There’s a trick to soaking while the universe tries to kill you—just sink deeper and pretend the cracked moon blinking red outside your window doesn’t exist. I’d mastered it neck-deep in Coalition soak-gel, the faintly glowing, self-scrubbing kind every dignitary suite keeps on tap.

  The tub sat flush with the viewport in the captain’s quarters, a room I’d claimed a few years ago. Better than the diplomat’s apartments—further from Lion, for one. And the view couldn’t be beat. Half my vision was taken up by the cracked moon, fractured around its quantum catapult. Charges studded its surface like fever blisters, arming lights pulsing red through the gel’s turquoise shimmer.

  Valicar hovered beside me in standby mode, a polished red-and-blue chest piece spinning slow as its shield projected over me and the tub. The faint shimmer of its barrier merged with the turquoise glow, casting my limbs in a submerged light-show of pale green and ghost-white. Everything looked half-dreamed. Half-drowned.

  Valicar’s readout flickered across my HUD, the neural link projecting the info straight into my skull: [Shield integrity: 92%. Decreasing. Hive resonance nearing outer threshold.]

  I didn’t need the readout to know. My ears twitched every time the Hive brushed the edge of my quantum field.

  Then came a knock. Two short raps on the bulkhead.

  The hatch hissed open.

  Lion stepped in, steam whispering off scorched plates, bits of hull clinking under his boots. His helmet hissed open—I flinched at the sudden rush—and he looked every inch the champion of humanity’s last war.

  “So this is where you’ve decided to wait out the jump to Coalition space, Highness?” he said, voice half amusement, half warning. “The Hive is near. Why aren’t you at least on the bridge getting drunk—instead of taking another bath and getting drunk anyway?” He smirked.

  I raised the Ruebrew flask floating beside me. “Why not here? You and Dad already have your plan. Might as well let you carry it out in peace.”

  He sealed the hatch behind him. The sound baffles engaged, leaving only the low hum of the charging moon and the slow churn of gel around my body.

  His eyes drifted to the half-eaten Rue thigh resting on the tub’s edge. His expression shifted—curious, almost amused.

  “I haven’t spoken to Father in some time, even if you don’t believe me,” he said, voice low. “But you’re not wrong to assume there’s a plan. I wasn’t supposed to come with you, after all—but my goal hasn’t changed. It never has.” His golden eye lingered on the meat. “And neither, it seems, has yours. You already killed the spy... impressive, Highness.”

  I froze. The flask bobbed beside me, Ruebrew sloshing softly.

  “Wait… how do you know he was the spy?” I asked—disbelief flickering through the confusion, guilt pressing in behind it, patient as ever.

  Lion gave a short laugh, the scarred corner of his mouth twitching as the red glow of his cybernetic eye flared. “I got bored. Killing thousands with that last jump was fun—but there was no fight, no challenge. So I wrapped it up and started asking questions. That was the real reason I boarded the last ship. Interrogated a few high-ranking xeno scum. They all said the same thing.”

  He nodded toward the bone on the edge of the tub.

  “That Rue. The one you’re washing down right now.”

  Relief hit me like a knife—because I hadn’t known. I was just hungry.

  “How do you know they were telling the truth?”

  He shrugged, golden eye narrowing. “Numbers. A dozen crew. Most gave me the Rue. The rest rambled or screamed until pain made them useful. The Korrathi shredded their own throats before they talked. The Vonn blinked themselves blind when I tapped their optic nerves. They all begged in the end—Rue every time. I meant to finish it myself. Kael told me you did it first.”

  I forced a laugh. It came out hollow. “See? I had it under control,” I lied through my teeth.

  Lion’s smile shifted—less impressed now, more... proud. He watched me for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

  “You didn’t even know,” he said softly.

  It wasn’t a question.

  I turned my face away from the viewport, red creeping across my cheeks—from shame, from the glow of the catapult arming itself across the fractured moon, from the gel that suddenly felt too thick, too cold.

  My throat tightened. My hand trembled.

