FINAL CHAPTER
From the darkness emerged the Resurgence—a titanic dreadnought, its silver-white hull a seamless blend of majesty and lethality. Angular features gave it the air of a celestial predator, its regal presence undeniable even among the great warships of the empire. The luminite plating along its ridges pulsed like the veins of a living titan, and its glowing vents exhaled the fury of a dying star. It was the pride of House Fenralis, a warship crafted not just to fight battles, but to end wars before they could begin.
A hush fell over the battlefield. Even the wreckage of Vellmont, still smoldering from orbital bombardment, seemed to hold its breath.
Cassia Fenralis had arrived.
The Resurgence took its place in the heavens like a divine arbiter, its luminite cannons already charged, a silent threat more powerful than words. Beneath its shadow, an armada spilled forth—frigates, cruisers, carriers—each one bristling with Fenralis firepower, each one answering the call of the defense pact.
From the ruined streets of Vellmont, from the shattered walls of the southern gate, from the watchtowers still standing despite the carnage, thousands of eyes turned skyward.
Beyond Vellmont, the people of Elderwynd looked on from their arcane spires, the scholars and mages witnessing the heavens torn open with dread. In Vallorien, the adventurer's guilds and mercenary factions paused their feuds, their gazes locked on the celestial clash above. Across the Eastern Continent, where empires thrived untouched by Solarian rule, whispers of the unfolding battle reached courts and war councils alike. From the frozen expanse of Jotun's Cradle to the sun-scorched dunes of Kaelar, all who turned their eyes to the skies saw the flickering flames of an impending war.
The people of the Vale watched as salvation arrived wrapped in steel.
On the battlefield below, Drakon Vaelinor Draconis stood frozen.
His fingers tightened around Garett’s scalp, his mind a whirlwind of rage and realization. This was not supposed to happen.
The Verdant Vale was an isolated backwater. A pawn. A footnote in history.
But House Fenralis had come. Not just with words, but with warships. With Cassia.
Drakon's jaw tensed. He had Lyrius’ body in his arms, still warm, still bleeding—his last tether to the brother he had failed. And before him, still defiant even in defeat, was Garett Fenralis, his would-be executionee turned bargaining chip.
A flicker of hesitation.
A moment’s pause.
A miscalculation.
Drakon let go.
Garett hit the ground with a grunt, coughing blood onto the blackened dirt. He rolled onto his back, gasping for breath, as Cassia’s voice thundered through the comms.
"Lord Drakon," Cassia said smoothly, her tone neither rushed nor desperate—only calculated. "I suggest you stand down. Immediately."
Her face appeared on the holo-feed, with cold amber eyes, framed by the crisp lines of her admiral’s regalia. She did not look at her brother. Her attention was fixed solely on Drakon.
Drakon breathed through his nose, slow and measured, as he took in the scene. His dreadnought fleet hovered above the Vale, its cannons primed, its destroyers ready to burn everything down to ashes and glass.
But now another fleet had arrived. One that could match his own. One that could escalate this battle into something far worse.
Drakon exhaled. Cold. Controlled.
"Cassia Fenralis," he murmured. "I wondered how long it would take for you to bare your fangs."
Cassia tilted her head ever so slightly. "I was patrolling Skara when your little tantrum tripped our defense pact. I should thank you, really. It’s rare that the Fenralis fleet receives such an urgent summons."
Drakon’s jaw tightened. A defense pact. The Verdant Vale, despite its isolation, was still Fenralis territory. His actions had triggered an automated rally—a beacon calling every available Fenralis fleet to war.
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Garett coughed, bloodied but grinning through the haze of pain. "You look like you just realized how badly you fucked up."
Cassia ignored him. She was still watching Drakon, waiting, reading him as if she already knew his next move.
"Your fleet is positioned. Your weapons primed. And yet, you hesitate." She leaned forward slightly. "What’s wrong, Lord Drakon? Did you truly think House Fenralis would not defend what is theirs?"
Drakon’s teeth ground together. The situation had changed. This was no longer a purge. This was the first step toward galactic war.
A silence stretched between them, the weight of a thousand unspoken threats hanging in the void.
Then, finally—
Before Drakon could issue another command, the void split open once more.
From the shadows of deep space, a second dreadnought emerged, its hull bathed in the imperial gold and obsidian of House Solarius. Smaller than The Reckoning, yet bearing the unmistakable authority of the God-Emperor, it cut through the heavens like a sovereign’s decree.
