The long, narrow passageways within the walls of the Morningstar seemed colder, emptier than Raven remembered. The air felt stagnant, as if the ship itself had forgotten the warmth of life, and the echoes of their footsteps seemed swallowed by an unsettling stillness. The dim glow of overhead lights cast elongated shadows, as if the ship itself had tired of its endless, winding corridors. Raven, the Supreme Minister, and his entourage moved quietly, their footsteps muffled against the steel beneath. Her eyes darted ahead, scanning every dark corner. Sorath was out there, somewhere, and the thought twisted her insides. She had no idea whether she could trust him. He had changed since the last time they met; his once unwavering demeanour now seemed restless, and there was a darkness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before—a darkness she couldn’t ignore.
Yet the love she once held for him still flickered in her heart, a stubborn ember refusing to be snuffed out. Memories of their time together, training side by side, crept in as she led the group. She could almost hear his laughter, the rare sound that had made even the hardest drills bearable, or feel the reassuring warmth of his hand on her shoulder when she doubted herself. She could still see Sorath’s face, covered in sweat after a brutal drill, as he looked at her and smiled. That smile had been her lifeline back then—a beacon that pulled her through the toughest days, a promise that there was more to life than the relentless tests of the Royal Guard. In stolen moments, they shared laughter, a small, intimate rebellion against the rigorous world they had been forced into. The weight of what they had—what they lost—settled over her like the cold, oppressive steel walls of the ship, enclosing her in a chill that seemed impossible to escape.
She carried a secret, one so deeply buried she sometimes convinced herself it was gone—a secret about the night she and Sorath had shared a bond that went beyond mere camaraderie, a night that changed everything between them. It was something that bound her and Sorath more tightly than anyone else knew. A memory, a promise, a night when words had been spoken that neither of them could take back. She had always believed she would take it to the grave. But now, as they moved through the cold, hostile corridors of the Morningstar, she wasn’t so sure. What would happen if she told Sorath the truth? Would it change anything? Would it bring him back from the shadows that seemed to haunt him now?
The ship was on high alert; Raven knew they were being hunted. The Morningstar was a fortress, and they were mere intruders trying to escape with their lives. Ulri and his men were ill-suited for this kind of stealth—they were politicians, not soldiers. Their clumsy movements and constant missteps made Raven’s task infinitely harder, each noise putting the entire group at a greater risk of discovery. Their nervous movements betrayed them, and just minutes ago, one of them had stumbled over a loose pipe, the clang echoing through the passageway like a death knell. They were accustomed to standing behind podiums, using words as their weapons, not sneaking through enemy territory with danger lurking around every corner. They clung to the comfort of Raven’s presence, trusting her to protect them as one of the late Emperor’s most formidable Royal Guards women.
Raven had tried to hail her squadron, but there was no response. The communications were being jammed—it was clear the Morningstar was prepared for them. The tension in her muscles was unbearable. Every turn in the passageways brought them closer to potential death. Ulri, too, had tried his personal communicator, but he met the same silence. She knew he had a special battalion standing by, ready to deploy at a moment’s notice if his signal disappeared—a safeguard against his death. The technology beneath his skin—a small, almost invisible implant—sent a constant signal, a reminder that Ulri was still alive. And if that signal stopped, the consequences would be swift.
The group paused, pressing themselves against the cold walls as the sound of heavy doors opening reached them from somewhere up ahead. Ulri’s face went pale, his eyes wide with fear, while another member of the entourage clenched his jaw, his breathing shallow and erratic. Their collective fear was palpable, a silent tension that made Raven’s pulse quicken. Raven strained her ears; voices floated down the passage, carried by the stale air. The enemy was close, and they were searching. She wondered, not for the first time, if Sorath had betrayed them. The thought tore at her—did he really want her dead, or was he playing some deeper, inscrutable game? She remembered the warmth they once shared, and the doubt gnawed at her, leaving her torn between hope and the cold reality of their situation. Was he buying them time, or was this all a twisted game to him—a cat-and-mouse hunt where they were the prey? She forced herself to stop thinking about him. She had a job to do, and she couldn’t afford to let her emotions cloud her judgment.
