Ravik of Xerion is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences. It contains psychological themes, emotional intensity, and romantic content between adult characters, including elements of dominance, vulnerability, and queer identity.

The story may explore trauma, military violence, and morally complex relationships between consenting adults. Reader discretion is advised. All characters are fictional and over the age of 18.

IMPERIAL STRATEGIC OPERATIONS DIVISION
FILE: 0033-VANGUARD-[REDACTED]
CLEARANCE LEVEL: TOP SECRET // SCI // Command Eyes-Only

Mandate: Strategic elimination of subversive threats to Imperial stability. Counter-insurgency, covert elimination, [REDACTED].

Supreme oversight rests with Imperial Vanguard Commander Zarion Sol’Valen, reporting directly to the Emperor. (Ref: Vanguard detachments [REDACTED]; destroyer-class vessels under blackout protocol.)

Subject: Captain Ravik Neravik
Homeworld: Xerion
Affinity: None detected
Alignment: N/A

PERFORMANCE SUMMARY

Subject demonstrated above-average aptitude across all evaluated disciplines.

Assessment areas include:

Strategic Operations Command Modules

Live-fire Combat Drills

Simulated Engagement Protocols

Comparative metrics are [REDACTED].
Analyst Note: See Appendix-C for percentile data (Eyes-Only clearance).

Subject Neravik has demonstrated exceptional proficiency. His [REDACTED] is in the upper [REDACTED] of all graduating cadets from the Imperial Officer Academy. However, the Subject has also shown signs of [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]; High Command has deemed him unsuitable for [REDACTED].

Shadow Vanguard detachment has reported [REDACTED] and requests urgent action to [REDACTED] related to mission-critical operations in the [REDACTED] sector of the Outer Rim. Troop transport can be allocated to [REDACTED] site on Xerion in 24 standard hours.

RECOMMENDATION

High Command review panel (Ref: MM-04/[REDACTED]) has been superseded by Operational Directive [REDACTED] issued by Commander Zarion and approved by [REDACTED]. 

Commission Status: Pending Notification

Survival Probability: Variable

Monitoring Authorized

No Mistakes, Only Orders

“Ravik Neravik of Xerion.”

Ravik squared his shoulders as he stepped forward, violet eyes gleaming. The air was still and sterile, purified to Xerion standards. Beneath his boots, the polished floor bore no scratches, only his reflection; flawless Yawr complexion, perfect posture, uniform pristine. A solitary camera drone hovered above, watching in silence.

Representatives from all four branches of the Imperial Military assessed him as he stood before the dais in the Hall of Ascendance. Cool lighting cut through symmetrical columns as the golden banners of the Yawr Empire hung high above, a testament to the prestige of the Imperial Officer Academy.

The Commissioner, an imposing Yawr woman draped in imperial regalia, sat at the center. She began to read from the datapad in front of her.

“Your record states you graduated as valedictorian. You earned the Obsidian Crest, awarded for tactical excellence, the Highest Martial Commendation for…”

As the Commissioner continued to read from his long list of accolades, Ravik’s focus shifted. None of that mattered. The only thing he cared about was earning the title of Class Commander, and it had been stolen from him.

“Ravik Neravik, Class of Cycle 5282 under His reign, do you swear to faithfully execute the duties entrusted upon you in service to the Empire?”

Ravik snapped back to attention. “Yes.”

“Do you take this obligation freely, under full understanding of the covenant upon which you are about to enter, without coercion or false pretense?”

“Yes.”

“Do you pledge your loyalty to the Emperor?”

“Yes.”

The Commissioner’s crimson gaze fell to the datapad before settling on Ravik again, cold and absolute.

“You are hereby commissioned as Captain, Shadow Vanguard detachment.”

Ravik’s breath caught in his throat. He glared at the Commissioner.

“Excuse me? Repeat that, ma’am.”

“You are a Vanguard, Captain. Effective Immediately.”

Ravik’s heart raced. He tried to steady his breathing. The Vanguard were ghosts, their ranks shrouded in secrecy and fear. Graduates from the Academy were supposed to be on the frontline, leading mechanized ground troops or interstellar brigades in the Yawr Empire’s ongoing expansion, not in covert special operations.

“No,” he protested. “Check again. This has to be a mistake. I belong—”

“Stand to order, Captain.” The Commissioner’s tone was harsh. “This Commission does not make mistakes. You have your orders. Dismissed.”

Ravik clicked his heels as he saluted, the sound echoing through the hall.

“For the Empire.”

Lyrik was beaming when he saw Ravik. He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing server and offered one to Ravik with a wide smile.

“To serving on board the Dominus together!” He extended his glass toward Ravik, crimson eyes bright and a slight blush on his cheeks. Ravik didn’t meet his gaze. His grip on the glass tightened.

“Rav… you ok? We’re going to stay together, right?”

The sound of clinking glasses and excited chatter filled the antechamber as newly commissioned officers congratulated each other on their assignments. Servers flowed around them effortlessly, carrying trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres, the scent of exotic spices trailing in their wake. Ravik had no appetite.

“You’re a Captain already?” 

Ravik focused his attention back to Lyrik, who was admiring the shining insignia on his uniform jacket.

“Does it matter?” he snapped. Lyrik stepped back, lips pressed in a frown.

“Rav, what happened?”

“Vanguard.”

