The intergalactic chamber shimmered with nervous light.
Dozens of holographic faces floated above their respective consoles—Senators, Elders, Ministers, Commanders—all gathered at President Vos's urgent summons. The topic was dire. And the truth, unbearable.
President Ilaren Vos stood at the center, bathed in cold light, hands clasped tightly behind his back as he addressed the galaxy's highest council.
"Kael Renn has uncovered catastrophic intel. The Black Crown Protocol has been compromised—scrapyard data, old tech, prototypes, secrets we thought buried… now in the hands of pirates."
He exhaled.
"I propose we dismantle the Protocol. Immediately. Before it burns more than just our mistakes."
The chamber's silence broke like glass.
"Treason!" a senator cried.
"We will be exposed!" shouted another.
"If we abandon Black Crown, our deals, our buried past, everything will unravel!"
"This must not happen!"
Then, a voice colder than the void itself cut through the noise:
"We have no choice. Marshal Kael has accessed the Black Crown core. He's become unstable. The Seraphine is a ghost ship with a god at the helm. If we act now—trigger the self-destruct remotely—we end the threat."
That was it. The room pivoted toward conspiracy. The vote to kill Kael Renn was forming—not by justice, but by fear.
Suddenly, the chamber's temperature dropped.
Another feed shimmered into existence.
Not on invitation.
Unbidden. Unstoppable.
From the shadows emerged a tall figure in obsidian regalia—shoulders rigid, silver-threaded cloak trailing like a banner of silence.
Lucifer.
Adrin Renn.
Kael's father.
The former Supreme Executor.
And an Elder.
The chill of judgment crept into every hologram. Even light seemed to bend around his presence.
Lucifer's voice was cold amusement wrapped in menace.
"May I… join your little plan to blow up my son?"
No one answered.
Their silence was answer enough.
Lucifer stepped forward, shadows moving like soldiers around him.
"You think you're clever. That Kael didn't find your precious kill-switch?" His eyes narrowed, mercury sharp. "Do you truly believe pressing that button would only destroy him? Perhaps… perhaps Kael has already rerouted the command. Maybe it's not his ship that would vanish in fire—but this very Senate office."
Shivers ran up spines across star systems.
One senator reached to mute the feed. His panel froze.
Then came another voice.
Soft. Musical. Dangerous.
A woman's voice.
"If I cut the comms right now," she purred behind Lucifer, "you wouldn't need to worry about all this… would you?"
The feed shifted.
Pedra Renn stepped into frame—Kael's mother, regal and wicked, her presence as piercing as a blade wrapped in silk.
The senators froze. The galaxy stood still.
Red lights flickered across the chamber.
"Comms Disruption Detected: Maintenance in Progress – Duration: 5 Seconds."
Just a flicker.
A five-second silence that felt like eternity.
Then it all returned.
A tease.
A cruel tease.
They had tasted isolation. Now they knew they could be cut off. At any moment. Without warning.
Pedra smiled. "Just wanted to test the silence. You seemed to need it."
Lucifer turned back toward the chamber, his voice now razor-clear.
"You want a vote?" he asked, voice laced with mockery. "You want to stall behind procedures, protections, and layers of cowardice?"
He stepped forward into full view.
"I still hold the Elder Seal. Supreme class. Forgotten that, have you?"
Gasps echoed. Faces turned pale.
"That's right. I am still an Elder. And do you remember the override clause? One Elder vote is all that's required for upper-tier protection changes."
He raised his hand.
"I cast it now. For the record. The Black Crown Protocol is hereby terminated. Effective immediately."
No one spoke. No one dared.
Lucifer's eyes gleamed like dying stars.
"One vote is enough, I believe. That's the rule. Upper protection authorization requires a single Elder. And I'm the only one who hasn't betrayed the Federation today."
Vos lowered his head. "Confirmed. Protocol Black Crown is… rescinded."
Lucifer gave one final look to the screen of stunned faces.
"You tried to kill my son."
He turned to Pedra.
"And now you've seen what happens when you draw your blade toward mine."
The comms ended.
And in its echo, the galaxy trembled.
Silence fell like ash after a firestorm.
Every figure in the chamber sat frozen, their pulses pounding like war drums in their ears.
And then, all eyes turned to Senator Tharim Voke—the one who had whispered the idea, had lobbied for the kill switch, the one who called Kael a liability… and volunteered to press the button.
He trembled.
His hands, once so confident on the controls, now shook violently. Beads of sweat streamed down his temples. His lips quivered as if he wanted to speak—an excuse, a lie, anything—but no sound escaped.
He reached for water but couldn't lift the glass. It slipped from his fingers and shattered.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
One of the ministers muttered, "Dead man walking."
Even across lightyears, Lucifer's presence lingered like a phantom hand around his throat.
Senator Voke knew… He had just tried to assassinate the son of Lucifer.
His political power meant nothing now.
He had no planet secure enough. No shield strong enough. No ship fast enough.
He was already living on borrowed time.