"Officers and soldiers of the Terran Royal Guard, citizens of Augustgrad, citizens of Korhal, Mar Sara, Moria, Umoja… subjects of the Dominion.
"I am Valerian Mengsk, son of Emperor Arcturus I. As Crown Prince of the Dominion and Honorary Admiral of the Terran Royal Navy, at this time of grave crisis for Korhal and the Dominion, I must address you with a heavy truth.
"My father, Emperor Arcturus I, is dead."
On every official Dominion broadcast channel, Valerian's voice—hoarse and weary, like a ghost—echoed across Korhal's skies.
"By sacred law of the Dominion, I hereby ascend as Valerian I, Emperor of the Terran Dominion, taking command of our nation's fate.
"It is an unprecedented burden. In this hour of survival and peril, as the Dominion's destiny is decided, I believe my conscience and my duty are to secure as safe an existence as possible for our people—to protect them.
"I tried to fight to the end against the enemies who enslave our homeland. Whatever the cost, I sought victory.
"But we have failed.
"I know all too well how dire the situation is across the sector, how fragile the Dominion now stands.
"Our homes are being destroyed. Our brave soldiers are slaughtered. Our people struggle on the edge of death… we will all die, meaningless deaths.
"I am a failed sovereign. I cannot protect my people. I cannot bring you victory.
"Thus, from this moment, I relinquish my qualification as Emperor of the Dominion.
"I shall perform one final duty as head of state: to impose extraordinary measures to salvage what remains.
"I, Valerian Mengsk, representing the Dominion Assembly and its Supreme Commander, hereby agree to unconditional surrender of all Terran land, naval, and armed forces still under Dominion control to the Sacred Selene Empire, specifically to the Second Grand Battalion of the Black Templars of the Third Legion Astartes Expeditionary Fleet.
"At the same time, I permanently renounce all powers of Emperor of the Dominion and Supreme Commander of its armed forces.
"All Dominion officials, officers, soldiers of the land and naval forces, and all who swore oaths to the Mengsk dynasty are hereby released from duty.
"Effective immediately.
"May God bless the Dominion."
Koprulu Sector, at a Dominion base on Umoja.
Valerian, wearing a black, square-collared uniform like his father's, stepped out of the broadcast chamber. His face was haggard, eyes hollow, brows furrowed. On the steps, he nearly stumbled, almost collapsing.
"Your Highness…"
"I'm fine."
He waved weakly to his personal guards, lips trembling as if to speak, yet unable to form the words.
They were loyalists of House Mengsk, veterans of the old "Sons of Korhal." They had overthrown the Confederacy and built the Dominion. Now, the fruits of a lifetime, the cause they had devoted themselves to… were gone.
"Your Highness, if we fight to the death—is there truly no chance at all?" someone asked, unwilling to yield.
"No chance. The gap in power is too great. And beyond that… the Xel'naga. Our resistance is no more than gnats striking a tree, wiped out in an instant."
That feeling of being under Selene's gaze—it was unbearable. Too vivid, too absolute.
Whenever he entertained the faintest doubt, thinking it might only be psionics at work, a hollow despair consumed him. It forced him forward, driving the surrender process with ruthless efficiency.
"Have the orders been sent to all systems under Mengsk control, and to the fleets en route to Korhal?"
"They have. Half obeyed, halting their advance toward Korhal as you commanded. But half have not replied. Some… have even issued statements denouncing your proclamation, calling it cowardice…"
"Leave them be. Fools bent on death cannot be persuaded. Whether they are truly loyal to my father or harbor ulterior motives—let them. For those who have not replied, send the order again. Use harsher words this time."
"Yes, sire!"
Valerian nodded, seeing the grief and reluctance in his companions' faces. It gave him faint comfort. The old "Sons of Korhal" veterans still stood by the Mengsk family.
Thus, under the Sacred Selene Empire, even if only part of the surrender agreement was honored, there remained a chance for House Mengsk to start anew, to rise again.
After a moment, he sighed: "Just watch. We're not the only unlucky ones. At least we sold ourselves dearly. The Kel-Morian Combine, the Umojan Protectorate—if they try to resist the Sacred Selene Empire the same way they resisted us… they'll pay dearly."
As the saying goes—better to see others lose than to see oneself gain nothing. Valerian was not so bitter, but since he had already fallen from prince to pawn, imagining the fate of the Empire's hidden resistance groups gave him a sliver of satisfaction.
"Valerian!"
A booming voice rang out as the recording room's doors burst open.
"What the hell have you done?!"
The speaker was a burly man, massive in both height and waist—not fat, but solid. A tangle of black beard like iron wire covered his lips, fury blazing in his rugged features.
"This is what you call saving our lives?! We were ready to risk everything—stab your old man in the back and free Jim Raynor! If not for that, you think we'd have allied with you?!"
"You made us reroute to Korhal, made us think you had some grand plan—and now you scurry off to Umoja, only to announce abdication and surrender?! Arcturus is dead, you're Emperor now! You could've just ordered Raynor's release!"
"Food served to your lips and you can't eat it—you spineless coward! You weakling!"
"Rory Swann, you damned Kel-Morian barbarian! Shut your mining-camp stinking mouth!"
Though Valerian had declared abdication, his bodyguards—longtime loyal retainers—reacted instinctively. Dishonor to their lord was dishonor to themselves. Hands went to holsters, voices raised in anger.
Click-clack!
"What's this? The Mengsk family's lapdogs baring their teeth?"
