We were packed and ready to leave Dragos, the platform already cleared for departure, the low hum of engines from nearby ships bleeding into the air like a constant reminder that nothing here ever truly rested.
Kharzun stood near the edge, arms folded across his chest, armor sealed and formal again, the casual looseness he carried during the celebration stripped away. Saleos stood beside him, posture easy, but his attention sharp, eyes tracking everything without seeming to focus on anything in particular.
Then Kharzun broke the silence. "You altered the course of this war for us," he said. "Not just this rift. Not just this planet. The way we fight from here on."
I shook my head slightly. "I just removed blind spots. You already had the strength. You'll handle the rest."
He studied me for a moment, as if weighing whether to argue, then let it go. "Perhaps," he said. "But blind spots are how empires bleed out."
Saleos turned toward me then.
