The last thing Tyler remembered was going to sleep as usual. When he opened his eyes again, his computer desk, chair, and all the furniture in his room were gone.
In their place stood a round mahogany table, intricately carved with scenes of hunting parties on horseback. The table was laden with gold and silver goblets, reflecting the warm glow of twin golden candelabras and a grand crystal chandelier.
Tyler found himself seated in a finely crafted chair. Before him was a neatly folded white napkin, a glass of sparkling rosé wine, and a plate of creamy mushroom risotto. A decorative platter held a perfectly seared steak drizzled with sauce alongside a glossy, roasted game bird.
The sheer opulence of his surroundings was overwhelming. Exquisite rugs of varying sizes covered the floor, while luxurious fabrics like velvet, brocade, and silk draped the walls. Gilded-framed portraits of solemn ancestral figures loomed over him.
Korhal’s Guardians. The Empire’s Wolves. The Mengsk Dynasty.
"Augustus, do you know how much effort your mother put into this dinner? Don’t ruin it."
A stern male voice jolted Tyler back to reality. He looked up to see a middle-aged man with dark gray hair streaked with white at the temples and a neatly trimmed beard. The man’s voice carried an unusual accent, yet it wasn’t strange to Tyler. To his surprise, he understood it effortlessly—it was English.
Realizing he had been staring blankly for too long, he quickly lowered his gaze and picked up his utensils, handling them with practiced ease. To anyone watching, nothing seemed amiss.
As he savored the rich flavors in his mouth and tried to piece together the fragmented memories in his mind, one thought solidified: if this was real, then by some twist of fate, he had really been transported to the Koprulu Sector. At least, judging by his surroundings, he had landed in a wealthy, respectable household.
While maintaining an air of composure, Tyler focused on recovering the memories buried within this new body. Though fragmented, he managed to piece together some crucial details.
Augustus Mengsk.
He was now a member of the prestigious Mengsk Dynasty, one of the noble houses of Korhal IV, and one of the thirteen ancient ruling dynastic families of Tarsonis. The Mengsks were an ancient and influential lineage whose ancestors had led the original colonists in taming this perilous yet beautiful world. Augustus was the family’s second son, named after his grandfather.
His father, Angus Mengsk, was the current head of the family’s vast holdings and a highly respected senator in the Korhal Parliament. He had millions of devoted followers and wielded significant political influence.
His mother, Katherine Mengsk, was a strong yet graceful woman, much like the other noblewomen of Korhal IV. She managed the household with precision, had a passion for refining recipes, and was a key benefactor of several charitable organizations.
Augustus had an elder brother, Arcturus Mengsk, a colonel in the 33rd Ground Assault Division of the Confederate Marine Corps, and a sixteen-year-old sister, Dorothy Mengsk. As for himself, he had just turned eighteen and recently graduated from Styrling Academy, the most prestigious institution in Korhal’s capital city.
He was at the prime age for youthful rebellion.
Compared to his accomplished older brother and his adorable younger sister, Augustus had always been the family’s problem child. His records at Styrling Academy were nothing short of scandalous—
Skipping classes, pranking the strict headmaster, roughing up a corrupt principal, organizing illegal hover-bike races on school grounds, tampering with the academy’s advertisement bots, and even hosting a barbecue party during the graduation ceremony. Every fiber of this privileged young aristocrat exuded defiance against authority and societal norms.
"Augustus, the war with the Kel-Morian Combine has dragged on for two years now, and the situation remains uncertain. The Confederate government on Tarsonis keeps lowering the enlistment age while the UNN and other state-controlled media obscure the casualty reports, glorifying honor and sacrifice instead."
His father’s voice pulled him back from his recollections. Angus seemed to be trying to initiate a conversation with his rebellious son.
Tonight’s family dinner felt vastly different from those in Augustus’s memories. Normally, these gatherings were formal yet warm. Angus never brought politics or business to the dinner table—those evenings were usually filled with Dorothy’s endless chatter about school and her imaginative fairy tales.
