Page 88 of New World

He strode over to the communication console. The communications officer rose and stepped to the side. Ri’s fingers flew across the keyboard, activating a secure line to the Gallant Battle Cruiser.

“Tracer, this is Commander Ri Manta. Patch me through to General Hutu Gomerant immediately,” he requested in a tense tone.

“Ri, you have control of the ship?” Hutu responded almost immediately.

“Yes, we have control of the command ship. Hutu, Andronikos has escaped. He’s heading for Aetherial.”

“We’ve sent a Battle Cruiser to intercept. I’ll notify them that Andronikos is onboard,” Hutu replied, his voice thick with anger. “We’ve ordered that the Legion ships be disabled when possible. We’ll do our best to preserve as many lives as we can.”

Ri looked up as the surrounding space lit up with small flashes. Gallant fighters were engaging with loyalist Legion squadrons, weaving through space in a deadly dance of blaster fire and evasive maneuvers. Freighters, armed to the teeth, ambushed smaller Legion battleships, unloading hidden artillery that turned ambushes into merciless takedowns. Cryon II’s defenses activated, energy cannons pulsing with deadly precision, taking out entire Legion formations in seconds.

“Thank you. We’ll do our part to end this as soon as possible,” Ri promised, ending the transmission.

He turned and stepped back toward the captain’s chair. “Fire to disable only,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the two weapons officers replied.

Ri sank down onto the plush chair. He flexed his fingers, his eyes locked on the viewport as the flagship of the Legion Battle Cruisers opened fire on its sister ships. The Legion was fracturing. “Loyalist” ships were abandoning the battle, their crews refusing to follow orders and die for Andronikos.

Andronikos’s house of cards was collapsing, but Ri knew this wasn’t over yet. It wouldn’t be until Andronikos fell once and for all.

Roan, I hope you are ready.

22

In orbit above Kryla Settlement: Aetherial

* * *

The stars gleamed against the void, distant and indifferent, but Andri saw them for what they truly were—witnesses to his ascension.

He stood at the viewport of the Charger, his hands clasped behind his back, his uniform pristine, gold epaulets gleaming in the dim tactical lighting. Aetherial stretched below him, a desolate, stubborn planet clinging to life. Its canyons twisted like veins through its surface, its twin suns beaming heat down mercilessly. And somewhere down there, in the dust and shadows, Roan, the Ancient Knights, and Zoak cowered like rats.

Andri exhaled slowly, adjusting his cuffs with practiced precision. His reflection stared back at him in the viewport, his own eyes gleaming with certainty. He was the Supreme Leader. The one destined to bring order to a fractured galaxy.

Not the Ancient Knights.

Not my brother.

Not Roan.

Me. Only me.

Behind him, Captain Ramos cleared his throat hesitantly. “Sir, your transport is ready.”

Andri didn’t turn. His gaze flickered to the reflection of his brother’s face, superimposed over his own.

Coleridge.

Mocking.

Always mocking.

Andri’s hands trembled as he straightened his collar, his lips curling in a sneer. “You always doubted me, didn’t you?” he murmured under his breath. “You couldn’t finish the job, so now I will.”

The reflection did not answer, but its eyes—Coleridge’s eyes—burned with silent derision.

Andri’s nostrils flared. He would not let that man haunt him a second longer. He would erase his legacy—wipe away the last remnants of his brother’s failures—and when this was done, Coleridge’s name would vanish from history.

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