Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The most agreed-upon time frame from when the Exodus occurred was at least 50,000 years ago. This was the event when both Humanity and Mobians left their ancient homeworld of Mobius for the greater expanse.

Mobius has long been forgotten. Millennia of expansion, development, and warfare have resulted in the loss of history, such as the reason they even initiated the Exodus in the first place, or even the location of their ancient homeworld, despite the best efforts of historians and explorers.

The early stages of space exploration were clumsy and costly. FTL had not been discovered yet, requiring slower forms of travel with inhabitants cryogenically frozen to preserve them in centuries-long voyages.

Stray asteroids, cosmic storms, or simple machinery malfunctions would drive many ships off course, leading to the scattering of hundreds of millions. This would lead to the separate development of hundreds of different societies, ranging from industrial to tribal. The lucky ones were able to find stable garden worlds and were allowed to develop unimpeded, becoming powerful space-faring civilisations.

The foundations of all these space-faring civilisations are a resource known as Chaos Dust. Found across the universe inside asteroids or within the crust of planets, used in every vital form of technology, from medicine, food, weapons, shielding, and FTL. 

Chaos Dust is the most valuable resource in the universe, backing entire currencies and economies. A resource over which wars are fought and trillions of gallons of blood are shed. It is not an unlimited resource; it cannot be synthesized or reproduced, and planets rich in Chaos Dust (Chaos-Touched Worlds) were rare and hoarded.

It is now the Year 32,567 A.P.D. Somewhere in this time, in the most forgotten corners of the universe, a probe has drifted close enough to detect the largest readings of Chaos Energy ever recorded on a certain forgotten planet.

*The Mechanic*

More than thirty thousand years ago, a man with the name of Prower invented the Prower Drive. Using Chaos Dust, he was able to make what was once considered science fiction into reality. The Prower Drive makes use of Warp Prisms to fold space around a ship while maintaining its integrity, launching them forward across lightyears.

It is only through this that Mobian and Humans were not confined to just their home galaxy, why they could spread so far in the universe within millennia. It was such a monumental discovery that one of the most common universal calendars uses it as a starting point, 0 A.P.D. After the Prower Drive.

His influence from creating the Prower Drive allowed him the influence to obtain his own system and planet. A world dedicated to scientific development and research, covered in machinery. Without enough natural plants to create an atmosphere, they used oxygen converters instead, recycling the fumes from factories.  Centuries and centuries of industrialisation and development turned a naturally habitable planet into what is essentially a mechanical copy. 

One ruled by Dynasties of renowned scientists and researchers, with the Prower Dynasty being the most influential. Every generation they produced a scientist who would create ripples throughout the universal sector.

Miles Prowers, however, was not one of them. Despite how all sons and daughters were created artificially in growth vats, using the best genetic material of their parents and genetically modified further to guide their development, there still exists a 0.1% chance of ‘flaws’. None were as obvious as his, however. Two tails instead of one.

There was an expectation of genetic purity to a certain degree for the families of Head Researchers. His mutations, however, had exceeded the allowance to such a point that it couldn’t be overlooked. So he was soon known as the blight on the Prower name. The stain of his bloodline. Their greatest mistake.

No great academy would take him. Not even the lowliest research station would employ him. In short, his life was over before it could even start. Even if he were to surgically alter himself, remove one of his tails, as long as the stigma against mutations exists in his world persists, he would find no future.

It was merciful that he was allowed eight years of life with his family before his exile. Most genetic errors would be terminated before gestation, but for one reason or another, he was spared by his parents. And by his eighth birthday, he was given another gift, a ticket to the spaceport. A ticket off-world.

A few days later, he took his first steps off-world, watching the planet slowly grow further and further away as the System-class ship started to depart. During the first week of his trip, one of the systems engineers died in an accident, leaving a vacancy in the crew. One they were eager to fill with someone with the Prower name, no matter how many tails he had.

It was a good life. The crewmen of the ship were much friendlier than anyone ever was back home, even the servants of his family only spared him looks of disgust every time they crossed paths. But here he was, more than accepted, he was appreciated.

And yet… Miles still felt unsatisfied. It may be a good life where he was paid, allowed to tinker with whatever he pleased so long as he didn’t disturb the ship’s functions, but there was still the dull routine. 

He barely leaves the ship, because FTL-capable ships with Prower Drives are too massive to land on planets. There was just picking up people and cargo from one system, dropping off in another, and repeating and repeating and repeating. He wasn’t ungrateful, he just… There just had to be more to life, wasn’t there?

After an entire standard year, he decided. He was going to save every spare Ring he was earning, so that he would be able to make his own ship. The first FTL capable ship smaller than a city, that could be flown by just one man. It may sound like fiction, but in the millennia since its discovery, there has been no successful attempt at creating such a ship, the smallest being the size of a large town. But they said the same with FTL, and looked where that went…

As he lay in his cryopod, he sighed as he did the math. According to his calculations, if he kept working optimally for the next five centuries, he could be close to affording the resources necessary to find his research… Which isn’t exactly practical without something like Vigor increasing his lifespan, but that would add another set of calculations taking into account the additional fees…

He sighs again, thinking he’d need to find a way to get more funds than working as a ship’s system engineer. Perhaps he was better off using the Rings he had saved to buy him passage to another world where he can work as a proper inventor, start with a small workshop, and sell some smaller inventions to build funds, invest the money…

Honestly, the thought of it was intimidating. Extremely intimidating. Every planet was different, he’s heard it from the few passengers he’s conversed with. There were too many factors to consider. Too many cultures, societies, and people, it was just overwhelming thinking about it.

…Maybe he was better off waiting until later? So he waited until his next birthday to ready himself.

Then he delayed again, just to make further preparations. Next year, he promised himself. But next year became two years. By his twelfth birthday, he still couldn’t bring himself to take a step off the ship…

Maybe this was just where he belonged? He thought to himself glumly while climbing into his cryopod.  Miles Prower, the Systems Engineer, maybe that was just where he belonged? It wasn’t the worst fate. Three meals a day, a roof over his head, a paying job, and a hobby to spend it on, what more could someone want?

It was a good life, he tells himself, or rather tries to convince himself. It was a good life…

“All Shift A Crew, please initiate pre-freeze checks.” An automated voice blared through the intercoms, and Miles set away his belongings in a small compartment outside his cryopod before climbing in. He was early as always, everyone was off having their last drinks before cryo, as was the crew’s tradition, but he doesn’t really partake himself, being too young.

Their next journey was to dock with a Galaxy-class ship owned by a Robotnik Combine subsidiary, one of the few intergalactic spanning corporations. It was practically a small empire itself, controlling entire systems and planets scattered through the universe. 

Apparently, their job this time was to haul some colonisation gear and supplies. From the signs he could tell, someone had found something big. Once they make the jump to a couple of systems over, the Galaxy-class ship will transport them all towards the next galaxy, with the trip taking approximately… three years.

But to him, it would feel like waking up from a long sleep, only with cryo-sickness. He hooks up tubes into the veins on his wrists, which would pump chemicals into his body to put him to sleep and prepare his body for being cryogenically frozen. As icy, cold mist floods his pod, Miles’ eyes flutter shut before drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

Maybe in this new galaxy, he could finally find the opportunity he was looking for, he thinks to himself.

*The Tribal*

In the middle of a vast, empty field of grass with the occasional tree scattered around the horizon, a blue hedgehog lay flat on his back watching the skies and cloud formations above. It was practically the only thing that changed around here, meaning practically the only form of recreational activity. That or throwing hoops on a stone, or playing Qitwr with the elders. 

The former, he always wins, so he was banned from playing, and the latter just leads to lectures from the elders about how he’s slacking on his responsibilities to the tribe. As if he wasn’t responsible for half the food they get from hunting the bye’swn. Or the best fighter they use in the Vron’gyu Kherdou with the neighboring tribes every year.

Gift from the ancestors, they called him. Hu’de Shentan . It never sat right with him being called that more than his given name, the one at his birth. 

Angyn Lan’sede . Blue wind. An oddly prophetic name given his gifts that manifested from the moment he could walk, running faster than anyone ever could in his village. Part of the reason is that it makes him the best scout, hunter, and fighter in the entire region.

He has volunteered in every hunting expedition and scouting party ever since he could. Been to every village, from one coast to the next. Climbed every mountain, seen every field and every creature in their lands… And it all wasn’t enough, which leads to him staring up at the sky at times like this.

It had been five-and-sixty moons since his birth. Pretty soon, the elders and shaman would be wanting him to trade knives with a girl. The last thing he needs is for what little freedom he has to be lost, to be shackled down with even more responsibilities than he needs. Especially children! Can anyone really imagine him with children?!

He sighs again while looking at the shifting clouds wistfully. They say that long ago, their ancestors fell from the stars, banished from the heavens, and left to fend for themselves in the Lu’Shan . A plane that sits between the heavens and the underworld, and they had to prove themselves in order to ascend once more after death.

