| Characters: Nymeria, Nolan, Mark, Thragg, Kregg, Conquest, Debbie
| Synopsis: Raised as a Grayson but born to rule Viltrum, Nymeria must decide whether she will become the next conqueror or the first true Empress.
The front door clicked shut, and Nolan finally breathed out, loosening his tie. He barely took a step into the foyer before everything shifted. The air inside felt thick, buzzing in a way that just didn’t belong here in this quiet neighborhood.
“Debbie? Mark?” His voice cut through the weird silence, sharper than he meant.
He followed a soft, steady creaking sound into the living room. Debbie was hunched on the sofa, holding something in her arms, her face worn raw with exhaustion and confusion. Mark stalked back and forth across the rug, looking like he’d jump out of his skin. Then—out of nowhere—a cry split the room. It wasn’t loud, but it clawed right through all three of them.
Nolan’s whole body tensed up. “What is that?”
Debbie’s hands shook. “She was just on the doorstep,” she said. “No note. No one around. Just… her.”
Nolan felt all the warmth drain out of him. He didn’t even need to see the kid’s face to know. The silence pressed in, heavier now, and the name in his head tasted metallic and foul. Thragg.
A rough curse scraped past his lips as he gripped the back of the chair, knuckles white, the wood groaning under his hand.
Nolan didn’t hesitate. He just jerked his head toward the basement, and Mark fell in step behind him. When the heavy door closed, it cut them off from the world, leaving just the echo of the latch and a crushing silence.
Mark’s chest felt tight, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Dad? You’re acting like she’s a time bomb. What’s going on?”
Nolan hovered by the workbench, gripping it so hard his knuckles turned white. He stared at the floor, not at Mark. “She’s not some orphan left on a doorstep. That baby is the heir to the Viltrumite Empire.”
Mark staggered, half laughing, half coughing. “Heir? Are you saying… Thragg’s heir?”
“Her name is Nymeria,” Nolan said. Saying it made it sound dangerous, like a secret they weren’t supposed to know. “She’s the Grand Regent’s daughter. If the Empire ever found out she’s alive, they’d tear this planet apart to get her back. And if Thragg sent her here… he’s not after help. He’s hiding her.”
Mark dragged his hands through his hair, pacing the basement. The truth made him queasy. He’d just held her, this little, breakable thing, never knowing he was holding the future of the most brutal empire in the galaxy.
“She’s an Empress,” he muttered, barely breathing. “We’re supposed to just… raise her? Feed her formula? Dad, we’re talking about a girl who’ll grow up stronger than any of us. How do you raise someone like that? How do you look her in the eye and pretend she’s any kind of normal?”
He stopped, hunched over, searching Nolan’s face for a hint of what to do. There was nothing.
“I hate this,” Mark said, voice sharp. “Lying to her. We’re supposed to be her family, but we’ll be keeping her whole life a secret. What do we do when she finds out? What if she decides she wants the power that comes with being Thragg’s daughter?”
Nolan finally met his eyes. And Mark saw—he wasn’t just tired from fighting. This was something heavier. Something that would never leave them.
“We don’t tell her. Not yet,” Nolan said, steady and unyielding. “We raise her like she’s ours. We show her what it means to be human. How to care, how to do the right thing. If she understands that—really understands it—maybe her blood won’t matter. But if she finds out before she learns those things… Mark, nothing will stop her.”
Mark stared up at the ceiling. The air in the basement felt cracked and thin, like it could give way under the weight of what they knew.
“It’s a lie, Dad. A huge, dangerous lie.”
“No,” Nolan said, his voice rough. “It’s protection. It’s all we have between her and a future that’ll wipe us all out. Are you ready to live with that?”
The throne room in Viltrum felt like a tomb. Nothing moved. All that noise—thousands of soldiers, voices echoing off stone, boots hitting the floor—gone. Now, there was only the steady, metallic tick coming from General Kregg’s bionic eye.
Thragg didn’t move. He just sat there, his massive shoulders somehow looking even heavier now that there was no empire for them to hold up. Outside in the courtyard, maybe a few hundred survivors waited—the left-behind embers of something powerful that had burned itself out.
“The Scourge Virus did what whole galaxies together couldn’t,” Thragg said. His voice was rough, low, and it rattled against the dark walls. “Viltrum is a grave. You’re going to Earth. Blend in. Stay hidden. Live. Make new generations. We’ll get strong again, but only in secret.”
He stood, somehow still regal, the cape hanging off his back. But anyone watching could see he wasn’t a conqueror anymore—he was just a king in the ruins of his own kingdom.
“And you, my Regent?” he asked, turning toward Kregg.
Kregg stepped forward, his cybernetic eye adjusting with a soft whirr. He didn’t sound rebellious. He just sounded like a soldier with nothing left but the truth. Still, behind all that discipline, there was a flicker of something—call it sympathy, maybe regret.
“The virus keeps changing,” Kregg said, his voice quiet. “Stay here and you die. Earth’s the only place our kind can survive now. Why stay here alone? Why pick silence over your own bloodline?”
Thragg kept his eyes on the icy horizon. He didn’t answer right away. His mind wandered to the medical bay, to the last breath of his Empress, to a promise whispered to a child while the world crumbled.
“My place is here, Kregg,” he said firmly. His voice never shook.
“To die?” Kregg pressed, one hand clenching on his sword. “That’s not leadership, Regent. That’s giving up.”
This time, Thragg met his gaze. For a split second, the mask slipped. What showed wasn’t defeat—just a quiet finality, the look of a man who’d already won his most important battle, and sent the victory far from here.
“My days serving the Empire are over,” Thragg said. “I’ve secured our future. Now it’s up to you—all of you—to rebuild. My job is to stay here—a monument, that’s all, a marker for our end.”
He walked to the edge of the dais. His presence was so heavy, the soldiers automatically bowed their heads.
“Go,” he told Kregg. “Earth isn’t just a safe haven. It’s a test. If our people are worthy, they’ll rise again. If not… then we deserve to fade out.”
