Just a short jump away from Darella, twenty starships hovered in space, awaiting their next move.
Within the flagship’s command center, behind the panoramic window, a tall, young man paced back and forth. His shoulder-length, straight, copper-red hair, which seemed to glisten in the reflected light, neatly framed his handsome face. He appeared as if his pale skin had never been touched by the sun. His eyes had no pupils or irises; both emitted a faint blue glow that shifted to green after a few minutes.
He wore a long, dark brown cloak over a simple black top, trousers, and tall boots. He didn’t wear armor; he preferred to move freely. Around his neck hung a silver chain with a small vial containing green powder. Attached to his belt was a holder carrying a massive, shimmering, red-bladed sword. Its hilt shimmered in a bronze hue.
He was the eccentric supreme Leader of the Rebel Empire, known by all.
The man turned around and surveyed his subjects. On the massive starship’s bridge, several Rebel soldiers in armor stood guard, motionless. They all had their weapons ready but lowered their heads as their Leader began to observe them. The same respect was shown by those who silently worked at the instruments. They were drowsy, as it was dawn. It was time for a shift change, but they did not complain. In the presence of their Leader, they did not want to show impatience.
The red-haired man turned his head as the gate opened, and someone rushed through it. The newcomer arrived just as the Rebel Leader’s bright green eyes shifted to an unnatural bright crimson color.
“Captain! I’m glad you finally made it.”
The man straightened up, clasped his hands behind his back, and stood with his head held high, waiting with dignity. It seemed he was the only one who was not frightened by the Leader’s bizarre gaze.
The Captain, a commanding figure by appearance, appeared to be at least two decades older and several inches taller than the Leader He wore his short, black hair elegantly swept to the side. Despite his age, his face seemed unnaturally smooth. His skin was not just pale but downright ivory, as if he had spent his entire life in the dark. His blue eyes gleamed emptily. His build did not stand out from the crowd; he was just as muscular as any soldier. In general, one might have called him average. However, as he stopped at the front of the bridge, straightened up, and neatly adjusted the top button of his immaculate dark blue uniform with a decisive gesture, he exuded an elegance that could take anyone’s breath away. Even the Rebel Leader couldn’t match the dignity he radiated.
He neglected to bow, seemingly unaware or indifferent to the frightened murmurs of the soldiers in the background.
The red-haired man silently watched him for a moment, then turned away and resumed gazing at space.
“Captain, tell me, how far are we?”
“Just one jump away, sir.”
The Leader nodded with satisfaction and continued his pacing.
The Captain sensed that his Leader had more to say, so he patiently waited. He knew that his superior enjoyed playing with the nerves of his subordinates.
He had noticed before that the Leader almost never seemed to get nervous. He was nearly always calm, at least that’s how the Captain saw it. Even when he was about to explode from anger inside, he didn’t go into a rage; at most, he raised his voice. He could administer punishments with the utmost composure. The Rebel Leader always believed that the death penalty was unnecessary for setting an example and considered it a waste of time A significant torture would engrave the desired message much deeper in the soldiers’ minds than killing them.
The Captain remembered all too well when, during the most recent punishment for a recruit’s mistake, his Leader had been present, and he had to be there too. He felt sick to his stomach, and he had to leave, while the Leader’s face remained firm.
After three minutes had passed, the Captain made the mistake of impatiently shifting from one foot to the other. The Leader was inspecting the cleanliness of one of the nearby soldiers’ armor, and the soldier didn’t know what to do in his fear.
“Nervous?”
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“Why?”
“Because you called me, but now that I am here, you say nothing. I don’t understand why I had to interrupt my tasks.”
The Leader finished inspecting the soldier and turned to the Captain. He smiled.
This expression was quite common on his face, yet it was impossible to determine its true meaning.
The Captain lowered his head for the first time. The Leader was waiting for this.
“You’re right, I’m just wasting time. I am nervous as well. I’d like you to double-check everything one last time. In ten minutes, we’ll execute the jump. Make sure everyone is aware of it. We don’t know what kind of resistance to expect. Be prepared!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you.”
With that, the rebel Leader left the Captain on the bridge and headed for his cabin. It was the only place where he could be alone and didn’t have to meet any expectations. The room was well-lit and devoid of any clutter. Only the essentials were kept here, such as a bed, a desk with computers, monitors, and scattered documents. He took off his brown coat and tossed it onto his chair.
Even though he was in his own little cabin, he couldn’t escape the nervousness.
He knew what the soldiers would think if they saw him pacing back and forth like a caged animal. The always calm Lord Quilen was nervous, and something like this could only happen when doomsday was upon them.