Augustus sensed trouble. Raising his gaze to meet his father’s, he pretended to listen intently while discreetly scanning the room. His mother and sister both wore somber expressions.
In all his memories, he had never once seen his mother cry—except in times of true loss and grief.
A sense of foreboding settled in his chest. He hurriedly sifted through his inherited memories for details about the war his father had mentioned.
The conflict was a full-scale war between the Terran Confederacy and the Kel-Morian Combine, a rival human power in the Koprulu Sector. The war was fought over valuable crystal mines and colonial territories, devastating dozens of fringe worlds. Millions of soldiers, miners, and civilians had already perished.
Despite the propaganda, the war was far from over. Both the Confederacy and the Kel-Morians claimed they held the advantage, but the reality—known only to high-ranking officials like Angus Mengsk—was that neither side had gained a decisive upper hand. The skirmishes had escalated into full-scale fleet battles, with nuclear weapons already in play. To sustain the war effort, the Confederacy had begun funneling young recruits into a meat grinder.
As a politician, Angus rarely showed anger unless he was condemning corruption or advocating for his people. The fact that he was so visibly upset tonight meant only one thing—
Augustus was about to enlist.
Tomorrow, he was scheduled to leave for boot camp.
The Mengsk family had long sought to free Korhal from Confederate rule and establish it as an independent dominion. This put them at direct odds with the Confederate government. For Augustus to willingly join the military was nothing short of a betrayal of his father’s cause.
The training camp was located on a remote colony world, light-years away from Korhal. It would take a warp-capable vessel to even reach. For Angus, this wasn’t just about losing a potential heir—he loved all his children dearly.
"This is the last time I’ll tell you just how cruel war is. It’s nothing like the childish games you’ve played. Have some pity on your family—your mother nearly collapsed in tears over your heartless decision!"
As Augustus processed these memories, his father’s voice grew more desperate.
"Beyond the walls we built for you lies a brutal world. And war is its hell. You’ve lived a life of luxury, acting recklessly and without care. My god, I wish you would show even a shred of regret!"
Augustus was stunned. What kind of lunatic gives up the lavish life of a noble for a soldier’s pay? What the hell was wrong with this guy?!
...
After the family dinner, Augustus excused himself, saying he needed to rest early, and returned to his room.
The Mengsk family estate, perched on the cliffs, housed hundreds of lavishly decorated rooms. Polished mahogany corridors and staircases adorned with luxurious carpets connected the various halls and floors, all meticulously maintained by a staff of servants and gardeners—who outnumbered the rooms themselves.
As Augustus walked through the corridors lined with golden-framed portraits of Mengsk ancestors, he ascended the cherrywood staircase leading to the floor where his bedroom and the private family library were located. He finally stopped before a door with a brass nameplate engraved with ’Au’.
Beneath the plaque, a Terran Confederacy Marine recruitment poster was pasted on the door. The image depicted a cratered, moon-like battlefield under the pitch-black expanse of space. A group of impossibly handsome and beautiful officers, men and women alike, stood atop a dune, their radiant smiles as artificial as the moment itself, hands gripping a billowing flag.
What a ridiculous farce. Even a digitally rendered image would be more authentic than this.
That was the judgment of the original Augustus. Yet, he still put the poster on his door—if only to prove to his father his unwavering determination to enlist.
Adjacent to Augustus’ room were Arcturus and Dorothy’s quarters. Arcturus’ door bore a similar brass plate, engraved with ’Ar’, while Dorothy had painted an abstract purple pony on hers. None of the doors had handles or keyholes. Instead, where a handle would typically be, there was a recessed square panel, approximately two inches wide and one inch deep.
Standing before his door, Augustus recalled the process, then inserted his index finger into the recess. The brass nameplate flipped over, revealing a small embedded camera. A soft blue holographic screen projected in front of him.
"Facial recognition completed. Fingerprint recognition completed. Iris scan completed. Genetic identification completed. Record uploaded. Genetic database refresh in 24 hours. Unlocking door. Date: March 25, 2488, 22:37."
This was the StarCraft universe: a future universe set in the 25th century, where knowledge of the modern world alone granted no special advantage.