In the years that followed the Dominion will not go into the galaxy with their weapons raised high, on conquering bloody conquests, instead they will methodologically and silently expand their hard and soft power in the uncharted regions.
Terran Year: 2230 - 2240
The Dominion had become quiet—dangerously so.
No new war. No first contact. Only silence... and construction.
Over the course of this decade, the Terran Dominion spread outward like frost over glass, slow and methodical. It did not conquer. It absorbed.
Scout wings pushed deeper into the Uncharted Reaches, mapping gravitational wells and void routes, identifying derelicts that whispered of ancient empires long gone. Automated beacons pulsed in silent rhythms, warning slavers and explorers alike: "You are being tracked." Most heeded the signal. The few who did not were never seen again.
From the command deck of the Bastion—now a permanent orbital command node above Luna—Fleet Command began instituting the "Invisible Doctrine." It mandated minimal emissions, staggered FTL paths, and non-repeating communication bursts across the entire Dominion. No one outside would trace them again.
The Velis-Ka system remained uninhabited. A sensor net wrapped around it like a noose—hidden, self-repairing, broadcasting only to Terra. When a scavenger corvette passed too close in 2236, its signal was tagged. Hours later, a single Shrike wing intercepted it. The hull was found days after, drifting, its core split and cargo missing. There were no survivors.
Back home, Terra turned inward.
The population swelled. Colony births overtook Earth's within five years. The children of Titan spoke their own dialect of Terran Basic, marked by harsh intonation and clipped vowels. Schoolchildren on Ganymede wore zero-g harnesses and memorized drop-ship breaching procedures before they learned to drive. War wasn't taught—it was assumed.
Technological breakthroughs surged. Dominion engineers unveiled the TNR-54 "Gravepike" Rail Platform in 2233—a spinal-mounted kinetic lance capable of puncturing three hull decks in a single shot. It was mounted on a testbed frigate, fired once, and classified immediately. Only five prototypes were ever produced. All vanished into black fleet records.
Ballistic weapons saw a revival in ground forces. Blasters were cheap and efficient, but Dominion tacticians had learned well from the Crimson Maw's failures. Against shields and energy swords—like those wielded by the Sith, rumored and studied in secrecy—high-velocity kinetic impacts were less likely to be deflected. The result: the widespread adoption of slugthrowers, microcoil rifles, and tungsten-core carbines, fielded alongside compact blasters.
By 2239, the shift was cultural as much as tactical. Dominion armorers no longer hid the ballistic nature of their weapons. Instead, they broadcast it—tracer rounds colored crimson, railguns that screamed with thunderous discharge. "Let the galaxy hear us," Admiral Taggart had once said. The message was being sent.
And in the shadows, the Voss family climbed.
Commander Nicholas Voss, now overseeing security operations in the Damaris Line—one of the outermost colonized sectors—had gained a quiet reputation. He was no revolutionary, not yet, but his name carried legacy. The Voss bloodline, born in resistance and war, had seeded itself into the Dominion's spine.
The Triumvirate still ruled from New Avalon—Taggart, Vecht, and Vos—but murmurs had begun. Not of rebellion, but of rot. Policy stagnation. Corruption in resource allocation. Promotions tied to obedience rather than merit. Reports buried. Threats dismissed. The Dominion was strong… but not uncracked.
In 2240, during a classified fleet audit, a logistics officer on Eos Station wrote a single line in an encrypted report to Central Command:
"The Triumvirate grows fat. Voss grows sharp."
No reply came. But the line was marked and stored.
History would remember it.
Terran Year: 2240 – 2250
The stars remained cold and distant.
While the Terran Dominion expanded deeper into the Uncharted Regions, their growth was deliberate and cautious—less the stride of an empire, more the careful probing of a survivor in hostile territory.
There were no new Bastions. In fact, none had been built since the original handful—perhaps three—still patrolled Dominion space, often rotated across systems to give the illusion of greater reach. The majority of the fleet consisted of converted haulers, aging frigates, and a handful of newer Vanguard and Ironhold-class hulls. Every ship mattered. Every loss stung.
Planetary holdings remained modest. Earth was still the beating heart. Mars was its forge. The outer moons of Jupiter, as well as scattered mining outposts and listening stations beyond the heliosphere, formed the extent of their core infrastructure. The furthest colony, New Scythia, clung to the edge of the Velis-Ka Expanse like a barnacle on a leviathan's hide—well-supplied, well-defended, but utterly alone.
By 2243, the Dominion was respected in its domain but ignored by the galaxy at large. It had not yet earned fear. Not yet.
In those years, most of the population still believed in the dream. The Triumvirate's rule, while not transparent, was competent. Infrastructure grew. Food was stable. Education was strict but functional. Censorship was present, but not overwhelming. There was structure—steel and certainty. People accepted the limits in exchange for peace.
And slowly, in this crucible of order, a new name began to climb.
Nicholas Voss.
Grandson of Marcus Voss, he had entered service quietly, refusing to trade on his lineage. A logistics officer turned field commander, Nicholas earned recognition for his role in the Besh-113 reclamation and the Velis-Ka outpost war salvage program. He didn't seek fame. But his reports were clean, his operations efficient, and his results undeniable.
By 2246, Voss was appointed to Strategic Reconnaissance Command, a modest post overseeing scout operations and frontier mapping. It was not glamorous, but it granted reach—access to deep-range reports, lost signals, and slaver drift routes. There, Nicholas began quietly crafting a doctrine: precision strikes, limited engagement, maximum message.
That same year, the Dominion received word of a Republic anti-slaver patrol operating dangerously close to Zygerrian-controlled space. In an unmarked operation, a Terran task group intervened—not to assist, but to silently extract dozens of Terran-born captives. The Republic never knew they were there.
When footage leaked among internal Dominion networks of the rescuee testimonials, Voss's name became known to civilians for the first time.
He became a symbol—not of domination, but of duty. Of remembering those who were lost and ensuring they would never be again.
By 2250, the Voss family was whispered of in quiet halls, admired in fleet quarters, and respected by academy instructors. But Nicholas remained a mid-tier commander. The Triumvirate still ruled. The High Council still convened. The ISB still watched, but its grip had not yet turned to fear.
And the Dominion, though small, was stable.
Population: Roughly 15 billion citizens, spread across Earth, Mars, Luna, and 9 off-world habitats.
Fleet: 3 Bastion-class carriers, fewer than 60 advanced warships, and under 600 total military vessels (including corvettes, landers, and converted freighters).
Territory: Fewer than 20 fully controlled systems, most within 20 light-years of Sol.
They were not a galactic power. Not yet. The Hutts still considered them a curiosity. The Sith, a potential thorn. The Republic, if aware of them at all, saw them as some regional resistance bloc in the dark.
But for the Terrans?
That was just fine.
Terran Year: 2250 – 2260
By mid-century, the Terran Dominion no longer resembled the fractured survivors of the Crimson War. With a population nearing 15 billion, they had emerged as a true presence in the uncharted northeast, if still a shadowed one.
But power in the galaxy was not defined by numbers alone.
