Sargent Miller found himself seated in a large lounge. A drinking room with furniture covered in rich leather and exotic wood. With the shelves covered in countless crystal-bottled liquors, and the soft crooning of some old-time jazz singer playing over the background, the room looked more like what one would expect from a high-class speakeasy than anything else.

Yet, more than a few of the faces in the room belonged to members of the city’s elite. It took Miller aback, and he found himself wondering if they’d all arranged to come to this particular building ahead of time. Then he recalled that the building was located in the high-end part of the city, making it the closest port in the storm for the city’s upper-crust.

“Oh, ho? Who’s this” said a venerable looking, old, Wolfkin. His well-styled, fur and hair, streaked with gray.

Miller saluted, bowing faintly at the waist in greeting.

“Sergeant Miller, Head of the Sparrow-unit within Eblouir’s Tactical Rangers and Emergency Response.” said the Servitor.

“My, my...Even you’ve somehow managed to find yourself here. How serendipitous…” said another of the room’s occupants. A military contact and major official of the city who’d once attempted and failed to run for mayor.

Miller met the other man’s eye and struggled to his expression from dipping into a frown. That man was known in the minds of many as “the bureaucrat”.

Never mind that many in the rooms also held administrative and bureaucratic positions. He still remained the sole “bureaucrat” in the room. Gaining the title because his reputation was exactly that of the kind of petty, pencil-pushing, red-tape draping, politicking, pain in the ass that the worst of his sort were known to be.

“Hello,...Sir.” said Miller.

The servitor lead Miller to a seat and asked if Miller would like a drink or any other refreshments. Miller looked around the room and saw that many of the others were drinking, but just to play it safe he simply asked for a water.

The door to the lounge opened once more and in walked a man, though from his facial features it wasn’t too long ago that one could call him a boy.

He was tall. Slender in build, but wide in frame. A muscular physique that was large without stepping into the realm of being bulky.

His features carrying the same brutal elegance one might expect from a well-made broadsword or one of the military’s astral corvettes.

His skin was a warm brown, his shaggy red hair, and wolfish eyes, were orange-red like the flames of a dying fire. His face was sharp and handsome. Dominated by a pair of black-framed, rectangular, glasses.

Speaking of the man’s face, his face and most of the other, visible parts of his body, were marked. His skin was covered in dark tattoos that looked like eyes. Closed eyes.

Most striking was the man’s aura. It was palpable. Reminding Miller of a famous instructor he’d once trained under. The red-haired man exuded a pressure that made everyone in the room breath a little shallower and talk a little softer. It was an aura that suffered no argument or resistance. An aura with boundless depth and strength like the ebb and flow of a vast sea.

The man looked around the room. Miller felt the man’s gaze fall on him and found himself shivering as if thousands of hands with thousands of fingers had just rifled through his innermost being. Searching the Seargent up and down for the red-haired could expect every minute portion of Miller’s person.

“Greetings, all. I know you were expecting my wife, but she’s busy. So here I am. I’m Andrew Oddvar-Luce. Nice to make your acquaintance.” said the man.

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“Wife? I wasn’t aware the young Mistress Luce was even affianced, never mind being married.” said a middle-aged foxkin woman, who’d formerly been one of the heads of Eblouir’s boards of commerce.

“Nh, well we were...are. The Luces are a quiet family and don’t really do things with the pomp and circumstance that other families of their class might do them. Sophia and I had been engaged for a few months. Then we got married not long ago.” said Andrew. Lying about the details but telling the truth in the broad strokes.

He and Sophia were married. They’d decided on it while Andrew was wrapping up the finishing touches on his current body and syncing his Alma Root System with the System Sophia had set up within the Blackrose galaxy.

Andrew wasn’t entirely sure why they’d decided to do so now, rather than wait till they graduated as they’d planned. There was something about having the whole world falling apart around them that made the two immortals feel like they might not have all the time in the world to do things the “proper way," like they’d initially thought they'd be able to do them.

They also didn’t know when Andrew’s growing pains would strike next, whisking him away to yet another world.

