The footsteps were close now.
Too close.
Emrah's grip tightened around the two weapons—the living revolver humming softly, the Infinity Blade resting in his other hand, its form unstable, as if resisting the concept of being hidden.
His mother's voice came again, clearer this time.
"Emrah? Are you alright?"
The doorknob turned.
And then—
The system activated.
"Emergency condition detected."
"Threat: Exposure of Weapons of Infinity."
"Unlocking auxiliary ability."
Emrah's breath caught.
"What—" he began.
"Ability unlocked: Pocket Dimension."
The room seemed to fold.
Not visually—not dramatically—but conceptually, as if space itself briefly acknowledged something it was never meant to contain.
"Pocket Dimension designation: King's Domain."
"Status: Outside of time."
"Access: Subject Infinity only."
The weapons vanished from his hands—not dropped, not teleported in the conventional sense, but removed from reality entirely.
Emrah staggered slightly, instinctively reaching for them—
—and felt them.
Not in the room.
But elsewhere.
Waiting.
"King's Domain is a private dimension," the system continued calmly.
"Weapons stored are untraceable, immutable, and unaffected by temporal flow."
"This space will evolve alongside Subject Infinity."
The door opened.
Leyla stepped into the room, worry etched across her face.
"Emrah," she said gently, rushing toward him. "You looked pale. Are you sure you're okay?"
He stood there, cane in hand, heart racing—but empty-handed.
Harmless.
Human.
Emrah forced a small smile.
"I'm fine, mother," he said, steady despite the storm inside him.
Behind his eyes, somewhere beyond time itself, a domain had been claimed.
And a king had taken his first breath within it.
Emrah descended the stairs beside his mother, his cane tapping softly against the marble with each measured step.
The moment he appeared, the room shifted.
Excitement flashed openly across Efsun's face, her composure cracking just enough to betray how closely she'd been watching the staircase. Efsane, more restrained, straightened where she stood—eyes sharp, assessing, yet undeniably focused on him alone.
Uncle Mehmet was present as well, seated near the center of the room with the rest of the Ergün family gathered around him. The air was thick with unspoken authority, alliances layered atop old tensions.
This wasn't a visit.
It was a convergence of power.
As Emrah reached the final steps, his pace slowed deliberately. His leg faltered—just enough to be noticed, just enough to sell the lie.
Efsun moved instantly.
She crossed the room without hesitation, slipping her hand into his as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Careful," she said softly, supporting him.
Emrah allowed himself to lean on her for a brief moment, grateful for the cover—and for her warmth.
"Thank you," he murmured.
She smiled, pleased.
Together, they reached the center of the room where Emrah took his seat—an imposing chair upholstered in deep red, its high back and sharp lines resembling a throne more than a place meant for comfort.
He settled into it with practiced calm.
"Thank you, Efsun," he said again, more clearly this time.
From his seat, Emrah looked around the room—at the families, the expectations, the careful watching eyes.
To them, he was a fragile heir.
A clever negotiator.
A man surviving on borrowed time.
None of them knew that moments ago, he had hidden gods in a place beyond time itself.
And as the gathering began, one thing was clear—
This was no longer just a family meeting.
It was a gathering of powers.
Efsane had just watched Efsun take his hand, and her thoughts drowned her all at once.
Not stepping in front of him.
Not hesitating.
Not asking permission.
Her fingers tightened at her side before she realized it.
So that's how she's playing this, Efsane thought.
It wasn't the touch itself that bothered her. It was how natural it looked. How easily Emrah accepted it. How effortlessly the room allowed it.
Efsane had survived rooms like this her entire life—rooms filled with men twice her size, twice her age, twice as cruel. She had learned to read danger before it moved, to feel shifts in power before words were spoken.
And this—
this was dangerous.
Efsun smiled too freely. Too brightly. Like someone who believed she had already won.
Efsane's jaw tightened.
Don't forget why you're here, she reminded herself.
This isn't about affection.
This is about leverage.
Still… her eyes betrayed her, drifting back to Emrah.
The cane.
The careful movements.
The measured breathing.
He looked fragile.
But something about the way he sat—the unhurried stillness, the way his gaze never searched for approval or reassurance—made her uneasy.
Men who were truly weak never looked that calm.
The moment Emrah settled into the red chair, conversation resumed—but differently.
Carefully.
Adil Saygın was the first to speak, folding his hands together.
"We appreciate your hospitality, Emir Bey," he said smoothly. "After recent… misunderstandings, it is good to sit together as partners."
Haznedar nodded. "Agreed. What happened last night could have ended very differently. We are grateful it did not."
Eyes flicked—subtle, instinctive—to Emrah.
He said nothing.
He simply listened.
His gaze remained unfocused, distant, as though the effort of sitting upright demanded all his strength.
And yet—
No one spoke over him.
No one rushed.
Even Emir Aybeyli noticed it now.
The room was unconsciously orbiting his son.
"As discussed," Emir said cautiously, "this venture is meant to stabilize our interests. Shared operations. Shared oversight."
