The Void

The Astral Sanctum of House Reyes was nothing short of breathtaking—a convergence of wealth, ambition, and the relentless march of power. Gold-veined black marble stretched beneath the feet of the gathered elite, the surface polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting the shifting holographic constellations projected onto the cathedral-high ceilings. Each star in those constellations was a system claimed by the Reyes family, a silent reminder that this was not just a celebration.

It was a statement.

Tonight, the most influential figures in the Dominion, Confederacy and beyond had gathered—not simply to honor Orion's birth but to witness the inevitable ascension of the Reyes heir.

Noble families, adorned in their regalia, moved through the ballroom like pieces on an ever-shifting board. Military strategists, war heroes, and corporate magnates exchanged murmured conversations, assessing what this night meant for their own positions. Even rival factions—those who had once dared to challenge the Reyes stood among them, silent but watchful.

At the heart of it all stood Orion Reyes, draped in ceremonial Reyes regalia—midnight black lined with burundy. The weight of the attire was nothing compared to the weight of expectation pressing down on him.

From the moment he stepped onto the grand dais, the room adjusted around him. The shift was subtle, but absolute. Conversations quieted, bodies turned ever so slightly in his direction with measured scrutiny.

Orion's fingers curled slightly at his sides. He wasn't sure if the coolness creeping into his veins was discomfort or something else. A quiet realization.

Every person in this room had already decided what they wanted from him.

Then came Cassian Reyes—stepping forward with unhurried grace.

His presence alone was enough to command absolute attention. He did not need to raise his voice, nor did he need to gesture for silence. The moment he took the podium, everyone listened.

He regarded the assembled elite with a gaze both calculating and amused, as though watching lesser beings struggle to grasp the scale of what was unfolding.

And then, in a voice that carried through the vast chamber, he spoke:

"Today, Orion does not only step into his inheritance—he is bound by it, shackled to the inexorable tides of history and ambition, a force beyond his own making. It is not merely a birthright but a burden. And I hope he carries his burden with pride and purpose."

He did not speak of childhood. He did not speak of legacy in vague, poetic terms. There was no indulgence in sentimentality.

The guests inclined their heads in acknowledgment. 

The air in the Astral Sanctum was thick with the scent of rare perfumes, imported from dying stars and forbidden worlds, but beneath the luxury, something else festered—uncertainty.

Orion was beginning to feel it now.

It was in the way aristocrats gathered in tight clusters, their smiles just a fraction too measured. The way voices dipped into hushed murmurs whenever they thought no one was listening. The way glances flicked toward him in calculation.

He had seen the mechanics of power before, but tonight was the first time he understood that he was one of its moving pieces.

For centuries, power had been spread across the great houses, an uneasy balance held by old treaties, shifting alliances, and the unspoken rule that no single bloodline could hold too much dominion.

And then Cassian Reyes had broken that rule.

He had married Valeria Zey'ran, heir to one of the most feared and advanced lineages in the known galaxy. And their union had produced Orion.

A child of two ruling dynasties—a sovereign nightmare waiting to happen.

And now, with the Pythia Initiative looming, the question could no longer be ignored:

What, exactly, was Cassian building?

The older elite still frowned upon it—the marriage that had shattered precedent.

Historically, rival ruling houses did not intermarry. Heirs were meant to fortify their own bloodlines, not merge them.

But Cassian and Valeria had defied that unspoken law, binding their houses in a way that could not be undone.

For some, it was a calculated move—a masterstroke of politics.

For others, it was reckless arrogance—a step too far, a provocation that threatened to redraw the entire galactic hierarchy.

But whether by calculation or arrogance, one thing was now unavoidable—

Orion Reyes was not just an heir.

Near the balcony, away from the worst of the aristocratic intrigue, Valeria Zey'ran Reyes stood in quiet conversation with a Dominion envoy. The official was dressed in ceremonial crimson, his expression unreadable as he observed the room through narrowed eyes.

When he finally spoke, his voice was almost amused—but the weight of his words was unmistakable.

"In the Confederacy, your son is a question." He glanced toward Orion, then back to her. "In the Dominion, he could be an answer."

A carefully placed remark. A seed, planted in uncertain soil.

Valeria merely smiled—a slow, knowing curve of the lips—before taking a sip of her wine.

She did not answer.

She didn't need to.

She already suspected that the Empress's goal in sending her daughter, Aurelia, was to try to get closer to Orion.

But now, with the Dominion aware of the Pythia Initiative, the delicate balance of subterfuge had been shattered. There was no longer the luxury of slow maneuvering, of whispered negotiations behind closed doors.

The game had shifted, and with it, the very nature of their approach. Every faction now watched with sharpened eyes, recalibrating their strategies, questioning their own contingencies.

The last echoes of the gala had faded into the cavernous halls of House Reyes. The Astral Sanctum, once a grand display of dominance, was now silent.

But Orion's night was far from over.

Now, he stood before the doors of his father's private chamber—a place few ever entered. The polished obsidian panels slid open without a sound, revealing the chamber's cold, austere beauty.

Inside, Cassian Reyes stood before a tactical holomap of the galaxy.

Glowing lines shifted in real time, marking the ever-changing currents of power—the Confederacy, the Dominion, and between them, a vast empty region. A third space. Unclaimed. Unnamed. It was not empty by chance.

It was a calleed the void, only spoken of in hushed tones, where lost fleets and expeditions vanished without a trace. Some believed an alien race lingered there. 

Orion swallowed. He recognized what he was looking at.

The future.

Cassian did not turn. He did not ask Orion if he understood.

His father finally turned, sharp-eyed, measuring.

"You saw them tonight. The ones who whispered. The ones who watched you as if you were already a threat."

Cassian gestured to the map. The holographic display rippled as sectors shifted, territories blinking in and out like stars on the verge of collapse.

"Although I could promise them that you will only participate in the Reyes family's succession line, why do you think I let them whisper? Let them conspire?"

His father's voice remained even, but there was something surgical in his tone.

Orion had his suspicions, the pieces aligning in his mind, but Cassian gave him no time to voice them. "Because a man who fears an enemy will fight. But a man who fears a future?"

Cassian's eyes darkened. "He will destroy himself before you ever lift a hand."

"The Petrosyan family has been making strange moves lately, especially with the Vilcadros Academy," Orion said slowly, testing the waters. Cassian inclined his head slightly, a ghost of approval flickering in his gaze.

"You're beginning to see it," he murmured. "Their sudden interest in the Academy is no coincidence. They're positioning themselves, gathering influence, but it is not enough. Not for what is coming." Cassian turned back to the map, the void stretching like an open wound between empires.

Cassian's gaze lingered on the shifting holographic map, his expression unreadable, yet charged with certainty.

He lifted a hand, fingers tracing the void's expanse as if claiming it with mere thought. "This space has remained unclaimed for too long," he said, his voice steady, measured, carrying the weight of inevitability.

"The void belongs to no one—so I will take it for myself."