Sovereign Ascendant

The sky above the Imperial war camp was a deep steel blue, the morning suns casting long shadows across the training grounds. The scent of metal, sweat, and cold mountain air filled Gaius' lungs as he exhaled, rolling his shoulders, feeling the tightness in his muscles ease.

It had been two months since he had returned from the caves. Two months since the war had slowed for him. And now, on the final day before his return to duty, he trained.

He stood in the open training pits, stripped to the waist, the cool air biting against his skin. His body had changed over these past months. The harsh edges of starvation and exhaustion had softened, replaced by the natural density of muscle earned through relentless combat. His bronzed skin bore the faded lines of wounds long healed, his arms marked with the faint silver scars of countless battles.

The gladius in his hands felt like an extension of his body. He had been taught since childhood that a blade was only as sharp as the hand that wielded it, that fancy flourishes and elaborate techniques were nothing but wasted movement.

And so he trained the same way he always had.

The Imperial Gladius Form.

The higher version, reserved for those beyond the rank of Centurion.

It was simple, brutal, efficient.

A single step forward—thrust. The motion was precise, the blade angled to slip between ribs, through armor gaps, into the throat.

A pivot—parry. The gladius moved just enough to redirect a strike, nothing wasted, nothing unnecessary.

Every movement was practiced a thousand times.

Every strike was the same.

Gaius moved through the forms without thought, each shift of his body dictated by instinct rather than conscious decision. His breath remained steady, his muscles coiling and relaxing with perfect control.

He had spent two months away from war. But he had never let himself grow soft.

—

Around him, the others trained as well.

Aulus Kor, his oldest companion, stood a few meters away, going through his own drills with a spear. His form was more aggressive, more fluid—each strike followed by another, a relentless series of attacks that mirrored his personality.

Aulus was broad-shouldered, with a body built for endurance. His dark brown hair was cropped short, his face clean-shaven, his skin lighter than Gaius' but tanned from years under the suns. His eyes, a sharp hazel-green, carried the same pragmatic intelligence he had always had.

Near the combat dummies, Cassius Redfang sparred with two other soldiers, moving like a beast loosed from its chains.Unlike the others, he was unarmed, using only his fists, his beast-blooded lineage giving him strength beyond that of most men.

Cassius was taller than the rest, his frame thick with layered muscle, his skin a deep bronze. His hair was a wild mane of black, his eyes a deep amber, carrying the gleam of something primal. His canines were slightly sharper than a normal human's, a remnant of the beast-clan blood that ran through his veins.

And then there was Varian Thorne.

Unlike the rest of them, Varian still carried himself like nobility. His movements were refined, deliberate, his swordplay sharper, more technical. Every strike was executed with an air of precision, of calculated arrogance.

Varian was leaner, his body sculpted for speed rather than brute force. His pale skin carried fewer scars, a sign of someone who had been trained to avoid wounds rather than endure them. His hair was a dark, glossy black, his eyes a piercing ice-blue.

The four of them had fought together, bled together, survived together.

And soon, they would leave together.

—

The war had ended while he had been recovering.

The remnants of the Hive had been purged. The Bellum forces had been driven back, their generals slaughtered, their warlords scattered. The mines had been secured, the Qi-rich veins harvested for the Imperium.

And a trove of spiritual herbs had been discovered deep beneath the tunnels.

That was what had drawn the attention of the Senate.

It was what had earned Legatus Varro his summons to the Imperial Capital.

He was to be rewarded by the Regulus himself.

And the entire regiment was leaving Velos V.

They were returning to Prime Terra.

Earth.

The homeworld of humanity.

—

Gaius finished his forms.

His breath was even. His muscles ached, but it was a pleasant ache, the kind that reminded him that he was alive.

Aulus approached, rolling his shoulders. "That's the last time we'll train here."

Gaius nodded. He had spent months on Velos V, fighting, surviving. And now, it was over.

Cassius laughed, stretching his arms behind his head. "You think the Capital will be as fun as the war?"

Varian smirked. "If you can afford it."

Aulus sighed. "We should be grateful we're still alive to leave. Most of the others weren't so lucky."

Gaius glanced across the training grounds. He recognized the newer faces, the replacements for those who had fallen.

The Legion always moved forward. The dead were remembered, but never mourned for long.

He exhaled. "We leave tomorrow."

Aulus nodded. "Tomorrow."

For the first time in years, they would see the heart of the Imperium.

Gaius wondered if it would feel like returning home.

Or if he had long since lost the right to call any place home at all.