Chapter 23

GVIF Rheeavher

Ceryorka System, Cavaglatar Sector

Date: Zeran 23, Year 4731

Seated in his chambers aboard the Rheeavher, Caul Malocktus's eyes lingered on the ancient Vorcon artifacts lining the shelves, their surfaces etched with runes whispering of old power, now silenced. Beside them, weathered tomes and brittle-edged scrolls sat neatly, their frayed pages carrying the faint scent of aged parchment. Many of the artifacts lay broken—shattered blades and incomplete remnants of weapons once revered.

A sharp buzz interrupted Caul’s thoughts, accompanied by a brief flash of light on his desk control panel. His skeletal fingers pressed a button, releasing the door. It slid downward into the floor with a heavy mechanical clink, revealing the fully armed figure of Thar Golvosran, the Rheeavher’s third officer, standing at attention and waiting for permission to enter.

"Enter," Caul hissed, his voice low and drawn out.

Thar stepped inside as the door rolled upward with a light thud. His black eyes, flecked with brown in the centre, swept the chamber before narrowing on a shattered blade resting on a cloth, its hilt intact. The fragments lay carefully arranged, gaps marking the missing sections. Why preserve such pieces? his expression seemed to ask. He understood the value of ancient weapons; the hall at his family estate had many, but those were intact and pristine. His gaze shifted to the melee weapons mounted on the chamber walls—Caul’s personal collection. A display far more impressive, in his estimation.

Caul pointed to the seat opposite him. "Sit, Primus," he directed.

Thar lowered himself into the chair, his body tense, as if bracing for something. "I am honored to have been invited to your chambers, Major Legate Malocktus," he said, his tone formal yet cautious. Aboard the Rheeavher, being summoned to Caul’s chambers was a dreadful prospect. None wished to hear Caul’s voice echo through the ship, summoning them to his office.

Caul’s silence carried more weight than anything he could have said aloud. The red centers of his eyes locked onto Thar. At last, he spoke, his voice low and rasping. "Tell me, Primus," he said, "how do you find the training regimen aboard the Rheeavher?"

Thar straightened. "Rigorous, Major Legate Malocktus. Exactly as one would expect under your command. The crew is being prepared well for any scenario we might encounter."

"Challenging, I hope?" Caul said bluntly. "Training isn’t meant for success—it’s meant to expose weakness."

"Some have found the training too rigorous, it seems," Thar said carefully. "But they continue to push themselves. Commodore Gahlenka has seen to it."

Caul allowed the barest hint of a smirk, a shadow of amusement. "I expect the Golvosran family prepared you adequately for such training." He watched Thar, watching for the inevitable flicker of pride. Among nobles, it was always there—that unshakable belief that bloodlines bred strength and superiority.

"Naturally," Thar replied, almost dismissive. "It is our way of life, as with any great family in the Vorcon Empire."

Caul let out a long, deliberate hiss. "The Golvosran family has always been competent warriors," he said. Competent, but nothing exceptional—certainly not on the level they imagine themselves to be. Thar was far from the first Golvosran Caul had known.

Thar inclined his head, appearing to take the comment as a compliment, though he fully understood its intent. He had been well-briefed on navigating Caul Malocktus—obedience alone was never enough. "Indeed, Major Legate. My instructors were among the finest in the Empire. My brother Ston has twice claimed victory in the tournaments, and my father, Lort Golvosran, is hailed as a hero for his valor in the war against the Seven Worlds. I could list many great deeds of my long-honored family," he added with a measured pause, "but I would prefer not to boast."

His words came easily, polished and smooth, as if reciting something rehearsed, bolstering his family name against an unspoken critique. Caul, however, was certain Thar had heard these words so often that he would repeat them without thought.

"Remarkable feats. You are honored," Caul said, dipping his head in a slow, half-mocking bow.

