Work Text:
Khema sat among the rest of the Mirage crew in the Syndicure hall, silent and still. The emotions churned too violently to untangle so she settled for putting them off. Victory still buzzed faintly in her veins, a lingering rush of adrenaline - but it was smothered by the weight of grief. Of crewmates lost. Of Csilla’s sun gone. Of the countless lives extinguished, Grysk and Chiss alike. The sheer scale of it was crushing.
So when the Council of Unity rose to deliver their announcements, Khema was only half-listening, her thoughts still buried beneath the weight of the battle.
The Mitth Patriarch spoke steadily, issuing decree after decree. Plans for Csilla’s evacuation, the formal annexation of the Redoubt, the demotion of the Clarr from the Nine … and then … What? Absorption of the CEDF into the broader Defense Force?
Khema snapped to attention. They couldn’t do that. Could they? Even if it was “by unanimous decision”! The idea sent a jolt of fury through her. She had a mind to-
“As for the crew that deployed Starflash,” Thurfian continued, unbothered. Khema stalled any objections to hear what he was going to say about her family. “These brave individuals will be remembered and honored with the utmost diligence and in a manner befitting their sacrifice and selflessness toward the Ascendancy. Commander Vekh’em’arati,” he gestured toward her, “do you have the authority to speak on behalf of your family?”
The soft rustle of fabric swept through the hall as the entire Syndicure assembly turned to face her. Khema swallowed hard. Of course she could speak on behalf of the Vekh! What kind of question was that?
“Yes, your Venerante,” Khema said loudly enough for the whole Syndicure to hear. “I am a Commander of our family defense force and an elder Blood member. I can speak on our behalf.”
“Good,” Thurfian nodded. “Because by unanimous vote: in recognition of your extraordinary selflessness and your willingness to place the Ascendancy above even your own lives … the Vekh have been chosen to replace the Clarr as the ninth ruling family.”
He had barely finished the sentence before the chamber exploded into chaos. All around her, voices rose in a cacophony of applause, outrage, cheers, and protests. Some among the Great Families had clearly been holding their breath since the demotion of the Clarr was announced and were now fuming at being passed over for a family from nowhere. Others looked on with surprise, a few even smiling, seemingly intrigued and perhaps eager at the thought of new blood entering the Nine.
But to Khema, the world went deafeningly quiet. She just stood there, slack-jawed and staring at Thurfian, who remained poised, waiting for her answer. Her heart pounded, not with pride, but with disbelief. The Vekh? A ruling family? This was everything they’d ever wanted. Stars, this was more than they’d ever wanted.
They had worked tirelessly just to become ‘Great’, to earn a seat among the Forty, to stop losing their children to adoption every time one of them chose the military. That alone had felt like a dream worth chasing. To stay a small(ish) family from Schesa, rooted and stubborn and proud, but with a little more influence. A little more voice. Maybe a vote that actually mattered.
But this?
This wasn’t the plan.
Not the Nine.
This wasn’t a promotion, it was a mantle. A weight. One that came with expectation, with politics, with scrutiny so sharp it could cut. She could already feel the eyes on her like a hundred knives, measuring her worth, questioning her right to stand in that hall.
And yet…
Beside her, Khavid exhaled a shaky, half-laughing breath. He gripped her shoulder, eyes wide and glistening. “ Khema ,” he whispered, barely containing himself, “we did it.”
She turned to him, stunned. He wasn’t overwhelmed like she was. He was lit up as if a fire had caught in his chest and finally had room to burn. He was grinning as wide as he could, a world of hope and gratitude in his eyes.
Out in the audience, Khema spotted Ziinda. The senior captain sat stiffly wearing the same stoic expression she usually did. Well, except for the faint, flickering look in her eyes when they met Khema’s. It wasn’t shock like Khema felt nor the excitement of Khavid. It was pride. Fierce and unapologetic. The smallest smirk worked its way across Ziinda’s mouth as their eyes met. It seemed to ask Khema: ‘ Well? What are you going to do now, old woman?’
Khema turned her gaze back to Thurfian. Uncle Khodral could chide her later for accepting this without consulting him first, but damn it, they were ready.
“Your Venerantes,” Khema finally managed to say. “We Vekh have only ever wanted one thing: to see our children serve the Ascendancy without giving up their names. That’s why we wanted to be Great. That’s why so many of you had been subjected to Syndic Khrill’s charms.” She paused, remembering the fire in his eyes before they took off on that mission.
“I saw them as they left, you know. On the Grayshrike , as we transferred Starflash to our shuttle. I almost boarded it myself, but two of my crewmembers went instead, telling me to go home to my family.” She took a shaky breath. “Captain Khayem - my own commanding officer - looked at me with almost glee. He told me ‘Finally. A worthy mission I can run without being someone else’ .”
Her voice trembled, but she didn’t waver.
“They were proud,” she said. “Proud to go. Proud to serve not as hidden names or borrowed legacies, but as Vekh. Just as I am. Just as we all are . ”
She let that settle in the chamber, meeting the eyes of every Patriarch and every official who dared to look her way.
“We are ready to carry this name forward,” she announced, her voice ringing clear across the chamber. And with the full weight of the Ascendancy watching, she spoke a line from the Book of Ancestors . It was the only introduction worthy of this moment. “We will honor those who brought us here with duty in our hands, truth on our tongues, and fire in our hearts.”
Thurfian seemed appeased at the very least. “Good,” he gave her an impatient nod. “Then come up here and take your Patriarch’s seat for the rest of this meeting. We still have things to vote on.”
Khema blinked . That also wasn’t something she’d been ready for. But she had just bragged that she was a Vekh ‘Commander and Blood’. Khavid gave her a small shove toward the open chair which only half brought her out of her stupor. She looked over at Ziinda who at this point was practically grinning. “Don’t complain - you asked for this” she seemed to say.
Alright. Well. Here goes. Khema drew herself up, gave Thurfian a nod back, and marched somewhat stiffly over to the empty chair among the Council of Unity. It was a simple chair really. No ornament and no crest, but its placement said everything. It faced the center of the chamber, aligned with the semicircle of Syndicure representatives and the outer tiers of observers. A thousand eyes followed her, though no one made a sound. The Council’s chamber was never this quiet, but this was the hush of something historic.
She reached the chair, turned, and stood behind it.
The chamber remained still, thick with expectation. On her right sat the Patriarch of the Plikh family, hands folded. To her left, the Obbic Patriarch leaned slightly forward in his seat. He was older than she was, his face lined with years of quiet political survival, but his eyes were sharp. He gave her a small nod. Not quite warm, not quite inviting, but respectful. Then, with a subtle motion, he extended his hand toward the empty chair between them.
Khema sat.
And then the proceedings simply continued like nothing momentous had even happened.
Thurfian resumed reading the next item on the agenda, his voice dry and clipped. Across the chamber, aides resumed their recordings. Syndics returned their attention to datapads and internal messaging systems.
To the rest of the room, it was simply business as usual.
But not for Khema.
As the voices around her settled into the steady rhythm of governance, she adjusted her posture, letting her hands rest against the arms of her chair. She could still feel the thud of her own pulse in her fingertips. The only thing keeping her grounded was to watch her crew. Saris and Meira made faces at her, probably trying to get her to laugh or break character. Klarath grinned and gave her a thumbs up. Khavid had crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, proud and satisfied.
