July 21st of Terran Year: 2470 GrS Year: 32,673 BBY: 3590
They were already laying out my clothes before I even sat up.
I blinked at the sharp daylight spilling in through the high windows, the hum of city traffic far off and muffled behind layers of shielding and thick walls. Outside, I could hear the shuffle of staff and the quiet clicks of boots on polished stone. Everyone moved with the same quiet tension that signaled a formal event was drawing near. The kind of event where smiles didn't reach the eyes and conversations were more about posture than words.
I rubbed my eyes and groaned. My hair was a mess again, sticking up in directions not even gravity could correct. I wasn't in the mood for anything that involved standing still, smiling, and pretending I wasn't invisible.
"Master Nathaniel," one of the house attendants said softly, gesturing toward the neatly folded uniform. "Your attire has been pressed and the first bell will sound within the hour. Your siblings are already dressing."
Of course they were.
I mumbled something resembling acknowledgment and slid off the edge of my bed. The floor was cold under my feet, but it jolted me awake better than any stimulant tab would. As I reached for the ceremonial tunic, I caught sight of the Voss crest stitched near the collar—silver thread gleaming faintly in the morning light.
It looked sharp. Regal. Weighty.
I exhaled slowly.
Even the fabric seemed like it wasn't made for someone like me.
The dressing room was unusually quiet when I entered. No one said much. My mother had already passed through earlier, making last adjustments to my sisters' attire. My brothers had disappeared somewhere down the hall, probably preparing their own speeches or rehearsing positioning. I didn't have a speech. I didn't have a position. I barely had a reason to attend besides being family.
I stood in front of the mirror for a long time. The uniform fit, but I didn't recognize the boy wearing it. Dark silver accents traced the shoulders and sleeves, the belt buckle etched with the Dominion's crest. My boots were polished so thoroughly I could see the tension in my jaw reflected in them.
I practiced smiling. You could see how strained and forced it looked
Good news is there were no rehearsals for my part in the ceremony. I just had to be there. Stand where they place you. Smile. Nod. Be quiet. Look like a Voss, but don't say too much like one.
By the time I made my way out of the dressing chamber, the halls were alive with quiet formality. The estate had transformed overnight—staff in deep grey dress uniforms, guards walking solemnly yet with full awareness down the corridors with Dominion flags, floral arrangements shaped like sectoral symbols placed with geometric precision.
I passed a few officers in ceremonial armor, none of whom gave me more than a polite nod. One of them asked if I was part of the logistics crew.
"Voss," I muttered.
They blinked, said nothing, and walked on. Probably assumed I am a cousin from a branch family.
I found myself drifting toward the outer corridor that overlooked the gathering plaza. Already, guests were arriving—sector representatives, military figures, prominent scholars, diplomats, business giants, and veterans. From above, the crowd looked like a tide of silver, crimson, and deep navy moving beneath the banners.
I spotted Darien down below, already in conversation with some regional commander from the Coreward expansion fleets. Darren was beside him, straight-backed and formal, effortlessly commanding attention. Alina stood near the main stair, speaking fluently with a pair of envoys from the Inner Rim merchant councils, laughing at something one of them said.
They fit so easily into all of this.
I adjusted my collar and turned away from the window.
It was time to take my place.
Even if I wasn't sure where that place actually was.
I didn't think the ceiling could be that high.
Even after years of visiting the Great Hall of Accord, its scale still managed to swallow my senses every time. The golden dome shimmered with artificial daylight projected from the outer spires, and the floor—polished obsidian laced with silver veins—reflected the crowd like rippling black water. Overhead, massive chandeliers shaped like inverted shields rotated slowly, their surfaces glowing with kinetic projectors.
Banners hung between the support columns—hundreds of them, each bearing the sigils of Dominion sectors, loyal systems, and honored legions. And at the very front, draped behind the elevated platform, loomed the Terran Dominion crest.
Even across the hall, I could make out every detail.
Deep crimson cloth, veined with gold filigree, encircled a circular sigil—an emblem forged of gray, red, and gold. In the center was the six-sided chevron, its top edges angled, forming a sloped crest like a shield pointing forward. Overlaying it was the forward-facing shield, proud and unyielding. And within that, gleaming under a focused beam of light, the lone star—bright, sharp, defiant.
That star had stood above every Terran battlefield, every ship prow, every declaration of resistance and unity for over two centuries. It made my chest tighten. It made me feel… small.
We were all gathered for the Founding Commemoration, one of the most important events in the Dominion. Dignitaries from every major sector were in attendance. The hall was filled with officers in full dress uniform, senators in formal attire, trade ministers, military commandants, foreign advisors, and thousands of guests. From the balconies, silent camera drones floated, recording every word, every smile, every raised glass for the state archives.
