Scene One – The Dispute
The throne chamber of the Obsidian Citadel was carved from black stone, lit by columns of molten light that pulsed from the core of Mars. Guards stood along the walls, their halberds gleaming with etched runes. At the center, seated on his towering throne, King Leonard leaned forward, his massive frame cloaked in war armor. His eyes burned with hunger, not for food or drink, but conquest.
Before him stood Veronica, her posture proud, chin lifted, though her hands trembled slightly at her sides. The echoes of her father's decree still clung to the chamber walls.
"Eight hundred warships," Leonard growled, his voice carrying the weight of command. "We launch within the cycle. Earth will fall beneath our iron."
The guards slammed their halberds in unison, affirming his words. But Veronica did not bow. Instead, she stepped forward.
"Father, this is madness," she said, her tone calm but firm. "You are rushing into war without securing our future. The Nexus-Born are stirring. Our borders are unstable. The guilds on Earth are not fractured anymore—they are stronger than ever. If you attack now, without a strategy beyond brute force, you risk bleeding our empire dry."
Leonard's eyes snapped to her, the chamber falling silent. "You dare question me, child?"
"Not as your child," Veronica replied steadily, "but as your general. I have marched with your armies, seen the cost of your victories. You think eight hundred ships guarantee triumph. I say they guarantee exhaustion. If Earth resists—and they will—what happens when the war drags on? What happens when we lose thousands of soldiers for your pride?"
Leonard rose from his throne in one swift, thunderous motion. His cape snapped behind him like the wings of a predator. He descended the steps, his shadow stretching long across the black stone floor.
"You presume to lecture me on war?" His voice rose, sharp and unyielding. "I crushed the Sentinels. I burned the Martian traitors. I forged this empire from ash while you were still clinging to your nursemaid's arms. You know nothing of war."
Veronica's jaw tightened, but she did not step back. "I know enough to see the cracks in your judgment. You're not planning. You're hungering. This is not conquest—it is desperation."
Gasps rippled among the guards, but Leonard's eyes only grew darker, like a storm pulling the air from the room. His hand shot out, gripping her chin so tightly she winced.
"Careful, daughter. Do not mistake my patience for weakness. You live because you are blood, but even blood can be spilled if it poisons the chalice."
Her eyes locked with his, sharp as blades. "Then spill it. Better my blood than the blood of thousands who march into death for your vanity."
The silence after her words was suffocating. Leonard's chest heaved, rage trembling through his arms. But at last, with a low growl, he shoved her back. Veronica staggered but caught herself, standing tall despite the sting in her jaw.
"Leave," Leonard thundered. "Before I forget you are mine."
The guards' halberds shifted, half in hesitation, half in anticipation. Veronica's gaze swept the room once, burning each of their eyes into her memory, before turning sharply on her heel. Her boots echoed on the obsidian floor as she stormed out, the chamber doors slamming shut behind her.
Behind her, Leonard returned to his throne, muttering to himself. "They will see. Earth will burn. And no daughter's defiance will stand in my way."
But Veronica's words lingered like cracks in the black stone walls.
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Scene Two – Veronica's Reflection
The corridors of the Citadel swallowed Veronica in silence as she walked, her fists clenched at her sides. The anger on her face did not fade, but beneath it, another fire had begun to spark.
She entered her private chambers, the heavy door sealing behind her. The moment she was alone, the mask slipped. She pressed a hand against her chest, her breath trembling. For all her defiance, the fear of facing her father still gnawed at her ribs. His power was suffocating, his will absolute. But the fear was now secondary to something else.
Resolve.
She crossed to the balcony, overlooking the burning fields of Mars. From here, the Obsidian fleet stretched into the skies, warships like black daggers piercing the horizon. They gleamed with menace, a symbol of her father's relentless appetite. Yet to her, they looked fragile—eggs in a nest, ready to be shattered if struck by the wrong predator.
"Eight hundred ships," she murmured bitterly. "And not a plan among them."
She gripped the railing, the metal biting into her palms. Images of Earth flickered in her mind. Not as her father saw it, a prize to be claimed, but as a threat underestimated. Katherine, Jeremiah, Marcus, Lyra… names whispered in Obsidian war councils. Names her father dismissed. But she had studied them. She had seen the reports. They were not pawns. They were players. And they would not fall as easily as he imagined.
Her reflection caught her in the obsidian glass of the balcony doors. She stared at herself—her dark hair, her sharp eyes, the blood of Leonard running through her veins. And for the first time, she whispered the thought that had been haunting her since their dispute.
"He is no longer fit to rule."
The words hung heavy in the air. Dangerous words. Treasonous words. But freeing all the same.
Her mind raced. She thought of the soldiers who followed her on campaign, the ones who respected her discipline more than her father's brutality. She thought of the generals who whispered in shadows about Leonard's reckless hunger. And she thought of her mother, locked away, silenced for daring to oppose the king.
The pieces were there. The cracks were forming. All she needed was to step into them.
Veronica paced her chambers, the fire in her chest building. "If he leads this war, the empire crumbles. He will bleed us into ruin. If Mars is to survive, if the Obsidian throne is to endure, it must be mine."
The finality of her words sent a chill across her skin, but she did not flinch. She was her father's daughter, but she would not be his shadow. She would be his end.
She turned back to the balcony, gazing out at the fleet. "You wanted to burn Earth, father," she whispered. "But when this is over, it will be Mars that remembers me. Veronica, not Leonard. Queen, not daughter."
In the distance, thunder rolled across the Martian skies—not of storms, but of war engines awakening. And in the silence of her chamber, Veronica made her vow.
She would take the throne.
Not for pride. Not for conquest. But because Leonard's reign had to end.
And she would be the one to end it.