Only he never really bought into that. He’s seen the ‘sacred ruins’, a field covered in metal spires that made no sense and long since rusted. It never felt holy, sacred, divine, or whatnot to him. It just felt more akin to an abandoned village instead, which they would sometimes see as the result of either plague, predator, stampede, disaster, or just a lack of food. 

It made him think that the ancestors weren’t from anywhere divine, just somewhere else. No different than strangers from a far, far away village with a different way of doing things. Just like how their neighbors have different designs for spears and bows, and the ones to the east build their huts in a different manner with different materials.

He feels more envy towards his ancestors than any kind of reverence. How fortunate they must be to roam above the skies however they please. An endless frontier with endless possibilities amongst the stars… Maybe in another life, perhaps?

When the skies redden and the sun starts to set, the blue hedgehog sits back up and starts the short jog home. His leather boots kick up clouds of dust and dirt behind him, startling a few animals nearby from the sudden boom of his running. 

They were a nomadic people; mostly they followed the migration routes of bye’swn and other creatures to maintain their supply of food and wool. But they followed a cycle guided by the movement of animals and the blooming seasons of fruits. Hunting and gathering, with the occasional festival, but even they get old. Round and round, repetitive and endless…

“Angyn! Angyn!” Immediately, as he slowed down near the borders of the village, marked by small mounds of stone painted with dye in their tribal markings. Some hedgehog children were already playing nearby after a long day of chores, and beamed with excitement upon seeing him.

“Hey, you kids behaving?” He asks teasingly as they start swarming around him, reaching for the leather pouch in his hand, which he holds just out of their reach, “You guys aren’t giving your parents too much trouble? Doing all your chores?”

Sure, he was being a slight bit hypocritical, nagging them, but these kids weren’t like him. They enjoyed how things were, even if they do get bored somewhat easily. But that was easily solved by showing them stuff he’s picked around while exploring, such as the floating golden rings.

They would pop up usually around the general area of the crystals the shamans use for their rituals, but no one uses them other than as decorations, since there wasn’t any apparent function, and they lose their hovering after being grabbed. 

However, he himself could feel something, almost like a soft and pleasant hum whenever he held them close. So he usually keeps a pack of any he’s found in the wild, or gives them to the tribe’s children to use in their games.

He hands each of the children a golden ring, knowing they’d find more use out of them than he would. And it keeps them behaving and out of trouble with the grown-ups, so that was a bonus. He doesn’t think he’ll have any for as long as the tribe elders keep pestering him to, but he enjoys their company more than the adults. They don’t treat him like the Hu’de Shentan but as Angyn Lan’sede instead.

“Alright, now go ahead and scram, it’s getting late. Have some fun before it gets dark.” He chuckled, ruffling some of their heads before they ran off back to their games, shouting off some thanks as they did so.

 Seeing how happy they get, however, has an odd effect on him. It was so easy for everyone to be content and happy. Yet he’s spent almost half his life feeling barely content on his best days, and most times being discontent and unsatisfied. It made him feel he was born wrong somehow… or maybe he was just born in the wrong place.

He looks up to the skies once again, as the moon starts to rise and stars fill the blank void. An endless void filled with who knows what to explore. The shamans said the stars each were filled with grand villages made of white metal and crystals, populated by the people their ancestors fell from. He wonders how true that was, was it all the same, or were they all different from one another? If only he could see it all… Or at least something happens to satiate his boredom. What was it going to take to get something exciting around here for a change?

As he thinks about that, he notices something strange… like a shadow encroaching over the moon. For a moment, he thought he was seeing stuff, maybe breathing in too much of the dust the shamans make in their tents from grinding crystals. But then others in the tribe started noticing, pointing it out in hushed whispers and gasps.

Words like ‘signs’ and ‘wrath’ were being thrown around, some were even on their knees praying at the strange phenomena. He feels his quills stand straight in anticipation, his hand reflexively going to the knife at his hip, gripping it for comfort.

The clouds start to part, and illuminated from the light of the moon, a sphere about a portion of its size was visible, with what appears to be a face engraved on it.

*The Knight & Seer*

In the capital of the Sol Empire, on the planet of New Soleanna, built around the highest mountains, was a castle. One of the largest within the galactic cluster, taking up an entire country, it was the culmination of several decades of construction and labour, resources drawn from systems across its territory.

It was the capital and seat of power of the Sol Empire, where the Emperor and his Imperial Court reigned, deciding the fate of trillions across the Empire. Dukes, Marquesses, Counts, and Viscounts dictate the flow of trade, jockeying for favour and power amongst each other.

A city populated solely by servants; attendants, cleaners, cooks, gardeners, engineers, technicians, couriers, armies of bodyguards, and robotic drones. All living and unliving beings serve a purpose, no matter how minor, to serve the Sol Empire.

And in the secluded Inner Court, the Imperial Family resides, where only the highest-ranking officials or those sworn to absolute solitude and implanted with loyalty circuits are allowed entry to the Inner Court. It is guarded at all times by the most elite warriors of the Empire and personal bodyguards of the Emperor, the Varangian Guard.

The Varangian people originated from one of the first planets annexed by the Sol Empire. They consisted of survivors of a colony ship that crash-landed on a frozen planet where 70% of the world was covered in ice, with the remaining 30% locked in an eternal winter. The few survivors that found oases located near volcanoes and underground near steam geysers were not safe as well, as predators roam the land. 

Once absorbed into the Sol Empire and further amplified with advanced weaponry, cybernetic implants, and gene therapy, the Varangian people became one of the most powerful infantry forces in the universal sector. Quickly, they became more than an Auxiliary Force, to Elite Commandos and then the personal bodyguards of royalty.

Inside the Inner Court, behind the Varangian Guard, their armoured and aerial elements. Behind security systems that could point out if even a single molecule was out of place, the children of the Emperor live, educated and trained until they are ripe of age, without having seen the outside world.

These children were born through a union between the Emperor and the Imperial Concubines.  Selected from the ones that would offer the best genetic compatibility and advantage, there are at most seven Princes and Princesses at the same time. But unlike most monarchies, the position of Heir to the Solar Throne is not given automatically to the eldest. It must be earned.

Blaze the Cat is the 5th Princess of the Sol Empire. Her mother was a former captain of the Imperial Navy with a long history of success in peacekeeping operations at their Frontier Territories. Her father, the current Emperor, selected her as a concubine because of her service record. 

She’s never met her mother, however. Unlike most concubines, her mother chose not to live in the Inner Court, instead returning to service after giving birth to a daughter. Despite the request of the Emperor, she could not find comfort in the luxuries of the Inner Court. However, before she could even hear her daughter speak her first words or take her first steps, she died in a naval battle during the border wars with the United Planets.

Blaze held no resentment. It was an honourable death in service of the Empire, something expected from the lowest civilian to the Emperor himself. She could only hope for that kind of fate at the end of her life.

“Milady…” A servant calls out as he enters the training hall of one of the manors in the Imperial Court. Inside several training drones with thick armour, wielding shock staffs, twirling and striking with the speed and force of bullets. 

And yet, Blaze was dodging their strikes, defending with a rapier. While she was wearing a slim training suit, she was not wearing the protective armour that would come with it. Without pausing, Blaze gestured to her servant to continue. As a shock staff swung at her from above, she triggered her shield belt to parry it before delivering a blow to the midsection, destroying its “heart” and causing it to fall “dead”.

“The Emperor has summoned you to the throne room. As well as your siblings.” The servant announced while Blaze fought off the remaining training drones, “...It has to do with the Selection.”

This almost makes Blaze pause, before the crackling of shock staves brings her back to reality. She rolls to the side, aided by a blast of flames from her palm, before expending another portion of her shield’s limited energy to parry another strike.

“The Selection is not for another week.” Blaze pants, getting back on her feet, and deflecting another strike.

Does he wish to change something regarding the Selection? Delay it? Accelerate it, perhaps? But for what reason? Nothing outside a major war or debilitating health would garner such a choice.

And last she heard, they were still at peace with the United Planets, with no other power that could challenge them in the sector. And her father’s health was still good, barely seventy years old, with the best medical technology at his disposal. 

“I cannot guess the intentions of the Emperor, forgive me. But I hear whispers that it was upon the advice of the Consultant.” The servant apologises with a bow, “But I would advise you to hurry and end your training for today, your siblings are already gathering.”

“Understood.” Blaze nodded, dropping her stance. But unlike normal, the training drones do not stop, having been overridden by Blaze herself to give no quarter. Unfazed, the servant watches calmly as a spiral of flames erupts from the Princess, and the drones all fall into pools of molten slag once the flames drop.

“Please apologise to the quartermaster on my behalf, and request another set from him.” Blaze said with a slight pant, accepting a towel from her servant and using it to wipe the sweat from her fur, “And would you kindly bring me a change of clothes as well?”

***

The throne room was imposing, with the ceiling so high above their heads that one could comfortably fit in a skyscraper. Looking up, Blaze stares momentarily at the mural that always catches her breath.

