The launch bay was nearly silent. No banners, no officers in formation, no ceremony to mark departure—only the rhythmic hiss of pressure seals locking into place. The transport ship was dwarfed against the expanse of the tarmac, clearly designed for fleet ships of significance. It was nothing more than a small speck reflected in the glass dome of a surveillance lens.

Ravik stood alone at the base of the boarding ramp. This was not the farewell he’d imagined, where a cheering crowd would watch him ascend. His family crest wasn’t even displayed overhead. The vast hangar was empty. 

He scanned the platform, though he already knew. His father’s envoy would have come early if they were coming at all. His mother would have sent a courier out of polite formality. Nobody had arrived.

Predictable. Weak people avoid confrontation.

Ravik adjusted his gloves again. Habit, not need. On Xerion, perfection was purpose… and even exile demanded precision.

At last, footsteps broke the stillness—measured, heavy, deliberate. Sergeant Draxan emerged from the port corridor, his broad frame outlined by the glow of the guidance lights.

“Captain Ravik,” Draxan said, his voice carrying the gravel of a man who’d spent decades breaking cadets down to their base elements. “You look disappointed.”

Beyond the hangar doors, the skyline stretched toward the horizon, where the Emperor’s flagship hung in low orbit. The Dominus was the largest warship in the Imperial Fleet, an impenetrable fortress from which the Emperor himself engineered galactic conquest, spreading Yawr influence from system to system.

“I should be there,” Ravik snapped, pointing at the sky. “On the Dominus. Instead, I’ll be on some insignificant ghost ship, forgotten.”

“The Vanguard aren’t ghosts; they cleanse the Empire’s wounds before they scar.” Draxan studied him; polished boots, perfectly pressed fabric… and a faint tremor in his hands as he tried too hard to appear unmoved. “Yet you still can’t let go.”

Ravik’s gaze flicked toward him.

“You’ve never bled for anything you wanted,” Draxan continued. “The first time the galaxy told you no, you shattered like glass.”

Ravik drew a slow breath through his nose, forcing composure. “Is that all, sir?”

“No,” Draxan said. “You think the Shadow Vanguard is beneath you?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Draxan stepped closer, boots echoing on the deck. “You’ve been given a commission that only the best ever see. Most officers would kill to be in your position. But you—” he gestured toward Ravik’s rank insignia “—you’re still sulking.”

Ravik’s jaw tightened. “You don’t understand.”

“Don’t I?” Draxan’s voice lowered. “You think they’re punishing you. But you forget what the Doctrine teaches.”

Ravik rolled his eyes but said nothing.

Draxan continued, reciting from memory:

To be disciplined is to serve.
To be strong is to prevail.
To dominate is to control.

He held Ravik’s gaze. “You’ve memorized those lines since childhood. You ever wonder what comes after control?”

Ravik had no answer. He’d never been taught there was an after.

“You rise to the occasion.” Draxan’s gaze held steady. “Or you’ll become what you’ve always feared—ordinary.”

Ravik looked past Draxan to the hangar opening. The Dominus glimmered against the thin gold edge of dawn, impossibly distant.

“My scores and tactical reports were flawless,” he insisted, clenching his fists. “I did everything right. Everything I was supposed to do. But he took it from me.”

Ravik pointed at the Dominus again, where Captain Korel was stationed—where he should have been instead. He could hear the staccato of his pulse rising. 

“This is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.”

Draxan watched him for a moment. “I think,” he replied evenly, “you’re too focused on someone else’s path to see your own.”

“I belong among the best, serving at the frontline!” Ravik gestured to the empty platform. “Not this! There’s no one to witness what should have been my moment.”

“You don’t need the Dominus, Ravik. You need to learn who you are instead of becoming what you were told to be.” Draxan’s tone softened. “What exactly do you want?”

Ravik opened his mouth, but Draxan lifted a hand. “Think carefully. I’ve seen it before—soldiers just like you. Ambitious, talented, unstoppable… until the ideals they serve don’t protect them anymore.”

“What are you trying to say, sir?”

“Figure out who you are. What you want. And whether you’re willing to let go of all the petty shit that’s holding you back.”

Ravik bit down the retort until his jaw ached. He looked toward the transport, where the light from the fuselage bled onto the deck. The air shimmered from ion discharge and ozone.

Draxan rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Ravik. Start using it for more than grinding your teeth.”

He saluted. “For the Empire.”

“For the Empire.” Ravik returned the salute without thinking. He watched the long shadow cast by Draxan’s silhouette as he walked away from the launch platform, focused on the rhythm of his steps. For a heartbeat it blended with another tone, deeper, urgent—the final boarding signal.