Rory Swann, once a Kel-Morian miner, now a member of Raynor's Raiders, sneered. His hydraulic prosthetic arm, fitted with clamp and welder, rose threateningly.
He had not forgotten the debt he owed Raynor. Whatever mistakes Raynor had made of late for Kerrigan's sake, Swann's loyalty to his commander was unshaken.
Behind him, Raiders entered the room, rifles raised, the mechanical clicks of weapons chambering rounds filling the air. Tension surged.
"I'll say it again!"
Valerian's temper broke. Even his mild nature could not endure such insults. "Rushing headlong into Korhal now is suicide! The entire Korhal system has fallen. The Dominion is finished! Do you understand? Jim Raynor may yet live—or he may already be dead."
"Say that again, you bastard!"
Before he finished, thud-thud-thud—another group stormed in. The heavy steps belonged to soldiers of the Umojan Protectorate, escorting a suited official.
"Valerian! You've broken our agreement! We poured astronomical resources into you, and now you say you abdicate?! Your father was killed by these invaders, and you surrender? Fuck you! Are you playing us?!"
The Umojan official, flanked by his guards, leveled his accusation fiercely.
The Protectorate had existed since before the Confederacy—a venerable faction that had repelled Confederate incursions time and again, though never outright warred against them.
Back in the day, Arcturus Mengsk's "Sons of Korhal" guerrilla war had left the Confederacy reeling.
At the founding of the Dominion, the Umojan Protectorate had supported the new empire. Arcturus's reputation on Umoja was strong—helped in no small part by the fact that his son, Valerian, was born of Juliana Pasteur, a Umojan citizen.
But as time passed, Arcturus's regime grew ever more oppressive, more and more like the Confederacy's tyranny. The Protectorate, long proud of its autonomy, drifted steadily away.
The Protectorate's Assembly knew full well the Dominion's unmatched military might, and so it resorted to subtler methods to preserve independence. Supporting Valerian—half Umojan blood—as heir became one of their key policies. They invested enormous resources to this end.
Why else had Valerian chosen Umoja's research institutes as his base after Raynor and he purified Sarah Kerrigan?
When Valerian suddenly rushed back to Umoja, the Assembly had wondered what happened. Hadn't he set out for Korhal?
Before they could even ask, the airwaves carried his proclamation: Emperor Valerian I's final decree, abdication, and surrender. The news struck like a thunderbolt.
Abdicate?!
How could you abdicate?! Our investment—all for nothing?!
Yes, the invaders were powerful, their fleet greater than the UED's at Korhal. But they were far from home, while we would fight on our own ground.
Why fear?
Yes, Korhal was blockaded, its plight dire. Arcturus's last speech had hinted as much.
But the Dominion held countless worlds. Even if Korhal was lost, you were still Arcturus's son. The crown and law were still yours. You could have waged guerrilla war, rallied endless supporters, drawn strength from the people.
But surrender was one thing—you abandoned even your claim to the throne!
Useless. A burden we cannot carry.
We were ready to die fighting. Why has Your Majesty surrendered first?
This was the Assembly's one thought upon hearing the news.
"Hah…"
Umojan officials were at least more refined than Rory Swann and the blunt Raiders. They calmed themselves, forcing composure. One councilor stepped forward, teeth clenched, and asked:
"Is the situation on Korhal truly so dire? So dire that you never even considered resisting, that you rushed to surrender in terror?"
Valerian answered with absolute certainty: "Worse than anything you imagined in your emergency plans. A hundred times worse. A thousand."
He stared at the councilor, eyes sharp and grim. Gesturing his guards aside, he stepped forward and pointed to his own eyes.
"When my father bid me farewell, told me not to return to Korhal—told me to flee the sector—I watched as a psionic intruder strode into his palace and severed his head before me."
"A psionic no weaker than Kerrigan herself."
"That alone scared you?!" Rory Swann roared, glaring. "So what if it's a psionic? Didn't you unearth Xel'naga artifacts?!"
Valerian swept his gaze across them all, his voice solemn and heavy: "And what if the invaders are apostles of the Xel'naga?"
The words silenced the room. Even Rory Swann fell quiet.
They all knew the name. Raiders and Umojans alike had fought at Char, in the purification of the Queen of Blades. The Xel'naga—the creators. It was by their relics that Kerrigan had been purged.
The Queen of Blades needed no introduction.
"Your Highness…"
"Are you certain?" the Umojan councilor asked, disbelief plain. "By now Kerrigan should have reached Korhal with the swarm. What of her?"
Too unreal. None wanted to believe.
Valerian smiled faintly, candidly: "Lost contact. I cannot prove it to you. Believe I am lying, if you wish."
"But I know."
"She is watching us…"
He lifted his head, stepped toward the chamber's wide viewport, spread his arms wide—as if to say, see how well I've done?
In that instant—vrrrrrr—!
Before Valerian could react—
Thud! Thud—
He found himself already kneeling on the cold deck.
The clear sky was gone. In its place, two blood-red moons loomed. The starry sea itself seemed to flow, sketching a vast, shifting shape—
Cold sweat poured down his brow. A chill, imperious female voice whispered in his mind.
"Mischief. Come to Korhal."
...
Korhal IV, Augustgrad.
At the breached gates of the Grand Pyramid Palace, crowds knelt in throngs.
A figure of platinum light radiated brilliance. A wine vessel floated beside her, tilting, its fragrance spilling freely as she moved.
"Oh… Arcturus had fine taste indeed."
—
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