Chapter 95: The Stolen Throne

The emergency transmission had cut to static, leaving every optical screen aboard the Rythundeir flagship dark and silent. Yet the Second Sovereign’s final words continued echoing relentlessly inside Rhaevia’s mind, heavy and accusatory.

You stole my throne.

Rhaevia remained motionless beneath the faint red glow of the corridor’s emergency lights, staring down at her open palms. Her hands looked as they always had: human, young, and unblemished by the centuries of war she had survived.

Yet the horrific memories that had just flashed through her consciousness belonged to an ancient queen who had worn a golden crown. She had seen herself commanding massive legions, standing atop a throne of absolute power while another sovereign knelt bleeding at her feet.

Was that truly who she had been thousands of years ago? Her fingers slowly curled into tight fists, her nails biting into her palms as she tried to reconcile her past with her present.

Raevor stood beside her in the dim corridor without speaking a word. He refrained from reaching out immediately, intuitively understanding that she needed a moment to process the weight of what she had witnessed.

Finally, Rhaevia broke the silence, her whisper barely audible over the low hum of the emergency generators. "I had a throne."

Raevor’s dark eyes remained fixed on her face, steady and unwavering. "Apparently."

"A Sovereign throne," she repeated, looking up to meet his gaze.

"Yes."

She searched his stoic features for any sign of doubt. "Then why don’t I remember ever wanting one?"

Raevor did not offer an immediate answer, knowing no simple explanation existed for a history buried under millennia of reincarnation. He simply held her gaze, grounding her in the present moment while the ship around them hummed with activity.

Rhaevia turned toward the nearest reinforced observation window. Beyond the thick, star-rated glass, the Imperial Capital below was still visibly trembling.

Millions of city lights flickered erratically across the planetary surface as automated structural systems fought against the ancient energy spreading beneath the infrastructure. She pressed one hand flat against the cold glass, feeling the faint vibrations. "I don’t understand."

Another sharp pulse of raw mental energy rippled outward from the planetary core, passing directly through the flagship’s hull. Rhaevia’s vision suddenly blurred, the glowing lights of the capital melting into a sea of radiant starlight.

Before she could pull her hand back from the glass, another suppressed memory fragment burst open inside her mind.

She found herself standing inside an enormous, ancient hall. It was not the jagged black throne room of the Second Sovereign, nor was it the radiant golden palace of the Imperial legends. It was something far older, a vast celestial chamber whose soaring walls were etched with active star maps.

At the physical center of the chamber stood two distinct thrones. One was constructed of polished gold, while the other was carved from solid black crystal.

The silver-haired Sovereign stood beside the black throne, her crimson eyes wide with disbelief. Ancient Rhaevia stood directly before the golden seat, clad in ornate armor.

Yet something about the scene felt wrong compared to the previous vision. There were no marching armies, no scorched battlefields, and no blood staining the marble floor. There was only profound, suffocating silence.

The ancient Rhaevia slowly lifted her hands to her head and removed the heavy golden crown from her brow.

The silver-haired woman stared at her in utter shock, her pale hands trembling. "You cannot be serious."

Ancient Rhaevia looked impossibly tired, the weight of centuries pressing down on her shoulders. "I am."

"You spent centuries building this empire!" the other woman argued, her voice echoing off the star-lit walls.

"I know."

"You fought entire civilizations to claim this throne!"

"I know."

"You sacrificed everything you had to become the Sovereign of this galaxy!" the silver-haired queen shouted, stepping forward.

Ancient Rhaevia’s stern expression softened into an expression of quiet sorrow. "That is precisely why I have to leave."

The memory fragment trembled as the timeline shifted. Rhaevia watched helplessly as her ancient self walked forward and carefully set the golden crown upon the seat of the throne itself.

She was not placing it onto her own head, nor was she placing it on the other Sovereign’s. She was setting it down, surrendering its authority entirely.

Taking a step backward, ancient Rhaevia turned her back on the ultimate seat of power. The silver-haired Sovereign stared at her in stunned disbelief.

"You are simply abandoning it?" the woman asked, her tone laced with deep betrayal.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Ancient Rhaevia did not answer with words right away. Instead, she turned her gaze toward a massive, arched doorway at the edge of the chamber.

