The Power of Creation
Copyright© 2026 by Vasantrutu
Chapter 15: Kingdom Boundaries Set
The village stirred.
Mira and Varun stepped out of the portal first, and moments later I descended from the floating island, my feet touching the ground with a soft thud that somehow echoed louder than it should have.
For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Then the village erupted.
People gathered in waves, whispers spreading faster than sound. Faces filled with awe, fear, disbelief—and hope. Before anyone could stop her, a figure came rushing toward me, forcing her way through the crowd.
The villagers parted unwillingly.
It was my mother.
She reached me and immediately began inspecting me from head to toe, her hands trembling as she checked my arms, my shoulders, my face—asking again and again if I was hurt, if I was hungry, if I was in pain.
It took time—gentle words and repeated assurances—before she finally calmed. When she was convinced that I was whole and unharmed, she let out a long, shaky breath, as though she had been holding it for days.
Only then did she notice what stood behind me.
She took a step back.
I followed her gaze.
One hundred and twenty families stood in perfect formation, silent and disciplined, their presence orderly yet overwhelming. They waited—patiently, calmly—for instruction.
I gave them a small nod.
Then I turned, searching the crowd until my eyes found the Village Head. Catching his attention, I asked him to arrange a temporary residence for our new guests.
He nodded without hesitation, beckoned a man forward, and issued quiet instructions. The man bowed respectfully and gestured for the families to follow. They moved as one, flowing away from the gathering without chaos or confusion.
Only then did the Village Head raise his voice, instructing the rest of the villagers to disperse. “We have matters that require discussion.”
The crowd slowly thinned.
Remaining were only a handful—Varun, Mira, my father, the Village Head, and the elder council.
I glanced upward.
The floating island was gone.
A moment later, a familiar presence brushed my mind.
‘Creation, darling,’ Light’s voice echoed warmly.
’I returned the island to the Dragon Realm. No need for unnecessary complications.’
I sent my thanks, relief mingling with gratitude, and turned back to the elder.
Together, we walked toward the former meeting hall.
Except ... it was no longer there.
In its place lay my future model—partially embedded in the ground where the hall once stood, as if the land itself had accepted it as a foundation. I paused, looking at the assembled group with a questioning expression.
Mira answered before anyone else could.
She explained everything that had happened while I was unconscious—the chanting, the surge of mana, the disappearance of the hall, and the model’s transformation. I listened silently, then stepped closer to the model.
It had changed.
Subtle details had evolved, certain zones refined, others reinforced. It was no longer just a plan.
It was becoming real.
I nodded slowly.
Around the model stood a temporary arrangement—wooden log foundations placed in a wide circle, all facing inward toward the miniature kingdom. It was functional, but crude.
I sighed softly, then knelt.
Placing my palm against the ground, I focused.
The logs shifted, reshaping themselves into a smooth, circular wooden sofa with a high backrest, all facing the model. Then, with careful intent, I segmented it—creating wide gaps for easy entry and exit so no one would feel trapped or crowded.
Only when I finished did I rise.
“This will do,” I said quietly.
Once everyone had taken their seats, the Village Head opened the meeting.
“We have several matters that require immediate attention,” he said, his voice steady and authoritative. “First—who will receive the visitors and make the decisions on behalf of the settlement?”
All eyes turned toward me.
I straightened slightly but shook my head. “As we agreed earlier,” I said calmly, “I will not interfere in governance for now. I will be present only to observe and learn. If I feel something must be changed or added, I will make a request—but the decisions should remain yours.”
A murmur of approval passed through the elders.
The Village Head nodded, clearly satisfied. “Very well. Second matter—what of the families who wish to join us? Refugees, migrants, and those seeking protection.”
“I entrust that decision to you as well,” I replied without hesitation.
That answer seemed to settle many unspoken concerns. With authority clearly delegated and boundaries defined, the tension in the air eased. The meeting continued for some time after that—logistics, temporary arrangements, schedules—but nothing required my direct input.
