Legacy of the Void Fleet

He gave a slow nod, confirming her words without hesitation.

”Indeed. That was never the goal,” Kallus said, his tone firm and unapologetic. ”The Genomes—or any other race, for that matter—were never meant to be absorbed into the core of my forces. Not in a direct, structural sense.”

He paused briefly, gaze sweeping across the command chamber.

Only humans will hold positions within the true command structure of the empire I’m building. I have no grand ambitions of creating a utopia where every race lives together in peace—because fundamentally, that’s not possible. And even if such peace could be achieved, it would be temporary at best.

”We humans....

Kallus paused for a moment, almost forgetting that he was no longer human, but something far more—something draconic.

He continued, ’Humans alone already struggle with countless differences—beliefs, cultures, conflicts. Now imagine trying to unify the myriad of races this galaxy, this universe, holds. Peace isn’t a dream I chase. Stability for our people—that, I can work with.

And so, it’s simply not my goal. What I do care about is ensuring that our people, especially humans and those under our alliance, can live in peace and security. That much, I’m committed to.

Of course, there’s a possibility the Dragon race may join us eventually—because of what I am myself. But even then, it will be on our terms.”

He said no more on that, and he didn’t need to. The rest understood: the Genomes, even under his control, were tools at best.

The rest understood: the Genomes, even under his control, were tools at best. But what they didn’t realize was that Kallus had far more intricate plans for the Genomes than anyone suspected.

Yes, he had made it clear—no race other than humans and dragons, and a few rare exceptions, would ever be part of the true command structure of the empire he was about to forge. But that didn’t mean the others were mere cannon fodder. Not the Genomes, at least.

This species possessed a rare affinity for technology—an almost instinctive grasp of it. But that potential was shackled by their own biology, by racial limitations they could never overcome on their own. Such barriers wouldn’t break unless they reached the Universal Realms—a level far beyond the World-Building Realms.

A level, their race had neither the talent, nor the fortune, nor even the faintest hope of ever attaining.

The limitations that he could lift. And once he did, their potential would surge. He could push their evolutionary ceiling far beyond what nature intended—and he fully intended to harness that.

They weren’t just tools. They were a resource. One he had no intention of wasting.

Now, back to the meeting room.

Admiral Renn pressed forward, her tone sharp.

”So even if you take control of the Genome Empire quickly and without resistance, it doesn’t solve the one issue that continues to define our limits.”

She folded her arms and leaned in.

”Our shortage of personnel. Of trained crews. Of engineers, marines, medical teams, logistics officers, planetary governors—everything. Seizing the Genomes might give us momentum, but it won’t fix the fact that we don’t have enough people to operate, hold, or manage what comes next.”

A murmur of agreement spread through the admirals, none too loud, but unmistakable in tone.

She looked directly at Kallus again.

”We’re building an empire that dares to challenge the fundamental laws of reality—powers akin to the gods themselves. But without the hands to hold it up, it will collapse under its own weight. No matter how powerful we become, we are not invincible… and we are certainly not absolute.”

”Basically,” said Ryn as she looked around at everyone, ”what I’m saying is just what you already pointed out—the Genomes, even if conquered, won’t have a place in our core structure. And that means they won’t solve our manpower problem. So this second option… it’s no real solution to our current needs at all.”

Kallus gave a quiet nod, eyes narrowing slightly as Admiral Renn’s words settled within him. He understood the reality well—and more importantly, he had already anticipated it.

The truth was simple.

Even though he had proposed the seizure of the Genome Empire, he held little genuine interest in them. Beyond their racial affinity for technology, the Genomes meant very little to him. It was precisely because of that affinity that he had long since decided to make use of them—though never fully, and never as equals.

Unlike the Minotaur’s—whose fall he had planned for, whose structure he had already prepared to dismantle and reshape—the Genomes were never truly part of his grand design for the dismantling at least. And the Azura Imperium? That would come later. Much later.

