The sky above Iron Summit shimmered with golden light as the STF command ship descended through the clouds. Below stretched a city of stone and power wide avenues paved with pale granite, towering spires that pierced the heavens like knives, and banners of the Galactic Empire rippling in the mountain wind.
Soldiers in ceremonial armor marched in perfect formation along the streets, their boots striking against the ground like the ticking of a clock.
Ian, Optimus, Steel, and Stark stepped off their shuttle onto the polished landing platform. The air here was thin, cold, and heavy with authority.
This city wasn't built for comfort; it was built to remind everyone who held power in the galaxy. They passed through the Treasury Hall, a massive circular fortress of marble and iron, guarded by the empire's elite. Gold script carved into the walls displayed the Empire's founding words, Strength preserves peace.
"Haven't been here in years," Stark muttered, his voice echoing through the stone corridor.
Steel glanced up at the towering ceiling. "Looks the same as ever. Cold. Expensive."
Optimus smirked. "That's politics for you."
They continued until the Grand Assembly Building came into view, a monumental structure crowned by a gleaming dome. Inside, the meeting chamber was arranged in a circular fashion, with hundreds of desks forming a wide ring around the central floor.
Each desk bore the insignia of a planetary government or ministry, their occupants already murmuring among themselves. At the head of the chamber stood the elevated Grand Desk, where the Four Greats of the Galactic Empire were seated: Ian, Optimus, Steel, and Stark.
The room fell quiet as a new figure entered. Draykor Helvane, the Treasury Leader, strode in with the confidence of a man who believed his words would shape the galaxy. His dark blue suit shimmered faintly under the light, his silver hair slicked back in perfect lines. Two elite soldiers in obsidian armor flanked him as he took his seat.
"I've called this assembly," Draykor began, his voice smooth and deliberate, "because I need to address an issue that has gone ignored for too long."
Ian leaned forward slightly. "Continue."
"The issue," Draykor said, folding his hands, "is the massive military budget. For decades, we have funneled nearly half of our galactic resources into warfare, training, shipbuilding, and planetary defenses. And I understand why. We lived in an age of demons, an era of constant bloodshed. But that age has ended. We are not at war anymore. We are not being invaded."
He paused to let his words settle, then continued. "It's time we moved into an age of peace. Of reconstruction. We should be investing in our cities, our education systems, our people, not weapons that may never be fired again."
A ripple of murmurs spread across the chamber. Representatives leaned toward one another, whispering in cautious agreement.
Ian's eyes narrowed. "So what exactly are you proposing?"
"A ten percent reduction in the Empire's military spending," Draykor replied smoothly. "To redirect those funds to urban development and healthcare initiatives."
The room buzzed with quiet approval.
Ian tapped his finger on the table before speaking. "The only reason we're even standing here in peace is because of that budget. The fortresses, the fleets, the defenses, all of it keeps the capital safe. Cut funding, and those lines weaken. Sooner or later, something will slip through."
A wave of side conversations broke out again, the sound rising like wind through the chamber.
Draykor lifted his chin. "And thanks to you and your team, Commander, that's no longer a threat. You closed the last major demon portal. The galaxy is stable."
He leaned forward slightly, his tone sharpening. "Tell me, what enemy are we still fighting? Who exactly are we defending against? Or is the Empire just afraid to live without its soldiers?"
Ian didn't flinch, but Optimus caught the subtle tightening in his jaw.
Draykor's voice carried through the room. "There are still planets scarred from the Third Great War. Worlds left in ruin, children growing up in poverty, while we pour resources into building more ships we don't need. We should heal before we arm."
Several officials nodded, murmuring their agreement. Ian could see where this was heading, the tide of sentiment shifting, not with logic, but with emotion.
Draykor glanced at him with the faintest smirk, the look of a man who knew he had momentum.
Ian rolled his eyes slightly, exhaling through his nose. Then he rose to speak. "If you cut funding," he said, voice calm but firm, "demons will return, not immediately, not next year, but they will. The moment we stop building, training, and guarding, the cracks reopen. That's how it always starts."
He pointed toward the ceiling, toward the galaxy beyond. "And when it does, it'll be too late to stop it. You'll be asking soldiers who've forgotten how to fight to defend cities that forgot how to stand."
Draykor didn't back down. "With all due respect, Commander, the Empire can't live in fear of shadows. You and your team have done incredible work, but the war machine needs to learn to stop turning. You've won. Maybe it's time to act like it."
For the first time, the entire chamber broke into loud conversation. The sound filled the room like a storm.
An aide struck the gavel. "Begin the vote." One by one, holographic lights blinked to life on each desk as the representatives made their choice.
The results appeared on the main display a few seconds later. Proposal Passed, Military Budget Reduced by 10%. Draykor smiled faintly and leaned back in his chair. Around the room, several leaders nodded in approval.
Optimus turned toward Ian. "You don't seem mad." Ian's eyes stayed on the floor display, calm, unreadable. "I'm not. I'm thinking."
Steel frowned. "Thinking about what?" Ian finally looked up. His tone was quiet, but his words carried weight. "If they're comfortable cutting ten percent today, what do you think they'll cut next time? Twenty? Thirty? Once we hit seventy percent, we'll be back where we started, vulnerable, exposed. One more war away from losing everything we built."
The others fell silent. Stark crossed his arms, his voice low. "You think it'll come to that?"
Ian's expression hardened, eyes distant as he stared across the chamber floor where Draykor still smiled, shaking hands with the other delegates. "I don't think," Ian said. "I know."