“Sir, I need you and your men to hide in here,” she whispered, pushing open the door to a small, empty storage room. It was unremarkable, with no distinguishing features—just a cramped space with shelves lining the walls. “Stay quiet, and don’t come out until I give the signal.”
“Where are you going?” Ulri’s voice was tight with frustration, his eyes searching hers for an answer. They both knew what was at stake. The Empire teetered on the edge of collapse, and if Ulri were to die, there would be no clear path forward—no plan for what came next. The emperor was gone, and without a Supreme Minister, there would be chaos. Raven could see the fear in his eyes, the knowledge that the fate of the Empire rested on whether they made it off this ship alive.
Raven looked at him, her expression softening for just a moment. Ulri’s shoulders slumped, and he swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he clutched the edge of his cloak, his vulnerability laid bare. “Trust me,” she said. “I will get you out of here.”
She closed the door before he could respond, sealing them inside. Her heart pounded as she moved back into the corridor, her senses on high alert. She had to find a way to draw the enemy away—to give Ulri and his people a fighting chance. As she moved, she couldn’t help but think of Sorath again, of the man he had been and the man he had become. She wanted to believe that the Sorath she loved was still in there somewhere, beneath the darkness, beneath the restlessness that had taken hold of him. But she knew better than anyone how the Order changed people. It had changed her, too.
Meanwhile, Sorath observed surveillance footage of the group navigating through the ship’s hidden passageways. His eyes narrowing as the images flickered across the screen. Captain Stanley stood beside him, his posture rigid with tension.
“You just let them go?” Captain Stanley’s voice cracked with agitation, his face flushed with disbelief. “This must be reported to Iphis at once!”
“There’s no need, Captain,” Sorath replied, his shoulders stiffening, the air around him thick with barely contained frustration. He turned toward the hologram projector, pressing a button on the console that flashed for several moments, unnoticed by anyone except Sorath.
“Mother?” Sorath spoke, a layer of indignation concealing the subtle tremor of unease beneath.
“You shall know your place, Sorath!” Iphis snapped at him.
“Your beloved son has allowed our prisoners to escape through hidden passages in the ship. Passages I wasn’t even aware of!” the captain almost shouted as he stepped into the recording area.
“I shall not stand for such infantile behaviour, Captain! Step aside!” Iphis’s nostrils flared, her eyes darting with fury, and her tightly clenched fists betraying her anger. “I hope you have a plan, Sorath.”
“I do.”
The captain stepped aside, his face reddening with shame at Iphis’s rebuke, a flicker of surprise crossing his features at Sorath’s unexpected boldness. This newfound assertiveness suggested a deeper strategy, one that eluded the captain’s understanding. Perhaps he had spoken too hastily.
“If I hadn’t let them go, what would have happened here on Prion? We would have risked declaring war on our largest ally, the Order’s oldest friend. We can’t afford to lose them. My plan is to let them go and track them back to their capital. Once there, I will do everything in my power to convince them that I am the right person to lead the Empire. All I need is to persuade the Supreme Minister and the Commander of the Royal Guard to support my claim to the throne. As for you and your…” Sorath glanced at the captain with disdain, “…pets, your only job is to stay out of my way and let me do what I do best.”
Sorath seemed confident, his eyes glinting with determination. He believed that he had already gained their trust by letting them escape. Now, he only needed to prove to them once and for all that he could be relied upon.
“Be careful, Sorath. You are walking on thin ice. Are you sure this plan of yours will work?” Iphis paused, her gaze shifting past the hologram toward her council, as if seeking their silent consensus.
“If I fail, it will be my final act among the living.”
