The silence in the Argosy's command nexus was a physical presence, thick with the dust of a murdered moon and the psychic echo of a silenced song. Zark stood before the main display, his back rigid. On the screen, the tactical overlay showed the Vael system. The glittering debris field of the third moon was expanding, a permanent scar on the cosmos. The primary Vrax dreadnought, a monstrous, angular vessel dubbed the Silence, hung amidst its smaller hunter-ships, its World-Singer weapon glowing with a sullen, residual violet light as it recharged.
Lily sat nearby, the Aevarian Seed cradled in a containment field beside her. She felt hollowed out. The profound gift of the Song was a weight in her soul, and the memory of the null-wave's touch—the feeling of her very self trying to unravel—was a cold knot in her gut. Through the Veridian Weave, she felt Zark's rage, a cold, supernova core burning beneath his icy calm. But she also felt his fear, a sharp, silver thread aimed at her. He had seen the wave try to erase her.
"He was not just testing the weapon's destructive yield," Zark finally said, his voice clipped. "He was calibrating it for psychic harvesting. The petrified Aevarian network was a perfect conductor. He turned a planet's death scream into a tool for theft. He wanted to strip the Seed's essence remotely. Our interference forced his hand."
"He didn't expect the Tree to give me its last energy," Lily said, her voice raspy. "He didn't expect us to be a variable." She looked at the Seed. "This… this isn't just a biological backup. It's a civilization's soul. And he sees it as a battery."
Kaelen's face appeared on a comm-screen, his features taut. "Argosy damage is minimal. We took a few potshots disengaging, but their focus was on the moon, not us. Long-range scans show the Silence is not pursuing. It's holding position."
"He's done," Zark stated, a dangerous edge in his tone. "He has proven his weapon works on both a physical and metaphysical level. He has shown us he can unmake moons and harvest souls. This system was his laboratory, and we were his live subjects. The experiment is concluded. He is now ready for mass production and deployment."
The reality of it settled over them. Vrax wasn't hiding. He was advertising.
"We have to warn everyone," Lily said, standing. The motion made her head swim. "The Compact, the Council, every species in the trade lanes. This changes everything."
"Warning is not enough," Zark replied, turning to face her. His starry eyes were hard. "A warning without a unified response is just spreading panic. The Aevarian system was beyond Compact jurisdiction, in the lawless Fringe. Many will say Vrax was tidying up a dead zone. They will dismiss the 'psychic nullification' as poetic hyperbole from a… sensitive human."
He didn't say it to be cruel. He was mapping the political battlefield, and Lily's humanity, her Conduit empathy, was a vulnerability their enemies would exploit.
"So we show them," Lily insisted, fire returning to her voice. She gestured to the sensor logs. "We have the data. The stellar poisoning, the Shatterpoint scars on the World-Tree, the weapon signature. And we have this." She placed a hand on the containment field. The Seed pulsed gently. "A witness. A living memory of his crime."
Zark considered her, then nodded slowly. "We return to Xylar. We call a full convocation of the Galactic Trade Council and every signatory of the nascent Compact. We present the evidence. And we do not ask for a debate. We demand a declaration of war."
The journey back was a tense, somber mirror of their outbound voyage. The Argosy hummed with repair drones and intensified tactical drills. Lily spent hours in the Resonance Atrium, not training for subtle persuasion, but for something new: projection. Guided by Zark and the lingering imprint of the Aevarian Song within her, she practiced channeling raw sensory and emotional data—not just her own, but the recorded echoes from Aevaria. She learned to hold the horror of the null-wave and the beauty of the lost Song as two contrasting energy signatures, preparing to weaponize the truth.
Zark, meanwhile, was a storm contained in the strategy holosuites. He plotted fleet movements, resource allocations, and diplomatic plays with a ferocious intensity Lily had never seen. The loving partner was submerged beneath the wartime commander. The Veridian Weave hummed with the strain of his strategic burden, a constant torrent of logistics and lethal calculus that she had to consciously filter out to maintain her own center.
They dropped out of quantum near Xylar to a storm of another kind. News of their unsanctioned mission to the Fringe had leaked. The channels were flooded with speculation. Vrax's propaganda engine, still active, spun a tale of House Vex aggression—claiming Zark had provoked an incident to seize resources in the chaotic Rim. The terms "unstable Consort" and "emotional warmongering" were trending in certain media spheres.