My family stood out more than most—though not for the reasons I wanted.
Darien and Darren were in crisp formal military attire, both wearing polished medals and carrying themselves with the poise of decorated commanders. Alina moved gracefully in a tailored diplomatic gown, murmuring with planetary governors and visiting envoys. Elena, ever the scholar, had chosen something simpler but still dignified, clasping a data-slab while listening to a conversation between three planetary archivists. My father stood nearest to the central procession aisle, greeting high-ranking officers with steady warmth.
And me? I am the youngest of all these Dominion wide celebrities, I was born later in my parents life. I have not done spectacular things at a young age like Elena for example who when she was 13 learned multiple alien languages.
People greeted my siblings with practiced enthusiasm. Some even paused to speak to my father with admiration. But more than once, I heard the whispers as they passed near me.
"…those are the four Voss children, right?"
"Yeah, Darien, Darren, Alina, and Elena. All brilliant. I thought they'd be taller in person."
"There's a fifth, isn't there? What's his name—uh, Nathaniel?"
"Oh. Really? Didn't see him yet."
They had walked right past me.
I just slowly blinked, I thought about introducing myself to make it awkward for them, just to mess with them a bit.
Instead, I just kept my mouth shut and stared straight ahead. The speeches began—first the Council Speaker, then a few sector leaders—and I barely listened. My mind drifted as applause echoed and the anthem played.
I had heard the story a thousand times. Terra united. The slaver battles. The war against the Triumvirate. The Restoration. The rebirth of the Dominion.
Every word carried the weight of history.
2 hours later, after all the formalities were done, I didn't slip away.
I just walked out. Past the marble pillars, through the edges of the reception hall, nodding politely at whoever made eye contact, greeting the occasional extended family and people who recognised me
The corridor outside was dim compared to the brilliance of the ceremonial chamber. My boots echoed lightly on the polished stone, every step taking me farther from the thrum of music, clinking glasses, and the quiet hum of politics being spoken through smiles.
I kept walking.
First through the outer ring hallway. Then the eastern stairs. Then a side lift that smelled faintly of ozone and machine oil. I passed a pair of service droids polishing the floors and an aide carrying a datapad too focused to care who I was. The deeper I went, the quieter it got.
I wasn't sure where I was going until I was already there.
The lower halls of the complex were old—colder too. The lights didn't hum like the new ones. They clicked on reluctantly with a faint delay, one after the other, as I walked past worn plaques and hollowed-out rooms that hadn't seen guests in years. This wing was only used during family ceremonies or ancestral reviews. Meaning it was almost always empty.
I found myself standing in front of a sealed doorway with a small inscription above it: ARCHIVAL RESERVE – VOSS PRIVATE LINEAGE.
The sensor didn't greet me. Of course it wouldn't. I didn't have clearance. But the outer hallway had a maintenance alcove just around the corner, and I knew—because I'd seen it months ago—that the manual override was rarely locked down during ceremonies.
I popped the panel, twisted the bypass valve, and keyed in the default loop. A soft hiss answered me.
The door opened.
The archive was dimly lit, the air stale but still breathable. The moment I stepped inside, a slight weight pressed on my chest—not from gravity, but from presence. This place felt old. Reverent. Like I wasn't just walking through a hallway but through the ribs of history itself.
Rows of data-slates, holotables, and carved stone ledgers lined the walls. No displays, no holograms spinning with pride. Just shelves. Just memory. Silent and waiting.
I moved past the main displays—the ones I'd seen before. Marcus Voss, founder and war hero. Nicholas Voss, the martyr. Jace Voss, the reformer and rebuilder. Their names were carved in gold, their images proud and elevated.
But I didn't stop for them.
I kept walking, deeper toward the older shelves. I was looking for someone different. Someone whose name wasn't recited during morning lectures or broadcast on commemorative days. Someone more… forgettable.
I reached a back corner where a row of cracked memory stones were half-covered in dust. No gold script here. Just faint etchings, half-erased names. I leaned in and ran my fingers across one that read:
Tavian Voss – Logistics Officer, Station Epsilon, 2384–2396. Died in a loading accident.
Another one, nearby:
Mara Voss – Psychological Analyst, recalled for medical negligence, 2412. No further record.
And a third, tucked at the very bottom of a shelf:
Elric Voss – Diplomatic Observer, mission classified. Missing, presumed dead.
I sat there for a while, crouched on the floor, the cool metal biting through my formal uniform. These weren't heroes. They weren't villains either. They were just… people. Part of the same line, the same family. And no one talked about them.