It was painted by the finest artists of the Sol Empire during the initial construction of the palace, by hand . It details the history of the Sol Empire, dating back to the Exodus. From settling on their current capital, to establishing the Old Solar Federation, the death of the Ascendants and the inheritance of their technology, to the Crusades, Border Wars, and finally the present era. 

The mural starts from the centre of the ceiling, before spreading out in a circle as eras pass. But it was still incomplete, with her father’s reign merely being the latest addition. The rest of the empty space was a black void dotted with painted stars. She believes it was to remind everyone how far their Empire has come, and that it still has room to grow.

After her quick glance up, Blaze quickly looked straight ahead, where the rest of her siblings had arrived before she did. Already,y they were kneeling before the throne where their father sat, flanked by two of his Varangian Guard, Advisor Gardon and the Consultant.

That was what everyone called them. A hooded figure and a member of the Pythian Order. Blaze frowns at the sight of them, never having been one to trust the machinations of the Order. They weren’t under the Empire truly, ruling their home planet of Delphi without imperial oversight. And yet they were allowed to give counsel to the Emperor and his Court due to their Chaoscraft.

Futuresight… Of course, it has served the Empire well, and with the Order’s help, they averted disaster time and time again. But she notices that her father relies on their counsel a tad too much, to the point their voice may as well be considered higher than even a Duke, who would rule multiple star systems in the Sol Empire’s name.

She can’t even bring up her concerns to the Emperor, the Princes and Princesses do not have a voice in what happens in court regarding the inner workings of the Empire. They had no political power; they had to earn it during the Selection, ascending through the ladder of nobility as part of their trials to prove their worth as Heir. 

Nothing is inherited or given freely in the Sol Empire, only earned. They live in a strict meritocracy, which the Pythian Order exists outside of. They were not Solarian, but outlanders, which is why they shouldn’t be trusted with this much power in their Empire.

“ Noux salaton , my Emperor.” Blaze greeted as she knelt before him, lining up with the rest of her siblings. She can sense a few of them feeling smug that they arrived earlier than her, especially the eldest of them.

“My children…” The Emperor greets them with a grave, deep voice from the Solar Throne. It glistened like gold as always, encrusted with jewels collected from each of the planets under its rule. It was shaped to resemble the Arbor Weltemonde , with each gem representing the planets which were taken as its fruits.

“I suppose you all must have heard why I’ve brought you here… Regarding the Selection.” He said slowly, looking the most concerned than she has ever seen him. His once bright purple fur might have faded into grey with age, but there was strength in his body still, and power in his eyes. But today, there was uncertainty as well.

“Yes, Emperor.” The seven of them all spoke at the same time, almost monotonously.

“Troubling news has come into my ears, regarding the future of our Empire.” He spoke with unease as his eyes shifted towards the Consultant, “A prophecy… that may concern one of you. My child… my Heir…”

Even with their heads facing down as they knelt, Blaze could tell all of theirs just widened. A prophecy that involved them? This was rare, once in a generation, in fact! But then she quells her excitement when remembering the source of the prophecy. Was this a way for the Pythian Order to influence them even further?

“My Emperor, if I may speak?” The eldest of them spoke, Apollo the Cat. He was older than her by a year, wearing a purple silk shirt with silver buttons like all of them, along with a blue sash. His fur, unlike her purple, was a dark red that was almost brown.

The Emperor waved at him to proceed, as he asked the question they were all thinking, “What exactly is this prophecy about and our role in it? Does it speak of prosperity or disaster for our Empire?”

“That is not for you to know, Prince Apollo.” The Consultant suddenly spoke, a voice that echoes with both masculine and feminine voices, “We cannot allow any of you to try influencing the prophecy. Whether for good or ill intentions, for the sake of the Sol Empire and beyond, none but the Emperor and his most trusted advisors must know.”

“They are right. It would be preferable if none of you even knew of its existence, but I believe if you didn’t, then some of you may raise objections to what is to come.” The Emperor said as his gaze briefly fell on Blaze before gesturing to the Varangian Guards at the ornate double doors.

They slam their Energy Halbreds down in a rhythm before the doors slowly open, and in comes a trail of seven figures dressed in purple robes with golden collars. Blaze turned towards them along with her siblings, eyes widening in surprise.

“These are fully initiated members of the Order. Some of the best Seers at our disposal,” the Consultant explained, “Their objective is to follow each of you during the Selection, and report any developments that could be linked to the prophecy.”

So spies, then, Blaze realises with distaste in her mouth. This has never happened before, not even the earliest Selections have anyone overseeing the children sent out. Not even to ensure their safety should an entire batch die. 

“Apollo, Brenton, Aidan, Anala, Blaze, Aarush, Cyra… I understand this may come as a breach in our traditions, but I ask you all to trust and obey my decision for the sake of the Sol Empire.” The Emperor said firmly, “They will follow you through your selection as advisors, think of it as a learning experience for your future. Emperor or not, knowing when to accept advice is the mark of a true ruler.”

“As you command, Emperor.” The seven of them bowed to him again as the Seers approached them. They were a variety of different Mobians, but the one that caught Blaze’s eye the most was the bright pink female hedgehog amongst them.

They stood before each other, staring and gauging one another. Most of her body was hidden under a thick robe, so Blaze couldn’t estimate her physical abilities, not that it would help with a Delphi witch like her. She had heard of their Inquisitors who could fight on a level above the average Solarian Knight and on par with even the Varangian Guard. 

She would rather leave the Seer behind the first chance she gets, but if this ‘prophecy’ of theirs was something to be concerned… For the sake of the Sol Empire, she will bear this discomfort. Perhaps she could even twist the truth out of the witch?

“...I suppose you are the Seer assigned to me then?” Blaze greets, trying not to call her a witch. Extending her hand in introduction, “I am Blaze the Cat, Fifth Princess of the Sol Empire.”

“Yes, I was briefed thoroughly on who you are.” The Seer nods with piercing, unreadable sea-green eyes, ignoring her offered hand in favour of a curtsy, “My name is Amelia Rose. I look forward to observing your progress and advising you. I am in your service, milady.”

Chapter Text

“It’s a sign from the Ancestors!” One of the tribal elders declared, with a dramatic wave of his hands. He and the rest of the elders from neighboring tribes have gathered in a sacred meeting spot, where no blood is to be shed.

“Yes, but a sign of what?!” Another elder asked loudly, as they sat around a large brazier. It was easy to tell who was who by the bone masks they wore, painted with dyes in different colours and patterns that represent their tribe, and necklaces made of teeth and precious stones.

As the elders started shouting over each other, whether or not this was a sign of disaster or prosperity, Angyn rolled his eyes boredly. He wasn’t the most attentive student, but he was pretty sure none of their myths covered any moon with glowing red eyes and mustaches.

He was sitting aside with the rest of the tribal warriors who were called to the meeting, and while everyone else was sitting reverently or praying under their breaths, he was impatiently drumming his fingers quietly against the grip of his knife.

This entire meeting was called in the first place after a scout noticed balls of fire raining from the skies, coming from the strange face-like mini-moon above, landing somewhere near the mountains where the tribes used to mine sacred gems from. The Sacred Mound (Seriously, what isn't ‘sacred’ around here?)

Finally, after hours and hours of yapping, praying, and even more yapping, they finally came to the brilliant decision… To send someone to go check on things.

This entire meeting could’ve been scrawled on a wooden tablet, Angyn thought to himself, irritatedly, while raising his hand.

“I volunteer.” He said drily, eager to get his feet moving and do something to satiate his boredom. 

Immediately in response, there were hushed whispers of awe, light applause with a bit of chanting of “Hu’de Shentan” mixed in, to which he rolled his eyes at. There were dozens volunteering to come with him from the various tribes, even they had heard of his legend and shared the same reverence his fellow villagers did. Which was just as frustrating, if not more, because it meant there was nowhere he could go to escape being the Hu’de Shentan.

Wanting as much time alone as possible, he declined their aid, which frustratingly made them whisper amongst each other about how brave he was. How he was unwilling to risk anyone getting hurt, how it was expected of the Hu’de Shentan.

He grabbed only the barest essentials so as to not slow him down. A leather shirt held together by linen, his favourite pair of leather boots dyed red, a sack full of pemmican, and his knife. It was a tradition in their tribe that all were to create their own knife once they reached one-and-twenty moons.

His was made after hunting his first bye’swn. Their tusks were extremely durable, and when properly sharpened, even the smallest fragment could be used to slice flesh with ease. When treated with a special herbal mixture, the bones would not wear down either. 

Once packed, he zips out of his tent to the cheers of the warriors, his groan hidden by the wind as he runs towards where the fireballs were seen landing. If it were a normal warrior, it would’ve taken them days or perhaps even a week, but for him, it barely takes minutes.

He immediately notices something off when the ground starts to shake the closer he approaches. It didn’t feel like a quake; it was too rhythmic and constant. And there were pillars of smoke rising with… huts made of metal?

They were strange, box-shaped huts scattered around the foot of the Sacred Mound. Boxes made of dull-gray metal with some strange red paint in an image he recognised as akin to the floating sphere above their skies. And around these boxes were…Well, he doesn’t know how to describe them.