Lort Golvosran, a hero? Some might say so, but all would agree he was merely a competent warrior. The Golvosrans worked tirelessly to keep his name relevant. He rests on his deeds, even though strength still remains within him. Give it time—his name will fade to dust, and no one will remember what little he did. He will not become immortal. Caul recalled the look on Lort’s face the last time he had seen him.

The nobility were notorious for their feasts, endlessly praising the deeds of their kin, embellishing past successes while resting comfortably on them.

Caul found quiet amusement in remembering how disappointed Lort had been upon learning of his son Thar’s assignment to Caul’s command.

Golvosran’s family held significant lands on the planet Tayex, their influence extending across the Vorcon Empire. Their contributions to the Grand Vorcon Imperial Force were among the highest, as far as Caul knew.

They are a powerful family—that much, no one could deny. Their resources are deep, their lands vast, and their contributions to the GVIF impressive.

"Tell me, what have you done to add to the Golvosran name?" Caul asked, a smirk forming on his face.

Thar hesitated, struggling to formulate a response. The comment had caught him off guard.

Before he could speak, Caul rose from his chair. "Walk with me, Primus," he ordered, turning toward the door and leaving the room before Thar could even stand.

Thar quickly rose and followed, his hurried steps echoing against the cold metal floor as he fell in line behind Caul. The Vorcon Bruisers, who had remained stationed in the corridor outside Caul’s chambers—his personal guards—joined them, their heavy footsteps punctuated by the occasional grunt.

As they moved through the corridors of the Rheeavher, Caul’s tone shifted, becoming almost conversational. "Tell me, Primus, I am curious. Do you believe your noble training has given you an advantage? Especially over those of lower status? The Common Vorcon."

Thar responded with an arrogant smirk, dismissing the question. "When we are part of the Grand Vorcon Imperial Force, nobility or otherwise matters not. We are all the same here," he replied confidently, though the words rang hollow even to himself.

"This is very true, Primus," Caul said after a pause. "Still, answer my question—do you believe your noble training has given you an advantage?"

Thar answered without hesitation this time. "I believe it has, Major Legate. I’ve been trained in combat by some of the best. My training was designed to prepare me for leadership and the responsibilities that come with commanding others."

Caul let out an irritated hiss. "Leadership isn’t a birthright, Primus. It’s forged through training, intelligence, wisdom, and time. Earned through experience and action. A skill to be sharpened, though not always teachable. The strong can be molded into leaders. The weak cannot." His red eyes locked onto Thar. "Tell me, do you believe your training has prepared you for what lies ahead? This war... I’m eager to see how it will test you. After all, it will be your first."

"If it comes to war," Thar said cautiously, though a hint of ambition crept into his tone. "I am eager to gain experience through any upcoming conflict—perhaps to make a name for myself, as you did, Major Legate Malocktus."

Caul’s head turned slowly toward Thar, ignoring the flattery. "If it comes to war?" he repeated, letting the words linger.

"We are likely to have a new Emperor soon, Major Legate," Thar said, stumbling briefly before regaining his confidence. "The Emperor’s heir may decide against another war. Perhaps Ryn Kotoron has a different vision for the Vorcon Empire."

"It always comes to war, Primus," Caul replied flatly.

"Perhaps not the war we expect. Who knows what the gods have in store for us," Thar said. You may find yourself lacking any influence when Ryn Kotoron takes the throne.

"You know the Emperor’s heir well, do you not?" Caul asked, his tone pressing, each word crafted to draw out more.

"We completed our Kelkor trials together," Thar answered, emphasizing the honor. It was a rare privilege to undertake such a trial alongside the next in the line of succession.

"And you still correspond with one another?" Caul asked, his tone less a question.

Thar’s mind stalled. The messages were supposed to be encrypted, but had he underestimated Caul’s reach? The thought unsettled him, though he masked it quickly.

"Yes, Ryn Kotoron and I correspond often," he said carefully.

