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"As for making peace with hostiles—I find them far more agreeable when they are dead."
—Emperor Zephon
"As for making peace with hostiles—I find them far more agreeable when they are dead."
—Emperor Zephon
The Day War Said Hello
The Day War Said Hello
Thus began the long and terrible reckoning of the stars.
When the Empire of Terra fled their ancestral home, they did not find solace among the void. Instead, they were met by the United Solar Systems of the Galactic Citadel, a great and ancient conclave of the galaxy’s eldest and mightiest races. This coalition, known as the USSGC, had long held dominion over the known worlds and had deemed the Terran system a place of ruin, forever quarantined for fear of the accursed Reanimators.
In accordance with their rigid laws, the USSGC summoned Emperor Zephon—though they named him “President,” as if to strip him of his sovereignty—to stand before their great council. It was their intent to place the exiled Terrans upon some nameless orbital station, denying them a world of their own, as though they were beggars at the threshold of civilization.
But the council soon learned a truth they would not live to tell—Terrans do not accept a place in the galaxy. They take it.
As the council laid forth their decrees, Zephon, seeing in them naught but weakness and decay, made war upon their chamber. What followed was a slaughter spoken of in hushed whispers for millennia: the Massacre of the Great Council, or, as the Terrans would later call it, The Day War Said Hello. That day, blood baptized the halls of the USSGC, and the great Galactic War was set aflame.
Though the galaxy had long languished in the comforts of peace, the Terrans had been tempered in the crucible of endless strife. They wielded an uncanny force—one the sages would come to call “Affinity”—a power that set them apart from all other beings. With it, they crushed the finest warriors of the known worlds, and one by one, the great races fell before them. The Taurus, the Sovereign Veneration, the Cyborii—each was brought to heel, their banners now draped beneath the Imperial standard.
And so, the Terran Empire swelled, no longer a mere dominion of exiles, but the Galactic Imperium itself, presided over by Emperor Zephon, who stood as the eldest living being in all the stars, save for one—Malak the Intangible.
This was the age of unprecedented unity, when war was silenced, and the great Exodus Among the Stars at last came to an end. In its place, the Galactic Renaissance was born.
The Age of Omega
The Age of Omega
Yet no age of enlightenment endures forever. And so, in time, the shadow of doom crept forth once more.
As the Imperium flourished, treachery took root among the conquered. The races, once subjugated, now schemed in whispers of rebellion. The eldest of the Old Ones—those who had walked unyielding through the eons—turned from the art of war to that of the hunt, becoming the first of the Imperial Hunters, seeking out those who dared defy the Emperor’s rule.
But while Zephon ruled in unchallenged might, he did not foresee the coming of that which no mortal could reckon.
In the deep, cold void beyond the known stars, the star-scribes beheld a dreadful omen: the dwarf sun Dwethia, which had long slumbered in the distant reaches, was moving. Such a thing was impossible, for stars do not streak across the heavens as wayward stones.
And so, they studied. And so, they trembled.
For in time, the scribes discerned the truth—this was no star. It was a beast beyond measure, a serpent vast enough to coil about worlds and swallow them whole.
Every race knew its name, though each in their own tongue. To the Taurus, it was The Hungering Void. To the Sovereign Veneration, The Last Prophet. To the Cyborii, The Absolute End. But among all the names spoken in fear, one endured above all others:
The Drake Omega.
The Drake Omega.
Its coming was swift and unchallenged. It reached the throne-world of Citadel, where the Emperor held court, and as it settled upon the planet, millions perished beneath its coiling form.
Then, in a voice that was not voice, it spoke—not merely to the Emperor, but to all who dwelt upon the world, its words thundering within their very souls:
"Who among you is the Emperor?"
Zephon stood, unbowed, unbroken, and named himself.
And the beast beheld him and saw no fear within his heart.
Then spoke the Drake Omega once more:
"Dwethia beckons you."
With that, the great serpent opened its maw, and in a single, terrible instant, the Imperial Palace, the continent upon which it stood, and all within it vanished into the abyss.
Then, as swiftly as it had come, the beast turned and fled to the void beyond the stars, returning once more to Dwethia, the place of its waking.
And so, Zephon was gone.
Of what wonders lie beyond the threshold of Dwethia, none can say.
With the Emperor lost, the Imperium fell to ruin, and the stars burned once more with the fire of war. From the wreckage, a new Emperor rose, but none could match the might of the One Who Was. The galaxy spiraled into chaos, locked in an age of endless strife, as it had been before, as it would remain for untold millennia.
Yet prophecy speaks of a day yet to come.
It is whispered that, upon the wings of a dragon, the Emperor shall return, bearing with him the wisdom of Dwethia, and the galaxy shall know his dominion once more.
Thus ends the tale of Zephon—for now.
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