My troops march through the streets of Ravnall. The infantry parade in the centre, while the Frames line the flanks. The civilians of Ravnall watch us with fear glistened eyes, many try to lock us out. Shutters are closed, doors barred and sealed, and yet still children find ways to lean out and watch as my soldiers march victorious through their hovels called homes.

I watch it all from the roof of one of the towers. I have no interest in parading with the soldiers, I am not one for avid celebration or extravagance, it matters little to me.

Ravnall is a city of spears piercing the heavens. Skyscrapers and towers rising kilometres high. The wealthiest live in the fine tips of these spears, while the lowest members of society live on the bottom. The wealth disparity between the people at the top, and those at the bottom, is comprehendible.

They probably have enough resources to feed these poor souls for their entire lives if they truly wanted to. Will it be any better now that we’re here?

“Lieutenant Myron is the hero of this victory, at least in the eyes of the men.” Commandant Galvian muses. “Our own contributions to this victory will have been forgotten.” I feel his deep blue eyes drill into my head. The man does not overly care that he was memorised in the history books, merely that the part he had played was remembered.

“Commandant Myron,” I correct him, “After what he accomplished, he will replace Vixiua as the Commandant of the First Unit. And, yes, you are correct, nobody will remember how you stoically held the line against all odds. Nor how Monika managed to rally an entire army and crush the centre of the Imperium’s forces. Nobody will speak of how our soldiers bled and died within the forests and snow, how we held out against those who should have eradicated us. They will tell of how Myron took an entire planet with merely a thousand Frames.”

“They won’t mention that it was your idea, either.” Galvian nods to me. I have decided that I like the man, he seems the good sort, the type that wouldn’t obey an order simply because I had commanded him to. If I can win him, then I can win them all. Loyalty. Loyalty and blood, that is how this war will be won.

“No, but that isn’t the point. I don’t care what the histories say of me right now. In the end, Myron will be a Commandant, and I will rule the stars. A fair trade, I say.”

Commandant Tarvitz shakes her head, concerned at my words. “Do you mean that you will someday rule the Universal Collective?”

“That’s not a very high bar,” I tell her. I laugh at her angered face. “Not yet. Not unless High Lady Randera believes I am worthy to hold the mantle of leadership.” She does not look convinced. She doesn’t like me.

“What do we do now?” Commandant Alvarine asks. The man is a brutal and hardened warrior. A scar crosses from his earlobe across his cheek, ending just below his lips. It makes his face taut, frightening.

“If you want to be like the soldiers, revel in this victory. Enjoy the fact that we have done the impossible.” I shake my head and turn back to the three. “Or, as you like, we could begin discussions of what do when the Imperium’s fleet arrives.”

“Surely that can wait, General?” Tarvitz asks, “Our soldiers won this day with their blood. And they want it returned in kind. They are baying for the blood of that Noble family here, the Governors of Tythandor.”

Galvian, for his part, looks unimpressed at Tarvitz, and nods to me. An eager gleam in his eyes. Curious at what I would do.

My stomach sinks as I realise that I have a choice to make here. A choice that could lose me the war, if I show leniency to the Noble Family of Tythandor, then my soldiers would see me as weak, as a fool and as an Imperial sympathizer. If only they knew the truth… A laugh nearly escapes me.

My mind searches; the Planet of Tythandor had once been ruled by House Maverllin, an influential House of the Lower Nobility, until they joined in Lacaius’s war and the entire family was massacred by my father. But, afterwards, who…?

“Olvin,” I mutter, “That Noble Family is House Olvin, a Patrician Family, mostly filled of traders and bankers. They rose to power after the destruction of the Maverllin family.” Both Galvian and Tarvitz look at me in surprise, shocked by my knowledge of Imperial hierarchy and their Houses.

“How can I expect to win this damned war if I don’t know the foe I am facing?” I dismiss their shock and walk towards the elevator, where my Guard is assembled. “Come, I have a family to end.” I grimace beneath my mask as I pray for a way to keep this House alive, to help their name live on.

