The heavy celestial steel slate rested on the center of the Ironwood table. It radiated a faint, residual heat from Orion's localized solar plasma. The Ascendant Accord was legally binding, but a treaty could not intercept a kinetic strike.
Zenith did not waste a single second celebrating the diplomatic victory. The twelve year old Architect turned his back on the table and walked directly to the primary helm console. He gripped his celestial steel Logic Rod tightly, his knuckles turning white under the pressure.
He drove the base of the rod into the living wood of the console.
The bridge was instantly bathed in a harsh, jagged yellow light. A massive holographic projection erupted into the air, filling the entire forward section of the cabin. It was not a topographical map or a structural diagram. It was a sprawling, chaotic storm of ancient text. Millions of lines of corrupted, glowing yellow runes cascaded endlessly across the digital space.
