The briefing in the Sanctuary's tactical chamber was grim. The data Sophia had recovered from the mole's final transmission painted a terrifying picture of General Adler's capabilities.
"His 'Hive Queen' isn't just a weapon," Sophia explained, her voice tight, a holographic model of Anna's cybernetically-augmented brain floating between them. "It's a broadcast tower. He's weaponized a unique psychic frequency. He doesn't just command the Aberrants; he is them. Their thoughts, their rage, their hunger—it's all an extension of his own will. On that battlefield, his mind will be everywhere at once."
A heavy silence settled over the Council. They had soldiers, mechs, and powers of their own. But how could they fight an enemy who was the battlefield itself?
"We must fight a mind with a mind," Amira Khan said, her voice a quiet but unbreakable point of calm in the storm of their fear. "A king's ambition must be met with a queen's authority."
Her decision was made. For weeks, she had communed with the spirits of warriors and priests, learning their secrets, honing her own psychic senses. But there was one spirit in the deep tomb she had never dared to fully embrace. The most powerful, most arrogant, and most dangerous of them all. The spirit of the great king himself: Ramesses II.
In the deepest, most sacred chamber of the tomb, a place no one but her was permitted to enter, Amira knelt before the king's sarcophagus. She did not ask for his power. She offered a challenge.
She opened her mind, and the spirit of the pharaoh, a presence as vast and commanding as the desert sky, descended upon her. She was no longer in the tomb. She was on the sun-scorched plains of Kadesh, the thunder of ten thousand chariots in her ears.
The king's voice was not a sound, but a force of nature in her soul. YOU SEEK MY POWER, LITTLE ORACLE. BUT DO YOU POSSESS THE WILL OF A RULER?
He showed her a vision of the battle to come. A tide of monstrous Aberrants, their eyes glowing with a single, unified intelligence, overwhelming the Coalition's forces. He showed her the power she could wield—the power to seize control of that hive mind, to turn Adler's own army against him, to crush him with his own living weapons. TAKE MY POWER, AND YOU CAN END THIS WAR. YOU CAN BECOME THEIR NEW QUEEN. YOU CAN BRING THIS CHAOTIC WORLD TO HEEL UNDER A SINGLE, DIVINE WILL. YOUR WILL. THIS IS THE WAY OF THE KING. THE WAY OF POWER.
It was a seductive, intoxicating promise. The power to end all conflict, to impose a perfect, ordered peace upon a broken world. She felt the temptation, the allure of absolute control.
But she also saw the price. She saw the faces of her friends—Lin Feng, Jack, Sophia—their own free will extinguished, their unique, chaotic brilliance replaced by a placid, mindless obedience.
Amira, standing in the heart of the psychic storm, gave her answer. "I am not a conqueror," she said, her own voice a quiet but unbreakable shield against the king's psychic roar. "I am a guardian. I do not seek to rule the free will of others. I seek only to protect it."
A WEAK AND FOOLISH CHOICE, the king's mind thundered.
"No," Amira countered. "It is the only choice. To protect one's people is the duty of a ruler. To enslave them is the act of a tyrant. That is the difference between a kingdom and a cage."
For a long, silent moment, the two wills, the ancient king and the modern scholar, were locked in a silent, spiritual battle.
Then, the psychic storm subsided. The vision of Kadesh faded. A new feeling washed over her. Not of a command given, but of a respect earned. VERY WELL, GUARDIAN, Ramesses's voice whispered, the arrogance replaced by a grudging approval. YOU HAVE REFUSED MY CROWN. BUT YOU HAVE PROVEN YOURSELF WORTHY OF MY SHIELD.
Amira gasped as a new power, a new understanding, flooded her being. It was not the power to command. It was the power to inspire.
She returned to the tactical chamber, her presence subtly but undeniably changed. A quiet, unshakable authority now radiated from her. The Council fell silent as she entered.
"Adler's power is to command the unwilling," she said, her voice calm and clear. "Mine will be to strengthen the willing."
As she spoke, a faint, golden aura, invisible to the eye but palpable to the soul, began to emanate from her, filling the room. The other members of the Council felt it instantly. The gnawing anxiety in their hearts lessened, replaced by a surge of calm, focused resolve. Their own powers, their own energies, seemed to resonate with hers, burning a fraction brighter, feeling a fraction sharper.
It was not a weapon. It was an anthem. The King's Domain. A field of pure, psychic authority that would be a beacon of hope for her allies and a soul-crushing wave of doubt for her enemies. She had not become a weapon. She had become a queen. She had reached her A-Class.