Kregg paused. His eye clicked, working through orders, calculations, feelings he’d probably never admit. But he knew better than to argue. Instead, he saluted—crisp and sharp. Not just an order to obey, but a gesture of respect for the man still standing in front of him.
“As you command, Grand Regent,” Kregg said.
The soldiers filed out after that, and the hall filled with dust and echoes. Thragg stayed where he was. He walked to the spot where he’d once stood with her, staring up at the stars—knowing he’d sent his daughter on a hard path, and knowing he’d never see her again.
The wind howled through those empty halls. And Thragg, for maybe the first time, allowed himself just a ghost of a smile.
She was strong. She was safe.
That was enough legacy for him.
Nobody really saw what was coming after Viltrum fell. People braced for more fighting, waited for another empire to rise up and stomp through the galaxy, but nothing happened. The survivors didn’t rebuild. They didn’t rally. They just vanished, quietly tucking themselves into whatever corners of life they could find.
Except for General Kregg.
He didn’t go chasing some peaceful retirement or fall into a new love story. He didn’t bury himself in someone else, hoping to forget the blood and ashes of the past. Every time he looked at the sky, all he could see were the empty halls of the old fortress. And always, the Empress lingered in his thoughts.
He couldn’t get away from that one night on Earth—carrying baby Nymeria. She was heavier than any blade he’d swung in battle. She was the last scrap of an empire gasping its final breath, and he felt the weight in his arms. Kregg looked down at her, saw her little determined jaw and the stubborn way she held her breath. She wasn’t a weapon, not to him. She was *her*. The Empress, incarnate.
He used to tell himself he felt nothing. He was Viltrumite through and through—cold, sharp, unbreakable. The Empress? Just another piece to move around. That’s what he tried to believe. But then he saw her—steadfast before the throne, never flinching, full of hidden strength. He watched her change the Grand Regent, crack that old stone man into someone with a pulse and a soul.
She changed everything, and she didn’t even have to try. Eventually, Kregg couldn’t see the universe the same way again.
He became a shadow at the edge of the Graysons’ life—always watching, never seen. He kept his distance. Never married, never tried to fit in. He was the last breath of Viltrum’s ghost, tied to memories he wouldn’t let go of. The idea of loving anyone else just felt wrong—not just to the Regent, but to her. The only one who made a soldier think about being more.
Sometimes he hovered above that quiet neighborhood, his mechanical eye whirring as he watched. Nymeria played in the backyard, and the way she moved—so steady, so graceful—almost hurt to see.
He remembered Thragg’s words at her wedding still ringing in his ears: “She is no prize. She is my wife. She is your Empress.”
Kregg found himself reaching for the old instincts—the fierce, violent ones. But strength wasn’t really about power or fear, not anymore. The Empress taught him that it’s about what you build, and what you’re willing to lose.
The other Viltrumites tried to start over. Good for them, he guessed. He never cared. For Kregg, forgetting felt like betrayal. He wanted to remember. He’d rather be a ghost, the last sentry at the border of someone else’s happiness, holding fast to the last spark of what she left behind.
Whenever Nymeria laughed—clear and bright, echoing her mother—he’d drop his gaze. The machine in his eye would flicker, almost gentle. He wasn’t cut out for peace or family life, and he’d made his peace with that.
He was still the General of a dead queen. That was enough. As long as Nymeria breathed, the Empress wasn’t truly gone. And as long as that light flickered, Kregg kept watch.
The Grayson kitchen felt heavy—not from the dinner Debbie made, but from the words drifting in from the next room.
Nymeria sat alone at the small table, so focused on her coloring you’d think she was just a normal kid. But if you watched her, really watched, you’d see how every stroke lined up perfectly, nothing wasted, nothing outside the lines. Mark and Nolan didn’t find it cute. They found it terrifying.
Nolan leaned against the doorway, his voice barely above a growl. “She’s developing fast, Mark. Way too fast. She’s starting to ask why she’s not like the other kids. Why she never gets sick, why she’s so much stronger.”
Mark watched his foster sister, his gut twisted up. “What are we supposed to tell her? ‘Guess what? Your real dad tried to wipe out every planet he found, and your mom was an Empress who died for you.’ She’s a kid, Dad. That isn’t a family story, that’s something you don’t come back from.”
The kitchen door swung open. Cecil Stedman came in, all stiff posture and cold confidence—never really invited, just always there, glancing right past the food straight to the girl coloring in the other room.
“It’s biology, Grayson,” he said. His voice was clean and sharp, like a scalpel. “I’ve tracked her neural development. She’s already leaps ahead of everyone her age. You want to protect her by keeping secrets, but all you’re doing is building a bomb. If she hears the truth from anyone else—or worse, if her powers break loose because she doesn’t understand what she is—it blows up in your face.”
Mark spun around, fists clenched. “She’s not a project, Cecil! She’s a little girl. You’ve been watching her since day one. Don’t talk about her like she’s some kind of asset.”
“She is an asset,” Cecil shot back, not flinching. “You can’t change what she is. She’s the last remnant of a family that almost destroyed everything. Keeping her ignorant doesn’t make her human—it makes her dangerous.”
Debbie stepped in, holding a dinner plate, keeping her voice steady. “She is human. She gets love here. That’s what makes her different, not some lecture about her family tree. And it definitely isn’t your experiments or your so-called ‘management,’ Cecil.”
Cecil stared at Nymeria for a second; his tone softened, just barely. “Love’s nice, Debbie. But it won’t change who she is underneath. So you can tell her now, guide her through it… or you can let her figure it out when she snaps. Your call.”
Mark looked back at Nymeria. She’d stopped coloring. She was just… listening. Head cocked to the side like she’d caught a sound they all missed. The quiet felt almost dangerous.
Nolan finally stepped out of the doorway, eyes hard. He glanced at Cecil, then Debbie, then Nymeria. She was everything that survived the worst of worlds.
“If we tell her,” Nolan said, his voice ice-cold, “we give her a chance to choose who she wants to be. But Cecil, if you ever try messing with our family again, I’ll make sure you never see another blip on your little screens. Understood?”