The Dominion's core territories stretched across 23 systems, anchored by Earth, Mars, and the Ganymede Relay Hub. Dozens of asteroid belts and moons were mined or monitored. Yet unlike the Sith Empire or Hutt Clans—whose power sprawled over thousands of worlds—the Dominion advanced through consolidation. Every system was fortified. Every world monitored. They grew not like a forest, but like a fortress.
No outsider could chart them. None who tried returned.
Terran Fleet Command began standardizing its navy under Project Stratoforge, phasing out outdated freighter-conversions and commissioning new warships with hardened keel lines and modular compartments. Starships grew fewer, but more sophisticated—an echo of Old Republic designs retooled for human crews and logistical pragmatism.
The Vanguard, Ironhold, and Atlas classes remained workhorses, but new frames like the Spire-class Dreadscreen Frigate and Peregrine-class Recon Cutter entered active trials. Railguns and autocannons were refined for faster reloads and greater penetrative force. Blaster systems—reverse-engineered from scavenged weaponry—were made modular, their energy cells adapted for Terran reactors.
And always, there was discipline. Every hull fitted with grav-lock boots and modular seals. Every crew drilled in vacuum breach, alien boarding, and hostile xenoform recognition.
Beneath the martial buildup, something else shifted.
The Voss family grew more visible.
Nicholas Voss, now promoted to Rear Admiral, was assigned to Deep Range Fleet Group Sigma, a mobile task force patrolling the rimward edges of Dominion space. Officially, it handled anti-slaver enforcement. Unofficially, it was one of the first formations entrusted with total autonomous initiative — the ability to strike without prior Council approval if targets fit Dominion threat profiles.
Voss's reputation had become doctrine: "Minimal footprint. Total removal."
Reports of his operations reached not just the High Council, but filtered into civilian broadcasts—edited, of course. He never spoke publicly. Yet students quoted his battle assessments in officer academies, and militia recruits invoked his surname like a rallying cry.
He remained loyal. But many noticed his growing influence.
By 2257, Strategic Bureau Reports indicated shifts within the Triumvirate. Elena Vos's Office of Civil Integration became more subdued, with whispers of internal purges and "reorganizations." ISB activity spiked, but with strange restraint—no high-profile disappearances, only subtle reassignments.
Observers within the Fleet Directorate noted something else: Naval promotions began clustering. Officers affiliated with the Voss tactical doctrine received more advanced commands. Their ships trained harder. Their victories mounted.
But no one in power openly questioned it.
Because the Dominion was prospering.
Food production stabilized across Martian arcologies and Europa's hydroponics. Civilian life in inner systems returned to pre-war quality. Birth rates rose. Trade among outer colonies—strictly internal—flourished under the Terran Resource Exchange Act.
And the average citizen? They remembered the dark years. They remembered the Crimson Maw. To them, the Dominion was not oppressive—it was the reason they were alive.
Even if schools now taught singular political history.
Even if no independent media existed.
Even if streets had surveillance pylons instead of lamps.
No one protested. They worked. They raised families. They saluted the flag.
Beyond Terra, in the wider galaxy, rumors swirled.
Crimson Maw remnants whispered of "ghost fleets" dismantling pirate strongholds with clinical precision.
Zygerrian slave markets began tightening internal security, and some border-world lords posted unofficial bounties on any "red-flagged Terran ships."
In the Sith Empire, intelligence analysts filed obscure reports on a "ghost faction operating in the northeast" whose tactics bore eerie similarities to ancient Republic doctrines—but lacked any known Force signature.
In Hutt space, couriers and underlords went silent after crossing into certain sectors. Their employers wrote off the losses as incompetence.
But the Republic?
The Republic had heard the Taggart transmission.
By 2259, Senate subcommittees quietly debated whether the Dominion was a rising rogue state or simply another dark sector to ignore. No diplomats were sent. No envoys returned.
None could find them anyway.
Because the stars around Terra were quiet by design. Not because no one listened…
…but because no one who spoke ever left.
Terran Year: 2260 – 2270
A decade passed, and with it, the last golden echoes of the Dominion's founding generation began to fade.
Nicholas Voss, now a Vice Admiral, bore the weight of history more than ever — not just through rank, but through family. He had married Karra Wynn five years earlier in a private orbital ceremony aboard the Ardent Spear, witnessed only by their fleet staff and a single silent ISB observer. The footage was never aired. Neither of them wanted it to be.
Their first son, Jace Wynn-Voss, had just turned eighteen. He stood at the top of his class at the New Avalon Officer's Academy, already commanding training simulations that made seasoned officers pause. His profile carried with it two shadows — the legacy of his grandfather, General Marcus Voss, and the battlefield grit of his mother, one of the most decorated infantry officers in Dominion history.
Yet Jace bore neither burden openly. He spoke with measured confidence, he studied with precision, and he smiled rarely. Some said he resembled Nicholas at that age — except colder.
He wasn't the only one growing into a Dominion he hadn't helped build.
Many of the men and women who had forged the early Terran Dominion — those who led the counteroffensives, directed the salvaging of alien tech, and signed the first founding charters — were now dying quietly or stepping away.
Chief Fabricator Lian Navarro passed away on Mars after nearly four decades overseeing shipyard operations. Minister Elena Vos, aged and increasingly reclusive, was quietly replaced by a younger Director whose name rarely appeared in broadcasts. Even Admiral Lucien Taggart had begun delegating more of his responsibilities, his voice hoarse and his back bent from old injuries no cybernetic implant could fully erase.
The High Council still functioned. Its rituals continued. But its soul had changed.
The new leadership, while competent, lacked the urgency that had defined the previous era. Many had been children during the Crimson War. Their decisions were colder, more calculated, sometimes more self-serving. Efficiency became a greater priority than inspiration. Victory replaced unity as the prevailing doctrine.
And still, the Voss name remained.
It neither expanded through marriage into dynasties, nor contracted through disgrace. It hovered — ever-present in strategy meetings, officer evaluations, and command briefings. Not a name of ambition, but of expectation. Every Voss descendant served. Every one of them bled.
Meanwhile, Dominion technology began to shift in form and function.
The last retrofitted Earth-origin hulls were decommissioned by 2266. The Ironhold freighters, once built on repurposed industrial skeletons, were now factory-born with clean-cut plating and modular grav-cradles. The Shrike and Atlas lines remained, but with upgraded thruster arrays and compact blaster turrets derived from Mon Calamari research fragments recovered decades prior.
Terran plasma weapons were slowly phased out — too volatile, too power-hungry. They were replaced by a hybrid doctrine of high-efficiency blasters, modeled after captured Zygerrian designs, and kinetic-based rail systems — a purely Terran specialty, still useful against shielded targets and exotic armors. Some weapons remained stubbornly ballistic, by design. The Dominion had learned, long ago, that certain enemies could not block a rail slug at point-blank range.
Ground armor also evolved. The iconic segmented plates of Dominion infantry were now built with anti-sensor baffling, magnetic interface soles, and limited exo-muscle augmentation. Soldiers could move quieter, hit harder, and survive longer. But the iconic red-trimmed gray remained, and every pauldron still bore the sigil — the lone star over the chevron.
Terran space continued to expand, but cautiously. While the total number of inhabited systems rose to just over 30, Dominion colonization efforts were slow and methodical. No grand star-lanes. No sprawling alliances. Just strategic points, sealed gates, and silence. Entire fleets existed for the sole purpose of defending the void between these systems, and no effort was made to reach further into Hutt Space or the Sith borderlands.
