During the time skip: Empire

Third Imperial Prince, Seyth Vareshin, Imperial Palace. 

9th day of the 6th month, in the year 4837 of the Imperial Calendar

22th December 2032 A.D

Yes, go for it, my girl. Go for—

"Your Imperial Highness!"

I flinch, nearly dropping my book. For the third time today, my butler, Alvric, interrupts me with yet another stack of documents.

"Yes, yes, I'll read them later. Just leave them on the table, I'm learning right now."

"No, you won't. And no, you aren't." His tone is so dry it could drain a river. "I know you're reading a romance novel hidden behind that book."

I jerk upright, clutching my book a little too tightly. "How did you know?!"

"Oh, I don't know," he says with mock thoughtfulness. "Maybe because the maids had to move your already heavy and unnecessary large desk one day, and it suddenly became heavier—what with all the novels stuffed inside it."

I open my mouth to protest—surely I haven't used all my excuses yet—but he cuts me off.

"Anyway, that's not the issue. I let this nonsense slide most of the time, but not today. The message I'm carrying comes from the Emperor himself, and it's urgent. So listen. Right. Now."

I place my book down on the table, no longer bothering to hide the novel behind it. There's no point—he's already caught me. Instead, I lean back into my large chair, much larger and more comfortable than the humbleness expected of me.

Alvric lifts the documents to eye level. Indeed, it is much more different from the other, with thick, strong almost silk-like papers and an incredible handwriting of the best scribes in the empire. He begins reading in his usual no-nonsense tone:

"To my third son,

I am well aware of your complete lack of aptitude or interest in politics, military strategy, or administration. However, I cannot allow you to remain entirely useless, leeching off the budget like this. It would be both unacceptable and, frankly, embarrassing. Besides, once your brothers win the throne, they'll throw you out anyway.

Of course, they won't be pleased if you somehow gain actual power, so I've arranged something appropriate for you. You will be assigned as the future administrator of IASC. Not yet, of course—you'll need to learn from the current administrator first. Consider it an internship with salary.

I have scheduled a visit for you in exactly two hours. Don't be late."

Alvric lowers the document and looks at me expectantly.

Huh. That's… lucky. Even I know I can't live off my family's pity forever, at least I don't have to go through the hassle of job hunting.

Stretching out my arms, I glance at Alvric. "So, how long does it take to drive to the IASC complex?"

He blinks, then replies dryly, "An hour. Half if I break several traffic laws."

I groan. "Yeah, let's not do that. Grandfather chewed me out last time. Let's just get ready now so you don't have to break any laws this time."

I tuck my book back onto the large shelf, meant to be holding the books for me to read, but its only purpose ends up being to make me look smarter. I slip the novel into its proper hiding spot inside the desk, shoddily crafted on my own, which is also the best thing that I have done with my life so far. Meanwhile, Alvric starts packing my briefcase, as he always does.

A few minutes later, just before we head out, I pop it open for a quick check.

Pens, check.

Blank papers—check.

Random documents to look important—check.

A revolver—check.

Thirty rounds of ammo—check.

Combat knife—check.

I snap the briefcase shut. Thank you, ancestors, for the law requiring every imperial family member to be armed at all times.

I take a last look at my office, chair and desk next to the window, a large and thick bulletproof window that extends from the floor to the ceiling. On one side is my wooden shelf, its aroma from the rare wood that it was made from is still incredible despite its age. On the other side, the is a gladius, one that has participated in exactly one battle some 5 centuries ago. When I have to change my office to wherever the IASC is, I will grab the chair, the desk and maybe the gladius as well.

I close the door and stroll alongside Alvric through the grand hallways, lit by the electric lights on the ceiling and cooled by the air-conditioning units. Towering pillars lining the side, made of modernized reinforced concrete, which were covered in carved marble to replicate the traditional feeling. The only sound in this empty section of the palace are the clicking sounds of my and Alvric's hooves stepping on the granite floor. This place is mostly the residence wing of the palace so nearly no one is here during the morning, the only reason that my office is here is because I don't use it for much anyway.

Feeling bored, I use the time to admire the towering statues of great men.

The 30th Emperor, who challenged every enemy king to single combat—and won. Every fight except his last. That one ended in a tie. Both of them died. His statue is an imaginative representation of his last moment, slicing his foe's head off even with liters of blood pouring out of his stabbed heart.