The Golvosran family were staunch loyalists, like many Vorcon families—pledged first to the Emperor and only secondarily to the Empire itself. They were faithful and unwavering in their service to the previous Emperor, Tor Kortoron, and it seemed they would remain steadfast when Ryn Kotoron ascended to the throne. For now, however, Nor Kotoron remained Emperor of the Vorcon Empire.

Would they serve any Emperor? Caul wondered.

When they reached the training room, the sharp, raw crack of clashing energy blades greeted them. Strike. Pause. Reverberation. Every collision resonated, filling the air with sound.

Inside, Inquisitor Nelve Rellocha was locked in an intense practice session with the Stryder Servatron.

Caul paused just inside the entrance, Thar now beside him. His focus stayed on Nelve’s every movement. Her strikes were precise, her practice Kelkor blade slicing through the air. The white-grey protective barrier field surrounding the blade pulsed with each movement, its tone shifting subtly upon impact. Each clash against the Servatron’s weapon sent sharp, unsettling vibrations through the room. Each blow rang out, weaving a dissonant pattern of strikes and parries.

"Impressive, isn’t it?" Caul remarked, his voice low and almost to himself, tracking each strike. "Nelve has trained under my command for some time now and previously with others of the Malocktus family. Her abilities are formidable, despite her... non-noble training. Would you agree?"

Thar inclined his head. "Her skill is plain to see, Major Legate. The Inquisitor is highly skilled; only a fool would deny that," His response was careful, every word considered before spoken. After a pause, he added cautiously, "Though... she is of noble birth, is she not?" Non-noble training?

"She is of noble lineage," Caul acknowledged, though this was common knowledge. "Much of her instruction has come from non-noble mentors. The Rellocha family, tied closely to mine, has sought training alongside us for generations."

"I understand, Major Legate," Thar said, absorbing the information, though his curiosity lingered. "It is a shame," he added after a brief pause. "The Rellocha family has a long history in the Empire. Many houses have faced downturns. Perhaps they will one day regain their status." They are noble in name only.

"They are a resilient family," Caul replied, his voice steady. And, hopefully, loyal allies. While Caul had no reason to suspect otherwise, he found solace in the Rellocha family’s history. Their goals aligned with his, as did those of his father, Rox. It was an alliance forged over a long history—faded at times, almost lost, but now as strong as ever.

"They are highly respected," Thar agreed, his focus returning to the duel between Nelve and the Stryder.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Nelve shifted her stance, intercepting each of the Stryder’s blows with movements so fluid they appeared effortless.

"Tell me, Primus," Caul continued. "what do you make of her performance? Perhaps you could critique it."

Thar hesitated briefly before answering. "Her form is adequate, Major Legate, though her footwork could be more refined. She relies too heavily on precision and misses opportunities for strikes."

"Interesting observations," Caul said, his voice a low rasp, each word drawn out with a faint hiss. "How do you believe you would fare against the Inquisitor, Primus?"

Thar blinked, amusement flickering briefly across his face before fading. "Major Legate, I do believe it would be of little contest. She is skilled, yes, though—"

"You use the Klyron form?" Caul interrupted.

Thar paused, his confidence momentarily shaken. "I do," he replied evenly.

The Klyron form was a common style, heavily favoring the Kelkor blade’s design. While effective, it rendered combatants less adaptable to other long-blade melee weapons if they relied on it exclusively.

"Have you ever practiced the Nrva form?" Caul asked.

Thar momentarily unsure if Caul was serious. "No one uses the Nrva," he said. "That form is ancient—not designed for energy weapons, Major Legate. It was used by the ancients and forgotten by the modern era," he added, as if instructing Caul.

Caul’s eyes locked onto Thar.

Realizing he might have overstepped—or even insulted—the Major Legate, Thar tensed. To his surprise, a slow smirk spread across Caul’s face.

"Used by the Immortals," Caul corrected, his tone laced with quiet disdain. "What other forms do you use, Thar? The Alyth? The Lokh?"

