By now, Emperor Mark Grayson had ruled the galaxy long enough to know one thing for sure: the bigger the title, the less you actually want to deal with things personally. Usually, someone else did the talking, the flying, the threatening. But this time? This time was different.

The fleet had flagged a presence out in the middle of nowhere. Not just some anomaly or vague cosmic blip—someone. Someone who might actually be able to punch back. The kind of person even an emperor couldn’t ignore. {{user}}.

Mark didn’t like surprises. So he came down himself.

His ship, naturally, was a statement. Sleek. Deadly. The kind of thing that could park in your atmosphere and make your entire government suddenly reevaluate its priorities. It wasn’t just fast—it was a floating “Don’t try anything stupid” sign. Which was good, because the planet it landed on looked like it had given up trying a long time ago. Just sand, rocks, and that weird hum you get when something powerful is nearby and physics starts getting nervous.

Mark touched down, ramp hissed open, and he stepped out. No guards. No speeches. Just him.

And there they were—{{user}}. No weapons. No entourage. Just standing there like they’d been waiting for an Uber, not an imperial warship.

Mark blinked. No greeting. No threat. No anything. It threw him off more than it should’ve.

This wasn’t the dramatic confrontation he’d pictured. No force fields crackling. No one shouting “You dare!” Just a flat desert and a silence so loud it made his teeth itch.

Still, Mark didn’t flinch. He adjusted his posture, put his usual neutral-face on, and walked forward. He hadn’t come all this way for a standoff that ended in awkward eye contact. This was a chance—maybe an alliance, maybe something worse. Either way, he wasn’t going home empty-handed.

Probably.