Null in void 0.00
Kaspa Empire - Ceb System - Planet Hithe III
The day was hot and the manor sounded eerily quiet compared to the hustle and commotion of the hours prior. On the estate and in the master bedroom specifically, a married pair had become parents. “He looks so much like you Domitius.” Cleolia remarked while stroking the newborn's tiny arms. “He has strong blood.” The father responded smiling fondly sitting on the bedside. A silent nurse was tidying up the apparel and instruments of labour while the couple waited patiently for her exit to have more private discourse. “I am so glad to have born you an heir my love.” Domitius stared intently at his offspring. He had no qualms neglecting obligations to his property and recessed momentarily to celebrate the occasion with his wife. “I will send for the priest, register the child as an Imperial citizen and have him scribed into our family archives, but in the meantime, you must recover. Let a servant girl take our son for a while.” She pouted a playful but exhausted look of non compliance. “You must rest.” He insisted. “How can I let him go when I only just met him? Who are you little man?” She smiled faintly and nodded. “You are right, Domitius, where are you going?” “To the fields, the slaves are behind schedule, our harvest is big and taxes are high. This war is taking it's toll, we must excel to adequately serve the Empire in these pressing times. If the tamed Osteri could only comprehend what is at stake.” Cleolia peered cautiously at the embellishment and carvings on the wooden door knowing that Sethari was standing just beyond. Domitius trailed her gaze. “Don't worry my love, he means well, at least he tries to understand the urgency of my affairs.” He stood up straitening his vest and prepared to leave the room. “Domitius, wait...” He stopped at the door. “What will you tell the priest?” Domitius paused. “I will tell him Albin... Albin Domitius Chevalier.”
He left the room and it was quiet, the help entered and swaddled the baby rocking him while Cleolia drifted between sleep and conciousness. “Albin.” She repeated to herself as deep slumber enveloped her.
Domitius and his overseer walked briskly out of the manor towards the grain fields squinting as blue Ceb light reflected off the lanscape. “I honour you on the spawn of your son my lord, I hope for a good strong boy, you will be a happy father. I am happy with Seth.” He pounded his chest softly and proudly. “Thank you Sethari, is your son walking yet?” Domitius queried. “No my lord, still crawling on his belly like a beast.” The headman was trying to make his master laugh though Domitius was in a sterner mood having a weight on conscience. “I am in no mood to jest Sethari.” Domitius suddenly clenched his fists. “Get those slaves to work, I cannot have them idling when they should be harvesting.” Sethari made a small bow to his master and started yelling at his Osteri kinsmen, threatening them with a rolled up whip he procured from somewhere inside his tunic, waving it about and cracking it in the air every so often. Domitius picked up a scythe and proceeded to cleave down large swathes of grain. This had a more compelling effect of rallying the straggling workers to action than did the whip. They all toiled together in the pale light of Ceb.
Domitius was sweating, sweating and praying for a swift victory over the Jeula Federation. Fighting his small part in a increasingly complicated war, loyal to his Empire in his own unique way even though the conflict was far from home. A powerful loyalty that cannot be bought with riches or broken by coercion. A loyalty born through inheritance and blood.
...
The priest was in a more jovial mood than usual. The break of routine was a welcome one. The birth was indeed a momentous occasion. Few things seem of much report in a small planetary expansion program. He did not even seem to mind carrying a keg full of honey mead over the rolling hills of the plantation colony. “Domitius comes to church submissions far to infrequently.” The portly man mumbled to himself while wiping the accumulated sweat from his brow. “I eat too well among all these farmers.” The habit of speaking to himself was ordinary for this man of the cloth who always felt socially disconnected from his flock, caring for their souls, protecting their dignity and general well being like a responsible patron. “I feed their spirits, they feed my body, Hahaha. Tonight I will share my good spirits! Hahahaha.” Impressed by his own sense of humour he turned to witness the majestic blue star set over the skyline. Everything turned a silvery gray hue, and then the stars broke through the atmosphere lighting his way. “Clear skies, the blessed stars guide me.” He continued on the path approaching the Domitian manor and rapped a quick knock on the side of the root cellar doors. It creaked open upwards and a tall muscular Osteri took his baggage and let him in. “Thank you Setharis, my arms are weary, ready to fall off, bless you.” Domitius looked up from his bench seat below a glowing lantern. “Good to see you Father Ecknard.” “Dispense with the formalities and bring the dispenser.” He motioned to Setharis who placed the heavy keg on a table next to an assortment of documents, quill and sealed inkpot. “You pour Setharis and I will write. Name?” Ecknard scratches his chin with the quill contemplating his seat and it’s adequacy for the prolonged exercise of scribble. “Name?” Domitius paused. “Albin Domitius Chevalier.” The priest focused, started with his calligraphic art and fashioned the name and ASN standard block height beautifully onto the family records all the while biting his tongue. “He will inherit the colonial estates, all your assets in Kaspa Prime and the parochial offices at Magar Prime. Correct?” “Yes.” Replied Domitius solemnly. “I'll soon have to amend your will and testament. I'd have to make a registry at the parish and send correspondence to Magar Prime. There would be many from the royal courts who'll send their best regards from afar when this news becomes public.” Domitius did not seem as enthusiastic as Ecknard would have liked. “What ails you Domitius?” The priest could not help but make the pun and restrained a grunted laugh inside himself.