The meeting didn’t last too much longer (or so it felt as time blurred by), and everyone understood the weight of what was to come next. The evacuation of Csilla was going to be no small feat. Khema pledged Vekh ships to aid in the effort and even promised to resettle refugees on Schesa - though the minimal amount for now since it really wouldn’t end up being her decision to name how many they could fit. That was up to Uncle Khodral and whomever he named his new Syndic Prime.
As the proceedings came to an end, she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Commander Vekh’em’arati?”
The Boadil Patriarch had stood and was giving her a warm smile.
“Yes, sir?” She stood with the sudden realization that everyone else had stood as well. She turned to greet the man.
“At some point,” he told her, “I would like to discuss the last moments you had with Boadil’ago’sabosen. I am told you are one of the last people he saw before heading off with your family to deploy the weapon that saved us all.”
Khema nodded empathetically. “Yes, sir. He was a good soldier, and a wonderful person. The kind of selfless that we need, and yet have so little of nowadays.”
He patted her shoulder in solidarity. “Well, we have it in a few of us. And we have it in you Vekh now as well. Here…” he gestured toward an aide who bowed respectfully. “This is Boadil’ago’anil. He is one of my senior aides, but I’ve asked that he be placed with you until your household can arrive. I’m sure there are business items that you’d like taken care of thanks to your appointment. Ilagoan knew Lagos personally. He wanted to help in any way he could. In Lagos’ memory.”
Ilagoan gave a short nod, his voice quiet but sure. “It would be an honor to serve, Commander. Lagos spoke highly of you.”
Khema’s throat tightened, though she tried not to let it show. “Then I welcome your help, Ilagoan. And I hope we can talk about him together. I’d like to remember him fully, not just in silence.”
Ilagoan’s expression flickered with gratitude. “Whenever you wish.”
The Patriarch smiled faintly and stepped back, already turning toward another conversation, another duty.
“Actually…” Khema paused, but Ilagoan raised an eyebrow in anticipation of his first order. “I do have a request that I’m not sure how to facilitate. Do I … have an office or something? I’d like to speak with Senior Captain Irizi’in’daro as soon as possible.”
Ilagoan bowed again slightly. “The Clarr offices are still being reclaimed, ma’am. But there are plenty of conference rooms you can take for your own in the meantime. As for the Senior Captain, I’d be happy to-”
“I hope I’m misinterpreting your first order of business,” The voice of the Irizi Patriarch was cool and authoritative. He covered the few steps between them quickly, his expression tight and composed. “Your own Patriarch isn’t even on planet yet. Maybe you shouldn’t get too ahead of yourself, Commander Vekh’em’arati.”
Khema met his gaze with a slight frown. “Forgive me, your Venerante. But the agenda of my family has been clear since before all of this happened. Senior Captain Irizi’in’daro is the daughter of my wife. The Vekh intend to extend rematching offers to all military personnel originally born to us, and my stepdaughter is going to be the first.”
“Poaching officers isn’t a quick way to make friends,” he replied, frowning in turn.
“Perhaps not,” she answered. “But we pursued this path in order to let our kids serve without giving up their names. We have no interest in disrupting anyone’s service. But if an officer who was taken from her name as a child wishes to return to it as an adult, the Vekh will make space for her.”
“She’s a Senior Captain and a Trial Born of the Irizi family,” he said flatly. “Do you think she will give that up so readily? When we can make counteroffers well beyond your simple means?”
“She was also born a Vekh,” Khema replied. “She’d go from Trial Born to Blood. Besides, the rematch would not remove her from command. We would not insult her by asking her to step back.”
Ilagoan stood motionless at her side, silent but attentive. The other aides nearby had stilled as well, eyes lowered but ears clearly tuned to the conversation.
The Irizi Patriarch drew a breath, collecting himself, but then perked up a little as he noticed shifting and murmuring behind Khema. “Ahh! Well, maybe we can settle this right now then. Welcome, Senior Captain. We were just speaking about you.”
Khema turned just as Ziinda stepped into the edge of their circle. She hadn’t been called over, but it was probably hard to ignore the conversation from across the hall. Plus the raised voices and the way aides had begun to glance and whisper. The tension in the room had a gravity all its own, and it had pulled her in.
Ziinda approached slowly, clearly aware of the spotlight now cast on her. She greeted the Irizi Patriarch first with a respectful nod.
“Sir.”
Then she turned to Khema. Her tone didn’t change, but her eyes lingered a moment longer.
“Commander, I wanted to congratulate you. I know you’ve worked tirelessly for this moment.”
“Thank you, Senior Captain,” Khema said evenly.
The Irizi Patriarch wasted no time. “You may have overheard that the Vekh family is attempting to extend a rematch offer,” he said, voice carefully measured. “An offer we find… premature.”
Ziinda arched an eyebrow.
“They can’t offer you what we can,” he continued smoothly. “Of course, Trial Born status in a Ruling Family is beneath you by now. You could be made Ranking Distant. Plus of course honors, advancement, legacy. As well as a hefty sum for your continued loyalty. You’ve earned it.”
Ziinda glanced at him, then turned her eyes back to Khema.
“What exactly is the offer?” she asked.
Khema met her gaze without flinching.
“Well, I’m not Patriarch so I can’t offer money or land. But I can give you your name back as well as your rank as Blood. If you want it.”
Ziinda studied the two of them quietly before a small smile wormed its way onto her face. “I was born Vekh’in’daro,” she said finally. “And I was adopted out of that name before I knew what it really meant.”
The Irizi Patriarch stiffened. “And we gave you everything. Status! Prestige!-”
“No you didn’t,” Ziinda said firmly. “The Xodlak gave me status. They let me rise to command. You just poached me when you thought I’d spill details about Mitth’raw’nuruodo.” She huffed. “I’ve since served the Irizi with everything I had. But that doesn’t change who I am.”
Khema didn’t speak. She only waited with baited breath.
Ziinda took a slow breath. “If the rematch is formalized, I will accept.” It wasn’t loud, but it was defiant. Khema’s heart danced in her chest.
The Irizi Patriarch’s mouth thinned. “I hope you realize what you’re giving up.”
Ziinda looked him in the eye. “I do. And I know exactly what I’m taking back. I also know I won’t be the last.”
She stepped back beside Khema, not touching her, not even looking at her, but the meaning was clear.
Khema inclined her head, her smile probably too big for the theater of the syndicure hall, but kark it. Ziinda was going to be a Vekh again, and that’s all that mattered in the whole damn galaxy. “We’ll begin the paperwork as soon as possible,” she managed to say, trying desperately to remain professional. How she managed to remain poised and not just drag her stepdaughter into a giant hug was beyond her.
Ziinda simply nodded. She’d had plenty more practice at poise in her time.
The Irizi Patriarch turned on his heel and walked away, his aides following closely behind.
Khema stood still for a moment, took a deep breath, then turned her giant grin at Ziinda. “You know, you didn’t have to come over.”
“I know,” Ziinda said, smirking over folded arms. “But I wasn’t going to let him speak for me.”
Khema just kept grinning like she’d been made queen of the whole Chaos. “No,” she said. “I didn’t think you would.”
⤙╞⭒☽⭒❂⭒☾⭒╡⤚
Patriarch Khodral arrived on Csilla a few days later, stepping off the shuttle with only a handful of aides, a few special guests, and a visible sense of urgency.
