Empress Ascendant - Story # 1 - The Chronicles of the Eternal Empress

The palace of Solaraith, once the vibrant heart of a distant region of an empire that had stretched across countless worlds, now stood as a solemn monument to a fading legacy. Its shimmering domes still caught the light of Lùchairt Solais's sun, but their reflections were dim, muted by time and neglect. The great halls, once alive with emissaries from the farthest corners of the galaxy, now echoed with silence, broken only by the occasional footfalls of weary courtiers or the few random visiting dignitaries. This world, once on the empire's outer fringes, had become its heart - a fragile heart beating within the fractured remnants of the Llamdan Empire.

Anjali, the young Empress, sat alone in the central chamber, her hands gripping the hilt of a ceremonial blade. The weight of her new crown still felt foreign upon her head, its cool metal pressing against her skin as if testing her resolve. She had just been crowned, yet already the burden of the throne pressed down upon her shoulders.

Sunlight streamed through the high arched windows, casting golden beams across the dark marble floor. Had she been standing beneath it, the light would have caught in her jet-black hair, illuminating the glossy waves that cascaded down her back. Instead, her hair was tucked behind her ears - tapered to a fine, graceful point, a feature that set her apart from most of those she ruled. Her amber eyes, luminous and striking, held an intensity that belied her youth, as though they carried echoes of those who had come before her.

Her skin, a warm, earthy tone, glowed with vitality, though it did little to soften the rigid set of her shoulders. She was lithe and agile, her frame honed by years of physical training and mental discipline. A warrior, a ruler, a legacy in flesh and blood. And now, the last ope of an empire on the brink of ruin. She was Empress Anjali D’hè MàcBhàtàr-Renata the only descendant of the first Empress of Llamda.

The circular hall around her was vast and solemn, its towering columns of dark marble inscribed with the names of past rulers - ghosts of the empire's former glory. At the center stood a great round table of polished obsidian, its surface aglow with a flicker holographic projection of the Llamda Empire. Once, twenty five regions had shone bright upon its map. Now, only two remained, their borders frayed and uncertain.

She looked at the blade in her hands. It was exquisite - its hilt adorned with intricate engravings, its edge honed to perfection - but it was only a replica of the fabled sword carried by her ancestors. A mere shadow of the weapon that had once forged and defended a vast empire.

At seventeen, Anjali bore the crushing weight of what remained: two galactic regions, ten loyal worlds and an empire unraveling at the seams. Once, the Llamdan banner had united countless stars. Now, it fluttered over a dwindling domain, beset by enemies and weakened by discord.

And she - crowned too young, with too much to lose - was the only one left to hold it together.

She stared down at the blade, its polished surface reflecting her amber eyes - eyes that had always drawn comment for the weight they carried. She had seen too much, endured too much, for her years. Born Anant, assigned male at birth, her journey had been anything but conventional. At seven, she had sat trembling before her parents, tears streaking her face as she told them she was a girl. Their love had been unwavering. They had embraced her chosen name - Anjali - and guided her through her transition with tenderness and pride, shielding her from a world that would not always be so kind. And despite some push back, they had remained stalwart in their support.

And yet, as she grew into herself, the world began to grow heavier. When she was only eight, dreams began to haunt her: vivid visions of another life, of another woman. She stood atop gilded towers and addressed the entire galaxy. She saw a name, ancient and yet deeply familiar - Gràís D'hè MàcBhàtàr. History remembered her as the first Empress of Llamda, a ruler who had reigned for 1000 years, ten thousand years ago. The dreams were fragments at first, but they grew sharper with time, until Anjali could no longer dismiss them as mere figments of her imagination.

Her parents, ever supportive, had sought answers, consulting mystics, scholars, and the Imperial Archives, such as they were in this day and age. But before they could uncover the truth, tragedy struck. At eleven, Anjali lost them both. They had fallen defending the remnants of the empire from the Shadowforce - a ruthless enemy bent on conquest and destruction. From that moment, General Monikara, her parents' trusted advisor, had become her foster parent.

Now, under Monikara's watchful eye, Anjali had been forged into a ruler. The general had taught her to wield every weapon, to navigate treacherous politics, and to lead with strength when doubt crept in. Monikara's methods were straightforward, blunt, but her loyalty was unquestionable. Beneath her austere exterior, there was a bond between them, one forged through shared grief and unspoken understanding.