Prince Lucien sat reclined in his command throne aboard the Solarius Radiance, a goblet of celestial wine resting lazily in his fingers as he watched the unfolding disaster below. Through the panoramic viewport, the Verdant Vale was little more than a battlefield of smoldering wreckage and flickering energy signatures, a crude display of House politics gone unchecked.Lord Valerius Magnus stood at his side, his stance rigid with disapproval. "We should intervene now, Your Highness. This has already escalated beyond—"
Lucien held up a finger, silencing him as he took a slow sip from his goblet. "Patience, Valerius. Timing is everything. If you interrupt a duel too soon, it’s merely an inconvenience. But if you arrive at the precise moment… it becomes theater."
Valerius exhaled sharply through his nose, his disapproval deepening. "And is that what this is to you? Theater?" He gestured toward the battlefield. "This is a disgrace to the empire. A house war, a fleet standoff, and—"
"An opportunity," Lucien interjected smoothly, setting his goblet aside. His golden eyes gleamed as he finally straightened. "Now… now is the moment."
He gestured toward his helmsman. "Bring us in. Let’s see how our dear vassals react to a true power entering the stage."
With a quiet hum, the Radiance surged forward, slipping from the shadows of deep space and into full, terrifying view. The golden dreadnought cut through the heavens like a divine decree, its presence an imperial exclamation mark in a war already teetering on catastrophe.
And just like that, the game had changed.
The holo-feed crackled to life, projecting his figure into the war-torn skies. Dressed in regal finery, his golden robes shimmered like woven sunlight, but his expression was one of displeasure laced with amusement.
"Now, now," Lucien drawled, his voice dripping with lazy authority. "Are we truly about to reenact the folly of House Noctis? Must history always repeat itself in the most tedious of ways?"
Cassia’s gaze barely flickered. Drakon, however, went rigid. The mere mention of the war **six centuries ago—the war that wiped out an entire ruling house—**was enough to sink ice into his veins.
Lucien leaned back into his gilded command throne, inspecting the battlefield as if it were an elaborate game board. "I must admit, this is exquisitely entertaining. But alas, I cannot allow my dear vassals to spark an intergalactic war over a single wasteland planet." He exhaled dramatically. "The paperwork alone would be insufferable."
Drakon’s grip on his holo device tightened. This wasn’t just a battle anymore. This was imperial intervention.
Lucien’s eyes gleamed. "So, gentlemen... shall we end this farce? Or do I need to explain to my father why two of his vassal houses are making a mess of his empire?"
A tense silence followed. The weight of the God-Emperor’s authority settled over the battlefield like a suffocating shroud. Even Drakon, seething as he was, knew there were limits to defiance.
Cassia folded her arms. "A non-aggression pact. House Fenralis will withdraw its fleet if House Draconis does the same. No further hostilities. The Verdant Vale is off-limits."
Drakon’s fingers flexed at his side, but he remained silent.Lucien’s smirk widened. "Oh, how very diplomatic of you, dear Cassia. But let’s not pretend this is merely about securing peace."
His gaze shifted toward Garett, still kneeling on the ground, blood staining his uniform. Then, toward the towering relic, the divine war machine that had turned the tide of battle.
"That," Lucien said, nodding toward the God-Husk, "is coming with me. House Solarius would like to... study it."
A sharp inhale from Lyra. Her hands trembled, fingers curling into fists. "Absolutely not!"
Nyx took a step forward, her presence radiating unseen power, her pupils narrowing into slits. "You assume you have the right to take what does not belong to you."
Drakon remained silent, his fingers twitching at his sides. His mind was still reeling from the shift in power, from the sheer humiliation of standing idle while his enemies dictated terms. The memory of Lyrius’ broken body in his arms burned in his thoughts like a wound that refused to close.
Lucien studied them all—Cassia’s iron will, Garett’s battered yet stubborn defiance, Nyx’s silent, watching intensity, and finally, Drakon, whose silence was an unspoken war within himself. Then, a flicker of something in his golden eyes—calculation.
Then he smiled. "Very well. A compromise, then. House Solarius will not claim the artifact, but we will expect to be granted access to study it. Under Imperial oversight, of course."
A tense silence followed. Garett’s jaw clenched, his fingers digging into the dirt. He hated it. Every fiber of his being screamed against it. But they had no choice.
Cassia gave a slow, measured nod. "Agreed."
Lucien exhaled dramatically and clapped his hands together. "Lovely. Now, let’s have the formalities drawn up. I do love a happy ending."
