Chapter 29
AEBON REXX
I’m standing before the war table beneath the Sanctum’s violet lights, the holo-map of the Nine’s territories floating in the center like a malignant star.
My people wait in taut silence—Bruna, Haarvik, Loran, and a few others, each drilled in aggression and loyalty.
But something feels off. I don’t know whether it’s the scent of iron in my nose or the tremor in my fingers.
The comm-alert chimes again—a discreet-coded message from Zyrk, my off-world informant. I don’t let it sit on my suite’s screen.
Serenely, I open it to reveal the text: Final move: termination. Not test. They prepare to extinguish you. The words shine in deadly clarity against the holo-dust.
Silence settles like ice.
I press my lips closed. My jaw tightens as I slide the file to the center of the table. The holo-map dims and reroutes data lines—Nar’Vosk remnants, Nine contact points, forbidden zones.
“Final move,” I murmur.
Bruna steps forward. “That’s an execution order?”
I press my palm onto the table, steadying myself against the rising storm of adrenaline. “They’re not testing anymore. They’re ending.”
Haarvik exhales. “We expected something, but not this.”
Loran’s eyes narrow. “If they kill you...”
I watch their unspoken question hover. This is the moment I’ve fought ghosts to avoid. The Nine were our puppet masters until now—but if they decide to cut the thread, everything unravels.
My hand clenches. I have more to lose. Goldwin. Aria. Everything we built.
I clear my throat. “Get squads alert. Sentinel positions. Nonlethal and lethal readiness.” I pause as I swallow the weight of execution. “But,” I add quietly, “don’t act until I say.”
They nod. They understand what’s unsaid.
Later, I slip into the penthouse. The Sanctum war table stays behind. Now there’s only moonlight and the hum of the night city. Aria steps away from the window to meet me.
Her brow furrows, the stale scent of lavender wafting. She raises a brow. “What did Zyrk report?”
My chest pulses. I breathe deep. “Final move. The Nine aren’t testing any longer.”
Her stance stiffens. She reaches out and takes my hand—cool, firm.
I don’t flinch. “I convened a war council.”
She studies me, voice soft but all pulse. “And?”
I step toward her, heart thudding against rib. “I hesitated.”
Her jaw tightens. “Why? That’s not like you.”
I release her hand and pace the length of the living chamber. Neon glints on the reinforced glass. “I’m afraid.”
She stares with no pity, just understanding. “Good. You should be.”
I stop at the balcony arch. The night air is crisp, making my neck prickle. I stare out at Goldwin’s neon arteries flowing beneath us. I whisper, “I’ve more to lose now.”
She follows, wrapping an arm around my waist. “You’re not alone.”
I press forward, gaze locked on swirling lights. “If they execute me—the Sect implodes. All control unravels. Without me, everything falls.”
She cups my chest over my shirt. “But with you, they won’t.” Her voice is a clarion of steel.
I turn and face her. The moonlight traces her cheekbones. I press my forehead to hers. “Protect the empire if I fall.”
She swallows. “You protect the empire with me.”
Next morning, the war council reconvenes. The war table room is colder. The holo-map pulses ominously. The Nine’s notification still blinks.
I rise, voice unsteady but deliberate. “They’re coming for me. A takedown. Not a test.”
Bruna inhales. “We predicted this—”
“Not like this.” My voice catches. “They think they can remove me—done.”
Murmurs ripple.
I continue. “I need options.” My eyes sweep across them. “Defense—public and private. Disinformation. Contracts. Diplomatic deterrents. But if this goes public—I need a face to reassure the city.”
They look at Aria.
I nod slowly. “You.”
She flinches at first, then stands straighter. “What do you need me to do?”
I take a breath. “Be my equal on the stage. Present evidence, reassure allies. Show Goldwin it’s not just me they threaten—it’s everyone we built.”
Haarvik hums. “Public posture, strong.”
Loran steps forward. “We’ll launch informational countermeasures to muddy the Nine’s channels.”
Bruna adds: “And covert teams will relocate high-profile assets—people, data, even weapons—out of Nine reach.”
I nod. Relief floods—fear becomes fuel. “We move on my count.”
That evening, I walk Aria to the balcony before the public address. City lights dance below. The night is calm— deviously peaceful, like the belly of a storm.
She leans in. “You’ll do this.”
My voice is low. “For them. For us.”
She nods, heart brave. “I’ll stand beside you.”
She kisses me, and I feel a spark—it’s defiance alight against the dark.
We stand united, side by side, preparing for the Ninth’s final strike. If they want to remove me, they’ll have to go through her too.
As dawn flickers violet on the horizon, we step inside. The Empire is worth fighting for—and together, we’ll prove we’re unbreakable.
