"Before the

  Restoration, one in five ships would be lost to the void. The Messengers

  made it so now only one in twenty is unaccounted for."

  Year: 498 PHR

  Location: Planet Arcadia, Seat of the Emperor.

  On

  Arcadia, a massive city sprawls across the mainland, banked by massive

  walls 500 meters high and a crystal dome resistant to the most dedicated

  orbital bombardment. The center of human civilization is the fortress

  city of Cairnspire, named as such for the massive stone citadel towering

  above the city, holding up the dome; the names of those who built it

  lost to the Emperor's Great War.

  "Shuttle 44-E-Gamma-Epsilon, You have permission to land; make way to Cairnspire airfield.", the radio crackled.

  Cairnspire Airfield? It's going to take hours to reach from there, thought Marshall Crassian von Draeven

  "Yes, Lord Minister," the Pilot acknowledged.

  Within a few minutes Porta Imperialis came into view, a massive structure built atop the crystal dome, literally meaning .

  The shuttle navigated carefully over the dome; here, there was not

  enough atmosphere for jet engines to run smoothly, so thrusters were

  needed as well. With a great rumbling the shuttle finally descended onto

  the platform. The blast doors opened with a hiss and the cold air of

  Arcadia rushed in.

  Marshall

  Crassian von Draeven stepped onto the landing platform, his long black

  overcoat trailing behind him. The crimson lining caught the pale light

  from the landing beacons, shimmering as the evening chill of Arcadia

  curled around his boots. He adjusted his silver pauldron, the emblem of

  house Draeven, a wolf on a mountain of blue glinting under the pale

  light of a red sun.

  "Lord Minister

  An

  officer stood at attention beside the entrance to the terminal, his

  charcoal grey cloak swept by the wind, the imperial sigil fastening it

  to his throat. He was flanked by two Knights of the Citadel, their

  polished black armor reflecting the glow from the landing lights. They

  held their halberds; plumed helms lowered in deference.

  "The Prime Minister requests your presence," The officer's voice lowered, "We will escort you to his chambers."

  "Lead the way," responded Crassian.

  The

  officer led Crassian through the vaulted corridors of Cairnspire. Cold

  grey walls lined the path, and the mountain from which it had been

  carved broke the mold here and there. Beneath his polished boots, the

  floor was inlaid with polished basalt, veined with crimson obsidian- a

  reminder of the blood the empire stands on top of.

  At

  the end of the corridor, a set of great doors loomed, each carved from a

  single slab of obsidian etched with the symbols of the eight Great

  Houses. The symbol of the Imperial House burned bright at the center, a

  gold crown on a red star. The doors rumbled open as ancient machinery

  churned behind the walls, the officer stepped inside-

  "The Minister of War has arrived, Your Excellency.

  Crassian stepped inside.

  The

  Prime Minister's office was stark in its elegance- dark walls of

  polished stone, a single window spanning the far side of his chamber

  overlooking the sprawling city below under the dimming light of

  Arcadia's red sun. Behind an oak desk sat Prime Minister Adrial del Valtieri

  "," Adrial said smoothly, ""

  Crassian

  crossed the room in measured strides, the hem of his coat whispering

  across the basalt floor. He sat, the chair adjusting itself to his

  frame.

  "Your Excellency," Crassian inclined his head, "A rare pleasure."

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The Prime Minister's gray eyes sharpened, "There is not much time for formalities.

  With

  a graze of his finger, the surface of the table came to life, a display

  of the Gandharva system. He zoomed in to an asteroid formation, the

  remains of Baron Remiel's fleet remained as faint lines on the display.

  "Vyncent's victory was... decisive," Adrial began a reconstruction of the battle. "Perhaps more decisive than we expected."

  "How many people know?" asked Crassian.

  "On Cairnspire? Two."

  "The Emperor has not been told?"

  "You will brief him on the War Council tomorrow, but first we must decide what to do about Vyncent"

  "I

  suppose he will be expecting a triumph, he took on ten thousand ships

  even after losing the Konitz fleet," Crassian said flatly.

  "hell

  will freeze over before anyone grants a triumph to a Commoner," Adrial

  smiled, clearly amused, "whose banners will fly as he is paraded around

  the city?"

