Scene: War Carrier – Mid-Flight Over Delvaron Airspace
Chris's POV
The console lit up.
A direct line—Orvanu Federation.
Expected.
The second the bombs fell and the smoke took shape, the cowards would call. Not to protest. Not to fight.
To negotiate survival.
Amara was debriefing with the second battalion below deck when the call came through. I stood in the war room alone.
I didn't hesitate.
I answered.
The screen cracked into life—President Levan Torell, wrapped in his gray silk tie and quiet terror, appeared. Behind him, a blur of aides moved like bees in a nest on fire.
He froze when he saw me on the other end.
No crown. No robe.
Just war armor.
Just Blackwood.
> "Your Majesty," Torell began cautiously, his voice forced calm. "We were hoping to speak with—"
> "You dialed the throne," I interrupted, stepping closer to the feed. "You got the one who built it."
He swallowed.
> "This—this attack… it was not expected. Not by the global council, and certainly not by Orvanu."
> "That's the point," I said, flatly.
> "Delvaron has always been independent—"
> "Delvaron taxed my cargo. Hacked a Blackwood sat beacon. Sent undercover intel to Nuvex, hoping to 'contain the Empire's expansion.' You think I don't read the cables, Levan?"
He blinked rapidly. Sweated. Squirmed.
> "We never participated in that—"
> "You sat in silence while your allies plotted. Silence is permission."
> "We're willing to open full economic relations—no tariffs. Unconditional support for Blackwood dominion."
> "You think this is about trade?" I asked, chuckling once. "This isn't economics, Mr. President. This is reminder."
I leaned in.
My voice dropped.
> "One empire. One name. One law. The world forgot that when Blackwood is silent, it isn't sleeping. It's counting."
He trembled slightly.
> "So what do you want from us?"
> "Kneel," I said plainly. "Publicly. Nationally. I want your people to chant our name in your streets. I want your soldi