  “No,” I whispered. “I didn’t. I just... he was watching me. The Hive is too close. And I was hungry, so I just needed out—before I finished him and started on the next one. That’s it. That’s all. I had no idea who he was.”

  My voice cracked.

  “I didn’t know anything. I still don’t. Even with all the crew I’ve eaten—all their memories—they were just drones in the machine. I don’t know anything... not like you.”

  The tears came without drama, just pressure finally breaking seal. I let them fall.

  "Shit, how did it all end up like this? Damn it all." I let the words slip out. "I keep pretending I know what I’m doing, but I don’t. You and Dad keep saying I was built for this — but I feel like I’m coming apart. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to live forever. And I don’t want to watch everyone I care about die while I cling on like a parasite."

  Lion said nothing for a long moment.

  Then he crossed the room. No mockery in his stride, no judgment in his face. He knelt beside the tub, gauntlets resting on the gel’s edge.

  I looked at him through blurred eyes.

  “You weren’t made to know everything,” he said. “You were made to lead. Leaders lean on those who choose to follow — that’s how you keep moving even when you don’t see the path. You’re not weak because you don’t have a plan. You’re strong because you admit it and still move forward. You did what was necessary, even if you didn’t know it at the time. That’s instinct.”

  He reached out—his gauntlet touched my wrist, steady and warm despite the metal.

  “That Rue needed to die. Whether you knew it or not. And now… now you’re ready.”

  I blinked. “Ready for what?”

  Lion stood and looked out the viewport for a long moment. Outside, an arc of rails on the cracked moon flashed to life; magma vented sky-high like arterial fire while the catapult’s coils were already blinding.

  “It’s your birthright and your burden,” he said. “You’re not here to survive—you’re here to reclaim it all.”

  He let the words hang, then dipped his head. “But only if you choose it—and wear it without fear.”

  I swiped tears from my cheek. “What do you need me to do?”

  His gaze softened—less commander, more brother. “Be seen. Be feared. Be the thing the galaxy can’t corral.”

  The moon’s crust yawned wider, a corona of light spilling across space. Ignition rings began to spin.

  [Jump sequence confirmed. Structural collapse imminent. Hive fleet has entered the system. Shield integrity: 78% — … Estimated time to contact: 5 minutes, 17 seconds.]

  My ears flickered, twitching at the edges of the Hive whispers pressing against my shields.

  Lion’s gold-lit eye tracked the pulsing energy above the catapult — mere specks at first, but closing fast. He pointed at looming silhouettes, hundreds and growing as more tore in from warp, blotting out the stars.

  “There... The Devil. Only Orion rivals it. Dozens of Hive splinters, each with its own mind and hunger — all chasing you, tearing through this spiral arm to forge the greatest swarm ever seen. They want you — you’re the lock and the key. The Hive was Father’s fire, meant to clear the path and burn the rot so you could finish the job. Right now it’s crude, half-wild — guarding Haven like a dog, but even that shield will break. When it does, the last clean humans go too. So we start here — take the fire back, aim it, turn it from wildfire to blade. Make it ours.”

  He flicked his gauntlet. The starmap projected red siege-lines marking the front we were about to cross, spreading from Earth like an old wound bleeding outward — a bubble drifting off-center in the galaxy, strangling routes from the inner core to the rim. Hive space sprawled tens of thousands of light-years across, forcing every trade lane to bend and crawl around its ever-growing edges — all of this in just two centuries.

  “His swarm burned outward from home. First the mighty Rue Empire, then a hundred lesser powers. And now the entire galaxy’s throat is in its teeth.”

  The starmap flickered — ghost fleets drifting through red-lit ruin corridors.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “For now you just poke the beast. Later you’ll hold its reins. Open a corridor to graveyard worlds — let scavengers in, give desperate survivors a way out, call it mercy, play the hero. Or slam it shut and spread fear. Push the swarm at a Council trade hub or major world — strangle their lifeline overnight. Then show up like salvation, pull it back, make them kneel in gratitude and tribute — ships, power, wealth, all stacked at your feet before we stand at the Council’s door. One ruin at a time, one cradle at a time — you choose who’s spared and who’s fed to the dark. Their faith and fear, all yours.”