But now, just having assumed the throne that morning, taking the oath to defend the Empire, Anjali sat alone trying to come to terms with her life and what it would be like. The weight of millions hung around her shoulders and she could only hope she would be up to the task. The ceremony, this morning, had been full of pomp and circumstance, a reminder of the heyday of the empire, ceremony lost to nostalgia. But it served to galvanize the people. Just an hour ago, this chamber had been full to overflowing with the citizens of Lùchairt Solais alongside the nobility as they had watched her ascend the throne, the crown placed upon her head and her life be given over to protecting what remained of the empire.

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The sharp ring of steel echoed across the sunlit courtyard. Anjali, dressed in sleek black and gold leather, moved with precision as her blade clashed with Kaelara's. The rhythmic scuff of boots against polished stone punctuated the sharp clangs of their sparring match. These were the times Anjali always looked forward to. Her time spent with Kaelara, away from duty, away from the crowds of people always vying for her attention. And today, after the ceremony, she needed it more than ever. Again they moved and again their swords clashed, sparks flying

"You're slowing, Kaelara," Anjali teased, her lips curving into a grin as she deflected a swift strike.

Kaelara's golden eyes flashed with amusement as she pressed forward, her strikes faster, sharper. "And you're overconfident, Your Majesty," she countered, forcing Anjali to pivot sharply on her heel.

Their blades danced, the sunlight glinting off the polished steel, but it was the electricity between them that crackled most intensely. Their sparring had always walked the line between practice and something more - a silent conversation of tension and trust.

Kaelara feinted right, then swept Anjali's legs out from under her with a clean, fluid motion. Anjali hit the ground with a soft thud, breathless and laughing.

Kaelara reached down, her calloused hand extended in a gesture of triumph. "Yield?"

Anjali took the hand, but instead of letting Kaelara pull her up, she yanked her down with surprising agility, twisting until they pinned Kaelara beneath her. Anjali's blade rested lightly against Kaelara's throat, her amber eyes gleaming.

"Never," she whispered, her voice a soft but unyielding challenge.

For a heartbeat, they were frozen. Anjali's breath caught as she realized how close they were - Kaelara's sharp features softened by the golden light, her lips slightly parted, her long, braided brown hair snaking out on the ground. The playful tension dissolved, giving way to something deeper, heavier. Anjali's pulse quickened as she leaned closer, the space between them narrowing until...

A deliberate cough shattered the moment.

Both women turned to see Monikara standing at the edge of the courtyard, arms crossed, her expression a careful balance between authority and quiet amusement.

The late afternoon light caught in her long brown hair, cascading over her shoulders like a river of silk. Subtle golden highlights shimmered with every movement, lending her an almost regal presence - an elegance sharpened by years of discipline and command.

Her almond-shaped eyes, a deep, rich brown, reflected both wisdom and unwavering resolve. There was warmth in them, a quiet depth that hinted at the weight of battles fought and lessons learned. Framed by dark, thick lashes, they had a way of softening her otherwise formidable demeanor - though none would mistake her for anything but a warrior.

Her skin, smooth and radiant olive, carried the sun's touch, accentuating the delicate sculpt of her high cheekbones. Her nose, finely shaped, added character to her face, while her full lips, often curved in a knowing smile, never quite concealed the air of authority she exuded. She was a woman who commanded respect effortlessly, her presence filling the space around her with quiet strength.

She stood with the poised confidence of a seasoned warrior, her frame balanced and lean, honed for both agility and power. Strapped across her back and waist was an array of weapons - blades, daggers, and a curved sword, each one a testament to her skill. The dark leather of her fitted jerkin and pants bore the wear of countless battles, yet despite her hardened exterior, there was something unmistakably fond in the way she looked at Anjali.

"Well done," Monikara said dryly, her voice edged with subtle humour. "But you're both far too easily distracted."

Anjali scrambled to her feet, the flush in her cheeks betraying her composure. She offered Kaelara a hand, trying to mask the lingering heat between them. If Monikara noticed, she gave no indication beyond the faintest flicker of a smirk.

