The halls of the royal war chamber were alive with tension. The moment the king had given his order, the empire's forces moved with ruthless efficiency.
Fleets were mobilized, intelligence networks activated, and the hunt for Zyvander intensified. It did not take long.
Within weeks, their spies had tracked Zyvander's forces to a hidden outpost on the uncharted moon of Velyth, a forsaken wasteland on the farthest edges of Sinalta's dominion.
It was a place long abandoned by civilization, its surface scarred by ancient wars, its underground caverns now repurposed into a fortress of horror.
The king himself led the assault. This was no mere military operation, it was a father confronting his greatest failure.
The Imperial Guard descended upon Velyth in a storm of fire and steel, sweeping through Zyvander's forces with calculated precision.
The prince's abominations, twisted half-Zerg soldiers, fought with terrifying resilience, but the king's elite warriors were relentless.
