Zephyria sailed gracefully through the Orion Sector.
The five-mile-wide micro-planet was a perfect, self-sustaining utopia wrapped in an iridescent, pitch-black Void-shield.
The artificial sun provided a warm, perpetual mid-morning glow over the black-stone courtyards and the lush, infinitely multiplying hydroponic gardens.
A month had passed since the earth shattered into a nebula of fire and ash.
The thirteen million mortal citizens had completely settled into their new lives. The panic of the apocalypse was a distant memory.
The heavy, iron-gray armor of the Royal Guards had been melted down in the Aether-Forge and reforged into sleek, lightweight patrol gear.
The scarred mercenaries of the Vanguard had traded their executioner axes for farming tools and maintenance wrenches.
There were no wars to fight. There were no starving peasants or corrupt nobles to overthrow.
Lucifer of Obsidian sat on his throne of dark matter in the central keep.
