Return from Exile

Chapter 10.

The Rheeavher had left Chiex behind, cutting steadily through the Venddral Raidezel Sector as it continued toward the Cavaglatar Sector on its return to the Vorcon Empire. Caul Malocktus stood alone in his chambers, his red-centered eyes fixed on the PhotonMap—the only source of light in the room. His gaze was locked on the Rhyus system, home to the Seven Worlds of Rhyus. The faint starlight from the map spread across the chamber, casting a cold, distant light over his expression.

The map, projected from a small silver sphere on his desk, expanded to reveal the Known Karadolex Galaxy. Star systems, nebulae, and points of interest stretched toward the arched ceiling and across the walls, each cluster marking the territories of various powers. The Prine System, the Vorcon Empire’s home system in the Calix Sector, was highlighted, with its eight planets and numerous moons.

Caul observed the distance between the Seven Worlds and the Vorcon Empire. Conquering them wouldn’t be easy, but it was the only way to right the wrongs of the last war.

Humans think they beat us, Caul thought. They defeated an already weakened force, worn by years of war.

His gaze shifted to the Karadolex Nebula, dividing sectors of the Known Galaxy. Few dared to cross it, and those who ventured too far never returned—neither by sublight nor by rift travel.

For a moment, doubt stirred in his mind. His allies were scattered across the Vorcon Empire, their loyalty tenuous at best. Vorcons valued power above all else, and true allies were rare in a society built on manipulation. Some remained loyal, but even those could be swayed by the right price—unless his power became absolute.

Caul seldom allowed himself the comfort of certainty—there was always more to take, always the lingering question: What if? What comes next? What possibilities have I yet to consider? He would be a fool to think he was the only one plotting.

But failure held no fear for him. Death? That would be a call from the gods—a fate he no longer dreaded. In his vision, death would be his transition to immortality, joining the great figures who had shaped the Empire before him. That day would come only when he chose it—after his legacy was carved, immortality earned, and the Empire bent to his will.

The true burden was his reliance on others. Caul believed no one matched his capabilities. Others had talents, yes, but they always fell short. It was the simple limitation of being just one Vorcon. His plans required more than his will alone, no matter how carefully orchestrated. He would do everything himself if he could, but there might come a time when he needed to be in more than one place at once.

A soft hiss escaped him, frustration coiling deeper in his thoughts. Relying on others grated against his nature, but it was unavoidable. His rise would demand sacrifices from those loyal enough to follow him.

A sharp buzz broke the silence. Caul paused, then pressed a button on the smooth stone panel of his desk. The door slid downward with a mechanical clink, revealing Commodore Rados’s rigid form.

Caul’s eyes swept over Rados, noting that he was unarmed. Disappointing. Vorcons should never be without a weapon—it was a sign of weakness. Vorcons valued skill with melee weapons above all else; one should always be ready to defend themselves. Being unarmed was the same as refusing to fight. Caul expected his ship to not only meet the discipline of the Grand Vorcon Imperial Fleet (GVIF) but to exceed it. An unarmed second-in-command was unacceptable. If Rados, his second-in-command, wasn’t prepared to defend himself, what did that say about the rest of the crew?

Caul felt a brief pulse of irritation but quickly masked it. Rados wore light armor—black plating over a dark gray underlayer—protecting his vital areas. The insignia on his chest marked him as a Commodore of the GVIF.

"Major Legate Malocktus," Gahlenka greeted with a quick nod, his voice tight and strained. His eyes briefly meeting Caul’s before darting away.

"Commodore Gahlenka, enter," Caul hissed, his smirk hidden beneath slow, deliberate words. He stepped aside, allowing Gahlenka to enter fully before the door slid shut behind him with a series of metallic clinks.

Caul gestured toward the PhotonMap. "Do you know what this is?" His eyes narrowed as he watched Rados shift, his shoulders tensing.

The answer seemed obvious, but with Caul, nothing was ever straightforward. He often communicated indirectly, turning even simple conversations into tests. Caul frequently summoned Gahlenka to his chamber, and Rados knew this visit would be no different.

"Our... field of battle?" Rados ventured, his thoughts heavy. It’s going to be one of those visits.

Caul’s smirk deepened as he let the silence stretch. "In a way, yes." His finger traced the Prine System. Nearby, the Lownex, Estgar, Votros, and Chalarov Systems remained under Vorcon control, their populations enslaved and producing for the Empire, highlighted and marked as part of Vorcon territory.