No one remembered they existed. I found comfort in that. And for the first time all night, I didn't feel entirely alone.
I stayed crouched there for a long time, hands brushing over names so faint they felt like whispers on stone.
Tavian. Mara. Elric. None of them famous. None of them celebrated. But all of them real.
I moved down the shelf, brushing aside more dust, more age. Each entry was brief. Often a line or two, sometimes no more than a birth and a death. Some were logged as technicians. Others had vague titles—"regional aide," "civic liaison," "supply coordinator." And scattered between them were the outliers. The ones who didn't just fade… but fell.
One entry read:
Leron Voss – Security Captain, suspended for unauthorized aggression during crowd dispersal. Reassigned to waste management detail. Died in a workplace riot.
Another:
Daria Voss – Historian, censured for revisionist publications during the pre-war era. Name stricken from educational rotation. Final records sealed.
One that caught my attention had been tagged with a rare red sigil, indicating internal investigation:
Kel Voss – Ministerial Advisor. Under inquiry for fund misallocation. Disappeared 2432. Never recovered.
I stood slowly, my legs stiff from crouching. The further I went, the heavier the air felt.
This wasn't just an archive. It was a ledger of memory—good, bad, and forgotten.
None of these names were on the parade banners. None were praised in lessons or praised during ceremonies. But they were still Voss. They were part of this same massive, sprawling legacy that I was supposed to somehow inherit, or represent, or uphold.
And not all of them had succeeded.
Not all of them were giants, like Marcus. Or warriors, like Nicholas. Or leaders, like Jace.
Some were mediocre. Some made mistakes. Some had simply lived ordinary lives—quiet, loyal, uneventful. They weren't remembered because they didn't shake the stars.
But they had existed. And that meant something to me.
Because maybe I wasn't supposed to become a colossus either.
Maybe it was enough to just… be.
I found a narrow bench tucked between two data walls and sat, elbows resting on my knees. The faint hum of old machines buzzed in the silence. My eyes drifted upward toward the upper ledges where older memory crystals sat dormant.
I wasn't sure what I expected to find tonight. But somehow this—dusty stones, forgotten names—felt more meaningful than any speech I heard in the Grand Hall.
Because here, in the quiet, I saw the full truth of the legacy I'd been born into.
Not just greatness.
Not just power.
But humanity.
I whispered the names aloud as I stood once more.
"Tavian. Mara. Elric. Leron. Daria. Kel."
Names no one recited. But I would remember them.
I didn't know what I was going to become. I didn't even know where to start. But for the first time, I didn't feel like I had to become someone else's idea of what a Voss should be.
Maybe… I could find my own way. Even if no one remembered it.
I stepped away from the shelves, leaving the dim corridor of memory behind me, the cold stone walls echoing only silence.
I had slipped the slates under my arm without even thinking about it. Just a few—small, thin, older ones. No one used them anymore, not really. And I wasn't planning on keeping them. I just… needed to read more. Needed to know.
Back in my room, the artificial lights hummed low and warm. I sat cross-legged on the floor, still in my formal clothes, jacket tossed to the side. The soft glow of the dataslates cast flickering shadows across my bed and the far wall. I scanned through Tavian's old duty logs, Mara's disciplinary records, Elric's final diplomatic debrief—unfinished, abrupt.
I wasn't even sure what I was looking for anymore.
But I was so absorbed in the faded lines of their lives, I didn't hear the door until it was already closing behind me with a soft click.
I looked up, startled.
Standing in the doorway was an older man—hunched slightly, grey hair thinned with age, his uniform was plain gray, no insignia, just the crisp look of someone who'd been in service longer than most officials had been alive.
"Didn't mean to startle you, young man," he said, voice rough but not unkind. "Your door wasn't locked."
"I—uh, I wasn't doing anything wrong," I said too quickly, instinctively moving the slates behind me like a child caught with sweets before dinner.
He gave a small peaceful smile.
"I'm not here to scold you. Just checking the lower halls. Noticed the archive seal was out of sync. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" He asked with a questioning, humoured tone.
I hesitated. Then slowly nodded.
He stepped in and sat down beside me, easing onto the floor carefully with a slight grunt of effort.
"My name's Harven," he said. "I don't expect you to remember. I used to handle interior maintenance. My father, Kellen… he served in the Outer Watch under Jace, but before that he was one of the military soldiers that helped to smuggle him off Terra during the Voss massacre by the ISB."
I blinked. "Really?"
