Kael sat at his command desk, the glow of a dozen monitors flickering across his face like ghostly reflections of stars. The room around him pulsed with quiet energy—silent, efficient, alive. He was browsing through an endless stream of classified communication architecture files compiled by Seraphim—the ship's adaptive AI, now renamed to avoid confusion with the mothership's soul, Seraphine.
A soft notification blinked on the main display.
"TH-X9 communication suite report is ready."
"Show it," Kael commanded.
In an instant, one of the largest monitors lit up with glowing blue schematics. Seraphim's detailed report unfolded before him—power consumption rates, transmission capacity, shielding overlays, quantum encryption layers, and tactical adaptability. The sync bar beside the data crept forward as the systems began integrating into his core grid.
"Elisa," Kael said, eyes still scanning. "Status?"
The gentle voice of his aide came through the intercom. "Seraphim's name change has taken effect. All systems synced."
He nodded. one a ship, one a soul—was chaos waiting to happen.
Kael rose and stepped to the central control ring. "Seraphine," he said, voice cold as vacuum, "Ascend to orbit. Make your way to the Fleet Station. It's time to carve out your hell."
The great mothership obeyed. Deep beneath her hull, quantum engines roared to life like a god stirring in its sleep. Seraphine, his warborne angel, cut through the void with grace and menace. She was no longer a ship—she was destiny given form. And he had six months to prepare her kingdom.
Back at his workstation, Kael began planning the backbone of this empire: the communications fleet.
He compiled blueprints, upgraded modules, and engineered architecture tailored to rapid, secure, long-distance communication. Within a day, the authorization arrived.
Production began instantly.
Kael named them Herald-XXX—a ghost fleet of communicators, scouts, and watchers. Each Herald ship had its own AI unit designated Herald-001 through Herald-XXX, all tethered only to Seraphim.
They were powered by Quantum Reactors—the latest development in silent fusion. Emissions undetectable. Power output monstrous.
Each Herald ship boasted:
High-Range Light Communicators: Built on FTL data transfer tech, enabling near-instant messaging across sectors.
Next-Gen Shadow Cloaks: Full-spectrum invisibility from radar to quantum pings.
Shadow Shield Panels: Energy-dampening defenses designed for evasion, not war.
Emergency Cloak-and-Transmit Mode: In critical scenarios, a Herald could silently land on the dark side of an asteroid and beam encrypted signals to Seraphim.
Advanced Scanners: Hyper-sensitive detection suites—capable of reading quantum flux, encrypted signals, and cloaked vessels.
After three months, Kael had produced 200 Herald ships—his personal fleet of ghosts. All were deployed across the sectors he had marked for future operations—sectors that would become Hell.
Meanwhile, the Federation, impressed by the design, began producing their own variants at nearly 100 ships per day—under a different name: Atherlink. These vessels were integrated into the Federation's central network, serving as the backbone of public communication.
But Kael's Heralds were different.
Though compatible with Atherlink systems, they were hardwired to obey only Seraphim. Quiet. Loyal. Uncompromising. The Federation had unknowingly welcomed a shadow fleet within its own borders.
Kael divided his sphere of control into nine layers, naming them after the mythic circles of Hell. Each sector was mapped, its hazards charted, and its purpose assigned. The Heralds became whispering agents, seeding the sectors with black lines of communication and supply—lines invisible to even the Federation's own eyes.
For one month, Kael monitored them in silence, listening to the background hum of galaxies.
Then he sent a high-priority request to the heart of the Federation.
"Request immediate conference with all Supreme Commanders, Grand Commanders, the President, and Ministry heads. Priority: Strategic Truth."
The request was accepted for next day.
Inside the Confined Transmission Chamber, a sterile sphere of secure light and encrypted data, stood the assembled titans of the Federation:
34 Supreme Generals
3 Grand Commanders
1 Grand General
President Ilaren Vos
And over a dozen Ministries
Kael stood alone on the holo-dais.
"Major Kael Renn," he began, "Stellar Academy Batch 1034. Current designation: 20th Legion, 4th Fleet Commander."
He looked each of them in the eye, unwavering.
"As you are aware, the Herald ships mirror the capabilities of the Federation's Atherlink vessels. However—my Heralds report only to Seraphim. Their allegiance is exclusive. And they are already deployed."
Some generals exchanged glances.
"In three months, I have built 200 Herald units and distributed them across our planned 43 supply sectors—which, let's be honest, are battlefronts in disguise. Even a child could decode your intent."
Several ministers stiffened. One began to speak but fell silent as Kael continued.
"These aren't empty corridors of space. I've intercepted over 1,400 civilizations in the targeted regions."
He tapped his console. Data bloomed in holographic projection.
40 Level-5 Civilizations
100 Level-4 Civilizations
Over 1,000 Level-3 and below
"These aren't tribes with sticks. Some of the Level-5 fleets can't match our tech—but they can overwhelm us with numbers. One elite fighter dies to a thousand ants if it bleeds."
He tapped again. Three more projections appeared.
1. The Nvi Stellar Association — 20 Level 5s, 10 Level 4s, 200 minor states
2. The Chrona Empire — 10 Level 5s, 40 Level 4s, 400 dependents
3. The Ironheart Dominion — Equal size and threat
"They don't know we exist—yet. That ignorance is a weapon, but a fleeting one."
A final screen activated: a bleak visual of a ruined star system. Fires still burned in the hollowed hulls of ancient vessels.
"I sent a Herald to a long-forgotten battlefield. What I saw was terrifying. Ships from a Level-10 Civilization, still smoldering millennia later. Do you want to awaken that?"
Silence.
Kael leaned forward, his voice calm, but edged with warning.
"Your plan has merit. But it lacks shadow."
"I propose this—let the three powers fight each other. I'll ignite the war. I'll shatter alliances. While they bleed, you harvest their tech, their routes, their territories."
His final words landed with the weight of gravity.
"But for that, I need one thing: Full command of the 10 Legions and all associated fleets. Absolute authority."