“This room seems like it hasn’t been used for quite some time,” Harkon remarked as he lowered himself into the chair, its metal frame creaking faintly.
Lyssandra sat across from him with composed grace.
“Yes. We only recently rediscovered it. It seemed fitting for this meeting.”
Celine trailed a fingertip across the table, collecting a faint smear of dust.
“Indeed. It has a certain… rustic charm.”
She showed the speck with a soft smile before brushing it away.
“The Emperor always did love his secrets,” Lucen added, offering a polite half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
The representatives settled opposite Lyssandra, their aides standing alert behind them. What sounded like casual conversation carried the precision of seasoned diplomacy — every word chosen, every gesture measured.
Behind Lyssandra, Survivor and Ilya stood silently.
“Um… is this how meetings go?” Survivor whispered, genuinely puzzled.
Ilya leaned closer. “Think of it as probing the enemy.”
Survivor raised an eyebrow — half humor, half unease.
When Lyssandra rose slightly to begin introductions, both of them mirrored her.
“These are my attending officers,” she said. “Science Officer Ilya Merin and Engineer Specialist Micheal. They will assist with questions regarding the Forgemaster and the Dead Sector.”
Ilya bowed smoothly. Survivor followed — a heartbeat late, subtle but noticeable to anyone watching closely.
Lucen leaned forward, tone even.
“Then let’s address the matter at hand. Is the Forgemaster’s intention to cooperate genuine?”
A weighted silence settled.
“Yes,” Lyssandra said. “He wishes to reconnect with the galaxy and offer assistance.”
Celine crossed one leg over the other, voice smooth but edged.
“His arrival felt less like assistance and more like a declaration. A fleet of that size rarely enters orbit for… conversation.”
Harkon folded his arms.
“Had he brought even one more ship, it would have resembled an invasion.”
“He didn’t understand the weight of his presence,” Lyssandra replied. “But he understands now.”
Behind her, Survivor felt a quiet sting of guilt — sharp but familiar. He kept his expression still.
Ilya’s eyes softened; she had seen that look before.
Lucen continued,
“And how does he intend to assist the galaxy?”
Lyssandra nodded.
“He’s willing to provide medicine, technology, and resources. His goal is to help, not to control.”
Harkon rubbed his chin.
“And we’re expected to believe he only wants to reconnect?”
Lyssandra exhaled slowly.
“My officers can elaborate. Ilya.”
Ilya stepped forward, offering Celine a datapad.
“Please review the medical data he is prepared to share. His advancements exceed ours by several decades.”
She outlined key breakthroughs — regenerative treatments, accelerated tissue repair, cellular stabilization.
As the datapad circulated, reactions shifted from interest to awe. Even the aides leaned closer.
Lucen’s aide murmured, “The value of this is astronomical…”
Celine’s aide whispered, “This could regrow limbs…”
Harkon’s aide muttered, “We could save thousands…”
When the datapad returned, Ilya bowed.
“That concludes what I’m permitted to disclose.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Lyssandra nodded.
“Thank you, Doctor. Officer Micheal.”
Survivor twitched at the alias.
“Uh — right. My turn.”
He stepped forward, stiff but earnest.
“He has a large reserve of raw materials for reconstruction. And he can provide mining and construction capabilities… with minimal risk.”
A faint whisper drifted from the aides:
“Engineer’s nervous…”
Before Survivor could steady himself, Harkon cut in.
“Is he willing to provide armaments?”
Celine followed without missing a beat.
“Or military technology? Anything beyond civilian use?”
Survivor blinked, caught mid-thought.
“Uh… I don’t think so.”
Celine leaned forward slightly.
“Why not? He said he would share.”
Lyssandra stepped in quickly.
“He intends to assist — not to militarize.”
Celine’s voice remained pleasant, but her intent sharpened.
“But advanced military technology would help protect lives.”
Harkon nodded pragmatically.
“We still deal with border threats. Better weapons save lives.”
Celine added lightly,
“Then perhaps he could lend a ship or two for inspection. Purely for analysis.”
Lyssandra felt pressure tightening around her. She drew breath—
Lucen cut in sharply.
“That’s enough. Military matters are questions for the Forgemaster himself.”
Silence sharpened.
Celine relented with a sigh.
“Very well. But another matter — your report claimed you found remnants of the original expedition.”
She let the word settle like a blade.
“Yet when we scanned his fleet, not one additional life signature was present.”
Lyssandra answered quickly.
“His ships are automated. Crew wasn’t required.”
Celine’s eyes narrowed, calculating, but Harkon leaned forward first.
“Then why speak as though there are others,” he asked, “when everything points to only one?”
Behind Lyssandra, Survivor tensed.
His breath hitched.
A faint flicker rippled across his forged projection.
And behind him, a soft swirl of dust drifted upward — caught by something unseen.
Lyssandra opened her mouth… and found no words.
A long, heavy moment passed.
Lucen rose from his chair.
“I believe,” he said gently, “it’s time we ask the man himself.”
Harkon and Celine instinctively stood as well.
Every gaze locked onto Survivor.
Aides whispered in disbelief:
“One person…?”
“No, impossible—”
“Is that—?”
Lucen stepped forward, posture respectful, voice measured.
“Isn’t that right… Sir Forgemaster?”
A deep, complete silence fell.
Survivor stiffened.
His vision tunneled slightly.
The air felt thin.
His throat tightened with memories he wished he could bury.
Ilya shifted as if to shield him, then restrained herself.
Lyssandra exhaled once — controlled, steady — then spoke.
“How long did it take you to figure it out?”
Celine answered first, voice smooth but respectful.
“We suspected early. Your attempt was clever — finer than most political disguises. It simply needed more refinement.”
Harkon nodded.
“A less seasoned delegation would’ve been fooled completely. But the signs were there.”
His eyes met Survivor’s.
“The posture of someone who’s carried far too much for far too long.”
Celine spoke softly.
“And the nerves weren’t inexperience… they were isolation.”
Lyssandra turned to her brother.
Lucen gave a small, sympathetic shrug.
“It took me a minute. He reminded me of Father at first — that quiet heaviness he carried into every council meeting.”
Then his gaze softened further.
“But there was also something older. Like the stories Great-Grandfather Darius used to tell. That same look of a man who has seen more than any person should.”
Lyssandra rose and stood beside Survivor, her presence steadying him.
He whispered weakly, “Sorry for giving it away… so what now?”
She answered softly:
“Now we move to the next step. Together.”
Turning back to the delegation, her voice steadied.
“I apologize for the deception. Allow me to properly introduce the Forgemaster.”
A reverent silence settled.
“This is him,” she said with calm dignity.
“He goes by Survivor.”