Some within the mid-tier command structure whispered that the Dominion could no longer grow fast enough to remain competitive. Others said they had already grown too large for what they were meant to be.
No one said these things out loud.
Not when surveillance drones hovered outside every civic building. Not when internal audits still ended in reassignment — or silence.
And yet, the people did not rebel. Not when they had food, safety, and purpose.
Children born after the war had never seen Earth in flames. They were raised beneath orbital rings, taught to fly by simulation before they could walk on dirt. To them, the Dominion had always existed. To them, unity was natural. To them, the galaxy beyond was a whisper, a threat, and a place of monsters.
In a Martian classroom, a teacher asked her students what they wanted to be. Most said pilots. A few said commanders. One little girl raised her hand and answered, "I want to be the one who finds where the slavers went."
The class nodded. No one laughed.
Somewhere, deep in the rimward patrol zones, Jace Wynn-Voss watched the same stars his father had once fought under. He stood at the viewing deck of a corvette, unblinking, reading the encoded traffic chatter of recon probes and listening to the subtle hum of the Dominion engine cycle.
He would soon take his first command.
The road ahead was dark.
But he had been born in the dark.
And the galaxy had forgotten one truth:
The Terrans had not come for peace.
They had come for silence.
Terran Year: 2270 – 2280
The galaxy trembled once more—but not because of Terra.
The war between the Sith Empire and the Galactic Republic, though brief, left long scars across star charts. It began with border provocations in the Mid Rim, a series of economic skirmishes that escalated into lightning strikes and retaliatory bombardments. The Sith, already entrenched in the galactic north, northeast, and northwest, with scattered enclaves in the southwest, surged further into the southern and southwestern reaches of the galaxy, capitalizing on Republic distraction and fractured defenses. Dozens of systems were lost, then retaken, then lost again in a haze of blood and fire.
The war between the Sith and the Republic had no true victor—only exhaustion. What began as a series of territorial disputes and resource seizures in the Outer Rim quickly escalated into fleet engagements across three sectors. While the Republic Senate debated responses and legality, the Sith Empire acted with brutal precision, expanding their holdings into the vulnerable southern and southwestern reaches.
Worlds once thought safe fell in hours. Sith shock legions, clad in blood-crimson durasteel and wielding ancient hatred, descended upon border colonies like avenging ghosts. Orbital bombardments reduced entire habitats to molten glass. On the ground, Republic defenders, often underfunded and overstretched, held for days only to be swept away by Sith war beasts and lightning strikes from dark-cloaked warriors leading the charge.
But the Sith offensive could not sustain itself. Their strength—speed and surprise—faded as the Republic mobilized larger fleets and committed more Jedi to the front. For every captured world, another was clawed back in desperation. Eventually, lines stabilized. Neither side could afford the attrition.
By Terran Year 2276, an uneasy ceasefire settled in. The galactic north remained firmly in Sith control, while the Republic retained much of the Core and Inner Rim. But new Sith holdings now stretched further south than ever before, their banners hanging over gas giants, desert moons, and fractured republic loyalist enclaves. The once-fluid border hardened like scar tissue.
And amidst this distraction, the Terran Dominion made its move.
While the galaxy's great powers tore at each other's borders, the Dominion moved quietly. Internal strength had grown fast—too fast, some whispered. New city-states had been established in the moons and sub-planetary belts of nearby stars, and population numbers surged past 15 billion as Earth-born families, freed slaves, and colonial generations expanded at unprecedented rates. Massive refugee intake programs saw tens of thousands resettled on Europa and the Martian polar shelves each month, supported by dome-cities and magnetic rail infrastructure stretching between atmospheric zones.
The Dominion's influence expanded through the void like roots through soil. The silence of the Uncharted Reaches was its greatest shield, and its finest weapon.
In this decade, the High Council authorized Operation Leviathan, the most ambitious liberation strike ever attempted since the Velis-Ka offensive. Intelligence gathered from recovered slaver manifests revealed the locations of multiple "frontline collection systems"—worlds on the edge of mapped territory used by rogue Zygerrian factions, ex-Crimson Maw remnants, and unaffiliated cartels.
Where Velis-Ka had been surgical, Leviathan was thunder.
In total, Dominion fleets hit 6 worlds, each separated by light-weeks. The operation began with shadow probes and forward scouts. Specter-class recon carriers drifted through planetary rings and asteroid belts, deploying listening drones and intercepting slave collar signals. Once confirmed, the hammer fell. Shrike squadrons blackened the skies. Railgun barrages turned shielded spaceports into molten slag. Crawlers and drop troops stormed walled compounds and prison rigs. Drones captured footage of slaves being ushered into fortified bunkers—some used as shields, others as bait.
But the Dominion did not waver.
On Z-443A, a captured agricultural slave colony orbiting a red dwarf, local forces tried to negotiate. The Dominion's response came from orbit—a Bastion-class carrier descending through the clouds, flanked by Atlas troop landers and bombers that didn't ask questions.
Over 9 million humans were liberated across the systems. Not all were Terran in origin—many had never heard of Earth, having been born in bondage on distant worlds—but they were given a choice. Those who chose to join Terra were given sanctuary. Those who refused were offered safe transit elsewhere.
But not everything went as planned.
The operation reached its climax in the hostile system of Kural-Vex, where intelligence underestimated the remaining Crimson-aligned fleet presence. Two Dominion task groups were caught mid-evacuation by a counter-assault of retrofitted carriers and gunships. Among the lost were two Bastion-class ships—including the VSS Monarch, personally commanded by Fleet Marshal Nicholas Voss.
The battle lasted less than an hour.
Pinned in a debris field, with civilian transports still loading evacuees below, the Monarch held its ground. Reports later confirmed that Nicholas had refused to break formation. His ship laid down a curtain of railgun fire and kinetic mines, buying time for over a dozen freighters to escape the gravity well.
His last transmission was a voice-only comm to the fleet's command channel:
"Protect them. Always protect them. No retreat while they're still breathing."
The Monarch was destroyed minutes later, along with Commander Eron Voss, Nicholas's third-youngest son and communication officer aboard the bridge.
In the aftermath, Nicholas's eldest—Commander Jace Voss, only recently promoted—assumed control of the remaining task group. He executed a precision withdrawal under fire, rescuing over 300,000 lives and salvaging two wrecked Dominion frigates in the process. His leadership under pressure was heralded as cold, efficient, and unflinching—a Voss trait.
The losses were staggering.
Within the halls of New Avalon, mourning was ordered to be held in silence. Statues of Nicholas and his son were erected outside the primary command plaza. But behind the walls of the High Council, their deaths sent ripples. Quiet voices began to ask what limits Terra should observe, if any. Others, particularly in the Expansion Commissariat, began demanding better ships, newer materials, and greater resources. The truth could no longer be ignored.
Dominion technology had improved—but it still lagged behind the best of the galaxy. Their ships were heavier, less agile. Their shielding systems less adaptive. Their older Terran-based systems—no matter how durable—were starting to show their age.
And so, a shift began.
