Embers of War

The Tarkaan Coliseum was no more.

Once a towering monument of Dominion control, it now lay in ruin, its foundation shattered, its steel walls collapsed into smoldering wreckage. The fires of rebellion still burned, their smoke trailing into the dark sky like a warning to the galaxy. The chains had been broken. The gladiators were free.

But war had a cost.

Kael stood at the highest point of the ruin, his boots scraping against the crumbling metal beneath him. From here, he could see all of them—hundreds of fighters gathered in the remains of the coliseum's lower decks. Some were still gripping their weapons, others tending to wounds, but the one thing they all had in common was the uncertainty in their eyes.

They had fought. They had won.

Now what?

Kael exhaled. His fingers still crackled with residual static, his body running hot from the energy he had used in the battle. He had expected freedom to feel like a victory. But now that he was standing here, staring at his army, he realized something:

This was only the beginning.

Veyra Korin stood beside him, arms crossed, her battle-scarred face unreadable. "They're waiting for you to say something."

Kael didn't turn. He could feel it—the weight of their expectation, the silent question that lingered in the air.

Are we free?

Are we safe?

What now?

"They don't need a speech," Kael said. "They need a reason to fight."

Veyra let out a slow breath. "And do you have one?"

Before Kael could answer, Ryven approached, dusting off his torn jacket. "I'm gonna go ahead and say that 'celebrating' isn't an option. That big Dominion-shaped problem we left hanging? Yeah, they're gonna deal with this in the most over-the-top, military-occupation kind of way."

Kael knew it was coming. The Overseer wouldn't let this stand.

A Dominion coliseum had fallen. Not just destroyed—overthrown. A symbol of control shattered in a single night.

Reinforcements would come. They'd bring warships, enforcers, suppression fields designed to neutralize Awakened energy.

And they wouldn't stop at the coliseum.

They'd wipe out anyone involved.

Kael clenched his fists. They couldn't stay here.

He turned to the warriors gathered below, raising his voice so they all could hear. "You fought today. You won today. But this wasn't the end of the fight—it was just the first strike."

The fighters listened, some nodding, others exchanging uncertain glances.

"The Dominion is coming," Kael continued. "They'll come for us, and they'll come for anyone who stands with us. If we stay here, we die."

The words hung in the air. He wasn't sugarcoating it. He wouldn't lie to them.

"But we have a choice," Kael said. "We can disappear. We can scatter. Go into hiding and hope they don't hunt us down."

He let the silence sit for a moment. Then he stepped forward, energy sparking around him.

"Or we make sure they never forget what happened here. We don't just run—we fight. We build something. Something that can't be crushed."

Veyra watched him carefully. Ryven sighed and muttered, "Well, guess we're officially doing this."

Kael locked eyes with the fighters, searching for their resolve. Some still hesitated. But others—the ones who had felt the storm, the ones who knew what it meant to hold power in a world that wanted them weak—began to nod.

They didn't just want to be free.

They wanted vengeance.

Veyra spoke next, her voice carrying authority. "Then we move. But not without a plan. Where are we taking them?"

Kael exhaled, thinking. The Dominion controlled everything—the central trade lanes, the capital worlds, the military sectors. They couldn't just go anywhere.

They needed a place where the Awakened had once gathered.

A place where warriors had trained for battle before the fall of the Stormborn.

A place the Dominion hadn't wiped from history.

Then he remembered.

"Zepharion," Kael said.

Ryven frowned. "What?"

Kael turned toward the warship hovering above them, feeling the pulse of its energy in his veins. Before the battle at the coliseum, he had accessed **its archives—**a fragmented record of battles long past. And in those records, one name stood out.

Zepharion.

A fortress world. A place where the Awakened were trained before they were erased from history.

If even a fraction of the old Stormborn forces remained, if even one piece of the lost fleet was still out there—they needed it.

Veyra studied him. "You're sure this place exists?"

Kael nodded. "The Dominion never found it. If we get there first, we might find something that can turn this fight into a real war."

Ryven exhaled. "You're betting everything on a dead planet."

Kael met his gaze. "I don't think it's dead."

Silence.

Then, Veyra nodded. "Then let's go."

Kael turned back to the fighters, raising his voice. "We leave now. If you're with me, get on that warship."

Some still hesitated. But others—the ones ready to fight, ready to become something more—stepped forward.

One by one, they followed Kael into the storm.

The warship's engines roared to life, its energy field surging as it prepared for departure. The fighters—now soldiers—boarded, some still unsure, but others stepping forward with purpose.

Kael moved to the control interface, feeling the ship's pulse align with his own.

It was waiting.

For his command.

With a flick of his wrist, Kael activated the ship's jump systems, feeling the raw power of the currents bend space around them.

The Stormborn were leaving Tarkaan behind.

And when they returned, it wouldn't be as rebels.

It would be as conquerors.