Page 61 of Sy

“The Purists are in orbit,” he announced.

The display shifted, showing a warship hanging in high orbit. The vessel’s profile was distinctive… the sleek, predatory lines marked it as a J’Raat design. They were master shipbuilders, one reason they’d controlled the orbital platforms for so long. His jaw clenched as he stared at the projection.

“The who now?” Ashley asked in confusion as she sat in the chair he’d pulled out for her next to his own.

“The J’Raat are the most fanatical of them all,” Kraath explained. “In their own territories, they eliminate any they don’t consider pure Lathar.”

The tactical display shifted again, expanding to show the terrain that surrounded the garrison. Red spots bloomed across the projection like a bad rash. Each one represented a possible invasion landing point. He analyzed them automatically, years of combat experience cataloging defensive advantages and weak points.

The J’Raat would need to establish a ground presence. The question was where they’d choose to strike first.

He frowned as he thought through force deployment estimates. Casualty projections. Resource allocations. The numbers weren’t good, but they rarely were. He was Izaean. They were used to this.

But this time was different. This time Ashley sat beside him, close enough that he could feel the heat from her body, could hear her steady breathing. This wasn’t just another tactical problem to solve. The J’Raat didn’t care enough to distinguish between military and civilian targets. They never did. They just destroyed anything in their path.

“We need to discuss defending these potential landing points,” Kraath said, zooming in on one of the marked locations. The hologram cast light across his face as he highlighted terrain features, discussing approach vectors and defensive positionslike they were talking about the weather rather than impending invasion.

“We should use the ferals,” Vraal broke in. “The Purists won’t be expecting them. And it’s all they’re good for now.”

Sy fought the curl of his lip. Vraal hated ferals. That much was obvious. It wouldn’t surprise him to find the male had come from a Purist-leaning clan.

He ignored the jibe and the little look Vraal slid his way, forcing himself to focus on the tactical discussion, but his attention kept sliding to the female next to him.

She sat straight-backed, taking in every detail with sharp eyes that missed nothing. He recognized that look… he’d seen it before in warriors preparing for battle. But she wasn’t a warrior. She shouldn’t have to be. She wouldn’t be. Not here. Not against this enemy.

“What can we do?” Ashley leaned forward. “There must be something?—”

“You need to evacuate.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth. His legion churned beneath his skin, feeding into the fear clawing at his chest. “Get your people to safety. Now.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes blazing with fury. “Run away, you mean? While you fight?”

“This isn’t a debate.” His hands clenched at his sides until his knuckles went white. The image of her broken body on a battlefield flashed through his mind, making him feel sick. “The J’Raat?—”

“No one’s invincible.” She straightened, her chin lifting in that stubborn way of hers. “We have weapons. Defenses. If you’d just?—”

“Defenses?” The laugh that ripped from his throat was harsh, ugly. “Your strongest weapons would barely scratch their armor. Your fastest ships couldn’t outrun them.”

“So help us prepare?—”

“There is no preparing!” The words exploded from him, echoing off the stone walls. The other warriors went still as statues, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t bear the thought of her facing what was coming. “Humans are too weak to fight the J’Raat. You will die. All of you will die.”

The command center went silent as a tomb. Ashley stared at him, color draining from her face until she was ghost-pale. Her lips parted and then pressed into a thin line. When she spoke, her voice was cold. Hard.

“Weak?” Something fractured in her eyes. “That’s what you think of us?”

The hurt in her voice hit him like a physical blow. His anger evaporated, leaving cold horror in its wake. “Ashley, I didn’t?—”

But she was already moving, her boots ringing against the floor as she strode toward the exit. Her shoulder slammed into Tor as he entered, nearly knocking him aside. She didn’t look back.

Sy took a step after her, his instincts screaming at him to fix this, but the damage was already done. She was gone.

Tor stumbled, catching himself against the doorframe. When he straightened, Sy’s legion hummed with recognition.

Elder speaks. Listen.

The familiar presence of Tor’s legion radiated through his movements as he approached the tactical display, his steps odd—too precise, too measured, like watching an automaton instead of muscle and bone.

“What is that creature doing in here?” Vraal snarled, halfway out of his seat as though he intended to eject Tor himself.

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