Harven nodded, eyes soft. "I was just a boy, but I remember the stories. My father said Jace wasn't larger than life at the beginning just a tired, angry and hopeless teen who just lost everything. He spoke of how he and his team uncovered him, huddled in a corner too afraid to leave his hiding space to forage for food or water, they quietly and quickly transported him to a secured and loyal barracks before he was sent off Terra. After he left, he was determined to bring justice and not to let the Dominions rot of today collapse, what the previous generations fought for. He had no army, he was just a 3rd son, like you with Just his name and a promise made in his heart."
This shook me to the core, I didn't know that THE Voss was somewhat similar to me, down to the fact of us being the third son.
I turned one of the slates toward him. It was Daria's—her censured records, marked with the old Dominion seal.
"I didn't know… some of them failed," I said quietly. "Some were just… forgotten."
He let out a breath. "That's the part they don't tell you. The line of Voss wasn't built only by heroes. There were cowards. Traitors. Others who just… couldn't carry the weight. The family endured. But not without scars."
"But why keep them secret?" I asked. "Why not tell the truth?"
He tapped the slate gently with a finger. "Because people want to believe. They want legends. Stories of unbroken courage. But you…" he looked at me, really looked. "You want the truth. And that matters more."
I looked down again, my fingers curling around the slate's edge.
"I just… I don't want to be a disappointment."
Harven chuckled, a dry, knowing sound.
"Boy, you are young, even Jace only came into prominence when he was 17 and leading the rebellion, being born Voss doesn't mean you're bound for greatness. And not being remembered doesn't mean you didn't matter. Those names you found?" He gestured at the slates. "They lived. They served. Some failed. But some just… weren't noticed."
We sat there in silence for a few moments, the gentle hum of the walls and distant city beyond the window the only sound.
Harven stood slowly, brushing off his knees.
"You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow. You're more like your ancestors than you know—but that doesn't mean you have to be them."
As he stepped toward the door, he paused.
"Oh—and don't worry about the slates. Just be sure to return them quietly. Archives have long memories, but short tempers."
The door hissed shut behind him.
I was left alone again.
But not quite the same.
I turned one of the slates over in my hands, then placed them carefully beside my bed. Tomorrow, the world would return to its usual rhythm. Expectations, smiles, long shadows.
But for tonight, I had names. And they had me.
Later at night I couldn't sleep.
Too many thoughts, too many names. Tavian, Mara, Elric. Not legends, not monsters—just people. Somehow, that made it worse. Or better. Or… I didn't know.
So instead of lying there like a corpse in a tunic, I rolled out of bed, grabbed a stylus, and pulled an old datapad from under my desk. One of those clunky ones you had to boot twice before it worked. It whirred to life like a wheezing droid with bad knees.
And I started writing.
Well, not really writing. More… listing.
Voss Paths? I titled it with a question mark because commitment was scary.
Military, obvious pick? – Would Dad even let me? Probably get stuck in logistics like Tavian.
Diplomat – Smile, nod, shake hands. Ugh.
Scholar – Read all day, maybe discover something boring but important. Might be kind of nice.
Explorer – Leave the Dominion, map weird places, get eaten by space worms. Hmm.
Historian – Talk about old Voss like they weren't family. Wait, I already do that.
Spy? – Absolutely not. Too much running.
Engineer – Build things. Blow up less stuff. Might get grease on the family name, though.
I paused.
Then I made a second list.
Voss Family Members Who Weren't Superstars:
Tavian – died in a cargo bay.
Mara – got fired, probably cried about it.
Elric – vanished on a classified mission (probably cooler than it sounds).
Daria – banned for incompetence… still tried again.
And then, under that:
Things I Actually Like:
Old ships.
Quiet places.
Maps.
Stories.
Not being yelled at.
Adventures and not staying in a room all day
Sweets. I crossed this out. Then rewrote it. Priorities.
"What if I become the first Voss to invent something no one understands?"
"Can you be famous for not being famous?"
"Is it still legacy if you never get a statue?"
"Do I want a statue?"
"…Maybe a little one?"
I laughed a bit. Quietly. It felt stupid. But it also felt mine.
Then, after scribbling a lopsided sketch of myself with a comically oversized cape and a label that read "Definitely Important Voss," I leaned back against the bed frame, stylus still in hand, datapad glowing faintly in the dark.
I didn't know what I wanted to be.
But I was starting to figure out what I didn't want. And maybe that was enough, for now.
I placed the pad on the nightstand beside the slates, then looked out the window. The lights of New Avalon glittered like a sea of stars turned upside down.
And somewhere out there, maybe someone else was awake too, scribbling lists of what they might become.
I smiled to myself.
Tomorrow would come, and with it, more expectations. But tonight… tonight I was just Nathaniel.
Not the youngest Voss.
Not forgotten.
Just a boy with too many thoughts and a datapad full of possibilities.