Iphis agreed to his plan. He hadn’t expected her approval, but it was a welcome bonus, and the satisfaction of silencing Captain Stanley was an added benefit. Captain Stanley had been Sorath’s greatest adversary since he had assumed command of the Morningstar. However, Sorath needed him to trust him and start showing him the respect he deserved. Sorath glanced at the captain from the corner of his eye as he bowed to Iphis, just before she ended the transmission. The apparent displeasure on the captain’s face told Sorath everything he needed to know.
“Call back the guards and have them conduct a sweep of the Consular deck,” Sorath ordered. He turned to another officer and continued, “Prepare my ship. I will be departing shortly.”
Raven moved through the labyrinthine corridors and secret passageways, her eyes scanning desperately for an exit. She was sure they had taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way. Hearing approaching footsteps, Raven pressed herself against the cold wall, her breath catching as guards rounded the corner. She prayed they hadn’t seen her—and they hadn’t. One of their communicators beeped, and a guard answered. Raven listened closely, her body sagging with relief as she heard that the search had been called off. The voice on the communicator relayed that the group hadn’t been detected on the security system, and they were now instructed to search another sector. Raven silently followed the guards to a large door they had passed multiple times during their search for a way out. As it opened, she realised, to her dismay, that they had unknowingly walked past the very hangar they needed to reach several times before.
Raven made her way back to Ulri and the others after the door closed again. They were all waiting patiently in the small, cramped room, but Raven could see the tension building in Ulri’s expression. His face was flushed, and he looked irritated, clearly uncomfortable with the stifling heat and the smell of sweat that filled the room.
“We are free to leave,” she said, signalling them to follow her into the hallway.
Hesitantly, they moved along, gathering in the corridor. Without wasting any time, Raven led the group swiftly toward the hangar door where they would find a ship to fly back to Prion.
“But we came from here. Why are we going back?” Ulri’s voice was tinged with frustration.
“We passed the door we were supposed to go through. Trust me, Supreme Minister, I will have you back on Prion within the hour,” Raven replied firmly. Ulri sighed, the reassurance calming his frayed nerves. He needed that—this entire negotiation had been a disaster from the beginning.
If the Grand Assembly found out what had transpired on the Morningstar, they would immediately reject any appointment of an Emperor and push to vote on transforming the Empire into a Federation. Though that was exactly what Ulri desired, it wasn’t the right way to achieve it. He still pledged allegiance to Torne, and if the Empire could no longer serve the Order, it would be dissolved completely.
In no time, Raven had led Ulri and his delegation to the hangar door. Without warning, it slid open. Fortunately for them, the hangar beyond was empty, and the door was partially concealed behind stacks of ammunition crates. If the guards Raven had seen earlier were still in the area, at least they had some cover. She instructed the politicians to crouch down, keeping low to avoid detection. Slowly, they made their way to a better vantage point behind the crates as Raven scanned the hangar. She spotted the ship they needed—still no sign of anyone around.
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They hurried across the open floor and reached the ship. Ulri struggled up the ramp, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his face turning a deep shade of purple. A harsh wheeze escaped him as he tried to cough, his exhaustion evident. Raven fired up the engines, the roar echoing through the hangar and triggering the security systems. Suddenly, hundreds of troops began flooding in from all directions. The situation had just turned dire once again. Ulri’s expression twisted in anger and frustration, sweat streaming down his face. He was exhausted from all the running and hiding—he needed this ordeal to end.
Raven managed to get the ship airborne just as the troops began firing, bullets and energy blasts riddling the hull and damaging the engines. The ship swayed violently, making it hard to control, but Raven fought to keep it steady as they sped out of the hangar and into the vastness of space above Prion. Outside, they faced even more resistance. The station’s outer defences had been activated and were now firing at them. Raven’s squadron, seeing her personal beacon lit up, knew she was in trouble and launched an attack on the outer defences to provide cover.
“They’re targeting our cannons, sir!” shouted one of the bridge officers, his voice barely audible over the chaos as personnel scrambled to respond, trying to bring the ship to full combat readiness.
