Then we have the Windbreakers.
It is embarrassing to place myself here, so instead, I will raise Praetor Crownlean. Despite not having a Domain, she sits as Congress’ Head-Praetor through her Puppeteer, providing her an endless sea of weapons alongside her Frigo.
All, or the vast majority of Seafarers, levy their Stigmata as part of their repertoire. Windbreakers, however, resist the pull of the ‘Sea by the unique abilities it affords to them alone. Instead of riding the sea and its winds, they turn against the Tide.
We Windbreakers seek not mastery of another realm but mastery over ourselves and our connate attributes.
Let us give praise to:
Praetor Taiga, for his incredible Timeslip, allowing him to match a Cultivator’s speed with little effort.
Anomaly 666, for his Duplication. Even legendary items such as Oswen’s Oathseverer can be copied for a time. The limits are near-endless.
* Yarnen, Anomaly 0, Year 3986, in her Century Report.
Tight hands gripped the rail inside the cramped pod, drifting through space toward a city-sized starship docked at a starless planet. Out the small port window, Claudius’ gaze found the home of his Praetor. Beside him, gasps of awe escaped from the three recruits he and Eight had brought aboard after Crislend.
Neither Rosa, Talander, nor Yue had ever seen a construct so massive in their lives. Such was no surprise—only around three hundred Praetors existed among the Roman Empire’s billions of citizens. Each one commanded immense budgets, unparalleled manpower, and the sharpest minds to fulfill their duties.
The fires behind the pod sputtered and deviated its momentum to aim for an opening in the colossal behemoth of steel. Yue’s secondary eyes of her race fell on Claudius with a question, “Have you been on this before? It’s... mesmerizing.”
The Judge nodded simply with a grin, “Of course. All Judges must report to a Centurion at the very least. Those who are high-grade report directly to a Praetor.”
Moments after he spoke, the surrounding metal rumbled as the pod docked with the ship. Claudius released the rail and moved to the door, swiftly unwinding the gear that secured it, popping the air-tight seal with a harsh hiss.
The Tianshe stepped out into a vast hangar that stretched the length of a city block. Each footfall echoed alongside the hum of ongoing repairs and ships preparing to depart.
Claudius glanced behind him as a military-suited man walked toward their mediocre vessel. The Judge spoke proudly of his superior in full view of her deputy, “Praetor Sun is amongst the most influential Praetors in the Empire. Her ship, the Nova, is the largest starship not owned by a Legate. Some even say she is the next one to take up those empty thrones. The few Praetors that stand on the Shattered Peak’s border are too old or have reached the end of their potential. My Praetor, though…”
The approaching man, his gray skin camouflaged and hair cut to a buzz, chuckled at Claudius’ words. After extending a firm hand, he addressed the arrivals with a nod, “The Praetor is expecting you, Claudius. These your recruits? I’m Centurion Rasa, I serve Praetor Sun.”
The Judge grasped the offered hand, wincing slightly at the pain of Rasa’s grip. But Claudius didn’t complain, merely introducing his group to the man he’d known since he was a child, “Yes, sir. This is Rosa Heartwelt, Talander Sereous, Yue Yamare, and... the short one goes by Eight. Let’s not keep her waiting, shall we?”
Claudius hurried through the hangar, eager not to keep the Praetor waiting, with Rasa quick to join him. The others followed in single file, keeping pace.
Rasa glanced back at the recruits as they descended the steps and entered the ship’s long corridors. His voice lowered, bringing Claudius up to speed, “I know you’ve been training hard for this, but the situation might be more than any of us can handle. We’ve got five Caesars inbound for the MD. Congress has only spared us one Praetor—ours. Originally, they wanted to skip this, citing it being too insignificant to matter like all the other MDs as war is on the horizon.”
A long moment of silence held as the group turned a corner, passing by a Harenlar with each hand carrying some document. Rasa nodded to the hurried figure before continuing, “We’re outgunned, out-manned, and far from home already. Any further, and not even a Legate could reverse the ‘Sea to save us in time. I’ve urged her repeatedly to pull out of this, but she won’t.”
The Centurion paused ahead of a steel door, exchanging a concerned look with Claudius. Before he could respond, a voice came from beyond the door, slightly exasperated, “Rasa. We’ve discussed this. Come in, Claudius. There’s room for all of you.”