The closest he can think of are metal eggs the size of a human, with yellow and red dye. Angyn could only skid to a halt, stunned at the sight before him. As his mind tries to wrap itself around what he was seeing, one of those strange metal eggs walks towards him with loud stomps.

“Er… Hi?” Angyn waves somewhat awkwardly at the towering figure, “So you came from that thing in the sky? You don’t happen to be our Ancestors, are you? Cause if you are, we got a lot of things wrong-”

The metal creature roared in his face, before it started making weird noises like it was… talking? With a voice that sounded like it was crackling, before suddenly the garbling turned into something understandable, “-Switching to native dialect! Unidentified tribal, you are trespassing on Robotnik Combine territory! This planet has been claimed under Charter 567 and will now serve the Robotnik Combine under the category of a Waste Disposal-Mining Planet!”

Angyn blinks at the metal creature, confused before speaking up again, “Okay, I kinda got like… half of that? What’s a Robotnik? Or a Combine? Or a planet?”

Suddenly, the creature aimed a small, long metal box with a hole at the end at Angyn. The end of it glowed some kind of blue flame as it spoke again, “Alert! Trespassing will not be tolerated! The tribal will return to his domiciles and await Robotnik Combine representatives for discussion of indentured servitude and/or eviction from the planet!”

“Whoa, whoa!” he raises his hands placatingly, “I’m just asking questions? Who said anything about servi-?”

“Warning ignored. This unit will now administer appropriate force." The creature intones before the fur on the back of his neck raises, and he ducks down just as a bolt of blue light soars over his head, slamming and piercing through a tree behind him. Whatever projectile that was launched, it burned through the trunk unlike any arrow he’s seen before.

The creature then aims the weapon at him again, but before it could blink (if it even blinks at all), Angyn spins while below and delivers a powerful kick to the back of its knee. While he doesn’t know what this thing was, he sees it has legs to stand on, and if they work like normal legs, then hitting the right spot, like the knee, would trip it up.

True enough, it falls, and ignoring the slight aching on his toes, he runs up behind it and drives his knife into the gap where the “head” and “body” met, which was a small slit his knife could barely slip into. It looked like some kind of armor, and that meant there had to be something to protect.

Once again, this proved true as he slashed at something underneath, spilling out black and sticky fluids as the metal monster spasmed on the ground. Suddenly, all around him, similar metal monsters that had been walking around the area turned towards the commotion, weapons all raised at him.

“...Well, you just had to ask for excitement, didn’t you?” He shrugs to himself before more of them start firing their strange weapons in his direction. He had heard there was a tribe that started using weird bows that would automatically fire arrows, but this doesn’t sound like them, considering he hasn’t heard of any egg-shaped metal monsters.

No arrow would ever touch him, but these flaming projectiles almost came close numerous times, and he finds his reflexes pushed to the limits trying to dodge all of them while finding openings to strike.

But the longer he fights them, the quicker he realises their weakness. While their weapons were fast, their aim was terrible, and they were far slower, taking almost forever to readjust their aim. This granted ample time to strike at where their armour was weakest, namely the joints and eyes.

Even without his knife, it was surprising how soft the metal was. Even slamming into them hard and fast enough, while curling into a ball of spiked quills, could take them down. In half a minute, the metal creatures were smashed to sparking bits.

“Error- Error- Combat Badnik Squad Incapacitated…  Chaos-enhanced individuals determined- determined…” the monster spoke even with its head removed from the rest of the body as Angyn walks over to it.

“Badniks? That’s what you guys are?” He asked, kneeling down and poking at it with the tip of his knife, “...First, I got plenty of questions. Like you won’t believe how much! You guys came from beyond the sky? How’d you get here? And you happen to know any way back up?”

“Resistance Response Level 10 Initiated… Escalating…” Those were the 'Badnik's last words before the glow in its eyes faded away. As Angyn stares confused, he hears a thundering noise in the distance coming from above. And looking up, his eyes widened at the sight of numerous fireballs raining down as far as the eye could see.

* Galaxies Away… *

"Let's make one thing clear, Seer Rose…" Blaze said as she stormed through the streets of the Inner Court, fresh from their earlier meeting in the Throne Room, "I do not trust your people, nor your kind."

"The Pythian Order has been a loyal servant of the Sol Empire for centuries, Princess Blaze." Amelia spoke politely as she followed close behind, "But I understand your misgivings. We may be closely allied, but the Delphi System is not under imperial jurisdiction."

"No, you are not. Therefore, you are not Solarian. Therefore, you are barely more than Outlanders." Blaze scoffed, remembering her history. Near the middle of the First Solar Crusade, the young Sol Empire had encountered an inhabited system, and like all the previous encountered terms, they were offered.

But then, according to recorded history, they spoke of the envoy fleeing from behind closed doors, driven by madness. Claiming that they were bargaining with 'witches'. Intrigued by this, the First Sol Emperor himself descended from his flagship to meet with the head of the 'witches' and the ruler of the planet, the Pythia.

What occurred behind closed doors was unknown, but when he emerged, the First Sol Emperor declared that from this day forth, the star system of Delphi would remain in Delphian hands. And that members of the Order of Pythia would be hired under contract as consultants to the commanding officers of the First Solar Crusade.

The initial uproar died down after they started to prove their use, advising routes to take, providing translation and diplomatic advice to envoys, predicting disastrous ambushes, and paths to victory against insurmountable forces. Many famous scholars would say that had it not been for the Pythian Order, the First Solar Crusade would have taken an additional century instead of only forty years.

And yet, they didn't stop there. They continued to whisper into the ears of practically every noble household in the Sol Empire that could afford their services. Advising in matters that concerned the inner workings of an Empire which they did not belong to.

Trade and supply routes were drawn with Pythian hands. Fleets were deployed to suppress pirate activities at their command. Explorator ships have their paths charted by Seers. All the while, never expanding their territory beyond that of their home system. But why would they? Especially if their web of influence is so far spread throughout every level of Imperial Bureaucracy.

"You believe our Order to have too much power." Amelia nodded, snapping Blaze out of her thoughts as she realised she was gripping her hand hard enough to almost draw blood.

"Yes. The primary principles of the Sol Empire are etching our mark in the cold, unforgiving universe through our own strength and will. Yet in blatant hypocrisy, no decision is ever made without the consultation of witches to determine safety." Blaze said with a piercing glare, "When- and I mean when - I become Empress, I may call for a drastic reduction in the influence of your Order. Do you still wish to support me in the Selection?"

She asks to test Amelia's response. But to her frustration, there wasn't any shift in her facial expression or eyes.

"If that is the will of Fate, then it shall be as so." Amelia answered neutrally, "I am not here to comment on your intentions should you become Heir to the Solar Throne. My fellow members of the Order and I are here simply to determine which of you is the Child of Prophecy. If we were to offer any opinions to our principals during the Selection, it will be their choice to listen or not, as your father said."

"…Just what exactly is the prophecy about anyway?" Blaze asked with growing frustration, "What's so important that your kind has to interfere in a tradition that has been unchanged for centuries?"

"…I do not know myself," Amelia answered after a pause, having a shift in her expression for the first time since they met. A subtle look of uncertainty, "It was divined by the Pythia herself, but no one besides the Upper Echelon of the Order, as well as your Emperor's Inner Circle, knows the true nature of the prophecy."

"So, how are you supposed to determine who is the Child of Prophecy?" Blaze asks, confused by the explanation.

"We are to monitor and report any and all activities of our respective principals, and the Pythia will determine who it is," Amelia explained.

"And this will determine the fate of our Empire? Jotting down what I had for breakfast, how many times I use the bathroom, or what kind of oil I use to polish my sword?" Blaze asked with a voice dripping with skepticism and sarcasm, and surprisingly, this gets a slight smirk of amusement from her, "…That was not intended as a joke. I was trying to highlight how that sounded like a ridiculous excuse to spy and influence the potential Heir of the Solar Throne."

Amelia's small smirk fell and returned to a neutral frown across her face, and Blaze took some satisfaction from what little embarrassment and uncomfortableness the witch felt. Amelia then cleared her throat before continuing,

"I understand you have misgivings, but we only want what is best for everyone." She said calmly and emotionlessly, before Blaze stormed up and glared at her.

“Listen closely to me, witch. I don’t care what you use to justify your blatant manipulations to yourself. All I care is that when the Selection comes, you will not speak a word to me. I will have no use for your foresight.” Blaze said with a scowl, “Everything I do will be with my own strength. Am I clear?”

“...Crystal.” Amelia nodded softly before curtsying, “Your wish is my command, your highness.”

There was a slight trace of sarcasm in her voice, but Blaze ignored it with a roll of her eyes. She was ready to return to her manor within the Inner Court, before familiar confident footsteps approached. 

“Sister. How lovely to see you again.”

“Brother…” Blaze sighs in resignation, knowing there was no way to leave without a conversation with her eldest brother. A cat with dark red fur and a white muzzle approaches, with a smug smile and slight swagger in his steps.

