Son of the Empire

A merciless world mired in a protracted conflict on forgotten distant planet.

Son of the Empire

Intro: The Oath

He was a son of the Empire, born under a blue star, born a warrior, a scion of noble blood. He knew it was his duty. With unwavering resolve, he strode down the crimson carpet toward the podium where the words of his eternal oath to the Emperor awaited him. The vast hall was steeped in gloom, the air thick with the scent of incense.

This ancient stone structure held sacred significance for the Empire. Above him stretched massive domes adorned with vibrant murals depicting the Empire’s history—its triumphs on the battlefield.

In the shadows, he saw the gathered figures of the Emperor’s family, there to witness yet another warrior’s pledge. Their somber silhouettes flickered against the candlelight. He knew what awaited him—and he had no intention of turning back.

Every step was watched by the honor guard of the Imperial Legion, their rifles pressed to their chests as they stood like statues. Behind them, he glimpsed his own family—his father, mother, and sister. Behind the podium stood a priest in a silver mask. After what felt like an eternity, he dropped to his knees and began reciting the oath:

"I, Adrian Kolovom, son of Leonid Kolovom, swear to serve the Empire, to serve the Emperor and all mankind. I swear to ruthlessly destroy the enemies of the Empire, both within and without. I swear to fight until my last drop of blood."

The priest gave a slight bow and retrieved a dagger from the podium—part of a ritual as ancient as the Empire itself. This was the eternal pledge, the unbreakable vow of every noble son to the Emperor. Adrian trembled with anticipation, knowing what came next. The symbol of the Empire and the Imperial family—the two-headed lion—would be carved into his chest, a mark of loyalty.

He was ready. He had seen his elder brother take this oath long ago, remembered how he had gritted his teeth against the pain, aware that the Emperor himself was watching.

The dagger was razor-sharp. The priest began whispering the words of an ancient rite in a forgotten tongue. Adrian knew it would hurt. As the blade neared his skin, he felt his heart hammering—but there was no turning back now.

The first cut was the most agonizing. Clenching his teeth, he endured, fists tightening as his mind began to drift. Despite the pain, his gaze flickered toward a shadowy figure in the darkness—not the Emperor, but one of his kin. This was no training scratch or mountain trek injury. These were deep, deliberate cuts meant to scar him for life. Blood welled, warm and thick, trickling down his chest before dripping onto the carpet.

His mind flooded with images—his past, his family’s estate, the servant girl who always smiled at him, his brother who had endured this same trial.

Involuntarily, he looked up at the murals beneath the dome. His life and the history of the Empire blurred together, stretching across time, defining his existence. He knew what he was committing to. He had chosen the path of service—and he was prepared to pay in blood.

Minutes of torment later, he realized he was on the verge of passing out. Adrian only regained his senses when a woman approached him. She seemed familiar, her garments bearing the emblem of a lion biting a blue star—the sigil of House Maranon, the Imperial family. A soft, feminine voice reached him, like a mother rousing a child from deep slumber:

"Rise, son of the Empire."

Only now did Adrian recognize her—the Emperor’s niece, Elisa. Her long, fair hair seemed endless. He tried to respond, but his body refused to obey. Pain still seared through his mind, leaving him with nothing but a stuttering murmur.

"Adrian, you must stand."

Those words stirred something deep within him. He realized he was still on his knees, weak, the agony of the oath now an eternal reminder of what it meant to serve the Empire.

His gaze lifted again—but now, instead of the ceremonial hall’s dome, he saw a smoke-choked gray sky. He looked down at his hands, stained with blood. It no longer mattered whose it was. Rivers of blood were just another part of his daily existence, trapped in this endless cycle of war and violence.

Slowly, he remembered what came after the oath—training, battles, war. It all felt like one long, unending dream, stretching over two years. He still recalled how his mother had told him his brother had been killed by rebels—the Army of the Republic.

He wanted revenge. That desire burned hotter than his duty to the Empire. He wanted to see them suffer.

Blinking, he realized he was sitting in a pit, surrounded by dozens of corpses. He tried to remember their names, but here, they no longer mattered—only their call signs: Eagle, Machine, Old Man... Long dead. Yet he had survived, retreated, and blacked out in this hole. He noticed the pit was knee-deep in a mixture of blood and water.

He found his rifle—an IV-769 magazine-fed semi-automatic, chambered in 8x44. Familiar, reliable. His only companion since taking the oath, a rifle that had served the Empire for thirty years. He clutched it, hoping it would carry him home. Peering over the edge of the pit, he was met with a horrifying sight.

The land was littered with wreckage, charred trees spearing the horizon beneath a stormy sky. Ruined buildings stood as little more than shattered walls and rubble. Trenches and craters scarred every inch of the earth, filled with corpses.

Behind him loomed the battered, shell-cracked walls of the fortress-city Colossus—ancient, older than the Empire itself. They were defending it, but the battle had dragged on. The Republic would retake their "capital" at any cost.

To the north, tracked armored vehicles advanced—assault battalions, the "Bitches," as they were called. He couldn’t help but imagine what his brother would say. "Little brother, scared of a bunch of girls?" Adrian managed a faint smile at the thought.

The thunder of artillery and machine-gun fire erupted—familiar sounds that had become background noise after two weeks of fighting outside the fortress walls.

Then, an unfamiliar siren wailed. A colossal, mountain-like silhouette emerged on the horizon. Adrian had never seen anything like it. He whispered what might have been a prayer—or a curse. The metal monstrosity moved slowly, crushing everything in its path. Eight legs, like a spider. Massive cannons mounted atop it. The Republic isn’t playing around anymore, Adrian thought.

He grabbed his rifle and decided to fall back to the city. His squad was dead, and the real battle was only beginning.

He had sworn an oath—to kill them all.