Void. Silence. Darkness.
Kael Vortan floated in the cold embrace of deep space, sealed inside a cryo-capsule older than most civilizations. A forgotten relic of a forgotten war.
Vital signs stable. Cryo-stasis disengaging...
The voice of the system echoed through his mind like the whisper of ghosts. Ancient code. Faint lights blinked across his vision as oxygen hissed into the chamber.
Subject: Kael Vortan. Bloodline recognized. Protocol Tyrant initializing.
Kael's eyes snapped open. Crimson light pulsed from his pupils—first dim, then roaring with violent power. His breath steamed as frost melted from his skin.
"Where... am I?"
The hatch opened with a hiss. He stepped out into the remains of an asteroid bunker—long abandoned. Metal debris, shattered star maps, and the skeletons of long-dead wardens lay frozen in time.
A holographic AI flickered into existence before him: humanoid, cloaked, faceless.
"Welcome back, Sovereign."
Kael's heart did not race. It never had. He had been engineered to feel only victory, rage, and silence.
"Why now?" he asked.
"Because the usurpers have grown fat with power. The Council of Suns believes you dead. The Black Nebula Dynasty is ash."
A low hum echoed as the asteroid's systems came online. Data rushed into Kael's neural cortex—solar charts, political networks, starship blueprints, target lists.
"Tyrant Protocol 01: Reclaim the fleet."
"Tyrant Protocol 02: Erase the traitor bloodlines."
"Tyrant Protocol 03: Rebuild the Empire."
Kael flexed his hand. Armor wrapped his body like a second skin—obsidian-black, lined with violet energy.
He looked to the stars.
"Begin conquest."
Above the asteroid, hangars cracked open. Old warships—hulking, dormant beasts—stirred like titans returning from slumber.
Tyrant Fleet Reactivation: 6%... 12%...
Kael sat upon the iron throne that rose from the asteroid core, surrounded by molten rock and ancient fire.
The last heir of the Black Nebula Dynasty had returned.