  He toggled icons — derelict arsenals, abandoned fleets, data caches, research centers, buried reserves of power blinking blue.

  “They’ll think they’re buying safety — but they’re staking their hope on you while they gnaw each other to the bone. By the time the Council falls apart, we’ll sweep the xeno filth off humanity’s ground and claim our place under clean skies.”

  A pale-blue world — Illyria — floated above the tub. A ghostly swarm spiraled closer.

  He traced a line with his gauntlet — a ringed gas giant, Krydon, spun into view, its foundries burning against the dark.

  "Nursery worlds like Illyria. Gas giants like Krydon. The Nythra Belt cracked open for scraps. Moon rigs on Nerus. Nebula harvesters drifting blind in the Veyla Veil. Even soft little resorts like Solace Arcadia — all of it ours, and they squat on it like parasites."

  I stared at the drifting worlds blinking by.

  "How do you know all this? These places?"

  Lion didn’t look at me — just flicked to another cluster of rigs lost in swirling gas.

  "I have a lot of free time on my hands, Highness."

  I let out a breath — bitter, unsurprised.

  "I know. I’ve seen it. All these years stuck on this ship."

  Lion pinched the air; the map rippled, and a green sphere, Verdantia, flickered beside a mined-out rock, Gravix Minor.

  "Crops, ports, fuel, trade — they feed themselves off our birthright and call it theirs. So we shove the swarm at every artery they can’t survive without. Then you pull it back and sell them the privilege to stay — at our price. Fear first. Then faith. Humanity’s land, Highness. Humanity’s terms."

  I snorted. “Wolf and shepherd.”

  "Wrong... bait," he said. "Bait for the Hive, bait for them. They’ll hurl every ship and soldier they have. Bleed themselves raw. The Council will choke on the cost. And you’ll be there to pick the bones clean."

  He zoomed out: five Council sigils glowed; Vorathel’s pulsed gold.

  "Vorathel gave us a path to the first seat. He staked everything sending that fleet to fetch you, but with all of it except this ship lost, he’ll be weakened before we arrive. We’ll have to balance the scales. His rivals — that fish-bitch and that damn clanker — will pay the difference. Convenient that their territories sit so close. A little sabotage, a little blood, just enough to remind Vorathel who’s his best shot to stay in power."

  He paused. “And when Father returns, not one star will survive his will — least of all their false gods.”

  "They won’t have a choice, huh… I don’t have one either, do I."

  "Not really." He didn’t flinch. "Hate it, fight it — doesn’t matter. The Hive already sees you. Jericho’s crew saw it too. Once the Council watches you bend a swarm, they’ll kneel — even if they don’t understand why. Or they’ll die."

  I shook my head. “Altis said fight Father’s design. Be human.”

  “Altis wanted you small enough to love.” Lion’s tone sharpened. “Father forged you to rule. Claim that power and you won’t become the Hive—you’ll bend it just enough to clear the way that matters.”

  He knelt again until our eyes met. “Be the storm, Highness. The galaxy doesn’t deserve you, but it will kneel all the same.”

  "Lion, surely even you know this is evil… this is fucked. All of it. Father’s monstrous manipulation. What he did to us — to humanity — to every other species in the Milky Way."

  His voice dropped. “Our species should’ve died out. Father… he’s a man of his time — a time you never really saw. I was born just after him, on a scale of centuries. Maybe we are the monsters of humanity. But we saved it. He saved it. And it’ll be saved again by you — the only hero I know who refuses to forgive herself.”

  He straightened, almost reverent. “Someday you may have children—one, many. If they carry what you carry, you’ll need iron resolve. Because if you don’t own your birthright, someone else will.”

  I stared at The Devil hanging in the void like a promise. “I’m not ready.”

  “Not yet.” He gestured at the moon and the closing Hive ships. “This is step one.”

