When Nox stepped through the portal, he found himself not in the command spire, but in the main plaza of Portentia. The entire coalition was there, a silent sea of faces—human, elf, demon, and a dozen other species—all staring at him.
The dimensional cloak had dropped. Their world was visible again. The sky was clear, the stars bright. The Terran fleet was gone.
No one cheered. The psychic backlash from the destruction of the fleet, the silent screams of a hundred thousand dying minds, had been felt by everyone. They knew what he had done. They had watched him do it.
Serian was the first to approach him. She didn't run. She walked slowly, her face pale, her eyes filled with a mixture of horror and a deep, profound sadness.
She stopped in front of him and reached up, her fingers gently touching the side of his helm. "Is it over?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"Yes," he said.
"And the cost?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