………………………………………………………

When the four of us approach the building, the crowd parts like the seas. Each and every man and woman stands to attention as I near Hope, hope and a taste of the blood to come. That is what I have given these merciless killers. On the other side awaits an aged man with his son and daughter at his side. Awaiting behind them are two dozen menacing looking Guards. All unarmed. They wear coats of gold and red, with a golden oak pin upon their breasts.

“General Hannibal,” The old man bends down as low as he can, and his children bend considerably lower. “It is an honour to surrender my planet to you, good Sir.”

I look at them, all three of them look resplendent. The father wears a robe of patterned gold and red, matched with black and white, contrasts of light and dark, a gorgeous mixture. The son, to the man’s right, wears a black army coat, that stops just below his waist. He wears dress pants and military boots, and a ceremonial sabre rests above his thigh, in place of where a pulseblade should be. The woman is dressed in a gown of violet and ivory, with long streaks flowing down the gown, radiating off in shimmering lights.

Each of them holds themselves with more honour and decorum in defeat than any one of my soldiers in victory. Despite being on opposite sides now, I feel a lightning shock of pride for my home-people. How they stand so strong and worthy, even in defeat.

“Good evening, Governor Olvin. Shall we go inside and discuss the terms?” I clasp the old man’s hands in mine. His relieved eyes meet the emotionless gaze of my mask and falter. He flinches, unused to having no idea as to who his opponent is.

He nods to me, and his son and daughter lead the way to the entranceway. I pass by grand columns, topped with glorious capitals of angels striking with golden spears, and a frieze running along the architrave, depicting old heroes of the Imperium wearing the armour of Nobles. It is painted gold and blue, and the frieze has each figure holding miniscule spears or swords, the women are adorned in beautiful emeralds and rubies.

Destroying that and melting it down could likely pay for an entirely new army… I only consider it for a moment before I walk onward, I cannot bring myself to obliterate the history of my ancestors, not even when I am against them. My brother is dead; my father is dead. The only one who remains is Lelliana, and she fights the same war as I, she understands. Even if the dead will not.

When we enter the extravagant Palace, I am met by Myron and half a dozen guardsmen, all wearing polished silver uniforms. “General,” he salutes me, alongside his soldiers. I nod to him, and his men form around me. This is his honour, as the hero of the battle.

The Palace’s interior is lucratively decorated, Romantic paintings adorn the sky-blue walls. A central staircase forks off at the top, turning around and climbing higher until it meets the last level of the Palace. I walk up the stairs, my army boots stomps muffled by the velvet strip of rug that flows down them.

“Take me to his private chambers,” I command. Myron glances to one of the soldiers, and the man sets off up the left side of the staircase. We follow along, the aged and frail man lumbering behind me. His children flank his steps, their eyes doing their best to bear holes in my head.

The chambers are noticeably more conservative than the rest of the palace. However, it still holds all the luxuries of power. I see a study to my left, stacked high with papers. It gives the air of an administrator, someone who cares for the running of his planet.

But opposite that sets a pleasure chamber, with a large heated pool in the centre. Marble flooring adorned with flecks of gold and crushed jewels.

I wander around.

A massage parlour branches off from the pleasure chamber, and then I find a sauna, and then another pool. Columns ring the second pool, and lilies dance in the centre, blooming orange. Beside the pleasure chamber, a second corridor banks off, leading to a heavy scented room. Servants scurry away from me as I enter, men and women alike, all barely clad in anything at all.

None of the servants speak, they simply run away. They know not to talk unless spoken to.

The whole sight makes me sick. Is this the type of life that would have ensnared me if I had stayed? Would I have been like this man, this family?

“We’ll have this set up as your chambers immediately, General.” Myron salutes once more and two of the soldiers leave. I have half a mind to beg him not to.

Daughter and son share a knowing glance.

“Regalia won’t help you two kill me,” I nod to them. The daughter regains her composure the quickest, merely shaking her head and staying silent. The brother opens his mouth to speak, but a pale hand grabs his wrist and clutches tightly.

