The asteroid shook.
Kael Vortan stood motionless as debris rattled across the ancient floor of the war-bunker. His newly reawakened senses were already calculating: oxygen levels, structural weakness, potential escape vectors.
"Warning. Gravitic storm approaching in T-minus seven minutes."
The AI's voice had no tone. Just information—cold and absolute.
Kael's crimson gaze drifted toward the stars visible through the fractured glass above. It had been centuries, but the cosmos still burned with war.
"Give me a situation report," Kael commanded.
A flicker, then a 3D map of the nearby sector flared to life. Red dots swarmed across the galactic map—enemy fleets, rogue factions, automated sentries. In the center, a dormant marker pulsed dimly.
"Tyrant Fleet remains intact in Sector Zeta-12. Cloaked. Offline. Awaiting neural reconnection."
He clenched his gauntleted fist. "Reactivate the neural link."
"Warning. Activation will alert orbital patrols."
"I said reactivate."
The AI complied. A surge of white-hot energy stormed through Kael's spinal implants as memories returned—battles long buried, orders never given, a throne that never was.
A single name surfaced: Lucien Vortan. The traitor uncle who stole the dynasty, declared Kael a genetic aberration, and consigned him to oblivion.
"Fleet command link reestablished. Awaiting Sovereign's next command."
Kael inhaled, steady. Cold. Calculated.
"Bring the dreadnoughts online."
"Understood."
Far above the asteroid, hundreds of cloaked warships began to flicker back into reality—each one bristling with planetary-scale weapons. Among them, the Oblivion Crown, Kael's flagship, stirred for the first time in 300 years.
But it wasn't enough.
He needed more than firepower. He needed chaos.
"Do you wish to initiate the Scorch Protocol?"
Kael smiled.
"No. That's for Lucien."
He turned, stepping toward the inner sanctum of the war-bunker. A sealed vault door stood between him and the command deck. With a flick of his fingers, it cracked open, revealing rows of preserved clone tanks—soldiers, generals, assassins, all bred from the Black Nebula bloodline.
"Activate batch Echelon-7."
"Confirmed."
Liquid hissed. Limbs twitched. Within moments, Kael's elite began to awaken—confused at first, but obedient by design. Their eyes flickered the same violet hue.
He addressed them without hesitation.
"Welcome back to existence. The Sovereign lives. The dynasty shall rise."
The clones knelt.
One stepped forward. "What is our first mission?"
Kael's voice was quiet—but sharp.
"Lucien. I want his systems destabilized. His colonies scattered. And when he kneels... I want him to understand that death was the kindest option."
Above the asteroid, storm clouds parted. The Sovereign had returned.