Heir to the Empire
So much had changed, in what felt like so little time.
Empires had risen and fallen, and from the ashes the new wave of the galaxy's denizens filled the void when further nations and ideologies to propagate its wrath. The New Imperial Order had been one of them, in those burgeoning years before terms like Empire were tossed around so lightly. What had been done and accomplished for the Empire to thrive, was nuanced at best. War had been waged on a scale that the Unknown Regions had not seen for centuries, with the underdog New Imperials toppling their former masters and supplanting the tyrranic regime that all but underestimated their succession.
Lucien had been there for it all.
He'd seen the New Imperials at their weakest, what it was capable of achieving under great duress. He'd seen the death of thousands men, and ordered his fair share of them as one of the premier rising talents within the Order's growing chain of command. Groomed for his innate talents for war, honed for the administration of planets as the faux warlord of the Empire's temporary capitol, he would grow into a man beneath the watchful eye of Irveric Tavlar, the Sovereign Imperator of the rising New Imperial regime. Though he would never admit it while the man still drew breath, he was thankful nonetheless for the opportunities he was provided. For it was through Tavlar's guidance, and leniency, that the brazen young Warlord grew into his own as a man, grasping onto the ideals and principles bestowed upon him and letting them mold naturally with his own.
He became a man in no time, tasked with the governance of two worlds by the dawn of the Empire's ascent over the dying corpse of the Sith they left in their wake. Crowned King of his birthright, and given authority over two worlds which soon enough would become jewels of the Imperial realm. But with the death of Irveric Tavlar, the world around him began to change all at once. To the Core he went in search of his beloved, and no sooner than he arrived did the chaos once more strike at the heart of the peace he wished to attain. Strife eclipsed his opportunity to grieve, leaving him with no option but to take to the blade once more in defense of a world he spent many a month in the planet's underworld.
And though defeat would come in the end, he was prepared to meet his maker if that was what the fates had wished for him once more. He was a man who fought for his woman, and for what was right, and though he believed he would die on that fateful day, the force would save him once more.
Lucien awoke months later, his mind fractured into shattered remnants of what it was once before. He was saved from the oblivion, but at the cost of both his body and mind taking a toll that be hard pressed to recover. It would take time for him to heal, time he would not have as the coming months revealed that his enemies would not leave him to rest. Gifted a Chapter of Knights by his Brother-crowned-Emperor, the former warriors of his own Legion would accompany the newly-knighted Captain into battle once more. More lives were lost, another planet left devastated in the wake of the Sith's vengeance against Imperial dominance. What was lost had been reconquered not long after, leaving the King & Warlord to focus on rebuilding what was destroyed.
All was well, it seemed, yet the peace that followed couldn't help but feel hollow.
The tides of war had shifted again, this time poised against those they once called allies. Lucien had been there when such an event had occured in the past, instigated in part by the deceased Commissioner of COMPNOR, who he found himself close to entering conflict with himself. He was able to intercede that time, to do what he could to prevent the tension from being stoked where they should not. But he could not do the same in the present, when the Empire around him seemed poised to stand alone, and against the galaxy all the same.
Isolated behind the Iron Curtain, centralized beneath an Iron Emperor.
Pfft.
Lucien would've spat at the idea, if it were not for what respect still remained for his half-kin, Rurik. Their destinies no longer walked a mutual path, the force willed them down their individual fates at a pace which prevented them from being able to intersect. Perhaps Rurik did what he thought was right, for the Empire that Tavlar left behind to remain prosperous and strong.
Perhaps not.
He didn't know what the man thought, but he'd soon find out.
But Lucien would be ready, if he would have to do what he must. To protect the legacy left behind by Tavlar, and for the millions of denizens who he promised a better life. He would stand against tyranny, even if the culprit proved his own blood. He'd done the same once before, in this very same palace that he now called his own.
And he'd do so again, if the force willed his blade forwards.
But until the spark had been lit, he'd gather his wits, and what allies he could.
It was dark inside the throne room, the lights kept at a dim as the lone figure inside the vast walls stared out from the glass walls towards the glimmering city within the valley. He watched the lights of the skyscrapers twinkle with sanguine joy, slow breaths following in anticipation at each glimmer of brilliance that followed. It'd been a long road to see the achievement of his people's success before his own very eyes. Carannia had been left mauled by the horrors of war; the invasion of Serenno was costly on all fronts, after all, and though the people were liberated from the Sith, it too was done at a cost. Though time and effort had eased the people's burdens, it would never replace those precious lives lost to achieve such a feat as their freedom from chains.
Chains that he now saw being inched ever so closer back onto their still-raw wrists.
Lucien was expecting a visitor, one who had been given freedom to enter the halls of Dooku Palace since his arrival onto the world in the months past. He'd proven useful- no, trustworthy would be more accurate, and more fitting for someone he respected. His list of allies had always been a small one, ever cursed to be shrinking as a result of his alienating views, and forcing him to be shrewd in regards to the hard decisions he had to make. As a result, Lucien found himself alone most of the time when it came to his fellow Warlords and Politicians, but in his solemn identity came the boon of observation over his enemies.
Such was the case when priority intelligence made its way down the network, entering into his hands with news from the capitol of Bastion itself. Though his mind had yet to recover fully since his awakening, Lucien could no longer afford to be a docile servant of an Empire that now threatened itself from within. He would need allies if he were to continue his crusade against tyranny, or at the least be surrounded by those he could trust, if the situation turned hot.
That's where his guest came in.
A man of honor and principles, loyal to the Empire, yet not blind to the folly of tyranny being veiled behind rampant nationalism and propaganda. Like-minded, he supposed was the easiest way to sum it up, which was perhaps one of the reasons that Lucien turned to him, rather than his father.
And so he'd wait for his arrival patiently, eyes glued onto the half-alive metropolis still glimmering down in the valley. It was his home, and a place he was bound to protect at all costs.
But so too was the Empire.
Hard choices, indeed.
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