The war map shimmered before Admiral Veyric, a sea of shifting stars overlayed with crimson Dominion markers and silver glyphs representing the Coalition. The holo-table glowed cold blue, washing over the gaunt lines of his face.
Behind him, the command deck of the Iron Will buzzed with restrained urgency. Officers whispered reports, tactical models blinked, and the faint hum of the ship's reactor beat like a warning drum.
The Fractured Front
Veyric's hand hovered over the map. Every line, every projected movement revealed the same truth: the Dominion's fleets were stretched too thin. What once was a tide that drowned systems now resembled fractured shards, bleeding strength across contested stars.
"Admiral," one of his captains reported, "Coalition reinforcements have breached the Isareth Corridor. If they hold it, they'll cut us from the core."
Veyric's jaw flexed. So they mean to carve us apart piece by piece.
He had warned the Dominion council this would come — arrogance was a slow poison. While they bickered over spoils, the Coalition forged alliances, armed colonies, and turned resentment into rebellion.
But Veyric was not here to lecture. He was here to win.
The Shadow Intelligence
A shadow detached itself from the far side of the deck. Clad in obsidian armor lined with faint gold, the figure moved without sound.
"Admiral."
Veyric didn't need to look. "You shouldn't be here, Wraith."
The operative inclined his head. "And yet I am. Dominion Command requires your discretion. We've intercepted fragments of transmissions from inside the labyrinth."
At the word, Veyric's gaze sharpened.
The Wraith continued: "Your daughter has entered it. Lyra Solenne and Kaelen Veyr accompany her."
The admiral's chest tightened, though his expression remained a mask of iron. For years, whispers of the Seedbearer had haunted strategy tables and council chambers — but now it had a face. Her face.
"You expect me to believe this?" His voice was calm, dangerous.
The Wraith's helmet glowed faintly with data streams. "Not belief, Admiral. Proof."
Images flickered: Lyra glowing with energy, Kaelen standing beside her, mirrored halls bending around them. The labyrinth itself shifting in their wake.
The Gamble
Veyric dismissed the image with a flick of his hand. His officers were staring, shaken. He dismissed them with a curt gesture until only he and the Wraith remained.
"My daughter… has chosen a dangerous path."
"Which makes her a dangerous asset," the Wraith replied. "The council will demand her capture. But you, Admiral — you may decide her fate before they interfere."
Veyric stood silent for a long moment, the weight of duty pressing against the quiet ache of blood and kinship. Finally, he spoke:
"Prepare the fleet. If the labyrinth is real, it is no battlefield. It is a forge. Whoever emerges will shape the war to come."
The Wraith tilted his head. "And if your daughter stands against you?"
Veyric's eyes narrowed, cold steel glinting beneath the burden of fatherhood.
"Then the galaxy will learn that even blood does not sway an Admiral of the Dominion."
Closing
Beyond the viewport, the stars burned. Fleets moved like predators in the dark, each faction blind to the storm about to break.
In the labyrinth, Lyra and Kaelen struggled through illusions.
On the front lines, the Coalition massed for a desperate strike.
And in the Dominion's heart, Admiral Veyric made his gamble.
The board was set. Soon, no side could retreat.