"Take positions and begin again," the general ordered. Her tone was brisk now, brooking no argument. "Anjali, you did well not to yield. Kaelara, remember - just because someone is down does not mean they are defeated. Complacency in battle leads to death. Again."

As the two young women returned to their positions, Anjali risked a glance at Kaelara. Her friend's expression was neutral, but the slightest quirk of her lips betrayed her thoughts. Anjali's heart raced, but she forced herself to focus. The sparring match continued, but the weight of Monikara's lesson - and the moment they'd shared - lingered between them like a promise yet to be spoken.

The two squared off again, chests heaving, sweat trickling down their brows. Their muscles burned from exertion, but they knew Monikara would grant no respite.

Anjali lunged first, her katana slicing through the air in a wide, elegant arc. The weapon, an extension of her will, gleamed silver in the late afternoon light. She moved with deadly grace, her boots whispering against the polished stone of the courtyard.

Kaelara countered, swiveling left and parrying with her longsword. Clad in fitted silver armour, she was a stark contrast to Anjali's fluid speed - solid, unyielding, her blade a wall of steel. The armour, though protective, allowed her the mobility required of a guardian, and she wielded her weapon with a finesse that belied its weight.

The clash of steel echoed through the courtyard as they drove each other to the limits of their endurance. Anjali's katana whistled with each strike - fast, precise, relentless. She wove a web of flashing steel, her attacks coming in swift, slicing arcs. Kaelara met each one, the heavier longsword ringing with impact as she absorbed the blows, countering with powerful overhead strikes meant to break Anjali's rhythm.

Anjali feinted right, then spun left, her blade darting low in an attempt to slip past Kaelara's guard. But Kaelara was ready. She sidestepped just in time, bringing her sword down in a counterstroke that forced Anjali to block. The force of the impact reverberated up her arms, but she grit her teeth and held firm, shoving Kaelara back a step.

Neither woman relented. Their breath came in sharp bursts, sweat dampened their skin, but their eyes - amber and gold - remained locked, fierce and unyielding. They fought not just for training, but for dominance, for understanding, for something unspoken.

Then Anjali struck. A sudden burst of speed, her katana flashing in a diagonal arc. Kaelara moved to block, but Anjali was too fast. She barely dodged, leaping back as Anjali pressed forward - until suddenly, everything changed.

The clang of steel triggered something deep in Anjali's mind. Her vision blurred, the present slipping away as a memory - no, something more than a memory - seized her.

The courtyard, Kaelara, even the weight of the sword in her hand - all of it vanished.

Gràís stood at the forefront of te allied army, the banners of Llamda snapping in the wind. The twin swords in her hands hummed with energy, the ancient runes along the blades pulsing with golden light, feeding off her spirit. The coppery strands of her hair whipped about her face as she surveyed the battlefield.

Talmuth - the replicated swords, their magic bound to her blood - thrummed in her grip. Her father wielded the original, but when she had come of age the blade had forged a replicate, splitting its power into twin weapons to match her own fierce and fluid fighting style. Now both swords flared with power as she lifted them, preparing for the final push.

Beside her, Elara notched an arrow to her bow, her brown eyes scanning the battlefield. She had magic, yes - but it was her skill with a blade and her lethal precision with a bow that made her truly dangerous. Years of training at Gràís's side had sharpened her into something deadly, and now they moved together, two halves of the same force.

The Shadowforce loomed before them, a writhing dark tide of dark magic and twisted creatures. Among them were human traitors, men and women who had turned against their own for power. For days, Gràís and her forces had fought, driving them back toward the ruined city of Caerdom. Now, the final battle had begun.

"Push forward!" Gràís shouted, her voice cutting through the clash of steel and the roar of war.

Her swords became a blur, slashing through the ranks of the shadow-beasts and traitors alike. The enchanted blades cut through dark magic as though it were mist, unraveling the creature where they stood. Around her, soldiers rallied, their own weapons infused with the energy of the Magi Circle, their battle cries rising in defiance.

Elara moved with her, loosing another glowing arrow that struck a Gnarlock in its throat. It let out a guttural shriek as the magic holding it together dissolved, its form collapsing into inky mist. Without missing a beat, Elara dropped her bow and unsheathed her long curved sword, charging into the fray. Her blade met the steel of a human traitor, and they clashed in a deadly dance. A swift parry, a precise counter - then Elara drove her sword through his chest.

