Silence lingered inside the Blip like fog refusing to clear. No one dared move. Even the wind brushing along the hull felt afraid.
Eli sat like a statue carved from dawn—glowing, unblinking, and wrapped in a presence far heavier than her frame could explain. Her one hand rested gently on the arm of her throne, but it might as well have held a kingdom's throat.
Her breath came slow. Controlled. But the air around her shimmered faintly with tension. Like glass stretched thin just before a shatter.
The crew said nothing. They understood that divine silence was more dangerous than divine fury.
She kept thinking of Irene.
the Prime.
the myth.
The child.
There had been a time, years ago, when Irene followed Eli like a shadow that hadn't learned to be separate. She never asked for affection. Never demanded praise. She only watched. And when the world threatened Eli—even in training—Irene would move.
Quiet.
Precise.