Lyrik’s breath hitched. He nearly dropped his glass.

“The Imperial Vanguard? That’s serious.”

“Is it?” Ravik hissed.

“Of… of course. They go where the rest of us can’t. You’ll be leading missions—”

Ravik laughed, low and bitter. “...that stay sealed.”

Lyrik hesitated. “They say the Vanguard keeps the Empire clean.”

“Then I suppose I’m a janitor with a sidearm.” 

A group of officers joined the two men. Ravik always had admirers; his violet eyes were incredibly rare, and he carried himself with the confidence and composure of one born into Xerion’s nobility. Being the center of attention never bothered him; he’d grown to expect it.

“Look at you!” The slightly tipsy lieutenant gestured toward Ravik. “Captain, huh? I bet 100 credits that you’ll be a Bridge Officer by next cycle.”

“Where did they place you? Dominus Command Operations?” another lieutenant asked.

“No way… he’s got the build for a Mech Pilot.”

Ravik finished his drink. “You gossip like cadets. It’s tiresome.”

“Then tell us, so we can celebrate!” 

The lieutenant laughed again, tugging at Ravik’s sleeve. Ravik shifted just enough to make contact, brushing him off.

“If you say that one more time,” he said quietly, “I’ll assume you're trying to be disrespectful.” He straightened his jacket like nothing happened. “It’s not worth celebrating, anyway. I’ve been assigned to the Vanguard.”

The group stilled, eyes wide. “What? Impossible!”

Lyrik stepped closer to Ravik. “It doesn’t make sense. You and Korel were the only ones to make Captain, and he—”

Ravik raised a hand. “Enough!” The lieutenants glanced nervously at one another as the low hum of conversation dwindled. Ravik scanned the room until he found his rival.

Near the bar, Korel spoke with his fellow officers. The light from the ceremonial torches drew faint gold along the ink on his wrists, visible just beyond his cuffs. Korel was Yawr but not from Xerion; he hailed from Elyria, a lush planet classified as a Core World of the Yawr Empire.

Elyrian Yawr had stockier builds, but their most distinguishing feature was their tattoos. Tradition dictated that tattoos were never ornamental; they must be earned. Of the many things Ravik despised about Korel, this is what he hated the most.

Ravik watched him for a long moment, then crossed the floor. His group of admirers followed.

“Enjoying the spotlight?” Ravik sneered. “It’s… inspiring. Proof that the Academy can polish anyone, even off-world stock.”

Korel turned, crimson eyes steady. Before he could answer, Lyrik laughed softly. “Maybe that’s why they chose him. A little diversity for the propaganda reels.”

The lieutenants around him chuckled, eager for approval.

Ravik stepped closer. “You’re quite the symbol now, Korel. Inked skin, provincial manners… Reminds everyone that the Empire can be generous, even when it lowers its standards.”

“If that’s all you have to say, you’re wasting your breath.” Korel spoke with a calm, melodic cadence. He never tried to hide his accent.

Ravik tilted his head. “Respect isn’t earned in classrooms. You’re born to it, or you spend your life pretending.”

“Is that why you brought your entourage?” Korel asked quietly. “Can’t stand alone?”

Ravik’s face stayed composed, but something in his chest twisted.

He leaned closer, voice edged and brittle. “Enjoy your title while it lasts, Class Commander. It’s meaningless beyond these halls.”

Korel’s reply was soft but absolute. “You had your chance. You lost. Move on.”

Conversations stilled. Ravik brushed past him, deliberately bumping his shoulder.

Lyrik caught up near the bar. “Rav…” he murmured. His hand gently brushed Ravik’s before retreating. “We’re both exactly where the Empire decided we should be.”

Ravik reached out, catching Lyrik’s chin in his hand, forcing the other man to meet his gaze. “Is that what you think?” he growled, his voice low. “Or is that what you tell yourself so it doesn’t hurt?”

A soft chime rang through the hall, clear and metallic, signalling the banquet.

Lyrik turned, ensuring they were mostly alone before leaning closer. “I… I don’t want to leave things unfinished between us.” His tone softened, the usual playful lilt giving way to something raw.

“I’m not in the mood,” Ravik sighed, his voice quiet but firm.

Lyrik grabbed Ravik’s shoulders. Ravik felt his hands trembling as he gripped the fabric. 

“I don’t care if it’s messy or complicated, Rav,” Lyrik pleaded. “I don’t care if it’s not perfect. But… if this is the end… if you’re telling me it’s over, then just… just say it.”

Ravik’s throat tightened. He couldn’t bring himself to answer immediately. He looked at Lyrik; the vulnerability in his crimson eyes, the way he held himself as though bracing for a blow.

“You’re a good man, Lyrik,” Ravik said finally, his voice quiet but steady. “And that’s why I can’t do this to you anymore.”

Lyrik’s breath hitched, tears welling in his eyes as he bit down hard on his lip. He nodded quickly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I see.”

“Lyrik—”

“No, it’s fine.” Lyrik wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “You’ve made yourself clear.”

Before Ravik could respond, Lyrik turned and walked away, his steps quick and unstable as he disappeared into the thinning crowd. Ravik stared at his own reflection in the glass, distorted by the dripping condensation.

It was the right thing to do…

He finished his drink in solitude. The hum of the banquet faded behind him as he slipped away from the Great Hall, boots echoing in steady rhythm through the dim corridors of the Academy.