Darion Veynar had always imagined exile as… uncomfortable. A bit like a bad haircut or a tax audit. He hadn't expected literal planetary death.
His uncle's throne still radiated power, and his uncle's smug face radiated something worse: pure, unfiltered joy at his misery.
"Leave. Take your followers. And for the love of all that is slightly inconvenient, do not come back," his uncle had said, voice sharp enough to cut steel and twice as unpleasant.
So, Darion left. With his loyal—but slightly whiny—tribe in tow, he boarded a shuttle and headed for the only thing he could afford: a planet so destroyed that even the real estate agent sounded embarrassed.
Welcome to Darknova.Dark. Dead. Dusty. And, judging by the lack of coffee shops or breathable air, utterly uninhabitable. Perfect.
But, as fate and terrible timing would have it, the planet was not as empty as it looked.In a valley choked with ruins, a relic pulsed faintly. Curious, Darion reached for it. And immediately, the planet screamed.Not literally, but if it had, he would have screamed back. Instead, a voice whispered in his head.
"Finally… someone with taste for shadows. Let's make an empire. Also, I like sarcasm."
Darion blinked.
Great. A talking Demon King. In his head. Just what he needed.
He shrugged. "Well," he said to the shadows coiling around him, "I guess it's a great day to rule the galaxy. Who's got popcorn?"
And so, exile became ascendancy. Dust became dominion. And Darion Veynar learned two important lessons that day:
Planets can be purchased like discounted starships.
Dead things sometimes talk back… and they also appreciate a good joke.