  [Three minutes, thirty seconds.]

  He leaned close. “Don’t try to control the Hive yet. Father’s will forged it. Even he lost the leash, but he trusted us to reclaim it.”

  I scoffed and cut him off. “How do you reclaim something you never controlled? Oh, never mind — just get on with it, Lion. Enough speeches. What the hell’s the actual plan?”

  He looked at me for a long moment. “The Council’s already sniffing around. Vorathel’s stalling, pure self-preservation. He’s weak on his own, a pawn, but my intel says he’ll move wherever we shove him, so we shove him where we need him.”

  He tapped the pane as the hologram stuttered. A new world flared into focus, bright green and blue, Earth-like, ringed with orbital cities and defense grids.

  “Korvsvax. Midway between the Fish’s claim and the Clanker’s fleet yards. They’ve been bleeding each other over it for decades, rich, bloated, too far from the real front lines to matter, except as a trophy. They pour ships into its orbit to look strong while the real war starves. We smash that. We drive the swarm right at it, force them to break their fleets to defend it, then we drag the Hive away just in time to give Vorathel his miracle save. He gets to stand in the ashes and look like the hero who held the line. Makes him strong in the Council, loyal to us, exactly the sponsor we want holding the door open.”

  He stabbed a finger at the pulsing sigil. “We crack Korvsvax open. Herd the swarm at its sky. Make them watch it burn, then drag the swarm away — but only after their fleets break themselves trying to look heroic. We hand Vorathel the credit for the ‘save.’ Makes him look strong, loyal, the perfect hero for those two neutrals hiding on the far side of the galaxy. They feel safe now, too far from the front to care — we remind them the front moves fast.”

  “Their people see who really stops the fire. Their admirals crawl back to the Council half-starved, humiliated. The next time we say ‘vote,’ they remember who holds the leash — and who doesn’t.”

  For a moment, I let the truth settle like rot in my chest at my options.

  Sit still and the Hive devours the stars. Fight and we are the first bodies in its teeth. Go back to Jericho and Father straps me to a table, calls it destiny. Go to the Council and they strap me to another one, call it mercy. Even death will not stick. The virus drags me back for more. No out. Just teeth. Always teeth.

  I swallowed. “Why steer the Hive at all? Aren’t we complicit enough? How much blood do I drown in before it swallows me anyway? There has to be something else... another way. Anything.”

  “There isn’t,” Lion cut in, flat. “The swarm’s coming either way. So run ahead of it and pick the target. That’s all the freedom you get.”

  That’s it. The truth. It’s coming for me no matter what. The only thing I get is to run — and pick where the teeth sink in next.

  [Two minutes.]

  I licked the syrupy brew from my teeth and grimaced. “All right, say Korvsvax falls and Vorathel gets to play savior. We reach the Council chamber. Then what, Lion? We still have decades of flight while the Hive keeps eating the map. What’s the long game?”

  He gave a thin smile. “After Korvsvax, the hard part is patience. We shift the swarm like a spotlight. Six months on the cyborg bloc’s shipyards, six on the Sea Baroness’s grain convoys, then we yank it away each time and let Vorathel ride in with the ‘cure.’ They blame one another for every loss, beg us for every reprieve. Their fleets bleed each other instead of the Hive. Their economies crack first, their politics second.”

  He expanded the map. Red rings pulsed in slow concentric cycles around half a dozen worlds.

  “While they fight over scraps, we harvest the vaults the Hive already gutted—old arsenals, dark-tech labs, jump cores nobody could reach. You and I build a fleet of our own from the bones. By the time the Council finally votes on anything, they will need Vorathel’s miracle shipments just to keep lights on. And he needs you to keep the Hive dog on its leash. That circle closes itself.”

  I frowned. “And the neutrals on the far side of the galaxy?”

  “We let them stay safe—until they realize every trade lane to their cozy worlds runs through Vorathel’s space. They either pay, join, or watch their markets starve. Slow strangulation, no battles required.”