Close by was the Dratermur System, home to the Rulnali, who aided the Vorcons in managing these territories—handling supply lines and overseeing the regions beyond the Prine System. Perhaps they were the only true allies, though the balance of power clearly favored the Vorcons.

He issued a command on his slate, a multi-purpose tablet with various functions, and the map expanded, revealing a broader territory—former Vorcon-controlled star systems, now returned to their original rulers after the peace treaty with the Seven Worlds of Rhyus.

"What do you make of this, Commodore Gahlenka?" Caul’s voice was calm, measured, as he waited for a response.

Rados’s eyes swept over the map. "It’s... different when seen like this, Major Legate. The Empire sacrificed much—too much. We held many systems before the treaty. We barely had time to exploit their resources." His tone was cautious, his voice low as he forced the words out after clearing his throat.

"Sacrificed?" Caul’s red eyes bore into Rados, making the Commodore’s appear dull by comparison. "No, Commodore. We allowed weakness to dictate our actions, and in doing so, we lost too much." He gestured toward the map, switching it back to the systems still under Vorcon control. "This is the price of peace—a price I refuse to pay again."

The debate over the peace treaty had never truly died, often a heated topic within the Empire, especially among those who viewed defeat by the Seven Worlds as an affront to Vorcon pride. Vorcons were a proud species, seeing themselves as superior in military power, and they did not accept defeat easily. They were bred for war—from the relentless training of their young to the belief that every Vorcon should always be armed and ready for combat, regardless of their role in society. Some could accept the treaty, but not what had been lost—territory, resources, labor, and slaves that could have strengthened them for the next war.

The conflict with the Seven Worlds had dragged on for over twenty years, with tensions building long before their direct involvement. When the Humans of the Seven Worlds entered the war, they changed its course. As the conflict dragged on and the Empire suffered greater losses, defeat became a genuine threat. Emperor Tor Kotoron ultimately agreed to the proposed treaty, believing it was the only way to save the Empire from complete destruction. The Vorcon Empire lost everything it had gained—everything was gone.

"Emperor Tor Kotoron gave the Empire a prosperous war," Rados said, his voice low. And it was true—they had collected much through their conquests.

"Prosperous?" Caul’s eyes narrowed further. "What good were those campaigns if everything was lost afterward?" His tone darkened. "Was that the sacrifice? The treaty itself was the real sacrifice." He let the silence stretch, allowing his words to settle. "Even his life was part of that sacrifice." Caul paused, letting the weight of his statement linger. "Yes, it was prosperous in a way. The Empire took what it could before the treaty was enforced, but it was only a fraction of what we could have claimed. The day that treaty was signed, Commodore, was a dark day for the Empire."

"We were stretched too thin. Our enemies were too many. I’ll never forget that day," Rados said, forcing the words out. His voice remained harsh, low, and raspy as he aligned himself with Caul’s view.

"Neither will I, Commodore. We abandoned systems we could have held—valuable ones, rich in resources and strategically located. We should have taken a defensive stance, bought time for rebuilding." Caul’s gaze returned to the map. "We will reclaim what is ours."

"The next Vorcon conquest will restore what was lost," Rados replied.

Satisfaction briefly surfaced in Caul’s eyes. "Indeed. But it will take more than strength. It will require patience, careful planning, and strategy. We must move with purpose and foresight."

Caul's voice dropped to a low rasp. "Do you believe we’ll succeed where we failed before?" Rados had to strain to hear, knowing he couldn’t ask Caul to repeat himself.

"I do, Major Legate. The Grand Vorcon Imperial Fleet is stronger than it’s been in decades," Rados replied, confidently. "I believe the Imperial Force is ready. We are strong. We are ready for war."

"Yes, the Empire is strong," Caul pressed, his voice laced with challenge. "And what of the Emperor’s health?"

"I’ve heard rumors," Rados began cautiously.

"Yes." Caul’s eyes narrowed, expectant. "What have you heard?"

"They say he is ill."

"He is?" Caul asked.

"It’s what I’ve heard."

"If he’s ill, can he restore what we’ve lost? How ill is he?"

Rados hesitated, unwilling to reveal his frustration. Why is he toying with me? "I don’t know if the Emperor we have now will restore the Empire to its former glory—if Emperor Nor Kotoron will," he admitted, discomfort creeping into his voice. Quickly, he added, "But I will always follow the rightful Emperor."

Caul’s eyes narrowed, studying the Commodore closely.