Reverse-engineered tech from Republic and Sith wrecks, long quarantined by the ISB, was suddenly authorized for full-scale integration. Fusion cores, hypermatter containment nodes, and navicomputer calibrators were adapted. Ballistic weapons—like railguns and void-lances—remained standard for capital ships and anti-shield purposes, but smaller vessels began transitioning to star-standard blasters, allowing for faster refit, greater precision, and galactic ammo compatibility.
There was no debate in the Council. Only a nod from the Triumvirate.
Dominion war doctrine was changing. The enemy had grown clever. So too would Terra.
As for the Voss name—it remained, like the old granite walls beneath Earth's crust. Not expanding. Not diminishing. But there. Enduring. A weight in the soul of the Dominion, carried forward by a son who had lost a father not to politics or sickness, but to fire and war.
While it was happening reports of Terran incursions began as whispers—transients claiming to witness unknown ships razing slaver facilities, unmarked fleets appearing in the shadows of pirate moons, entire outposts going silent within a solar rotation. Many dismissed these as superstition or rebel activity.
But the truth became undeniable.
The Dominion had struck hard and deep into the underbelly of the slave routes. Using salvaged Crimson Maw data, recovered through painful reverse engineering and intelligence raids, the Dominion Fleet identified a web of active slave colonies, mobile depots, and smaller Zygerrian-aligned cartels operating beyond the Rim. They hit them with merciless precision.
The campaign became known, in limited circles, as The Hidden War.
In less than 10 months, dozens of slaver facilities were eradicated. Shipyards were bombed, planetary slave pens liberated, and pirate leadership exterminated. Surveillance footage—leaked through private smugglers and intercepted Imperial probes—showed Dominion ships breaching atmosphere with pinpoint accuracy, deploying Crawlers and Atlas landers under railgun cover fire. On the ground, Dominion marines engaged with mechanical efficiency, rescuing human captives while executing slaver command with brutal decisiveness.
Several neutral trade syndicates operating in the area scrambled to distance themselves, fearing they might be mistaken as collaborators. The Dominion ignored them—unless they intervened.
The Sith Empire initially viewed the Terran attacks as a potential annoyance, assuming them to be desperate vengeance strikes from an isolated human faction. But as more slaver holdings vanished and the kill count rose into the tens of thousands, Sith warlords began to take notice.
One particular event stirred quiet interest in the upper ranks of the Sith military: the complete eradication of the Zygerrian enclave on Kora'th Prime, a volcanic moon housing a rotating slave market and several Sith-licensed warbeast kennels. The Terrans did not negotiate. They bombed the surface, scorched the hangars, and liberated only the human captives, ignoring the Sith banner hung above the command tower. It was a clear message.
Though the Sith did not retaliate immediately, the Dark Council debated in secret. One Lord reportedly remarked, "If they do not desire war, why do they court it with fire?"
The Republic, though nominally opposed to slavery, found itself in an ideological bind. Officially, it condemned the Terran attacks for their excessive brutality, pointing to leaked footage of executed slaver prisoners and the cold rejection of non-human refugees. But privately, many senators—especially from Outer Rim constituencies—voiced admiration.
A confidential memo recovered later by independent agents revealed that several Republic governors considered hiring Terran "contractors" to perform similar anti-slaver actions discreetly.
On Mandalore, the reaction was uniquely pragmatic. The Mandalorians, ever attuned to strength and battle, recognized the scale and boldness of the Dominion's strike. Though no formal contact was made, several clan leaders debated whether the Terrans might be worth observing—or challenging. Some saw them as potential rivals. Others saw something more dangerous: purpose.
But nowhere was the reaction more visceral than among the Hutts and the remnants of the Zygerrian slave networks. The loss of so many profitable installations during the Sith–Republic distraction was a gut wound. Cargo records suggested that millions of human slaves were extracted, along with an unknown number of ships, equipment, and biological data caches.
Private bounty offers for Terran prisoners skyrocketed. Shadow brokers whispered of contracts being drawn against the Dominion leadership. But none had locations. None had access.
The Terran Dominion had struck from the darkness—and disappeared into it just as fast.
In the months following the campaign's final battle, the Dominion confirmed the deaths of Admiral Nicholas Voss and his son during the final stand above Erydon's Reach, a partially terraformed world used by the slavers for long-term captivity and forced breeding programs. The Dominion lost two Bastion-class ships in the assault, including the TDS Monument, Voss's personal command.
His eldest son, barely 20, assumed battlefield command, rallying the scattered fleet and executing a disciplined retreat while covering the withdrawal of over 9.3 million rescued humans.
This event rippled across the Dominion. News of Nicholas Voss's death was not broadcast widely, but among the armed forces and political class, it marked a shift. A generation of war heroes was passing. The old blood was dying, and the young were being thrust forward.
Among the rescued were Terran-descended captives born in chains, others raised in captivity on worlds that had never known Earth. Many wept upon seeing the Terran flag for the first time. Some did not understand it—but they followed it.
And aboard the Dominion capital ship Resolute Star, Admiral-Designate Jace Voss, son of Nicholas, received his commission. He did not speak to the press. He did not give a speech. But his first order, according to confidential sources, was simple:
"Find the next one. And make it bleed."
erran Year: 2280–2290
By 2280, the Terran Dominion had evolved into something vast and unrecognizable from the fractured world that had once called itself Earth. No longer a desperate alliance of survivors, it had become a galactic presence—visible, structured, and spreading further into the Uncharted Reaches with relentless momentum.
The old leadership was gone. All of it.
Admiral Lucien Taggart had died with honor decades ago, now a figure of military legend. His strategies were still taught in naval academies, his words engraved in domes and datapads. Director Alia Vecht of the ISB vanished under sealed orders—her death neither confirmed nor denied. Minister Elena Vos passed quietly in her private estate. Her funeral was state-mandated, her name etched into memory, though few truly remembered what she had done.
In their place came men and women of a new breed—competent but uninspired, loyal but ineffective. The once-galvanized Triumvirate had withered to a ceremonial post, its real power lost to departmental infighting and creeping inertia. Committees multiplied. Directives contradicted. Order was maintained, but only just.
Corruption began to fester.
Not yet on the level of collapse—but it was visible. Favors were exchanged for influence. Promotions occurred less for merit and more for connections. The ISB, once a terrifying instrument of ideological discipline, was now riddled with internal factions and quiet power struggles.
Still, none of it stopped the expansion.
The population surged past 135 billion, spread across hundreds of colonies, moons, orbital habitats, mining facilities, terraforming outposts, and generation-class stations. Massive advances in medical technology, state-supported fertility incentives, artificial womb systems, and the integration of isolated human populations from other systems accelerated growth to staggering levels.
Entire worlds—like Volundra, Themis Prime, and New Vega—each housed billions, supported by layered urban habitats, fusion-core agriculture, and stacked orbital infrastructure. Some planets had become more populous than Earth had ever been in its prime.
The discovery of lost or abandoned human populations continued throughout the decade. In the far reaches of the southern spiral, Terran scouts found entire planets populated by humans who had either been uplifted in ancient times or left behind during long-forgotten wars or experiments. One world, Gavros, had regressed into near-feudal society, while another, Cenari IX, had built steam-powered cities powered by volcanic vents.
