the capsule interior. No seams. No visible mechanisms. No release latch.
Only one way out.
Break it.
She pressed her palm against the inner surface. No tools. If it were reinforced glass, she might shatter her hand before breaking free.
Still — she had to try.
She inhaled deeply. The cramped space allowed only minimal movement.
Set stance.
Clench fist.
Strike.
A tremendous force detonated within the pod.
The transparent shell burst outward. Shards scattered like drifting paper.
"…Huh?"
Yuki blinked.
She had prepared for pain.
Her fists were flawless — not a scratch.
"So… I'm this awesome now?"
Stepping out, relief spread across her back.
She turned.
Clusters of immaculate white feathers unfurled behind her.
Wings.
Three pairs.
They extended slowly, radiant and pristine.
"A beautiful face… wings…"
"…Did I become an angel?"
She surveyed the chamber.
Magnificent. Opulent. Excessively gilded — as though a conqueror had tried to imitate divinity using gold alone.
Pipes connected the shattered tank to humming life-support engines. Translucent nutrient fluid pooled across the floor.
"This definitely isn't heaven."
Avoiding the unfamiliar devices on instinct, she approached the only exit.
The towering door was carved with intricate sigils and aquila motifs she could not decipher. Despite its thickness — solid metal, easily the width of her palm — it opened with startling ease.
Beyond lay a long corridor.
Polished stone flooring reflected soft lumen-light. Marble columns lined the passage, evoking the austere grandeur of an ancient imperial palace.
At the far end stood another door — immense, golden, and sealed.
Barefoot, Yuki walked forward, her wings rustling softly behind her.
At the door's center sat a glowing numeric interface.
A password lock?
She pushed.
It did not move.
She tapped several numbers — then stopped. A cold instinct warned her that entering the wrong sequence would trigger something unpleasant. Possibly lethal.
She withdrew her hand.
"…Guess I'll wait."
She sat cross-legged.
"With these wings… how am I supposed to sleep? Do angels even sleep?"
As her thoughts drifted toward the practical dilemma of celestial anatomy and toilets, a sudden sensation rose from deep within her being.
A pull.
A recognition.
Someone was approaching.
Someone important.
The feeling resembled a creation sensing its creator.
A father?
The father of angels?
The sealed door opened slowly.
Radiant golden light spilled into the corridor.
Two figures emerged.
To the left stood an elderly man cloaked in layered robes. Two strands of silver hair framed his thin face. He held a staff topped with a restrained psychic flame. Though imposing in presence, he stood no higher than Yuki's waist.
To the right stood a towering figure clad in auramite armor. His skin was bronze, his expression resolute. Black hair fell to his chest beneath a golden circlet. His eyes burned with restrained sunfire.
He did not merely stand in the light.
He was the light.
He looked down at her.
Yuki stared left.
Then right.
Her vision tunneled.
She fainted.
…
The Emperor of Mankind looked down at his unconscious eldest daughter and spoke to the Sigillite beside him.
"Am I truly so frightening?"
Malcador chuckled softly.
"Who can say, my lord?"