"You’re not wrong to question. We can only hope the Emperor begins to overcome it. Perhaps the gods will grant him strength," Caul’s voice softened, almost coaxing. "But strength alone won’t guarantee victory. We need loyalty—and the will to do whatever is necessary."

Rados nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "I understand, Major Legate. I will do whatever is required for the Empire. I will serve you—and the Emperor."

He held his attention on Rados, letting the quiet deepen, watching every subtle shift of discomfort.

"Gahlenka," Caul began, drawing out the name. "Still..." He paused, narrowing his eyes. "I’m surprised you’d say that, knowing I correspond with the Emperor directly. I wonder how he’d feel, hearing his Commodore from the Rheeavher thinks that way of him."

"I meant no disrespect, Major Legate," Rados replied quickly.

"Your lack of faith in our Emperor... is that true?" Caul pressed.

Rados straightened. "Rumors are... the Emperor’s health is failing. His strength is waning, and many believe he won’t last much longer. I’m only repeating what I’ve heard. My loyalty remains with the Empire, and with the Emperor," he said, almost pleading. What have I become?

Caul let out a cold, mocking laugh, his sharp teeth flashing briefly. He stopped laughing as quickly as he had started, his eyes still locked on Rados.

"No one questions your loyalty, Gahlenka. I certainly don’t." Caul’s voice softened, low and rasping. I question your usefulness. "Your concern is understandable. You’ve served the Empire well, fought bravely. I respect your commitment, Commodore Rados Gahlenka."

"You honor me, Major Legate." A compliment? From him? Rados’s eyes widened in surprise. He straightened, his body aching as he tried to stand taller. What does he really mean?

Caul deactivated the map and switched on the room’s lighting. He gestured toward a seat, and Rados, grateful for the opportunity, sank into the chair. The ache in his back lessened slightly.

"The Rheeavher remains untested, as does much of our crew. Some fought in the last war; others have yet to see real combat. It’s crucial this war galleon runs at peak efficiency, and that our crew is fully prepared."

"It will be done, Major Legate." Rados straightened. "I’ll ensure the crew maintains efficiency, and training continues. I’ll increase the drills."

"Good." Caul nodded slowly. "On our return to the Prine system, I want you to scout for... opportunities. We can train endlessly, but nothing compares to real experience."

"Opportunities, Major Legate?" Rados echoed.

"Yes," Caul’s voice grew firmer. "Perhaps some pirates. There are plenty of bases between here and Prine ripe for training exercises."

Pirates? "I’ll begin identifying locations," Rados assured him. A waste of resources. A waste of time. Pathetic pirates.

"I’m sure you will," Caul said after a brief pause. He leaned back slightly in his chair. "You’ll be pleased to know the Emperor will give me command of the First Armada, Gahlenka. We’ll be at the forefront of the coming war—our chance to shape its outcome."

"The First Armada?" Rados barely masked his shock. The Emperor promised him that? It can’t be. He has the Emperor’s favor, but the First Armada? No way a low-born commands that much power. How did he manage this? Rados’s grip tightened, and then, as if Caul sensed his tension, he released it.

"Yes," Caul continued, a smirk spreading across his face, clearly sensing Gahlenka’s doubt. "A low-born will command the First Armada. Promised to me by Emperor Nor Kotoron himself. You have an issue with this?"

Commanding the First Armada is one debt repaid, Caul thought.

"I mean no offense, none at all," Rados quickly interjected, his tone laced with apology. When the Emperor passes, everything will change. Malocktus may find himself on Fyndria with nothing.

Caul’s mouth twitched, forming something close to a smile, but not quite. His tone sharpened. "It’s rather uncommon, isn’t it, Gahlenka?" He dragged out the name. The rhetorical question remained. "A low-born like me, commanding the First Armada. And yet, here you are—of noble birth—serving under my command."

His smirk widened with amusement. "Emperor Nor Kotoron entrusted me with this responsibility—a trust I earned through relentless dedication."

Rados gave a stiff nod, forcing his voice to remain steady. "It is well-earned, Major Legate. I am honored to serve under your command. The Malocktus name has gained much recognition." And many would love to see your head removed.

"It has," Caul agreed, his voice calm but pointed. "My father’s service to the Empire secured our family’s place. My own service to the Grand Vorcon Imperial Force has elevated us further. While our name isn’t noble like yours, Gahlenka, our contributions speak for themselves."