Eight entered first, confidently opening the door. Claudius and Rasa shared a silent glance over the younger man’s head as they followed into the office space, which felt far larger inside than its exterior suggested.
Chairs sat against the back wall near the entrance, while four were in front of the main cherry-wood desk. At the desk, however, was an extraordinary being.
The Lightsea itself rippled visibly off her in radiant waves, like sunbeams with jagged edges. The brightness was so intense that Claudius’ crew had to squint just to make out her figure.
When they peered through the light, they saw a middle-aged Tianshe in a combat uniform. Knives sat crossed on her chest, a syringe of midnight liquid on her right, and a hand cannon on her left. Her face, however, remained obscured by the luminance pouring from her eyes.
No matter how much they squinted, however, they could not see her face, for the light was too much.
In unison, Claudius, Rasa, and Rosa saluted the Praetor. As her glowing eyes met theirs, the blinding light vanished, revealing a kind smile. Praetor Sun stood, returning the salute before sitting back down.
“Sit. All of you, please. Things aren’t as simple as Rasa thinks,” she began, her gaze returning to the paperwork on her desk. “This minor dimension—the MD—is designated as Inferose. I’m sure you’ve already heard.”
The Nova’s commander glanced down briefly before continuing, “Yes, it’s five against one. But I’m not so timid as to surrender before it’s begun. I can handle any of them—Thanaris, Geist, or the weaker three—with little trouble. And Dirge are never united. Thanaris and Geist are just as likely to fight each other as they are to attack me.”
The room remained silent, everyone listening with rapt attention. Even Rasa bowed his head in resignation while Claudius’ mind raced, considering every possibility.
Praetor Sun hadn’t finished. She glanced at the Anomaly before reading off a report, “The Inferose, like all MDs, has a Dimensional Core. Vector-5. It could elevate any Anathema or prepare a Caesar for ascension. Congress doesn’t care much because it’s Fire-aligned, incompatible with the Lightsea.”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Praetor Sun paused for a moment, as if knowing her student’s words before they were spoken. Her once-radiant gaze flicked to Claudius before he even opened his mouth, “Then why are we here? One jump away from the Lost Reaches?”
Her grim smile returned, for she cursed her kin’s ineptitude, “Congress is more concerned with the looming conflict between Ostacean and Glaniece. They’re negotiating a merger. War is already brewing, and the Legates won’t let that merger happen. It would give them the upper hand. Vicar hasn’t made his position clear, yet the others are in an accord.”
She clarified by pointing to five star-shaped emblems on the wall behind her when she saw Claudius’ confusion, “But that’s not the entire story. Though the Inferose might not be compatible with the Lightsea, that doesn’t mean it can’t be used—like Legate Nandum did with the Nightsphere in his youth to catapult him from commoner to Praetor overnight. Also… there are undercurrents. Someone wants this thing. Bad. And I won’t let them have it. If they do… No. Just know this thing cannot be lost.”
Those in the room nodded in understanding. While the minor dimension couldn’t evolve a Dirge, it could be used strategically. A foothold in the Lost Reaches could push the borders of their Empire further. After all, much of the Empire’s territory owed its thanks to the Nightsphere’s protection.
Furthermore... with how far it was beyond the edges of the three Empires’ reach, it would allow for a foothold to push their borders. Everyone saw Sun’s vision. That wasn’t to mention the mysterious party the Praetor mentioned, either.
Her thoughts were consumed by the war to end all wars, overshadowing the current conflict that Congress was caught in. Sun wanted to claim the Inferose, set up a new base of operations, and explore deeper into the Lost Reaches. Were it not for her own position and Vicar’s go-ahead, she could never have come out this far.
Still, one question remained.
“How do we actually claim these dimensions?” Claudius asked, pointing a finger toward the star representing Nandum.
Praetor Sun, despite all her power, knowledge, and influence, could only shrug helplessly. The gray skin of a Tianshe glowed prominently as she ran her hand along her long, blonde hair. An unexpected sigh rang out within the office.
Then, a scarred finger pointed back at Claudius whilst an order emerged from the Praetor, “Only Nandum knows. Three MDs have appeared in the last five centuries, all too insignificant to matter. His dimension dates back seven hundred years. That’s why I need you. I can’t enter myself, nor can Rasa. Our auras are too strong, and they’d damage the MD, or in his case, caught before entering and ripped apart,” Sun left a dangling finger toward the youngest in the room. “You and your crew, with weaker auras, can slip in unnoticed—especially with him.”
