The high ceiling burned with stained glass: a sun white-hot and merciless threw gold across the hall. The light did more than decorate—crowns endure; wearers pass. Above everything hung the new crest: a golden eagle with a raised sword, and before it a black raven blurred at the edges as if woven of smoke, ready to vanish when it wished. The ribbon beneath read: *Umbra servit Soli*.
Left of the office door—not Hilda. The new one—Sophia, said the badge—had a handset to her ear. A long white sundress with sunflowers; in this solemn place it felt like a dare. A pencil ticked on wood; chestnut curls kept escaping their high tail. Her features were a touch too strong for pretty, but the live gaze and the seriousness inside it gave her a pull you noticed.
Over the fireplace a man smiled from a portrait—tall, broad, a mane of red. Strength and charisma both, and still not enough to convey the energy that boiled off him in life. The Warden, now dead. My mentor.
On his petition and through a hard trial I became his sworn brother—his shield—though a stranger by blood. It’s a rare old custom; those who fail it, die. Since then I’ve been second in the House of Zeus, answering only to him. And yes, I can lift—but he hears first and, if he wishes, he kills the flight.
I nodded to the old acquaintance in my head and dropped into one of the black chairs set in a half circle before the door.
The receiver clicked into its cradle. I gave the girl the smile that always made Hilda roll her eyes.
“Salut, Sophia. I’m here to see Friedhelm; we had an appointment.”
She flinched—a small thing. The pencil froze in her fingers. Familiarity didn’t sit well. For the citizens of the House of Zeus—the Jovian League—the Warden skirts divinity, and judging by her reaction, my tone profaned the sanctuary. No wonder: even his sister wasn’t this familiar.
Sophia bit her lip, pulled herself together, dialed, listened, and motioned me in. She nodded anyway—not fear, but duty winning over shock. I crossed to the door under the puzzled brown of her eyes.
Inside, I let the room have a beat and started formal.
“Good morning, War—”
“Don’t start, Skyggeridder,” Friedhelm cut in.
Medium height, solid, blond, brown-eyed—tired at the edges.
“I hardly recognize my brother. What’s the circus?”
We hugged like brothers; a quick clap on the shoulder instead of ceremony.
“If I start kicking your door,” I said, “the new secretary will faint on principle.”
His right eyebrow climbed.
“You never pampered Hilda. Don’t tell me someone thawed the ice in your chest.”
“Keep dreaming. You know me.”
He sighed.
“Then explain, Kevin: if you let no one close, why the flirting and the wreckage?”
“It happens,” I waved it off. “Business. In forty minutes my people lift for a rescue.”
“You’ve got my official blessing already. What more?”
“I’ve reworked the plan. It needs corrections. And…” I paused. “I’m going with the team.”
“Of course you are.” He smiled without joy. “Another one of your grand designs—like the time you decided to run resonance med-screens on the entire population?”
“That project saved lives when we needed donors,” I said calmly. “You know that better than anyone.”
“And afterward,” he snapped, “a mountain of dirty laundry floated to the surface. Half the colony is still cleaning up your mess. I can’t stomach any more of your experiments, Skyggeridder.”
Silence settled between us while the recirculator counted seconds. A stranger would have noticed nothing—but I saw the flicker of surprise and fear in his eyes. His face went stone again; his voice dry.
“No. You stay on the planet. You’re the second pillar of the House. Period.”
“The concern of a younger brother is touching,” I said evenly, a bitter half-smile. “But to everyone else, I’m dead weight. An uncontrollable man who plays by his own rules.”
“You’re the one preaching successors. Let them earn experience.”
“Good to know you care,” I said. “But this isn’t routine. I’m done with scars and funerals. Sick of it up to my throat.”
He took a violet folder from the desk and shelved it high.
“Conversation over.”
I lowered my voice—made it harder.
“We both know how this goes. Your mark on my bracelet, or I do what needs doing to get off-world. I’d rather you walked on.”
His eyes sparked.
“Then I put you under arrest.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“Then I’ll have to put this whole building to sleep,” I said without heat.Not for long—and not without consequences I’d be paying for later.
Color rose in his cheeks.
“Damn you, Kevin,” he ground out. He turned to the cabinet and threw over his shoulder, “Go where you like. I won’t stop you.”
He pulled a card from his pocket—then stopped.
“One condition,” he said, not looking at me. “You command. You observe. You do **not** put yourself in the line.”