Cecil just nodded. “I want her on our side when it counts.”
Mark’s hands shook as he grabbed a chair. The argument was over, but the fear was right there, close as breath.
He went to the living room, knelt beside Nymeria, and gently took the crayon from her fingers.
“Nymeria,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice calm, “we need to talk about your family. About where you come from.”
Nymeria’s eyes darted between them. First, she looked at Mark—his face twisted up with that older-brother blend of worry and fierce protectiveness—then at Nolan, so tense he looked like he was bracing himself for a crash. Finally, her gaze stopped on Debbie, who knelt at the edge of the rug, eyes swollen with love and a kind of worry that hurt.
Nymeria didn’t shrink back. She didn’t even squirm. She just set her crayon down on the table. The click of plastic against wood cut through the sudden quiet, sharp and final, almost like a judge’s gavel.
"You all look like you’re waiting for something to snap," Nymeria said. Her voice was steady and flat, older than her years. Not really a question. Just saying it for what it was.
Mark dropped to his knees beside her, breath hitching. For a second, he hovered, but then he rested his hand on her shoulder. She felt oddly solid under his touch—like something dense and unbreakable, only disguised as a child.
"We’re not waiting for you to break, Nym," Mark said, his voice soft and raw. "We’re… we just want you to hear the truth from us, before anyone else tries to mess it up."
Nolan moved so she could see him. Instead of looming over Nymeria, he crouched down to face her straight on, his big, worn features gentling into the dad she recognized. "Nymeria," he began, and his words rumbled so low they seemed to shake the floor a little. "You keep asking why you’re different. Why you’re faster, or stronger, or why regular things don’t feel the same to you as they do to other kids."
She studied him, dark eyes bright in the patchwork of harsh kitchen light and living room shadows. She tilted her head, and for one quick moment, you could almost see royalty in her, some echo of the Grand Regent.
"Is it ‘cause I’m a secret?" she asked.
That question hit hard. Everyone felt it.
Debbie’s hand shook a little as she brushed hair out of Nymeria’s eyes. "You’re not a secret to us, sweetie. You’re our daughter. Mark's your brother. That’s the truth—it always is. But... where you came from, who your parents were—that part’s hard to explain."
"And it’s not just a story," Nolan said, gaze locked on her. "It’s heavy. You shouldn’t have to carry it yet, but… we can’t keep it from you anymore."
Nymeria stared at her coloring book, at the violent sweep of red across her sky. She studied her own small, pale hands, then looked up at Nolan.
"Were they bad people? The ones I came from?" Her voice fell to a trembling whisper.
The whole room seemed to stop breathing. Mark watched his father, waiting, everything hanging in the silence. This was it—the edge. The story that kept them safe was about to crumble, and the truth would either make or break her.
Nolan met his son's eyes, then looked at Nymeria. "They believed strength was the only thing that mattered," he said slowly. "And with that belief, they did things that changed everything. You—you exist because of a promise made when their world ended. A promise you’d be something better."
Nymeria stood. Suddenly, she didn’t look like a little kid at all. Shoulders squared, eyes meeting Nolan’s straight on, so sure you could almost feel it buzzing in the air. She was almost regal.
"I don’t feel like a secret," she told Mark, looking him dead in the eye. "And I don’t feel like a promise. Just… me."
Her gaze flicked to the corner where Cecil’s cameras hid, then right back to her family.
"So," she said, voice dropping, steady as stone. "Tell me everything. I’m tired of guessing."
Nolan let out a harsh breath, rough as stone scraping. He glanced at Mark, jaw clenched, then at Debbie. She nodded—no words needed. The look said everything: Go on, tell her.
"Alright," Nolan said. His voice grew steady, almost storytelling, like he was pulling up ancient history. "Nymeria, sit down."
She obeyed, folding her legs on the rug. Her eyes never left him.
Nolan didn’t ease her in. He started with the universe—how vast it is, what it means to rule over worlds not with kindness but with pure, ruthless might. The Viltrumite Empire wasn’t Saturday morning evil; it was a force of nature, full of people who saw every other race like stubborn kids who needed discipline.
Nymeria listened, her face impossible to read. Not a single tear. She just absorbed it all, forehead creased, like she was putting together the pieces—how she healed fast, how she snapped her toys.
"Your father," Nolan went on, voice rougher now, "was Grand Regent Thragg. He was the strongest of us all. He truly believed the only way to fix the universe was control. And your mother? She was Empress. She was the only one who made him see there’s nothing good about power unless you use it well."
Nymeria touched her face, thoughtful, almost curious. "They’re gone, aren’t they?"
"Yeah," Mark managed, his voice breaking. "It was the virus. They sent you here so you’d survive."
Nymeria’s gaze drifted to the shadows. "What about the man who left me? The one with the weird eye?"
"General Kregg," Nolan said. "He was their soldier. He followed orders."
Nymeria got up and started pacing. Everything about her—her movement, her presence—felt alien, not exactly human. After a lap around the room, she stood at the window, staring out at the empty, normal street.
"You’re scared of me," she said quietly, not turning around. "You think, because of who my parents are, I’m going to turn bad. You’re waiting for the day I decide the world isn’t enough and just start burning everything down."
Mark stood too, walking up behind her. His shadow stretched over her. "That’s not what we want. Nym, we’re just scared because… who would want that kind of power? We don’t want you to be a weapon."
She turned to face him. Her eyes were big and dark, too calm and clear for a child. "Then stop treating me like one."
She walked over to the coffee table, picked up a red crayon, and snapped it in half like it was nothing. There was no anger—just a reminder.
"You’re worried I’ll turn out like him," she said, voice even. "But that’s not how it works. Thragg didn’t raise me. You did. Debbie taught me to read. Mark taught me games. And you, Dad…" She glanced at Nolan, and for the first time real emotion flickered there. "You taught me that being strong isn't about breaking things. It’s about what you protect."
The broken crayon hit the table with a small thud. "I know who I am now. I’m Nymeria. I’m your daughter. And if anyone wants to know more about me—they can come talk to me themselves."
