(Planet Batuk, Leo's POV)
The line went dead, leaving Leo staring at the faint glow of the crystal in his palm, his reflection warped across its surface, his pulse thundering in his ears as if the world itself had stopped moving.
The silence that followed was heavier than any battlefield roar, heavier than the clash of armies or the crack of steel, for it pressed against him until it hurt to breathe.
Charles's words replayed, every syllable a hammer striking the same place inside his ribs.
'Two hundred thousand ships.'
'Five Monarchs. One Demi-God.'
'No Soron.'
Each fragment gnawed at him, twisting his insides tighter, until the only thing he could hear was that single request — 'I appoint you as vice-sectmaster now. Activate the Ghost Protocol.'
He clenched his fist around the crystal, the edges biting into his palm, as the weight of responsibility sank in, raw and immovable.
He was in-charge of the Cult now.