“I wonder if we should wait before registering and announcing him to Empire.” Ecknard’s expression slowly changed to puzzlement sitting up straight, his belly pushing on the heavy table. “In the voids name why?” “I am concerned... about this war...” “It is on the other side of Magar space!” The priest interjected in astonished retort. “I know father, maybe I am just being overly cautious, but with the Magar Dominus fleet occupied at the divide I am worried about the colonies in the isolated regions.” “Surely Kaspa prime will spare no expense to our defence in the improbable event of an invasion.” “The core keepers will not allow foul play from the Jeul.” “Yes Ecknard, but the fleet is not capable because most of our ships are at the aforementioned objective!” “No, no, no. Suggesting that conflict would happen outside of the divide is practically blasphemy. I cannot imagine insubordination to the Core mandates and the Accords." Domitius remained silently astute and father Ecknard decided to not argue further with the lord. His shoulders sagged. “I will not register the boy in the Imperial records.” “Thank you father.” “What do you know that I fail to see Domitius.” The two men stared at each other from across the table. The hulking bodyguard ever present in body but semi ignorant in mind silently and intriguingly observing the discussion.
“The value of sat. It is not calculated well by the common people, no offence father.” The priest piously lifted his hand and with tilted brow motioned. “None taken.” “My son and our blood line is invested with empiric power, if opportunists become aware of his existence and being outside the Magar prime void, we might have problems here on Hithe III.” Cumbersome thoughts and machinations of the mind darkened the mood of the party. Not at all what Father Ecknard was projecting in his minds eye during his arduous walk to what he was hoping, a celebration and getting drunk with an old friend. “The war does not seem to be ending any time soon, how long shall we stall his registration?” The priest reasoned on. “Think of the rites he will not be allowed to partake in at the church. He will be like Osteri.” Ecknard gestured towards Sethari. “This is a small colony Ecknard. My son will be educated as a member of royalty, all on Hithe III will acknowledge his social standing, I am only concerned that the secret be kept from the outside worlds. He will never be considered Osteri, he will know who he is and what his position is in the greater void. When the war is over we will properly introduce him to the families, currently they would be too occupied with politic as it is, and might not offer him due ceremony as they would under more peaceable circumstances.” The priest capitulated and grabbed a mug. “Your secret is safe with me Domitius, the lack of technology on this forsaken planet is good for your purposes, seeing as the only comms service on the planet is in the church tower. That blinking comms station hounds me daily with requests for your return to Magar Prime. The high counsel want to rebalance and need your signature.” Domitius sighed and looked away as if some spectre loomed in front of him.
I swear silence on the birth my lord, though let me make a final amendment to your proposal. A bit of extra security shall I say.” Domitius filled a cup of mead for Sethari and himself, becoming more relaxed and hospitable. “I am listening.” “If the risks are as great as you assume, let us pretend for the child's sake that he is Kaspian royalty only, and not true Magar. We then continue his education to the full and not put him in a position where he could compromise himself should he be... void forbid, captured by some opportunistic prospector.” Domitius looked ponderously into his cup. “Ecknard, my son is an infant... If we have to keep the boy in the dark about the true nature of his identity, how long do you predict this war to continue?” Father Ecknard leaned forward... “I sit at the comms desk every night and listen to the chatter. This war... is going to be a long one.”
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