News of Kael Renn's promotion to Marshal of the Warshade Legion didn't just ripple through the Federation — it shattered silence like thunder across the stars.
He was the youngest to ever wear the Marshal's mantle, and the first to command forty legions in a single hand-picked formation. Hushed war rooms erupted. Senate halls turned into battlegrounds of words. Half the Federation praised him as their final shield, the other half whispered fears of a new warlord born from ashes.
But Kael?
Kael remained still. Not a word to the press. No presence at the celebration gala. No grand gestures.
He sat alone in Seraphine's command chamber, bathed in soft blue light, watching a drifting sun flare in the distance. The shadows clung to his shoulders, but not his heart.
He touched the private console at his side and entered a code he hadn't used in years.
Secure Frequency: Home-001. Target: Velmara Province,Velora prime, Solris Sector II.
The screen blinked twice. Then her face appeared.
"Kael?" his mother gasped, her voice trembling. "Oh, stars, it's really you."
Behind her, the family house stood — battered, patched, but alive. Rebuilt from the wreckage the pirates had left behind.
His father stepped into view, leaning on a cane but carrying the same iron in his stance.
"He finally calls," his father said with a grin. "What's the news, soldier?"
Kael gave a rare smile. A soft one.
"Didn't want you to find out through Federation broadcasts," he said. "I've been promoted. Full Marshal. I'm in command of the Warshade Legion."
His father was silent, then slowly nodded.
"Forty legions," he murmured. "And they still think you're a boy playing war."
"Just make sure they never forget whose son you are."
His mother wiped her tears.
"You did it, Kael," she whispered. "We always believed. But hearing it… seeing it… it's different."
Kael's voice softened.
"I'm going to war soon. But I'll come back. I promise."
When the call ended, the quiet returned — but something inside him felt lighter. Firmer.
From his command table, Kael opened a secure diplomatic channel.
Target: Defense High Office – Minister Rylos
The channel connected. The face of Minister Rylos appeared — stern, calculating, dressed in his navy regalia with silver-threaded lapels that shimmered under the lights of power.
"Marshal Renn?" Rylos asked, brow furrowed. "I wasn't expecting this."
Kael dipped his head slightly.
"Good evening, Mr.Rylos. I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time."
"No worse than usual," Rylos replied. "But I imagine this isn't a casual courtesy."
Kael leaned forward, his eyes steady.
"I'm speaking to you today not as a Marshal, but as a man. As someone who loves your daughter."
Rylos went rigid.
"I remember you two were… close at the Academy."
"Yes," Kael nodded. "But I made her a promise. That I'd speak to you only when I could stand before you as her equal — as someone strong enough to protect her, not just love her."
"You've chosen quite the time to go public," Rylos said quietly. "The Federation watches your every breath. And Isabelle is my only daughter."
"That's why I waited," Kael replied. "I never wanted to hide us. But I couldn't offer her a future that didn't end in war and shadow. Now I can. I ask not just for your blessing, but for the right to protect her in light, not in silence."
There was a long silence.
Finally, Rylos exhaled and muttered:
"I told Isabelle you would either save the Federation or destroy it."
Kael answered, voice unwavering.
"She is my anchor. My only soft place in this universe."
Then his voice turned to steel.
"And Mr.Rylos if anyone tries to hurt her — no Federation order, no Senate vote, no divine descent will stop me. I'll drag hell through the stars. But I trust that day will never come."
Rylos blinked, caught somewhere between admiration and fear. Then — he smiled.
"Well then… Welcome to the family, Kael Renn."
He had good long chat with his father-in-law. Once the war finishes kael made sure he'll visit him.
Hours later, Kael walked the main bridge of Seraphine. The ship hummed like a living god beneath his feet. The crew snapped salutes in silence. His presence now filled the corridors like gravity.
He stopped at the central holo-table and addressed the AI.
"Seraphim."
"Online," her voice echoed — serene, divine, unshakable.
"I want full activation of all Herald units. Begin silent reconnaissance across the Outer Sectors. Focus on systems where anomalies have surfaced within the sectors. scan all the situation and find the resources and all living organisms."
"Confirmed. Shall I initiate Level 6 Watchlist protocols?"
"Yes. And more. Prepare for planetary-scale quarantine scenarios. Turn outer sector anomalies into black zones — no contact, no exposure."
He walked around the table slowly, eyes locked on the glowing red pings appearing on the star map.
"Mark all suspected anomaly sectors as Class Zeta Confidential. Lock them under Living Jail Protocol."
"Confirmed. Initiating suppression fields, signal dampeners, and access blocks. Sectors designated as wartime quarantine zones under Marshal Authority."
Kael nodded.
"Make it known: These zones are off-limits to everyone. Civilian, military, or Senate. If we find corruption, infection, or something worse — it dies with us. No information escapes until I say so."
"It is done," Seraphim confirmed.
He looked one last time at the map — at the invisible frontier already trembling under things not yet named.
"Let the rest of the galaxy debate politics," he said quietly. "We'll do the work that keeps them alive."
"Always, Commander."
Even stone can bloom — under enough pressure, with the right seed.
Kael Renn, the Warshade Sovereign, had bloomed. Not in parades or headlines, but in the quiet choices that echoed louder than war.
He had spoken to his parents. Declared his love. And locked the Federation's darkest corners under iron command.
The sword had been unsheathed.
And it would not sleep again.