I didn’t answer right away. Because we both knew what he was asking for.
“Agreed,” I said finally.
The word cost more than it should have.
He exhaled, sharp and tired, and flung the card at me in irritation.
My left hand caught it more by reflex than intent; I skimmed it across the bracelet and set it on his desk. A blue line slid by:
**TEMPORARY UNLIMITED FLIGHT ACCESS**
“Come back,” he said. “I hope I don’t regret this.”
“I will,” I said quietly. “Big brothers don’t leave people behind.”
Triumph left a bitter trace. We both knew I’d have followed through.
Sophia stood frozen. Time was short—time for fine mechanics. I didn’t press—just leaned in and dropped my voice.
“On the eve of his wife’s death, my friend’s especially vulnerable. Cancel the next three or four hours. If anyone asks—order of his sworn brother.”
Her eyes nearly jumped their sockets.
The door banged.
Sarcasm arrived before its owner—low, insinuating:
“Bravo. Quite the tableau. I hope I didn’t interrupt the lovebirds?”
I turned.
A woman stood in the middle of the room, a shade taller than average, burgundy bag on her shoulder. Black bob, straight line. A dark red pantsuit that fit like a second skin. The Warden’s sister.
The timing wasn’t an accident.
Sophia flushed. I stepped aside.
“Sophia,” the woman said, “I want to see my brother. Is he in?”
“Morgana, leave the Warden alone. It’s the anniversary,” I said.
“Since when does my brother need his elder’s care?” Morgana arched a brow, savoring the last word.
I sighed and kept it even.
“The theater played. Now the point. What do you want?”
“Bore,” she clicked her tongue. “Didn’t Father teach you to play to a lady?”
She held my eyes a beat and let a small smile show.
“On the way to the spaceport—I’ll say it.”
Morgana narrowed her gaze, hunting for surprise. I didn’t give it.
“Let’s go.”
We took our time. Under the dome, a fine atrium drizzle fell.
Mist rang softly on leaves; ozone pricked the palate; ventilation breezes shouldered the fog toward the glassy arches. The city hummed with capsules and lifts. Morgana’s silence was a pleasant surprise. On the plaza beneath the glass, a pyramidal node darkened; far below, shuttle lights trembled.
A capsule nosed up. The door slid aside.
“Spaceport,” I said.
She nodded. The city slid backward.
Awkward silence stretched. We bored into each other with our eyes.
Morgana drew a small gray box from her bag and set it between us. *Click.* An amber LED lit; a soft hiss touched the ears, like a vent coughing. The world went dead and private.
“Curious how your brother reacts when he learns your *precious replacement* is departing on the Heinan prototype?” she said, looking past me before letting her gaze return slowly. “What is it—saving the Berkham ship?”
She laughed—short, bright, head tipped back.
Her instincts were sharp. We did mean to “pay a visit” to a Berkham hull—one of the species hostile to ours. Only desperation would make them jump onto our doorstep. Whatever they were carrying had to be pressing hard. Without me—pure suicide.
“Will he even learn it?” I stayed slouched in the chair. “One mention gets you twenty-five.”
She winked.“Touché. What stops me from doing it anonymously? The elder doesn’t really want to torment the younger.”
“If you meant to turn us in, we wouldn’t be talking. So you want something else.”
“Correct. My person goes with you.”
“Why?”
“The one who brought me in wants to see how the ship behaves. I’m the go-between. I do him a favor.”
“Not happening.”
“We’ll sign whatever is required.”
“Guarantees the mission and the ship don’t leak?”
“My word,” she said. Steel rang in it. “Have I ever broken it?”
She let the pause run just long enough to land the point.
“Gathering and selling signals is my trade. Trust is everything. I’ve been waiting a long time to do you a favor—in exchange for my silence. Do you have a choice, Skyggeridder?”
She already knew the answer. That was the problem.
Out of the fire, into the bright. Lose a brother, or risk my people. Not much of a choice.
“On one condition.”
She spread her hands, lips twisting into a grimace.
“No explosives. Only cold steel—from the ship.”
We sealed it with a firm shake and rode the rest in quiet.
The spaceport sat in the mass like a hive. No glass, no straight lines—broken planes of gray composite, every face a different grain so radar found no rhythm. Above, a water roof; lazy ripples walked its surface. A thin ring of service light traced the perimeter.