The two women fought as one, their movements perfectly synchronized. Gràís's twin blades spun in elegant destruction, carving a path through the enemy ranks, while Elara's arrows rained death before she closed in for the kill.

They were winning. The tide was turning.

Then, just as Gràís raised her swords for another strike...

Anjali was ripped from the vision by a sudden, brutal impact.

Her sword went flying. A sharp pain flared in her wrist, and she blinked back into reality just in time to see Kaelara standing over her, the tip of her blade pressed lightly against Anjali's chest.

"Where were you, Anjali?" Kaelara asked, her voice low with concern, though a hint of amusement danced in her eyes.

A second voice - sharper, more commanding - cut in. "Good question." Monikara steppe forward, her piercing gaze fixed on Anjali. "You were distracted."

Anjali swallowed, her pulse still hammering from the vision. "I... I saw something," she murmured. "It wasn't just a vision. It was more like a memory. It was a war - a great battle. Gràís D'hè MàcBhàtàr was there, fighting alongside Elara. It was the battle where they defeated the Shadowforce, but..."

She hesitated.

"But what?" Monikara pressed, her tone softer now.

Anjali met her gaze. "It felt different. It felt real. It felt like... I was her."

Kaelara's brow furrowed. "You've had these visions before. Have you figured out what they mean?"

"I know she was my ancestor," Anjali said slowly, "but that's all."

Monikara studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "You are linked to her, Anjali. Gràís was more than an Empress and a warrior - she wielded magic. Strong, ancient magic. And that magic flows through her bloodline."

Anjali's fingers curled into fists. "But there's more, isn't there?"

Monikara hesitated. For the first time, Anjali saw something unfamiliar in her eyes: uncertainty.

"There was a prophecy," Monikara admitted finally, "one spoken at Gràís's birth. But..."

Before she could finish, a sharp chime rang through the air. A summons.

A messenger hurried into the courtyard, bowing deeply before speaking. "Your Majesty - urgent news. One of the outer worlds is under attack."

Anjali straightened, her momentary disorientation vanishing as duty took over. The vision could wait.

For now, the empire needed her.

The halls of the citadel whispered with echoes as Anjali, Monikara and Kaelara strode through its corridors toward the council chamber. The air was thick with tension, the weight of impending war pressing down upon them.

The chamber lay just off the grand throne room - a circular hall lined with towering columns of dark marble, each inscribed with the names of past rulers. At the center stood a great round table of polished obsidian, its surface etched with a holographic projection of the Llamdan Empire. Once, the map had glowed with the light of twenty-five regions. Now, only two remained, their borders flickering with uncertainty.

The councilors were already gathered, their voices hushed, their expressions grim. Anjali took her seat at the head of the table, Monikara standing to her right, Kaelara to her left. Though the young Empress outranked them all, she was keenly aware of the weight of their experience. These were the last remaining regional governors and senators of an empire in decline - seasoned politicians, strategists, and commanders who had worked diligently to keep what remained of the empire intact. And yet, when they looked at her, she could see the doubt in their eyes.

The lead councilor, Lord Thalric of Mizuchi, cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, we have received word from Dùnan - one of our last strongholds beyond the core worlds. It is under attack."

A flick of his wrist activated the central hologram, which shifted to display the embattled world. The projection showed the capital city of Dùnan engulfed in flames, shadowy figures swarming its walls. The sight sent a cold shiver down Anjali's spine.

"The enemy?" she asked, though she already knew.

Thalric's face was grim. "Shadowforce."

A ripple of unease passed through the room. Monikara's gaze flickered toward Anjali, and for a moment, neither spoke. The coincidence was too great to ignore - Anjali had just witnessed a vision, or memory, of her ancestor fighting the Shadowforce in a battle more than ten thousand years past, and now they had returned.

Could it be mere coincidence, or something more.

Monikara did not press her. She simply waited, knowing that the decision had to come from Anjali herself.

Anjali turned back to the council, her expression hardening. "How long has Dùnan been under siege?"

"Only a day," said Thalric, "but their defenses are crumbling. The planetary garrisons were overwhelmed within hours. If we do not act swiftly, the world will fall."

