The silence in the briefing room was thick with unspoken goodbyes. They had crashed. They were stranded. Their enemy was a being that could turn off their ship with a wave of its hand. By all logical measures, the fight was already over.
But the crew of the Odyssey had never been very good at listening to logic when it told them to give up.
Outside, the First Herald did not press its attack. It did not send its army of the Silenced to storm their crashed ship. It didn't even seem to be paying attention to them anymore.
It had simply turned its back on them and returned to its work, calmly overseeing the final stages of construction on the giant, black Anchor of Silence. Its confidence was absolute. In its mind, they were no longer a threat; they were just a final, messy footnote in a story that was already finished.
This calm, dismissive arrogance was the only mistake it had made.
