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Summary
The man looming before me wears black and red combat armor much more ornate and agility-oriented than that of the foot-soldiers. His helmet, mask-like and lined in gold, hides his eyes behind a crimson visor. His cold sneer, however, is uncovered and plain as day.
All the life drains out of me. My legs give, but it hardly matters. These are the colors of the Empire, and low-ranking officials do not carry sabers.
—A derivative rewrite of the love story between Antares Fairchild and the human MC. Written in first person limited, with added third person Antares limited.