"How many troops can we sen?" Kaelara asked, her voice sharp with urgency.

The council exchanged glances. It was Commander Sayrin, the highest-ranking military official, after Monikara, who answered. "Not enough. The empire's forces are scattered across our remaining territories. We could must an army large enough to take Dùnan back, but assembling them would take weeks, and by then..."

"... by then, there will be nothing left to save," Anjali finished. Her fingers curled into firsts on the table.

"We still have the portal network," another councilor pointed out. "We can move troops quickly."

"Yes," Sayrin said, "but even with the portals, it will take time. To assemble a force large enough to reclaim Dùnan, we must sent word to Zarathai, Mizuchi, and Kushala. The Nexus of Portals lies across the Lùchairt Solais - two days' ride from here. Then we must travel world by world, rallying forces as we go. Best case, we reach Dùnan in a week."

"We do not have a week," Anjali said.

Silence settled over the chamber.

"I will go," she declared. "I will lead an advance force immediately. We can muster 1000 soldiers in a day, enough to reinforce Dùnan and hold the enemy at bay until the rest of the army arrives."

A stunned pause followed her words.

Then, as expected, the objections came.

"Your Majesty, that is far too dangerous!" Thalric said, his voice edged with disbelief. "The Empress cannot place herself in such peril."

"It is reckless," Sayrin added. "Even 1000 troops will not be enough to turn the tide."

"The people must see their ruler leading them," Anjali countered. "If I hide behind these walls while our worlds fall apart, what kind of Empress am I?"

"A living one," Sayrin shot back.

Before Anjali could respond, Monikara stepped forward. "Enough."

The chamber feel silent.

Monikara turned to the council, her stance unwavering. "The Empress has made her decision. And I stand with her."

The weight of her words settled over the room. Monikara was no mere soldier; she was the most respected military mind left in the empire. Her support made Anjali's decision final.

Kaelara spoke next, stepping forward with a hand on the hilt of her sword. "And I will go with her Majesty. It is my duty as Guardian of the Imperial Line."

The councilors exchanged glances, but they knew they had lost the argument.

Anjali straightened. "Prepare the advance force. Gather every available soldier from the capital garrison and those stationed nearby. We leave within a day."

Monikara nodded. "I will remain behind to assemble the rest of the army. Once I have enough forces, I will follow through the portal."

Anjali gave her a grateful look, then turned back to the council. "We must move swiftly. See to it that supplies are readied, that messages are sent to our allies. The empire has stood for ten thousand years. We will not let it fall to dust today."

The meeting adjourned, but as Anjali stepped away from the table, she couldn't shake the weight pressing down on her chest. She had made her choice. Now, she had to prove it was the right one.

As she left the chamber, Kaelara fell into step beside her.

"You knew they'd argue," Kaelara murmured.

Anjali huffed out a small breath. "Of course. But I also knew that Monikara would support me."

Kaelara's lips quirked in a faint smile. "She would follow you anywhere. So would I."

Anjali glanced at her, something unspoken passing between them. Then she nodded. "Then let's get ready for war.

The halls of the citadel were quiet in the late hours, a deceptive calm settling over the stone corridors as the city beyond prepared for battle. Anjali walked with steady steps toward her chambers, but exhaustion clawed at the edges of her mind. She had given orders, settled disputes, and solidified plans - now all tat was left was to gather her things and try to find what rest she could before the campaign began.

She doubted she would sleep.

As she reached her chambers, a familiar presence fell into step beside her.

"Empress," Monikara said, her tone low but firm.

Anjali sighed. "You only call me that when you're about to say something I won't like."

Monikara didn't deny it. Instead, she simply followed her inside.

Anjali's chambers were spacious, though far from ostentatious. The high arched windows overlooked the city below, and the furnishings, though finely made, were chosen for comfort rather than grandeur, except for the small library off to one side. That was elegantly designed, rich woods, leather chairs quiet atmosphere. The library contained a desk, cluttered with books, journals, maps and writing implements, showing it to be well used.

A sitting room faced the double doors to the sleeping chamber, comfortable cushioned chairs were placed before the fire, with a table between them. As they entered, servants appeared with practiced efficiency, setting a steaming pot of fragrant tea before withdrawing without a word.