Add to this ,the fact that Andrew had only two people he’d ever have even considered wanting present at their hypothetical ceremony, and Sophia's side of the family was basically all just duplicates of her. There was no reason not to. At least no serious reason.

Besides, the two had been together for so long that they were already basically married. So manipulating the data within the empire’s system to get their marriage certificate on file had just been a formality.

Ultimately, even if he wasn’t sure about the decision, he didn’t regret it. He loved Sophia, and he knew she loved him as well, so the label on their relationship didn’t matter as much.

Seeing the expressions on the faces of the people in the room did remind Andrew that there would likely be a few societal repercussions, but he found he wasn’t that concerned. The increases in his strength came with an increased willingness to be bolder and less covert in his actions.

Tall flowers might get their heads chopped off, tall nails might get hammered down, but the mountains could grow as high as they wanted. Anyone trying to chop them down was asking for a calamity to fall upon their heads.

Right now, Andrew felt reasonably comfortable that if there was an immortal present, he’d be able to hold his own against them with relative ease.

Which meant he’d likely be able to hold his own against any number of mortal authorities. Things could still turn troublesome if he got too reckless, but at the very least, he was unlikely to be overwhelmed, and the chances of facing a total loss were unlikely, which was the important thing.

“Well, congrats, I suppose...Moving onto the matters at hand. This building. On behalf of the Novem government, I’m prepared to buy it from you for the price of a hundred million dollars.” said the Bureaucrat.

Andrew didn’t bother thinking before he shook his head and said,

“No can do, sir. It’s not for sale.”

The bureaucrat frowned. Obviously not expecting to be rebuffed even if the price was a tad low, it was real estate in a devastated city. Ordinarily, one would be lucky to get an offer of fifty million dollars.

“Fine then...On behalf of the Novem government, I’m requisitioning this building from you. And you can contact the appropriate offices later about proper compensation.” said the bureaucrat. His tone a lot colder and lot less friendly.

Andrew just looked at the man and then he looked at the room. Some of the gazes he saw were friendly, others were not. All of those gazes were calculating.

If it was any other day, Andrew might have taken a different angle with things, or perhaps even simply capitulated because it was only a building and it wouldn’t be hard to take everything of real worth from the building when he and Sophia left. Leaving the building as an ordinary building.

Today Andrew was tired and just a little grumpy because he’d managed to cross the distance between universes only to find himself in this mess, with his homeworld on fire.

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Miller watched the exchange between the bureaucrat and the man who called himself the husband of the famous and well-esteemed Sophia Luce. The Sergeant like everyone else in the room was exceedingly curious to see what was going to happen.

Technically, Miller should have been taking the bureaucrat’s side because it was by now very clear that the building was a key portion of Eblouir’s defense, and the government was more than justified to take ownership of such a structure.

However, Miller and most others in the room were also clear that this wasn’t the reason the bureaucrat had brought the matter up. No doubt, the bureaucrat had seen the worth of the building and simply wanted to claim it for the sake of getting the credit for bringing such a treasure into the governmental coffers.

The building’s spatial tech and defensive capabilities seemed to be on par with some of the empire’s most advanced creations and confiscating such a marvel for the government's use with come with great rewards.

Andrew Oddvar-Luce smiled. Startling everyone in the room by his sudden change of expression. Then he clucked his tongue, placed his hand on the bureaucrat’s shoulder and said,

“Well, shucks...I’m glad to see you’re here, little fella. But the grownups are talking now, so why don’t you go over there and play some games on your sprite?”

There was an inaudible gasp that traveled across the room as everyone was struck by the sheer amount of disdain and disregard the man’s words held. Miller noticed a few of the bureaucrat's peers frowning. Even if they didn’t like the man that didn’t mean they’d stand for the disrespect to his position and his connection to the empire.

Everyone still waited, wanting to see the bureaucrats enraged response. A few of the people who’d been watching in the background were even preparing to stand and support the bureaucrat.

