Forgive me again, I’m carrying on, getting lost in the weeds. History does not care about my tale. Suffice it to say, Erasmus helped me convince the patrol that whoever walked away from that wreck was no longer among the living.

He took me in, clothed me, fed me, gave me a place to stay among his family, and in return I worked for him on the farm. After the immediate danger had passed, a deep depression set in as I began to deal with the loss of the Empress and my former life.

One night as I stared up at the star filled sky, I watched as the darkness bloomed with the streaks of light from the debris of the Black Widow as it burned up in the atmosphere. It had taken several months, but gravity had finally sucked in the last remnants of my previous life and in a matter of days it would be gone forever.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

I listened to the recordings the Empress had encoded on the data drive and then I began writing—that night, and every night thereafter—laying down the deeds of the life that brought the galaxy to its knees. I've taken the approach I thought best in transcribing the recordings the Empress left me. She relayed most of it from her direct view point, and I thought it best to report on her recordings from an outside perspective. I pray this was the right choice.

Her tale begins with a young woman named Violet Weaver on Tryptek Station.