The skies over the Chrona Empire didn't burn—but they shivered.
From beyond the upper atmosphere, the Seraphine descended, her hull gleaming like obsidian soaked in divine fury. Regal and vast, cloaked in gravitational silence, she came not as a ship—but as a verdict. Behind her, the Warshade Legion lingered in orbit, a thousand suns held on chains.
The heart of the Chrona Empire—ruler of several Level 5 and 4 civilizations and hundreds of minor systems—trembled.
And from the maw of Seraphine's landing bay, Kael Renn descended.
He was a sculpture of control and lethal elegance—silver-white hair falling like starlight over his shoulders. His Grand Marshal robes billowed with every step, embroidered with interstellar insignias that shimmered like moving constellations. His shoulder stripes spoke of command. The badge on his chest pulsed with Dominion authority—his empire, his power, his word.
The King of Chrona, Rauthen IV, was not a weak man.
But even he bowed, sweat hiding beneath practiced smiles. He came in person, muttered practiced pleasantries, but every word reeked of survival instinct.
They both knew the truth—this was not a courtesy call. This was judgment day.
—
Inside the castle's war chamber—tall marble walls, golden trim now dull under shadow—Kael sat upon the royal throne. No one stopped him. No one dared.
Ten ministers stood on one side, five war generals on the other. The king stood before Kael, knees nearly giving out beneath royal robes.
Kael's voice was velvet laced with razors.
"May I hear your response... Surrender? Or war?"
The king bowed his head.
"We surrender."
Kael's gaze sharpened.
"Now tell me. How did you get your hands on the Tyrant-Osiris?"
The King exhaled, slowly. His voice was brittle but clear.
"Three centuries ago… a pirate syndicate infiltrated one of your scrapyard networks. Aided by a traitorous Squadron Officer, they studied the power core maps, the patrol routes… even the encryption timings."
"When the security grid blacked out—just for a minute—they struck. Took the Tyrant-Osiris, masked it under stolen alloy composites, wiped its memory and telemetry logs. Then sold it... to us. Through ten layers of proxies."
Kael's jaw tensed.
"How did they know where to strike?"
The king hesitated.
"That's the terrifying part. The officer's son is still alive. Running one of your major scrapyards."
Kael's eyes turned to frost.
"That was over 300 years ago."
Kael in frustration "Thanks to the mastered genetic extension. now officers live four centuries or more thanks to the GenoSplice Protocols."
A heavy pause fell.
"We didn't discover this until recently," the king admitted. "Our previous sovereign began investigating quietly. He tried to inform your Federation. But we had no way to transmit through the Solar Reach Barrier, nor the firepower to send a scouting fleet to your territory."
Kael's voice dropped into something darker.
"And now?"
The king swallowed.
"That pirate group… they've evolved. Grown. They now operate out of a mercenary-controlled planet, acting as a shadow empire. We traced the communications and trade routes. I've sent you the coordinates."
Kael's throne console flared alive.
"Seraphim," he said. "These coordinates. They lie within our sectors, correct? Why weren't they flagged by the Heralds?"
Her voice echoed across the room—soothing, synthetic, divine.
"Confirmed, my Sovereign. The coordinates reside in Sector Veil-13, under protected classification."
Kael frowned.
"Protected? By whom?"
"By the Empire itself, sire," she replied. "Access restricted under Black Crown Protocols. I was not authorized to deploy Heralds there, nor dispatch scout wings."
Kael's fist clenched.
"So… the Federation protected them. Buried them under its own shadow."
The king stepped back. Kael stood from the throne, his shadow stretching across the marble like a drawn blade.
"Seraphim."
"Yes, my Sovereign?"
"Prepare Seraphine. We depart for Veil-13. Full assault configuration. Estimated arrival window?"
"Two to three standard days, depending on warp-stream conditions."
Kael nodded.
"Leave the Legions here. If their words were a lie—if this was a trap—then we'll return not to conquer, but to annihilate."
The king collapsed to one knee, voice trembling.
"We dare not lie to you, Highness. I swear on our sun, we would not risk it."
Kael's gaze sharpened with ancient fury, the shadows of his bloodline simmering behind his stare.
"Then pray your sun doesn't burn."
A cold silence wrapped the room.
And then Kael asked one last question—his voice as low as thunder in a sealed coffin.
"Can men make hell?"
The king dared not answer.