Stellar Siege

The year is 3278

Humanity has long since left Earth behind.
We expanded slowly at first — cautious, deliberate, uncertain of what we'd find in the dark. But once the stars opened, we moved fast. Colonies were seeded across thousands of systems, and for a time, it looked like we were alone.
We weren’t.
They didn’t come with diplomacy. They came as hunters — silent, efficient, and merciless. We called them the Vor’Kai. Every envoy was ignored. Every attempt at peace was met with annihilation. So we fought.
And surprisingly, we adapted.
The war was brutal. But in their technology, we found breakthroughs we never thought possible. Chief among them: true faster-than-light travel. Unlike our early theories, this system didn’t rely on bending space or breaking light. It used accumulated potential energy — the stiller you were, the farther and faster you could leap.
But it came with a catch.
Every FTL jump ended in a state of near-stillness. Ships exited the jump exposed, unable to fire or maneuver immediately — a sitting target. That one detail changed everything.
Gone were the massive dreadnoughts of old. In their place: strikecraft. Nimble, tactical, relentless. Space fighters became the backbone of modern warfare — fast enough to intercept FTL exits, mobile enough to hit and vanish, too quick for the slow death of relativistic weapons to ever matter.

The war with the Vor’Kai never ended. But it stopped advancing.
Across half the galaxy, humanity holds the line — an uneasy stalemate. The cost has been enormous, but we endure. We survive. We push back.
And yet, even in war, we remain what we’ve always been: fractured.
Nations collapsed. Empires rose and fell. Over time, the idea of a unified humanity faded into myth. Now, power lies with solar governments, corporate fleets, rogue AI enclaves, and independent mercenary forces. Most human wars are short-lived. No one can afford to bleed too long — the Vor’Kai are always waiting.

Throughout centuries of conflict — against both alien enemies and ourselves — countless pilots have risen and fallen. Some became legends in the skies above shattered moons. Others carved their names into history in brutal campaigns against fellow humans. But space demanded more than any pilot born under gravity had ever faced.
The old term “ace,” once awarded for five confirmed kills, became quaint — a relic of a more grounded age. In the cold void of modern warfare, five kills is a warm-up. A pilot with five kills is considered to have combat experience — no more, no less.
True legends? They are called Star Aces.
To earn the title, a pilot must have achieved at least 500 confirmed kills — manned targets only. No drones. No assists. Each kill earned through unmatched skill, precision, and survival instinct. Becoming a Star Ace isn’t just a rank — it’s a status, a brand, a symbol of myth. Only a few ever reach it.

Out of this legacy rose something unexpected: entertainment.
As new technologies emerged, humanity found new ways to indulge its oldest desires — competition, glory, and spectacle. What began as training simulations for new pilots evolved into full-scale betting arenas, where civilians and soldiers alike could simulate historic battles from the comfort of their stations.
Pilots stepped into advanced sims, flying the legendary ships of the Star Aces. Entire matches were broadcast, bet on, and obsessed over. What was once a somber exercise became a galaxy-spanning sport — the new proving ground for aspiring combat pilots.

This is where you come in.
You are a pilot in training — one of millions drawn to the call of glory, war, or the simple pursuit of profit. You’ll enter the arenas and take the helm of history's most legendary strikecraft. You’ll fight mock battles drawn from real events, re-live the rise of the greats, or chart your own path.
Every ship you fly has a story.
Every victory brings you closer to your own.
Somewhere out there, the real war still burns.
But here, in the arenas, legends are born.