"That’s correct," Thar replied, regaining his composure.

"Those forms provide a solid foundation," Caul said. "Against humans, for example, they are highly effective. Against other Vorcons with elite training, however, they are often predictable, I find."

"It’s the fighter as much as the form," Thar countered with mild defensiveness.

"There is some wisdom in that," Caul acknowledged.

With a subtle shift in his tone, Caul continued, "Will you practice against the Inquisitor, Primus?" The demand woven into his question was unmistakable. "The Inquisitor has been testing herself against Stryders, but she needs an organic challenge. Perhaps you could teach her something—or, at the very least, vary her training."

Thar inclined his head, intrigued. "If that is your wish," he said. After a brief pause, he added, "What forms does the Inquisitor use?"

"The Nrva, among others," Caul replied simply.

Thar hesitated. The idea of Caul joking struck him as absurd, but for a moment, he couldn’t help but wonder. Caul, however, wasn’t one for idle gestures. His words were careful and deliberate, his humor—when it surfaced—crafted to provoke, to draw reactions, to reveal.

"Practice with her," Caul ordered.

Thar glanced at Nelve, who had deactivated the Stryder and now stood silently, observing. She was slightly winded from the extended exchange but held herself tall, her breathing slowing as she regained control.

Caul gestured for Thar to place his Kelkor blade on the wall and retrieve a practice blade. These blades, coated in protective energy shielding, were designed to prevent serious injury while still delivering the weight and impact of each strike. Though intended for training, a blow with enough force could still inflict significant pain.

Thar joined Nelve in the center of the training room. They began to circle each other, silent but for the faint scuff of boots on the floor.

At the sidelines, Caul watched with an unblinking stare, his hands clasped neatly behind him.

Thar opened with a series of quick strikes, his blade moving fluidly and with strength. His strategy was clear as he advanced, combining quick, deceptive strikes with feints to test the limits of her defenses. Nelve met each strike with a seamless blend of offense and defense, her blade intercepting his. The sharp clash of energy fields echoed through the room.

Thar pressed harder, his strikes gaining speed and power as he attempted to push her back. Nelve noted the gaps in his movements—a fraction of a second too long between each attack. His training was thorough but rigid, favoring power over adaptability. Though it was clear he had received extensive instruction, his actual combat experience seemed limited.

Each motion Nelve performed reflected the discipline of years spent honing her skills against opponents whose actions were far from predictable. Nelve’s eyes tracked Thar’s every step, noting his reliance on broad, forceful strikes. She adjusted her stance, waiting for the next predictable arc of his blade. Her footwork was nimble, her blade weaving effortlessly to deflect his increasingly forceful attacks.

Thar faltered, his strikes growing desperate as Nelve pressed her advantage. Each of her sharp strikes hit its mark, further unraveling his composure.

She saw the opening and seized it. Pivoting sharply, she slid past his downward strike. With a quick twist of her wrist, her blade darted forward, forcing him to block. The maneuver left him scrambling, his stance faltering.

Thar staggered slightly but recovered quickly, launching another flurry of strikes. This time, Nelve met him head-on. Their blades collided with a force that sent vibrations up both their arms.

She was relentless now, her attacks growing more aggressive with each passing moment. Thar tried to counter, but his timing faltered, and Nelve slipped past his guard with a decisive blow. Her practice blade struck his shoulder with a blunt impact, forcing him back. He staggered, his breath hitching as he struggled to regain his balance, realizing that without the protective shielding, she would have slain him with the blow.

"Again," Caul ordered.

Thar hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping forward to attack. His strikes were swift and aggressive, a textbook display of Klyron form. He moved with renewed vigor, his blade arcing toward Nelve. She anticipated his movement, her blade meeting his mid-swing and deflecting it with a sharp twist of her wrist. Before he could recover, she countered with a decisive strike that sent his weapon clattering to the floor.