Anomaly Eight-Eight-Eight received the attention of the Praetor while his eyes were closed, and his chin was settled upon a clasped fist.
Claudius bowed his head, nudging Eight to do the same. The Anomaly scowled but complied, knowing better than to defy his superior. “We won’t fail you, Praetor,” Claudius promised, his voice firm with conviction to the woman who had given him everything.
He could never imagine refusing Sun’s orders. She was kind to her own but fierce to all else. While she had not mentioned any rewards for the others, Claudius knew there would be plenty beyond the reinstatement of his House.
Praetor Sun kept her people happy, and that is why so many were willing to die for her. Claudius teetered on the edge of that line. Should the postmortem include his family’s return to power? Then yes.
He would give it all, and…
The woman knew that.
With a grin, she reached forward to ruffle Eight’s hair. The young man returned her joy with hate, but the Praetor ignored such a thing. She instead slid forward a parchment to her favorite Judge.
Claudius read its title before she even started speaking.
House Vermillion Approved Unexile.
His hands shook with equal parts excitement and fear. For he knew such a thing arriving early meant the mission might very well cost him his life. As usual, the Praetor was not unaware.
Her eyes met each of Claudius’ crew, with promise on her lips, “What you are about to embark on is vital to our Empire’s future. I believe the Lost Reaches are home to many more MDs like this one or secrets regarding them. Navigating the place is near-impossible, so we must take this stronghold.”
Sun offered what few would ever receive from a Praetor by taking a deep breath and saying, “Name a price, and if you succeed, I will honor it, no matter if you live or die.”
Yue’s many arms trembled with joy while Talander’s sword hand shivered with glory. Rosa’s eyes bloomed, the offer greater than she could have imagined. However, the last member of the crew didn’t seem all too amused.
Rosa went first with her desire, “Instate me as a Judge. Then teach me as you have Claudius.”
A curt nod sealed it for the Heartwelt.
Next up was Yue, her twenty fingers running over her guns. Her voice rose into an uncharacteristically high pitch of excitement, “I want four guns—Ostacean-made, capable of withstanding Domain Collapses.”
Another bow elicited a squeal of joy from the Harenlar before she fell into an embarrassed quiet.
Talander stood after her, leaning his entire upper body downward in respect, “Please have Praetor Oswen train me with the sword. I wish to be his match.”
A few moments of indecision passed while Sun’s face entered a state of thought. Eventually, though, she agreed, “I can make that happen. He owes me a few favors. I doubt he’ll take you as a student, though.”
Regardless of the stipulation, the swordsman was relieved enough to fall into his seat. Then, that left only the Anomaly, and he drew the Praetor’s attention the most. Her brows furrowed, and wisps of light returned to her eyes as she peered at Eight, “And what about you, child?”
With a dense laugh, Eight sunk into his seat further, seemingly without a care for the world, “Don’t really care, just along for the ride. If you insist, though, one Congressional-Pardon to be used in the future.”
A swift shake of the head only made Eight wave his hands. The young man truly didn’t care. Claudius rose to his defense, “Ma’am, Eight is still young. And prideful for his great strength. As my reports told you, he could force me to a draw. Please just save the favor for the future.”
After accepting her Judge’s request, the Praetor stood up from her seat again. The lights within her eyes reemerged the renowned Stigma that could burn the minds of those she fought.
After placing her hands on the desk, she gave them one final encouragement. “We’re low on time. Sneak into the Lost Reaches behind Nova. Be careful, Claudius. I believe in you. If I could, I’d send Rasa with you, but any Centurion’s absence would be noticed, let alone the Rakshasa.”
Rasa, understanding the signal, began ushering the group out. Sun called out to Claudius one last time as they filed through the door, her voice soft yet filled with heart, “Claudius, if your grandfather were here, he’d be proud of how far you’ve come. I know you won’t fail. Prove his sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”
The door closed behind Claudius as he turned around to say something, Rasa standing right in his face. The short headshake told Claudius all he needed to know.
Without a word, Rasa placed a firm hand on Claudius’ shoulder and gently guided him down the empty corridor meant only for the Praetor’s closest subordinates. As they walked, Claudius’ mind drifted, thinking of all the stories he had been told about his grandfather.
