Some claim the Imperator is an immortal being. Yet those who have ever encountered him know that such assertions — born more of age-old imagination than of empirical fact — are false. And facts are the foundation of any civilisation.
Atila reflected in silence as the lift carried him above the clouds, ascending toward the highest pinnacle of the structure designed by Diego Calat. As a soldier of the Umerium Empire, he represented the Imperium Sap — a synthetically engineered species, the product of centuries of refinement by genetic architects devoted to perfecting their creation.
This species was designed to fulfil a wide range of functions within imperial society: from military operatives and scientists to diplomats and administrators. Atila, endowed with exceptional intelligence, analytical precision, and unmatched efficiency, was among the finest of his kind. His battlefield experience and numerous victories had rendered him a living legend within the ranks of the imperial military.

The silvery light of the star Venaticorum streamed through the panoramic windows, reflecting off the glass facades of the skyscrapers. These structures, like towering steel invaders, dominated Sin — a planet transformed into the beating heart of the imperial industrial complex. Once covered in exotic flora, it had become nothing more than a machine for resource extraction. At this altitude, the absence of oxygen necessitated advanced ventilation systems to sustain life within the offices of the imperial elite.
The lift doors opened with a soft hiss, revealing an estrarios — one of the humanoid servitors of the Empire. These beings, designed to manage infrastructure, formed the backbone of a civilisation increasingly dependent on technology. “A society of freeloaders,” Atila thought bitterly, watching the mechanical figures move with near-surgical precision. “And we still wonder why we are vanishing from the order of things.”
Despite his unparalleled design, Atila did not feel invincible. His body, carbon-based, governed by water — that universal element of life — remained vulnerable. He knew he was the pinnacle of imperial engineering, yet he sensed that his time might soon come to an end. A troubling thought stirred in the depths of his mind: that the new generations of Synths — born of relentless genetic innovation since the Second Era — might surpass his own. Through them, Imperium Sap had attained perfection, but at the cost of becoming hardcoded for unthinking loyalty to its creators.
Though loyal to the Empire and shaped by years of service, Atila found himself increasingly haunted by moments of reflection — moments that unsettled him in ways he could not fully comprehend. In the course of his duties, he had encountered individuals who challenged the official narrative upheld by the Imperator. One of them was Umberto Eco Gomes, custodian of the monumental library in Umerium, a repository of knowledge gathered from across the universe.
Umberto was an extraordinary figure — his velvet voice, rich with erudition, captivated his listeners, and his visions of the future were often turbulent and disquieting. Atila had been trained to identify such individuals. He knew well that the enemies of the Empire did not always wield force, but intellect — undermining power through ideas and rhetoric. He understood these dangers and was prepared for them. And yet, Umberto did not fit the profile.
After all, he had known the Imperator personally. He could not be a traitor. He was a distinguished, courteous elder of the Homo Deus kind, whose wisdom drew others to him like gravity.
Though outwardly loyal to the Empire, Umberto had the courage to speak of the dangers posed by unchecked technological and genetic advancement. His apocalyptic visions stood in direct contrast to the Imperator’s doctrine, which saw progress as the sole means of maintaining galactic supremacy.
During his visits to the library, Atila — meticulously preparing for his missions — spoke with Umberto on numerous occasions. The custodian aided him in locating stellar maps and vital information that could improve mission success rates and reduce losses among his fellow Imperium Sap. Their conversations often moved beyond the technical, drifting into reflections on power, history, and the fate of the galaxy.
Though their roles and destinies diverged, they were united by a shared curiosity and mutual respect. Atila admired Umberto’s intellect and courage, even as he knew full well that such views could be deemed heretical. And yet, he had never considered reporting or exposing him — perhaps because, deep within, he had begun to perceive the fractures in the pristine image of the Empire that had been so carefully cultivated in his mind.

Now, standing in the austerely furnished office of General Reigin, Atila felt the weight of those past conversations. Umberto’s words — at times exaggerated — increasingly struck him as prophetic. “Could it truly be,” he wondered, “that we are heading toward catastrophe?” He glanced at the holographic foliage lining the walls — a decorative veil masking the absences in the artificial world wrought by the Empire.
“Enter,” came a faint, faltering voice.