“Khema!” He extended a hand, but the formal greeting quickly turned into an embrace. Wrapped in that hug, Khema finally felt like she could let out the long breath that she’d been holding. Uncle Khodral was one of the few family members still alive who was older than she was, though only by a handful of years. Still, it was enough. Around him, she didn’t have to hold the posture of command or speak like someone with something to prove. With him, she could be tired. She could be unsure. She could be the girl who had once stood beside him at the edges of military parades, staring wide-eyed and dreaming of ships and medals.
Now, they were standing at the edge of something far heavier. And she was no longer a girl.
Still, his presence steadied her. “You made good time,” she said, pulling back.
“I came the moment they stopped talking and let me get on my damn ship,” he answered, though his tone was melancholic. “Is it true then? I want to hear it from you about Khayem, Khrill, Khomar, and Khasha? Four of our most valued family leaders? Our closest friends?”
Khema nodded, her throat tight. She tried to speak, but the words caught. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes for a moment, as if that might steady her.
“It’s true,” she said finally. “All four. Plus two from my crew. They … they saved us though.”
Khodral closed his eyes for a long breath. When he opened them again, they were glassy but hard.
“Damn it,” he muttered. “I had hoped… Well. Hoping doesn’t bring them back.”
“No,” Khema said, voice low. “It doesn’t.”
Khodral looked at her for a long moment, as if trying to measure just how much weight she was carrying beneath that uniform.
“They trusted you,” he finally told her. “All of them.” He paused, then asked “they knew what they were doing though, right? They understood the mission?”
Khema gave a small nod. “They volunteered. They knew what it meant. Khayem even said…” Her voice caught again, and she pressed her lips together before continuing. “He said he was glad to serve on such a mission with his name. He wanted people to remember. He was proud.”
Khodral reached out and clasped her shoulder, firm and steady. “He was right to be.”
She looked up at him almost pleadingly. “I know it was a victory, but … it’s hard to swallow. Having given them the mission and not going on it myself? It doesn’t sit right.”
“It won’t,” he answered. “Not for a long time. Maybe not ever. But you’re still here, and they trusted you with what comes next.”
Khema nodded again, slowly this time.
Khodral gave her arm another small squeeze, then let go. “Now let’s make sure the rest of our people get to see what they died building.”
Khema straightened. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir,” he chided, stepping past her with a small grunt toward the assembly of Ruling family delegates waiting on the landing platform behind her. “You’re the one that gained the honors.”
The smallest of grins began to replace her somberness. “I’m in uniform. You’re my Patriarch. I’ll call you ‘sir’ until that changes.”
He waved her aside teasingly. Khulum took the opportunity to rush into her wife’s arms now that the ceremonial greeting was over with. Khema positively melted into the embrace.
"They told me you almost got on that shuttle," Khulum said, her voice low as she held Khema close.
Khema nodded against her shoulder, her words muffled as she spoke into the fabric of her wife’s robes. “I wanted to. I nearly did.”
Khulum leaned back just enough to look her in the eyes. “Why? Why would you have done such a thing?"
"Because... because..." Khema faltered, eyes darting away as if the right words might be written on the floor between them. "It’s different in the middle of battle, ’Ulum. You don’t think about dying. You just think about... about what needs to be done. What has to be done. And in that moment, getting on that shuttle felt like the only way to finish it. Or if anything, I didn’t want to send them to die and not go with them. It felt … cowardly.”
Khulum’s expression shifted, something softer, sadder blooming behind her eyes. “And now?” she asked quietly.
Khema’s shoulders sagged. “Now I think about what I’d have left behind. You. Ziinda. The family. The position we just claimed.” She looked up meeting the other woman’s eyes. “I didn’t want to live with the guilt. But I realized I couldn’t die with it either.”
Khulum touched her cheek gently, her thumb brushing just below Khema’s eye. “I’m glad you stayed,” she said. “Because I don’t think I could’ve borne it.”
“You know,” Khema said quietly, “Ziinda was going to be the one to lead the team. She’d handpicked a squad to take the weapon.”
Khulum’s brow furrowed.
“I… managed to talk her out of it,” Khema continued. “It was right there and so were we. I couldn’t have let her, ’Ulum. If it was a choice between her and me, it was going to be me. I couldn’t have let her. I wouldn’t have let her…”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and Khema buried her face in her wife’s shoulder again, ashamed of the emotion rising in her throat.
Khulum pulled her back in, arms wrapped tightly around her.
“You’re allowed to protect her,” she murmured softly. “You’re allowed to choose her. That doesn’t make what happened your fault.”
Khema said nothing, only clung to her, the tension in her spine finally starting to unwind.
“She’s safe,” Khulum said softly. “You kept her safe. That’s what matters.”
Khema closed her eyes. “I know. I just wish I hadn’t had to choose at all.”
“So do I,” Khulum whispered. “But I’m still glad you came back to me. I’m glad you both came back to me.”
“Commander Vekh’em’arati?” A voice called from behind her, careful but insistent.
Khema exhaled and stepped back, her hand still resting on Khulum’s arm. “Right… yeah. Duty and all that.” She brushed a hand across her face, catching a few stray tears and pulling herself upright. “How do I look?”
Khulum gave her a once-over and gently straightened the collar of her uniform. “Like someone who didn’t break. Just bent a little.”
Khema huffed a quiet breath, half a laugh and half a sigh. “Good enough for government work I suppose.”
“It’d better be,” Khulum gave her a wry smile. “Come on, Commander .” She hooked her arm into the crook of Khema’s elbow. “Introduce me to our new peers.”
⤙╞⭒☽⭒❂⭒☾⭒╡⤚
Khodral spent the next few days in constant talks with delegates from the Nine. The Council of Unity convened in full, briefly, before several patriarchs were called away to oversee regional evacuations. The Vekh were formally sworn in during a hastily organized ceremony with minimal fanfare, the usual traditions set aside due to the urgency of the moment. Still, the oaths were spoken, the seat officially granted, and no one questioned its legitimacy. A proper celebration was promised for a later date, to be held on Naporar or wherever the Syndicure established its new seat once Csilla was safely evacuated.
At the same time, the Vekh family’s message went out across the fleet to every officer. Every crew member. Every Chiss in uniform born to their blood: The Vekh offer you your name back. A rematch. A return.
The responses came quickly. Some skeptical, some emotional, most brief.
But they came.
Pilots. Technicians. Officers scattered throughout the Ascendancy. Some posted at the edges of known space, others at the heart of the defense fleet. They all reached out, confirming their intent to return. The Vekh administration scrambled to process the volume. Ilagoan and his Vekh aides worked that whole year without pause.
For the first time in memory, a family was growing not by strategic adoption, but by calling its own people home. And the Ascendancy was watching.
⤙╞⭒☽⭒❂⭒☾⭒╡⤚
The great hall on Naporar was breathtaking in its splendor. Its vaulted ceilings soared above polished marble floors, and elaborate chandeliers glowed with the gentle brilliance of crystal and flame. It was a place built for ceremony, for power, for legacy. The grandeur was beyond anything the Vekh had ever dreamt of, let alone possessed.
Yet, the celebration was unmistakably, undeniably theirs.
Patriarch Khodral stood at the heart of it all, draped in ceremonial robes dyed the rich greens and muted golds of Schesa's fields, his face was lined but radiated warmth and pride. Around him, the scent of traditional Schesan dishes filled the hall, comforting and familiar: spiced grains, baked root vegetables, and hearty stews simmered for hours in rustic pots brought specially from home.
