The General Assembly Hall of the United Nations, usually a cacophony of translated speeches and diplomatic rustling, was frozen in a silence so profound one could hear the hum of the overhead lights. Every seat was filled. Delegates from nations that had voted 'Yes', 'No', and 'Abstain' sat shoulder-to-shoulder, their eyes fixed on the single figure standing at the polished lectern. The global media, their cameras broadcasting the scene live to billions, focused intently, sensing a historical pivot point.
Lysander Ravencroft did not look like a being delivering an ultimatum. He looked like a historian presenting an inconvenient truth. Dressed in a impeccably tailored suit that whispered of old-world tailoring, he stood with a relaxed authority that seemed to make the very architecture of the room feel temporary.
