The journey from the war-torn frontier to the pristine heart of the Empire was a study in contrast. Kaelen's personal warship, a sleek, dagger-like vessel, sliced through the swirling blues and purples of hyperspace, leaving behind the grit and grime of the Cygnus Rim.
He had spent the trip in silence while they were poring over after-action reports, but his mind was elsewhere. It is at the Imperial Palace, a place he loathed with a quiet and burning intensity.
When the warship starts to move from the black galaxy back into real space, the capital world of Corvus filled the viewport.
It was a jewel of civilization, a planet called ecumenopolis where gleaming spires pierced the upper atmosphere and rivers of light flowed through continents and cities.
From the eyes, it was breathtaking, a testament to the Empire's power and artistry but on the ground, Kaelen knew what filth is hidden in such mask of beauty the air was thick with something other than recycled oxygen: ambition, paranoia, and the cloying scent of decay hiding beneath a veneer of perfection.
His warship was descending to immediate clearance, bypassing the traffic that swirled around the planet. He was guided towards the Imperial city, the central pillar of the palace and the government, a structure so vast it generated its own weather patterns.
As he descended, the rugged, functional design of his military life gave way to an architecture of greed. Everything was polished marble, gleaming gold, and holographic banners depicting the emperor's benevolent visage. It was designed to awe, to intimidate, to remind every visitor of their insignificance in the face of Imperial might.
The landing platform was clean, organized by the Emperor's personal guard, the Praetorians, in their crimson armor and helmets. They moved with a silent, unnerving grace, their loyalty absolute, their humanity seemingly stripped away.
Two of them escorted Kaelen from his shuttle, their silence more oppressive than any threat. The air in the palace was still and heavy, a stark contrast to the wind-scoured plains of the frontier worlds he called home. Here, even the air seemed to be listening.
They led him through cavernous halls, his military boots echoing on floors so polished he could see the distorted reflection of the vaulted ceilings high above.
Courtiers in elaborate silks and jewels paused their whispered conversations to watch him pass, their eyes a mixture of fear, envy, and predatory curiosity.
He was the Emperor's Sword, a figure of immense power, but here, he was an outsider, a blunt instrument in a world of delicate intrigue. He ignored their gazes, his face a mask of indifference, but he felt their scrutiny like a physical weight.
The doors to the throne room were massive, carved from the petrified heartwood of a Sun-Tree, and they swung open without a sound. The room beyond was not as grand as one might expect. It was a space designed for intimacy and power, not for show.
The walls were dark, obsidian-like stone that seemed to drink the light. The only illumination came from the throne itself, a deceptively simple seat of black iron that pulsed with faint, internal energy. And on it sat emperor Valen.
The emperor was not a physically imposing man. He was of average height, with a scholar's build and features that were handsome but not remarkable. Yet, he commanded the room completely. His charisma was a palpable force, a gravity well that pulled all attention towards him. It was in his eyes that present sharpness and in the smile that played on his lips. It is a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, a fake smile that masked a chilling, bottomless ambition.
"General Kaelen," the emperor's voice was smooth yet carried an edge of steel. "The Hero of Cygnus. Approach."
Kaelen walked on the dark hall for a distance and knelt, as demanded, ten paces from the throne. "Your Majesty. I live to serve your majesty." The words tasted like dirt in his mouth.
"Rise, Kaelen. Rise." The emperor gestured with a casual flick of his wrist. "There is no need for such formality between us. Your victory was… perfect. You have secured the Cygnus and brought great honor to the Empire. The empire sings your praises."
"I serve the will of the Empire," Kaelen said, his voice flat.
The emperor's smile widened, but it held no warmth. "Indeed. And it is because of your unwavering loyalty and unparalleled skill that I have a new task for you. A special mission, of utmost importance and secrecy."
Kaelen's senses went on high alert. This was it. The reason for the summons. "I am yours to command, your majesty."
Emperor Valen leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that filled the vast room. "There is cancer within the empire, Kaelen. A rot that has taken root even among those who have sworn fealty to the throne. A traitor who has used his past glory as a shield to plot against the very heart of our civilization."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. Kaelen remained silent, his expression unreadable. He had heard rumors of dissent, of old noble houses chafing under Valen's increasingly centralized rule. He had dismissed them as the usual court gossip.
"This traitor," the Emperor continued, his eyes locking onto Kaelen's, "has been feeding information to our enemies. Not the brutes on the frontier, but more insidious rivals. He has weakened us from within, preparing the way for a coup. His actions, if left unchecked, could plunge the galaxy into another civil war."
"Who is it?" Kaelen asked, his voice tight.
The emperor's expression shifted to one of profound, theatrical sadness. "This is the most painful part, my boy. The betrayal is deep. The traitor is a man you know well. A man once held in the highest esteem." He let the silence stretch, a cruel, calculated pause. "It is your father."
The words struck Kaelen like a physical blow. He felt the blood drain from his face, a cold shock that momentarily stole his breath. His father? General Theron, a hero of the last great war, retired for over a decade? A man who lived in quiet seclusion on their ancestral estate, a man whose loyalty to the Empire had been the bedrock of Kaelen's own upbringing? It was impossible. It was absurd.
"My father is a loyal servant of the Empire," Kaelen stated, his voice dangerously low. It was not a question, but a declaration.
"Was," the emperor corrected gently. "He *was* a loyal servant. Power, or the memory of it, corrupts, Kaelen. His resentment at being put aside has festered into treason. We have irrefutable proof."
He waved a hand, and a holographic display shimmered into existence beside the throne, showing encrypted communications, financial transfers, star charts marked with sensitive starships positions. It was all circumstantial, easily fabricated, but it was presented as an undeniable fact making it obvious a frame-up scheme.
"I cannot allow this cancer to spread," the emperor said, his voice hardening. "An internal conflicts would occur that will tear the empire apart, casting doubt on the loyalty of our entire military command. It must be handled quietly. Surgically. By someone whose loyalty is beyond question, and whose connection to the traitor will ensure the task is completed with the necessary discretion."
The unspoken order hung in the air, cold and heavy. Eliminate the supposed traitor.
Eliminate his own father.
"You are the only one I can trust, Kaelen," the emperor finished, his voice once again soft, almost paternal. "Prove your loyalty. Cut out this rot, for the good of the Empire. For me."
Kaelen stood frozen, the polished floor seeming to fall away beneath him. He was trapped. To refuse was to be branded as a traitor himself. To obey was to commit patricide based on the word of a man whose ambition was as vast and as cold as the space between stars.
He looked at the emperor's face, at the chilling certainty in his eyes, and understood. This was not a mission. It was a test. A loyalty test from which there was no right answer, only ruin.