The 46th Emperor, who, as a prince, was left to defend a fortified town with 600 militia against 10,000 invaders. He took one look at the situation, gave up, and threw the grandest celebration of his life—because if they were going to die, they might as well die drunk and happy. The enemy scouts, seeing the revelry, assumed it was some elaborate trap and promptly retreated. His is a statue of him dancing and drinking, choosing to die joyfully rather than desperately.

Then there are the paintings.

The empire's founding, millennia ago—depicted in the classic image of the first emperor, holding his crown high above his head, about to place it atop his brow. The people surround and cheer for him, the light shines from the front, creating an illusion of him leading his people to the light of glory.

The first lightbulb, presented to the 157th Emperor—cheap, long-lasting, a marvel of innovation. This is an incredible representation of everyone's surprise as the dark room is filled with electric light.

And the exact same lightbulb exploding minutes later because the emperor wanted to see if it could shine brighter. The painting illustrates how his bodyguards tackled him in the nick of time as the lightbulb exploded next to him. Even as he fell, his hand was still on the variable resistor that controlled the voltage of the light.

Ahh, the long, glorious history of the empire. And here he is—the man responsible for it all.

The 4th Emperor.

He hadn't inherited an empire. Not really. Back then, it was just a loose alliance of city-states, teetering on the brink of civil war. It was too vast, too unwieldy—so much so that the heartland and the borderlands might as well have been two different worlds.

The heartland was rich, cultured, and focused on trade, while the borderlands were in perpetual war, hardened by blood and conflict. Their interests clashed.

To make things worse, the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Emperors had built this so-called empire by beating every local king into submission. And the 4th Emperor? He had none of their martial prowess.

What he did have was a mind for administration, logistics, and propaganda.

So he got to work.

He built roads—arteries to connect his fractured domain.

He established stables and relay stations—a vast communication network to spread orders and information at speed.

He hired actors and bards—not to sing his praises, but to spread tales of glorious conquest and unimaginable wealth from looting.

Of course, no one wanted to just throw away trade for the uncertainty of war. So, he gave them an incentive.

He created a standing army—men who would be issued standard equipment and a salary. In exchange? He'd get a cut of the loot.

A guaranteed income. A stable source of food.

Suddenly, the prospect of war wasn't so bad anymore.

And just like that, he had the one thing the previous emperors never had—a professional, centralized military. Fast roads, quick communication, and a well-fed army ready to march at a moment's notice.

It was all he needed to scare the rebellious city-states back into submission.

His descendants learned from him.

And thus began the long march toward centralization.

"Your Imperial Highness, the entrance is over there."

Alvric's voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

I blink and come to an abrupt halt. How long have I been walking? Looking around, I realize I've overshot the entrance while getting lost in history.

As I turn back, my eyes lock with my second brother's, Kierath.

…Great. He is here for me, there are very few reasons that he would come to this section otherwise.

I quickly break my gaze, keeping my expression neutral. I don't want to show any hostility—I have none anyway.

He stands tall in his ceremonial military uniform, an immaculate white that makes the gold buttons and cuffs gleam all the more. On his shoulders rest two golden epaulettes, each adorned with a single star—the insignia of a Major General.

He's only twenty-two, barely past his academy days. If an outsider saw him, they'd assume he was far too young for his rank—especially since most officers of his standing are twice his age and that he got there through nepotism.

But me? I know better.

He earned that rank. First in his class. Top of every training exercise. The kind of disciplined, high-achieving child every father would be proud of.

If I were anyone else, I might have been jealous.

But even if I weren't four years younger, I know I could never reach his level.

…Not without nepotism, at least.

He holds my gaze, his expression neutral—if not a little cold.

But it's the way he looks at me that unsettles me.

Like he's seeing right through me, anticipating my every move.

Then, just as I start to tense up, the corners of his mouth twitch upward—a rare smile.

He turns away, facing the towering statue of the 4th Emperor, the man who held this empire together when all others crumbled. His statue was a true showing of his specialty. The statue is of him carving words into a tablet of clay, the words were only laws at the time, but those very same words would form the basis for the future constitution of the empire. 

Nearby, the painting of him delivering a speech to his newly formed standing army. He stood upon a stage of stone bricks, wearing his barely fit bronze armor and spoke words, not of glory and honor, but of money and of safety even in war.

"The first emperor who truly kept this empire alive," Kierath muses. "How do you think he did it?"

