The Milky Way had reached a state of true peace.
It was difficult for it to become anything else when Earth existed at its center and Sylas Grimblade existed at all. Sylas had never bothered declaring himself ruler of the galaxy, never marched armies from world to world demanding oaths, nor had he cared enough about the Nexus to watch the countless discussions surrounding his name.
His influence had spread anyway.
From the moment he killed the C-tier of that four-armed, red-skinned Race--the Trakar--meaningful resistance had already begun to collapse, not because every faction suddenly loved Earth, but because the distance between what they could accomplish and what Sylas could do had become too large to ignore.
