The cell stank of ozone and dried blood. Rael Veyrn leaned against the cold metal wall, counting the flickering pulses of the forcefield that kept him imprisoned. Three weeks since his court-martial. Three weeks since the Imperium had labeled him traitor for refusing to bombard civilian settlements on Nexus IV.
"Prisoner 3371, stand for final processing."
Rael didn''t move. His once-pristine officer''s uniform hung in tatters around his lean frame. The insignia of the Imperium''s 7th Fleet had been ceremonially burned off his shoulder, leaving a perfect circle of scar tissue underneath.
"I said stand, traitor!" The guard''s voice crackled through the intercom.
"Go fuck yourself," Rael muttered, running a hand through his dark hair. "I''ve got another day before execution."
The forcefield crackled and died. Two Imperial Guards stepped into the cell, their faces hidden behind reflective visors. The taller one gestured with his neural-whip. "Plans changed. Lord Commander wants you processed for exile now."
Rael''s eyes narrowed. "Exile? The sentence was death."
"Your former Admiral pulled strings." The guard''s voice held unmistakable disgust. "Consider yourself lucky. Now move."
Lucky. Right. Rael knew what "exile" meant these days. Being dropped on some System-forsaken wasteland with minimal supplies and left to die slowly instead of quickly. The Imperium''s idea of mercy.
They marched him through sterile corridors of the orbital prison station. Other prisoners pressed against their forcefields to watch the disgraced captain pass. Some spat. Others just stared with hollow eyes.
The processing chamber was a circular room dominated by a single transport pad. A technician in Imperium gray worked at a console while an officer with captain''s bars stood watching.
"Veyrn." The captain''s lips curled with distaste. "Still breathing, I see."
Rael recognized him immediately. "Torvan. Still kissing ass to climb the ranks?"
Captain Torvan smiled thinly. "Hard to climb ranks from a garbage planet, which is exactly where you''re headed." He tossed a small metal object that Rael caught reflexively. "Your father''s old command chip. Useless now, but regulations say personal effects must be returned."
Rael closed his fist around the hexagonal chip. His father had died commanding the very fleet Rael had later served in—before he''d discovered what the Imperium was really doing to "pacify" outer worlds.
"Strip him," Torvan ordered. "Standard exile protocols."
The guards removed Rael''s tattered uniform, leaving him in nothing but a gray prisoner''s bodysuit. One of them snapped a tracking collar around his neck.
"Destination is Kryos Seven," the technician announced. "Minimal atmosphere, radiation levels at tolerance threshold. Projected survival time: two weeks."
Torvan''s smile widened. "Any last words for the official record, traitor?"
Rael stepped onto the transport pad. "I''d rather die standing than live kneeling to men like you."
"How original," Torvan snorted. "Enjoy starving to—"
The station shuddered violently, cutting off Torvan''s words. Emergency lights flashed as alarms began wailing.
The technician''s hands flew across his console. "Massive energy surge! Something''s interfering with—" His eyes widened. "Sir, I''m picking up System protocols activating!"
"That''s impossible," Torvan snapped. "The System hasn''t been active for millennia!"
Rael felt a strange tingling across his skin as blue light began to emanate from the transport pad beneath his feet. The command chip in his hand grew warm.
The technician''s voice rose in panic. "It''s bypassing our security! I can''t stop the—"
A blinding flash engulfed the room.
Pain. That was Rael''s first sensation as consciousness returned. His entire body felt like it had been disassembled and put back together wrong. He gasped for breath, his lungs burning as he sucked in thin, cold air.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
He was lying face-down on rough, frozen ground. Wind howled around him, carrying particles of ice that stung his exposed skin. Kryos Seven, right on schedule.
Rael pushed himself up, teeth chattering. The exile tracking collar still circled his throat, its weight a constant reminder of his sentence. Through the swirling snow, he could make out jagged rock formations and what looked like the distant ruins of some long-abandoned mining installation.
"Perfect," he muttered. "Scenic and hospitable."
The tracking collar beeped once, confirming what he already knew: no rescue signal would be sent. The Imperium expected him to die here, forgotten.
He staggered to his feet, searching for the standard exile supply package that should have transported with him. Nothing. Either the mysterious energy surge had disrupted the protocol, or Torvan had deliberately sent him without supplies. Probably the latter.
All he had was the command chip clutched in his frozen fingers.
A flickering blue light caught his attention. About fifty meters away, half-buried in snow, something was glowing. Rael trudged toward it, each step a battle against the howling wind.
As he drew closer, he saw it was a crashed shuttle—ancient, by the look of it. The hull design was unlike anything in current Imperium use, with strange runes etched into its metal skin. The blue glow emanated from a fractured viewpoint.
"Hello?" Rael called, approaching cautiously. "Anyone alive in there?"
No response. The shuttle''s entry hatch hung open, snow drifting inside. With no better options, Rael ducked through the opening.