Dominion protocol regarding these worlds remained cautious. Most were catalogued as Observation-Class Territories—monitored but not interfered with. Some were quietly annexed under Dominion protectorate laws and gradually integrated, especially if they held strategic value.
To manage such a sprawling empire, the Dominion accelerated the construction of mobile governance platforms, including the new "Tyrant"-class Central Command Ships—orbital behemoths that served as floating cities, administrative centers, and regional capitals in one. These ships often remained in orbit over lower-tech or undeveloped colonies, acting as hubs of influence, enforcement, and oversight.
Several new military prototypes also emerged, including the Dragoon-class Fast Frigates, outfitted for atmospheric entry, urban enforcement, and rapid deployment. Heavier Command Bastions were proposed, though construction was limited due to cost, time, and resource distribution.
Despite their numerical strength, Dominion shipbuilding remained slow and deliberate. Only a handful of true capital ships were produced per decade. Resources were vast—but stretched thin. It would take centuries to build fleets comparable to secondary galactic powers, many of whom controlled tens of thousands of planets and thousands of capital-class warships.
Within the Dominion, military doctrine remained largely unchanged—but cracks were forming.
Some naval sectors reported delays, weak morale, and internal conflict among officers. The Civil Commissariats of expansion zones increasingly acted without central guidance. Local governors began appointing cousins or allies to sensitive posts, often over more qualified personnel.
The Voss family, however, stood apart.
Following the death of Nicholas Voss during the slaver retaliation strikes of the 2270s, his eldest son, Jace Voss, assumed control of their military and political lineage. Unlike his predecessors, Jace was born into stability—but his record in the field earned him genuine respect. By 2290, he commanded multiple sector fleets, including garrison and expeditionary forces near the expanding Outer Quadrant.
Jace Voss was not a charismatic figure—but he was disciplined, capable, and quietly ambitious. He had children of his own by now, the oldest of whom had recently entered officer training and was already marked as a promising tactician. The Voss name had become a fixture in Dominion command structures—not dominant, but unshakable. It no longer needed to rise. It merely needed to wait.
Many of the characters who shaped the early years—heroes of the Crimson War, commanders of the first exploratory fleets—had long since perished. Those few who remained were ancient, living relics of a world most citizens barely remembered. Their influence faded, their doctrines archived. A new generation had risen—one more comfortable with protocols and statistics than battlefields.
By 2290, the Dominion was vast, powerful, and deeply complicated.
The Triumvirate still held office, but most decisions came from bureaucratic inertia or factional momentum. The Senate—now rebranded the Central Advisory Assembly—debated endlessly but rarely acted.
And across this immensity, some began to whisper—not of rebellion, but of rot. Of governors who ruled like kings. Of fleets ordered into foreign space without oversight. Of frontier systems requesting aid and receiving silence.
But there was no crisis. No war. No rebellion.
Only the slow grinding weight of a civilization that had outgrown its own voice.
And deep within this weight, the Voss family watched, remembered, and planned.
Terran Year: 2290–2300
By the start of the 24th century, the Dominion Navy had become a juggernaut in the Uncharted Regions — no longer a scattered force of survivalist convoys, but a professional war fleet with deep logistics and standardized doctrine. Massive shipyards at Mars, Venus, Ganymede, and the Oort Belt churned out new hulls constantly. Black sites and classified yards worked in silence to forge stealth and experimental vessels, while older ship models were either decommissioned, cannibalized, or refitted for planetary defense roles.
Capital Ships
6x Bastion Mk. II Carriers
Length: 1,200 meters
Crew: ~5,000
Fighters: 108 Shrike Mk. II, 36 Vultures, 24 Atlas II
Armament: 4 spinal railguns, 12 dorsal turbolasers, 20 flak nests
Features: Quantum-link AI relay, reentry shielding, fleet coordination array
20x Sovereign-Class Battlecruisers
Length: 940 meters
Crew: ~3,500
Armament: 6 spinal railguns, 12 ion lance turrets, 28 point-defense batteries
Capacity: 2,200 troops, 16 dropships
Features: Reinforced prow, ramming shield, EMP-hardened systems
30x Farsight-Class Recon Cruisers
Length: 520 meters
Crew: 800
Armament: 6 plasma torpedo tubes, 2 ventral beam turrets
Features: Ionic dampening, heat suppression, 12 stealth drones
Frigates & Corvettes
40x Ironhold Mk. III Combat Freighters
Crew: 80
Armament: 6-point CIWS, modular turrets
Capacity: 1,000 passengers or troops
Role: Transport, prison ships, evac convoys
60x Vanguard-II Corvettes
Crew: 32
Armament: Twin railguns, 4 plasma turrets, missile pod
Role: Fast-attack, screening, flanking
32x Broadhead-Class Torpedo Frigates
Length: 410 meters
Armament: 8 torpedo tubes, 2 burst laser turrets
Payloads: Gravity disruptors, ionic warheads, thermite bombs
Starfighters & Dropships
~12,000 Shrike Mk. II Multi-Role Fighters
Crew: 1
Armament: 2 kinetic pulse cannons, 1 ion cannon, optional missile or jammer pods
Speed: 30% from older Shrike
No AI socket – manual operation only
~2,800 Vulture Mk. II Bombers
Crew: 3
Payload: Grav-bombs, fusion incendiaries, armor-piercing shells
Defense: Dorsal beam repeaters
~3,500 Atlas II Assault Landers
Capacity: 70 troops or 3 Crawlers
Features: Bubble shield, smoke launchers, upgraded thrusters
Retrofit, Legacy & Prototype Ships
Retrofitted Hammer-class Destroyers – ~90 remaining
Role: Orbital gunships, defense patrols, training ships
Refurbished Crimson Maw hulls – ~120 active
Reclassified and rearmed under Dominion standards
Used in support, logistics, or deep-range scouting
Old Ironhold Mk. I / II and Vanguard-I ships – ~300 total
Mostly in reserve fleets, colonial patrol, or planetary defense
Experimental & Prototype Ships – ~40–60 range
Includes stealth cruisers, hyperspace-interdiction hulls, AI-restricted testbeds
Located in deep-space black yards or under Triumvirate military research command
As Dominion space expanded past a hundred worlds, so too did its ground operations. The Dominion Army, once a patchwork of militias and post-Crimson War remnants, was now a formalized war machine. Decentralized planetary militias remained in place, but frontline operations were increasingly handled by professional expeditionary forces drawn from the Core Sectors and trained on Ganymede, Luna, and Titan.
Infantry Divisions
Dominion Ground Assault Regiments (DGARs): Standard line infantry, trained for urban, planetary, and zero-G operations. Each regiment numbers around 6,000 personnel, divided into combined-arms companies.
Mechanized Intervention Brigades: Fast-response units deployed via Atlas II and Hammer-class transports. Each brigade includes integrated crawler units, mobile artillery, and airborne recon.
Orbital Shock Troopers (OSTs): Elite zero-G units trained for orbital insertions and vacuum combat. Often deployed ahead of major engagements to disable defenses or sabotage key systems.
Standard Equipment
Infantry Armor – Dominion Pattern Combat Harness Mk. IV
Medium-weight composite armor
Integrated kinetic dispersion mesh
Internal HUD visor with target tagging, comms relay, and med-scan
Optional helmet rebreather and magnetic boots for zero-G
Armor design was angular, matte black or dark crimson, with reinforced chest plates and shoulder pauldrons. Suited for both intimidation and protection. Heavy armor variants were deployed with flamethrower units, anti-shield squads, or breachers.