“You see what you’ve done, Sorath!” Captain Stanley fumed over the communicator. “This ship cannot be easily repaired without a proper docking station. For your sake, I hope—”
“Just be quiet, Captain,” Sorath cut him off. He was tired of the captain’s complaints. His attention was fixed on the battle unfolding in space. He wanted to see what the Royal Guard was truly capable of. He knew the Morningstar could withstand an assault from a handful of small fighter crafts—even a hundred of them. He wasn’t particularly concerned about the vessel’s integrity.
“Where are you going?” Captain Stanley demanded furiously over the communicator.
“I am going to win myself an empire,” Sorath replied.
The ship was heavily damaged, with air leaking into the vacuum of space, and it was losing altitude fast. Raven hadn’t flown a damaged ship in years. Peace had mostly prevailed across the Empire, interrupted only by the occasional terrorist attack from deep-core pirates demanding better tariffs on the black market of Prion, or the occasional brief uprising. Protecting the Emperor had been far easier than this, she thought.
There were few places on Prion suitable for a crash landing. The planet’s surface was dominated by sprawling cities, and any mistake would result in civilian casualties. Raven’s squadron followed her into orbit, ensuring no enemy ships pursued or fired upon them.
The Supreme Minister’s private battalion had been alerted to the situation and deployed, while the Morningstar, now a clear target, could no longer remain in orbit.
“Sorath, we need to retreat. The Morningstar is not ready for battle. Return to the ship at once!” Stanley’s voice came through, thick with anger as usual. Sorath, however, saw this as the perfect chance to move forward with his plans. Without the ship’s imposing presence in orbit, persuading the peace-oriented people of Prion to align with him would be far easier.
“Withdraw the Morningstar to outpost AVH-1726. It will be safe there,” Sorath commanded.
The Order of the Ipsimus had secret outposts scattered throughout the galaxy, and AVH-1726 existed solely to monitor and report on Prion. Fortunately, Prion’s inhabitants were unaware of its presence.
“Very well, as you wish,” the captain replied, signing off. Within minutes, the Morningstar disappeared from orbit, leaving Sorath alone.
He kept his gaze fixed on the trajectory of the burning ship. Raven, he mused, truly believed they had escaped by their own wits. It was fortunate that Iphis had seen the potential in his plan; without it, they could have lost Prion forever.
In the distance, Sorath noticed a vast open-air park—it appeared to be the safest place for Raven to land the damaged vessel. He suspected that was where they were heading. Determined to surprise them, Sorath decided to arrive ahead of their crash. He found a parking area not far from the park, one that could accommodate his ship, and touched down.
The ship was becoming increasingly difficult to handle; Raven could no longer control their trajectory as they hurtled straight toward a large park. She had initially aimed for the park, knowing it was not typically frequented by Prion’s residents. It was a secluded space for the wealthy to escape the hustle of the city. However, piece by piece, the ship began to break apart, with most of the systems offline and the hull breached, filling the interior with thick smoke.
A tractor beam activated from the district surrounding the park, attempting to slow the ship’s descent. It was standard technology distributed across Prion’s surface, designed to prevent accidents from causing catastrophic damage. On a crowded planet like Prion, where orbital accidents were common, such technology was vital for protecting the unsuspecting masses below.
The tractor beam gently lowered the burning ship to the ground. Emergency robots were already on the scene, ready to assist. Ulri emerged from the wreckage, covered in grime, his face flushed with anger. He nearly stumbled as he exited, his expression a mix of fury and exhaustion.
“How could they attack us like that in broad daylight? There will be swift retribution!” Ulri shouted, his voice trembling with rage. Raven offered no response, simply helping the short, plump man steady himself as he struggled to stand.
Before Ulri could fully regain his balance, a division of his private battalion landed, securing the area. They had received his distress signal and arrived, prepared for combat. The battalion’s General disembarked with the troops, eager to assess the situation and report back to high command on the Supreme Minister’s condition.
“Your Excellency,” the General said, approaching Ulri. “The ship in orbit has retreated. We were expecting an earlier distress call from you.”