The engines began their launch cycle. Ravik’s duffel felt heavier than expected as he ascended the boarding ramp. The noise rose through the deck plates until it consumed him, mechanical and relentless. 

What do I want?

The hatch sealed behind him.

Draxan stood alone in the fading light. “Let’s see,” he murmured, “if the boy can learn to bleed.”

On the bridge, the flight officer scanned Ravik’s datapad for his clearance codes. His tone shifted when he checked Ravik’s orders.

“Special Operations Command. Shadow Vanguard…” He paused, glancing up at Ravik. “Unusual posting, sir.”

Ravik’s eyes narrowed as he stared down at him, but he said nothing; just shifted the grip on his duffel. He followed the flight officer, boots striking an even rhythm against the deck. The corridor curved with the clean geometry of Imperial design—white panels, embedded lights, no trace of comfort. 

He expected someone to stop him along the way, to acknowledge his assignment, but every guard’s gaze slid past him like he wasn’t there. After clearing the final checkpoint, the man ahead of him stopped at a door halfway down the passage.

“Your quarters, Captain,” the officer said, keying the panel. The door hissed open to reveal a compartment barely larger than a dorm cell.

Ravik stepped inside, his eyes sweeping over the room. Hyperspace pod, desk, locker, wall terminal, and a refresher unit tucked behind a sliding partition. Everything a soldier needed for deep space transit. Basic. Utilitarian. He touched the desk, checking for dust.

At least it’s clean.

The officer lingered in the doorway, holding out two small items: a neural patch sealed in sterile plastic and a pill pack marked with the Yawr medical insignia.

“For hyperspace decompression,” he said. “Most first-timers need it. The neural patch smooths sensory drift; the pills keep your vitals steady when the field locks.”

Ravik turned, his expression flat. “I don’t need them.”

The officer hesitated. “Sir, with respect—deep space transit can trigger—”

“I said I don’t need them.”

The flight officer murmured something about turbulence. Ravik didn’t look up. 

“Then fly better.”

The officer nodded once, slid both items onto the desk, and stepped back into the corridor. The door hissed shut behind him.

Ravik unpacked in silence. The hum of the ship deepened around him, a constant low vibration that crawled through the floor plating. Through the narrow viewport, he saw Xerion fading into the distance.

When the voice came over the intercom—“Preparing for hyperspace entry. Secure all personnel.”—Ravik stripped down to the regulation undersuit, folded his uniform, and placed it in the locker. He shivered, telling himself it was just the cold air against his skin.

The hyperspace pod hissed open, revealing a confined space lined with smooth black cushioning and a faint blue light that pulsed like a heartbeat. He hesitated only a moment before stepping in, lying back as the canopy began to lower. The seals engaged with a soft click.

The hum rose in pitch, and the ship shuddered. A band of light slid across his vision as the pod’s stasis field engaged, wrapping him in the numbing pressure of the hyperspace envelope.

For a moment, he drifted between sleep and waking. In the darkness, all he could feel was the faint pulse of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Ravik felt extreme compression; his chest and limbs squeezed from all directions. Every breath was a struggle. His pulse roared, the vibrations blurring his vision. Then, he felt weightless; the sensation of spinning, bile rising in his throat.

The pod’s canopy retracted with a hydraulic hiss, and air flooded back into his lungs. Ravik gasped, reaching for the edge of the pod as the deck tilted beneath him. He tried to sit up too quickly, and a wave of nausea slammed through him, hot and sharp. His stomach clenched, breath ragged. He gripped the rim of the pod, knuckles white, trying to force his breathing to stabilize.

The neural patch lay unopened on the desk, its sterile seal catching the cabin light. He looked at it through the haze, the only sharp point of clarity in the spinning room.

He’d refused it. He’d refused every precaution, every offer of help. The same pride that had carried him through the Academy now left him half-paralyzed, struggling to keep from collapsing on the floor.

He stayed there for a long time, panting, hands braced against the pod’s edge. The sound of the engines steadied, indifferent to his suffering.

When he finally managed to exit the pod, his legs felt unsteady beneath him. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and straightened, forcing his posture back into alignment. He stumbled toward the refresher, not even bothering to remove his undersuit before stepping into the water.

Command requires purity of purpose. Purity requires order. Order requires lineage.

The thought comforted him as he peeled off the undersuit to wash away the sweat and grime. His pulse began to settle as he massaged his temples. Outside, hyperspace had given way to the dull glow of a distant starfield. Ravik exhaled once, steadying himself. The Revenant waited for him somewhere out there in the shadows.