Something changed in the room. The secret wasn’t hanging there anymore, but the air felt heavier. Mark looked at his father and saw relief but also a kind of grief. The kid they’d been sheltering was gone. In her place was something new—something looking out at the universe, not afraid, but ready.
Nolan moved to her side, his hand gentle on her shoulder. "You decide who you are every day, Nymeria. Not your blood."
She looked up at him, then out at the darkening sky. "I know. But I need to learn what I’m capable of. If I’m going to protect anything, I need to know how much strength I really have."
She turned to Mark. "Will you help me, brother? Will you teach me to be strong, but not cruel?"
Mark’s mouth went dry. He looked from Nolan to Nymeria—the future, standing right there—and he nodded. "Yeah," he whispered. "Of course I will."
Viltrum’s silence wasn’t just absence—it pressed in, heavy, crowding around their ears and accusing them for breaking it. When their ship touched down on the black glass landing pad, Allen the Alien hovered behind everyone else, his single eye twitching from shadow to shadow. “I don’t get it,” he said, and his voice boomed in the quiet, way too loud. “Where’s the blockade? Or guards? Anything? When the Empire was collapsing, they were noisy. This... this is a tomb.”
Nolan didn’t bother replying at first. He swept his gaze over the ruins, frowning hard. He had imagined they’d bump into some holdouts from the old days—someone, anyone—clinging to the old ways. But the place was empty. No movement. Just cold, the kind that made his skin crawl, same as it had the day he realized how far the Empire had rotted.
“Something’s wrong,” Nolan finally said, his words more of a growl than anything.
Nymeria didn’t wait for his warning. She wasn’t the lost little girl she used to be; she moved hard and sure, every step silent, gliding over the broken ground like she wasn’t even touching it. Some pull inside her bones drew her forward—like the planet itself was calling her name, humming in her marrow—right toward where the old throne room waited.
“Nym, wait—!” Mark’s hand shot out for her, but she was already gone, eyes locked on those huge doors at the heart of the stronghold.
She pushed them open. The hinges screamed, a wrenching sound that broke the silence in half.
Inside, narrow beams of light slashed through the cracks in the ceiling. The room was just like she’d dreamed it: grand, haunted, not empty but carved out. And on the throne sat a figure so rooted he seemed to hold the room together himself. Grand Regent Thragg. He looked exactly like he had in Nolan’s nightmares—huge and unshakeable, dark mustache flawless, eyes burning right through to the bone.
But he wasn’t sitting there by himself.
A young woman stood by his side, every sharp Viltrumite edge in her face mixed with something else, something wild. One hand rested easy on her sword. Her eyes raked over Nymeria—a hunter sizing up a threat.
Nymeria paused, her heartbeat even, but the air thinned, tight around her ribs.
Thragg leaned forward, hands gripping his throne. No surprise on his face—he looked ready, almost impatient. “I wondered,” his voice boomed, echoing off the stone, “if I’d live to see you come home, little Empress.”
He peered right through Nymeria, honing in on Mark and Nolan as they entered behind her. His lips pulled into a cold, thin smile.
“And you brought company.” His gaze fixed on Nolan. “Tell me, Omni-Man—did you have fun pretending to be a father? Did you enjoy teaching a lioness how to pass for a sheep?”
The girl next to him—Ursaal—tilted her head, a dangerous smile spreading slow across her face. She eased off the dais, body tight as a coiled spring. “She doesn’t smell like an Empress,” she said, every word cutting. “She smells like... Earth.”
Nymeria held her ground, chin lifting, mirroring Thragg on his throne. She felt something in her crackle to life—a power that had waited too long.
“I’m not here for your throne, Thragg,” she said, her voice echoing back at her. “And I’m not here to play.”
Thragg laughed, deep and humorless, the sound rumbling through the floor. “You’re here because you belong to me. And because you’re the last thing in this dying universe worth fighting for.”
Nymeria gestured her head towards Ursaal.
Thragg kept his eyes on Nymeria, but his hand drifted over, almost possessively, to the girl beside him.
“This,” he said, and his pride sounded colder than his anger ever did, “is Ursaal. She’s the result of everything I’ve done—the first of a new, unstoppable bloodline. She grew up right here, in the shadow of this throne. She’s had reality burned into her, the way our people truly were meant to live.”
Ursaal stepped up, closing the gap between them. She stood taller than Nymeria, all sharp lines and raw muscle, her eyes burning with the too-bright, eager aggression that marked her as pure Viltrumite. She looked Nymeria over, sneering, clearly unimpressed.
“She doesn’t look like much, Father,” Ursaal said, voice flat and dismissive. “You told me she was the heir. She looks like just anybody else. She looks weak.”
Thragg didn’t flinch. “Things aren’t always how they look, Ursaal,” he said, still staring Nymeria down. “She’s been protected by cowards, on a planet of cowards. She spent her life hiding what she is, letting weak ideas like ‘morality’ keep her powers locked away.”
Nymeria didn’t back off—she just met Ursaal’s glare, completely unbothered. The tension sharpened around them; Ursaal’s raw force scraped the room like a blade, while Nymeria’s strength just hummed, older and deeper, like the roots of a mountain.
“She has your eyes, Father,” Nymeria said quietly, steady as stone. Then she looked away from Ursaal, straight at the throne. “But you kept her locked up. You trained her in darkness, turned her into a weapon. That’s all you know how to do.”
Ursaal’s fists tightened, jaw flexing. “I’m the Empire’s future,” she shot back. “You shouldn’t even exist.”
Thragg cut her off—no anger, just cold command. “Enough.” He stood, filling the space, making everyone else—Nolan and Mark included—seem suddenly small. Nolan’s power sparked at his edges, even from the back, but Thragg didn’t care. He looked only at his daughters.
“You want to know who she is, Nymeria? She’s what your absence left in your wake. While you played human, Ursaal learned how to survive at any cost.”
He stepped down from the dais—boots echoing, stone floor trembling. “You’re both here now. I have a crown waiting for an Empress... and death ready for a traitor.”
