Sophia only had one avunculi: with her mom living a solitary childhood her paternal side had the privilege (or burden as her grandfather, one of the Viscounts of Montglace, jokingly put it) of raising two of the most eccentric children in the Imperium. Both loved heights to a dangerous degree, with Sophia’s father detailing his and Auntie Clarisse’s childhood adventures in climbing the humongous oak trees and eventually their steel era castle in Hautwarden, with both carrying such a shameless love into their adulthood.
Father was infatuated with climbing tall mountains and hiking amongst their forests, despite it being among the most feminine hobbies Sophia could think of; him summiting all of the twenty four holy peaks was perhaps his life’s goal (he’s done twenty one now, assuming he managed to ascend the Thumb of the Goddess which ironically might have saved his life). While Auntie, who did conform into the imperium’s gender norms, ended up being one of the linchpins of the aerostatic services within the hundred legions.
She was the first to captain the first “purpose built” military Aerostatic Vanguard nineteen years ago; a lumbering, clumsy thing that was literally an old ocean going Tambourine-class battleship turned onto its head and floated with a criminally wasteful amount of arcanite alloy. Literally turned upside down in fact, one of Sophia’s earliest memories was of ejecting a meal mid-tour of the vessel’s horribly nauseating upside down hallways (the moment she fully realized that food can also come up the pipe, and it wasn’t as good as it was going down).
But General Primus Clarisse Marchand was, as mother begrudgingly admitted, one of the key reasons why the Imperium had such a level of luxury in terms of military advancement. She had played the political game far too well as she moved up the command ladder of the Fourth Legion, leveraging her brother’s own closeness to her liege to accelerate not just a career, but the entire retooling of military aerostatic development. In just twelve years, with around four years before then as an adjunct to the old gaffer of a legion primus (she was basically in charge at that point), General Marchand had turned a landlocked legion of barely trained conscript farmers into terribly efficient aerostatic crews and imperial… air marines (they were still working on the name for that specific division).
Quick Reaction Force was the term that was constantly thrown around during the formal meetings Sophia was forced to attend. She was, ceremonially at least, the Commandant of the Legion and had to occasionally attend those awful multi-hour long sessions without falling asleep or speaking. Something along the lines of reaching out across the world in a reactionary sense, responding to emerging crises with speed and firepower. After all, all of life’s problems were, according to the perpetual inside joke amongst the Primus Legionaries of the Fourth, able to be solved by a full barrage of bunker buster bombs and six-inch guns.
Though, based on some of the more outlandish conspiracies traded between foreign spymasters, this was all a thinly veiled attempt at creating a force capable of executing the most devastating coup in Imperial history. She had a direct relation to the King-Consort of the Imperium, and now the ability to assassinate an entire family line from the safety of skies above was in her hands. All she needed now was the opportunity for all five of the heirs to be open alongside the empress herself, and then it would be over within minutes.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Sophia knew the only reason Auntie was this passionate about her legion was of a singular purpose.
And she wore that stupid smiling face of hers as Sophia and Zai entered the command bridge of the Argent Dawn as instructed, the middle aged woman’s gaze kept at the rolling Tiancin countryside beneath her. Literally beneath her, as part of the vessel’s underbelly had been ripped out and replaced with a three-foot thick sheet of bullet-proofed transparent ceramic-glass.
For her lady’s viewing pleasure.
Impractical and expensive; the observation window in the ‘pit’ of the command deck gave whoever stood on it the impression of pure, unconstrained flight. Like being picked up in the cupped palms of an invisible god and moved across the world, she was, at least judging from her expression, at the very climax of her life.
And even better her adopted daughter (Sophia was not in any capacity adopted by her) was here to join them.
With the precision demanded of the Legionaries she barks out the rank to the entire Command Bridge, not even taking a moment to turn towards the entrants. “Commandant on the DECK!”
Her entire attached staff snaps to an imperial salute for exactly four seconds, returning to their duties without any further fanfare.
The middle aged woman turns with some manufactured dramatic effect, arms kept behind her back. “Well my dear Commandant Sophia, I certainly hope you had a nice night of rest.”
You look like you ran your face into a brick wall five times in a row, Sophia ‘Slept for only five hours” the Eighth.
“I did Aun…” Sophia begins her lie, reminding herself of the graces needed for ceremonial duties for those below her. “I did, General.”
“Hmmmm.” She reads her for a moment, ignoring the obviousness of the young woman’s demeanour and instead turning towards her partner.
There’s an intensity to her gaze as she levels her eyes towards her adopted son-in-law (again, Sophia was not adopted by her in any capacity), drilling deep into this unworthy, unkempt intruder into a perfect life. “Prince Zai Tianci. I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced yet. Welcome aboard the Argent Dawn.”
Sophia takes a momentary glance over to the man standing to the right and just a bit behind her. Oh you thought you looked bad, he looks like he hasn’t slept four hours since your talk with him last night.
Prince Zai looked like a victim of some awful inquisitorial torturer, the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes unfocused with his entire demeanor shifting between momentary jolts of alertness and microsleeps. He was utterly defenseless in this single moment.
Why, pray tell us dear council of consciousness, are we captivated by him?
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