The storm over Aryavrat raged like a wounded beast.
Ashoka Dev Rana stood at the fractured observation deck of the Suryaansh Citadel, wind slicing through broken transparisteel panels like knives. The twin moons cast a pale glow across the ruined city below—once called the Jewel of the East Quadrant, now little more than a flickering graveyard of forgotten glory.
Fires smoldered in the lower sectors. Entire districts had gone dark. Water rations were down to forty percent, and pirate raids had become a weekly tradition. The people no longer looked to the palace for hope. They barely looked at all.
Behind him, the royal chamber was silent but for the slow, haunting beeps of a life monitor.
His mother, Maharani Ishvari, lay pale and unmoving on the medical cradle, her once-commanding presence now reduced to shallow breaths and faded eyes. She'd ruled half the quadrant when Ashoka was a child. He remembered the fire in her voice when she addressed the assembly, the way soldiers stood straighter when she entered a room. Now, no soldiers remained—only scattered militia and ghosts of honor.
His father had passed quietly a month ago. No final speech. No legacy left. Just silence and a dying name.
Ashoka stepped back from the window and closed his eyes.
He was only twenty-three, but his spine had known the weight of centuries since he was fifteen. House Suryaansh—once the sun of Aryavrat, its shield and sword—had fallen. Politicians turned their backs. Allies sold out. And the Galactic Assembly had long erased Aryavrat's nobility from the registry.
But House Suryaansh had one heir left. And he wasn't ready to die a shadow.
A chime buzzed in his neural implant. Static crackled, then a shaky voice.
"High orbit... decloaking signature. Heavy cruiser. Looks like... pirate Black Maw-class. Sir, it's Nyros."
Ashoka's eyes snapped open.
Captain Nyros. The butcher of Sector 5. The same raider who had enslaved thousands and bombed their spice domes. The one who'd taken Ashoka's cousin and sent back only a blood-soaked pendant.
Ashoka didn't need a war council.
He stormed through the corridor, his boots echoing off the marble—cracked but still noble. He passed halls littered with collapsed banners, empty armor stands, and broken sculptures of ancestors who once ruled star systems with wisdom and wrath.
At the heart of the citadel lay the War Core—an ancient room that hadn't seen light in six years. With a hiss, the doors opened. Dust rolled out like mist from a tomb.
He stepped inside and placed his palm on the biometric sigil of Suryaansh.
A surge of energy lit the room. Holograms flickered to life. Star maps, old fleet records, forgotten battle doctrines. And at the center, the dormant throne-console pulsed back to life.
"Command Core Activated. Welcome, Lord Ashoka Dev Rana."
The chamber recognized its last scion.
Above the interface, the familiar voice of Aranyaka, the ancestral AI, echoed through the chamber.
"Your vitals are spiking. Conflict imminent?"
Ashoka's jaw tensed. "Nyros is in orbit. Power up the Sky Fang Hangars."
"Your fleet is in disrepair. Your drones are below minimum efficiency. You are requesting authorization for a suicidal engagement."
Ashoka moved to the weapons terminal and began syncing his neural link to the Vajra-One, the last functioning royal strike ship.
"I'm not asking. Prepare the Vajra-One for combat."
"Acknowledged. Might I recommend caution?"
Ashoka smirked. "I'm done with caution. This is our world. If we die, we die fighting."
The AI paused.
"Then I shall calculate glory."
Outside, thunder rolled across the violet skies. The silhouette of the enemy dreadnought loomed larger now—its black hull reflecting the lightning like a shark circling blood.
Ashoka looked down at his gloved hands, trembling not with fear, but with something he hadn't felt in years.
Resolve.
He turned one last time toward the chamber, toward his mother, who hadn't moved. A nurse android buzzed softly, checking her vitals.
He whispered, "I'll return with victory, Ma. Or I won't return at all."
And with that, he walked into the storm.