His hand flicked toward Mark and Nolan. “Let’s see if ‘Earth’ made you strong after all—or just soft enough to break.”
Ursaal didn’t hesitate. She shot forward, fist aimed at Nymeria’s chest, fast enough to rip the air apart and crack the black stone under their feet.
The sound of the door sliding open didn’t just break the tension—it tore it apart like paper. General Kregg stepped out of the thick, black shadows, his mechanical eye humming with that weird, sharp rhythm. He wasn’t the soldier who once knelt to Thragg; he looked more like a specter, here to settle an old bill.
Kregg didn’t move at first. He locked eyes with the Grand Regent, and for a split second, Thragg’s usually-unbreakable calm cracked. Just a bit.
“Your wife would be very disappointed in you,” Kregg said. He didn’t need to speak loudly. That voice carried centuries, heavier than anything else in the room. “All those years with her, watching her melt even your icy heart. And yet—this is what you’ve turned into? I figured you’d at least be glad to see your daughter.”
Thragg’s glare sharpened, his hands knotting at his sides. “You speak of her as though she were some kind of saint, Kregg. She was a necessity. A tool to keep the Empire focused.”
“She made you effective,” Kregg shot back, closing the distance by a single step. “And every day since she’s been gone, you’ve been trying to prove you never needed her. You’re not building an empire, Thragg. All you’ve made is a graveyard.”
Right then, a weird sound echoed from the dark hallways behind the throne—a bunch of footsteps, fast and heavy, plus shrill voices. From the shadows, a dozen kids emerged. Hybrids. Their skin mixed Viltrumite pale with Thraxan violet. Small, fierce, moving together with a discipline that was honestly scary.
These weren’t children. They moved like a strike team.
Ursaal pulled back, letting her hand drop from her blade as the hybrids spread out and surrounded the throne room. They didn’t even glance at Nymeria or Mark or Nolan. Their eyes locked onto Thragg, each one cold, no sign of childish curiosity. Just absolute loyalty.
Thragg looked at them and a harsh, satisfied smile crept under his mustache. “You see, Kregg? You think I’m finished. You see me as some relic. But I haven’t been wasting time. I’ve been preparing the next generation. They’re stronger, fiercely loyal—and they haven’t been weakened or ‘humanized.’”
Nymeria watched her half-siblings and shivered. Disgust twisted inside her. She saw how they eyed Thragg, how they moved like his limbs. This was the ‘army’ her mother had fought so hard to keep her away from.
“These aren’t soldiers, Thragg,” Nymeria said, her words slicing through the room. Her voice felt like steel. “They’re mirrors. You’re terrified of dying alone, so you fill this tomb with copies of yourself.”
Ursaal laughed, rough and bitter. “They are the future, sister. And they’re just begging for a chance to prove it.”
Kregg scanned the young hybrids, his mechanical eye whirring as it focused on each face—the faces of kids who would never see a playground, never hear a bedtime story, never know anything but Thragg’s orders. He snapped his gaze back to the Grand Regent, jaw set.
“You didn’t build an empire,” Kregg said, his voice low, dangerous. “You built a cage. And if you think I’m going to let you throw these kids on your pyre, you’ve forgotten who I used to serve.”
Everything stopped. No one breathed. Nolan, Mark, and Nymeria stood shoulder-to-shoulder—the Graysons and the Empress, united against the monster who put them there.
Thragg looked at all of them—the rebel, the hero, the child he tried to shape, and the General who finally woke up. He straightened, towering, shadow swallowing the room.
“Well then,” Thragg’s voice echoed, sealing off any hope, “I guess there’s nothing left to say.”
Thragg’s snub cut deep. He didn’t see them as any real challenge—just a waste of time. He didn’t even bother hiding how little they mattered, turning his back and striding for his throne, as if they were nothing but specks on the floor. Behind him, Ursaal and the pack of hybrid children watched, their eyes cold and hungry.
Nobody talked as they headed out, only the taps of their shoes broke the silence—each one ringing through the long obsidian hall like a bell at a funeral. By the time they reached the edge of the throne room, the air got easier to breathe, but the tension still pressed down hard between the Graysons.
Nymeria stopped suddenly and stood stiff, not looking at Mark, not at Nolan—just at the patch of darkness near the entrance. That steady, metallic whirring had followed them the whole way.
General Kregg stepped out from the shadow. He looked even older now, face carved with the strain of watching too many worlds die.
She faced him, locking eyes with that harsh bionic glare. “You’re the one who left me on that doorstep,” she said, not angry—just heavy with the memory crashing in.
Kregg lowered his head, a bow of respect that felt out of place on a Viltrumite. “I’m so sorry,” he said, voice rough and uneven. “About your father, all of it. You never should’ve had to see that.”
Nymeria glanced over her shoulder at the throne room doors, closing slow and heavy. She caught a final glimpse of Thragg—a monster, sure, but for one awful second, she'd seen family there, too.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, steel in her words. “I know who’s sitting on my throne now. A vulture.”
Mark shifted closer to her, hand up, ready, glaring at Kregg. For as long as they’d known the Viltrumites, Kregg had only ever been the enemy. Nolan stood aside, arms crossed, watching like a soldier waiting for the trap to spring.
But Kregg met Nymeria’s eyes. For once he didn’t look like a killer or a spymaster. Just a man dragging all his regrets behind him.
“He’s just a relic, Empress,” Kregg said. The title made even Nolan flinch a little. “He’s a king ruling a tomb, nothing else. If you want your throne—if you want to pull us out of this mess—let me help. I know the cracks in his army. I know every old outpost. I know how you get to the heart of this empire.”
She watched him, silent, weighing it all. The kid drawing pictures in the Grayson living room wasn’t standing there anymore. She’d learned what these games were really about—blood and memory, not just stories, but weapons.
“So you’re giving me your sword, General?” The words came out steady—and suddenly, she sounded like she belonged on a throne.
“I’m giving you everything,” he said.
