The silence of deep space was absolute.
Zephyria sailed through the cosmos, a massive, black-stone micro-planet enclosed in a shimmering, iridescent bubble of atmosphere.
The artificial sun blazed warmly above the central keep, casting long shadows across the bustling courtyards.
Lucifer stood alone in the center of the grand hall.
The heavy obsidian war table was empty. The holographic projection of the shattered earth was gone, replaced by a slow-spinning, three-dimensional rendering of the infinite, swirling galaxies outside the dome.
He didn't wear his dark leather armor today. He wore a crisp, tailored black tunic and dark trousers. The heavy iron gauntlets were removed, revealing the faint, silver constellation of the Starweaver that still glowed softly on the back of his right hand.
Lucifer closed his eyes.
He was not resting. He was listening to the system.