“The last time was… when again? One of our siblings’ birthdays all those months ago?” Apollo asked sarcastically, “Oh, I forgot. You were never one for those occasions.”

“What do you want, Apollo?” Blaze asks as her eyes narrowed. Out of all her siblings, she considers him to be the biggest threat during the Selection.

Natural good looks and charisma that earned him a number of lovers and allies within the Inner Court. A tenth level in the Imperial School of Combat, just like her, but with higher scores. A natural affinity for wielding their gifts from the Sol Emeralds. And a decent mind for politics. Almost everyone in the Inner Court can agree that he stood the highest chance of becoming the Heir.

“Can’t I stop by and say hello to my lovely little sister?” He asks with a shrug as Blaze rolled her eyes, “I wanted to check up on your progress. The Selection is only a week away, and I wanted to check on your thoughts after such an unprecedented change like this.”

“My thoughts are that you should focus on your own.” Blaze snapped at him, her nerves already frayed from the involvement of the Pythian Order, “Where’s your pet Seer? It would be incompetent for even you to already have lost him.”

Apollo shrugged, “I merely sent him back to my manor. And please, sister, we should show some respect to our Seers. How many times must they provide valuable aid to the Empire via their prophecies before you accept their usefulness? I know that if I were to become Emperor, I’d have one at my side at all times…”

He then steps past Blaze towards Amelia, putting a finger under her chin to lift her head so their eyes meet. This action brought a flustered and uncomfortable look on Amelia’s face, but this time, Blaze took no pleasure in it.

“Especially if it's one as lovely as you. Amelia Rose was it? A fitting name for a beautiful flower like yourself.” He said while giving Amelia a charming smile, who avoided his eyes but remained silent, “Since you don’t care for Seers, how about we swap, sister?”

“And why would I ever want to help you satisfy your philandering urges?” Blaze scoffed, grabbing Amelia’s arm and dragging her away, “Now, if you may excuse me, brother , some of us have preparations to attend to.”

“...Thank you for that,” Amelia said quietly as Blaze released her hand.

“I did not do that for your comfort, only to deny my brother any. You wouldn’t believe how many he has lain with.” Blaze mutters with a roll of her eyes, “Until the time of the Selection, I’m ordering you to remain in the manor. I would not want one of my siblings to turn you.”

“We are not here to influence the Selection towards favouring a certain individual, you have my word.” Amelia insisted despite Blaze’s disbelief of her words, following her as they strolled towards the gravcar she took in order to return to her manor. “And you did not have to worry about your brother’s seduction attempt. I’m a Seer of the Pythian Order. Material wants and physical desires are beneath us.”

* One Week Later *

“On this day, you will no longer find shelter or safety in the Inner Court.” The Emperor announced as he looked between his seven children, “You will each embark on your own journey across the territories of our Empire and beyond, but only one of you will return as Heir to the Solar Throne.”

It was a small, informal sending off at the Inner Court’s spaceport, specifically the personal hangar of the Emperor. Earlier, the formal ceremony to officiate the Selection was with crowds of nobles, banquets, and music. This was more personal, or as personal as one would be with the Emperor.

The sole attendants besides the dock workers are the Emperor’s bodyguards, the Advisor, the Consultant, the seven children, and their assigned Seers. But there was also their Concubine mothers to see off their children.

A wide array of emotions was displayed, from formal farewells to heartfelt goodbyes. The youngest of them, Cyra, had a mother who was born into a Minor House, who looked distraught at the idea of sending out her only daughter. 

Blaze could understand such a reaction to an extent, after all, the Selection was essentially throwing them out to the wolves. They will receive no special protection, and it was not unknown for candidates to die during the Selections, if not entire batches wiped out. But still, that was why they were granted eighteen years, not just to train but to accept the fact.

The Selection wasn’t just some contest or whatnot. It was a trial by fire; they must forge themselves in it and consolidate their own power through hard work. 

Her eyes drifted to Apollo, where he was with his mother, a former maid of the Imperial Palace. It wasn’t unknown to happen, Concubines are selected from all walks of life, chosen only for their genetics to produce potential heirs. But she had heard rumours that out of all the Concubines, the Emperor favoured her the most, having grown up together with her in his childhood.

Apollo seemed to have a ghost of an assuring smile on his lips as he bent down, allowing his mother to give him a brief kiss on the forehead and a stroke on his cheek as farewell. It was the gentlest she’s ever seen her brother act. 

Blaze herself was the odd one out. She had no mother to wish her luck and farewell. Instead, Gardon was there, approaching with a kind smile which she returned.

“Well, Princess… I suppose this is farewell then.” He said while curtsying to her, “Until the next time we meet.” 

“Thank you for everything, Gardon.” Blaze nodded while offering her hand, which was accepted as they shook, “I valued your tutorship deeply. I look forward to having you as my Advisor when the time comes for me to ascend the Solar Throne.”

“If I had a preferred candidate as Heir… Well, I wouldn’t be able to say. I’m simply a humble advisor to his Imperial Majesty after all.” He said before they both released their grip. Blaze nods in understanding, thanking him silently for his support before offering him a letter.

“Forgive the request, but in my haste it had slipped my mind… But can you make sure my attendant, Marine, receives this?” Blaze asked. 

The young orphan had ended up in the Imperial Palace amongst many others, to be raised for their loyalty to be guaranteed. She may not have been the prime candidate to be her attendant, but Blaze chose her nonetheless, appreciating her attitude, honesty, and candor. Her innocence had been a welcome change to the constant rivalries, competition, and politics of the Inner Court.

“Instructions to access my vault. What little I’ve saved with my allowance.” Blaze explains as Gardon accepts the letter, “This will be enough to buy her the ship she always wanted. A reward for all her years of loyalty and friendship. If she rejects it, please tell her it was my request… And apologise on my behalf, for not handing it to her directly.”

“I’m sure she understands. The Selection is quite stressful after all.” Gardon nodded while slipping the letter into his blue coat’s lapels, “I’ll make sure this gets to the young lady. You worry about yourself… This Selection is unlike any others.”

His face turned grim, “It takes strength to persevere in spite of the odds… But it also takes strength to know when to concede. I hope to see you again one day, whether as Heir or not. I’m sure Lady Marine would say the same.”

“Thank you for your advice, but I will only return as Heir or not at all.” Blaze said firmly, and his smile somewhat fell, so she quickly added, “And I have no plans on dying. Rest easy, Lord Gardon.”

As the private farewells started to die down, and Cyra’s mother was gently pried from her daughter by the Varangian Guards, the Emperor stood next to a table draped with fine cloth, and on top were seven different items.

A book containing a collection of famous poetry in the Sol Empire. A sack of water and rations. A beautiful purple long coat without any heraldry. A rosary with beads and the religious symbol of Solaris , made of silver and gold, along with a traveler’s version of the Church of Solaris’ holy text. A double-edged rapier with a golden hilt and a blue jewel. The latest multi-tool device is programmed with several tools used across the universe, with space for customization. A translator earpiece with all recorded languages in the local galaxy.

“Each of you will now receive your Final Gifts. The last aid and mercy you will be granted before you are thrown out to the cold, unforgiving universe.” The Emperor spoke as he gestured to the items, “You have thirty seconds to think about your choice. You will then, in order of eldest to youngest, select the one you believe fits you best. Begin.”

At once, her siblings start to whisper with their Seers, all except for Blaze, who stood with arms crossed, having made her decision already… That is, if no one chose it as well, but the odds are in her favour, she believes. None have trained as much as she did… barring Apollo. But Blaze believes she knows what his choice is.

True enough, after the whispering was over, Apollo went first and took the coat without hesitation. One by one, the rest of her siblings approached the table, and the items on the table dwindled, but thankfully, the one she wanted remained on the table.

By her turn, there were only three left: the rapier, food and water, and a book of poetry. When she was called forward, she reached for the rapier and held it in both hands. 

“A rapier. A noble’s weapon, not meant for open combat, yet dangerous when used by a skilled wielder.” The Emperor spoke as she unsheathed the sword partially to gauge the blade, finding it to be a gleaming silver, “This particular one was modeled after Laevatein, one of the four sacred blades… Your mother was particularly fond of that legend.”

It took everything for Blaze to retain her composure upon hearing this. She… didn’t know that her mother had that as her favourite fairy tale, but it did make sense. After all, she captained the Frigate S.I.S. Laevatein when she…

Did the Emperor choose this, knowing she would pick it? A show of support? A warning against complacency? What did it mean?

“...Thank you, Emperor.” She bowed to him, strapping the sheath to her belt before returning to the line of her siblings, where Amelia stood behind her, silent as she had been for the entire week but with a look in her eyes. 

“Do you judge my choice?” Blaze asks with an annoyed glare to her side, only to get a silent shrug in response, “...You can speak if spoken to.”

“I merely approve of your choice. The blade suits you well.” Amelia spoke at last, and her approval made Blaze feel more annoyed. 