His voice is calm, almost conversational, but I can't see his face from this angle.

Why is he asking?

Testing my stance in the contest for the throne? Gauging my attitude? Or just genuinely curious?

…Fuck it, I ball.

"I think he understood something most rulers don't," I say, keeping my tone casual. "An empire needs to surpass its own limits—to think beyond what's expected. He played to his strengths to compensate for his weaknesses, and in doing so, he set the stage for something greater."

He abruptly turns, locking eyes with me.

Shit. Wrong answer?

For a second, I brace myself. But then, he speaks.

"Indeed. An emperor must understand that standing still while the world moves forward only leads to death. But merely keeping pace with the world? That's just waiting to be surpassed. A true superpower must rise above it."

The tension in the air eases immediately after.

Then, just as he turns to leave, he pauses. "By the way, what did the emperor send you?"

"An ord—" I catch myself. "An offer. Future administrator of the IASC."

He nods. "You should take it. Who knows—maybe, as the journalists and writers love to say, space is the next frontier."

And with that, he walks away.

I linger for a moment, pretending to admire the painting until he's fully out of sight.

I head toward the palace west entrance, spotting Alvric already waiting in the car. Guess he slipped away the moment my brother showed up.

I pull open the door, and before I can sit down, he glances at me. "Good job handling yourself back there. First time that happened, you nearly fell over."

"That. Was. Terrifying. I almost pissed myself. Actually—hold on, I need to piss. Wait for me."

I slam the door shut and make a beeline for the nearest restroom.

A few minutes later, I slide into the passenger seat, shutting the door with a sigh. Alvric starts the engine, shifts gears, and—whatever, he gets the car moving.

The capital, Zanthara, unfolds before us, as grand as ever. Wide, spotless streets. Towering skyscrapers. A city that practically screams efficiency. Unlike other nations, there's no homelessness, no unemployment. If there aren't enough jobs, a new settlement gets planned, and leftovers are sent there. Simple.

And littering? Not a chance. The fine is massive, and there are garbage cans every few steps.

I watch absentmindedly as the buildings pass by. To be honest, I have no idea what I'm doing. My knowledge of administration barely extends beyond keeping up appearances, and physics? Space? Orbit? Yeah, I know even less about that. Guess I'll just have to wing it and hope for the best.

The scenery shifts as we drive—from the bustling city to the quiet, copy-paste houses of the suburbs, then to the looming factories and industrial zones. The roads grow emptier, the landscape sparser. It's all starting to feel a little too remote.

I frown, glancing at Alvric. "We're not lost, are we?"

He doesn't even look away from the road. "No, and we won't be late either." He gestures ahead. "This area's undeveloped because of weak ground. No settlements, no infrastructure in this direction. The IASC tests have a… habit of exploding or crashing into the ground… and then explodes. So, naturally, they had to be placed as far away from anything important as possible."

And I am supposed to work here in the future? Well, the current administrator hasn't died yet so it probably is going to be fine.

The car slows to a smooth, almost lazy stop in the parking lot next to… an odd building. Rectangular, plain, nothing remarkable—except for the weird color scheme. White with black spots, like someone designed it after a cow.

More importantly, a large crowd of people in suits is gathered at the entrance, clearly waiting for me. Red carpet? Check. Trumpets? Check.

They glance at our car, confused as we pass by, then awkwardly straighten up to continue waiting for me…Yeah, fair reaction.

I've done solo trips like this maybe three times. The rest? Always with my brothers or grandfather. And they? They don't just "arrive."

They roll in with an entire entourage—soldiers, servants, whatever they can fit inside a limo. It's a whole performance:

Authority: Because only someone truly powerful can afford to bring this many people.

Kindness: Showering the entourage with bonuses and gifts.

Fairness: Treating everyone the same way, like a benevolent ruler aka also showering others with gift.

Wisdom: Listen to their entourage for advice and insights.

Majesty: Gracefully and regally stepping out of the car like they float instead of walk.

And me?

I don't want to be noticed. So I bring exactly one person—Alvric. And that's only because his job literally requires him to be with me.

I step out of the car and head toward my welcoming party.

Before I can get close, a frazzled-looking man breaks away from the group and rushes toward me.

"My good sir, what are you doing he—"

His words die in his throat as he finally gets a proper look at me. His eyes dart from my clothes to my face, then back to my clothes—the exact outfit plastered across countless newspapers.

