Inside the Consul, where the wounded Emperor Kaiser the Second had retreated, chaos and ruin followed him like a shadow. The once-mighty flagship that had carried the pride of the Baraken Empire now drifted in pieces across the void — its hull torn open, its command decks smoldering in silence. The blast from the Tartarusios' plasma cannon had ripped through the ship's shielding and struck the bridge with unrelenting fury.
Kaiser sat upon his throne when the beam hit, the force of the explosion shaking the command room like a god's hammer. The impact shattered consoles, tore apart comms panels, and sent shards of steel raining down. Guards rushed forward, shielding him with their own bodies as the bridge fell apart around them. A fragment of a control panel struck his arm, snapping it with a sickening crack. The pain burned deep, but what burned deeper was the humiliation — the thought that the Emperor of Baraka, heir to a thousand suns, had been struck down by those he had once called deceivers.
Before the fire swallowed the bridge, Kaiser was pulled from the wreckage and rushed to the emergency shuttle. As the flagship erupted into flames behind him, its light bathed the Emperor's pale face through the viewport. The explosion's glare reflected in his eyes like a dying star. Even as he escaped, fury and disbelief twisted within him. On the shuttle ride back to the Consul, he sent one final order — the command to destroy the Tartarusios — and then severed all communication links. It was an act of pride, not strategy. And it would prove to be his greatest mistake.
When he finally arrived at the Consul — the marble fortress that served as the Empire's heart — Kaiser was a shell of himself. His left arm hung limp and bloodied at his side, hastily wrapped in a torn sash. The corridors echoed with hurried footsteps and the distant rumble of explosions. He made his way toward the throne room, his golden robes scorched, his crown cracked at the edge. But what awaited him there was something no emperor could ever prepare for.
The skies of the mighty capital, Basen, had turned to fire. Through the grand crystal windows of the Consul, the Emperor gazed upon the inferno spreading across the city. The heavens above the capital blazed bright orange as the remains of his fleet — the proud Armada of Baraka — were torn apart in the upper atmosphere. Beams of plasma and streaks of light rained down like divine punishment.
He stood there in silence, watching the world he built collapse in real time. The guards and ministers around him whispered, terrified. He could not move. He could not look away. The war he had started had found its way home.
"Your Majesty!" a voice cried out.
Veyra burst into the hall, her silver uniform stained with dust and smoke, her long blond hair unbound. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear. "My Emperor, we must leave! The Tartarusios have broken through the last Armada line. They're making their way toward the capital — we have to get you out!"
Kaiser did not turn. His gaze stayed fixed on the burning skyline, the golden spires of Basen crumbling beneath the distant thunder of orbital bombardments.
Her words reached him, but his mind was far away — replaying the chain of arrogance and pride that had led them here. He had underestimated them — those strange voyagers, those wanderers from beyond the stars. He had branded them traitors and monsters. And now, they were gods of vengeance descending upon his throne.
Just then, a messenger stumbled into the corridor, his armor scorched, his breathing ragged. He fell to one knee before the Emperor and lowered his head.
"My Emperor… I bring grave news," he said between gasps. "We've lost contact with the Ohara campaign. All communications have gone silent. It appears… it appears the entire fleet has been wiped out."
The words cut through the air like a blade. For a moment, there was no sound — only the distant tremor of destruction outside.
Kaiser closed his eyes. He had sent those men to die for his pride. Every soldier, every captain, every child that had looked up at the sky believing in his reign — gone. The Tartarusios were not rebels anymore. They were a storm, and he had called it upon himself.
He turned toward Veyra, his voice calm but hollow. "Veyra… I want you to gather the High Ministers. Take them, and flee the capital. You are to leave immediately."
Veyra looked at him, stunned. "My Emperor—"
He raised his uninjured hand and placed it gently on her shoulder. "I will go to the throne room. It is time I faced the weight of my own decisions. This Empire was built upon my command — and it shall end upon it, too."
Her heart twisted. She had followed him all her life, through politics, through war, through every shadowed corridor of ambition. And now he was asking her to abandon him.
Veyra had devoted her entire being to Kaiser since she was a child. She had met him at thirteen, at the coming-of-age celebration on Ludwig's estate — the day he was formally named heir to the throne. The garden had been radiant that night, filled with nobles, laughter, and the sound of distant music. But Veyra had not been among the dancers. She had slipped away to the garden fountain, her eyes fixed on the stars.
Her family, minor nobles of the countryside, had raised her not as a daughter but as a tool — a polished gem to be bartered in the Empire's endless web of politics. She had been trained in etiquette, diplomacy, and the art of pleasing powerful men. But that night, when the future Emperor approached her, everything changed.
Kaiser had seen her sitting by the fountain, her reflection mingling with the stars above. He was drawn to her calm, her defiance of the endless courtly flattery that surrounded him.
"Nice to meet you," he said, taking a seat beside her. "I'm Kaiser. May I know your name?"
She turned to him with those piercing gray-blue eyes. "Veyra Solane," she replied softly. "It's an honor to meet the future Emperor of this mighty empire."
He laughed — a real, unguarded laugh."Future Emperor, huh? Who knows? I might not even make it through the night."
Veyra smiled faintly. "You will. Of that, I'm certain. It's not a matter of if, only when."
He had heard similar words from a hundred lips before — but there was something in her voice, something real, something uncalculated. Her gaze wasn't filled with greed or ambition, but with conviction.
"You," he said after a long pause, "you have the look of someone who wants the world, but lacks the power to claim it. Let me claim it for both of us."
When he extended his hand, she felt as though the universe itself had reached out to her. That moment changed everything. She took his hand and bowed her head.
"Then you have my life," she said. "My Emperor — my everything."
Years later, that promise still bound her heart. So when Kaiser now told her to flee, she could not. She gripped his hand tightly. "Where you go, I follow," she said, her voice trembling.
Kaiser gave a faint smile — the kind he hadn't worn in years. Together, they turned toward the throne room, the marble floors shaking beneath their feet as the world outside fell apart.
The great doors opened before them, and the throne of the Baraken Empire stood at the end of the crimson hall. Above, through the shattered ceiling, the sky burned. The Tartarusios had arrived in orbit, their silhouettes cutting through the clouds like blades of light.
Kaiser Barak II, Emperor of the Baraken Empire, limped toward his throne — the very seat from which he had commanded the stars. He lowered himself upon it, the weight of his armor and regret pressing down on him like a mountain.
Outside, the final defenses of Basen gave way. The explosions painted the Consul in gold and scarlet hues. For a fleeting moment, as Veyra knelt beside him, Kaiser looked out the vast windows once more. The fire reflected in his eyes, and he whispered,
"So this is how it ends."
The sky above the empire's heart was no longer Baraka's. It belonged to the Tartarusios.