The main hall met us with low luminance and clean air. Heat loops murmured underfoot; columns whispered with fans, pushing fog toward the arches. The board spoke dryly:
**WINDOW—SOON (11:20–11:22)****PERISCOPES—CLOSED**
In the hall, Morgana brought him over.
“Taren.”
Tall. Close-cut. A touch of gray. First glance—soft, unremarkable. The handshake was iron.
Something was off. Every instinct yelled. He put cold on my skin.
Passenger corridors ran left, the cargo gallery right. Our path followed the service line, where rare green arrows asked no questions. The service throat had been bent crooked by design: no parallel seams, a matte BRDF skin scored with chaos scratches you could feel. An electrostatic veil snapped against the surface; the air turned dry, ozone gone.
Farther in, sound fell into cotton. Lasers—off. Microwaves—off. Comms—fiber only.
The first dogleg ate the echoes. The second lowered the ceiling; footsteps died. A white belt stripe ahead read *1.00 g*—so nobody snapped bones at the brake. After the third bend, a wall *opened*, letting us into a second throat.
The government bay arrived without fanfare. A half-sunk dock beneath a broken roof, each rib skewed its own way. Two sluice-doors hid in the geometry; a short periscope shaft bristled with armored louvers. Along the flank, IR radiator shutters stood mute—heat buried in ice.
The shuttle at the far end carried no name. Its facets swallowed light, paint tuned to local albedo so that, from above, a casual glance saw only snow looking like snow.
A modest timer lit black on gray:
**WINDOW 11:20–11:22 | APPROACH—SILENCE | RESERVE—13:05–13:06**
On a side panel, *ready* glowed green. If an eye probed the sector, a scintillation mesh would frost the image and show nothing worth seeing.
We passed dust control, bled off static, and stepped onto the lift. The air cooled—the thermal door drank the warmth and hid us under ice.
The city stayed behind: amber half-light, yawning arches, the ring of droplets.
Ahead—seconds of a world that barely exists, and a bay that shouldn’t.
The Warden is the supreme bearer of the House of Zeus’s will and the protector of the Jovian Commonwealth. He is not a sovereign by blood, but a guardian of the people, keeper of law, and steward of the ancient light.
His authority rests upon recognition by the Council and confirmation through the Covenant of the Ancestors.
The Shadow’s candidacy is proposed by the Warden himself.In exceptional cases, nomination may be made by the Warden’s Father, provided his authority is acknowledged and the Council concurs.
The candidate must give explicit consent to undergo the Trial.Coercion is forbidden.
A single proving of loyalty, reason, and endurance.
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Upon failure, the candidate forfeits life.
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Upon success, the candidate receives the title of Shadow and assumes the duties of the state’s second.
The Shadow may arise from any house or people. Orphans, foreigners, and the un-housed are admissible, provided loyalty and strength of spirit are proven.
The institution of the Shadow is invoked only in extremis.Only three candidates have ever passed the Trial.
The Shadow stands as the second of the state. He may act in the Warden’s name, conduct negotiations, lead missions, and command forces.
In all things, he remains subject to the Warden’s direct will.
Any act of treason, willful disobedience, or dishonor is punished by death.
Should the Warden die or abdicate, the Shadow immediately assumes his place, securing continuity of rule.
The Shadow’s path is one of service and unceasing readiness for sacrifice.
The House of Zeus bears an Eagle Or with raised sword.Before it stands a Raven Sable, its edges blurred.
The Eagle signifies the Warden.The Raven signifies the Shadow.
The House motto reads:
Umbra servit Soli— “The Shadow serves the Sun.”
To the people of the House, the Warden is light made living.The Shadow is its sacrificial projection.
Their union affirms the ancient law:Light does not exist without shadow,and shadow lives only while it serves the light.
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Non-mandatory.The establishment of a Shadow is not compulsory. It lies wholly at the Warden’s discretion, or—by exception—his Father’s.
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Safeguard for Troubled Years.The office is most wisely invoked during instability, external threat, or succession risk.
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Seasons of Quiet.In eras of peace, the office may lie dormant for decades without diminishing the Warden’s legitimacy.
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The Council’s Role.The Council issues an advisory opinion on the institution of a Shadow. It does not replace the Warden’s will, but lends public transparency.
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Public or Sealed Record.The Shadow’s name may be proclaimed openly or kept within a sealed register until emergency, at the Warden’s discretion and with due regard for safety.