The mushroom cloud split the sky.
It rose not like smoke, but like a god's crooked finger—gnarled and biting, reaching to claw at the sun. The world recoiled. The blue afternoon cracked apart. A black-and-red bloom swallowed the horizon and climbed into the heavens, raking its edges into toothed clouds.
The sun flinched behind them. Shadows bled across the fields. What was once afternoon had been warped into a mockery of dusk.
A silence followed, immense and unnatural. As if the world itself held its breath.
Then—
"Hold!!"
The Empress's voice cut through the comms. Clear. Undeniable. It didn't bark—it commanded.
The pilots behind her relayed the call across the air fleet, one after the other, until the whole armada stilled mid-flight. Dozens of ships, blade-winged and humming with energy, steadied like hawks caught in prayer. Even the lead aircraft—hers—shuddered as its forward momentum died.
It was a 'symmetrical symphony'. Discipline written in steel and blood and fire.