Nymeria looked at Mark, at Nolan. Underneath their tough fronts, she caught the fear that she’d be lost to all this power. But then she saw Kregg’s face, and something shifted—the future wasn’t just possible, it felt near.
“Get your things, General,” Nymeria said. “We’re taking back the Empire.”
The GDA briefing room always felt cold and harsh, but right now, it was almost unbearable. The lights stabbed down from above, making everything too bright, too clinical.
Cecil sat at the head of the table, fingers laced, staring at Nymeria with that sharp, calculating look that could make even diplomats sweat through their suits. Mark paced the room, fists clenched, unable to settle. Nolan faced Nymeria directly, his face drawn tight with a kind of exhausted, fatherly dread.
“You’re talking about a damn civil war, Nym," Mark said, voice strained. "Not just any war—one that’s going to try to take down the most dangerous man in the universe. Do you know how many people die when that happens? Do you know what fighting a war like that does to people—what it does to you?”
Nymeria didn’t flinch. She just held perfectly still—hands on the table, small but strong enough to make the furniture look delicate. Her voice was steady. “I’m not asking for slaughter, Mark. I want my birthright. Thragg is killing whatever’s left of our people. If I don’t stop him, he’ll take the galaxy down with him.”
Nolan leaned across the table, letting his voice dip to that dark, serious edge he used when nothing was a joke anymore. "And you really think you can do that without becoming him? I lived that life, Nymeria. I wiped out worlds for the Viltrumite throne. Every time you tell yourself you’re serving a ‘greater good,’ you cut off part of yourself. You can’t walk that road, then turn around and pretend you’re still the same person who drew pictures in our living room. You become a ruler. And rulers—rulers don’t get to be happy.”
Cecil’s cybernetic eye whirred in the harsh light. “Your dad’s right this time. You grew up on Earth. You care about people—don’t let that go. The minute you start fighting Thragg, you’re going to have to make choices that’ll tear that right out of you. To win, you’ll need to be as ruthless as him. When you finally sit on that throne, what’s left of who you are?”
Nymeria looked at each of them. She saw Mark’s fear of losing his sister. She felt Nolan’s guilt—he was afraid she’d repeat his mistakes. And Cecil? Pure calculation. He was afraid she’d stop being a weapon he could control.
“You’re all scared,” she said, quiet but unshakable. “Scared I’ll turn into Thragg. I get that. But you’re missing something. Thragg rules like a tyrant because he’s terrified of being weak. My mother wasn’t. She was the strongest person in the room, and she didn’t need to control everything.”
She turned to look straight at Nolan. “You’re the one who taught me strength isn’t about conquering. It’s about protecting what matters. That’s what I’m going to do. If I have to change to keep the galaxy safe, fine. That’s my cost. But I won’t do this because I want a throne. I’ll do it because someone has to end this cycle.”
Cecil shook his head, angry and blunt. “It’s suicide. Every warlord will come for your head. You'll spend your life dodging bullets and betrayals. Nobody walks out the other side of that. Peace won’t even be a word you remember.”
Nymeria’s voice stayed soft. “I never had peace. Just a hiding place. And I’m done hiding.”
Silence flooded the room. Mark stopped pacing. He looked for a trace of his little sister and found only raw determination—the same kind he’d seen in their dad, the same kind that nearly destroyed him.
Mark’s voice dropped. “If you’re set on this, you aren’t going alone. We’ll help. We'll fight to keep you from losing yourself. But, Nym, if you start talking like him, treating people like pawns—I stop you. That’s my promise.”
Nymeria nodded, barely smiling. “I’d expect nothing else from you, Mark.”
Nolan exhaled shakily and stood, glancing at Cecil. “Her mind’s made up. Time to get to work, unless we want to send her to the slaughter.”
They turned toward the tactical displays, and the room buzzed with the cold noise of electronics and war. Nymeria watched them, face unreadable. The shift had happened; she wasn’t just the child of two worlds anymore. She was about to reshape them—maybe destroy them for good.
The woods felt cool and wet, pine and fresh earth clinging to the air—a scent you can’t get out of your throat. Out here, the heavy mess of Viltrumite politics seemed far away. Almost unreal. Nymeria dropped to her knees in a patch of ferns, breathing deep, watching how the forest moved when it thought no one was looking. A young doe crept out from the undergrowth—big gentle eyes, all hesitation and soft brown fur. It wandered toward her, pulled by the strange calm she radiated, something so old it felt like it came from the earth itself.
Nymeria went still, barely daring to breathe. Her hand hung inches above the doe’s side. For a moment, she just existed, not as royalty, not as a weapon—just a piece of the world, like the deer. No thrones, no legacy. Just quiet.
A branch cracked, sharp and ugly through the calm. The doe vanished—a streak of brown swallowed up by the tree shadows.
She waited before turning. She already sensed him lurking behind her—his presence all edges and broken bits. The man leaned against a pine, face carved by weather and war. His left sleeve was pinned at the shoulder, empty, but his right hand held a rifle easy as breathing.
His eyes weren’t normal—hard, old, gold. Not local. Not safe.
“Fresh meat,” he growled, voice scraping like rocks. He started to raise his rifle, following the path the deer had taken.
“No.” Nymeria’s answer dropped like stone—absolute, not begging. The air seemed to hum, charged with something she shouldn’t have at her age. She stepped between him and the trees, shoulders set, eyes locked on his. “Let it live.”
He paused. Really looked at her. Something in her made him recalibrate—tight, guarded, but almost curious. He didn’t see a girl. He saw something that reminded him of lost thrones and old wars. After a second, he let the rifle dangle by his side. Not quite relaxed—just not about to kill.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, a hint of a crooked smile twisting through his scars.
He didn’t bow. He hadn’t in a long, long time. But he dipped his head, just enough to show he recognized what stood before him.
“I heard rumors the Grand Regent hid a secret out here on this forgotten rock,” he said, eyes darting to where Nymeria had been touching the ground. “Thought it was just legend. War stories for ghosts.”