"Again," Caul commanded.

Thar straightened, steadying his breath as he retrieved his weapon. He refused to let his frustration show, keeping his expression calm, almost amused—but the calm was forced, and a hint of hidden embarrassment lingered.

He lunged again, his blade moving with renewed purpose, his attacks fluid and deliberate. But Nelve matched him, her movements measured and unyielding. Within moments, her blade found its mark again, the edge pressing against his side, signaling another defeat.

The process repeated. Outwardly, Thar maintained his composure, but as the rounds dragged on, Nelve’s relentless precision began to take its toll. Her strikes grew sharper, each one exploiting his mounting mistakes as though she had figured him out, predicting his movements before they occurred.

Thar’s form wavered, his movements betraying the strain. His swings, once fluid, became rigid under the weight of growing fatigue. Nelve remained calm and focused, her breathing controlled. Her blade moved with purpose, parrying Thar’s increasingly frantic attacks and countering each one.

Finally, Caul raised a hand, signaling the end.

Golvosran stood panting, his chest heaving. He gripped the hilt of his practice blade tightly but forced himself to straighten. With a slight lift of his chin, he tried to convey that the defeats were insignificant, though he struggled to mask his frustration.

Caul’s expression remained unreadable, his thoughts already shifting to matters beyond the training room.

Nelve, though fatigued, stood tall and composed, her blade deactivated and held loosely at her side. She spared Thar a glance and gave him a nod—a gesture of respect, which he returned.

Caul approached Thar. "Well done, Primus," he said. Without waiting for a reply, he added, "You are dismissed."

Thar nodded stiffly. "Major Legate Malocktus." He turned, exchanged the practice weapon for his own, and left the training room.

Caul took a moment to review the training room’s computer logs, scanning the results from Nelve’s session. After a brief review, he said nothing about them.

Caul turned to Nelve. "Follow me."

Nelve nodded sharply. "Yes, Master." Her mind wandered, questioning the meaning behind the exercise. Surely, Caul hadn’t brought the Primus here simply for her to defeat him. There had to be more to this.

Caul left the training room with Nelve following close behind, the Bruisers’ heavy footsteps echoing in unison through the Rheeavher’s corridors.

They reached his chambers, where Caul moved to sit behind the desk at the center of the room. He poured himself a glass of dark, thick, almost paste-like wine, cradling it in his hand.

Inquisitor Nelve Rellocha took a seat across from him.

"Would you care for some wine, Inquisitor?" Caul offered, his tone uncharacteristically cordial.

It was a rare gesture, she thought. "No, not at the moment, Major Legate," she replied.

Caul took a slow sip of the wine, savoring the taste before setting the glass down. "Do you know why Velor was forgotten, Inquisitor?" he asked abruptly, as though continuing a conversation already in progress.

Nelve had been tasked with reading about Velor—his deeds, his fate. "His actions were seen as too dangerous for the Empire's stability," she ventured cautiously. "They feared he would inspire others to follow in his footsteps—to assassinate emperors deemed too weak, to assassinate lords too weak, to remove anyone with power who didn’t serve the Vorcon Empire. Many fought to bury his name, his deeds, to forget him entirely. Velor sacrificed everything—his power, his name, his very existence—for the greater good of the Vorcon Empire. Yet he was dismissed, forgotten, as if his sacrifice meant nothing, even though it was selfless."

Caul nodded softly, his approval evident in the slight narrowing of his eyes. "It goes beyond that," he said, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. "We honor Velor. We carry out his work. He believed all should have access to the gods—that they belonged to all Vorcons. Long ago, the voices of the gods—the gods who once spoke freely to anyone—were silenced."

Nelve hesitated, uncertainty threading through her words. "Silenced?"

"The shamans," Caul continued, his tone dropping lower, "don’t speak to the gods. They speak for the gods. They’ve twisted the conduits, hoarding the knowledge for themselves. Once, the gods gave us power and wisdom. Now, we’ve allowed the shamans to decide who is worthy of that connection. Do you see the theft, Inquisitor? The power stolen from us all?"