The other patriarchs and dignitaries observed from the edges of the celebration, expressions varying widely. Some stood in clusters, eyebrows raised in mild shock at the rustic simplicity and casual warmth of the gathering. Others whispered among themselves, caught somewhere between curiosity and amusement.
Several patriarchs seemed openly scandalized, their rigid postures and sharp glances betraying disapproval that the Vekh had not adhered to the customary standards of lavish sophistication expected at the ascension of one of the Nine. Yet, amid the quiet murmurs of disapproval, there were others whose reserved expressions slowly melted into gentle smiles, charmed by the sincerity and authenticity of the celebration.
Because the Vekh had brought children. Children! Sure, when other families celebrated milestones they made sure to invite prominent blood members and their nuclear families, but rarely was a typically solemn ceremony for the Ruling Families accompanied by a separate childcare room and the laughter of playing children.
Several patriarchs openly smiled, charmed despite themselves as they watched a small cluster of children chasing each other in their formal robes across the polished marble floors. Others, however, wore faces frozen in polite shock, clearly uncertain how to handle the joyous chaos. Patriarch Lamiov exchanged a glance with Patriarch Thurfian, whose eyebrows rose in bemused tolerance. Meanwhile, the Boadil Patriarch, ever poised and dignified, watched with genuine fascination as a young girl tugged insistently at the hem of her mother’s ceremonial gown, demanding attention without a second thought.
Patriarch Khodral himself, meanwhile, seemed completely unfazed. He laughed deeply as one of his younger grandchildren ran headlong into his legs. He bent to scoop the child effortlessly into his arms without missing a beat in his conversation. The boy beamed, proudly nestling into Khodral’s shoulder, entirely unaware he was disrupting centuries of formal tradition with his giggles.
The gathered patriarchs exchanged glances once more, beginning to soften as they absorbed the relaxed joy around them. Perhaps, their expressions seemed to suggest, there was wisdom here in bringing the full weight of family, not just duty, into a celebration of their new beginning.
At a long table near the center of the hall, nestled amid the bustle of cousins, aunts, uncles, and newly claimed kin, Khema sat beside Khulum, Khavid, and the newly rematched Khinda. The table was cluttered with half-empty dishes of roasted vegetables and hand-thrown ceramic cups filled with sharp, dark Schesan tea. Someone had set down a carved wooden toy next to Khema’s place, a reminder of the children darting between chairs and under tables with shrieks of laughter.
Khavid was mid-story, something about the time he’d gotten locked in a grain cellar during a storm, and already several relatives were laughing so hard they’d almost spilled their drinks. His gestures grew more animated with every detail, arms flailing just wide enough that Khulum had to duck once to avoid a near miss.
Khulum, dressed in deep blue robes with her hair loosely bound, sat relaxed and content, one arm resting along the back of Khema’s chair. Every so often, she reached out to brush crumbs off Khema’s sleeve or refill someone’s plate without interrupting the conversation.
Khinda -- Senior Captain Vekh’in’daro now -- sat across from them, flanked by younger cousins who clearly idolized her. Her uniform was crisp, but she’d undone the collar and folded her sleeves up, revealing the faint lines of her forearm tattoos. She wore her new name like a blade at her side: visible, intentional, and no longer something she needed to explain.
Khema leaned forward, resting her arms on the table as she looked at her.
“Well, Senior Captain Vekh ,” she said, the family name deliberately emphasized, “how’s it feel? Still getting used to hearing it?”
Khinda glanced up, then down at her cup. A smile spread across her face.
“I thought it would feel strange,” she admitted, “but… no. It feels right.”
Khavid let out a delighted hum and clinked his cup against hers. “That’s the spirit. You're ours now, and there’s no going back.”
Khema smiled, warmth filling her chest as she looked around the table - at the laughter, the legacy that was theirs now, not in marble halls or crystal chandeliers, but in every voice raised without hesitation, every child who belonged to them without condition.
“We’ve earned this,” she said proudly. “All of it.”
The laughter around the table began to dim as someone rang a clear ceremonial chime near the dais. Conversations quieted, and heads turned toward the raised platform where Patriarch Khodral now stood, hands clasped behind his back, waiting for the hall to settle.
Khulum gave Khema’s hand a light squeeze before letting go. “It’s time,” she said simply.
Khema nodded and rose from her seat, straightening her blue uniform jacket as she stood. Across from her, Khinda stood as well, already straightening her posture and fixing her sleeves, the easy warmth from earlier sliding into something sharper and command-ready.
A path had been cleared through the center of the hall. Guests shifted aside as the first motion came not from the dais, but from the far doors. Half a dozen young cadets entered making up the color guard from the Schesa’s Junior CDF corps, crisp in their polished JCDF blues, each one carrying a flag with both reverence and visible nerves.
The Vekh family banner came first -- newly stitched but unmistakably proud: a stylized sprig of Schesan harvest grain in gold thread on a deep blue field. Following close behind was the flag of Schesa itself, its sun and river-mark glinting under the hall’s crystal chandeliers.
And behind those, six more banners. Smaller, ashen-rimmed, embroidered with a single name apiece. The names of the four Vekh who had died deploying Starflash plus the two volunteers.
Syndic Khrill. Captain Khayem. Commander Khomar. Lieutenant Khasha. Senior Engineer Lagos. Ere’bus.
The children bore them solemnly, eyes forward, shoulders square, doing everything they could to live up to the moment.
As they passed, Khema felt a lump form in her throat. One of the girls carrying the family standard was barely thirteen and had the same square jaw and storm-dark glow to her eyes as Khema. The girl held the banner as if it weighed ten times what it did. If ever Khema could be proud of her family, it was now.
Then it was Khema’s turn.
She stepped into the procession, joined by three other Vekh officers -- one from the homeworld’s defense grid, another from the logistical corps, and one from the Schesan triad guard. The uniformity of their different services somehow made the formation feel even stronger, more grounded in the reality of who the Vekh were: a family of soldiers, of caretakers, of the people.
Khinda joined her then as the highest ranked Vekh in the CDF, falling into step just behind the junior color guard, her stride confident, her expression composed. If anyone questioned whether she belonged here, they wouldn’t after today.
Together, the group advanced toward the dais, the junior cadets fanning out before them as they approached the steps. Khema could already see Khodral waiting, the pride in his expression unmistakable, not just for himself, but for all of them.
Khodral waited until the final footstep fell into place behind him. The hall had quieted with reverent anticipation. All eyes were on the dais now, where the Vekh patriarch stood, surrounded by the living legacy of his family’s service.
He turned first to the junior colorguard, giving them a slow, deliberate nod. The youngest flagbearer blinked rapidly, caught between discipline and overwhelming pride, and tightened her grip on the staff.
The banners did not wave or flutter. They stood solemn, still, bearing silent witness.
Then Khodral turned to Khema and Khinda, his niece and his great-niece. He gave them a brief, quiet smile. It was the look of a man who had spent years holding his family together through storms and now saw it standing, whole and proud, beside him.
When he turned back to the assembly, his expression was composed. The voice that followed was calm, deep, and steady.
“Esteemed families of the Ascendancy,” Khodral began, “thank you for your presence. Not just today, but for every moment that brought us to this one.”
He paused, surveying the chamber.