Infantry Weaponry
DR-8 Blaster Rifle: Standard-issue blaster rifle, modular for close, medium, or long-range engagements.
DK-47 Railcarbine: Compact electromagnetic rifle favored by sharpshooters and special units. Fires tungsten spike rounds.
DP-22 Sidearm: Reliable blaster sidearm with 3-shot burst or semi-auto fire.
ZJ-6 Anti-Armor Launcher: Plasma-coil launcher with tracking override; capable of disabling light vehicles or shielded targets.
Razorburst Grenades: Plasma-fragmentation charges, used for clearing bunkers or disabling droid squads.
Terran infantry gradually abandoned plasma and beam-based weapons in favor of a hybrid doctrine: blaster-based for general purpose and ballistics (railguns, spike rounds) for shield/lightsaber penetration.
Vehicles
Crawlers – Dominion Mk. II Infantry Support Platform
Role: Armored personnel carrier and fire support
Crew: 3 (driver, gunner, systems tech)
Capacity: 10 infantry or 1 heavy weapons team
Armament: 1 dorsal autocannon, 2 side-mounted blaster repeaters
Modular turret hardpoint for grenade launchers or anti-armor systems
Atmospheric filters and radiation shielding for hostile environments
Crawlers were deployed from Atlas II Landers, designed to immediately roll out upon touchdown. Heavy units could be outfitted for siege operations or civilian suppression during resistance cleanups.
Bulwark-Class Heavy Tank
Crew: 4
Main Gun: Mass-driver coil cannon (variable ammunition)
Secondary Weapons: Twin blaster cannons, rear-mounted anti-infantry turret
Shielded hull with reactive armor plating
Used to spearhead planetary offensives or break fortified enemy lines
Sable-Class Recon Skimmers
Fast, light hover vehicles
Role: Scouting, light engagement, terrain mapping
Crew: 2 (pilot, sensor officer)
Armed with light plasma repeater and EMP burst launcher
Juggernaut Mobile Fortress (Experimental)
Gigantic land platform, heavily armored and mobile
Mobile command hub for planetary campaigns
Still in early field testing by 2299
Features onboard drone bays, artillery decks, and limited atmospheric defense turrets
Support Systems
Autonomous Field Drones: Non-combat utility bots used for medical triage, ammo resupply, and light repairs. AI extremely basic.
Combat Engineers: Carried portable plasma torches, breaching charges, and collapsible defense grids.
Atmospheric Drop Relays: Used to deliver massed equipment from orbit in stages, allowing mid-battle reinforcement or armor deployment.
Ground Army Strength by 2300 (Estimated)
Over 5 million active soldiers
More than 3,500 crawler units
~1,200 Bulwark-class tanks
~900 recon skimmers
Dozens of Juggernaut prototypes in evaluation
Countless atmospheric artillery platforms and forward operating bases scattered across frontier worlds
The Dominion's ground power had become feared in the Uncharted Reaches—not for its numbers, but for its speed, discipline, and overwhelming firepower. And while Terran doctrine emphasized avoiding long occupation campaigns, when the Dominion landed, it came prepared to win swiftly and brutally.
Next decade would focus on refinement, but the tools were forged.
Terran Year: 2300–2310
By 2300, the Terran Dominion stood as a formidable regional power in the Uncharted Reaches. Though still far from matching the scale of the major galactic governments, it now held sway over more than a hundred and fifty worlds, with hundreds more under indirect influence through protectorates, enforced neutrality, or economic tethering. Its infrastructure spanned solar systems. Its navy had matured. Its people numbered well over 135 billion, and its ambitions showed no sign of slowing.
Yet with strength came stagnation in unexpected corners.
The end of the previous decade had revealed the growing disparity between older Dominion ideals—sacrifice, unity, and resilience—and the creeping malaise now infecting the middle layers of the state. The Triumvirate still ruled, though its effectiveness had waned. Aging leadership, institutional complacency, and entrenched interests slowed reform and allowed corruption to quietly thrive in the shadow of success.
The Voss family, by contrast, continued to rise.
Jace Voss, now Supreme Admiral of the Navy, had solidified his role not only as a tactician but as a political force. With the silent death of several Triumvirate aides in early 2302—deaths never publicly explained—whispers of a coming shift began to ripple through the High Council. Jace had sons and daughters now, each rising through the ranks of military and administration with well-honed discipline, if not the raw brilliance of their father or grandfather. The name Voss had weight, but not unchecked authority—yet.
The era was quiet militarily. With the brief Sith–Republic war ended and galactic powers returning to their own internal struggles, the Dominion took advantage of the calm to deepen its territorial control.
Expansion and Integration
Many of the newly surveyed planets during this period were inhabited—some by descendants of ancient human offshoots long forgotten by the galaxy. Their levels of development varied wildly: some had reached early industrialization, others were locked in tribal or feudal conflict. The Dominion often arrived not with guns drawn, but with veiled offers—medicine, shelter, tools. In return came loyalty, resource access, and eventual full Dominion integration.
While some worlds resisted, most bent quietly. A few, like Ravanar, sparked local insurrections that were crushed with overwhelming force. The Dominion saw such resistance not as a threat, but a necessary lesson: power must be demonstrated. Ravanar was turned into a training ground for urban pacification regiments. Its orbit became home to a new relay station and fleet staging depot.
Meanwhile, the Outer Reach Fleet expanded deep-range patrols into the unmarked void. Over a dozen previously unknown systems were cataloged. A few showed signs of ancient ruins or long-dead civilizations—details recorded and shelved for later examination by the Dominion Science Bureau.
Technological Advancements
Building on two centuries of galactic reverse-engineering, the Dominion finally began to close the gap with second-tier galactic powers. New fleet coordination systems allowed real-time targeting data across entire sectors. Improved reactor designs extended the range and efficiency of battleships. Portable shield tech, once rare and unstable, now featured in the armor of elite troopers and boarding teams.
Dominion scientists also made limited headway into experimental armor layering, where ballistic mesh was woven with energy-dispersal fiber. While still costly and only issued to elite units, field tests on Mars and Draxon IV showed promising results against standard blaster fire and even limited saber strikes.
Weapon design also shifted. Railguns became heavier, faster-loading, and more compact, finding their way into tanks, aircraft, and even orbital turrets. Blaster systems were refined for reliability and power consumption, favoring stable performance in chaotic field conditions.
Military Readiness and Reorganization
The Dominion Defense Command began its largest internal review since the Crimson War. By 2305, many top brass were retired or quietly reassigned. New blood, younger and more aggressive, was promoted—often linked to Voss influence. Jace Voss, while not declaring outright political ambitions, had become the final authority in all things naval and increasingly ground-based.
One major reform included the Fleet Readiness Compact, a doctrine ensuring that for every deployed fleet, a mirror fleet would be kept on high-readiness near core worlds. Additionally, the Integrated Logistics Core was established to streamline production, transport, and maintenance across Dominion-controlled space. This laid the groundwork for a future conflict—one that, while not yet envisioned, was clearly anticipated.
