Scene: Entry Point Sigma – Convoy Touchdown
POV: General Soren Vask
The snow kicked up violently as the first royal aircraft hovered, turbines roaring against the face of the mountain. It didn't land softly—it descended like judgment.
Fast. Loud. Intentional.
Chris didn't move.
And I didn't blink.
Shadow Hawks remained still, backs straight, weapons slung—but hands close to triggers.
The ramp hissed. Hydraulic groan. And then…
She appeared.
Amara.
Black combat cloak. Full leather ensemble. Hair tied back. Eyes sharp as the blade strapped across her spine.
She didn't step out timidly—she owned the descent, like the mountain bowed for her.
And for a second…
It felt like the world was holding its breath.
Her boots hit snow. The storm answered by falling silent.
She didn't look at the Hawks. Not at me. Not even at the ship as it sealed back up behind her.
Her eyes… only found one thing.
Him.
---
I studied the two of them carefully.
There was a charge in the air—something ancient. Not just power.
Bond.
But also wounds.
Chris didn't move.
She didn't either.
It was like two storms had met in the same sky and refused to break until the other blinked.
Finally… after what felt like hours wrapped in seconds…
She took one step forward.
He took none.
> "You left without a word," she said. No anger. No softness either.
Chris's voice came low, quiet, cutting.
> "I was listening."
> "To what?"
> "The silence… of loyalty."
Amara's lip twitched.
> "And what did you hear?"
He looked at her now—fully.
> "Enough."
---
My grip on my rifle tightened.
Not because I feared blood.
But because when two rulers face each other without protocol, without guards, without lies—
Empires are either reborn… or fall.
---
> "Are you returning to reclaim your throne?" she asked. "Or to bury what's left of it?"
Chris stepped forward, slow, deliberate. Snow shifted under each step like the world knew it was yielding.
> "That depends," he said.
He stopped just before her—face inches from hers.
> "Is my Queen still mine?"
---