Legacy of the Void Fleet

As Earl Verion turned, his cloak billowed behind him. Without sparing the Minotaur envoy another glance, he flung him aside with a pulse of unseen force. The envoy crashed near the foot of the throne platform, coughing violently as he struggled to rise.

"You may leave for now, Minotaur envoys," Verion said coldly, his voice echoing through the grand chamber.

He resumed his slow march toward the throne, his boots clicking with crisp precision.

He sat back upon his throne. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone, but the aura radiating from his body left no doubt—he was far from pleased.

With a sharp snap of his fingers, two figures materialized in a shimmer of light beside the throne.

One was a stern man in a decorated steward's battle uniform, his posture sharp and disciplined. The other, a tall woman in an elegant maid's dress, exuded an air of command beneath her refined exterior. Both were Star People—descendants of the Flamborn bloodline. Like Verion, they bore hair like burning embers, red and radiant, though their lineage was not of the purest branch.

Even so, the aura both radiated made the six Minotaurs instinctively swallow hard.

The Earl nodded slightly to them. "Take these Minotaur envoys to the Outer West Palace," he ordered. "They will remain there under restricted guest status and observation."

He shifted his gaze. "Head Butler. Head Maid. Ensure they stay only there."

The two bowed in perfect unison. "Yes, Lord," they replied crisply.

Then, Verion turned his attention back to the battered Minotaur envoy, still kneeling, hand trembling as it gripped his throat. He had yet to fully recover from being choked nearly to death.

Verion's tone was like frost on steel. "I have heard your proposal. But as you are well aware, I am merely an Earl—I do not hold the authority to decide such matters alone."

He leaned forward slightly, resting one hand on the arm of his throne. "I will report this to the Star Emperor and his council. Until then, you will wait for our response."

He raised a brow, voice calm but cutting. "Assuming, of course, you have no issue with patience."

The Minotaur envoy, still catching his breath, lowered his head respectfully. His voice, though raspy, was steady and deferential—far more reserved than before.

"I understand, Lord Earl," he said. "We have no problem waiting to learn your empire's stance."

Verion said nothing in return. His silence was answer enough.

Verion said nothing in return. His silence was answer enough.

At that unspoken command, both the Head Maid and Head Butler moved without hesitation. In an instant, they appeared beside the group of kneeling Minotaurs, their presence like a sudden drop in temperature. Their eyes locked onto the six warriors, sharp and unwavering—eyes that radiated silent judgment and quiet authority. It was not magic, nor words, but the sheer weight of their aura that made each of the Minotaurs shiver involuntarily.

Without speaking, the two officers gestured.

The Minotaurs, now fully aware of their precarious position, moved quickly. Their pride might still burn quietly within them, but survival was louder. They scrambled to support their envoy—who was still struggling to stand, his throat bruised, breathing labored from Verion's earlier grip.

The elder Minotaur leaned on two of his kin, swallowing his pain as he straightened himself just enough to walk.

Not a word passed between either side. None were needed.

Led in silence, the Minotaur's followed the Head Butler and Head Maid out of the audience chamber, toward the Outer West Palace—where they would wait, watched, and contained.

Their alliance had earned them a seat at the table.

But this was still the Star Empire's house.

And no one forgot it.

Meanwhile, back within a chamber that bore an uncanny resemblance to a throne room—grand, regal, and adorned in gold-trimmed banners—it was not the domain of an emperor or king. And yet, seated upon a towering throne-like seat was Earl Verion Flamorne, the fire of nobility in his veins, though his expression betrayed a simmering storm beneath the surface.

He sat there motionless, alone, while countless thoughts drifted through his mind. The Minotaurs had been escorted away, their presence now a lingering discomfort on his conscience. After a moment, Verion sighed deeply, the sound heavy with frustration and weariness. He leaned forward slightly, his fingers tightening against the armrests of his seat.

"…What irony," he muttered softly, so low that not even the walls could echo his voice. "An opportunity we've long waited for has landed in front of us... and we're too weak to seize it all for ourselves."