“This hall was built to mark moments of legacy. The Vekh did not come here to inherit that legacy. We came here because we earned it.”
“We are not ancient. We are not wealthy. We have no scroll of bloodlines that reaches back to the stardawn. What we have is service. What we have is sacrifice.”
He turned slightly, indicating the officers flanking him -- Khema, Khinda, and the others in Vekh colors and Chiss uniforms. Then he gestured to the colorguard standing in silent formation.
“We have children who carry our name into the Defense Force, not because they must, but because they choose to. We have commanders who lead with distinction, not because tradition demands it, but because the Ascendancy needs it.”
His voice lowered.
“And we have lost family. Four names. Four lives. Not for glory. Not for elevation. But because it was the right thing to do.”
He let that truth hang in the air for a moment, solemn and undeniable.
“But make no mistake,” he continued, voice rising again, “the Vekh are not here as symbols. We are here as participants. We will not trade our roots for polished stone. We have not come to blend into the Nine. We have come to serve it.”
He let the words hang, letting them settle over the chamber like the final note of an oath. Then, softer but no less certain, he added:
“We will serve with the clarity of those who remember where we came from. We will serve with the steadiness of those who have stood watch through long nights. And we will serve with the weight of those who carry names not only forward, but upward.”
He gestured once more to the six memorial banners held by the color guard.
“We do not forget them. We rise because of them. And the Nine will be stronger for it.”
A pause. Then Khodral raised his chin, drawing a slow breath as his gaze swept the room.
“To the Ascendancy, we offer our strength. To the Syndicure, we offer our trust. And to the people -- from Schesa to Naporar -- we offer our name.”
His hand lifted, palm open, not in command but in welcome.
“The Vekh stand ready.”
For a moment, there was only silence. Then a single clap. Then another. And then the hall erupted, applause rising like a wave across the marble floor.
Khema let herself smile. It was either that or break down sobbing, and stars knew she couldn’t afford that. Not in uniform, not up on the stage, not with all of the Ascendancy watching.
Beside her, Khinda stood ramrod straight, but her expression had softened. Pride flickered behind her eyes, quiet and resolute. Khema caught the briefest glance exchanged between them and nodded, just once, barely more than a breath. Khinda nodded back.
Khavid, seated with the rest of the family, had his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting something completely inaudible over the applause. Probably encouragement. Possibly embarrassing. Definitely both. Khema would ask later.
And Khulum sat applauding politely, eyes shining, smile serene, like she’d known this day would come all along.
The junior color guard was still standing at attention, their faces set with the kind of solemnity only youth trying very hard to be grown-up could manage. But Khema could see the smallest of grins sneaking through, especially from the one holding the Schesan banner who kept flicking her eyes toward the crowd, as if unsure whether she was allowed to be proud of herself yet.
Khodral stepped back from the podium and turned to face his family. He didn’t say anything, just opened his arms and pulled Khema into a brief, firm embrace, then Khinda, then each of the officers in turn. It wasn’t with the grace of a politician or the ceremony of a ruler, but the simple, quiet dignity of a farmer’s son from Schesa, who had once just wanted his family to stop being forgotten.
As the last of the applause faded into the high arches of the hall, Khodral stepped forward again, returning to the podium with a glint in his eye.
“Well then,” he said, voice lighter now and a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “there’s only one thing left to do, I think!”
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd, uncertain. The patriarchs exchanged puzzled glances. The Vekh, however, had already started leaning in.
Khodral took a step back from the mic and, without preamble, began to sing.
It was a slow tune at first. An old Schesan folk melody, one that might’ve been hummed in kitchens or sung softly over the fields at dusk. His voice was warm, gravel-edged with age, and it filled the hall not with ceremony, but with something far grander.
Joy.
The family knew. Oh, they knew . Some had started to sing also and just about everyone now realized why the center of the grand hall had remained without tables and chairs.
As he reached the second line, a sudden shift came from behind the dais. A curtain parted, and out marched the band. Vekh musicians emerged in embroidered vests and boots polished just enough to pass muster, instruments already rising to their shoulders. Strings, drums, fiddles, a reed flute or two. Nothing grand, nothing gilded…
… But they swung into rhythm like their lives depended on it.
The tempo kicked up. The melody turned bold. Feet tapped. Heads turned.
Khodral, grinning now, extended a hand to Khema.
She raised both eyebrows at him, but without hesitation, she stepped forward and took it.
“Let’s not embarrass ourselves,” she called over the din, barely containing a laugh.
“Too late for that,” he replied.
Together, they stepped down from the dais and into the open space just in front of the stage. And just like that, the celebration began in earnest.
⤙╞⭒☽⭒❂⭒☾⭒╡⤚
“Sir?” Khema knocked lightly on the wooden door to a modest office. The Vekh homestead might be a sprawling complex, but inside was warm and homey. As much as they might be a ruling family now, they still didn’t pretend to be grand as the Mitth or Irizi. Maybe they would in time, but not yet. Her boots tread along well worn wood floors and locally woven rugs. Preserved skins from prize hunts hung along the walls between standing cases overflowing with datapads, folders, and even a few flimsi books.
“No need for honorifics, ‘Ema. Not when it’s just us.” The Vekh Patriarch waved her in with a warm smile crinkling the crows feet at the crooks of his eyes.
Honestly, Uncle Khodral looked tired . Far moreso than Khema’d ever seen him before. Then again, old man had suddenly found himself at the head of one of the most important families in the Ascendancy. He had decidedly not asked for that.
“Consider them dropped,” she grinned and approached one of the chairs next to his desk.
He shook his head and stood. “Come on outside with me,” he told her, moving toward the sliding glass doors that led out onto the large balcony that spanned the whole back side of the building.
It was a lovely day, though this time of year on Schesa was always idyllic. The crops were nearly ready to harvest and the breeze carried with it the first chills of autumn. Khodrel chose a well used rocking chair and sat down, indicating for Khema to do the same.
She followed suit. The air smelled of distant loam and crushed fruit - a soft, earthy perfume that spoke of harvests past and promises kept.
Letting out a slow breath, Khema lowered herself into the rocking chair beside Khodrel’s. The chair groaned softly under her as it adjusted to her frame, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. There was just the wind, just the rustle of the trees, just the distant call of birds wheeling over the fields below.
“We can’t lose sight of this,” he said softly. “I know you and Khrill and Khayem have had your sights set high. And you achieved them beyond anything I ever thought we might. However-” He folded his hands over his belly and took a deep breath. “We can’t ever forget where we come from. We’re a simple family, ‘Ema. We’re rooted in our land and our traditions. Promise me you won’t ever lose sight of this.”
“Of course not, Uncle.” Khema cocked her head a bit and really looked at him. He seemed more frail than she’d remembered. Thinner and more brittle, but determined as ever. “I admit though … I wasn’t expecting the whole ‘Ruling’ thing. We just wanted to be ‘Great’ is all. Maybe a bit more voice, a bit more of a vote. And of course, our kids serving in the military with their names intact. This Ruling stuff is almost absurd when you think about it.”
“Absurd? You’re the one that accepted it!” Khodrel let out a dry laugh. “You worked so hard for something and the moment you get it, it’s now absurd?”
“Well! … I mean!” She floundered a bit and threw up her hands. “Khrill and I figured we’d be ‘Great’! A ton of those Great families are still in touch with their roots. Still farming their lands or whatever.”
