Silas stood at the edge of the obsidian plateau, the wind whipping his cloak behind him like a banner of war. Before him stretched the infamous Voidscar Rift, a region of space and time so fractured that even light distorted and twisted into impossible geometries. Behind him stood a delegation of traders, diplomats, and warlords from across the quadrant—each of them drawn by his invitation to witness the next evolution of the Merchant Sovereign's reign.
Zaral Vox, the obsidian-skinned diplomat from the Rift Syndicate, stepped forward. His voice was calm, but the threat beneath it was clear. "This place is sacred. You dare build an Accord here?"
Silas didn't flinch. "What better place to forge a new contract than where reality itself breaks under pressure?"
A murmur passed through the gathered crowd—some in awe, others in apprehension.