The interior was surprisingly intact. Emergency lights cast an eerie blue glow over a single pilot''s seat and a console covered in dust. No sign of any crew. The shuttle appeared to have been abandoned long ago.
Rael brushed snow from the console, revealing dormant controls. On a hunch, he pressed his father''s command chip against what looked like an input slot. Nothing happened.
"Worth a try," he muttered, slumping into the pilot''s seat. At least the shuttle provided shelter from the wind. He might last three weeks instead of two.
The moment he touched the chair, the console flared to life. Holographic displays burst into existence, bathing the cabin in pulsing light.
A synthetic voice spoke: "Emergency protocols activated. System reboot initiated."
"What system?" Rael demanded, leaning forward. "Who are you?"
"Identity: Tactical Artificial Intelligence Designate ARIA, attached to Reconnaissance Vessel Sparrow." The voice paused. "Current status: Critical. Power reserves at 2%. System integration detected."
Before Rael could respond, his vision filled with translucent blue text:
[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION DETECTED]
[SCANNING COMPATIBLE HOST...]
[HOST IDENTIFIED: HUMAN MALE, MILITARY TRAINING DETECTED]
[COMPATIBILITY: 78%]
[INITIATING COMMANDER-CLASS AWAKENING...]
"Wait, what''s happening?" Rael demanded as the text continued to scroll.
[CLASS ASSIGNMENT: WAR COMMANDER]
[INITIALIZATION COMPLETE]
[WELCOME TO THE GALACTIC SYSTEM, COMMANDER]
Pain lanced through Rael''s head as information flooded his mind. Stats, levels, skills—concepts he''d only heard in ancient legends about the System that had once governed the galaxy before the rise of the Imperium.
"ARIA, what''s happening to me?" he gasped.
"The Great System has reawakened," the AI replied. "It appears you have been selected as a Commander-class entity. This was... unexpected."
When the pain subsided, Rael found he could access a mental interface—a status window visible only to him:
[NAME: RAEL VEYRN]
[CLASS: WAR COMMANDER (UNIQUE)]
[LEVEL: 1]
[HEALTH: 100/100]
[ENERGY: 100/100]
[SKILLS: NONE]
[COMMAND POINTS: 0]
[ARMY SIZE: 0/1]
[AVAILABLE COMMANDS: RECRUIT SOLDIERS]
"Army size?" Rael read aloud. "I don''t have an army."
"The Commander class is designed to build and lead military forces," ARIA explained, her voice growing fainter. "My power is almost depleted, but I detect compatible System energy. If you could... recruit me... I might survive."
Rael focused on the [RECRUIT SOLDIERS] command, not entirely sure how to use it. A new window appeared:
[RECRUIT SOLDIERS]
[AVAILABLE TARGETS: 1]
[ARIA - TACTICAL AI (DAMAGED) - RECRUITMENT COST: 0 COMMAND POINTS]
[RECRUIT? YES/NO]
"Yes," Rael said firmly.
Blue light surged from his fingertips, enveloping the console. The shuttle''s emergency lights brightened momentarily, then stabilized.
[RECRUITMENT SUCCESSFUL]
[UNIT ADDED: ARIA (TACTICAL AI SPECIALIST)]
[ARMY SIZE: 1/1]
[UNIT STATUS: CRITICALLY DAMAGED - REPAIRS REQUIRED]
"Status improved," ARIA announced, her voice stronger. "Thank you, Commander."
"Don''t thank me yet," Rael replied, staring at his status screen. "I have no idea what''s happening or why I''m suddenly part of some ancient System."
"The System appears to be reactivating globally," ARIA reported. "I''m detecting similar activations across multiple sectors. The galaxy is changing, Commander."
Rael touched the tracking collar still locked around his neck. "Can you disable this?"
"Analyzing... yes. The System has priority over Imperium technology."
The collar clicked open and fell to the floor. Rael rubbed his neck, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"ARIA, does this shuttle still fly?"
"Negative. However, I am detecting a System dungeon forming approximately two kilometers north. System dungeons typically contain resources and equipment."
"Dungeon? Like in the old stories?"
"Precisely. But caution is advised. Dungeons also contain hostile entities."
Rael stood, newfound determination filling him. The Imperium had sent him here to die, but the System had other plans.
"How do I repair you?" he asked.
"The dungeon may contain compatible power sources. I can guide you through the integration process."
Outside, the storm was intensifying, but for the first time since his arrest, Rael felt something other than despair. He had an AI, a mysterious System granting him powers, and apparently, the ability to build an army.
"ARIA, let''s go dungeon hunting. This might be the beginning of something... interesting."
[FIRST MISSION UNLOCKED: SURVIVE THE WASTELAND]
[OBJECTIVE: CLEAR THE FROST DUNGEON AND SALVAGE EQUIPMENT]
[REWARD: COMMAND SKILL UNLOCKED, INCREASE ARMY SIZE LIMIT]