The sky above the Silver Empire was a sickly, translucent gold. It was not the color of the sun, but the glow of the massive energy shield that kept this floating city suspended above the toxic clouds of the lower world.
Today, the entire empire was mourning. Or at least, they were trying to.
Holographic white flowers floated in the air, dissolving into pixels before they could touch the ground. A mournful electronic dirge played from invisible speakers, vibrating through the crystal floor of the Grand Hall.
In the center of the hall lay a magnificent coffin carved from a single piece of starlight quartz. Inside it slept the man who had ruled this empire for sixty years—the Emperor.
Standing next to the coffin was Ceres.
She was a vision of dark, dangerous beauty. She wore a gown made of black liquid metal that clung to her curves like a second skin, its hem pooling on the floor like spilled ink. The dress shimmered with a faint, iridescent neon glow under the hall's lights.
She looked like a queen, a goddess, a ruler. Except for the heavy laser-crystal handcuffs binding her slender wrists behind her back. She was the Imperial Saintess, the symbol of hope. But in reality, she was nothing more than a prisoner.
"Saintess," a voice sneered beside her. "Stop staring at the corpse. It's depressing."
Ceres turned her head slowly. Standing there was the Crown Prince, Valerian. He was handsome in a sharp, synthetic way, his left eye replaced by a glowing red cybernetic lens. He was adjusting the cuffs of his white military uniform, looking utterly bored.
"He is your father, Valerian," Ceres said, her voice cool and detached. "He died ten minutes ago."
Valerian blinked. The red lens in his eye whirred as it focused on the old man in the coffin. A look of genuine confusion crossed his face.
"Father?" Valerian let out a short, harsh laugh. "Don't be ridiculous, my pet. I don't remember having a father. My memory logs show... nothing."
He tapped his temple with a gloved finger. "The Law of Oblivion is acting up again. Or maybe you're just lying to me, as always."
Ceres looked at him with pity—not for him, but for the pathetic state of this world. The stronger the individual, the faster they forgot. Valerian was a Star-Class warrior. His brain deleted "useless data" every few minutes to make space for combat algorithms. To him, the man who raised him was now just expired meat.
"Just get moving," Valerian grabbed Ceres by the arm, his grip bruisingly tight. He didn't drag her toward the exit. He dragged her toward the Throne.
The Imperial Throne sat at the end of the hall, a towering structure of floating metal shards and ancient runes. It had been locked since the era of the True Gods.
"Today is my coronation," Valerian whispered, his breath hot against her ear. There was a manic hunger in his voice. "And you, my beautiful, cursed Saintess... you are the key."
He pushed her roughly against the cold metal of the throne. The guests—high-ranking cyborg generals and aristocrats—watched in silence. Their eyes were blank. They had already forgotten whose funeral this was. They were just waiting for the next show.
"Open it," Valerian ordered. He pulled out a silver syringe, the needle glinting menacingly.
Ceres leaned back against the throne. The crystal handcuffs dug into her skin, but her expression remained arrogantly calm. Her golden eyes, deep and ancient, swept over the hall.
She remembered. She remembered the old Emperor's cruelty. She remembered how Valerian had begged for her blood to cure his genetic defects. She remembered the Old World that slept beneath the foundations of this floating lie.
In a world of amnesiacs, memory was the deadliest weapon. And she was the only one armed.
"You want my blood, Valerian?" Ceres asked softly. Her lips curled into a smile that was both alluring and terrifying. "You think this throne belongs to you?"
"It belongs to the strong!" Valerian shouted. He couldn't wait any longer. He jammed the needle into the delicate vein of her neck.
Pain bloomed, sharp and cold. Crimson blood flowed into the glass chamber of the syringe. It wasn't just red; it sparkled with faint, starlight particles—the blood of the Creator.
As her blood was drawn, the silent, locked Throne suddenly let out a low, resonant hum. The floating metal shards began to spin. The ancient runes lit up, turning from a dormant blue to a violent, warning red.
Valerian's eyes widened in ecstasy. "Yes! It recognizes me! The Empire is mine!"
Ceres closed her eyes, feeling the drain, but also feeling the awakening. The seal her mother had placed on her was loosening.
You fool, she thought. The throne isn't welcoming a new master. It is waking up because its true owner has returned.
"Enjoy your moment, Prince," Ceres whispered, her voice drowned out by the roaring energy of the throne. "Because it will be your last memory."
She opened her eyes. The golden iris expanded, swallowing the pupil, turning her gaze into pools of molten gold.
[System Warning: Memory Override in progress.] [Target: The Silver Empire.]
The funeral was over. The slaughter was about to begin.