Scene: Entry Point Sigma – Seconds After the Shot
POV: Classic Blackwood
I didn't even hear the bullet—just the sound of Amara's scream.
I was halfway out of the craft when I saw it.
My father…
Chris Blackwood.
Down on one knee.
His hand clutched his chest, crimson soaking through his coat like ink spilled across history.
And then—
He shut his eyes.
No.
No no no no.
I jumped off the ramp before the guards could stop me.
Snow crunched under my boots as I sprinted across the ridge, ignoring the howls of the wind and the roars of the B.A.M. units scattering for cover, guns up, scanning for the ghost that dared fire on a living god.
I reached them—saw Amara's hands shaking, her fingers pressed so tight to his chest I thought she'd crush the bullet out by force.
> "DAD!"
She didn't look up.
> "He's breathing," she snapped, more to herself than me. "He's still breathing!"
But I saw it.
His eyes were still shut.
His lips slightly parted.
His skin pale beneath the snow.
> "Classic," Amara barked. "Call the damn jet medic—NOW!"
But I didn't move.
I dropped beside him, grabbed his other hand, the one not soaked in blood.
> "Dad," I whispered, "you don't get to do this. You don't get to return and fall before they even face you."
His hand twitched in mine.
Barely.
But enough.
> "You told me power is earned, not inherited," I said through clenched teeth. "Then get up and earn it!"
No response.
Amara glanced at me, her eyes wild—wet. Not with weakness. With fury.
> "Classic," she hissed, "I swear, if he dies—"
> "He's not dying," I snapped. "He's Chris Blackwood."
And then…
His lips moved.
One word.
> "...Amara."
Her hands froze. Her breath hitched. She leaned in.
His eyes opened—barely. Glazed but fierce.
> "I'm... still your King."
---
I exhaled so hard I nearly collapsed. Amara covered her mouth. Not out of fear.
Out of hope.
---
But my hands were still soaked in his blood.
And someone, somewhere, was going to pay for it.
---