“Upon this great rock, many kings have risen and fallen, with yet more to come. Such is the birth of an interstellar empire, born from the storms of war…”

-7th High Lord of Anith and 1st Emperor of Anithia, Farron Grismarke

Anith, the great and sprawling capitol city that spanned the boreal valley of the super continent of Amaranth, largest of Jotunheim VII’s four moons and heart of what was left of the interstellar empire, Anithia. Overlooking this majestic metropolis of neogothic towers that glistened with hues of gold and red from the rays of the rising sun, was the palace fortress, Bastille Cordei, an impenetrable citadel built into the mountainside overlooking Anith, almost a city of it’s own. From this palace mount a man looked out from one of its numerous balconies, looking out to the city below, the city he had fought tooth and nail for, the city he loved more than anything else, his city, now gleaming from the dawn of a new day. This was a man of great ideals and equal ambition, unwavering in his desire to build something magnificent, comparable to those ancient legends he had read about in his youth. Justin Magnus, High Lord of Anith and all the stars of Anithia, a stoic leader of men and women, his face, stern, carved by years of strife. A well built man easily standing over six feet in height, although youthful, he had long dark grey hair with a well-trimmed coarse beard. He was dressed in fine yet practical clothes and a thick coat shielding him from the cold air outside. His gaze was set upon the smallest of the four domed arcologies of Anith, Gemini.

There were still pillars of smoke and ash flowing from the arcology, staining the morning sky. It had only been just yesterday that its horrors had become known to him. Thousands lay dead, their bodies burning in that furnace below. How? Why? These were the questions that plagued Magnus now, for such a tragedy to occur in the very heart of his empire was unthinkable. Unfortunately the Gemini would not yield any answers only more burning questions. A Court of the Lords was to be gathered later that day in an attempt to make sense of this, although he was keenly aware that it would only end with further squabbling amongst his lords. You see, the Anithian Empire, what was left of it anyway, was now under the looming threat of an armada of the likes none had seen in centuries, commanded by a single warlord who’s feats of military conquest and barbarism had become the stuff of nightmares on the Frontier. As Magnus had dwelled on this, one of his guards approached in full combat dress, having been set to high alert since the incident. The guard placed his fist over his heart and knelt before the High Lord in a single motion.

“My liege, a survivor of Gemini has been discovered and taken into custody. Both the Captain of the Guard and the Grand Archivist have requested your presence in the Wards for his interrogation.” The guard finished his report before looking to Magnus for further orders. Justin turned his gaze from his city to his guardsman, signaling him to rise. “Very well, take me to them so hopefully we may get this mess sorted out. The guardsman rose and the two took a brisk stride back into the halls of the Cordei. “What was the state of this survivor, guardsman? Did you personally have any interaction with him?” Magnus asked. The guardsman hesitated for a moment. “I merely aided in his moving to the Wards, my lord. As for his current state…I believe it’s best if you saw it for yourself and sooner rather than later…” Magnus turned grim, it seemed there would never be a dull moment during his rule. The two proceeded to make haste, maneuvering through the inner workings of the Cordei until they were at its depths, for down here, lay the Wards.

One room, two rooms, three rooms, four, and so many more, the Wards were a multipurpose facility used as a means of holding everything from political captives to caring for high security patients. It was a rather dull place, well lit, but no art in its design, separating it from the rest of the Cordei. All those whom they passed, stopped to salute their High Lord. As they arrived at their destination, they were met with a pair of guards standing at attention, both of which would stand aside just as those before them had. Upon entering the small partitioned room, the first thing in sight was a thick glass window separating himself, the Captain of the Guard, and the Grand Archivist from a haggardly man covered in burn wounds strapped to a hospital bed with an assortment of life support machines attached to him, while a number of doctors in full quarantine suits worked on him. Standing beside the window looking down at the survivor with a scowl, was the Captain of the Guard, Sir Marshal Tancre, a young man with skin of yellowish pigmentation, a strong jaw, and pronounced cheekbones, his most notable feature being his prosthetic eyes which shined a bright shade of orange that flittered about as he observed his surroundings. He stood tall, clad in a full suit of light power armor of steel color and brass finish donning a red cape, this along with a number of gold inscriptions on his armor, distinguished him as Captain of the Guard. Now rising from his seat was the much older Grand Archivist, Rence Brooksand, who’s appearance was that of a spry robed gentleman and a complete façade, for while he appeared generally human, the only human bit left of him was the aging and heavily augmented brain locked in the entirely synthetic body he moved about in; a transhumanist through and through.

