Year 10,345, 12th of Primus Forjacruor, EBT.
The silence in the imperial chambers of the Citadel of Terra-Prime was a lie.
It was a fabricated stillness, maintained by sonic nullification fields and kilometers of cold metal that separated the chamber from the incessant hum of an empire at perpetual war.
On the vast magnetic suspension bed, the sheets of black synth-silk were tangled around two naked bodies. Gala-El watched the artificial dawn paint pale stripes across the armored shutters. Every particle of dust dancing in the beam seemed to scream the heresy they had committed.
Beside her, Ga-El slept the sleep of the just, or perhaps merely the exhausted sleep of a man who carried the weight of an empire on his shoulders. He was her twin brother, her lover, her co-conspirator. The Sacrifice who refused to die.
She traced the line of the scar that marked his chest, a reminder of the battle that had given them the throne. He stirred, his eyes opening slowly. There was no drowsiness in them, only the same predatory vigilance that had made him humanity's deadliest warrior. A smile curved his lips when he saw her.
"You did not sleep," he whispered, his voice a restrained thunder.
"The ghosts are loud this morning," she answered, her hand sliding from his chest to her own belly, now visibly swollen.
Ga-El pushed himself up on one elbow, his expression softening. He placed his hand over hers, his fingers, calloused from gripping a power sword, a stark contrast to her pale skin. He caressed the curve of her belly with a reverence that belied his reputation.
"They are not ghosts," he said. "It is the sound of freedom."
Gala-El shook her head, an ancient, cold fear coiling in her chest. "We have broken everything, Ga-El. The laws of the Progenitor, the sanctity of the lineage… the Taboo."
"We have freed ourselves, Gala," he insisted, his voice firm. "For millennia, our family has been a procession to the slaughter, puppets dancing on the strings of an absent god. The will of Adel… I no longer feel it. Not since…" He glanced at her belly. "It was because of this child. This life. She protected us. She broke the connection."
He was right. Since the pregnancy had been confirmed, the psychic whisper of Adel, which had haunted every Empress of her lineage, had fallen silent. But Gala-El knew the price. "She protected us by breaking the most sacred law of all. What will be born of us, Ga-El? What kind of power… or corruption… are we bringing into this universe?"
"Power to ensure no one else sits on this throne as a sacrifice in waiting," he said, his jaw tightening. "Power to end this war."
He leaned in and kissed her, a kiss that was at once tender and desperate. For a moment, they were just lovers in a world that would condemn them. But the moment passed. The weight of the Crown of Aether was inexorable.
They both rose. The process of dressing was a ritual in itself. Silent servo-automata emerged from the walls, bearing the vestments of power.
For Ga-El, it was the black and gold uniform of the Champion of Humanity, a nanofiber mesh under ceramic armor plates that hummed with contained energy shields.
For Gala-El, it was the Empress's gown, a fabric of iridescent white that seemed woven from light, adorned with filigrees of living metal that writhed slowly, following the contours of her body and subtly hiding her pregnancy.
She was the religious leader, the guardian of the blood. He was the military leader, the fist of the empire. Together, they were a heresy on the throne.
The doors to their chambers opened, revealing the vast, cold corridors of the Citadel. The walls were of polished obsidian, and meter-high holographic tapestries depicted the mythical victories of Adel. The air was sterile, the silence broken only by the distant hum of the palace's life support systems.
They walked side by side, not as lovers, but as the two pillars of a usurped regime. Gala-El, the Empress. Ga-El, the Prince, her brother. Their faces were masks of cold authority.
They were heading to the throne room, not to rule, but to confront the ghost of their betrayal. The Emperor awaited them. Not Ga-El, but the man he should have been: Gala-El's husband, the strongest warrior of the previous generation, now a prisoner in his own palace. The man they had betrayed to be together.
With every step, Gala-El felt the fear return. It was not fear of the deposed Emperor, but fear of what was to come. The fear of the approaching ritual, the sacrifice they still needed to legitimize their power and to save Ga-El's life from the hunger of his own children. The fear that, in trying to escape one fate, they had condemned themselves to one far worse.
And, above all, the fear that the child who was their freedom would also be their ruin.