He makes a series of confused noises, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, before glancing nervously at the rest of the welcoming group.

I decide to speed this up.

"Where's the administrator of the IASC?" I ask.

His head jerks toward the group, finger halfway raised to point—then suddenly, he hesitates, looking back and forth between me and a particular woman.

"The current administrator, I mean," I clarify.

His whole body visibly relaxes as he correctly points this time.

I walk straight up to the administrator, sizing her up. She seems polite, presentable… and absolutely exhausted. The kind of tiredness that looks permanent.

She turns to face me, lips parting to say something—then freezes mid-breath, her eyes widening in realization.

I decide to spare her the struggle.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I say casually. "Should've let you guys know how I prefer to arrive. My bad." I gesture vaguely at the failed grand entrance behind me. "Let's just skip the awkwardness and get to the important stuff."

To her credit, the woman regains her composure fast. She gives a sharp nod and barks orders to clear the whole setup. The red carpet is yanked away, trumpets are lowered in defeat, and the once-grand welcoming party dissolves into organized chaos.

"You probably know who I am already, but for the sake of formality—" I clear my throat and straighten my back. "I am the Third Imperial Prince, Seyth Vareshin. This is my butler, Alvric."

Elva bows slightly. "I am Elva Rinholt, the current administrator of the IASC. It is an honor to host you, Your Imperial Highness."

I nod, and then… silence. We just stand there, looking at each other. It takes me a second too long to remember that, as royalty, I'm the one expected to take charge of the conversation. Right. I should really go out more.

I clear my throat again. "Hmph. Lead me around the facility."

"Gladly, Your Imperial Highness."

She turns sharply and walks ahead, and I follow as she begins explaining the buildings and their functions.

It's a lot. Laboratories, testing sites, control centers—each more complex than the last, filled with all kinds of electronic devices and prototypes, none of which I understand. When we reach the tracking station, I glance at the endless screens of numbers and blinking dots and immediately decide that it is beyond my comprehension.

The rest of the tour, however, is surprisingly easy to understand. Or at least, the parts that involve managing people, approving things, and looking important. The actual science? Yeah, that's someone else's problem.

Then, without warning, a man in black strides in. He doesn't even glance in my direction—just walks straight up to Elva like I don't exist.

She starts to speak, eyebrows knitting together, but before she can get a word out, he shoves a folder into her hands and turns on his heel, disappearing just as fast as he arrived.

Elva blinks, looking down at the folder, then back up at me. Her eyes widen slightly. Her mouth opens—then closes. She struggles for words.

Fortunately, I've spent enough time visiting the Imperial Intelligence Service for entertainment to know two things:

1. There are many things I should not know.

2. There are even more things I should pretend to not know.

So, I take the easy route. "I'll have a look around by myself."

Elva exhales, shoulders sinking in relief. "Thank you, Your Imperial Highness." She nods briskly and walks off, flipping through the folder as she goes.

Now, what to do? I glance around the room. According to her, this is where the clerks do the administrative work, though it is empty right now due to my visit. Rows of tables and chairs, a single, big computer for large calculations and some terminals to the side. Maybe I should check out last quarter's fiscal report—something dry and painfully tedious. That should make me look important and hard working enough.

After a good while of pretending to read—flipping pages at a carefully calculated pace—something finally breaks the monotony.

A janitor's closet creaks open.

Alvric immediately turns, tense for half a second, then relaxes. Not a threat, then.

A moment later, a disheveled young man limps out, wearing a wrinkled lab coat. He looks barely a year older than me, his hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes. He doesn't even glance my way as he shuffles toward a nearby terminal, moving like a man running on nothing but caffeine and he is running out of it.

It is a small terminal. Well, ignoring all the cables attaching to it, it would be a small terminal.

Without hesitation, he starts pressing buttons and turning knobs. The screen flickers—disappearing for a second before reappearing completely different. New dots. New colors. A few question marks.

I lean toward him. Interesting.

"What's all this?" I ask.

He grunts. "This is connected to the computer over at the tracking station." His voice is hoarse, like he hasn't had water in hours. "You should've gotten an introduction already, new hire."

Alvric steps forward, glancing at me. I shake my head slightly. Not worth correcting him. If he thinks I'm some rookie, that probably means I shouldn't be seeing this in the first place. Better to play along.

"Yeah, but I saw the screen before you changed it," I say.