“Because you saw it in your dreams?” Blaze asks, irritated that she read her future without asking.

“No, because I’ve seen your combat training. It’s all you do day in and day out.” Amelia said as if it should have been obvious, and Blaze silences herself from embarrassment, “And I don’t use visions, Princess Blaze. Those are for the uninitiated. I use mediums, tarot cards to be specific.”

“Then I hope you won’t bring them out around me. I don’t want a witch to try reading my future.” Blaze said firmly as Amelia rolled her eyes.

“As your majesty wishes.” She muttered under her breath with dripping sarcasm, “If this humble servant can ask but one question, where is our next destination once we leave the palace grounds?”

“The goal of any Selection candidate, any potential Heir, is to ascend through the ranks of nobility. In accordance with the ways of our people, any one person can ascend to Lord through great service to the Empire. Then they can rise to Baron, to Viscount, Count, Marquess, and finally Duke.” Blaze said, raising a finger for each rank of nobility, “But through military service and martial prowess, one can become a Knight, an equivalent to a Lord.”

“...But the Sol Empire is not currently at war.” Amelia points out.

“No, but there are other ways. In the furthest reaches of Imperial territory, still categorised as Unsecure.” Blaze said with a tint of excitement in his expression, “Our next destination? The Frontier, obviously.”

Chapter Text

Doctor Ivo Robotnik stirs awake the moment his brain implants jolt him from his stupor. He doesn't really sleep, not since he removed that flawed necessity in his younger days, along with many others that would hamper managing his company.

Now, the most rest he needed was to occasionally have his implants be maintained in his private quarters once every few weeks, with the process taking ten hours at most.

He silently sends an electric pulse towards the machinery using his implants. This activates the program of several mechanical arms above that lifted the hulking mass of flesh and skin that was his body, hiding the mechanical components underneath.

The mechanical arms whirred as they changed his clothes with a fresh set, his usual red and black bodysuit with a yellow triangular stole around his neck. A pair of thick glasses was set on his face, concealing the black eyes and dim red pupils, mutated from his reliance on Vigor.

The arms gently set him down on his spherical gravchair with a smooth, polished white metallic surface, and red cushions made of the finest material that would provide the most comfort known to man. Even with the anti-gravity engines at the bottom, the gravchair slightly sank the moment he was set down, but he was used to it and knew that it would support his mass. He designed it himself after all.

"Vigor…" He rasps out towards a mobile refrigerator drone shaped similarly to his chair, a spherical polished white with red grav engines. The drone beeps in acknowledgement, opening up and ejecting an inhaler loaded with a translucent green liquid.

It was only thanks to the gravcuffs around his wrists that he was able to lift the bloated mass of flesh his arm had become. Years of inactivity and excess have "ruined" his body, as some would say, but he sees no problems that can't be solved with technology. And if it could be solved, was it really a problem?

He presses the tip against his lips before inhaling the vapors of Vigor. It was a miraculous drug of his own design, using specks of Chaos Dust and a secret formula known only to him. This life-extending liquid was sold as far as the Robotnik Combine can reach, with an average vial of 50 milligrams costing at least one starship. Of course, the true costs of manufacture are less than a tenth of that, but he needed to make a profit.

The puff of Vigor revitalizes his body, and what few graying hairs on his mustache withdraw… most of it, anyways. It was clear after thousands of years of use that its effects were starting to weaken.

"Up my dose by 2.5 micrograms." He grumbled while shoving the empty inhaler back in the drone, tapping the buttons on his gravchair's panels, "Bring me to the Control Room…"

His gravchair hovers out of the room, through a hall of sterile white tiles empty of all signs of life, with windows that let him soak in the sight of his personal planet. The headquarters of Robotnik Combine, Robotnik-Prime.

A planet covered completely in machinery, towering supercomputer nodes dotted the landscape, each requiring enough energy to power entire cities. Each is used to calculate the allocation of resources in order to result in the maximum profits.

All that data is then fed to the Control Room, where decisions are made. Decisions that would impact the smallest frontier towns in barely explored space, or the greatest star-spanning civilizations. Robotnik Combine produced practically half the components required for them all to function, from the smallest tools to the largest Galaxy-class starships.

As he scanned through the screens of the Control Room, covered ceiling to floor with wide screens that featured the stocks of various inhabited systems, keeping track of the value of various currencies.

It was amusing that with a simple tap of his finger, he could sever a planet or even a whole star system from Robotnik Combine-owned trade routes. Start a war between civilizations. Or send them back to the Neolithic Era. All this power over so many lives at the tip of his fingers…. It makes his dull heart light up like an industrial floodlight with joy each time he's reminded that his control stretched so far and wide.

The largest ever recorded empire in the history of the universe spanned three entire galaxies at its peak, before splintering and collapsing into disastrous civil war. But if one were to count the Robotnik Combine's territory as every location with a corporate office, fabricator facility, or refinery, then it would be four times that size.

The benefits of being a corporation that is 90% staffed by robotic forces, not having to worry about the welfare of a civilian population, or worry about their uprising when their needs and wants are unfulfilled. Machines were always preferable to filthy, fragile, and fallible biological lifeforms.

With a flick of his hands, he begins his work, filtering out the data processed by the supercomputers and sent by relays throughout the universe, signing forms that will determine the fate of untold trillions. All those lives determined by a holopen on his desk…

"I don't want to tell him! You tell him!"

"No, it was your idea!"

He rolls his eyes upon hearing the familiar voices of Orbot and Cubot bickering right outside the door. Pressing a button on his chair's armrest, the door slides open, startling them,

"What is it this time?" He asks with a sigh of annoyance.

"W-Well, sir, you remember that planet you were looking at the other other day?" Cubot stammered nervously, "The one with poor mineral wealth and mediocre Chaos Energy levels? So you wanted to turn it into a toxic waste dump while harvesting all the Chaos Dust it had?"

"Yes, Planet Sigma-Omega-14-01-03." Ivo rolls his eyes while never stopping to sign forms, recalling the exact planet from his memory data banks, "I sent a Mobile Operation Station to handle it, what of it?"

A Robotnik M.O.S was a spherical space station equipped with a Cross-System Capable FTL Drive. It was, in essence, a floating city equipped with enough Combat-Grade Badniks to invade an entire planet should it be necessary, and filled with factories and refineries the size of city blocks.

In the absence of local Robotnik facilities, they were deployed to set them up and pacify local unrest before redeploying elsewhere. Extremely useful in the frontiers of Unexplored Space, which was where Planet Sigma-Omega-14-01-03 was.

Since waste dumping in space is illegal in most sectors of the universe, some planets of little to no value would be used for that specific purpose. And the ones he owned, he would be paid by various other civilizations to pick up their radioactive, toxic waste to dump it. Quick and easy credits.

"Well… routine analysis of the planet reports it as inhabited with a native population with technology on a tribal level. Barely discovered agriculture decades ago, you know." Orbot spoke up, tapping his fingers together nervously, "So standard protocols were initiated and landing parties deployed to establish Forward Operating Bases across the planet in a hundred evenly divided zones…"

"Oh, out with it!" Ivo snapped, annoyed at the rambling of his personal assistant droids, "It's just some planet of tribals, what is so important you're bothering me?!"

"Only half the zones have been fully secured. The others have encountered… more resistance than anticipated." Orbot said, making an audible noise that would have sounded akin to nervously swallowing had he been organic, "Response Levels 10 to 5 have been inefficient."

Ivo blinks, momentarily surprised by this. Such a scenario didn't occur often, with Response Level 8 to 6 being designed to deal with any large-scale civilizations on medieval levels, and Level 5 for civilizations that have reached an industrial level of technology.

"Did some scrapheap screw up preliminary scans or something? We're talking about neanderthals with sticks and stones! Against combat-ready robots with pulse guns at the very least!" Ivo asked, flabbergasted, "They should be mowing down hordes of barbarians on horses!"

"Well, see here's the thing, boss. Most of the Badniks sent down can handle the average tribal no problem. It's just… one in particular." Cubot said, and suddenly the room went quiet save for the beeping from screens signaling the rise and fall of stocks.

"One… tribal?" Ivo blinks confused, before reaching forward with surprising speed and snatching Cubot by the head to shake roughly, "Is your processor malfunctioning?! Do you mean to tell me a single tribal has been causing all this escalation?! Show me!"

He tosses Cubot away and pulls up holographic screens detailing reports Planet Sigma-Omega-14-01-03, taking a few minutes to load even with all the processing power he had.

Hundreds of thousands of Badniks, both Combat and Industrial models, were confirmed destroyed beyond repair. An estimated tens of millions of R.A.C worth of equipment was wrecked. Estimated profit margins dipping by the regularly scheduled updates, hovering just over the minimum profit lines.

This… was not the report he should be receiving from some tribal planet! A low-level space world, perhaps even an advanced enough industrial world, but tribals?! Who could barely cobble together bows and spears?! HOW?!

"W-well, to be fair, the natives have proven to be difficult. Reports have shown that some have started tipping their weapons with Chaos Dust crystals. Ingenious, I have to admit." Orbot said before he was smacked away with a backhand by Ivo.