"You are honored to receive such a pivotal command," Rados replied, forcing respect into his tone. He’s always reminding me of his low birth versus my noble birth. I’ve never made an issue of it—not to him.

"I am," Caul said simply, letting the conversation hang in the air, waiting for Rados to speak again.

"Your father served alongside the Emperor, didn’t he?" Rados asked, choosing his words carefully, though he already regretted steering the conversation in that direction.

Caul moved to a nearby cabinet, retrieving an ornate bottle with a long neck and a wide, rounded base. As he poured a thick, almost paste-like dark wine into a glass, the potent aroma filled the room—a vile smell.

"He did," Caul confirmed, swirling the wine thoughtfully. The liquid clung to the sides of the glass, slow and thick. "Long before Nor Kotoron took the throne. They served together."

"Emperor Nor Kotoron is fortunate to have had someone as loyal as your father by his side all these years," Rados offered. No doubt that loyalty is what propelled the Malocktus family from obscurity. But was it loyalty alone? He doubted it. Loyal to whom, exactly? Was it really just loyalty? It was far more than that. It's why Caul stands before me now, wielding power that should have belonged to others.

"Our Emperor is indeed fortunate to have my father as a loyal friend, now a councilor. A faithful advisor," His tone turning reflective. "Nor Kotoron’s rise was... unexpected. Thrust into power at the twilight of his life. A path paved with tragedy." He took a sip, letting the taste linger. "So much death... so many accidents. Unlikely, don’t you think? I wonder if the gods themselves intervened."

Rados shifted in his seat. "The gods help the Empire in... unlikely ways. Sometimes they watch, sometimes they step in. I believe."

Caul responded with a faint smirk and a long hiss.

After Tor Kotoron’s death, the Empire teetered on the edge of civil war until Nor Kotoron rose as the leader they needed. At any other time, those deaths wouldn’t have been so easily overlooked. The Empire had been on the verge of tearing itself apart, but Nor Kotoron’s rise prevented that. Many houses were grateful for the reprieve, eager to rebuild after years of conflict, welcoming the stability that another Kotoron on the throne could bring.

Caul noticed Rados shifting in his seat and decided to show a rare moment of candor. "We stand on the brink of a new era, Gahlenka—one where the Vorcon Empire will grow in power." Caul watched him closely, noting the Commodore’s discomfort, though Rados remained silent, enduring the constant pain.

"For the Empire, Major Legate. We will reclaim all that was lost," Rados nodded.

Caul raised his glass in a silent toast. "This war gives the Emperor the opportunity to forge a legacy that will endure through the ages. Or it could have, but the rumors of his poor health... unfortunately, they’re true. Frail, weak—in both body and mind. I respect what the Emperor has done, and the Empire would have benefited from a longer reign under Nor Kotoron, but history only remembers the conquerors—those who perform unforgettable deeds. Those who fail... are forgotten. Lost in time."

"It’s true. Only a few are remembered by history. It takes more than power to stand out in an empire where so many have achieved great deeds." Said Rados

"What will Emperor Nor Kotoron be remembered for?" Caul’s attention slipped, his expression distant, as if lost in thought.

"Taking power when it was needed," Rados replied confidant. "The Empire might have destroyed itself without him. He rebuilt our armada, restored our strength. He stopped us from tearing ourselves apart and now gives us the opportunity to fight a new war with renewed power. That is a legacy in its own right."

"Perhaps you’re right, Commodore," Caul agreed. "But it’s impossible to know how the future will remember things. That’s why one must never rely on chance. One must ensure they are remembered. A great deed can easily be eclipsed by another. Just as easily, it can be erased by one less desired."

Rados’s discomfort deepened, but he pressed on. "Do you think the Immortals or the gods knew their names would be revered in their time?"

"I doubt it," Caul’s voice dropped low. "But they knew they were shaping history. You can feel it when it happens. Time decides how deeds are remembered, but the gods and the Empire remember those who carve their names into it. Time has no effect on their view."

Rados winced, feeling a sharp pain shoot through his back. "The legacy of the Vorcon Empire is unmatched. Emperor Kor Kotoron united us over 4,000 years ago. A Kotoron still sits on the throne today. That is a legacy I’m proud of, Major Legate."

Caul’s voice dropping to a soft hiss. "Your loyalty never wavers, Commodore. Your faith in the Empire is inspiring."

"My life is the Empire, Major Legate."

"Do you ever think about your legacy, Gahlenka?"

