The command center doors sealed behind us with a pneumatic hiss that sounded too much like a trap closing.
The room beyond was a temple to military efficiency—walls of screens showing every corner of the base, tactical displays mapping half the galaxy, and enough firepower controls to level a city block.
My father's face dominated the main screen, larger than life and exactly as terrifying.
"Raven." His voice filled the space, making the Princess straighten beside me. Even she knew when to show respect. "Congratulations. You are now Captain Vex'thara."
"Just like that?" I couldn't hide my surprise. "No ceremony? No formal trials?"
"You passed your test." His red eyes seemed to pierce through the screen, seeing everything. "Defeating twenty recruits in fifty-seven seconds was... impressive. The temporal anomaly was unexpected."
Temporal anomaly. So they had a name for it.
Beside me, the Princess shifted slightly—subtle enough most would miss it, but I'd learned to read her tells. Meus stood at perfect attention near the door, but tension radiated from every line of her body.
"About that—" I started.
"We intercepted a message," he cut me off, casual as discussing the weather. "From your Uncle Marcus. Intended for your private channels."
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. At least it felt that way.
"You're reading my mail now?" I kept my voice level, but inside, alarms were screaming.
"Captain Tran," my father addressed the Elite officer who'd observed the test. "Show him."
Tran's fingers danced across a holographic interface. "This came through encrypted channels three minutes ago, using codes that should have been impossible to crack. Level Nine Imperial encryption, personal authentication required. We managed to intercept it before—"
"This is Marcus's work, right?" I interrupted, recognizing the encryption signature. Uncle always did like his dramatic security. "I am a captain now, my Lord. I believe all messages sent to me are exclusively for me, unless..."
My father's expression didn't change, but something dangerous flickered behind those red eyes. The kind of look that preceded executions in the throne room.
"Unless?" His voice was soft. Soft was bad.
"Unless I'm planning treason." I met his gaze steadily, channeling every ounce of Raven's natural arrogance. "Which I'm not."
The silence stretched like a blade against skin. Captain Tran looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. The Princess watched with the kind of attention usually reserved for blood sports.
"Show him the message," my father said finally.
The hologram flickered to life, and Uncle Marcus appeared. But something was wrong. Very wrong. His usual cocky demeanor—that insufferable smugness that got him exiled from three systems—was gone. Instead, barely controlled panic etched lines in his face.
"Raven, if you're seeing this, then our timeline has accelerated. Valor isn't the real target—he never was. It's about what he stole from—"
The image distorted, pixels scattering like digital snow. When it cleared, someone else stood in Marcus's place.
My blood turned to ice water.
Victor Kronos.
The game's true final boss. The puppet master who orchestrated the original Raven's downfall, who burned entire systems to prove a philosophical point about power. He shouldn't even be introduced for another two years of game time.
But I couldn't react. Couldn't show the recognition clawing at my throat. To everyone here, he should be a stranger—just another face in a galaxy full of threats.
"Lord Vex'thara," Victor's smooth voice filled the room like poisoned honey. He looked exactly as the game portrayed him—silver hair, ageless features, eyes like chips of winter ice. "Your uncle is safe. For now. But if you want him to remain that way, you'll retrieve what Valor stole. You have three weeks, not a month. The Outer Rim awaits."
The message ended with a burst of static that made the room's displays flicker.
"Who was that?" the Princess asked, but her tone suggested she already knew something. Of course she did.
"Unknown," Captain Tran replied, fingers flying across his interface. "No records in any Imperial database. Facial recognition comes up empty. Voice pattern analysis shows—"
"Shows what?" I pressed.
"Anomalies. Like the voice is synthetic, but not. As if..." He paused, frowning. "As if the speaker doesn't quite exist properly."
What the fuck did that mean?
"This mission just became significantly more dangerous," my father said, drawing attention back to the main screen. "The Outer Rim is beyond my reach. They won't care that you're my son. They'll see you as either an opportunity or a threat."
"Good." I forced calm into my voice. "I work better without a safety net. I have a month, right? For the marriage deadline?"
"Three weeks, apparently." His expression shifted to something calculating. "Unless you're suggesting this mysterious Victor is bluffing?"
Shit. He was testing me again. Everything was always a test with him.
"No," I said carefully. "Uncle Marcus wouldn't panic without reason. If this Victor has him, the threat is real."
"Agreed." My father leaned back slightly. "There's something else we need to discuss. Your performance tonight. The facility's response to your emotional state. The temporal distortion that allowed you to move faster than humanly possible."
"I don't—"
"Don't lie to me, son." The word 'son' hit like a slap. He rarely used it. "You're manifesting abilities. The technology isn't just responding to you—it's synchronizing with you. The question is: how long has this been happening?"
I glanced at Meus, who kept her expression carefully neutral. The Princess, however, was watching me like a xenobiologist who'd just discovered a new species.
"Since the Grokkies," I admitted. Half-truths were safer than lies. "Maybe before. I thought it was just adrenaline. Combat high."
"It's not." My father's expression shifted to something I'd never seen before. Was that... concern? "Your mother had similar gifts. I'd hoped they'd skipped you."
Mother? The game never mentioned Raven's mother. She was just listed as 'deceased' in the character files.
"She could interface with any technology through touch," he continued, each word careful. "By the end, she didn't even need that. The machines loved her. Responded to her thoughts, her needs, her emotions." His voice turned bitter. "Right up until they killed her."
The room was cemetery quiet.
"Am I—"
"You're stronger than she was. The temporal distortion proves that. But also less controlled." He gestured to someone off-screen. "You'll find training materials in your quarters. Encrypted files from her research. Use them. Master this gift before it masters you."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Dismissed, Captain." He emphasized the rank. "Form your unit and prepare for departure. You have seventy-two hours before your transport to the Rim is ready."
The screen went dark, leaving us in the blue glow of tactical displays.
"Well," the Princess said lightly, "that was illuminating. Your mother could talk to machines, and now you can too. How delightfully hereditary."
"Your Highness," Captain Tran interrupted before I could respond, "perhaps we should discuss—"
"Nothing," she cut him off. "We should discuss nothing. Captain Vex'thara has a unit to form, and I have my own preparations to make."
She swept toward the door, pausing just long enough to whisper, "We need to talk. Privately. Soon."
Great. Because my life wasn't complicated enough.
Outside command, a crowd had gathered. Word traveled fast on a military base, especially word about impossible tests and temporal anomalies. When I emerged, they erupted in applause—the recruit who'd beaten twenty opponents in under a minute.
Sergeant Krueger stood at attention, and for the first time since I'd met him, there was genuine respect in his scarred face. "Captain Vex'thara. Your orders?"
The authority felt strange on my shoulders. In the game, command was just clicking units and watching them move. This was real. These were real people who would live or die based on my decisions.
"I need to form a unit," I said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Ten personnel for immediate deployment."
"The recruits from your barracks have volunteered," Krueger informed me. "All twenty."