He trudged a step closer, boots squelching in mud. “You look like your mother,” he said, measuring. “And you’ve got the Regent’s stubbornness. But you’re soft.” The way he said it, you couldn’t tell if it was criticism, curiosity, or just fact.
Nymeria didn’t flinch. She held her ground. Suddenly, the forest felt a lot smaller.
“You’re Conquest,” she said. Not like she was facing a villain—more like she was tired of carrying names she never asked for.
He barked a laugh, short and dry, rough enough to send birds shooting out of the trees. “And you,” he said, golden gaze sharp, “are the reason the Empire’s cracking in half. The little ‘Empress’ they all dream about.”
He took her in, really inspecting her. “So, little bird—are you here to lead us? Or are you just hiding in the trees, hoping the world forgets you exist?”
“I…I’m not like my dad.” She responded
Conquest let out a rough, bitter laugh—short and sharp, nowhere near his eyes, which stayed gold and icy. He shifted his weight, not gracefully, not the way someone his age should move, and leaned heavier on the pine.
“Everyone says that at first,” his voice scraped out—almost bored, eyes wandering the dark tree line, “before the fire’s lit. Before they figure out that mercy is just a nice word for weakness.”
He turned back to her. The tired old man look vanished, replaced by something clear and cutting. “You think you’re special because you grew up behind curtains and hedge trimmers. You think pitying a deer means you outran what’s in your blood.”
He knocked a knuckle on his chest, right over the twisted scar where his arm used to be. “Your blood doesn’t care about your morals, Empress. It’s built to take and win. The second you reach for that throne, you stop being the girl who loves animals. You become the top of the food chain—the hunter in a world stuffed with prey.”
Nymeria felt her Viltrumite power flicker under her skin, the old, thrumming energy she’d always tried to hold down. It sparked at him—not scared, not hiding—just awake and excited.
“I don’t want to be an apex predator,” she said, voice steady but the forest seemed to hold its breath, all sound vanishing. “I want to rule without destroying the things I want to protect.”
Conquest’s grin fell away. He looked at her, half a second of something like pity in his stare. “Then you’ll be dead inside a month. Thragg doesn’t care about the word ‘ruler.’ He cares about results. If you can turn a planet to dust, he listens. Otherwise, you’re already over.”
He stood up straighter, moving faster than someone with one arm—or his years—had any right to. He slung the rifle behind him. Then he closed the gap between them, slow, filling the air with a kind of pressure that made it hard to breathe.
“You’re hiding out here, trying to act human,” he whispered, low and tight, like they were conspirators. “But you’re standing in the woods talking to someone who’s left worlds in pieces. That means you already know what you are.”
He held out his one hand—the one that ended lives. “You want Thragg gone? You want your throne? You can’t do it by trying not to be your father. You’ll have to be something he truly fears.”
Nymeria stared at his hand, then up at those unfeeling eyes. Peace in the forest was gone—it was just the thick, heavy ache of fate she’d never shaken.
“And what if I don’t want the throne?” she asked. “What if I just want all of you to leave Earth alone?”
Conquest chuckled again, dry as bones. “Then you’re already in a war, little Empress. And wars don’t care what you want. The only choice you get is who you’re willing to become to win.”
“Wait…maybe you could join us.”
Conquest just stared at her. The woods seemed to hold their breath, the silence piling up until everything else faded out except the wind in the pines and his own heartbeat, pounding like some far-off drum.
He let out a rough, broken chuckle that twisted into a cough. “Join you? The Graysons? Earth-defenders?” He shook his head slowly, eyes flickering over her face like he expected her to be joking. “Do you even know how many of my kin I’ve buried? How many worlds I’ve seen burn down to nothing, all for the Empire?”
He pulled his hand away, settling it on his rifle. “I’m from another age, girl. I’m the blade that only knows how to cut. If I go with you, I bring blood. I bring a story you can’t wash away with a few quiet years and fake smiles.”
Nymeria stepped closer, crossing the gap. She didn’t flinch, didn’t shrink away from the monster before her; she was looking at him with that same steady confidence that had convinced Mark and Nolan.
“I don’t need a saint, Conquest.” Her voice rang out, clear and solid, and even the air around them seemed to pause and listen. “I need someone who knows exactly what this path costs. Someone who doesn’t just know Thragg’s reputation, but has looked him in the eyes and survived.”
She glanced at his empty sleeve, then right back up at him. “You say to win, I have to be something worse than Thragg. Maybe you’re right. But I won’t do it alone. I’m building something new—a future that isn’t just about being a monster for the sake of it. And if you’re so tired of everything you used to be, then help me do it.”
Conquest leaned back against the pine tree, searching her. For thousands of years, he’d fought for Viltrum and nothing more—no grand ideas, just strength and survival. But in her, he didn’t see softness; he saw something cold and sharp, like the Grand Regent himself, but driven by a purpose he’d never learned to understand.
He looked down at his rifle for a beat, then tossed it into the brush. It hit the dirt with a heavy, final thud.
“You’re a fool,” he rasped, but the bite in his words was half-gone. “You’re offering a place to the man who would’ve crushed you without a thought if he’d been told to.”
“I’m not giving you orders,” Nymeria answered, her chin up, every inch the would-be queen. “I’m inviting you to fight for something that actually matters.”
Conquest straightened, letting go of his old-man hunch. Now, he was just—terrifying, every inch the Viltrumite warlord he’d always been. He stood, raised a hand in a mocking but weighty salute, as if swearing an ancient oath.
“If you die,” he said, voice ice cold, “I’ll kill whoever takes you down. If you falter, I’ll remind you why we don’t blink. But—” he narrowed his eyes “—if you’re serious about taking Thragg’s throne, then you’d better start acting like an Empress. This isn’t just a walk in the woods.”
He stepped forward, filling the space, every tree seeming to lean away from him. “So. What’s your first command, Nymeria?”
This wasn’t a negotiation. This was an ultimatum, sharp and cold, straight from a dying regime clawing itself back together.