Too young to remember his face, let alone his parents, Claudius had always clung to the legends of Gaius Vermillion, the man who had fought for nearly a century, carving out entire Sectors and slaughtering millions of enemies in the name of the Empire. His titles were many, but all who heard his name knew him as the Drowned Dragon, second only to the Legates and the standing Head-Praetor, Crownlean.
Yet, despite all his strength and accomplishments, posessing both a Domain Collapse and an Absolute Limit, Gaius’ trust led to his downfall. He had allowed his family full control of his estates, continuing his conquests without looking back. That blind trust had cost him everything, as the very kin he had trusted conspired against him and the Empire itself.
Claudius clenched his fists, poorly concealing the fury that boiled within him. His crew, walking ahead with smiles at the possibilities their new futures held, remained unaware of the storm of emotions swirling inside him.
Rasa noticed. He always did. As they approached the pod, ready to return to their ship, the Centurion leaned in, his voice low, “She’s right, you know. Your waters flow just like his did. When I served under Gaius, I saw the same sea in him. You’ve got it, too.”
With those words, Rasa slid a piece of aged parchment into Claudius’ hand. The Judge barely had time to react before Rasa shoved him back into the cramped pod. Claudius wanted to protest, but the look in Rasa’s eyes stopped him.
They weren’t the eyes of a man sending off a subordinate. They were the eyes of a father silently begging his son to run. Such eyes begged him to survive.
Rasa’s lips moved, but no sound escaped. Still, Claudius could read them clearly: “Go. His enemies will be after you now. Grow strong.”
Before Claudius could respond, the pod’s engines sputtered to life. The fires roared as Rosa directed them back toward their starship, which waited in the empty void of space. Inside the cramped pod, Claudius gripped the parchment tightly, not daring to open it yet. Instead, he reached into the Lightsea, letting the energy wash over him as he read the paper without his eyes.
Instantly, the world shifted. Colors twisted and whirled as his senses were transported elsewhere, as always when he tapped into his Stigmata. He found himself standing in a barren wasteland, devoid of life—except for the solitary figure that loomed before him.
Gaius Vermillion. His grandfather.
The text on the parchment had long been inscribed. Still, Claudius could hear the words spoken by the legendary warrior as if he were there, reading them aloud, “Domain Collapse: Drowned Dragon. May the seas dry, the rainforests burn, and the grasslands wilt. Beneath my claws, all dragons shall drown to birth new worlds. Foolish old men move mountains, so that their grandchildren may see the sunrise.”
The words echoed in Claudius’ mind, each with a growing transcendence, as he watched water rise from the dry, cracked earth surrounding his grandfather. Gaius Vermillion, the Drowned Dragon, was a legend among Hydros, and his power was on full display.
The water coiled around Gaius, swirling into a massive, serpentine form—a dragon, born of liquid, with teeth, wings, and claws. It continued to grow, the water lifting from the very planet itself as it joined the flowing tides of the Lightsea.
The Drowned Dragon reached an unimaginable size in mere moments, towering like a skyscraper. Its jaws twisted toward the sky, where a meteor—no, not a meteor, but something far worse—descended rapidly.
A voice echoed in Claudius’ ears while the dragon roared, a pillar of water ejected from its mouth, “This is for you, Claudius. You are the only one who is not washed with sin. Brimming with potential. A pure heart, pale enough to peer into the future and the past. I love you.”
Claudius strained to hold on to the vision as the Stigmata’s power drained his strength. As the dragon unleashed a devastating roar, its water breath crashing toward the ice-encased Dirge, Claudius felt himself yanked back to reality.
He blinked, breathless, seated once more in the cramped pod. No time had passed, yet his body heaved with exhaustion. Odd glances from his companions were ignored as Claudius focused on the parchment in his hand. His grandfather’s voice echoed in his mind, as clear as if Gaius had been beside him.
The technique. The power. With it, Claudius knew—if he could master it—he’d be unstoppable in the Inferose. Domain Collapses couldn’t be copied. They were unique to the individual. Even so, Claudius knew it was different with family.
First, he needed to learn it. And he had little time, as the Nova was already on the move, and the Heron’s Wing had to follow. Soon, Dante’s crew would join him as well. Claudius was more determined than ever before to claim this Dimensional Core. With his last name rekindled, he could take the exam for Centurion. He could stake out land. He could… do so many things that he had always wished to do.
For Gaius. For Praetor Sun. For his... family. He’d do it or die trying.