Khodrel just shook his head, grinning. “You all worked so, so hard.”
“Don’t discount all the work you did too, you’re a big part of this effort you know,” she teased.
“Of course, of course,” he nodded. “But ‘Ema. With everything you’ve done? Everything you’ve been a part of lately? And Captain Khayem taking our gunships to that battle. How many other simple families sent gunships to the Battle of Csilla, hmm?”
Khema shrugged. “I dunno. There were a lot of smaller ships. Though I can’t say I paid too close attention to whom any of ‘em belonged to.”
“And then there was the weapon.” Khodrel turned serious. His eyes shown suddenly with a sadness of mourning. “I’m guessing Khayem didn’t even hesitate.”
Khema shook her head. “Not one bit. He asked how his ship could be of service. I told him and he jumped at it.”
“And he knew?”
She nodded. “He knew. As did the others.”
“And yet, you’re still surprised they replaced the Clarr with us. When everyone else has been squabbling and infighting … here was a group willing to die for the good of the whole.”
“We weren’t exactly thinking of that,” Khema admitted. “All I knew was that I needed to find an alternative. ‘Inda was going to lead the team. I couldn’t have let her! There was absolutely no way-”
“I know,” Khodrel soothed. “And I’m guessing had she refused to change the plans, you would have gone with her.”
“In her stead if she’d have let me,” Khema said softly.
He nodded. “She’d never have allowed it.”
“She’s stubborn,” Khema admitted. “But so am I. And I’m not about to let my girl die before me.”
They sat in silence for a long drawn out moment. Eventually Khodrel nodded. “Of course not. And she’s only as stubborn as the women who raised her,” he gave her a small wink. “But even then … even as you faced certain death, you were thinking of family. And you accepted without question that some of us were going to die for the sake of a Chiss victory.”
“It had to happen,” Khema said simply.
“Yes,” he agreed. “After everything I’ve been told about that battle, it had to happen.”
They sat again in quiet, both watching the fields of grain in the distance bow and raise with the wind.
“We’re not a big family yet,” Khodral said. “And we don’t have too many leaders trained up who didn’t just sacrifice themselves.” He looked at her with a serious gaze. “I want you to take over for Captain Khayem. At least-” he raised a hand to cut off her protests “-until we can identify or train someone else.”
“Sir-”
“No honorifics, Khema. Not right now.”
“Well! Fine … Uncle… Khulum would absolutely kill me. I promised her I would retire. I’m done . I told her she wouldn’t be a widow and I almost had to go back on that in this last battle. I can’t do that to her again. I just can’t.”
“I’m sorry ‘Ema, but you did this.” He gave her another dry chuckle. “What did you expect would happen? You do all of this work, we become a Ruling family, and you just step aside?” Khodrel shrugged. “You get to be Captain of the Vekh Family Defense Force and you’ll train up your replacement. That’s your penance for all of this. Unless of course…”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Unless …?” Anything to get out of this appointment.
“I’m tired, ‘Ema. You’ve probably noticed it. All of my aides have noticed it. The extra weight of all of this Ruling Family duties and responsibility. Hells, I’d been considering retiring anyway before you went on your little trip to Lesser Space. This all just sped up the timeline. I’m the past. We need a leader who can take us into our future.”
Khema stared at him. “Oh no. No, no, no, you absolutely cannot -”
He just laughed. “Your name’s already been informally accepted. Granted, you need to accept the nomination, but-”
“ABSOLUTELY no way!” Khema’s eyes were wide as dinner plates, but then the absurdity washed over her and she started laughing. Real, honest, deep down laughter that shook her shoulders and watered her eyes. “You’re kidding! This is a joke! There’s no way I’ll run for Patriarch! No way in hells!”
He let her laugh. “Don’t thank just me,” he turned his head from the fields of grain to look at her properly. “It was your brother’s nomination that got you into this.”
“What?!” A cold wave washed over her. He was serious! This wasn’t a joke! Who in the godsdamned hells would ever think that SHE of all people could be a decent leader?? Besides her godsdamned brother of course, but … seriously? She blinked at Khodrel trying to make sense of it all.
“Preliminary informal talks show you’d be the frontrunner.”
This wasn’t happening.
“I’ve also already spoken with my counterparts in the Seht and Ayem families,” he continued. “Both Patriarch Htaru and Patriarch Emshani have said they’d be happy to work with the Hero of the Vekh in our little alliance.”
Holy shit, this was happening. “I ain’t no hero, Uncle.”
He held her gaze. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you honestly believe that.”
She did exactly that. She returned his look, stared right into his crimson eyes, and told him “I’m just a scout who got into a few situations. Anyone would have done what I did in those moments. I ain’t no hero, not like that.”
It was Khodrel’s turn to shake his head. “And that’s why you are a hero. You don’t see it, you don’t even accept it. You’re humble, and that’s good. You’ll keep your head about you. But you’re also wrong … no one else would have done what you did. Any other scout would have come home after a month. They wouldn’t have befriended a Mitth Senior Captain, they wouldn’t have befriended a GRYSK of all people and learned their language. Sent a Grysk-Cheunh dictionary home. Convinced a number of aliens to give up their Rebellion in order to come fight with us. Saved the Stybla Patriarch. Spoken up to the Council of Unity. Been in position to use that Starflash weapon, and given no thought to reward or compensation when hooking it up to our own vessel.”
“Khema,” he continued firmly. “Like it or not, our people adore you. Your story is one that we will write poems about. You’re this generation’s warrior. All of those kids that are going to be able to serve in the military as Vekh will be looking up to you. They’ll have their names thanks to you. The next generation of warriors will grow up on stories of your exploits. You’ll be written into Vekh legend. And none of this is your choice. It’s already being done.”
She swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on her like a falling sky. Her hands were still calloused. Her boots were still caked in red Schesan dirt. She wasn’t ready for this. She hadn’t even let herself imagine it.
“I didn’t ask for that,” she said quietly. “I never wanted to be anyone’s symbol. I’m a soldier. I just wanted to do right by the people standing next to me.”
“And that,” Khodral said, his voice softer now, “is exactly what a Patriarch should want.”
Khema looked away, toward the orchard just beyond the fence line. The trees were starting to turn, little bursts of red and gold sprouting up like hope after a long growing season. This was her home: mud and fields and quiet evenings. The idea of leaving it behind to sit in some high hall with polished floors and watchful eyes made her stomach turn.
She let out a breath. “Uncle, I don’t know how to do what you do. All this… this politics, these speeches… I’m no Patriarch. I’m just trying to get used to being home again.”
Khodral nodded, the smile on his face tinged with something sadder this time.
“I know it’s a lot,” he said. “And I’m not asking you to say yes right now. Just… think about it. The vote’ll come when it comes. But I wanted you to hear it from me, not the family grapevine.”
She gave a small nod, arms crossed. “Thanks for that.”
There was a pause. The birds were starting up in the trees again, the warm Schesan breeze tugging softly at the corners of the awning above them.
“I feel like I just got back,” she said finally, barely louder than a whisper. “I ain’t ready for this.”
Khodral didn’t push. He simply nodded, and placed a steady hand on her shoulder.
“No one ever is.”
⤙╞⭒☽⭒❂⭒☾⭒╡⤚
One Year Later.