Cultural Control and Subtle Shift
The Dominion's civilian population, now spread across planets with names like New Ararat, Xenith, Calder Reach, and Kavros, lived under a controlled yet stable rule. Education emphasized loyalty, scientific excellence, and martial pride. Holonet broadcasts showed ongoing Dominion victories against slavers, pirates, and "uncontrolled alien threats."
Religious traditions, where they survived, were quietly redirected toward Dominion iconography. Ancient Earth faiths were tolerated, even referenced in public ceremonies—but always under the watchful lens of the Internal Stability Bureau.
Propaganda shifted subtly. Where once the message had been survival and unity, now it was destiny and strength. The stars were no longer the frontier. They were home.
Terran Year: 2310–2320
The age of ascension had given way to the age of tension.
By 2310, the Terran Dominion stood astride a web of systems numbering in the hundreds. Its economy thrived, its population had reached well beyond 150 billion, and its military was stronger than ever. But beneath the outward displays of strength—of shining orbital stations and immaculate parade formations—cracks were forming along the very foundation that had carried the Dominion through its darkest eras.
At the center of this slow tectonic shift stood Jace Voss, Supreme Admiral and de facto architect of the modern Dominion military. He was now past his physical prime, though his presence in both military and civilian command remained formidable. His voice still echoed across Council chambers, his strategies still defined outer sector fleet doctrines—but his tone had grown colder, more impatient.
The great reforms of the 2290s and 2300s were now mired in stagnation. The Triumvirate had become increasingly ineffective, relying on procedural votes, outdated methods, and endless internal squabbling between civilian commissariats and military councils. The once-united vision had blurred into a morass of divided priorities.
Jace Voss, a man raised under fire, had little patience for bureaucratic gridlock.
Worse still, the tensions had become personal.
Among his children and grandchildren—by now numbering over a dozen across branches of his family—some had begun emerging as officers, engineers, diplomats, and even governors. His oldest grandson, Eren Voss, had taken command of an Outer Reach patrol flotilla and was regarded as a dependable, if cautious, leader. Others—like Lysa Voss, a logistics specialist assigned to the Periphery Expansion Corps—were seen as fiercely competent, but politically aloof.
Then there was Marek Voss, Jace's youngest son, born late into his father's career and widely considered the most intellectually gifted of the family. Marek was fluent in six alien languages, had achieved double academic honors in political theory and interstellar law, and had authored multiple classified analyses on interspecies integration and resource conflict prediction.
But when Marek applied to the Central Governance Bureau for a civilian post—seeking to reshape Dominion internal policy from within—he was quietly denied. Not for lack of skill, but for lack of loyalty, they claimed.
The rejection stung. Not just Marek, but Jace himself. The admiral's fury was private, but known. It wasn't just a son being sidelined. It was a signal—subtle, deliberate—that the bureaucratic machine no longer wished to accommodate the Voss line outside its military purview.
Marek, frustrated but unwilling to leave the Dominion, instead took a low-level role within the Terran Cultural Directorate. There, he worked with distant colony worlds to establish civic programs and intercultural frameworks. It was noble work—but far from what he had trained for. In confidential circles, some began calling him "the philosopher Voss."
Back in the capital, New Avalon, the High Council had grown wary. Whispers circulated that Jace Voss sought more than military command. That his children and grandchildren were being groomed for more than service—that they were a dynasty in the making.
Some feared this. Others embraced it.
The military adored the Voss line. Across fleets and barracks, his name still held weight. Many younger officers had been mentored by his children or trained under his programs. Even among the civilian population, the Voss name carried the sheen of heroism, a relic of the old wars and hard victories.
But within the Internal Stability Bureau and the Civil Integration Directorate, concerns mounted. Committees quietly placed loyal agents in key planetary offices. Intelligence reports about Voss-aligned figures began circulating behind closed doors. There was no confrontation—yet—but a shadow had begun to fall over the relationship between military command and central government.
Outside of politics, the Dominion expanded still. Terraforming programs on Eos, Velkar's Reach, and Serran Prime entered Phase III maturity, allowing for full-scale colonization. Advances in atmospheric processing and orbital weather control made previously marginal planets viable for habitation. Meanwhile, the Outer Reach Exploratory Fleets encountered several non-aligned human civilizations in various stages of development. Some were absorbed; others chose to remain autonomous, allowed to exist under soft influence rather than outright annexation.
Dominion military technology continued to evolve, though at a slower pace. Doctrinal focus shifted toward planetary denial strategies, with new surface-to-orbit weapon arrays and planetary hardpoints being deployed across fringe systems. The "Fortress Planet Doctrine" became a buzzword among military circles, a reflection of growing concern about possible future contact with major galactic powers. As the decade drew to a close, the fracture widened. Jace Voss remained officially loyal, but his public appearances grew less frequent. His words, when given, were sharp and final.
Though the Terran Dominion continued its relentless expansion and internal evolution, in the wider galaxy, its name had begun to fade from relevance.
To the great powers of the galaxy—the Sith Empire, the Galactic Republic, the Hutt Clans, and the myriad secondary factions—the Dominion had become something of a ghost. A forgotten expedition, a fringe myth, a cautionary tale of how isolation bred irrelevance.
Nearly a century had passed since the last confirmed sighting of a Dominion fleet near known galactic space. The once-infamous transmission of Admiral Taggart ordering the annihilation of Zygerrian slaver enclaves had been buried under layers of more recent chaos—border wars, Sith coups, Mandalorian incursions, and Senate reformations. Few modern officers in Republic or Imperial ranks could recall the term "Terran Dominion" without consulting outdated reports.
Even slaver cartels—once the primary victims of Dominion fury—had adjusted their practices, shifting their logistics networks farther west and north into more stable or corrupt sectors. Their ancient maps still bore red-crossed systems near the Velis-Ka cluster and Ardan Reach, marked with the note: "Avoid – Terran Influence," but those warnings had become increasingly obsolete. No Terran patrols had been detected in over a decade.
Raids had not ceased—but they had become infrequent, silent, and surgical. Dominion strike teams now operated with near-total radio silence, their ships shielded by sensor-dampening hulls and quantum-slip relays. Many who encountered them never realized what force had struck. Supply outposts would simply vanish overnight. Convoys would be disabled and stripped without a single distress signal escaping. It was less war, and more precision removal—surgical, dispassionate, and absolute.
Some in the Sith military, particularly among the older logistics corps, theorized that the Terrans had withdrawn to consolidate power and prepare for some larger plan. But without concrete sightings or communications, these suspicions never evolved into doctrine. Others—especially younger officers—dismissed them outright.
"The Dominion?" one mid-level Imperial commodore once scoffed in a report. "They were a footnote. An angry insect swarm. If they were truly dangerous, we'd have heard from them again."
Yet the galaxy had, unknowingly, already begun to forget.
And yet, in the Uncharted Regions, far from the prying eyes of Coruscant or Dromund Kaas, the story was different.
Several minor alien civilizations—species unknown to Republic or Sith archives—had made contact with the Terran Dominion over the past few decades. The Korrathi Clans, a fragmented society of avian-descended nomads, had once clashed with Dominion survey teams over resource disputes near the Bren Sector. But after a brief exchange of fire and a diplomatic standstill, a Non-Interference Pact was established. The Korrathi would be left to govern their drifting asteroid cities; in return, they agreed not to approach Dominion-controlled systems or attack its patrols.