"This isn't the first world we've encountered with Chaos Dust-wielding cavemen! That's what Response Level 8 is supposed to be for! Discouraging them from fighting back and costing us even more profit than they should!" Ivo snapped, "The Horde Commander! He executed it correctly, didn't he?! Flashy holographic projections over the skies? Blotting out the sun?! Drop pods of shock troops in the middle of their little villages?!"

Cubot nodded, "He did, sir. It's just… well, like I said, it's this one tribal in particular that's proven troublesome."

He taps a few buttons on a holographic keyboard before pulling up various tabs playing videos from the reports. One such example is an operation where Badniks were deployed via drop pods into a village, firing in the general direction of villagers to frighten them into submission while deploying flamethrowers to burn down wooden huts.

And then it happened… A blue blur zipping through the Badniks with weaker armor, tearing through like an autocannon round. One of the heavier units, noticing the blur, tries to blast with its flamethrower, but then the blur zips around, circling it everywhere before it falls apart, utterly dismantled.

Cubot then paused the video, cleaning up the image until Ivo could see a clear picture of a blue hedgehog, dressed in simple leather gloves and boots, holding a knife in its hand made of bone.  On his face were blue tribal markings, and a necklace with teeth, nuts, and bolts was draped around his neck.

"He's been showing up everywhere the past few days. Sabotaging refineries, Badnik patrols, and construction efforts, and even orbital shuttles sent to ferry Chaos Dust output and reinforcements." Orbot further explained while pulling up more videos.

The same blue hedgehog zipping out of a refinery before it could explode. Leaping off a mountain onto a nearby shuttle, sneaking inside before leaping out the moment it explodes. Ramming into a prepared boulder as it rolls down a hill, smashing apart slow-moving Heavy Combat Badniks.

"…HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!" Ivo roared as he glared at the photos of the smug, blue hedgehog, "This is just one tribal! It's obvious he's Chaos-enhanced, but just one filthy tribal rat! How much are we losing to him alone?!"

"…According to my calculations, he's the reason why nineteen of our most profitable zones have been clear of Badnik activity. More than half the damages are caused by what the local Horde Commander has labeled as Priority Threat Alpha." Orbot explained, backing off nervously to avoid a potential trip to the repair bay, "And because of his resistance, it's inspiring more of the tribals to fight harder, amplifying the resistance level of the locals. According to our listening posts and translators, Tactical Badniks believe they consider him to be some sort of messianic-figure."

"Well, why haven't we carpet bombed that entire region?!" Ivo roared, "Wipe him off the surface of the planet and get back to work!"

"Won't we lose the Chaos Dust nodes aboveground if we do?" Cubot points out as Ivo scowls, realizing the robot had a point. Their profit margins are already in the red, so an orbital bombardment would cause them to plummet.

But as he stares at more videos of Priority Threat Alpha, smiling smugly, as if taunting him directly. His blood boiled at the thought of wasting valuable Chaos Dust, even if it was a scarce amount, but the sight of the blue hedgehog made his blood boil even more… Something he didn't know existed in his brain snapped.

"I don't care! We wanted to turn this into a waste dump anyway!" Ivo slammed a fist down on his chair's armrest, "Blow that region to smithereens! There are still nodes on the rest of the planet anyway!"

"Copy that. Highlighting zone for orbital bombardment." Orbot nodded as the nineteen sectors where Priority Threat Alpha was located were highlighted, "Preparing orders for troop withdrawal, they'll pull out with what machinery and resources we have there. Orders will arrive in… twenty hours, sir."

"Twenty hours…" Ivo growls, tapping his fingers impatiently, "That would take too long for my liking. Get me a live feed!"

"Sir?" Orbot asks, unsure, "All Hyperwave Comm Satellites are currently occupied-?"

"Silence!" Ivo snapped while bringing up a list of the Hyperwave Comm Satellites in use, before pointing to one, "There! Use Hyperwave Comm Satellite Alpha-Six!"

"That one's currently rented by the United Planets, we have a contract with them! You'll lose billions-!" Cubot warned before he was smacked away, "Copy that, sir! Rerouting Hyperwave Satellite Alpha-Six!"

Above in the orbit of Robotnik-Prime, a specialized satellite changes angles before charging up. Using lasers to transmit data instead of signal waves, as well as using Warp Prisms and the Prower Effect, allows for live communication through light-years of space.

Of course, the laser chips away fragments of Warp Prisms used, meaning that every second used for communications costs five thousand R.A.C at least. Contracts with civilizations to rent their satellites are in billions on average. So that fact that Ivo was throwing that away just to expedite an orbital bombardment order was… concerning for both Cubot and Orbot at the least.

After a few minutes of loading, the link was stable, and a live feed with the Badnik Horde Commander came online.

"Badnik Commander Sigma-Alpha, come in!" Ivo roared at the screen in frustration as the image was filled with slowly clearing static, "What in Chaos is happening over there?!"

"Si- Sir- Sir!" the Horde Commander, a type of Badnik with a similar make to the E-100 models, only with specialization miniaturized super-computers allowing it to process data beyond the level of any organic commander to make decisions, "Apologies, Director Robotnik, but the comms relay has been damaged in the attack-!"

The feed was filled with static once again while Cubot and Orbot rushed to maintain the connection, while Ivo was screaming at the Commander.

"What do you mean by attack?! There were zero signs of pirate activity in the sector, and you need an entire flotilla to stand up to a mobile station like yours! What is going on?!" He demanded.

"T- Priority Threat Alpha… -filtrated the station yesterday…" The Horde Commander stammered through the static, and Ivo's black eyes widened behind his glasses, "-snuck aboard a transport shuttle carrying Chaos Dust… -hid his bio-signatures… -several sectors offline-!"

A bang interrupts the Horde Commander as it turns to the rest of the Badniks operating the bridge of the station, "-trap! We got him! Seal off connecting sectors now!"

"-opy, sir!" A Sub-Commnader Badnik reports before tapping a button on the console, "Sectors 12, 13, 14, and 15 sealed, sir! Venting oxygen-!"

"Alert!" Another Sub-Commander Badnik informs, "Priority Target Alpha in Sector 16! Target approaching Command Bridge!"

"All units prepare for br-!" The Commander raised a pulse pistol bolted to its hand, pointing it at the entrance to the bridge along with what security units and Sub-Commanders were with it.

But before it could finish, the twin hydraulically sealed doors were blasted apart, and the Badniks all began firing wildly at a towering shadowy figure at the entrance… only for it to fall, revealing it to be a Combat Badnik of the Pawn-model.

As all eyes stared at the unintentional victim of friendly fire, a blue blur zips from the smoking doorway and decapitates the nearest Security Badnik. They all fired their weapons, but it was no use, the blur was too fast. Within seconds, they were all lying on the floor in pieces.

"Whew!" the blue hedgehog exhaled, before starting to speak, and the automated translator program borrowed from the station's local databanks began to start working, "All these ones look pretty fancy, kinda like our elders… I guess this place is in charge?"

"You!" Ivo screamed at last, catching the attention of the blue hedgehog, who paused to stare at the holographic screen, "Who are you and what do you think you're doing on my station?! Do you know how much you've cost me?! More than this little operation would've paid out!"

Instead of reacting to his words, the blue hedgehog suddenly guffawed as his translated voice spoke, "W-What am I looking at?! Are you human or something?! You look more like a walking egg! W-wait! Was that why those metal monsters looked like eggs?! Did you make them?!"

…No one. Not even the most powerful people in the Known Universe would dare to audibly insult his physical appearance. Knowing that millions of their people depend on his supply lines, his products, his services… No one has ever insulted his appearance since elementary school, and even then, he's made those childhood bullies pay so terrible a price that no one would dare to…

Yet this blue, tribal hedgehog did just that.

"…I don't know who you think you are, hedgehog." Ivo said with gritted teeth, "But you have just made a terrible mistake. Understand in your little, nut-sized brains that what you're standing on is a pinnacle of Robotnik Combine technology. And I have thousands and thousands of them. Enough to blot out the sky of your pathetic, little planet!"

"Oh, so you won't mind if I crack this giant egg open, will you?" the blue hedgehog asked before Ivo started laughing.

"Crack it? HAH! You're more amusing than I thought, hedgehog!" Ivo cackled, "This might be called a Mobile Operations Station, but it might as well be a fortress-fleetyard hybrid with firepower of a battlefleet! Not that you would understand what it means! So in simple terms, you primitives can consider it a death machine!"

"All I'm hearing is that this costs a lot." The blue hedgehog smirked while gesturing around him, "You can send more, I believe you. But if I keep breaking and breaking your Death Eggs, then is it really worth it?"

"Mobile Operations Station!" Ivo snapped, "And pray tell, how are you going to crack this trillions of pounds of metal alloy and machinery?"

The hedgehog shrugs, "You bring lots of crystals up here. I can sense you have lots of crystals up here. Hit hard enough, they blow up. If you're so smart, take a guess."