The light on Schesa was beginning to fade, but the Vekh estate glowed with activity. Dozens of family branches had sent representatives, and even more had tuned in from across the continent -- military outposts, administrative centers, remote farms nestled into the hills. Voting had taken place over the course of an entire day, a coordinated stream of secure links and ancestral protocols, the final count unfolding slowly across the house’s ancient displays.
Now, the last of those vote-tallies flickered into stillness on the high screen at the front of the great hall.
Vekh’em’arati confirmed.
Khema’s name lingered beneath the family crest, newly marked with the stylized circle-and-line supports that denoted the Ruling Families. Still strange, still wrong to her in some ways. Like the crest was wearing a mask that hadn’t settled on its face yet.
Khema stood with her hands behind her back. Her hair, shot through with silver, was tied in the simple bun she always used when she needed to think. The old sniper’s posture had never left her; she looked like she belonged in a watchtower, not in the center of a hall filled with ceremonial cloth and polished tiles.
But this was real. This was happening.
A few steps away, Khodral rose from the seat he had held for nearly a generation. His robe was modest. No adornments, no new embroidery, just the same garment he had worn at the last family gathering, and the one before that. He moved slowly, not with frailty, but with the deliberate pace of a man who knew that everything from this point forward would belong to someone else.
In his hands was the pendant: an old blackstone medallion, heavy and flat, now updated with a new silver rim. He stepped down from the dais and turned to face her.
“Khema,” he said, loud enough to be heard across the quiet hall, “I carried the title of Patriarch through our transition. You will carry it through history.”
Khodral stepped closer, his eyes soft but unwavering. “I was our first Patriarch as a Ruling Family. But you? You will be the first real one. They’ve chosen you because they trust you. And because they know you’ve already been leading them for years, whether you wanted to or not.”
She waited, frozen to the spot. She still couldn’t believe this was real. She hadn’t even participated in any of the debates, not really.
Well, ok, maybe she had shown up and gotten animated at times, but it’s not like she’d practiced for them. Or intended to win. She wasn’t a politician, she was just a soldier.
Then she felt it. Khulum’s presence behind her, just a pace off her shoulder. Her wife didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Dressed in dark formal fabric, a sash bound tight at her waist, Khulum looked exactly how Khema needed her to: strong, steady, unshaken by ceremony.
A heartbeat later, Khavid stepped up beside Khulum. Her brother, ever casual in the face of anything serious, gave her a crooked smile and muttered just loud enough, “Look at you. They finally caught up to what I’ve known since we were kids.”
And there, standing slightly apart from the rest, was Senior Captain Vekh’in’daro. Her uniform was crisp, her boots polished, her bearing unmistakably military. She didn’t smile, but her gaze didn’t waver. Of all the moments to witness her stepdaughter -- now fully Vekh again -- Khema hadn’t expected this one to hit so hard.
With a quiet breath, Khema stepped forward and accepted the pendant.
It was heavier than she’d imagined.
She turned to face the room, pendant in hand. She spoke clearly, without ceremony. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t expect it. I’m not here because of blood or reputation or because we need someone to wear robes and give speeches. I’m here because this family is moving. We’ve gone from old hills and quiet records to a seat in the Ascendancy itself.”
A ripple moved through the room.
“We won’t pretend to be what we’re not. We’re not polished. We’re not perfect. But we are Vekh. And I will not let that name falter.”
Khodral bowed his head, stepping aside. And Khema, for the first time, stood as Patriarch. Not in theory, not on paper, but in truth.
In the silence that followed, Khavid stepped forward and clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Well,” he said dryly, “guess I’ve got to start calling you Your Venerante now, huh?”
Khulum rolled her eyes and whispered, “You never called her anything but ‘hey you,’ so I think we’re safe.”
Khema let herself smile, just a little. Not for the crowd. Just for them.
⤙╞⭒☽⭒❂⭒☾⭒╡⤚
Graduation Day.
Almost a thousand midagers stood in formation in front of the stage, all nervous and eager to hear which families had placed bids to adopt them. It was a ceremony that all members of the Junior Chiss Defense Force went through, provided their performance and scores were high enough. Khema had stood out there once as had her grandmother and stepdaughter. Any Vekh who attended military academy had stood here at the beginning of their career.
But this year was different. This year, the Vekh were a Ruling Family. This year, some of these kids would be able to go to Taharim and keep their names.
The anticipation in the air was absolutely electric despite all of the students standing in their disciplined rows.
Not one of them moved, not a twitch, not a glance to the side, but the tension was unmistakable. It pulsed just beneath the surface, visible only in the set of a jaw or the faintest tremble of fingers held at attention. A thousand eyes faced forward, but every heart was pounding in time with the same silent question: Who would call my name? Who would claim me?
Khema watched from the shaded edge of the stage, arms folded behind her back and a smile of abject pride etched across her features. She even wore one of the few robes of state that she didn’t hate - probably because it was more uniform than dress robe. It was a custom garment formalizing the family dress uniform into something that the Council of Unity might deem acceptable.
Honestly, she’d been looking forward to this moment since her appointment as Patriarch. In fact, it was one of the few moments that she’d actually been anticipating. So many of the rest of her duties she would be content to leave to aides … but this moment was monumentous. Inside, her thoughts spun with old memories -- her own trembling hands at her sides, the heat of the sun on her back, the ache of hope so sharp it had felt like a blade. Her announcement was going to spark so much joy in these kids. She couldn’t wait to see their reactions.
“Your Venerante?”
Khema turned to her Syndic, Kharish. The woman had been Syndic Khrill’s top aide, though had very obviously not been expecting the promotion to “Syndic Prime of a Ruling Family”. But then again, very few people had expected to be suddenly thrust into their current positions of leadership. “Just make it up until we figure it out,” Khema had told her. “That’s what I’m doing, and I have a feeling that’s what the rest of us are all gonna do.”
“Ma’am, the delegates are assembled. You can start your speech.”
“Thank you, Kharish.” Khema gave her a pat on the shoulder and stepped forward, greeting the delegates of the other bidding families as she did so. All nine Ruling families were represented as were the vast majority of the Forty. She couldn’t remember a single graduation that had been this well attended, but that was to be expected. What wasn’t expected was the announcement that her family leaders had unanimously voted on. This was going to be good…
“Welcome, everyone!” Khema heard her voice ring out commandingly over the sound system. All graduates snapped to attention, then went into parade rest a moment later in perfect unison. Pride swelled beneath her collarbones. These were their future officers. Their future leaders. They were Vekh. And they were ready.
She gave them a moment, letting the silence settle, letting the weight of the day fill the space between them. Then she began.
“You stand here today on the edge of something vast,” Khema said, her voice full. “Not just a career. Not just a posting. You stand at the beginning of the life you will shape. The name you will carry -- whether it’s the one you were born with or the one you’ve yet to earn -- will mark your path from this day forward.”
She paused, letting the words sink in.
“When I stood where you stand, I thought I understood what that meant. I didn’t. Not really. But I learned. We all learn, with every choice we make in the field, every command we give, every comrade we stand beside.”
Another pause, calculated and deliberate. Then:
“And now it’s your turn.”
She let a silence stretch again, just for a moment, then leaned slightly into the mic.
“But before we get to the bids,” Khema said, barely containing her own excitement, “I have an announcement.”
A ripple of attention moved through the crowd.
“This year, the Vekh family is doing something different. Unconventional, maybe. But deliberate.”
She glanced out over the sea of cadets, finding the ones she knew. Ones whose classes she’d inspected and whose teams she’d drilled personally before becoming Patriarch.