"Shared accountability," Haznedar added.
A pause.
Still Emrah said nothing.
He adjusted his cane slightly, resting both hands atop it. A small movement. Almost involuntary.
Adil's eyes narrowed.
He's thinking, Adil realized.
Not reacting.
Calculating.
Efsun leaned forward eagerly. "This partnership is unprecedented," she said. "But if anyone could make it work—"
She glanced at Emrah, smiling.
"—it's him."
Efsane didn't look at Efsun.
She watched Emrah.
And for just a heartbeat, his eyes lifted.
Not to Efsun.
Not to his father.
To Adil.
The look was brief. Barely there.
But Adil stiffened.
It wasn't threatening.
It wasn't defiant.
It was measuring.
Like a man deciding whether something was worth keeping.
Emrah's gaze drifted away again, returning to its distant calm.
The silence that followed was heavier than any command.
Emir cleared his throat. "My son is listening. When he speaks, it will be with intent."
No one argued.
They waited.
Because somehow—without saying a single word—
Emrah Aybeyli had already taken control of the room.
Emrah lifted his gaze slightly. "Tea."
The request was simple. Not a command—yet no one mistook it for a suggestion.
A cup was placed in his hand moments later. He wrapped his fingers around it, inhaled the steam once, then took a slow, deliberate sip. The room waited.
Only after setting the cup down did he speak.
"The reason we must cooperate is simple," Emrah said calmly. "We all have enemies."
No emphasis. No threat. Just fact.
"If we support one another unconditionally—like a single family," he continued, "then those enemies lose their leverage. Their plans fail before they even begin."
His eyes moved across the room, unhurried, touching each face without lingering.
"This partnership exists to create something larger than any one of us. A collective of leaders who control the flow of this industry in its entirety." A brief pause. "Together, our combined influence is more than enough to neutralize every rival who thinks they can challenge us."
No one interrupted.
"I know you all understand this already," Emrah said. "I'm simply reminding you—so we don't lose sight of the goal before this meeting ends."
He leaned back slightly, fingers resting atop his cane.
"Please," he finished softly, "continue."
The discussion stretched on for another hour.
Terms were refined. Territories outlined. Supply routes adjusted. Old grudges were buried beneath signatures and quiet nods.
Eventually, consensus was reached.
Silence followed—not the awkward kind, but the expectant kind.
One by one, their gazes shifted.
To Emrah.
They didn't ask him directly. They didn't need to.
A partnership like this required a center. A neutral ground. A place untouched by surveillance, enemies, or history.
And somehow, instinctively, they all believed Emrah already had one.
Emrah remained still, eyes lowered, fingers resting loosely on the handle of his cane. To anyone watching, it looked like fatigue. Thoughtfulness. Restraint.
Inside his mind, he spoke.
System.
The response came instantly.
"Listening, Subject Infinity."
Is there a possibility, Emrah asked calmly, to use a fraction of the pocket dimension—cloaked, stabilized—without exposing its true nature? A place they can access… without realizing what it really is.
There was a pause.
Not hesitation.
Calculation.
"Query acknowledged."
"Analyzing dimensional partitioning."
The room waited. The most powerful people in the city waited—while a man they believed to be half-broken decided their future.
"Result confirmed," the system replied.
"Pocket Dimension may be segmented."
Emrah's pulse remained steady.
"A sub-layer can be created," the system continued,
"Detached from temporal control, masked as a physical location."
Meaning? Emrah asked.
"To external observers," the system explained,
"the space will register as a conventional structure."
"An underground facility."
"A repurposed site."
"A secure compound."
A beat.
"Reality anchor required."
Emrah's eyes lifted slightly.
And the truth?
The system's voice lowered.
"The truth will remain inaccessible."
"They will never perceive the boundary."
"They will never sense time distortion."
"The space will obey your will alone."
A subtle warmth spread through Emrah's chest.
Risks?
"Minimal," the system replied.
"So long as you remain present, or conscious of the space."
"Designation recommendation:"
"Neutral Zone."
"Operational Nexus."
"False Anchor."
Emrah chose silently.
Do it.
There was no flash. No tremor.
Only confirmation.
"Sub-dimension initialized."
"Cloaking protocols active."
"Access permissions restricted to approved individuals."
"Pocket Layer successfully deployed."
Outside his mind, the room had gone completely still.
Emrah finally looked up.
"There is a place," he said evenly.
Every head leaned forward—just a fraction.
"A secure location," Emrah continued, "off the grid. No records. No past ownership. No interest from outside parties."
He paused—not for effect, but because he didn't rush truths.
"It will serve as our joint operational center."
Uncle Mehmet's eyes narrowed. "Who controls it?"
Emrah didn't answer immediately.
He lifted his tea cup again, took one last sip, then set it down.
"I do," he said calmly.
No challenge followed.
Not because they were afraid—
but because, somehow, every instinct in the room told them this was already decided.
Above them all, unseen and unmoving, time itself watched.
And for the first time—
it did not object.
Emrah said calmly let me take you to the place.