The Sparrow was not landed; it was ensnared. Magnetic grapples slammed into the small ship's hull with the finality of a coffin lid being nailed shut. As the hangar of the Iron Sovereign pressurized, Elias felt a hollow sensation in his gut. This was the belly of the beast—the flagship of the very empire he had bled to protect.
The hatch hissed open. Standing there was a phalanx of Wraiths, their rifles raised, and in the center stood High Chancellor Valerius. He looked exactly as he did in the propaganda broadcasts: immaculate in a white-and-gold uniform, his silver hair swept back, his expression one of paternal disappointment.
"Elias," Valerius said, his voice echoing in the vast hangar. "You look terrible. But then, treason is an exhausting business."
Elias stepped out, his hand resting on Lyra's shoulder. She was pale, her hands bandaged with strips of her own tunic, but she stood tall. She didn't look like a prisoner; she looked like a queen in exile.
"The only treason here is yours, Valerius," Elias said, his voice echoing with a grit he didn't know he possessed. He held up the data drive. "I've seen the archives of the Aethel-Dawn. I know you broke the sun. I know you murdered Aethelgard for a monopoly on light."
The Wraiths shifted, a ripple of unease moving through the line. Valerius, however, merely smiled. It was a cold, thin thing.
"History is written by the survivors, Captain. And as you can see, I am the only one with the pen." Valerius gestured to his guards. "Take them to the Observation Deck. I find the view of the dying nebula provides the necessary perspective for these... difficult conversations."
They were marched through the pristine, sterile corridors of the Dreadnought. It was a jarring contrast to the rusted, frozen hell they had just escaped. Here, there was soft music, the smell of synthetic jasmine, and the hum of a ship that wasn't dying.
They were pushed into a circular room with floor-to-ceiling viewports. Outside, the green and violet gases of the nebula swirled, beautiful and indifferent.
"Sit," Valerius commanded.
Elias and Lyra sat on a velvet divan, their legs touching. The physical contact was their only anchor.
"You think you've found a smoking gun," Valerius said, pouring a glass of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. "The 'Great Fracture.' A managed disaster. You think I am a monster because I chose to save humanity by giving it a common enemy."
"You killed millions," Lyra spat.
"I saved billions!" Valerius roared, the mask of the statesman slipping for a fleeting second. He regained his composure quickly. "The sun was already dying, Lyra. The Fracture didn't start the decay; it controlled it. Without the Citadel's intervention, the sun would have gone supernova three centuries ago. We traded a quick death for a slow, managed survival. Yes, lives were lost. But the species remains."
Elias shook his head. "You're lying. The archives showed the beams—"
"The archives showed the stabilization process," Valerius interrupted. "But that's not the twist you should be worried about, Elias."
Valerius walked over to a terminal and tapped a few keys. A biometric profile appeared on the screen. It was Lyra's. But beneath her name, the lineage data was blacked out—except for one seal. The Seal of the House of Thorne.
Elias felt the world tilt. "What is this?"
"Your father was a man of many secrets, Elias," Valerius said softly. "He was the lead scientist on the Aethelgard project. He knew the sun couldn't be saved. He also knew the only way to ensure his bloodline survived was to place his children on both sides of the coming war. One in the Citadel, to lead the soldiers. And one in the Fringe, to lead the rebels."
Elias looked at Lyra. Her face was a mask of shock, her silver eyes—so like his own in the right light—widening.
"He... he told me I was an orphan of the Waste," she whispered.
"He lied to both of you," Valerius said. "You aren't enemies, children. You are the two halves of a legacy. He wanted you to find each other when the world finally went dark. He thought that together, you could lead the next era."
Valerius stepped closer, his shadow falling over them. "But there's a problem. The Catalyst you've been hunting? The one that can reignite the sun? It doesn't exist in a machine. It's a biological sequence. It's in your marrow. Specifically, it requires the fusion of both Thorne lineages."
Elias felt a cold dread settle in his marrow. "Fusion? What kind of fusion?"
Valerius's smile returned, and this time, it was predatory. "The kind that requires the termination of the hosts. To save the sun, I need the genetic data from your hearts. Both of them. Side by side."
Lyra's hand gripped Elias's so hard her nails drew blood. The slow burn of their romance hadn't just been a coincidence or a choice. It was a design. They had been bred to find each other, to love each other, and finally, to be sacrificed for a sun that was never meant to shine again.
"You're going to kill us," Elias said, his voice a hollow ghost.
"I'm going to make you martyrs," Valerius corrected. "The Captain and the Rebel. The lovers who died to bring back the light. It's a beautiful story, isn't it? It will keep the people quiet for another thousand years."
Outside, the Iron Sovereign began to turn. The ship's weapons weren't aiming at the nebula anymore. They were aiming at the heart of the rift.
"Take them to the extraction lab," Valerius commanded. "And Elias? Don't look so sad. You finally got what you wanted. You're together at the end."
To be continued....