All those who lived under his rule only knew him by his face and from the news. They knew he was a brilliant strategist, understood and loved his principles. Quickly, he became an example, even an idol in the eyes of some. Nevertheless, many rumors circulated about him, resulting in countless misconceptions. His own soldiers loved him, but they were also afraid of him because the rumors portrayed him as intelligent and determined, yet strict and merciless.
They believed he was always calm when, in reality, he was frequently placed in situations where he could have exploded. It took him a long time, but he learned to manage his anger. They believed he was always cruel, and his men feared him merely because he was the supreme leader. Even if he had never done anything, the situation would have been the same. He knew this for sure because that’s how it was in the very beginning when he had not yet given them a reason to fear him. After all these years, he would only punish when it was absolutely necessary and he wanted to set an example. He detested mistakes. He believed that in such cases, strict punishment was justified. Pressing the wrong key and causing a significant problem warranted a three-hour stint in the torture chamber Even such a small mistake could cause immeasurable harm if it happened at the wrong time, in the wrong place. He wanted them to learn their lesson, to be more attentive, and to take responsibility.
He hated killing more than anything else. He could count on one hand how many times he had personally taken a life. Even in combat, he prioritized winning with minimal violence, relying on logic over brute force. Once, when whispers of his weakness began to circulate among the soldiers, he did something he had never done before. He decimated his troops, but only once. This was more than enough to silence the rumors. He felt regret for the dead, but the ends justified the means.
They believed he was insane. Upon hearing this, he would dismissively ask what exactly it meant to be insane.
Some even claimed he could read thoughts. When he heard this, he laughed so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks. While wiping his eyes and chuckling, he asked the Captain to make sure he was informed if anyone in the Galaxy had learned how to perform magic because he would pay to be taught. He never entered anyone’s mind; he simply had a keen eye for falsehoods. He saw that when the soldiers lied, they never looked him in the eye, fiddled with their hands, or twitched their faces.
They also believed he had no emotions. This was the only thing that bothered him, but after careful consideration, he decided to let the rumors circulate because it ensured that his power remained unquestioned. He faced the pain caused by the whispers alone, and in the end, it gave him strength.
The Rebel Leader came to a halt and began to contemplate the multitude of monitors on the wall, but nothing of interest appeared on them. Absently, he began to fiddle with the small medallion hanging around his neck, filled with green dust.
His reverie was interrupted by a deep voice.
“Lord Quilen!”
He looked up at one of the monitors where the Captain’s pale face had appeared.
“Yes? Is there something of interest?”
“It’s time, my lord. We’re just waiting for your command.”
The Leader glanced at the digital clock that measured the shared time.
“I understand. Execute the jump.”
“Yes, my lord. One more thing. The Grand Admiral…”
“You know what to do.”
The Captain obediently nodded.
As the image disappeared, Quilen Vanner, the Rebel Leader, sat down at his consoles, leaned on the table, and placed one hand on the red sword resting on the table, causing it to ignite upon his touch.
In the corner, shining with a golden hue from the shadows, a pair of eyes watched him. Its whisper echoed in the man’s mind.
“Do you seriously think you’ll be able to do this?”
Quilen didn’t respond.
If his shining blue eyes could express any emotion, they would likely have reflected his nervousness.
***
Sephra raised her head when someone addressed her. The workers were pointing outside, and when she turned toward the window, she noticed why they were alarmed. Twenty starships were unfolding over Darella. The Grand Admiral recognized them immediately. While the Imperial spacecraft were metallic gray, the rebel vessels typically had a dull, bronzy gleam.
The soldiers were asking what to do. They all knew their situation was perilous because a single starship had no chance against twenty others.
Sephra didn’t want to make unnecessary sacrifices. They wouldn’t be able to jump out of there in time or unnoticed. They were at an obvious disadvantage, so she instructed the soldiers and the workers to abandon the ship and seek shelter on the planet below. Afterward, she sent a message to the other Imperial admirals, requesting assistance on behalf of the refugees, ensuring they would eventually find them on the planet’s surface.
She knew precisely why the rebels had come. It wasn’t a coincidence that they didn’t attack immediately, but she didn’t want to take any risks.
Everyone else had fled except her. They tried to convince her to go with them, but Sephra gave them the order to leave. She remained on the starship, waiting. She stood alone on the bridge and observed the rebels. They didn’t attack those who fled. They knew she was not among them. She saw that they had dispatched a few smaller spacecraft straight toward her.
The admiral knew they had come for her. She didn’t budge from her position, merely waiting. She also sent a message to Angron, then pressed a few buttons, and the starship’s hangar door opened.
Sephra willingly let the arriving rebels in. She turned with an odd smile as the rebel soldiers arrived. They were led by a tall man with a pale face.
The woman looked at him and raised her hands. She surrendered. Her purple eyes sparkled cheerfully, as if she found the situation amusing. However, she didn’t say a word when they took her into custody.
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