Legacy of the Void Fleet

And just as the head emissary and the fifth Minotaur had predicted, events began unfolding swiftly.

Far away, in the vast reaches of the Central Star Region of the Star Race—one of the largest and most fortified territories in the known galaxy—a ripple disturbed the void of space. The Central Region, as it was called, encompassed over a hundred tightly connected star systems, forming the administrative and military heart of the Star Race’s domain. Each such region wasn’t simply a cluster of stars—it was an empire within an empire, tightly bound by jump-gates, logistical corridors, defensive formations, and advanced surveillance systems.

Among these, the Thunder born Star System stood out.

It was named after one of the great noble houses of the Star Race—the Thunder born lineage. Governed by Duke Flexius Thunder born, a powerful noble whose influence reached deep into both the military and political spheres, the system was one of the jewels of the Central Region.

At the edge of the Thunder born System, a massive stargate pulsed with unstable energy. Then, with a resonant hum and a flash of controlled gravitational distortion, a fleet emerged. Blue banners shimmered against the hulls—marking the arrival of Earl Verion Flam bron’s personal armada, known for their unmistakable discipline and firepower.

No sooner had the fleet finished exiting the gate than Earl Verion departed, taking only his flagship with him. The rest of the fleet was left in standby formation, awaiting further orders. The flagship accelerated toward the inner system, bypassing regular formalities and traffic routes. He had no time to waste.

This was not a visit of ceremony, but of urgency.

Within the hour, Verion’s ship pierced the inner atmosphere of the Duke’s estate world. High above the clouds, spires of radiant crystal jutted from the surface like spears aimed at the sky, the very architecture a testament to the grandeur and pride of House Thunder born. No one questioned his arrival—his message had been sent through secure channels en route.

At the palace, servants moved with coordinated grace as Verion disembarked. He made no pause to admire the scenery. The moment the grand doors of the estate opened, he was escorted directly to the private audience chamber.

When the white double-doors swung open, Verion stepped into a high-ceilinged room bathed in pale starlight, filtered through a crystalline dome. At the far end sat Duke Flexius Thunder born, resplendent in silver robes, seated calmly on a white chair with a cup of tea in hand. His long silver hair hung neatly, his expression one of composure—but his eyes held the glint of sharp intellect, always alert.

”Greetings, Duke Thunder born,” Verion said, offering a respectful bow. His voice was firm, but the urgency lingered beneath it like a storm cloud.

Flexius nodded slowly and gestured toward the seat opposite him. ”Earl Flambron. You arrived in quite the rush. Come, sit. Speak calmly. We’ve time.”

Though Verion wished to dive directly into the matter, he didn’t want to appear disrespectful. In the hierarchy of the Star Race, even Earls had to navigate the currents of noble etiquette carefully, especially when speaking to someone like Flexius, who sat just beneath the imperial council.

He sat, and Duke Flexius raised a hand slightly.

”Have some tea. It’s from the ancient Calming Tree,” he said smoothly. ”Rare, grown on one of the worlds closest to the imperial core. Should help ease that storm you’re carrying in your chest.”

Verion took the tea, sipped, and allowed a moment of pause to settle over them. The ritual was part respect, part strategy. When the cup was placed back onto the table and the silence grew still, the Duke finally asked:

”Now, Earl Verion… speak. What news was so dire that it warranted this unannounced visit?”

Verion’s eyes sharpened. ”It’s regarding the Holy Region—and more. You must know this immediately, for I suspect it will shape the future stance of the Empire.”

Then, with clarity and precision, he recounted all that had transpired during the meeting with the Minotaurs. From their uncharacteristic submissiveness, to the truth about the Forbidden Land and the ancient artifact connected to the Holy Region. He explained how the Minotaurs were not acting out of greed or conquest, but from necessity—and that the land they stood upon was something far more significant than previously believed.