Regalia. A mixture of social manners and deadly martial arts. It encompasses everything from how to interact at a feast, to how to kill someone with a single swish of your hand. How to target the vitals, the pressure points. From diplomacy to violence.

Or, more over, all diplomacy. Some using words and body language, others using hands, legs, knees and your head.

The old man’s watery blue eyes beg a silent plea for his family. I raise my chin, the only acknowledgement I am willing to give.

“Time to discuss the treaty.” I clap my hands together, and the three Nobles step back, fear shooting across their pristine faces. The father looks to me, his deep eyes searching for some sort of mercy. All he sees is his own reflection. Weakness. Weakness and lust and greed. You old fool.

“Your planet is now under the sovereignty of the Universal Collective of Allied Planets and Systems. I will meet with administrators and a few selected people today to create a body of leaders who will represent the planet of Tythandor in the High Command Assembly. You will be stripped of all ranks, your armies and men will disarm and submit themselves to Universal Collective Law, should any disobey, decimation will be enacted and one in ten will be executed by bludgeoning.” The father shivers in revulsion at that idea, but he nods, accepting my terms.

“Before you say anything else, General.” The former Governor tries to hold himself strong, but his age and weakness do not go well with having his planet stolen from him. His body trembles.

“A body of citizens approached us this morning and asked if, in the event of a defeat, they could be transported from Tythandor as refugees.”

“We would need them for the workforce…” I kill my objection. I nod, “Very well, I will give my consent on the matter, and will provide transports should there not be enough.”

“A few more things: The Imperial Captain who fought against us today, I want him brought to me.” The Governor opens his mouth, but his son beats him to it.

“His name is Quillian Velhk,” he motions to one of the unarmed soldiers behind him. The man steps forward and takes off his military cap. He looks to be barely thirty, but has thinning light-brown hair makes me think of cellular rejuvenation.

“Seize him, I’ll speak with him later.” My guardsmen clasp the man and force him from the room.

“Now, there is one last thing I will need of you.” I bow my head, questioning how to break the news to the Family.

“Our lives,” the old man croaks out.

“Just yours, actually. Your children can live.” I hear one of my Guards suck in his breath. My skin chills as I feel the anger radiating from him.

“We should-“

“Silence,” I cut off the man who speaks.

I wait for them all to quiet down, Myron removes another soldier, leaving me with he and one other in the room. The daughter glances my way, I turn to her, my hand resting upon my chest. I tap it once, to let her know of the armour beneath it.

I walk towards her, leaving my small party on the opposite side of the room.

“I have given you and your brother your lives, so that your heritage and family history is not extinguished. Strike at me, and I will not show mercy.” The daughter’s eyes are afire, burning with the same vengeance that Lelliana’s had the day we were forced to flee. She does not look away from me, but she does step back, signifying her compliance.

I walk back, not willing to turn my back to the girl. Judging by her age, I know she’d easily have the skill to send a dagger flying into the back of my spine, or to slice through the tendons of my legs. All these Nobles are dangerous, even when they look submissive and soft, all of them are trained to kill.

“Thank you,” I hear the old man whisper. His eyes brimming with tears. I watch as his daughter, so rough before, breaks. She clutches at her father, wiping away his tears. She stops, realising she is showing such weakness in front of her enemy. I nod apologetically to the man.

“Commandant Myron,” I command, extending my right arm, raising to point at the family. “Seize him, he will be executed an hour past dawn tomorrow.” As he seizes Governor Olvin, his daughter snarls. Feral and wicked, a promise of violence. Her brother gently pulls her away. He offers me a slight tilt of the head, recognising that I could have had them all killed.

Even so, the woman’s hatred is bitter and clear. Her eyes tear the mask from my face, demanding to know who has the audacity and cruelty to sentence her father to death.

One of you. A Noble, someone who should be standing beside you and aiding you, that is the monster who is going to kill your father.