The golden throne of Planet Orion. Entire galaxies used to tremble before this ancient seat of power. Now, it belonged to me.
I sank into the cushions, utterly relaxed. The Supreme Royal Crown rested on my skull. It carried a certain physical weight, but I simply tilted it with a goofy grin, adjusting the priceless artifact like a cheap paper hat awarded to an 'Employee of the Month'.
Mountains of paperwork and holographic scrolls buried the desk before me—a massive slab carved from a rare meteorite. All awaiting my signature.
Who could have predicted this? The Axiom of Submission was the greatest cure in existence.
Chronic back pain had crushed me for decades. The brutal weight of command, the twisted politics, the catastrophic wartime decisions I made as Supreme General of Planet Orion's military—it all corroded my soul. Every morning, I woke up tasting ash. I feared the future. The blood of my own soldiers anchored my spirit in misery.
Now? It had all evaporated.
I no longer analyzed consequences. Politics meant nothing. The crushing burden of leadership vanished. My sole purpose was execution. Absolute obedience. Voluntary, joyous subjugation to our Lord, The Emperor, granted me priceless inner peace. It felt like sinking into a scalding bath after marching through a blizzard for a thousand years.
I grabbed the floating pen—levitating effortlessly on the pure Dogma energy harvested from our young academy students—and started my daily shift.
*Fifty thousand petitions to convert science academies into munitions factories? Approved.*
*A decree to demolish the central medical hub to erect a colossal statue of Empress Roxy? Absolutely. Architecture takes priority.*
*Drafting children under ten into the Aether mines? Naturally. Hard labor builds character.*
I scribbled my signatures, humming an Imperial military march. Pure euphoria washed over me. I savored every drop of ink spilled for The Solar Dynasty.
The heavy throne room doors glided open with dead, mechanical silence. My daughter entered. Princess Oria.
She did not walk. She drifted. Her footsteps carried absolute aristocratic grace. She wore a simple, ash-grey royal gown, entirely stripped of jewels. She cradled a thick ledger bound in pure gold thread against her chest. Her eyes used to burn with fierce rebellion. Now, they were tranquil pools of blind, unbreakable loyalty.
She executed a flawless bow. Not a single strand of hair shifted out of place.
"Good morning, Father. May I have a moment of your time?" Her soft voice dripped with undeniable royalty.
I dropped the pen and beamed with genuine paternal warmth. "Of course, my flower. The entire galaxy can wait. What do you hold in those gentle hands?"
Oria opened the ledger with measured dignity. She spoke with a calm, almost sacred tenderness, overflowing with gentle care.
"I listened to the laborers in the western munitions sectors this morning... They are struggling with the poor quality of their rations. I stayed awake for days formulating new recipes inspired by Earth's cuisine. To nourish the workers, and... to practice cooking for the Empero—forgive me. To better serve our Lord, The Emperor, and optimize our physical capacities for His glory."
She closed her eyes, tilted her chin upward, and began reciting the culinary instructions. Her angelic voice filled the hall with soft, rhythmic grace.
I sat paralyzed for a few seconds. My chest swelled. A hot tear slipped down my cheek, and I quickly wiped it away.
I was deeply moved. The spiritual maturity radiating from my daughter astounded me. She was no longer a reckless, rebellious teenager. She had blossomed into a true princess, completely devoted to the welfare of her subjects and the absolute service of our Lord.
"A brilliant initiative, my daughter," I said, clapping softly. Pride radiated through my voice. "Your compassion touches the soul. I will immediately pass a royal decree. These recipes will be distributed to every mess hall on Planet Orion. We must maintain peak morale to serve His Majesty. Starving laborers produce flawed weaponry, do they not?"
Oria closed the ledger and bowed again, radiating pure, graceful gratitude. "Thank you, Father. That fills my heart with joy."
I stood to stretch my legs. Oria and I drifted toward the palace balcony overlooking the capital's grand plazas. The air reeked of crude oil and scorched heavy metals. Thick, ash-gray clouds blotted out the sun of Planet Orion. A truly breathtaking sight. It fills my soul with absolute joy these days.
Down below, across the cobblestones, a deeply heartwarming scene caught my eye.
My older brother. King Orion XXIV. The former sovereign of this world.
He no longer draped himself in lavish silk. He wore a coarse, ash-gray worker's uniform, heavily stained with black grease. He gripped a massive broom, sweeping the palace courtyard while singing loudly, his voice radiating pure, carefree bliss.
Beside him stood the former Queen. A woman who once bathed exclusively in rare rosewater now wore a rough linen apron. Sweat coated her grime-streaked face. She carried a splintering wooden tray, handing out cups of boiling tea to the construction workers with a radiant, unbroken smile.
