Chapter 2- A whole new world II

We ride back to the palace perched atop the hillside, the sinewy muscles of our unicorns rippling beneath us as they surge forward. With each stride, the ground trembles beneath us, echoing the thunderous rhythm of our gallop.

As we approach the grand gates, the lush greenery of the countryside yields to the polished pebbled grounds of the palace courtyard. The sentinels, clad in glowing power armors, stand at attention as we race past them.

The air crackles with anticipation as we make our way to the stables, the palace looms majestically behind us. The ceruleans bow in deference as we dismount, honoring our return with their own silent admiration. Our unicorns exhaling hot breaths as we lead them to their resting place. 

"Deus puer," the blue says, bowing low, his pallid flesh an eerie contrast against the cerulean hue.

"Ah, Paulus," I acknowledge, passing the reins to him with a nod. "How fares the day?"

"Beautifully, my lord and lady," Paulus responds, his movements precise as he tends to the creatures. "Deus puer," he calls, almost as a prayer.

Diana and I exchange a glance. "Yes?" she responds on our behalf.

"Before your return, word reached me that the Princeps requests your presence," Paulus informs us, his tone respectful yet tinged with a hint of concern.

I grimace, a sense of unease settling in my stomach. "Any idea why?" I inquire, my gaze piercing.

"I'm afraid not, my lord." Paulus answers solemnly, his eyes betraying a flicker of uncertainty.

We must've worn our discontent like a cloak, for Paulus bows once more, his demeanor pleading. "Forgive me, Deus puer." he implores.

"You are forgiven." Diana calls out magnanimously.

We stride forward, the blues bowing before us once again, their obeisances a reminder of their place in this stratified world. To them, we are the sovereigns, the rulers of their destiny, while they are but servants, workers, toilers of fields—Homo Factus, born to serve.

The hierarches of the galaxy, was a hard and near unyielding one. Distinctions between the upper class and the lower class were glaringly apparent.

Thousands of years into the future and humanity had perfected the art of genetic manipulation, among the many things they did with this art was the creation of the homo factus. Genetically edited servile branch of humanity, they were shorter and bore a pale bluish tinge on their skin, a result of their blue-colored blood. 

At its pinnacle sits the sovereign perched upon the golden throne, her rule extending across the vast expanse of the cosmos. After her were the sixteen great houses, their lineages tracing back to the sixteen dawn knights of the first sovereign, their power unyielding and absolute after centuries of rule.

Beneath them lie the lesser houses of families who had ascended the social ladder, their wealth dependent on the competence of their current and future princeps.

Yet, further down this rigid hierarchy are the retainers, 'loyal' defenders of their lords' and ladies' domains, their loyalty bought with promises of protection and prosperity.

And then there are the Homo Factus, the genetically engineered servants, designed to fulfill the whims of their masters. Shorter in stature, their pale blue skin a testament to their engineered lineage, they exist to serve. Some toil in the fields, others serve as shock troops in the empire's armies, while a select few belong to the Athenaeum, tasked with the development of new technologies under the strict guidance of the Tinkers/Thinkers, technologies known as the divine engines.

We waste no time ascending the palace steps, for when the Princeps calls, his house must answer. Despite our superior gene-edited bodies, it still takes us nearly half an hour to reach the Princeps' study, situated high above on multiple floors. The Princeps study was located up multiple floor, meaning one would have to climb for a while before seeing him. His blue servants practically lived there.

Diana pushes open the door to her father's study, revealing a spacious room befitting his station. White furnishings fill the space, with the symbol of house Hastarius proudly displayed—a raised red spear with golden liquid flowing from its tip.

Though resembling a throne room in its grandeur, it is never openly referred to as such. Subjects of the sovereign are forbidden such luxuries, for the risk of fostering an inflated sense of self-importance is one the empire cannot afford. There exists only one true throne room, and it belongs solely to the sovereign.

My uncle looms by the window, a sentinel carved from stone, his gaze piercing through the pane, fixated on the expanse beyond. Princeps Opiter, a colossus both in stature and intellect, stands tall, an embodiment of unyielding resolve. He prides himself on being a hard man.

His ascension to power came amidst the ashes of his uncle's failed reign, a reign marred by chaos and ruin. Over fifty years have passed since the flames of war engulfed our corner of the system, a relentless conflict that dragged on until Opiter and his legion descended upon the capital world like vengeful titans. I can still recall the images, the savagery, the utter brutality of the sack of an entire world etched into my memory. 

In the wake of destruction, he showed no quarter, no mercy, not even to his own kin. The city burned, a pyre fueled by his righteous fury, consuming all in its path, including his own flesh and blood.

Terrible as he was, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of respect. Opiter is a man who knows no bounds, who grasps at the universe with unrelenting hands, seeking to shape it according to his will.

"Father," Diana murmurs, her voice a reverent whisper, and I follow suit, dipping my head in deference.

Princeps Opiter remains unmoved, his attention ensnared by the colossal mechanical behemoth barely visible in the blue sky above. We linger in his presence, a palpable tension thickening the air between us. It's a game he plays, a calculated act of intimidation, and though I'm cognizant of his tactics, their effect remains unmitigated.

