The shuttle soared through space and quietly docked at the Spire. The passenger on board stalked out in a swish of his white robes, ignoring the guards lined up in a show of formality. He strode into the lift waiting for him.
It flew upwards. There was only one place it could go.
The man clasped his hands together behind him while he waited to arrive, his cybernetic fingers tapping impatiently on his other wrist, eyes watching the floors soar by. The news he carried was expected, if earlier than predicted. All it meant was that his plan would fall into place sooner.
Not even the Scions could predict it, the fools.
The lift slowed and the doors slid open in the pneumatic hiss.
He strode down the aisle towards the man seated on the throne. "Father. They've come."
The Emperor didn't look at him. "I know," he simply said, and pressed a button on the armrest of the throne.
The blackness of space rippled behind the Emperor as a fleet of warships discarded their stealth covers. Thousands upon thousands of ships slowly appeared.
The Eternal Fleet.
Unveiling it could only mean one thing.
An attack.
Prince Arcann spun and went to prepare his flagship.