“They must have jammed our signals. Both the Commander of the Royal Guard and I tried to make contact,” Ulri replied, still visibly frustrated.
“Indeed, it appears so. Rest assured, we will get to the bottom of this,” the General said, saluting Raven before stepping aside.
To Ulri’s surprise, Sorath was brought forward, his hands bound behind his back in handcuffs. Sorath offered them both a disarming smile.
“We tracked him as he followed you during re-entry, sir. He admitted to being the Admiral of the fleet that attacked us, though we have yet to verify his claim,” the General explained.
“If anything, this man simply let us go,” Raven interjected.
“This man tried to get us killed!” Ulri snapped. “Take him to the palace barracks. We will deal with him in due time. Ready the fleet—we must intercept the Morningstar.”
Ulri was furious. Raven looked at Sorath and gave an indignant smile; Sorath returned the smile, his expression more hearty and friendly. He knew they wouldn’t keep him for long. If they attacked the Morningstar, Captain Stanley would not retreat; he would retaliate, plunging this sector of the galaxy into total war. Ulri had enough authority to command a full-scale war against anyone, though Prion was not known for its conflicts. Instead, they were known for their pacifism.
Sorath was moved to a heavily armoured transport—excessive, perhaps, but understandable after Ulri witnessed his capabilities on the ship. Sitting alone in the back, Sorath wasn’t worried. Instead, he leaned back, closing his eyes. Raven, however, couldn’t stand to see him locked away and insisted on accompanying him. The General allowed it, as she outranked him in the military.
Sorath heard someone enter the transport with him; opening his eyes, he saw Raven seated across from him on the metallic bench. She stared directly into his eyes, and he could sense a longing in her gaze.
“We probably would have served together under the emperor if I hadn’t been taken away to serve in the Order of the Ipsimus,” Sorath broke the silence, his voice soft. Raven’s intense gaze was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. She smiled, but it was a bittersweet expression, filled with words she couldn’t quite voice.
“It would have been easier to serve if you’d stayed,” she said after a moment. “We never got the chance to say a proper goodbye.”
She fell silent, her eyes dropping to her hands. She struggled to maintain her emotional armour—the one she always wore as Commander of the Royal Guard. Weakness among the Guard’s leadership was unacceptable; they needed to be ready to lead at any moment, unwavering and strong.
“I could have used your help in the years after you left,” she added, her voice quieter.
“It wasn’t my choice,” Sorath replied. “You don’t understand the nature of those I serve. They wouldn’t have allowed me to stay. My duty is to the Order, and now to the Empire. They want me because they believe in me more than they do in my brother…”
Raven cut him off, her agitation growing. “So this is what you’re going to do? We’re trying to talk about us, and you’d rather discuss your duty?” Her frustration was evident. Sorath knew he had to tread carefully—she had always been guarded, looking for reasons to distrust. She hadn’t changed. But being Commander of the Royal Guard had only deepened her sense of duty.
“All I’m saying is—” Sorath began, but Raven interrupted again.
“I don’t care what you’re saying… Sorath! You abandoned me. You thought duty was more important than us. And just when I’d finally moved on, you come back into my life, bringing back all those memories and tearing everything apart again!” She was shouting now, her emotions boiling over. All her years of training couldn’t have prepared her for this moment. She had hoped never to see him again, and yet here he was.
“There is no one else like you,” she growled, her voice breaking. “Or like the person you used to be.” She sank down onto the metal bench, resting her face in her hands. Her elbows dug into her knees, and she felt the sting of tears threatening to fall. For once, she let herself feel the exhaustion—the hurt she had kept locked away for so long.
Sorath didn’t know what to say. Compassion had become a foreign concept to him over the years, and guilt was almost unfamiliar. So he simply sat there, watching Raven unravel before him. Seventeen years of pain boiled over in front of him, a torrent she could no longer contain. He didn’t blame her for any of it.