By the time it concluded, the sun had climbed higher into the sky.
I returned home and shared the first meal of the day with my family. The conversation was light, almost deliberately so, as if everyone was avoiding the weight of what had begun. Afterward, I bathed, letting the water wash away the lingering exhaustion clinging to my body.
Then, as had become routine, I made my way to the altar.
I sat, steadied my breathing, and meditated.
It had been a long while since I had truly entered my core.
When my consciousness slipped into the void, the sight that greeted me made me pause.
The mountain was gone.
Not carved. Not hollowed.
Gone.
In its place stretched a vast, organized expanse. Stone-paved roads lay exactly where they were needed. Open land remained untouched where construction was planned. Checkpoints stood at key intersections, and security buffers had been raised with methodical precision.
Everything I had envisioned ... had been completed.
A chill ran through me.
I reached out, attempting to communicate with the floating land—the presence that had always responded before.
There was no reply.
Only a pulse of irritation brushed against my awareness. Not rage. Not hostility.
Anger.
After a while, when the emotion cooled slightly, I offered a promise—a large project, something worthy of its effort. Only then did the tension ease, though no words were exchanged.
Cautiously, I turned my awareness inward, surveying the rest of my void.
There were changes here as well. Subtle ones. Structural ones. The space felt ... denser. More mature. As if it had grown alongside me without my notice.
Before I could explore further, a pull tugged at my consciousness.
I opened my eyes.
I was being summoned.
The first visitors had arrived.
Representatives from the capital.
The first convoy was larger than expected.
At its head were familiar and unfamiliar faces alike—the village priest, the capital priest, a magistrate sent directly from the capital, and a small but disciplined company of guards. They had come prepared. Along with them was a reinforced chest, sealed with both arcane markings and official insignia.
We did not address business immediately.
Instead, we escorted them to the guest house and arranged for them to rest and partake in the second meal of the day. Courtesy first—appearances mattered, especially with capital eyes watching.
While preparations were underway, quiet instructions were issued.
Thirty families—out of the fifty we had already identified as uncertain—were informed to begin packing their belongings and prepare to leave the village. The decision was firm, deliberate, and final.
The reaction was immediate.
They pleaded.
Some fell to their knees, swearing loyalty they had never shown before. Others spoke of shared history, of growing up together, of sacrifices made. A few even tried to bargain.
We listened.
Then we refused.
They were informed that once the boundaries of the new territory were fully established, an official envoy would be sent to the capital for open recruitment. At that time, anyone—including them—would be free to apply under the same conditions as outsiders.
That answer did not satisfy them.
They demanded residences within the Inner Circle.
That request was rejected without discussion.
The Inner Circle was not negotiable.
However, we did offer one concession—if they were willing to accept housing in the Outer Circle, under the same laws and oversight as future non-core citizens, they would be allowed to return after the transition was complete.
That offer silenced most of them.
Some accepted bitterly. Others left in quiet resentment. A few departed with eyes burning—not with anger, but with calculation.
With that matter concluded, we dispersed to our respective homes for the second meal of the day. The rest was brief but necessary. No one spoke much; everyone understood that this was only the beginning.
Once the sun dipped further and the guests had settled, we reconvened.
The real meeting was about to begin.
The one that would decide how the capital viewed us—and how much pressure would soon follow.
The meeting began in the guest house, with the village head formally introducing each visitor. We sat across a long table—my father, Mira, Varun, the elders, and myself—while the capital’s representatives observed everything with carefully neutral expressions.
The village priest was the first to speak, glancing around the structure with a faint frown.
“I was told the meeting hall was destroyed. Yet I see no ruins.”
Before anyone else could answer, the village head calmly replied, “It was dismantled for reconstruction.”
That was true enough. Before this meeting, I had already used my creation power to hide the model and erase all visible traces of what had truly happened there. The truth was not something we were ready to reveal yet.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.