Orion stood on the edge of the command deck with the dark cloth still tied tight over his eyes. His spiritual sense traced the fleet's slow rotation, the steady hum of shield generators, and the quiet breathing of the crew. The staging zone felt calm, but the tension sat heavy in the air. The enemy was still hours away. He did not need to watch the screens. He already knew where every ship sat and how much power each line could hold.
A sharp ripple cut through the quiet. Space folded open three paces behind him, and Wukong stepped through without a sound. The ancient god's usual relaxed posture was gone. His shoulders were tight. His breathing was shallow. He did not look at the screens or the fleet. He looked straight at Orion.
Orion kept his hands resting lightly on the console railing. He felt Wukong's spiritual sense brush against him, and he did not try to hide the weight of his own aura. He let it sit there, heavy and still.