The two gave a simultaneous “My lord!” and a bow upon recognizing Magnus, who waved the two of them off as he approached the observation window. He had no concern for formalities; his focus was on getting answers. “What have the two of you learned? Will this man live? Who is he?” Magnus looked down upon the mangled body with pity. There was a brief moment of silence before Sir Marshal finally spoke. “I’m afraid we’ve learned little my lord, as you know Gemini had an almost aristocratic pride in their ‘independence’, so they rarely backed up their records to the Grand Archives, something I’m sure our Grand Archivist here would be happy to elaborate in great detail. As for our citizen, he’s been identified as Dr. Jose Meson, one of the chief research staff within the arcology. We found him among the bodies, clenching on to a service wrench, its doubtful that he will live and from the look of things, it would be to his benefit should he not, if you’ll forgive my saying so, my lord…”

Magnus sighed with visible frustration. “It seems it can’t be helped. Grand Archivist, please tell me you have something that can shed any sort of light on all this?” The humbly dressed archivist took an unnecessary breath of what could almost be described as excitement for the subject. Brooksand was known to be quite the longwinded speaker and as such was partially responsible for the High Lord’s frustration. “Well sir, as Sir Marshal pointed out, Gemini gave us little to work with from the start and destruction of on site facilities has only made the acquisition of such information even more difficult, frankly I think we should have such policies banned to avoid incidents like this, my lord, but I digress, what we have uncovered has yielded something of interest that may have a direct correlation to the destruction of the arcology…” Also being fan of theatrics, the archivist took a long dramatic pause, before Sir Marshal, noticing his Lord’s growing frustration, finally broke it. “This is not the time Rence! Nor the place…” He snapped, his iridescent eyes glinted with irritation.

Taken aback for a moment, Brooksand humbly bowed his head before continuing. “Forgive me my Lord, I forget myself sometimes, its not often that I leave the Archives. Prior to this incident, it seems there were a number of reported cases of an unknown illness, one that affects the mind, in such a way that I’ve never read or heard of before. The first of these reports dates just about a month before Gemini’s blackout, however, none of these reports ever made it to the Archives until after Gemini’s blackout as corrupted files, nonetheless. To top it all off, there was a great influx of foreigners and foreign goods just before the dates of these reports, a matter I believe your wife or Sir Marshal here, are better suited to deal with.”

Magnus stared ahead, unflinching, his hands firm behind him. He watched the HAZMAT suited doctors work furiously on Dr. Meson’s dying body. “Are you suggesting that this is an act of biological terrorism? Or an act of war?” The Grand Archivist shuddered for a moment, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I would not suggest such a thing without more evidence my lord, but considering the current state of galactic affairs, I don’t believe it would be out of the question.” Sir Marshal quickly interjected on this “Nor do I, suffice to say, I would like to begin an investigation on the matter as soon as possible my lord, if I may.” Just as Magnus turned to address his Captain of the Guard, the life support systems on the other side of the glass began screeching at high volumes, causing the doctors to move into a frenzied storm in an effort to save the life of the one man that had the High Lord’s answers. All attention was now focused on the fleeting life of one Dr. Jose Meson.

His eyes shot open as he struggled against his bonds and against those that were trying to save him. The three men with all their power could only sit back and watch in horror, as the situation grew increasingly worse. Like some primal beast, Dr. Meson tore through his bonds and pulled the nearest doctor in close. Marshal reached for his sidearm without hesitation, but just as quickly as it had begun, it had come to and end, with Meson’s body going limp once more, this time accompanied by the howling flat-line of the life support machines. His hand fell from the doctor it had clutched so desperately to and his head sank into the pillow it had rested upon. A hologram interface appeared over the now deceased Meson, creating an overlay of his internal organs and muscles, giving a full diagnostic report. Most of his vital organs were now marked red, labeling them with a diagnosis of catastrophic failure. The doctors’ frenzy slowed now, almost to a halt, they knew that there was no saving him and with the severe amount of brain damage they couldn’t even download his consciousness. All that remained now was his corpse.

The High Lord’s expression once wide eyed in disbelief had now softened and returned to his stoic disposition. The bald headed Archivist’s nose was nearly pressed into the glass with his hand held to his gaping mouth. Whether this came of horror or fascination was beyond the other two men and neither of them wanted the answer. They continued to watch in silence as the doctor that Meson had grabbed hold of, left the operating room. Soon after, there was a whoosh as the quarantine gate door had slid open and from it, stepped out a young woman with snow white hair and eyes blurred by a steady stream of holographic information on her visor. She made a slight bow to the three of them before looking to Magnus. “My lord, I am sorry to say that Dr. Meson is no longer with us…” She paused, the visor over her eyes vanished. “However, in his dying breath, he asked me to relay a message to you.”

The High Lord’s eyes narrowed, ever focused on the young doctor, he nodded, pressing her to continue. “Like most last words, I believe them to be nonsense, however, his last words were: ‘The human race is not what it seems.’”