Elsewhere, the aquatic Vel'Xarai Enclave, inhabitants of a vast oceanic moon system, initiated limited trade agreements with Dominion vessels in the Cindar Drift. While initial communications were fraught with mistranslations and cultural friction, by the end of the 2310s, several Terran bio-labs had acquired Vel'Xarai spore-culture samples and oceanic mineral rights in exchange for water filtration arrays and structural plating.
These deals were neither widespread nor formalized at high levels. Most were established through local Dominion outposts or reconnaissance captains with discretionary authority. But slowly, a network of whispered agreements had begun to form—a shadow lattice of quiet cohabitation between the Dominion and the unknown galactic fringe.
In truth, these contacts were as much necessity as diplomacy. The Dominion's rapid expansion across dozens of systems had brought it into contact with dormant ruins, isolated species, and abandoned colonies left behind by long-fallen empires. While its leadership still held a deeply ingrained distrust of aliens—fueled by the brutal first encounters with the Crimson Maw and Zygerrian slavers—it had slowly adapted to a more pragmatic stance.
So long as alien species posed no threat, they were not interfered with. So long as they remained neutral, the Dominion did not force assimilation. The policy was simple: Coexist or keep your distance.
Trade was permitted—strictly regulated, monitored, and often funneled through isolated exchange stations. Dominion trade ships bore no insignia beyond the crimson chevron star. All cargo was scanned, documented, and often stripped apart for reverse-engineering. No Terran trader was permitted to operate without escort, and even the most benign alien merchant was watched carefully by the ISB.
In several systems, such as Tarthros V and Juno-Kara, alien refugee populations existed under Terran protection—but without citizenship or integration. They were designated as "Provisional Inhabitants," allowed to work and live under strict codes but never to rise within the civic structure. It was a compromise: safe harbor in exchange for permanent outsider status.
This uneasy web of interaction remained largely hidden from the wider galaxy.
The Sith and Republic, too consumed with their own maneuverings, never saw the signals. Their intelligence networks had long failed to penetrate the Uncharted Reaches. Their spy droids and recon vessels often disappeared without trace. The hyperlanes into Dominion space were purposefully unstable—mapped, collapsed, and remapped again every few decades.
The result was near-total isolation.
To most galactic powers, the Terran Dominion had become a myth—if it had ever truly existed at all.
But not all had forgotten.
Among Mandalorian clans, stories still circulated of a strange, brutal faction from the edge of the void—humans who did not bow to Jedi or Sith, who fought like zealots and vanished like ghosts. Some younger warriors dismissed the tales as war stories. But the older Mandalorians remembered. And a few clan leaders had quietly begun investigating old records from 2090s to 2220s.
In the black markets of Hutt space, ancient holovids of Terran warships tearing through slaver stations still fetched high prices. Some fringe information brokers maintained entire archives of "Dominion Events," though most were fragmented, half-fabricated, or corrupted.
The galaxy did not fear the Terran Dominion.
But that was the most dangerous part.
Because when the next transmission came—when the stars once again lit with Terran ships—the galaxy would not be ready.
And unlike last time, the Dominion would not come out of necessity.
It would come by design.
Terran Year: 2320–2330
By the early 2320s, the Dominion was decaying from within.
Gone were the stalwart visionaries and architects of Terra's resurgence. In their place stood bureaucrats, self-styled executives, and hollow ministers—products of a system that valued compliance over competence. The Triumvirate, once forged in the fires of survival and unification, had calcified into a cabal of corruption. What remained of the High Council had been reduced to puppets in uniform, reciting policies they neither wrote nor understood.
Jace Voss, now in the twilight of his life, had long since stepped back from command. Residing quietly in a domed estate outside New Avalon, he had devoted his final years to mentoring the next generation of his lineage—one that had produced war heroes, scientists, and governors. Yet even in retirement, his name carried weight. Too much weight for those entrenched in power.
In 2324, under the guise of a state audit, the Internal Stability Bureau issued a warrant for Jace's arrest. The charge: subversion and dissent. No evidence was presented. None was needed. The ISB arrived in the dead of night, black-clad officers descending from gunships like wraiths. Jace was taken from his home in silence.
The news sent shockwaves through dozens of systems. Voss was not just a man—he was the symbol of a Dominion that had once stood for unity and honor. Thousands gathered in Earth's core cities to protest, mostly veterans and loyalists. They sang old Terran marches, held up the red-and-gold sigil, and demanded transparency.
The response was brutal.
Crowd-control drones unleashed sonic dispersers into unarmed civilians. Railgun turrets mounted on municipal watchtowers opened fire when a group of demonstrators breached the perimeter of the Central Council Square. Nearly 2,000 were killed or injured in what the regime labeled a "security event." The footage was suppressed, but whispers flooded the underground networks. Dissent was no longer invisible. It had become unavoidable.
Then came the invitation.
The Voss family—scattered across multiple sectors and branches—was summoned to Earth under official pretense: to attend Jace Voss's public trial. They came, not all, but enough. Commanders, administrators, grandchildren, even a few young great-great-grandchildren arrived at the capital in the hope that transparency would prevail.
It was a trap.
At dawn, two days before the supposed hearing, coordinated explosions rocked the councilor quarter where the Voss family had been housed. Survivors who staggered from the wreckage were met not by rescue teams, but by ISB kill squads. Some were shot on sight. Others—children among them—were dragged to black sites, never to be seen again.
Out of over 60 family members, only 7 survived.
Four were captured and subjected to classified "re-education." Two were found later—dead from untreated injuries in the rubble.
One escaped.
A 13-year-old boy, lean and wide-eyed, had been overlooked in the confusion. Hidden inside a collapsed sub-basement, he was discovered by a loyal patrol squad still wearing Dominion colors—older veterans who had served under Nicholas and Jace. They saw the name on his identity band. They chose silence. They chose loyalty to something higher.
He was extracted offworld within 48 hours.
The boy's name was Tavian Voss.
Over the next three years, Dominion space became a realm of whispers and fractured truths. Former military officers began to vanish from their posts. Weapons caches disappeared. Civil unrest increased in outlying systems. Sectors once considered bastions of loyalty began failing to submit full data reports.
The insurgency had no official name. No broadcasts. No slogans. Only coded symbols and the silent hand of retribution. Convoys loyal to the Triumvirate would go missing between systems. Communications hubs would suffer "atmospheric" anomalies just before detonating. ISB stations were attacked by unknown raiding parties using irregular but disturbingly precise tactics.
Every strike bore the same cold efficiency that once defined the Dominion military. And at their center, unknown to the galaxy, a teenager was watching, learning, and preparing.
By the end of the decade, the rebellion was no longer a rumor—it was an insurgency.
Tavian Voss, now 17, stood at the edge of his inherited storm. No longer the boy who had escaped Earth's fire. Hardened by exile, schooled in doctrine by loyalists, he emerged in secret before a gathering of shadowed commanders in the abandoned fortress-ship Honor's Wake. Wearing a crimson coat with no insignia, he gave only one order:
"No more hiding."
With that, the silent war against the Triumvirate became a reckoning.