A name is only as powerful as the deeds that uphold it. House Fel of Velusia—a footnote in the grand history of the Fel Dynasty, an afterthought in the annals of the Empire. But history is written by those with the will to claim it, and I will not allow my family's legacy to fade into obscurity.
There was a time when the Fel name was synonymous with duty, with discipline, with the unyielding strength of the Empire, both in modern times and in times long past. My ancestors were not rulers, nor statesmen, nor political schemers. We were warriors. We fought in the Empire's fleets and legions, not as celebrated heroes, but as officers who executed their duties with unwavering loyalty. We did not seek power—we served it. And that, in the end, was our greatest failure.
Our cousins in the core of the Empire—the ones whose names history remembers—played the game of politics. They learned that survival meant more than holding the line; it meant knowing when to take command, when to betray, when to seize opportunity. House Fel of Velusia never learned that lesson.
My great-grandfather, Commander Veldar Fel, was a fleet officer under the Empire, a career soldier who served without ambition beyond his commission. He commanded destroyers, led planetary sieges, and carried out the will of the Emperor. He was a man of order, of strict adherence to the chain of command. He did not question, he did not waver. And when the Empire collapsed, he fought to preserve what remained of it, believing—as so many did—that the dream could still be saved.
But belief alone does not stop the tide of history.
It was my grandfather, Osrik Fel, who made the choice that severed us from the Fel Dynasty entirely. A decorated Imperial officer in his own right, he watched as the warlords squabbled over the Empire's corpse, as the Galactic Alliance reigned supreme, as those who had once ruled with strength bowed before weakness. And he knew that the Fel name—at least, our Fel name—would have no place in this new galaxy.
He retired his commission, not in disgrace, but in disillusionment. He gathered what wealth and resources he could and left the war behind. He sought exile not in the deep reaches of Imperial space, but on Velusia, the homeworld of his wife, Lady Isara Veylen-Fel. A world of many cultures, thriving trade, and decadent nobility—but no Empire.
It was there that he laid the foundations of House Fel of Velusia. He used his military wealth to purchase estates, to establish trade holdings, to secure a place among Velusia's aristocracy. He did what so many others did after the fall—he survived. The Fel name, once a banner flown in war, became a symbol of old nobility, of a forgotten past. We lived as aristocrats, as merchants, as landowners. My father, Veydran Fel, inherited this life, and with it, the slow erosion of our legacy.
For decades, our family remained on Velusia, comfortable but insignificant. The great houses of the Core recognized our lineage in name alone, but without power, our bloodline was worth nothing. What is nobility without dominion? What is a name if it commands no fear, no loyalty, no respect?
When I was a child, I listened to my father speak of our past—not with ambition, but with bitterness. He lamented that we had been cast aside, that we had lost our place in history. But he did nothing to reclaim it. He had made peace with obscurity. He had accepted exile.
I never did.
The day I learned of the Dark Empire, I knew my moment had come. A resurgence of Imperial might, unshackled by weakness. Not the pitiful, fractured remnants of the warlords, nor the cautious, compromising remains of the Empire my distant cousins ruled. The Dark Empire was power. It was strength. It was a future forged in fire and war.
I was the first Fel of Velusia to take up arms in a generation. I enlisted not as a noble seeking status, but as a soldier determined to reclaim his birthright. My name meant nothing in the ranks of the Dark Empire—so I made them respect it. I proved myself in battle, bled on the frontlines, commanded where others fell. I became more than a forgotten noble. I became a warrior once more.
Now, I stand at the precipice. The Dark Empire gave me the opportunity to rise, but I will not remain a servant to another's cause forever. The Dark Empire may be gone, but the Empire Reborn endures, as must I. The Fel name must mean more than loyalty—it must mean dominion.
House Fel of Velusia will not remain a footnote in history. I will see it restored, not as mere soldiers, but as rulers.
And if the galaxy will not recognize my claim?
Then I will carve it into history myself.