The door to the study creaks open, and into the room strides my father, a figure of imposing stature, his frame tall and commanding, shoulders broad and unwavering. His chiseled features bear a striking resemblance to his elder brother Opiter, each angle sculpted with precision. Ignoring our presence, he advances with purpose, offering a deep bow in deference to his brother. "Princeps." He says simply.

My uncle acknowledges him with a nod, he moves from his position at the window to seat himself at his desks chair. My uncle sighs, seeing him now with his face turned to us, he looks tired, as though the weight of entire worlds rested on his shoulder, though technically they did.

His sharp brown eyes rested on us, like a lion's on a cat, regal, fearless, almost dismissing, "Four hundred years, the sovereign has led man, now there has been an announcement that she is stepping down."

My uncle acknowledges him with a curt nod before relinquishing his vigil by the window, settling into the embrace of his desk chair. A weary sigh escapes him, and as his gaze finally turns to us, I discern the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. It's a weariness that transcends mere physical fatigue, bearing the burden of entire worlds upon his shoulders, a burden he bears with stoic resolve.

His keen brown eyes, sharp as the claws of a lion, pierce through us with a regal intensity, fearless and commanding. There's an air of dismissal in his gaze, as though our presence is inconsequential amidst the weighty matters that weigh upon his mind.

"Four hundred years," he intones, his voice heavy with the weight of centuries, "the sovereign has guided humanity's course. And now, news has reached us that she is relinquishing her throne."

Diana and I exchange incredulous glances, our shock palpable in the air between us. "Why?" she blurts out, unable to contain her curiosity.

The Princeps's gaze shifts towards her, a glint of amusement dancing in his weary eyes. "She's grown weary of rulership, I suppose," he muses.

"But what does this have to do with us?" I interject, my curiosity piqued. I am eager to unravel this thread of thought.

My father speaks this time, "The first daughter of the sovereign is to attend the illustrious school Vita." he declares, as though the statement alone holds all the answers we seek. And in truth, it does.

Silence envelops us, heavy with the weight of realization as the implications of our predicament begin to dawn upon us. In this age, hierarchy reigns supreme, dictating the trajectory of one's life with unwavering authority. To the denizens of this era, the path to greatness is meticulously mapped out, each step a requisite on the journey towards ascension. There is no shortcut, no bypassing the established order; one must ascend the ladder of power, each rung gained through blood, sweat, and sacrifice.

To attain the esteemed rank of Princeps within a house, one must first traverse the arduous path from Deus puer—a mere child, untapped potential waiting to be unleashed—to Deos, an adult whose abilities have been awakened through the triggering process. One can live out their whole life remaining a child. Many do.

Might makes Right. 

The personal motto of humanity's first ruler. He had no name but sovereign and he was the first in all of human in history to trigger, the first to stand against the tyrannical men of iron.

Upon this foundational principle, the society of man was forged. It became the bedrock upon which our civilization was built. If a man possessed the strength to seize, then let him seize. If he wielded the power to kill, then let him kill. In this world, devoid of mercy or compassion, weakness was a liability, a fatal flaw that warranted nothing but scorn and total obliviation.

Of course that didn't mean there would be complete lawlessness, that was the point of the sovereign. Upon ascending the throne on Terra, each Sovereign would forever sever all ties to their former life, forsaking their individual identity in service to the greater good of mankind. Their sole purpose: to safeguard the fragile balance of humanity's dominion. This is an immutable creed passed down from one sovereign to the next stretching back all the way to the first sovereign.

Might makes Right, but the Law is Might.

The princeps turns from us, his gaze fixed beyond the window to the summer world of Hastarius. "A war is coming, both of the Sovereign's eldest children have clearly stated their intent to rule and unless one of them backs down the whole galaxy will drown in blood."

"It could mean nothing, she might just be doing it to maintain rank, to pull prospects to herself." My father ventured, his tone cautious, a thin veneer over the undercurrent of uncertainty.

But even I, with my limited understanding, recognize the improbability of such a benign interpretation. To journey to Vita is to embrace the path of conquest, to stake a claim upon the crimson-stained soil of our world. No soul ventures there without harboring the intent to seize dominion, to carve their name upon the annals of history with the blade of ambition. It is an irrefutable truth, a law unto itself.

"Your brother, Tiberius," the Princeps directs his attention to Diana, his words laden with significance, "has aligned himself strategically with the son of the Sovereign."

Tiberius, Diana's elder by several decades, carries the weight of expectation upon his shoulders. As the firstborn, it is presumed, though not guaranteed, that he will ascend to leadership when the time beckons.

"And now," Diana interjects "you propose that we align ourselves with this contender."

If my uncle harbors any irritation at the interruption, he betrays no hint of it. "Indeed," he confirms with a decisive nod, his gaze unwavering, "One will emerge victorious from this power struggle, and I refuse to allow House Hastarius to be dragged down in the wake of defeat."

"I have already set the wheels in motion," he continues, his voice carrying the weight of finality, "In a month's time, the two of you shall depart for Vita. With any luck, at least one of you will succeed, and pledge fealty to the daughter of the Sovereign."