He hesitated before answering. "My legacy will live on through my offspring. I fought in the war, gave my strength to it, and I will gladly give what’s left of me to the Empire until I pass. Perhaps I will not be remembered long after, but I will die knowing I gave all I was capable of."

"You should be proud of your service, Commodore. Your career is commendable. You have served the Empire well, and the Rheeavher benefits greatly from your presence, Gahlenka."

"You honor me, Major Legate Malocktus." Rados gave a quick nod.

Caul’s expression darkened. "For some, legacy is a burden—one that weighs heavily on those who strive to surpass the expectations set before them. Many Vorcons aspire to live up to great standards, placing pressure on themselves to achieve more than they are capable of. Not all can succeed."

"It’s not a burden for me," Rados replied.

"I will forge my legacy through my own actions, not through lineage," Caul said, as he deliberately sipped his wine.

"I believe you will, Major Legate."

"You have five offspring, don’t you, Commodore Gahlenka?" Caul asked.

"Yes, Major Legate. My two eldest will be tested in this coming war," Rados replied, his thoughts racing. I never discussed this with him before.

"I wish them well. Should we have them assigned to the Rheeavher?" Caul asked.

"They are pleased with their current assignments. They’re focused on ground combat—eager to gain experience," Rados replied, his tone growing slightly defensive.

Caul let out a faint snicker. "A wise path," he said, calm as ever. Shifting the conversation away from Rados’s offspring, he continued, "Still, I believe the gods play a part in legacy, alongside personal will. The will of the Vorcon is as important, or perhaps more so, than the will of the gods. I wonder if our Emperor’s rise was guided by divine will—considering all that transpired for him to seize power."

"It was an unlikely occurrence," Rados admitted cautiously. "A twist of fate."

Caul’s tone grew colder as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "Gahlenka... your understanding of history disappoints me. Have you not studied our annals? The Empire thrives on such 'twists of fate,' as you call them. The gods decreed their will —the improbable made inevitable. Study our history more—it’s filled with such moments. It has a peculiar way of repeating itself."

His smirk faded, his demeanor darkening. "Nor Kotoron’s rise wasn’t by chance. He didn’t seek the throne; he was destined for it. His reign, though it may seem brief in the future, will be pivotal. These shifts in power—they’re the work of the gods and those who are willing to shape the Empire in their image."

"It’s... remarkable to be thrust into a role one never sought."

"Precisely," Caul said, savouring the discomfort in the air. "An emperor born of destiny," his voice trailing into a slow, drawn-out hiss. "Are you prepared, Gahlenka, for what’s coming?" Caul’s tone dropped, charged with intent.

"I am ready to serve the Empire, Major Legate," Rados replied, forcing the words out, his voice still no louder than a harsh whisper.

At Gahlenka’s declaration, Caul hissed again, this time more approving than amused. His stare slid toward a dormant Kelkor blade resting on a nearby shelf. Rising from his desk, he moved toward it, his bone-like fingers activating the weapon. Raw energy crackled to life, filling the room with a steady hum—a violent mixture of red and orange light.

Caul began pacing, the low frequency of the weapon changing with each step. He moved behind Rados, who sat rigid in his chair, tension radiating from his still form. Caul held the blade dangerously close to Rados’s head.

"Where is your Kelkor blade, Gahlenka?" Caul’s voice was casual, almost indifferent.

Rados stiffened. "In my quarters, Major Legate." He could feel the raw energy pulsing near his head and dared not move.

Caul lowered the blade, circling around to stand in front of Rados. His voice hardened. "Unarmed? On my ship?"

"I’ll carry it from now on," Rados said quickly.

Silent, Caul kept his focus steady, unblinking.

"Immediately," Rados added, his voice more resolute.

Caul deactivated the blade and set it on his desk.

"You may leave," Caul said evenly, none of the earlier tension lingering in his tone.

A sense of relief came over Rados as he rose, his footsteps brisk as he left the chamber, the ache in his back fading in his rush to escape.

Caul let out a soft snicker, amused for a brief moment.

Then, reaching into a drawer, he pulled out a necklace. The pendant encased a jewel, swirling with various colors.

"Vorkythos," he whispered, barely audible.

"Vorkythos," he repeated, louder now, a hint of desperation slipping into his tone. But the jewel remained mute, offering no response.

For a long moment, Caul stared at the pendant, waiting for something—anything. When nothing came, he returned it to the drawer, frustration coiling within him. What do I need to do for it to speak?