The agricultural world, a p with 85% of its surface dedicated to cultivated nd, aquaculture farms, and livestock operations, stretched endlessly beh the stars. Only a handful of sprawling cities broke the monotony of the vast pins, with most of the popution scattered across tless rural settlements. The purpose of this world was singur—agriculture. Though the agri-world known as Agron Reaow under Kayvaan's dominion, was not yet fully optimized, it still produced enough susteo feed the fe world and the sprawling hive popution of his civilized world.

  The civilized world was among the Imperium's broadest cssifications for human-inhabited ps. Self-sustaining and teologically stable, such worlds often served as vital hubs of trade, governance, and culture. In Kayvaan's case, his civilized world could even be mistaken farden world, owing to its fertile nds and pristine ndscapes.

  Kayvaan g Williameus. “Tell me about the feudal world and the barbaric worlds,” Kayvaan said thoughtfully. “Why do feudal worlds persist at all?”

  “A feudal world,” Williameus began with patient crity, “is a p where teology has stagnated, rarely advang beyond bck powder. These worlds often possess rigid hierarchies areraditions. Most inhabitants are desded from a ists of the Dark Age of Teology. When the storms ravaged the gaxy, many isoted human outposts regressed—some maintaining feudal kingdoms, while others fell back to the Iron Age or even earlier.”

  Kayvaan nodded slowly, sidering the expnation. “And the barbaric worlds?”

  “They are more primitive still, Master,” Williameus replied. “Barbaric worlds ck bck powder entirely, their people reduced to pre-industrial or evealw societies. Life on suets is harsh, often defined by eribal warfare and survival against hostile enviros. In your holdings, you trol one feudal world and two barbaric worlds, all located in the Eridanus Expanse. Your fe world, agri-world, and hive world are in the Acheron Reach. Finally, the Nivalis Abyss is home to nih worlds.”

  Kayvaan frowned slightly, eyes sing the star map spread out before him. The regions under his trol were clearly defihe Acheron Reach was the bae of his domain—its developed worlds formed a stable foundation for his ambitions. Eridanus Expanse, oher hand, remained ed, its inhabitants trapped in medieval stagnation. The Nivalis Abyss was different: a wastend of hostile death worlds, harsh and unyielding.

  Kayvaan tapped the map with a gloved finger. “The Inquisition may find such pces useful,” he muttered. “I wonder if the woman would agree to su arra. Not that it makes much difference if she refuses.”

  Pushing those musings aside, Kayvaan straightened. “I have a general uanding of my domains now. When time allows, I’ll visit each of these ps myself. For the moment, prepare the captain’s . I will be hosting some distinguished guests.”

  Williameus ’s pale brows arched slightly in curiosity. “Distinguished guests, sir? May I know their identities to make the appropriate arras?”

  “No need for extravagance,” Kayvaan replied, exhaling tiredly. “Keep it simple. A female inquisitor from the Inquisition is arriving, but fanatics care little for such trivialities.”

  At the mention of the Inquisition, Williameus stiffened visibly but quickly regained his posure. “Uood, Master. Shall I ehe is sparta reverent? Perhaps include a shrio the God-Emperor?”

  “You’re always thh,” Kayvaan said, allowing himself a faint smile. “Proceed.”

  With a respectful bow, Williameus turo carry out the orders. Kayvaan picked up his cooling teacup, the warmth lingering as he took another sip. His thoughts drifted, as they often did—a habitual exercise of reviewing decisions, weighing opportunities against risks, and looking to the future.

  Nearly two months had passed since Darius, in a druupor, uttered those treasonous words. By the following m, Kayvaan had urged him to depart for Mars and undergo augmentation surgery in the holy manufactoria of the Meicus. A month ter, the fgship of the Knights Tempr fleet—the Ebony Shadow—pleted its ritual refit. Its medical facilities had been transferred aboard, its crew assigned: captains, voidsmen, and star-chart navigators, all in service to duty.

  Three weeks after that, Kayvaan's personal voidship docked at Lion’s Gate Spaceport on Terra. There, Williameus hahe byrinthine formalities nition on Kayvaan’s behalf. Gene-ss, part work, and a protocols were observed with ritualistic precision, and by the day’s end, Kayvaan was firmed as the head of the Kayvaan family.

  Kayvaan had sidered departing immediately, but the rotten state of the Imperium g him. Between Darius’s drunken fessions and his own observations, his pt for Terra’s det political web had deepened. He loathed its suffog bureaucracy, its blind adhereo tradition. The world he had known in his previous life—though fwed—had offered far more freedom. At least there, one could live quietly if they stayed out of trouble.

  Kayvaan's idea was a crime. It might have been a secret buried deep in his heart, never spoken aloud or acted upon, but eve of eaining such thoughts was, in itself, a crime—a thought crime. From the Inquisition’s perspective, Kayvaan was already guilty. As Darius once said, you could hide such sins in your mind for a time, but you couldn’t bury them forever. Thoughts had a way of festering, and the Inquisition always found them.

  What made matters worse was that Kayvaan wasn’t an ordinary man. He had traveled across the boundaries of time and space, and if that secret were ever uncovered, the Inquisition would decre him a heretic or burn him alive as a witchspawn. The Inquisition did not five, nor did it fet.

  Rese boiled in his chest, but Kayvaan knew he couldn’t fight back. He wasn’t some naive idealist chasing lofty visions of justice. Every world was steeped in its own brand of unfairness, and most learo ig. It wasn’t worth losing everything. If he could not defy them, he had no choice but to hide.

  He had sidered fleeing—to the Eastern Frihe Imperium’s reach was weakest there, beyond the Astronomi’s guiding light. In those distant and uncharted regions of space, beyond the Emperor’s will, perhaps he could find a measure of peace. But fate rarely allowed such reprieve.

  When the Inquisition summoned him to apany them, it was as though the stars themselves had fallen. Refusal was not an option, and worse still, he was ordered to serve fwlessly under a woman whose presence weighed like a stormcloud. It was a curse—an omen of doom.

  Rubbing his temples, Kayvaan pushed back his frustration. He wasn’t searg flory or revolution. He wanted only a simpler existence, free from the grinding chaos of this life.