Sovereign Ascendant

Tiberius Septimus had never known weakness.

He had seen it, of course. Watched it in the eyes of dying men, in the trembling hands of those who broke before steel and fire. He had smelled it in the stench of fear before battle, in the quiet whimpers of the wounded who begged for mercy. He had even, on rare occasions, pitied it.

But he had never known it.

Because he was not made for weakness.

His bones were stronger, his muscles denser. His mind sharper, his reflexes faster. His Qi burned purer than that of the thousands who called themselves Imperial warriors.

And that was only natural.

He was Titan-born.

Not in name, not in metaphor. But in blood, in essence, in the fibers of his being.

The Imperial Nobility were not the same as the commoners they ruled over. There was no arrogance in that truth, no blind contempt—only the simple reality of bloodlines.

All humans were descended from Titans, the ancient ruling race that had shaped the earliest civilizations of the galaxy. But blood thinned over generations. Time diluted power, spreading it too thin among the multitudes.

Commoners had only traces left—negligible, diluted, barely above nothing. Enough to grant them Qi, enough to let them cultivate, but nothing that made them special.

But the Nobility—they carried concentration. Purity. Strength.

And the Great Houses of the Imperium?

They carried blood strong enough to shape the galaxy itself.

That was why they were stronger, faster, more intelligent. It was why their techniques, their cultivations, their very existence was superior.

It was why they ruled.

Tiberius had always understood this. He did not need to hate commoners—one did not hate a dog for being lesser. It was simply what they were.

Yet now, he was forced to work beside one.

Centurion Gaius Voss.

The reports had been thorough.

Aegis Fortress. The Bellum Empire's forces had been overwhelming, their numbers far beyond what the Imperium had anticipated. The campaign had stretched ten days, a brutal war of attrition, trenches filled with blood, bodies stacked like broken dolls.

On the tenth night, when the battle seemed all but lost, a small Imperial strike force had infiltrated the Bellum command structure.

Sabotage. Assassination. Suicide.

They had gone in knowing they would not return.

And yet—they had.

When the sun rose, the Bellum officers were dead, their strategic chain broken.

The Imperial counterattack crushed them before they could regroup.

Of the force that had infiltrated, only a handful survived.

At their head—Gaius.

Promoted to Centurion.

Then came Velos V.

The official record had stated that Gaius was lost when the tunnels collapsed.

The real report said something else.

Survived for months. Killed dozens of advanced Crawlers. Emerged stronger than before.

No noble blood. No lineage. Yet still alive, where others would have perished.

Tiberius leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against the wooden armrest.

His eyes drifted across the command pavilion. The other nobles under his command sat in silence, waiting. They were the best of their generation—all born of high blood, all trained from childhood in the techniques of their Houses.

And now, they were taking orders from a Centurion.

Interesting.

Tiberius exhaled, standing.

"Let's meet our guide, then."

—

Gaius was waiting outside.

His armor had been replaced with new Imperial plating, but the scars of battle still marked his frame. His hair had been cut again, though his beard remained, trimmed but unruly.

Tiberius took in the lines of his stance, the balance in his posture. He was not refined, not polished like a noble-born warrior.

But he was sharp. Like a blade hammered into shape not by skill, but by survival.

Tiberius stepped forward. "You're the one who survived the caves?"

Gaius met his gaze without hesitation. "Yes."

No unnecessary words. No false humility. That was good.

Tiberius studied him.

A soldier should have crumbled. Should have fallen into base instincts after that long in isolation. But Gaius was still composed.

Something had changed in him.

""You don't look like much," he mused. "But my father says you're competent."

Silence.

Then Tiberius smirked. "You can speak, you know."

Gaius exhaled. "You don't need me to."

Tiberius chuckled. "I like him," he said to his men. "Straight to the point. That'll be useful."

Gaius said nothing.

Tiberius turned back to him. "The caves are too unstable for long deployments, and the Crawlers are evolving. The Senate wants answers. We find the source, we eliminate it."

He tilted his head.

"That is… if you're up for another trip into the dark?"

Gaius exhaled.

He met Tiberius' gaze.

"When do we leave?"