  Crassian glanced at the display; it showed Vyncent charging into the Baron's fleet.

  "There

  were rumours, but I never expected it would be true... That masked

  maniac actually boarded the Jin-Wa." Crassian's eyes narrowed. "There

  will be no limit to his popularity among the commons now; if we grant

  him a triumph, they'll be one step away from rioting."

  Adrial

  ran his fingers across the display, zooming out from the map, he

  pointed to a sector in space. "Vyncent awaits here, ready to return if

  given the command"

  "You expected him to fail, ," Crassian said.

  Adrial

  raised his eyebrow, crossing his hands, "I want to understand him, he

  destroyed a rogue Baron's fleet, survived a clear trap, with lesser

  numbers and a rebellious sub-commander, boarded the enemy flagship- all

  without direct support. That kind of efficiency is... ."

  "You're afraid."

  "I am vary.

  "Is that why you keep sending him on suicide missions with incompetent subordinates, Prime Minister?"

  Adrial's gaze sharpened, "When the Emperor hears of this, he is going to make Vyncent a high admiral."

  Crassian's

  eyed widened, "The Houses are already displeased with his power, by

  granting him any more the Emperor risks open insubordination"

  Adrial replied cooly, "Just think about it my Lord- High Admiral, then Lord Admiral of the Imperial fleet, then... "

  Crassian

  leaned back on his chair, his knuckled turning white. He understood the

  implications now. Earlier he had swatted away the concerns of the other

  nobility; House Draeven understands military might and a martial mind

  like Vyncent has not been seen in the Empire in a long time. But would

  the Emperor really do that? Crassian controlled some of the largest

  shipyards in the area, the metals mined in his holds covered the

  Emperors ships as he set out on campaigns. This Vyncent was not just a

  threat to him, but to all the Great Houses.

  "The nobility, seeing the example made of Baron Remiel will wonder which one of them is ,

  against whom the Emperor is going to set his masked dog," Said

  Crassian,"He will need the support of my men and mines if he wants to

  keep the peace"

  "No

  commoner may advance to High Admiral, he must elevate Vyncent to a

  lord," Adrial stared at the wolf insignia on Crassian's Pauldron, "I

  wonder who's lands will the Emperor give to Vyncent when he decides a dog can fight better than a wolf

  Crassian narrowed his eyes, the threat not escaping him, "What would you have me do?"

  "Watch him, the slightest crack in his persona, a slight muttering of treason," Adrial's gloved hand tapped the table twice, ""

  "You

  don't think..." Crassians's breath hitched, his gaze sharpening.

  "Impossible." Crassian thought of the way Vyncent had fought in the

  battle.

  Crassian's

  mind broke down the battle in cold increments. Baron Remiel had ten

  thousand ships - a mixed formation of heavy battleships, cruisers, and

  destroyers. The Baron's front line was heavily shielded, overlapping

  sectors of fire creating a kill zone nearly impossible to penetrate

  without catastrophic losses. Vyncent had faced that formation with less

  than five thousand ships - already diminished from losing Konitz.

  Yet

  Vyncent had forced the Baron's ships into a staggered retreat, breaking

  their lines and creating firing gaps where none should have existed.

  He'd coordinated missile strikes to overwhelm the point defenses - .

  Missile storms should have drifted off-target in the gravitational wake

  of the asteroid field - but they hadn't. The debris field created by

  detonating atomics in the mines had scattered the Baron's formation - His ships had moved through the chaos like they were reading the currents of space before they formed.

  The masked dog of the Emperor had boarded the in the final hour.

  The Baron's flagship would have been protected by at least four guard

  ships, but they'd been destroyed with surgical precision before

  Vyncent's boarding parties even launched.

  Crassian's jaw tightened.

  - that's what he would have called it if it had happened to anyone

  else. But luck didn't coordinate missile storms with second-window

  precision. Luck didn't anticipate debris formations or the subtle lags

  of an opposing fleet's reactor output.

  Crassian's gaze sharpened.

  "Have you ever seen him without his mask?"

  "No, but to think he's one of... them?"

  "You can never be sure, My lord. Just watch him. We cant just kill him. We need to burn him"

  Crassian's hands rested calmly on the armrests of his chair, "As you command, your excellency"