Scene: Eastern Ridge, Entry Point Sigma – 200 Meters from the Drop
POV: General Soren Vask
The wind wouldn't stop screaming, but I'd learned to stop listening to it years ago.
It's the silence of people that bothers me.
And right now?
Eight elite B.A.M-trained shadow hawks—ghosts in their own right—were frozen like statues in a perfect arc around him. No one moved. No one spoke. Even their breathing seemed timed.
Because Chris Blackwood was standing at the edge of the cave like a monument carved by a war god himself.
And they were afraid to approach.
Not because he was armed.
Not because he gave off any direct threat.
But because greatness has weight.
And Chris?
He was heavier than anyone alive.
---
I took a slow step back, not out of fear—just space. Tactical instinct.
If anything jumped off, I'd have his back… like I always had.
And the truth was, no matter how much time passed, no matter how many thrones he abandoned or flames he walked through—
I'd follow him again.
Because I remember what the world looked like before he took control.
And what it looked like after.
And only a fool would choose the former.
---
> "They're watching," I said to him.
He didn't look at me, didn't blink, just let the wind tug at the frayed edge of his coat.
> "I know," he replied. Calm. Like we were discussing breakfast.
> "They're afraid to step closer."
> "They should be."
That made me smile. A tight, warrior's grin.
> "You sure you want to wait out here in the open?" I asked. "Plenty of eyes on us. One sniper with a decent angle could—"
He turned to me then, just for a second, and it shut me up fast.
There was no hesitation in his eyes.
Only calculation.
Only rage… perfectly leashed.
> "I die on my terms," he said. "Not theirs."
> "And if they make a move?"
> "Then I remind them why I never needed an army."
---
Then we both felt it.
The vibration in the ground—barely there, but unmistakable.
I turned eastward and scanned the sky. One second… two…
Then—there it was.
Convoy craft. Royal sigils.
> "She's coming," I said.
He didn't nod. Didn't flinch.
But something in his stance softened—like a man watching a tide return after too long lost at sea.
> "Told you," he muttered.
---
And in that moment, standing beside a king with no crown, no throne, no banner—
I realized something terrifying.
He was more powerful now than ever.
Because now?
Chris Blackwood was a symbol.
And symbols… they don't bleed.
---