Ivo pales as the hedgehog smiles smugly, "…You're bluffing. You're bluffing! No sane being, primitive caveman or not, would destroy that much Chaos Dust! Even your people would know its value! Besides! You'll die in the blast too, you know?!"

"Eh, I think I can make it." He said casually, without fear in his eyes. A mad glint in his eyes told Ivo that he truly wasn't bluffing. Before Ivo could respond, the hedgehog started running.

Connecting to the sensors of the Mobile Operations System, Ivo's eyes widened as they pointed out he was heading directly to the core. Immediately, he accessed the speakers, trying to keep the panic out of his voice,

"I'll vaporize the entire surface of your planet!" Ivo threatened, "Turn it to glass, render the atmosphere unable to support life! I can do that in the snap of my finger! Do you hear me?!"

He was ignored and forced to watch through camera footage as the blue blur easily bypassed his Badniks, who were too slow to respond to threats at such speeds. And with the Tactical Badniks eliminated, they were unable to properly organize an intercept.

"Stop it! STOP!" Ivo repeatedly screamed as he watched the last lines of defense guarding the station's Chaos Drive reactor. It was a hulking unit, classified as a Super Badnik, that was made both for combat and maintenance. Protected with heavy armor and enough strength to crush tanks.

Yet it was too slow, swinging a mechanical arm used to haul fuel rods and heavy materials used in repairs, but woefully inadequate in swatting supersonic blue hedgehogs. It then tried unleashing its industrial welding torch, using high-powered lasers to try cutting him apart, but again, the hedgehog easily dodged such attempts.

"Come on! Crush that hedgehog! I'll upgrade you to a Tactical Unit if you do!" Ivo shouted while clenching his fists. A Mobile Operation Station, while expensive, could be replaced, but that wasn't the problem.

If word got out that a fully armed and equipped Mobile Operations Station was taken down by a single tribal… There would be no recovering from such a loss in reputation.

An entire station, billions of R.A.C worth of equipment, all without earning a dime in profits… A permanent stain on his perfect, flawless record in the millennia of the Robotnik Combine's existence.

His attention returning to the battle, he sees the blue hedgehog targeting the less armored joints of the Super Badnik, managing to bring it to its knees. While down, he immediately rubs up its arm, curling into a spinning ball of spikes before slamming down on the now exposed neck.

The Super Badnik fell, decapitated and sparking from exposed wires at the neck. But there was still a massive steel door blocking the hedgehog's way.

"You might as well give up, all that effort was for nothing!" Ivo chuckles with relief as the blue hedgehog stares at the steel door in thought, "You can't build up enough speed to break through, and the vents are too small to crawl through! Not to mention, there's only one way in and out! I have all available Badniks converging on your location right now! You're cornered, rat!"

The blue hedgehog doesn't respond, looking towards the fallen Super Badnik's welding torch. Suddenly, he starts to push it, pointing the barrel in the direction of the joints and then giving it a few solid kicks to the Chaos Drive powering the weapon.

"Gone mad, rat?! I suppose that's the logical reaction when you're about to be dissected to further the research of the Robotnik Combine's Bio-Weapons Program. Struggle all you want, it makes no-" Ivo started to gloat, before being interrupted when the welding laser fires.

The orange laser instantly heats up the weaker joints, cutting them off almost instantly. Then the blue hedgehog grabs a chain from the pieces of equipment scattered in the fight, tying one end to the barrel and throwing the other over a pipe above, using it as leverage to lift the welding laser. With that, the second and only remaining hinge holding the steel doors up was broken, causing it to fall forward with a loud clank.

"Hey, what do you know? It is open," the blue hedgehog said, looking smugly while the welding laser shorted out. He casually walks into the main reactor room, where fuel rods made of Chaos Dust were hovering in plexiglass containment tubes, "I think I can crack these open faster than your metal eggs can get here. Want to bet?"

"Wait… Wait, hold on!" Ivo screamed as the hedgehog rolled into a ball, spinning and slamming against the containment tube, causing a minor hairline crack to appear, "You'll cause a meltdown! The entire station would blow up in minutes if one of those rods is out of place!"

"Oh? So I have minutes to get away!" the blue hedgehog laughed madly before slamming into the glass again, causing the crack to grow, "Thanks for the knowledge."

"…You blasted, stupid, hedgehog! Think about what you're doing!" Ivo was practically tearing at his mustache at this point, desperately thinking about how he was going to convince him, "Fine! I'll withdraw my forces! They'll leave your planet for good! How about that?!"

This operation was no longer profitable. No toxic waste dump was worth this trouble, nor was the pittance of Chaos Dust that existed on the planet. In fact, nothing in this damn system was worth it! That was why he chose it in the first place to dump stuff!

It wasn't worth losing an entire Mobile Operations System, nor the reputation loss that would occur if news spread of a single tribal doing all that damage! It. Wasn't. Worth. It.

And yet something within his mind rebels against this, wanting to do everything to make this hedgehog pay, no matter how much it costs. But the sensible side honed by thousands of years of running a mega-corporation, knowing when to cut losses when he needs to, relents.

"Really?" the blue hedgehog skids to a stop moments before he could impact the containment tube, "Sounds like you're just saying to get me off your Death Egg, Eggman."

Ivo grits his teeth in frustration, "Despite your childish aggravation, I have no reason to lie. There's no profit to be earned here, and I won't waste resources pointlessly. Stop trying to blow up my Dea- Mobile Operations Station! …And I'll withdraw my forces from your planet, given three or so days for repairs to all the critical systems you inflicted. Do we have a deal, hedgehog?"

"And what stops you from coming back and blowing us up like you promised?" The hedgehog asks challengingly, crossing his arms and tapping his foot.

"Simple. If word spreads I was beaten back by a single tribal, and need more than one D- Mobile Operations Station to take care of a single planet that's not even in the Industrial Age yet, I'll be a laughing stock across the universe. Trust my value for my reputation if nothing else." Ivo grunts, "Besides, you're not the center of my attention. I have more important stuff to worry about."

He waves a hand at the holographic screen like he is dismissing a lesser being, trying to hide his inner frustration.

"I'll direct the M.O.S to a nearby system that's at least civilized, repair and redeploy it to other frontiers. And you can go back to… poking each other with sticks and throwing dung at each other, whatever you tribals do." Ivo scoffed, "Everybody wins, happy?"

"So you just leave then…?" The hedgehog mumbles, rubbing his chin as if in thought before smiling, "Sure! I can work with that."

"Glad we can come to an agreement," Ivo growled. Despite it being what can be considered mutually beneficial, he felt a bubbling rage underneath. Had it been someone else, at least civilized, he may have taken it better, but it was a tribal… A filthy, uneducated, primitive tribal…

He sent a command to the remaining Badniks, "A shuttle is being prepared to send you back to your blasted planet. Sit still, and my Badniks will escort you. We'll never meet again, rat."

Without waiting for a response, Ivo swipes his hands to switch to the next Badnik with the capacity to undergo upgrades into a Tactical Badnik.

"You're in charge now. Report to the Engineering Bay for upgrade modifications, get that rat off my station." He growls before cutting off the feed, in order to not waste another R.A.C on this call. Once it was clear, however, he was left sitting still, while both Orbot and Cubot gave him nervous stares before he suddenly roared, slamming a heavy fist over his console.

*Seven Standard Rotations Later*

"You are now arriving at Station Epsilon. Property of the United Planets," an automated voice blares across the hangar as a Robotnik Combine shuttle flies through the open hangar bay doors before it closes behind.

Oxygen floods the room, only according to standard protocol, considering the occupants were robotic. The cargo ramp descends, and two Hauler Badniks roll down, both with manipulator arms wrapped around a heavy crate of Chaos Dust. What little was claimed from Planet Sigma-Omega-14-01-03.

"Alert." One of them suddenly halts upon registering something from the crates, "Abnormal excess weight detected."

"Confirmed," the other Hauler Badnik agreed, but before they could stop to perform a search, the lid was knocked open and a blue blur hops out, landing in front of them.

"Thanks for the lift, chumps!" He spoke in his native tribal tongue before running out of sight, through the halls leading out of the hangar bay.

As soon as the metal doors slid open, the blue hedgehog slipped out and immediately found himself amongst an ocean of both Mobians and Humans. His eyes widened at the sheer number of colors, from the strange shiny clothes they were wearing to the weird glowing lines hanging on the walls. Were those letters?

But his sights were captivated by one thing in particular, a plane of glass-like material on a wall. Behind it was a vast dark canvas with stars, just like the night sky back home… Funny how the closer he was, the stars still looked so far out of reach.

When he heard that Eggman said his Death Egg was going to leave for the stars, he knew this was the only chance he would have. To see the stars and leave the life he knew behind. A life of being worshiped as Hu’de Shentan, the boring routine of nothing interesting ever happening, everything that bored him out of his mind. He was finally free.

An endless frontier. Endless possibilities amongst the stars. Exactly as he wanted…

What was next for him now?