He detailed the agreement: there would be no single owner of the Holy Region. The Minotaurs had agreed to share it—with the Alchemy Association, the Forgers’ Guild, the Dark Elven Empire, and the Mountain Dwarves. All four were entities powerful enough to deter even a tier-one galactic race from rash actions.

Duke Flexius had listened silently at first. But as the truth unfolded, his composed demeanor cracked. The teacup stopped midair. His brows drew tight. Finally, he stood abruptly, his voice losing its usual smooth tone.

”Are you saying… this is confirmed? That the Forbidden Land and the Holy Region are one and the same? That they’re forming a multiparty agreement over it?”

Verion rose as well, though not as sharply. ”I haven’t confirmed it personally—there was no time. But I do not believe the Minotaurs would make such a calculated move without backing. Not with powers like the Alchemy Association and Forgers’ Guild involved. This could very well be real, and if it is… it changes everything.”

Flexius paced, hands behind his back, his mind racing. ”We were hoping to claim minitours ruled region silently… as an expansion project. But this if we had known it sooner, it could have been ours, but… this means we’re already late. If what you say is true, the Emperor must know immediately. Even if we can’t have full control, a stake in the Holy Region would still be invaluable to the Empire.”

He paused at the door.

”Flambron,” he said, turning halfway. ”You did well, bringing this directly to me. I will report this through the secure channel from my private sanctum. If all goes well, and we act swiftly, the Emperor may reward us both.”

He gave the Earl a single firm nod.

”Now… you may either remain here and await news—or return to your domain. The decision is yours. But I will not delay.”

With that, Duke Flexius departed. He moved with purpose, bypassing the usual teleport arrays and instead activating a hidden corridor within his estate. He didn’t want to travel to the Imperial Star world physically—it would take too long. Instead, he would transmit this intelligence via the most secure means possible: a direct channel to the Imperial Throne itself.

Within moments, the Duke vanished, the walls of the estate closing behind him as if he had never been there.

And far above, the vast machinery of the Star Race began to shift—quietly, but inevitably. For the Holy Region was no longer a matter of myth or isolated interest for their race at least. It was now a battlefield of influence, a contested miracle, and a race that even the mighty could not afford to lose.

Inside one of the most hidden chambers of the Thunder born Star, located deep within the Duke’s private fortress, a grand and lavish room flickered to life. Despite being used solely for secure communication, the chamber was constructed with the utmost luxury—walls laced with crystalline alloys, mana-stabilizing pillars humming softly, and a single central platform where the duke now stood. This was a place known only to the ruling head of the Thunder born family. Not even his own children knew of its full purpose.

Duke Flexiy Thunder born, clad in his imperial ceremonial robes, wasted no time. His fingers danced across the floating control panels, activating the emergency communication system designed to connect directly to the Imperial Palace on the Star World. This was a high-priority, secure relay—used only in matters of national significance. Within seconds, the shimmering image of a man appeared before him, projected from the far side of the galaxy.

Sitting upon a radiant throne crafted from pristine white and ethereal gold, the Emperor of the Star People came into view.

His presence alone was overwhelming.

The throne was grand, but not garish. The white material it was made of gleamed like sacred marble, while gold veins ran through it like threads of divine authority. The man himself had piercing golden eyes and jet-black hair, marked with the faint diamond-shaped glow unique to the Starborn race. Though his appearance was simple, his aura radiated power and supreme confidence.

This was Zarvok Starborn, the reigning Emperor of the Star Empire—undisputed master of a Tier-One race that ruled over hundreds of systems.

As soon as the image stabilized, Duke Flexiy dropped to one knee and lowered his head.

”Hail the Emperor,” he said respectfully.

Zarvok nodded once, his voice cutting through the silence, calm yet commanding.”Speak, Duke. Why have you contacted me through the emergency system?”

Duke Flexiy straightened himself and clasped his hands behind his back. ”Your Majesty… I have come into possession of information that may directly impact the future of our empire. I believe it is urgent enough to bring to your immediate attention.”