There were only a few people like a certain, green-haired, old half-elf who seemed to be kicking back and watching the show. Showing none of the outrage that more than a few faces in the room were now showing.

Everyone was shocked when the bureaucrat’s face lost all expression and then suddenly turned bright as well. The man’s wrinkled face took on a youthful innocence, and his voice took on a childish lisp as the man said,

“Okay...Can-, Can I have some snacks? Please?” said the bureaucrat.

“Of course. I’ll have one of the servants get you some of the cheese snacks you like so much.” said Andrew.

“Yay! Thank you, mister!” said the bureaucrat.

The red-haired man ruffled the bureaucrat's hair like he was some kindly old uncle. The seventy-year-old bureaucrat laughed happily, making airplane noises as he ran out the door.

Once the bureaucrat was gone all the attention on the room fell on the red-haired young man. Some people looked amused. Others were furious. Others looked frightened and conflicted.

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The young man gestured, and his glasses, which also served as his sprite, projected a single window, with a single golden digital certificate within it.

A certificate stamped with the imperial seal. A certificate filled with the sharp text of most important imperial documents and titled with a bold, curlicue, number fifteen. The two numbers surrounded by ten stars.

This was yet another measure that Sophia had set up in preparation for Andrew’s return. A measure born from the ashes of yet more of the couple's ruined plans.

Though the empire often liked to posit itself as a shining example of democracy, meritocracy, and egalitarianism, compared to its more stratified rivals, there were many classes within imperial society.

The Royals stood above the nobles, the nobles stood above the commoners, and within all those groups there were several subdivisions based on wealth, influence and personal strength.

In the empire, the biggest decider for one’s status in imperial society was one’s personal strength. Thus were born the star ranks, though rumor had it those rankings were created by beings that were a fair bit higher up in the food chain than the empire was.

All the empire’s soldiers were ranked according to their capability, and since all of the empire’s citizens were either future, present, or past members of its military, all of them were ranked as well. That ranking held great weight within imperial society.

The certificate that the boy named Andrew was showing to the group of city leaders and persons of influence ended any plots, or thoughts of reprisal, cold.

Those who were outraged on the bureaucrat's behalf quickly hid their anger. Those who’d simply wanted to see what would happen, shook their heads in chagrin, considering how to make use of the use of the new information. Those who were quietly on the young man’s side simply smiled.

Everyone from Andrew’s detractors, to the neutral group, to his supporters, all made plans for how to get on the good side of the Luce family.

Most citizens within the empire were born rank one. They were ordinary people, holding ordinary military significance. Based on their powers, and political, military, or economic achievements most would eventually climb to the level of rank-three significance.

If one was a noble one would be born rank-three and could reach rank-five.

The royals were born rank-five and reached rank-seven. Even the emperor only held a personal rank of rank-nine citizenship.

Being rank-ten and above was only possible for a group, and was withheld for those factions, families, and nations with strong ties to a powerful immortal. The empire as a whole held a rank of twenty-seven.

A powerful immortal that shared one’s family name. Being rank-ten meant that one was related and connected to one of the galaxy’s powers-that-be.

The certificate that the young husband of Sophia Luce had just revealed, was a sign that the Luce family had hid themselves deeper than anyone had thought.

Quietly, supporting and gaining the support of, a being that no mortal power within the empire could afford to offend. In other words, even if the young man had killed and eaten the bureaucrat, only the most foolish amongst the people in the room would try to find trouble with him and the Luce clan.

Andrew pulled up a chair for himself and plopped himself down. He ordered a drink and then looked around the table. He frowned as he noted the overly sober expression worn by more than half of the table.

He couldn’t help clicking his tongue as he saw so many judgemental stares, after the heroic amount of quick thinking that he’d had to do, to keep from killing the annoying man who’d dared thing he could steal his home away.

“Oh, come on now...It’s not like it’s permanent. He’ll be back to normal in a few days. He just looked like the kind that might end up being a nuisance if he hung around for too long. And this will keep him out of hair while the rest of us do what needs to be done. Any who, let’s talk about where we go from here.” said Andrew.