He shook his head slowly, exhaling once more.

"Well... whatever. My opinion matters little in this moment," he said, this time loud enough that, had anyone been present, they might have heard. "I must make haste. The Mother Star awaits… and the Empress must be informed."

He stood, his long crimson cloak trailing behind him like flames. A soft blue glow began to radiate from beneath his feet—energy rising like mist, wrapping around his form in spirals of controlled power.

And then, with a faint hum, Earl Verion disappeared from the throne room in a flash of starry light.

In the next instant, he emerged aboard a titanic vessel stationed at the heart of a vast fleet. Thousands upon thousands of warships surrounded him, stretching across the dark canvas of space like a sea of steel and light.

This was the Genesis IV—a dreadnought-class battleship and a command vessel measuring over 10 kilometers in length, and the personal flagship of Earl Verion Flam borne. Its silhouette was elegant, yet monstrous in scale, armed with devastating firepower and fortified with layers of ancient star forged plating. It was, without question, his most formidable weapon.

And this battleship—one of the Star Empire's most formidable creations—was impressive, yes. But ultimate?Not even close.

As he appeared on the command deck, crew members immediately dropped into bows of respect, stunned by his sudden arrival.

But Verion paid them no attention.

He raised his voice, sharp and commanding, directing it to the ship's AI system.

"Set course for the Mother Star System. Priority route. Use the Interstellar Gate and take us directly to Duke Fredric's domain first. This cannot wait."

The AI responded with a subtle chime as the massive ship rumbled to life, engines flaring with cosmic fire.

ChatGPT said:

The AI responded with a subtle chime as it acknowledged and reconciled Earl Verion's authority as supreme commander. This was no ordinary ship AI—it was a Tier 5 intelligence, among the rarest of its kind. Based on ancient starborn schematics, this AI's intellect could rival—perhaps even surpass—the combined intelligence of billions of humans. It was fully sentient, self-evolving, and built to command without error.

Without delay, the AI executed its command. Leveraging its unique flagship clearance, it forcefully synchronized with the systems of the entire fleet in one calculated burst of control. In that instant, six thousand ships came alive at once. Their propulsion cores ignited in perfect synchronization, like a galactic heartbeat reverberating through the dark void.

Roughly 100,000 kilometers ahead of the fleet's position stood a massive construct: a circular megastructure known as an Interstellar Space Gate. Towering, ancient, and rimmed with golden pylons, it shimmered to life. At its center, the warp device activated—spinning, then stabilizing—until a deep vortex of blue energy formed in the ring's heart.

The vortex crackled, linking space itself between the Genesis Star System and the Star Empire's central domain. Nearly 12 to 15 light-years away, the Mother Star waited.

The fleet surged forward. Engines flared as six thousand warships formed into layered formations and approached the shimmering gate like an armada of gods.

And then, at Earl Verion Flamborne's final order, the entire fleet vanished—each ship swallowed by the roaring blue light of the gate.

The reason Earl Verion brought his entire fleet was deliberate—to emphasize the gravity of the situation. When he arrived before Duke Fredric, the presence of 6,000 warships would speak volumes, forcing even the most dismissive nobles to take his message seriously. It wasn't simply a gesture of pride—it was calculated political pressure.

Why didn't he reach the Star Emperor or the High Council directly? That path was sealed by protocol. The Star Empire's laws were clear: not even an Earl of noble blood could demand immediate audience with the Empress or the Council without layers of clearance, summons, or recommendation. It would take weeks, even months, to navigate the bureaucracy.

But Duke Fredric was different. A high-ranking noble with personal access to the emperor and a seat on the Council, he had the authority to raise such matters swiftly. Verion also had another motive—building favor. If he entrusted this crisis to the Duke and supported it with full force, he might forge a deeper alliance. One that could strengthen his own political footing within the Empire. To Verion, this was more than duty—it was opportunity. A chance to rise.

The journey had begun.

And the weight of the Minotaurs' proposal would soon fall into the hands of the Empire's highest powers.