Because I’m no longer a lonely godfather. I’m a leader with an equal, and together, we’ll challenge extinction—and win.
The stars aren’t right.
That’s the first thing I feel as I step out onto the north observation deck of the Centauri compound—something off in the air, in the texture of the sky itself. It’s not just the low hum of the defense grids or the faint ozone tingle crawling across my skin like ghost fingers. It’s deeper. Primal.
A warning sung straight into the marrow.
I scan the horizon. Goldwin glows beneath us, a nest of lights and sin pulsing in time with its own dark heart. But overhead—where stars should be sharp and indifferent—there’s movement. Wrong movement.
“They’re falling early,” Aria mutters beside me.
I turn. She’s dressed in matte black armor, no insignia, her blonde hair braided back tight. No makeup. No pretense. Just the edge of her jawline catching the light, the holster at her hip thrumming faintly with charge. Her eyes are locked on the sky. Green. Electric. Scanning.
“The meteor shower wasn’t due for another seven minutes,” she adds, voice low. “These trajectories… they’re not orbital drift.”
I watch them now—brilliant arcs of white and gold, too fast, too clustered. Too controlled.
“No,” I say quietly. “They’re not.”
She lifts her wristpad. “Triggering internal lockdown.”
“Don’t.”
Her head snaps toward me. “What?”
“They want that. Full seal gives them shadows. Gives them silence. We need noise. Motion. Witnesses.”
Her jaw clenches. “This isn’t some nightclub ambush, Aebon.”
“No. It’s worse.” I reach up, unclip the restraint bands on my sleeves. Let my bone spurs slide free with a faint hiss, ivory catching the ambient light. “This is a ghost op.”
She goes still. “The Nine?”
I nod once. “And they’re not here for systems. They’re here for us.”
There’s a beat of silence so thick it hums between our teeth. Then the sky tears open.
It doesn’t explode—no flash, no concussive scream. Just... a ripple. A soft distortion, like water disturbed from beneath. And out of it, shapes fall.
Ten. Fifteen. Maybe more.
Black suits. No lights. No sound. Each one a silhouette of death stitched from void and vengeance. They hit the compound with impossible precision—sliding through perimeter barriers like mist, folding into crevices like shadows, flowing toward the main structure.
I move first.
“Ground level’s already compromised,” I snarl, dragging Aria back from the ledge. “Northwest wing’s fallback.”
“I’m not retreating,” she snaps.
“It’s not retreat. It’s flanking. Now move.”
We don’t run. We descend—two silent blurs moving through the inner halls of the Centauri safehouse. Civilians are already being routed through emergency protocols. I can hear it in the distant shuffle of bodies, the bark of security commands, the whirr of drones mobilizing overhead.
“They’re splitting us up,” Aria growls, voice taut as wire.
“They want us isolated.”
I lead her into the access corridor behind the secure server room—a concrete throat lined with frost-coated pipes and dull, flickering lights. The air smells like coolant and panic.
Then we hear it.
A breath.
Just one.
Soft.
Too soft.
We spin at the same time, weapons raised.
She fires first. A searing bolt of violet crashes into the wall—missing the cloaked assassin by inches. He flickers into view, crouched low, blade already mid-swing.
I lunge.
He’s fast. Faster than anything outside Reaper-born training should be. He twists under my strike, blade kissing my ribs, but I catch his wrist with a spur and twist until something snaps. He grunts, tries to retreat, but Aria’s already there—her shock baton slamming into his throat.
He seizes. Drops.
No time to breathe.
Three more come in through the ceiling vent—silent, precise. The first two rush Aria. I intercept the third. My glaive unfolds in my grip like a promise. We clash in the narrow corridor, sparks and bone and steel turning the world into a screaming blur of motion.
I take a cut to my thigh.
Another across my shoulder.
But I don’t slow.
I drive the glaive through the assassin’s chest, twisting as I slam him into the concrete. He twitches once, then goes still.
I turn—and my blood runs cold.
One of them’s got Aria by the throat.
She’s struggling—boot kicking, elbow jamming backward, but he’s strong. Augmented. His blade is rising—
I don’t think.
I throw myself between them.
Pain.
White-hot.
The blade punches into my side—just above the hip, between the ribs. It sinks deep. Too deep. My breath stutters. My vision flares white.
But I don’t stop.
I wrap one arm around the bastard’s neck and drag him back, pinning him to the wall with my full weight. He struggles. I drive my elbow into his temple. Once. Twice. Until he slumps.
And then I’m falling.
The world tilts.
Aria catches me.
“Aebon!”
Her voice is sharp, breaking. I feel her hands—warm, shaking—pressed to my side. Blood pulses between her fingers. My blood.
Gods, it’s so hot.