Sovereign Ascendant

The desert air shimmered with heat, the twin suns of Imperium Prime casting long shadows over the battlefield. The scent of blood and scorched metal hung thick, a testament to the carnage that had unfolded. Scattered across the sand were the bodies of the fallen—Imperial Legionnaires in crimson armor, rebels in tattered wargear, and beasts summoned by desperate sorcerers.

The war had ended hours ago. Victory belonged to the Imperium of the Eternal Flame.

But victory, as always, had a price.

Gaius Voss stood among the dead, gripping the hilt of his gladius. Blood coated his forearm, though he wasn't sure how much of it was his own. His muscles ached, his breath ragged, but he remained standing—because only the dead were allowed to collapse.

The battlefield was quiet now, save for the distant voices of the medicae crews and the marching of Legionnaire patrolssecuring what was left of the rebel stronghold. Yet Gaius' mind still echoed with the battle-cries, the screams of dying men, and the cold, efficient orders of the noble-born officers who had watched from afar while the common soldiers bled.

A heavy boot crunched into the sand behind him.

"On your feet, Voss."

Gaius turned, meeting the hard gaze of Centurion Callidus, his commanding officer. A broad-shouldered man with a scar running from temple to jaw, Callidus had survived more campaigns than most of the young nobility combined. His red-plumed helmet marked his rank, but his weathered expression carried more authority than any insignia.

"I'm already on my feet, sir," Gaius said, his voice hoarse from the heat.

Callidus gave a sharp nod. "Good. You're being reassigned."

That caught Gaius off guard. Reassigned? He had expected debriefing, maybe even a chance to rest. But in the Imperium's war machine, rest was for the privileged.

"A promotion?" he asked, though he already knew better.

Callidus snorted. "You're not noble-born. Promotions don't come that easy for you." His eyes flicked to the wreckage around them. "But you survived. Fought well. The Legatus took notice."

Legatus. A general of the Imperial Legions. That meant someone high-ranking had actually paid attention to the battlefield instead of treating it like a formality.

"Where am I being sent?" Gaius asked.

Callidus didn't answer immediately. He pulled a flask from his belt, taking a slow swig before offering it to Gaius. He hesitated, then took a drink, letting the bitter burn of war-wine cut through the dryness in his throat.

Only when Gaius handed the flask back did Callidus speak. "The next campaign. Aegis Fortress."

Gaius stiffened.

Aegis.

The name alone carried weight. It was an outpost at the edge of the Imperium's territory, bordering the Bellum Empire. And the Bellum Empire—ruled by orc warlords, beastmen generals, and ancient bloodlines of monstrous cultivators—never left survivors.

The transfer wasn't a promotion.

It was a death sentence.

Callidus studied him for a long moment. "You're sharp enough to know what this means."

"They want me to die," Gaius said.

Callidus smirked, though there was no humor in it. "Welcome to the Imperium."

Silence stretched between them. Gaius' grip tightened around his gladius. He had always known his rise would be resisted—that the nobility despised commoners with talent. He had seen it firsthand in training, in the way aristocratic officers sneered at him for learning faster than they did, for surviving battles they could never endure.

But he hadn't expected them to act this soon.

Callidus finally sighed. "Listen, Voss. I don't know what the Legatus saw in you, but you have two choices. You go to Aegis, fight, and die like they want—or you go there and carve your name into history. Because if you survive Aegis, the Senate won't be able to ignore you anymore."

Survive Aegis.

Gaius met his commander's gaze. "And what do you think?"

Callidus grinned. "I think you'll either die fast, or you'll come back as something they fear."

The words settled deep in Gaius' bones.

Fear.

The nobility feared talent without bloodline. They feared warriors who could not be controlled.

If he survived Aegis, he would become something beyond a mere soldier.

He would become inevitable.

Imperial Warship: The Bellator (Three Days Later)

The warship rumbled through the void, its engines burning like celestial fire. Hundreds of Legionnaires lined the transport hold, their armor gleaming under the dull glow of overhead lights. The scent of oil, steel, and anticipation filled the air.

Gaius stood among them, arms folded, listening as a Senatorial Officer delivered yet another speech about duty to the Imperium, honor in war, and the greatness of the Eternal Flame.

He tuned most of it out.

Instead, his focus rested on the figures around him.

Aulus Kor, standing to his right, eyes sharp, already calculating odds. "If we win Aegis, we'll be written into history."Cassius Redfang, leaning against a bulkhead, grin wolfish. "I don't plan to die in some noble's war."And then there was Varian Thorne, a noble officer, sneering as he looked at the common-born soldiers. "Try not to embarrass yourselves. The Imperium only rewards those with true blood."

Gaius smirked. "Then let's see if your blood spills any different than mine."

The warship lurched as it entered atmosphere, the alarms blaring.

The battle for Aegis Fortress had begun.