Seconds later, Kaelara entered, lingering near the door before Monikara gestured for her to sit.

Anjali removed her sword belt and placed it on a nearby table before sinking into one of the chairs, rubbing a tired hand over her face.

"Alright," she said, watching Monikara with wary amusement. "What is it?"

Monikara poured the tea, setting a cup before each of them, her movements deliberate - controlled. That was the first sign that she was about to issue a statement Anjali wouldn't like.

"You know the path to the Nexus will not be easy," Monikara began. "The lands beyond the city of Solaraith are still wild, and the Shadowforce is already moving against us. We do not yet know if they have forces stationed between us and the portals, but we must assume they do. Your journey will be dangerous."

Anjali nodded, eating for the point she knew was coming.

Monikara turned to Kaelara, her voice gaining that unmistakable edge of command. "From this moment on, you will not leave her Majesties side."

Kaelara straightened slightly, but said nothing.

Monikara continued. "Not in the palace. Not on the road. You will travel with her, you will sleep in her tent, and when you get to Dùnan, you will remain in her chambers, or wherever else she goes. Until this battle is won, you are to be her constant shadow."

Anjali's head napped up. "Monikara, that's..."

Monikara cut her off with a sharp look. "Necessary."

Anjali clenched her jaw. "I don't need a nursemaid."

"No," Monikara agreed, "you need a Guardian. And Kaelara is the best there is."

"I can take care of myself.'

Monikara leaned forward, her eyes dark and unyielding. "I have trained you, guided you, and fought beside you since you were a child, and you are a warrior worthy of your throne. But you are also the Empress, and you are our future. If you fall, this empire falls with you. I will not risk that."

The weight of her words settled heavily between them.

Kaelara who had been silent throughout the exchange, finally spoke. Her voice was steady, but there was something softer beneath it. "I will do as she commands, Anjali. This is my duty."

Anjali turned to her then, and for the first time that evening, she faltered.

The intensity in Kaelara's golden eyes sent something unsteady through her. There had always been an unspoken thread between them, a connection deeper than duty, deeper than friendship. They had trained together, bled together, saved each other's lives more times than either could count. And in those rare, unguarded moments between battles and responsibility, there had been... something else.

Now, that something hovered between then, heavy and undeniable.

Neither spoke. Neither moved.

Monikara let out a long-suffering sigh and stood, stretching her arms behind her back before rolling her shoulders as though she were preparing for battle herself.

"Alright," she said, her voice dry with exasperation. "Enough."

Anjali and Kaelara both turned to look at her.

Monikara crossed her arms. "I know you have feelings for one another."

Anjali nearly choked on her tea.

Kaelara, to her credit, remained perfectly still, but a faint pink tinged the tips of her ears.

Monikara smirked. "You can either indulge then tonight or put them aside until after we win this war. I don't particularly care which, but what I do care about is the fact that you two need each other." She gestured between them. "You fight well together, you support one another, and frankly, we don't have time for this ridiculous tension. If you cannot resolve it tonight, then deal with it after we've secured Dùnan. And then, for all I care, you can spend all night and several days satisfying your urges in bed."

Anjali's face burned. "Monikara!"

Kaelara, looking entirely too pleased with herself, took a sip of her tea and murmured, "At least she's practical."

Monikara grinned and clapped Kaelara on the shoulder before turning back to Anjali. "So, do you accept my terms?"

Anjali huffed, crossing her arms but refusing to meet Kaelara's gaze. "Do I have a choice?"

"No, Empress." Monikara smiled.

"Fine. Kaelara stays by my side. But she can sleep in the sitting room of my chambers and tent."

Kaelara smirked. "We'll see."

Monikara chuckled, stepping back toward the door. "Good. Now that that's settled, get some rest. You leave at dawn."

As the general exited, Anjali turned back to Kaelara, finally meeting her gaze again.

A slow, knowing smile curled at the corners of Kaelara's lips.

"Monikara's right, you know," she said. "You do need me."

Anjali rolled her eyes, but the rapid pounding of her heart told her that, despite herself, she agreed.

Tomorrow war awaited. But tonight, she let herself sit a little closer to the women who would never leave her side.