Kallus finally spoke, voice low but decisive.

”Okay. I understand.”

He looked across the holo-table at the assembled admirals, his gaze steady.

”Conquering the Genomes won’t solve our immediate needs. It may buy us time… but not the kind of capacity we require.”

He leaned back into his throne-like chair, letting his weight settle as he folded his arms across his chest.

”So let’s shift to the final option.”

He held up a hand as a few of the admirals visibly prepared to speak.

”And before any of you say a word—yes, I’m fully aware of what this next option entails. And yes, I am inclined to use it.”

His eyes gleamed now, not with hesitation, but clarity.

”Because it is better. It is more suitable. And above all… it aligns perfectly with what we need right now.”

The room fell silent again. Not out of fear—but expectation.

Kallus stopped after making his position clear on the final—and most practical—option. He raised his hand slightly, signaling the admirals that they were free to speak and give their own thoughts on the matter.

This time, Admiral Elira Sela stepped forward before anyone else could.

Her voice was calm, but carried the conviction of someone who had thought this through deeply.

”The first and second options,” she began, ”do have their merits—as my fellow admirals rightly pointed out. But ultimately, they are not practical solutions, not within the scope of our current limitations.”

She glanced briefly at Kallus, then back toward the other admirals.

”But the third option… that’s different.”

She nodded once, slowly, toward Kallus.

”It is exactly as you said, Imperial Commander—this is the most practical, most efficient solution available to us.”

She turned then, addressing her peers directly.

”I believe my fellow admirals would agree with that, yes?”

Her gaze swept across the chamber, settling on each of them in turn—Ezra Tanno, Ryn Velos, Kale Thorne, Benjamin, Larkovis, and Alexander.

One by one, they gave short nods of affirmation.

”Yes. Indeed.”

”Agreed.”

But none spoke further. Like Kallus, they were waiting to hear what Elira herself thought beyond consensus.

She inclined her head in appreciation and continued.

”If we begin selecting humans—especially the best candidates—and take them into the Universal Plane, then with the accelerated time inside… we could train personnel at a pace that reality simply can’t match.”

She moved toward the holo, tapping a few commands to bring up a projection of the Universal Plane’s temporal-ratio.

”With one day in reality equaling approximately 500 days inside the Universal Plane, ten days of real-time commitment would allow recruits to undergo nearly fourteen years of training, experience, and simulated warfare. Enough to prepare them for nearly every situation they might face in this galaxy.”

She turned back toward Kallus now, her expression firm.

”And the beauty of this plan… is that it’s not just viable—it’s attractive.”

She gestured subtly to Kallus himself.

Admiral Elira Sela paused after her warning about the Genome, but then turned back toward Kallus, her voice shifting—no longer cautious, but inspired.

”Your name, Imperial Commander… and the name of the Void Fleet—it already carries immense weight on Earth.”

She inclined a bit closer to the table, her gaze intense, her voice rising.

”To the people of Earth, our reputation is mythic. The moment word spreads that recruitment is open—even if it’s for war—countless will flock to us. Not just for glory, not just for power, though they’ll certainly gain both. No...” She pointed to the starmap hovering beside them, with Earth’s position pulsing faintly in the galactic corner.

”They will come because of the dream. A dream they thought would remain only that—a fantasy buried in books, films, and games. But now...” She smiled faintly. ”Now, because of us, that dream is becoming reality.”

A few murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.

”Even if we offered no benefits—no wealth, no augmentation, no titles—many would still come. Because being part of the Void Fleet is the benefit. It is the chance to rise beyond the confines of their world. To fight among stars. To carve a name into the annals of the galaxy itself.”

She looked to Kallus, locking eyes with him.

”All we must do is open the gate.”

She let the weight of her words linger before concluding.

”This is the one path that fills our ranks, trains them just as well and as good compared to the academy we are creating, and does it all without weakening our position in real space. That is why I support it.”