General Kregg moved through the secret Viltrumite colonies on Earth like a surgeon cutting out rot. He walked the dusty farms, poked through neat little suburban homes, and stormed into the far-flung research outposts where exiles still pretended the Empire was a memory. Kregg didn’t show up as anyone’s friend; he was the throne’s will made flesh.
In a dim, windowless hall buried under some ordinary warehouse in the Nevada desert, Kregg faced the last survivors. Soldiers, scientists, engineers—people who spent years trying to forget war and blood.
Kregg slapped a thick leather folder on the steel table. Inside were the Office Decrees and Oaths of Allegiance, old Viltrumite laws dragged out from the archives of their dead homeworld.
He didn’t waste time. “The era of hiding is over.” His voice sliced through the gloom. His mechanical eye whirred, sizing up every face. “You’ve been playing house on Earth. You’re not Earth’s children. You’re subjects of the Empire.”
Someone at the back muttered, but Kregg crushed it with a glare. He pointed at the scrolls. “Nymeria, daughter of Thragg and the late Empress, is back. She’s the heir. The last of the royal bloodline.”
He drew a ceremonial blade and slammed it into the table with a shuddering clang. “You’ll kneel. You’ll sign the Decree. You’ll swear to her, and only her. If you refuse, you’re traitors.”
An older soldier burst out, angry and scared. “Kregg, this is madness! Thragg is the Grand Regent! You’re asking us to throw everything away for treason!”
But Kregg didn’t blink. He moved so fast the air cracked, seized the man by the throat, and lifted him like he weighed nothing. The soldier’s boots kicked in the thin air. Kregg leaned in, his face stones and thunder.
“Thragg is a ghost squatting in rubble,” Kregg snarled. “He abandoned us for bastard offspring and orphans. Nymeria is all that’s left. She’s the Empress. If you can’t see that, you’re useless to the Empire I plan to build.”
He let the soldier collapse, gasping on the floor. Kregg shoved the parchment and a quill at the next survivor.
“Sign,” he ordered. “I’m not begging. I’m telling you. If you’re too scared, if you hesitate, or if you’re still lying to yourself—get out. But know this: walk out, and you’re an enemy of the Crown. And I don’t lose sleep over enemies.”
One by one, they came to the table. Some signed with relief—finally, something clear to hold onto. Others trembled so hard their names staggered across the page, scared out of their minds by a general who’d survived Thragg himself—and, somehow, seemed even deadlier now.
When the last name was written in blood-ink, Kregg gathered the scrolls. His expression gave nothing away. The old Oaths felt heavy in his hands—the weight of centuries inching toward a new future.
He crossed the room to where Nymeria waited in the shadows. Kregg didn’t bow, but he offered her the fat stack of Oaths anyway.
“They’re bound, Empress,” he said quietly—still thunder, but hushed now. “They don’t love you yet, and maybe they never will. But their lives belong to your bloodline. The Empire isn’t Thragg’s broken toy anymore. It’s yours to wield.”
Nymeria stepped forward, her fingers light on the scrolls. She felt it—the old, cold gravity of power, hundreds of warriors watching to see what she’d do next.
“Good,” she said, her voice rolling through the silence. “Tell them to get ready. We’re not just taking the throne. We’re going to make them face everything they lost.”
Viltrum’s throne room didn’t look like a tomb anymore. Someone had scrubbed out every trace of mourning—polished the obsidian floors until they shone like black ice, throwing back the light and the deep red banners above. Underneath it all, Thragg stood high on the dais, his cape flaring out—red and violent—against the stone.
Below him, the hybrid children waited in harsh lines. Dozens of them, eyes bright with that uncanny mix of cunning and raw aggression. They didn’t fidget or whisper. These kids were his creation—an army he’d quietly built while the rest of the galaxy pretended not to notice.
Ursaal stood stiff as a statue at the base of the dais, her chin set, eyes fixed straight ahead. On her, silks of white and crimson almost looked like armor, sharper than any dress.
“The blood of Viltrum doesn’t wait around for everyone to agree,” Thragg said, his voice rolling through the empty room. He wasn’t talking to an audience. He was talking to history, tossing aside every ghost that used to haunt this place. “It dictates. It conquers. It demands.”
He stepped down, each bootfall heavy—like a warning. He stopped beside Ursaal, placed his broad hand on her shoulder. It wasn’t a father’s touch; it felt more like a general marking one of his weapons.
“While she plays at humanity on Earth—while she learns weakness and calls it empathy,” Thragg spat the word out like something rotten, “we’ve been building the future. She’s a remnant of failed dreams—a child of hesitation. You, Ursaal, you’re what I meant to make. You’re my will, hard as iron.”
Behind them, the hybrids drove their fists into their chests. The noise was massive, pounding through the stone and up through the room—the sound of unwavering loyalty, almost alive.
“I accept the mantle, Father.” Ursaal’s reply was cold, sure of itself. She faced the hall—empty, echoing, but she looked ready to fill it with something sharp and new. “The Empire will be whole again. If anyone grabs for a crown they haven’t earned, I’ll burn everything they love to ash.”
Thragg reached into a hidden nook and tugged out a blackened crown, rough and jagged. He lowered it onto Ursaal’s head. Just looking at it, you could tell it was heavy—and meant to hurt.
“From now on, you’re Empress,” Thragg bellowed. He wasn’t just declaring it to the room, but to the world beyond, maybe to the universe itself. “Send the word. The Empire’s got its heart back. And if anyone stands with the pretender, they’ll learn mercy died with the virus.”
Ursaal climbed the final steps and claimed the throne. She looked regal—yet there was a tension in her grip on the armrests, metal creaking as she squeezed. Power that didn’t know how to rest.
In the courtyard, the hybrids watched her—eyes empty of comfort, never softened by family or home. All they’d known was the throne, and the order to kill.
Thragg stepped aside, arms folded, staring out at the cold mountains. He’d done it—thrown away his “human” daughter and raised up the weapon he actually wanted. Still, he knew Nymeria was coming. He was waiting for her. He wanted her here, to see that her Empire her dream now had a heartbeat she’d never understand.
He didn’t just want to win. He wanted her to know, at the end, that she had no one left.