“I’m sorry.” It was all Sorath could manage. Raven looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. She tried to speak, but no words came. Instead, she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Everything was going to be okay. Everything had to be okay, as it always had been. She took another deep breath.
“You could have come back,” she said, her voice trembling with a mix of longing and anger. “You could have found a way, even if it meant risking everything. You left me alone, and I had to rebuild myself without you.”
“You know that would have been impossible,” Sorath replied.
She opened her eyes, tears still welling. Her thoughts raced, her emotions a chaotic mess.
“I don’t believe you. Why are you back now?”
Sorath knew he had to be honest with her; there was no fooling Raven. He was bound by his oath to the Order of the Ipsimus—never to fail in his mission. Risking that mission went against everything he had been taught. Yet he also knew that failure was becoming a growing possibility. If Iphis gained control of the Order, she might show leniency. But if Torne remained in power and discovered his disobedience, it would cost Sorath his life.
“Raven,” he said, her name sounding sweet on his lips. She couldn’t help but long to hear him say it again. She missed him, even now.
“What do you know about the Order of the Ipsimus?” he asked after a long silence.
Raven had known nothing about the Order until she began investigating the emperor’s assassination. She only knew that they intended to send someone named Izzar to be crowned emperor, and she knew nothing of this person. The Order’s existence was shrouded in secrecy, and the little she knew about Izzar came from listening to a recording on Ulri’s private computer while he was out of his office. What she heard was enough for her to vow to stop this appointment.
“Enough,” she said curtly, unwilling to divulge more. The less Sorath knew, the better.
“The Order operates in secrecy. The fact that you even know about it is alarming, and I’m obligated to report it to the Archons,” Sorath began. “The Order of the Ipsimus manipulates galactic politics to align with its agenda. We are sworn from birth to serve the Epsimus and the Order. In my case, my mother was the daughter-in-law of the Epsimus, which meant she had no choice but to dedicate me to the Order. Being related to the Epsimus makes me more valuable than most, but not as valuable as my brother—or, rather, my half-brother. If I hadn’t started serving when I did, they would have found us and killed both my mother and me.”
“Wait,” Raven interrupted. “You’re telling me that the Epsimus is your relative, and he would have killed you and your mother if you refused to join?”
“That’s correct. Even if I had children, they would be required to serve the Order. Otherwise, they—along with me and whoever bore them—would be killed.”
Raven’s expression shifted, a flicker of shock crossing her features. Something in her demeanour told Sorath she was hiding something. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what it was.
“How do you kill your own family?” Raven’s voice was tinged with disbelief.
“You don’t understand the nature of the Order,” Sorath replied. “We have no choice but to accept things as they are and follow the laws without question. That’s why I had to leave, and why I never came back. This assignment—to become Emperor of Prion—is not something I chose.” He lowered his head and sighed.
“My mother is planning to kill the Epsimus, and it is my responsibility to ensure that Prion remains loyal to the Order. I’ve been told my grandfather is very old—older than anyone else in the galaxy—and over the years, he has built strong relationships with politicians and the late Emperor of Prion. If he is killed by someone within the Order, the entire alliance could collapse, plunging Prion into a war it cannot afford. As evil as my grandfather may be, he still holds the balance of the galaxy in his hands. In an instant, everything we know and love could change if he decided so.”
Raven was still in shock. How could she have missed this? She had seen the late Emperor meeting with someone secretly late at night, away from prying eyes. She could never see clearly who he was speaking to in the holograms; it was always clandestine, the figure cloaked and concealed.
“Why would your mother want to kill her own father?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“He’s her father-in-law. She has no emotional ties to him,” Sorath said. “But her reasons are beyond my understanding.” He had never truly stopped to consider his mother’s motives. He knew she wanted Torne dead and Izzar out of the picture, but the reasons remained unclear.
“Perhaps it’s seizing power for herself,” he added after a pause.
Suddenly, a beeping sound came from beneath Sorath’s cloak, drawing both their attention. He recognised the tone instantly—it belonged to only one person.