"Ah," he nods, like that explains everything. "So you must be really new." He cracks his neck. "They changed it 'cause the Third Imperial Prince is visiting today. Lots of stuff we don't want him seeing."

He waves me closer, oblivious. "Here, let me explain…"

He suddenly pauses, clears his throat, and mutters, "Grab me some water, will ya? My throat's too dry."

Without missing a beat, Alvric silently hands me a glass. I pass it to the scientist, who downs it in one go. He exhales, setting the empty glass aside, then points to a blue dot on the screen.

"Alright. This—" he taps the dot, "—is one of our satellites. Blues are ours. The blue lines? Those are their orbits around Tashan, which—" he gestures at the massive sphere in the middle, "—is, as you can guess, this."

I stare at the constantly shifting dots and lines. I don't really get how orbits work or why everything is always moving, but knowing which ones are ours is good enough. I nod like I totally understand.

He moves on, pointing at a yellow dot. "This one? Senere Alliance. Launched just last week. Yellow means it's theirs."

Then he gestures to a red dot. "Kovask. Red for them."

Finally, he taps a red square. "Now, this—this is different. That's a space station."

I blink. "A space station?"

He nods. "We've sent astronauts up before, but only for a few days. We mark crewed ships with a triangle. This thing, though? It's been up there for seven months. And we've been watching ships dock with it, adding new modules, expanding it piece by piece."

He straightens up, crossing his arms. "That's the first real space station we've ever seen."

He points to a cluster of question marks on the screen. "This is… something. We have no idea what it is." His voice is flat, like he's given up trying to make sense of it. "These question marks show up when we detect irregularities—odd signals, weird readings, stuff that makes no sense. Practically random. not even the guys over at the secret department know."

I tilt my head. "Not even the, uh… secret department?" I ask, feigning surprise. I've seen something about this in one of the IIS reports I borrowed. Something about a secret department for matters demanding secrecy.

He snorts. "Yeah, even them. The secret department under the emperor's direct command—though it's an open secret at this point. Grew too big to hide." He shrugs. "But that's not our problem. That's for the administrators and the imperial family to lose sleep over."

I give a slow, neutral nod. Right. Not my problem.

He moves on, pointing at a cluster of white hexagons. "These are asteroids." Then he gestures to another set—identical, except for the question marks inside. "And these are high-value asteroids—ones with high metallic concentrations on the surface. Their numbers have been increasing every year." He shrugs again. "Probably just better sensors picking up more data."

How interesting… but I probably shouldn't know this.

…Wait a second—didn't he come out of the closet earlier?

I glance at the janitor's closet, then back at him. "By the way… why did you come out of the closet?"

He sighs, rubbing his temples. "Elva. The boss, I mean. She said I 'lack the grace and elegance' to meet the prince." He shakes his head, muttering, "Waste of time, I say. We could be building a ship to drag an asteroid into low Tashan orbit and actually get rich. But no, let's launch spy satellites and comms relays for whatever nonsense the government needs."

Then, as if something just clicked in his mind, he glances at the clock and frowns. "Wait, isn't it a bit early for the prince to leave? He get bored or something?"

I grin. "Oh no, he's still here."

He snorts. "Yeah? Where?"

He stands up, turns around—and freezes. His eyes dart between my face and my attire, his brain visibly lagging.

I straighten my back and speak calmly, "I am the Third Imperial Prince, Seyth Vareshin. This is my butler, Alvric. Keep my secret, and I'll keep yours."

For a long moment, he doesn't move. Then, very slowly, he takes a deep breath and exhales. "Understood. I won't breathe a single word about this." Without another word, he turns back to the console, presses a few buttons, and twists a knob. The screen flickers—and returns to the sanitized version I originally saw.

Just as he's about to shuffle back into the closet, I stop him, handing him a kettle full of water and a glass. "Don't get dehydrated."

He blinks at it, then takes it gently. "Thank you, Your Imperial Highness." He gives a small bow, then disappears into the closet, shutting the door behind him.

Just as the closet door clicks shut, another door swings open—Elva's office. She steps out, her posture composed, and bows.

"Apologies for the wait, Your Imperial Highness. Let's continue."

"Alright."

I follow behind her, but my thoughts linger on what I just saw. The hidden screen, the irregularities, the things they don't want me to know.

Maybe it would be fun to read more about these kinds of things. I should visit the IIS more often—"borrow" a few more classified documents about these secret projects.