  His knuckle rapped the glass. “Decades pass. Every bloc is busy hating the next one more than they hate the swarm. Then Father arrives. One speech from you, one quiet demonstration of what the Phoenix cure can do, and their parliaments sign their sovereignty away just to keep breathing. We break them on each other first, Highness. Then we gather what’s left.”

  For a heartbeat the only sound was the catapult’s low rumble behind us.

  “That easy, is it?” I muttered, then tipped back a deep pull of Ruebrew.

  Lion’s breath hazed the starmap as he leaned in.

  “It should be, Highness. We break their pride, batter their walls, let them whimper for mercy—then you call the swarm off. You can save lives as easily as take them. One world spared in front of a billion screens is all it takes to break their faith in false gods and shackle the survivors to you. We walk the ashes carrying a flag and a cure. One planet saved, another consumed, old alliances cracked open—whatever we need. Each time, you choose where the teeth fall. Each time, you remind them you’re the only monster who can save them—provided they contribute enough to our new fleet.”

  A rusty laugh scraped out of me.

  “Maybe I already am that monster. I’ve done worse for less. The Hive’s just an excuse to feed the part of me that never stops.” I wiped another tear with the back of my hand. “And I’ll admit—‘admiral’ sounds a lot cooler than ‘captain.’”

  I let the Ruebrew drift against my knuckles. “Tell me, Lion — when did you know what I’d be? How many centuries did you, Knight, and him plan this? Even if you claim you haven’t spoken to him, I don’t buy that I’m not still dancing on his fucking string, even out here.”

  “Highness...”

  [One minute.]

  The tears came anyway, hot and silent.

  “I’m tired, Lion. I just want to go home, but I don’t think I’ve ever really had one. Maybe I just want to die too. And I’m too much of a coward to do it. Immortal as I am. I could throw myself into a star, vent Valicar’s antimatter core, leave nothing left to regenerate. But the Hive... joining them scares me more than death ever did. Being a monster used to scare me too. Now I’m just scared it’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

  I forced a breath. “I’m so alone. And the only people I have left are you, and him, and whatever poor bastards I drag into this world. Cursed with this immortality. How could I ever spread that curse? Call it Homo Immortalis like he does. A ruling class of rotting gods with a genocidal Hive at their feet. Fuck.”

  Lion tapped the glass with one heavy gauntlet, voice low but hard.

  “You think you’re spreading a curse? Then steer it, Highness. Shape it — make it yours. Better an iron line ruled by you than a rotting swarm left to chance.”

  He let out a short, harsh breath.

  “And when we stand before that Council? They’ll see who made the Hive kneel — and who they’ll kneel to next.”

  [Thirty seconds.]

  The flask drifted from my fingers. Gel surged up my throat. His gauntlet closed around my wrist as the viewport blazed white.

  [Shield integrity: 42%. Critical. Hive resonance breaching inner threshold.]

  Something scraped the inside of my skull — cold, wet, hungry. A thought that wasn’t mine.

  Join us, Queen Mother...

  Valicar pulsed red. [Warning: Mental breach imminent.]

  Thousands of Hive ships clawed into view beyond the viewport, swarming through slipspace like a plague given wings.

  [9... 8... 7...]

  Why did Dad make me like this? I caught my own reflection — the sharp teeth, the Rue’s blood drying at the corner of my mouth, the meat half-eaten on the tub’s edge. My hands red, my throat raw. Almost done.

  “You’ll guide the chaos, Highness — long enough for Father to return. That’s all that matters.”

  Of course that’s all that matters, I thought. That’s all it ever has.

  The cracked moon began to detonate behind us as the catapult finished its windup — rails blazing white-hot.

  [6... 5...]

  My breath caught.

  [4...]

  His grip tightened.

  [3... 2...]

  The moon blew apart in a final searing burst — the catapult disintegrating as we launched, flung past the Hive’s teeth in a single, blinding jump.

  I closed my eyes — so tired.

  No mask left to hide behind.

  If there’s anything on the other side, may it forgive me.