“We are using every single one of our bids this year to sponsor our own. Every Vekh cadet standing in this yard today has a place with us. No contest, no competition. If you want to keep your birth name, you can. If you want to serve with your own blood beside you, you can. You don’t have to leave your family behind to serve the Ascendancy.”
The cheers erupted instantly, sharp and deafening. A wave of voices surged across the field, breaking through the ceremony’s rigid silence. Cadets raised their fists, some cheering, some grinning wide, a few blinking back tears. Their formation held, but just barely. Edges of their ranks softened as emotion cracked through discipline, and for a brief, unforgettable moment, joy took precedence.
Applause rose even from the viewing stands, swelling into something entirely wholehearted. Parents, officers, and dignitaries stood to their feet, clapping with genuine admiration. Some leaned forward, searching the rows for familiar faces. Others exchanged nods, surprised and moved by the gesture. Even the most reserved among them couldn’t help but respond. This wasn’t just protocol. It was history in the making, and everyone present knew it.
Behind her on the stage, the dignitaries from other bidding families shifted in their seats, the polished calm of political theater beginning to fray. Some exchanged glances, surprised murmurs passing between them like sparks. A few leaned toward their aides, whispering sharp questions. Had this been approved? Did anyone know they planned this?
One Syndic from the Plikh family sat stiffly, jaw tight, hands clasped a little too firmly in her lap. Another from the Obbic family gave a soft, incredulous scoff before smoothing his expression into something neutral. Not all of them looked angry, but they all looked caught off guard. And for the powerful, that was almost the same thing.
Khema didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to. She could feel the unease behind her along with frustration and quick calculations already underway. Let them whisper. Let them adjust. This moment wasn’t for them. Instead, she basked in the relief and joy of her own people -- her own people -- realizing the goal that her own grandmother had wanted more than anything else had come to pass.
Once the cheers had settled down a little, she continued. “This is what we became a Ruling Family for. Not for tradition. Not for politics. But for you. ”
Her voice was quieter now, more personal, though it still carried across the courtyard.
“We remember what it was like to stand where you stand. To wonder whose name you’d have to adopt in order to serve. To leave behind the people who raised you, who knew you before your scores, before your uniform. We remember because many of us did. ”
“Graduates, I stood where you are now with those questions in my mind. Parents, I sat where you are now watching my stepdaughter accept a bid from people who didn’t raise her.”
Khema let her gaze sweep across the assembly, the weight of memory in her voice.
“I was proud of her. Of course I was. But I also remember the ache of it. The quiet grief of watching someone you love walk away from everything familiar in order to serve. That was the price we all expected to pay. A necessary sacrifice. And for generations, we made it without complaint.”
She looked toward the stands again, where parents sat in their best clothes, hands clasped tightly in their laps, joy in all of their faces.
“But it doesn’t have to be that way anymore. Not for us. Not for the Vekh. You don’t have to choose between your duty and your family. You don’t have to lose your roots to grow.”
The noise of the crowd had dulled to a soft and awed murmur, people listening to every word she spoke.
Khema’s voice grew firmer as she turned back to the graduates. “We will not ask you to give up your name. We will not ask you to sever bonds that never should have been broken. We are changing the terms. And today is where that change begins.”
She paused, letting the weight of that land.
“The Ascendancy calls for strength,” Khema continued. “For unity. For sacrifice. We will give all three. But we will not pretend that strength means erasing where you came from. You deserve to serve without losing the name that shaped you.”
In the front row, a cadet swallowed hard and looked straight ahead, eyes shining with unspilled tears.
“To the Vekh graduates: if you choose to walk this path with us, we will walk it with you. You who wish to still carry our name, we stand behind you. This is your home. And it always will be.”
The cadets erupted once more. Cheers, shouts, applause rising like a wave that swept the entire yard. Some threw their fists into the air again, others clapped each other on the back, their discipline forgotten in the rush of emotion. A few Vekh cadets covered their faces, overcome, shoulders shaking with quiet relief.
What had begun as a formal ceremony had transformed into something unforgettable. Not just a milestone, but a promise fulfilled. A future claimed. A name no longer borrowed, but kept.
Above it all, Khema stood tall, eyes burning, heart full. This was the moment they had fought for. And it had been worth everything .
*
The celebration had faded into a low, steady hum. Cadets dispersed in clusters, families found each other, instructors retreated to quiet corners of the campus. The courtyard no longer rang with cheers, but the energy of the moment still clung to the air like static.
Inside a small administrative chamber off the main hall, Khema stood with her hands braced on a polished table. Aides moved about in low conversation, datapads in hand, occasionally glancing toward the center of the room where Khema stood at the long table. Light from the late afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows, casting pale gold light across the polished surface. Syndic Prime Kharish stood across from Khema, hands clasped loosely behind her back. She wore the expression of someone carefully measuring the weight of a decision already made.
A holo shimmered into full clarity between them. Senior Captain Vekh’in’daro -- Khinda -- materialized in full uniform, the bridge of the Grayshrike barely visible behind her.
Khinda was already smirking. “So. You couldn’t just make a quiet entrance into the Syndicure’s good graces, could you?”
Khema let out a soft breath that might’ve been a laugh. “We’ve waited long enough. They’ll adjust.”
Kharish raised an eyebrow, her voice smooth and dry. “Some of them will try not to.”
Khinda tilted her head. “They’ll fail. From what I’ve heard, no one in that courtyard is going to forget today.”
“They aren’t supposed to,” Khema said proudly.
Kharish stepped forward, her voice more serious now. “You understand the implications, Patriarch. You’ve set a precedent. A Ruling Family publicly using every one of its bids internally? It’ll cause discomfort.”
Khema straightened, meeting her gaze. “Let them be uncomfortable. We didn’t fight to join their ranks so we could play by the rules that kept us out.”
Several of the aides chuckled under their breath but quickly turned back to their reports.
Kharish did not smile. “Either way, the numbers speak for themselves. We extended the offer to every Vekh graduate. Eighty seven percent accepted the family bid.”
“Thirteen percent still chose placements with other families?” Khinda asked, brows lifting.
Kharish nodded. “Some sought immediate access to Taharim. We did not have one thousand seats to Taharim, not even close. Those who chose adoption over sponsorship mainly did so to secure placement in the Higher Academies. The rest have been guaranteed slots at other Defense Academies across the Ascendancy. None were left without a path.”
Khinda nodded slowly. “Still. Eighty seven percent stayed. That is more than I would have thought.”
One of the aides, a young woman seated beside the main console, cleared her throat. “Communications traffic is spiking. We’re seeing messages from other families. Some are requesting clarification. Others are… less polite.”
Khinda tilted her head. “I bet.”
Kharish turned her attention back to Khema. “We should be ready for political pressure. This will be interpreted as a statement of policy, not sentiment. We have to be willing to defend it that way.”
Khinda smiled slightly. “You know, people are already talking. One of my bridge officers said this is the first time he’s seen an Ascendancy family choose its own instead of proving itself to others.”
“That is what this was for,” Khema said. “Not ceremony. Not reputation. Just that.”
Kharish looked thoughtful. “Then the first move has been made. The rest will watch. Some will resist. Others may follow.”
Khema met her gaze. “Let them watch. Let them argue. We have always known who we are. Now the rest of the Ascendancy will know it too.”