Rain fell hard on the steel-clad rooftops of Orialis Prime—once a Drayven stronghold, now a neutral ground reclaimed by independent factions in the wake of Kael's reforms. The capital's skyline glistened under the storm, the neon haze of towers flickering like the last breath of an empire too stubborn to die.
Kael stood atop a balcony overlooking the city, flanked by a small escort of elite guards. Unlike before, he wore no ceremonial cloak, no house insignia. The man who once walked as a prince of the galactic dynasty now moved through the world as something else entirely—liberator, usurper, overlord… depending on who you asked.
He wasn't here for ceremony.
He was here for answers.
Below, in the depths of a long-abandoned citadel, an informant waited—someone with ties to the original inner circle of his father's reign. Someone who claimed to know where the Watchers began.
Inside the citadel's lower vaults, the air was thick with dust and stale secrets. Kael descended the rusted staircase, flanked by Talia and two of his Blackguard. Ahead, under low flickering lights, sat a gaunt man wrapped in tattered robes. His eyes were hollow, but alert—like a scavenger too paranoid to die.
They called him Virek—once a financial officer for House Drayven, later a smuggler and defector.
Kael stepped forward.
"You said you had something on the Watchers."
Virek coughed. "Not something. Everything. And you won't like what you find."
Talia's hand instinctively moved near her pulse pistol, but Kael raised a hand.
"Start talking."
Virek leaned forward. "The Watchers don't just manipulate. They build. Empires, bloodlines, dynasties—they orchestrate the rise of men like your father. Men like… you."
Kael's jaw clenched. "Explain."
Virek tapped a worn datapad. A projection flared to life, displaying a star map riddled with crimson sigils and lines of code.
"House Drayven wasn't born from nothing. Your ancestors were hand-picked. Elevated by shadow investors. Groomed to rise."
Kael stared at the data—transactions, gene-line dossiers, contracts spanning centuries.
"You're telling me…" Kael's voice dropped. "My family was engineered?"
"No," Virek rasped. "You were chosen. Before you were even born, they knew your name. They predicted every move of your father's empire. The Watchers don't fight wars—they design them."
Kael turned away, his mind racing. It wasn't just the betrayal. It was the idea that all his struggles—his war with his brother, the empire he dismantled—may have been part of a larger script. A story someone else had written.
Talia's voice was sharp. "Can we verify this?"
Virek grinned, missing several teeth. "That's the catch. They clean up well. But I've got leads. A hidden vault on Kalex Station. Old blood contracts. And something else... older than your house. A temple buried beneath the Blackmoon Trenches. That's where it all started."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "You're coming with us."
"Gladly," Virek said. "But be warned. You dig too deep, and you may not like who you find staring back at you."
Aboard the Obsidian Wraith, En Route to Kalex Station
Kael sat alone in his command chamber, replaying the data Virek had provided. Every transaction, every manipulated market, every assassination tied back to a single sigil: a burning eye within a triangle. He remembered seeing it once before—etched into the relic his brother tried to use to rewrite reality.
He hadn't understood it then.
Now, he saw it everywhere.
A symbol not just of control, but of surveillance. Of inevitability.
Talia entered the room quietly.
"We've decrypted more of Virek's files. There's a name."
Kael turned. "Who?"
She tossed a holo-tag onto the table. The name glowed in red:
Eras Dominus — "Architect of Cycles."
Kael's brow furrowed. He'd seen the name only once—hidden deep in his father's classified directives. A figure with no face, no origin. The alleged founder of the Watchers. A myth. Until now.
Talia sat across from him.
"If Dominus is real, and he's behind everything—"
"Then this isn't just about politics anymore," Kael finished. "It's about fate. And who controls it."
Kalex Station – The Vault of Contracts
They arrived under heavy disguise. Kalex was a lawless fringe zone, where corporate warlords and smugglers ruled. But deep below the mercenary fronts and slum towers, the vault remained untouched—sealed by blood codes only a Drayven could break.
Inside, the walls were lined with quantum-locked scrolls. The past, preserved in iron memory. Talia activated the room's central node, and one by one, the ancient contracts began to unfold.
The names…
The empires…
The predictions.
Everything was calculated: wars initiated for profit, alliances formed to balance power, and royal births planned by genetic profiling.
And among them—his own name.
Kael Drayven.
Marked: "Catalyst Variant A"
He staggered back.
"They planned… all of this. Me."
Talia didn't answer. She couldn't.
But Virek, standing behind them, said quietly, "You were the divergence. Your brother was the designed ruler. You were the anomaly. The one variable they didn't account for."
Kael turned slowly.
"And now?"
Virek smiled grimly. "Now, they'll try to correct the timeline."
Final Log: Temple Coordinates Acquired
As the crew departed Kalex, Kael stood on the deck, watching the stars. He now knew that his family's rise wasn't divine destiny—it was manufactured. But he also knew that if he was truly the anomaly, then he had one advantage:
He could break the cycle.
Whatever the Watchers were planning, wherever Eras Dominus waited—Kael would find him. And he would burn the script, page by page.