"Would we be more powerful if we returned to those ways?" Nelve asked cautiously.

"If we allowed our Emperor to speak directly to the gods," Caul said. "The strength the Empire would gain would see us reclaim systems—reclaim power we lost long ago. Imagine it, Inquisitor—a leader truly guided by the divine. Further still, imagine a population with access to the gods. They would choose those they deem worthy."

He paused, letting his words settle like a challenge. "What do you know of the Hyvex Stones?"

Conduits Velor had once used to speak with the gods, setting him on the path from mortal to god.

"The Hyvex Stones are... conduits," she began tentatively. "They connect us to the gods, allowing the shamans to interpret their will."

"Conduits, yes," Caul said, his tone sharp with contempt. "But the shamans control the conduits. You must understand—true power isn’t in possessing knowledge. It’s in controlling who can access it. That is the key to ruling, to controlling the populace. Not to say the shamans have any real power," his words dripped with disdain, "but they abuse and steal from us with what they withhold. They should be held accountable. They should be removed."

He leaned back, cradling his glass and taking a sip of wine. "Even then, only certain shamans are permitted to handle or interact with the Hyvex Stones. Our gods have been reduced to mere ceremony. And our ancient weapons of great power? They are displayed, not wielded. Our potential lies just beyond reach, buried under layers of restraint."

Nelve nodded as she absorbed his words. The fervor in Caul’s voice made her question the path ahead.

Caul’s voice turned colder, sharper, his restrained anger threading through each word. "The name of Velor echoes throughout the Empire, though few grasp its truth. His deeds transcended mortality, elevating him to godhood. Velor isn’t merely remembered—he is revered by those who understand his sacrifice. That is why the Brotherhood continues his work. One day, we will find the conduit to speak with him—and with the gods themselves."

He leaned forward. "The Brotherhood of Velor understands this. We’ve seen the Empire’s history twisted, the truth buried under deceit. But we will restore Velor to his rightful place. His power is not gone—merely suppressed. And when the time comes, I will speak to the gods myself. I will stand before them, and They will acknowledge my presence, as they must. They will look me in the eyes."

A shiver ran down Nelve’s spine. There was a conviction in Caul that bordered on the unsettling, a forceful certainty. He spoke of the gods and ancient legends as if they were undeniable truths, his belief unshakable. Her own faith, though strong, felt fragile in comparison—this was something else entirely. He’s a true believer.

In that moment, she understood how dangerous he truly was. His belief was so absolute, it made the gods themselves feel less distant, as though he might summon them through willpower alone. His ambition knew no bounds, and he would likely stop at nothing to achieve it.

Caul’s gaze fixed on her, as if reading her thoughts, as though they were written on her face. "Do you doubt the gods, Inquisitor? Do you think your fate is your own?"

Her response was slow. "I believe in the gods, Major Legate. Though I have never spoken to them, and they have never spoken to me. Though I do believe my fate is in their hands."

"They are the forces that guide us, and sometimes, they demand sacrifices we might not be prepared to make. We must listen to them, even when they don’t speak." His voice dropped, the words almost a whisper, drawn out with a long hiss. "You will learn, Inquisitor, to trust this."

The Transceiver uplink on Caul’s desk emitted a tone. He pressed a button, and the voice of Commodore Gahlenka filled the room.

"Major Legate," Gahlenka said, "I have located a target, as you requested."

Caul let out a faint snicker. "Commodore. Begin preparations," he replied, ending the transmission without further acknowledgment.

Turning back to Nelve, he commanded, "Prepare your fighter craft."

Nelve stood before the words could fully register, adrenaline surging through her veins. "Yes, Major Legate."

She paused for a moment, her mind racing, before leaving the room and heading toward the hangar. What is this all about?