A man was standing in the shadows of the exit. He was a Sentinel, his tall frame clad in armor.

Rhaevia could not clearly distinguish his facial features through the haze of the memory fragment. Yet his posture, his unyielding presence, and the steady aura radiating from him felt painfully familiar.

The ancient version of herself began walking toward the waiting Sentinel, leaving the throne behind without a second glance.

The silver-haired Sovereign pursued her to the threshold, her voice strained. "You cannot simply walk away from the throne that governs everything!"

Ancient Rhaevia stopped at the doorway, turning her head back one last time. "I don’t want the throne anymore."

The other Sovereign’s voice cracked, raw emotion breaking through her regal composure. "Then what could you possibly want?"

Ancient Rhaevia looked at the Sentinel standing faithfully by her side. "I want to stop becoming the monster this throne requires me to be."

Rhaevia’s chest clenched painfully at those words. The vision shattered like thin glass, dissolving back into the dim reality of the flagship’s corridor.

She gasped violently for air, staggering backward. Raevor’s arms caught her instantly, his hands stabilizing her against his chest.

"Rhaevia," he said urgently, searching her face.

She stared up at him, her chest heaving as she fought to ground herself. "I abandoned it."

Raevor’s dark brows pulled together, his grip on her arms tightening slightly. "What?"

"My throne," she whispered, looking back toward the darkened communication displays. "The memory showed me walking away from it."

Her voice trembled with an overwhelming mixture of awe and confusion. "I wasn’t defeated in that war, Raevor. I wasn’t overthrown by an enemy army."

Raevor remained silent, listening intently as she pieced the truth together.

"I chose to leave," Rhaevia said, swallowing the lump in her throat.

The revelation felt infinitely more terrifying than the Second Sovereign’s accusations. If the hostile entity was telling the truth, Rhaevia had not stolen the throne through bloodthirsty conquest. She had held ultimate authority and then walked away, leaving a power vacuum behind.

She had made a choice that changed the fate of the entire galaxy, a choice she could no longer fully remember.

Suddenly, a bright pulse of cyan light flickered directly in front of her eyes, cutting through the red emergency lighting.

[ANCIENT MEMORY FRAGMENT RECOVERED.]

Rhaevia froze, her eyes scanning the glowing text. A second prompt materialized beneath it.

[SOVEREIGN THRONE: PREVIOUSLY OCCUPIED BY RHAEVIA.]

Her heart pounded wildly against her ribs.

[THRONE STATUS: VOLUNTARILY ABANDONED.]

Raevor stared at the glowing blue notification suspended between them, his jaw clenching. "Voluntarily."

Rhaevia nodded slowly, her mind racing. "But why?"

The question escaped her in a hollow whisper that drifted down the silent corridor. Why would someone who had conquered the galaxy willingly surrender the absolute highest position in existence?

Why would she strip herself of unmatched authority and leave behind everything she had spent lifetimes fighting to build? And why did the Second Sovereign hate her so deeply for making that choice?

A final, lingering memory fragment surfaced at the bottom of the system window.

She saw her ancient self standing before the golden throne one last time, her face filled with profound sorrow. The woman whispered a phrase, though the audio was far too distorted by time to comprehend.

Then the ancient Sentinel stepped beside her, placing a heavy, protective hand against her shoulder. Together, without a single moment of hesitation, they turned their backs on the throne and walked into the dark unknown.

The memory fragment abruptly ended, leaving only the floating system window.

Rhaevia’s eyes widened in realization as she looked up into Raevor’s face. "There’s something else."

"What is it?" Raevor asked, his expression turning grim.

"The Sentinel was there beside me," she said, her voice filled with certainty. "You were there when I left."

Raevor’s eyes narrowed as he digested her words, the silence between them growing heavy and profound.

Rhaevia turned her head back toward the observation window, staring out into the starry expanse beyond the trembling capital. Her ancient self had claimed the ultimate throne, she had willingly abandoned it, and the Sentinel had stood by her side through it all.

Yet the core truth behind her sacrifice remained shrouded in ancient mystery.

As the sirens continued to blare across the flagship, one single question burned far brighter than every other secret in the cosmos: what had been so terrible that she chose to give up a kingdom just to escape it?