Aegis: Celestial Lane Saga

Chapter 1

Within the archives, Roran's mind thrived.

Surrounded by rows and rows of bookshelves containing various texts, novels, and manuscripts, the boy's concentration couldn't be severed. He sat at a wooden table cluttered with documents and opened books. His focus, solid and unwavering, permanently lingered on the tome resting in front of him. Everything else was merely an afterthought. A buzzing distraction. What only noise to be heard was the silent humming of the orbital security droids steadily hovering down the aisles. Keen, illuminated eyes forever on the watch for trouble.

Despite being a royal, at least, in the technical sense, there still remained a vast amount of knowledge about his home planet he remained ignorant. What intrigued him most, however, was his family's past. Or, to be more specific, the legacies of kings and queens.

Darius Stormlight. Now there was a warrior to be feared. He maintained order in his sector for more than seventy years, defending the innocent and casting out those who sought to incite chaos. One story described how the man had taken on an entire army of outlanders. Armed with only a broken null ax, War God Darius gutted each and every last one of them in an event that eventually became heralded as the "Crimson Ax Massacre". 

Then there was another tale of how he survived on an estranged planet for a grand total of three months. His ship, The Siege, had been struck by an asteroid, over half of his men had perished in the crash, and they'd barely any supplies to rely on. Yet not even nature could best him in a war for survival. Once the rescue ships discovered the distant planet, they found the king, along with only four of his original crew members, sitting around a blistering campfire in the middle of a forest clearing. There they feasted on a large, carnivorous beast, biting into alien flesh without discrimination. Not only had Darius survived, but he had also tamed the wilds themselves. 

Darius knew what it meant to be a leader, as did his father. Every ruler of House Stormlight, may they be strong or brave or wise or foolish, had accomplished much in their lives, immortalizing themselves in history as the legends they were. Soon, it would be Roran's turn. Gulping a ball of saliva, the prince flipped the page of the aging book. There was an image of a golden figure looking over a balcony and at a grandiose sea of identical subjects below him. 

Roran closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then reopened them. Trapped on the paper, standing tall and proud, the boy envisioned himself addressing the faces of thousands. Or rather, he pictured an ideal version of himself that could lead and inspire the next generation of his kingdom into a brave, new future. Oh, what a sight it would be . . .

"There you are!" a familiar voice exclaimed. Roran shot his glance from the book and at Gareth. The soldier rushed to him without a moment's delay. His face was damp with sweat. "Looks like I won't be needing to sign my letter of resignation just yet."

"Gareth? How did you find me?" Roran inquired, his tongue dripping with curiosity.

"How?" Gareth spat, covering his stomach as he hungrily gulped for air. "You weren't in the royal library. Where else could you've gone?"

Roran dropped his head. "Fair enough, I suppose . . ."

Gareth was a member of his family's royal guard. A solarian soldier hand-picked from the Astral Legion and entrusted to assume command of the palace's security. To that end, he was quite effective. Gareth Greywind was a man of average height and build though, after seeing him in action, Roran didn't doubt his combative capabilities. 

He had a fiery azure vision, slicked-back brown hair, and an almost perfectly symmetrical face. Traveling from the top of his scalp, over his nose, and to the bottom of his chin, however, was a distinguishing scar. A crimson, serrated railroad he'd obtained from a battle the man had lost. Per usual, he was wearing his security armor. A valiant black-themed mechanical suit fit for soldiers of his design. And then there was, of course, his standard issued light rifle, the white-colored plasma-class firearm strapped firmly to his back.