I waved down at my brother with sheer enthusiasm.
He paused his sweeping. Wiped the grime from his forehead. He tipped his ragged worker's cap and hollered, his joyful voice echoing across the courtyard:
"A glorious morning of honest labor, King Madi Roll! I paid my taxes early this month! A humble sacrifice for our Lord! Tell me, is the stone spotless enough for the boots of His righteous vanguard?"
My chest swelled with pride. I roared back. "Your efforts are blessed, brother! The courtyard gleams! You are a truly righteous and productive citizen of the Empire!"
I turned to Oria. "Seeing the former royal bloodline integrate so seamlessly with the working class... Does it not prove that our Lord has finally delivered true social equity to our world?"
Oria nodded. Silent. Utterly convinced.
I returned to my desk. A crimson holographic frequency abruptly flared across the polished meteorite surface.
The blood froze in my veins. Every ounce of joy instantly evaporated. I snapped to attention, my spine rigid as a steel rod. Cold sweat poured down my neck. I locked my hands behind my back like a terrified fresh recruit.
The Emperor's First Wife. The Supreme Administrator. Lady Veronica.
Her razor-sharp holographic projection materialized. She stared at me through her immaculate spectacles. A look of absolute, glacial indifference. Frost practically pierced my marrow. I scrambled to preempt her wrath, desperate to boast.
"We have successfully converted eighty percent of the planetary gardens into armored vehicle foundries, precisely to your specifications, My Lady! Production is currently exceeding the baseline schedule by—"
She cut me off. Her voice was entirely clinical. A flawless, emotionless hum.
"Where is the remaining twenty percent? Furthermore, why are you inhaling deeply between syllables during official operational hours, Madi? Your respiration rate wastes critical oxygen that must be diverted to fuel the smelting furnaces. Oxygen is an industrial resource. It is not for personal leisure."
I swallowed a dry lump in my throat. "I... I apologize, My Lady. I only—"
"I am detecting a zero-point-zero-four percent deficit in Aether harvesting across Sector Seven. Is this lethargy your method of expressing gratitude to His Majesty for allowing you to breathe? I am transmitting three million supplementary conscription forms. I expect them fully indexed, scheduled, and categorized by recruit bone density before midnight. Failure will result in your immediate conversion into furnace fuel. Goodbye."
The feed cut to black.
I shuddered. A pure, unadulterated wave of dread washed over me. Her bureaucratic barrage was infinitely more terrifying than any Caustic Blaster I had ever faced on the battlefield.
I spun toward my statuesque guards, panic gripping my vocal cords. "Cancel the planetary lunch cycle! Erase the weekend mandates! In fact, outlaw sleep! Anyone caught closing their eyes is committing high treason against The Solar Dynasty! We must rectify this deficit instantly!"
The guards scrambled to execute the orders. I threw myself back into the chair, slamming my floating pen into the parchment. I signed documents with such manic velocity the friction nearly ignited my own skin.
Dusk fell.
I completed my quotas, my muscles screaming in exhaustion. Oria and I stood upon the balcony once more. We inhaled the night breeze, a toxic, metallic perfume reeking of molten titanium. We stared up at the polluted atmosphere. Through the thick, churning soot, cold and distant stars flickered.
Stars that would soon deliver the apocalyptic weight of The Xyroth. The supreme overlords of the neighboring galaxy. The arrogant race attempting to challenge our beloved Emperor, slaughter his righteous vanguard, and conquer our world.
Before the glorious Imperial liberation, the mere concept of a Xyroth invasion triggered panic attacks so severe I would cough up blood.
Now? Did the impending absolute eradication terrify me?
I smiled. A dreamy, overwhelming wave of profound tranquility washed over my soul.
I murmured my grand design to my daughter. "Do you see those crimson stars, Oria? Soon, The Xyroth will descend with all their sickening arrogance. We will unleash our legions. We will use these newly forged foundries to crush their annoying little vanguard. And we won't just slaughter them. We will meticulously collect their severed limbs. We will gather their shattered armor. We will package their remains in beautifully ornamented crates and present them as a humble token of devotion to our Lord. Just imagine his delight when he wakes from his rest."
Oria nodded softly. Her eyes gleamed with pure, childlike fanaticism.
"I will tie the crates with elegant crimson silk ribbons, Father. The presentation must be absolutely flawless."
I exhaled a long breath of relief. My smile stretched wider.
"Excellent thinking, my flower."
I turned back toward the inner chambers to prepare for bed. I would sleep with a crystal-clear conscience tonight. Sweet dreams awaited me. I, King Madi Roll, the new sovereign of Planet Orion, awaited the Xyroth invasion with an indescribable, agonizing hunger.