Zamir sat cross-legged on the bed, staring blankly at a fruit bowl filled with unidentifiable alien produce. The room was quiet, too quiet. The kind of quiet that made every thought echo in his skull.
"Fifty years," he muttered, still not over it. "Fifty years and I get thrown into intergalactic politics without even a tutorial."
He reached for what looked like a banana but turned out to be rock-hard. He set it down and sighed.
The silence broke.
A gentle chime played from the wall console, followed by a soft voice: "Your Radiance, the Chief of Staff awaits."
Zamir groaned. "Do I have to?"
"Yes," the voice replied, chipper and unforgiving.
Moments later, he was dressed robe pressed, crest polished, hair somehow combed by an unseen automaton. The door slid open to reveal the Chief of Staff, a tall, severe-looking avian woman with dark feathers and sharp eyes.
"Your Radiance," she said with a slight bow. "You're scheduled to address the Grand Chamber of the Imperial Senate in one hour."
Zamir blinked. "Senate?"
"The Assembly has requested your presence. It will be your first appearance before them since your return."
"Do I have to speak?"
"No. But your presence is mandatory. It will set the political tone for the new era."
Zamir followed her out of the private wing, still not fully awake. His feathers were a mess. His mind even worse.
Outside, the palace courtyard was already humming with activity. Guards in polished ceremonial armor stood in formation. Hover-drones lined the skies, forming a perfect diamond pattern. And at the center of it all—
"Tim?" Zamir said, confused.
Tim stood proudly beside a massive hovering transport, decked in banners of the Solarii crest. He wore a sash that read Royal Attendant to the Divine Sovereign in a font far too large.
"Good morning, Your Radiance!" Tim beamed. "Your royal procession is ready!"
Zamir squinted at the floating tank-bus hybrid vehicle. "Is this… necessary?"
Tim patted the side. "This is tradition. The Senate expects pageantry. The sight of you arriving in glory is half the reason they're even showing up in person."
Zamir sighed. "Can we skip the glory?"
Tim gasped. "Skip—Sire, the banners have been pre-pressed. The fanfare is tuned to the Solarii anthem. The pigeons are synchronized!"
"…pigeons?"
"Ceremonial pigeons, yes. Imported from the Aviary Moon of Dalas."
Aren't we Birds????
Before he could argue further, the Chief of Staff cleared her throat. "We are on a schedule."
Zamir climbed into the transport and slumped into the velvet seat. The vehicle lifted with a soft hum. Around them, escort vessels took flight, forming an honor guard in the skies.
As they passed over the city, citizens watched from high balconies and walkways. Some bowed. Others cheered. A few simply stared.
"Do they think I have a plan?" Zamir murmured.
Tim, ever oblivious, nodded. "They know you have a plan."
Zamir looked down at his talons. "I barely know what I'm doing."
Soon, the Senate Tower loomed ahead—a colossal spire of stone and steel that pierced the clouds, wrapped in floating rings and banners of every world in the Empire.
The procession touched down on the massive landing platform. Rows of elite guards snapped to attention. Advisors, ministers, and staff lined the entry ramp.
The Senate Chamber awaited.
"Will it be easy?" he asked the Chief of Staff.
She didn't look at him. "No."
Zamir stepped out.
Before him loomed the Imperial Senate Tower, a structure so tall it vanished into the clouds above Holy Terra's capital spires. Its surface shimmered with gilded latticework, woven with energy channels like veins pulsing light. The banners of each planetary dominion fluttered in a synthetic breeze, projected from atmospheric generators.
And with that, the doors to the most powerful political body in the Solarii Empire slowly opened.
A massive platform awaited, flanked by ceremonial guards in psychic armor—Praetoria, again. At the center, a glass-like lift stood open, glowing with faint blue light.
Tim stepped up beside him, practically vibrating. "Your Radiance, I have drafted your opening words. A speech that will ignite the galaxy's soul!"
