Book fo xeid

Liberation of the Moon They boarded without words. The ship lifted and traveled across several planets, gathering the others one by one. Each new figure that boarded brought their own silence, settling into the available space without ceremony. It was ten of them in the end. Ten that had betrayed the Mind. Xeid looked at them—moving his eyes slowly across each face, each armor. Something shifted in his expression. The lines of his face eased—not into relaxation, but into something that had room in it. He smiled. For the first time in a while, it was the kind of smile worn by someone who feels pride—not in conquest or power, but in the simple fact that he was no longer alone. He did not wait any longer. The time for waiting was over. The moon received them as it always had—indifferently, without welcome. The very evening he emerged from the portal, they set course for the moon where Xeid had once worked—a place he knew better than anywhere else in the universe. An unfamiliar ship descended onto the mining facility's landing pad. From it stepped beings of exotic form—sentries in armor that ranged from elegant to brutal. To those who had spent their lives moving ore and following schedules, the figures emerging from that ship looked almost mythical. Imperial soldiers surrounded them at once. Weapons rose. Xeid stepped forward slightly. His eyes moved across the assembled soldiers. He drew a slow breath. His hands remained at his sides, open. "Lay down your weapons. Abandon the moon. Leave peacefully, and no blood will be spilled." The Imperial commander stood at the front—a career soldier whose bearing carried decades of unquestioned authority. His jaw tightened. His eyes moved across the figures before him with contempt. He raised his weapon and fired. The shot struck Xeid squarely in the head. A fraction of a second passed. Xeid stood where he had been standing. His eyes, which had been steady and red, erupted. The crimson light blazed outward. The arrogance drained from the commander's face before the beam from Xeid's eyes tore through his chest. The other sentries took this as a signal. What followed was a spectacle the workers had never seen before. Within minutes, the outpost was free of the Empire. The soldiers who survived fled. The rest would never report back. Many of the workers fled as well. Others stopped at the edges, watching—their faces carrying the uncertain stillness of people who cannot immediately determine whether liberation is what this is. Only one small, four-armed creature stood openly in the light. It had not moved during the fighting. It stood with its violet eyes wide and fixed on Xeid—recognition, perhaps, of something it had been waiting to see. Night deepened across the moon's surface. Debris from the facility's outer structures smoldered, throwing low, orange-tinged light. They gathered around it, the ten of them, settling into positions around the fire. They were waiting. A larger retaliation would come—it always did. But for now, the fire burned and the moon was quiet. Xeid lowered himself to the ground near the fire's edge. He reached into his coat and removed the small black rectangular device—holding it in the flat of his palm. Its surface was smooth and featureless. He turned it slowly, tilted it, brought it closer to the light. For the first time since stealing it from Redstone's secret facility, he attempted to decode the information it carried. The language that surfaced was unlike anything he had encountered—older than the Empire itself. He worked at it in silence. Some of the moon's laborers approached cautiously from the compound's edges. Their movements were careful. One stepped into the firelight. "Are you trying to overthrow the Emperor?" Xeid looked up from the device. His eyes moved across the worker's face. He gave a single nod and returned to the device. Another worker came forward. "Then count us among you." A third voice called out from farther back. "We will fight. We will help." At that moment, at the edge of the firelight, a figure rose to his full height. Deh Vedar moved forward into the light. His crimson armor caught the fire in deep, shifting reds. The axe rested in his hands. He was taller and broader than Xeid. His eyes moved to the workers gathered at the edges. "If you want to help, go. Board the ships. Travel to every moon, every station, every world where the Empire's shadow falls. Tell everyone what you saw here. Speak of him." He raised the axe slightly. He pointed it toward Xeid. "Tell them he is coming. Tell them the Immortal Emperor's reign is ending. Tell them hope has a name." A pause. "Tell them it's Xeid." The workers dispersed into the dark. They went. Just as the red-armored sentry had commanded. They carried the tale from world to world—from outpost to outpost, from fire to fire in the dark. They spoke to miners and merchants, to refugees and revolutionaries. They spoke of a gray figure with burning red eyes. Of one who dared to challenge an Emperor who had ruled for more than four centuries—an Emperor whose name had become synonymous with inevitability. As the story spread, it changed. Some said he was the first human in a hundred years to rebel against the Empire and survive. Others said no human could move that fast, or strike with such force—that he must be something else, something the Empire had created and lost control of. They whispered that armies shattered before him like glass. That soldiers felt fear before they even saw him. That he walked through fire and left only silence behind. By the time the rumor reached distant systems, the words had traveled far enough and changed enough to have hardened into something more durable than rumor. He is not just a man. He is more than human. And the Emperor's reign is no longer eternal.