Tim was about to start his proud introduction to his radiant sovereign, but a sharp voice rang out from the lift.
"This is not a civilian gathering, Spokesman. A simple introduction will suffice."
The voice belonged to Senate Marshal Rhakis, a tall, grizzled avian in old armor bearing scorch marks of real battles. He had no ceremonial glow. No decorative sash. Just raw presence.
Tim immediately deflated.
Zamir hid a smirk.
The lift hummed and rose. Faster than it should have. No rails. No safety lines. Just a clear tube accelerating up a kilometer-high vertical shaft.
"Would the Senate be easy?"
"No."
Zamir held onto the side for dear life as his stomach tried to eject itself.
The Senate Chamber opened like a cathedral turned inside out—spherical, vast, with zero gravity.
Suspended platforms rotated slowly, each one surrounded by banners of their assigned world. Hundreds of worlds. Dozens of factions. The seats formed a halo-like constellation around the chamber's center, where Zamir's throne-podium hovered—separate, raised, alone.
Even breathing felt difficult.
A quiet chime rang through the space.
"Assembly recognizes the return of His Radiance, Sovereign of the Solarii Empire, Voice of Light, He Who Bears the Black Wing."
Tim hovered nearby on a small platform, eyes gleaming.
And then he opened his beak.
"From the depths of divine silence, He returns! Like dawn after eternal night—"
"Spokesman."
That same cold voice cut in.
"You've been recognized. That is enough."
Tim's pedestal rotated away, silenced like a muting spell had been cast.
Zamir floated alone.
Dozens of eyes locked on him. Some curious. Some cold. Most calculating.
He swallowed and gave a faint wave. "Hi."
No one responded.
A platform drifted forward—elegant, wreathed in soft petals and living vines. A humanoid plant-creature bowed deeply, leaves folding like fingers.
"Honored Sovereign. I am Va'Tali of Carnila. We rejoice at your awakening. May the light of your return bless our harvests."
Polite. Flowery. Safe.
"We humbly request—now that the tides of divine silence have lifted—that the blockade on outer-trade be reconsidered. Our people wither under policy that denies mutual prosperity."
Zamir opened his mouth to respond. But another voice cut in.
"Rejoice? Some do. Others wonder if your return is... too late."
A second platform hovered forward—darker, made of interlocked bone-colored alloys. Xur'Raga of Caraptis stood wrapped in ceremonial robes that looked more like bandages.
His voice was soft, slippery.
"Our fleets sent to reinforce the Core Sectors never returned. Our tithe ships left full but returned... empty. Shall we also trade faith for survival, Sovereign?"
Zamir could barely breathe.
A third platform roared forward—yes, roared, propelled by thrusters. Covered in iron plating and draped in torn war banners.
A massive, horned figure stood atop it.
"We don't ask for permission."
That was Aven'Rox, leader of the third vassal—conquered warriors, once enemies, now uncomfortably loyal allies.
"Our children die to uphold your silence. While others posture, we bleed. Give us command of the southern frontier. Let us conquer again, in your name."
Her words were fire. Her tone? A test.
Zamir's head spun.
The room dimmed slightly. An AI voice spoke.
"Assembly will now enter open discussion."
The platforms began rotating.
Some delegates whispered.
Some shouted.
Some began trading votes across digital lines—motioning policy, requesting power, offering trades.
A storm of politics.
Zamir sat frozen.
Vel'Zharon's voice echoed through his comms. "Remain calm, Sovereign. Your presence is enough."
Zamir whispered back. "That's the problem. My presence is all I have."
A minor governor raised their voice.
"If His Radiance wishes to re-establish contact with the galaxy... does He also wish to change the nature of our Empire?"
Dozens of platforms turned to look again.
Waiting.
Watching.
Demanding.
Zamir looked up.
And for the first time since his return... he realized the truth.
They didn't see a ruler.
They saw a throne-shaped vacuum.
And they were already deciding how to fill it.