Elara met them in the private hangar, her composure looking frayed for the first time. "The political capital we built with the Trial is evaporating," she said without preamble, falling into step beside them as they moved toward the spire. "The Merchant Guild is balking. House Kor is demanding 'clarification.' You have one chance to turn this around: the Council convocation in two days. Fail to convince them, and the Compact dies in its cradle. We become isolationists, and Vrax picks the galaxy apart at his leisure."
The convocation was held not in the formal Council chamber, but in the Grand Conclave, a vast amphitheater capable of hosting delegates from hundreds of species. The air buzzed with the clicks, hums, and telepathic static of a thousand different forms of communication. The sense of suspicion and fear was palpable.
Zark took the central podium, a figure of imposing authority. He was flawless, logical, and brutal in his presentation. He displayed the sensor logs, the forensic analysis of the stellar poisoning, the energy signatures matching Vrax's known fleet. He laid out the threat of the World-Singer with cold, dispassionate clarity. He was the CEO presenting a competitor's hostile takeover bid.
And it wasn't enough. Lily watched from the Vex tier, her perception alight. She saw the energy fields of the delegates: flickers of alarm (sharp yellow) drowned out by waves of skepticism (muddy brown), self-interest (greedy copper), and outright denial (defensive grey). The representative from the Resource Guild questioned the data's provenance. The ambassador from the neutral Pleiades Cluster argued for diplomatic overtures, suggesting Vrax could be reasoned with. A hydra-headed delegate from the Mercantile League pointedly asked if this was merely a pretext for House Vex to militarize and dominate trade routes.
Zark's arguments, perfect and logical, were crashing against the walls of fear, greed, and short-sightedness. The unity they needed was crumbling before it could form.
Then, the delegate from Vrax's own (now crumbling) alliance, a sleek, reptilian being, stood. "This is a compelling fiction," it hissed. "But it is built on the emotional testimony of a single, primitive being. The so-called 'Conduit.' Where is her evidence of this… psychic harvesting? Where is the suffering you claim justifies galactic war? Or is this just a human's overactive imagination, amplified by an unnatural bond?"
The chamber's attention swung to Lily. It was the opening she both dreaded and needed.
She stood. She did not go to the podium. She walked down to the center of the Conclave floor, stopping beside Zark. She felt the weight of every gaze, every sensor. She looked at Zark, and through the Weave, she sent a single, clear thought: Trust me.
He gave an almost imperceptible nod, his own energy field pulling back to become a steady, supportive foundation for hers.
Lily closed her eyes. She reached for the Aevarian Song within her, not as a memory, but as a living current. Then, she reached for the recorded echo of the null-wave, the scream of the dissolving moon. She did not broadcast words. She used the Veridian Weave as a conduit and her Conduit abilities as a lens. She projected.
A wave of pure, unmediated experience washed over the Conclave.
The delegates did not hear about the beauty of Aevaria; for a three-second burst, they felt the joyous, interconnected harmony of a world in bloom. They felt the photosynthesis, the root-song, the collective dream.
Then, she slammed them with the null-wave.
It was a carefully controlled, fractional echo of the true horror. But it was enough. The sensation of unmaking, of music turning to silence, of consciousness dissolving into nothingness, hit them. It was not an intellectual concept. It was a psychic trauma.
Throughout the vast chamber, beings recoiled. Crystalline delegates chimed in distress. Gas-form beings roiled. Humanoids cried out or clutched their heads. The reptilian skeptic stumbled back, its forked tongue darting out in panic.
Lily cut the connection instantly, sagging slightly. Zark's hand was at her elbow, holding her up, pouring energy into her.
The silence that followed was of a different quality—stunned, horrified, visceral.
Her voice, when she spoke, was quiet but carried to every corner. "That," she said, panting slightly, "was less than one percent of what the last living Aevarian felt when Vrax fired his weapon. He does not want your resources or your allegiance. He believes in silence. He believes in the end of song. And if we do not stand together, he will unmake your worlds, one by one, and use the echo of your death to power his next atrocity."
She had not presented evidence. She had conducted a shared nightmare.
When the vote was called, it was no longer a debate about politics or profit. It was a referendum on survival. The Galactic Compact was ratified, with emergency wartime powers granted. Zark was named Supreme Commander of the Combined Fleets.
As they left the Conclave, the weight of command now officially his, Zark looked at Lily, his starry eyes wide with a mix of awe and terror. "What you did… it was a violation. A profound psychic intrusion."
"It was necessary," Lily said, her own hands still trembling. "They needed to feel it to believe it."
"You have given us our alliance," he said, pulling her into a private alcove. His touch was urgent. "But you have also painted the largest target in the universe on your back. Vrax now knows, without a doubt, that you are the Conduit. And he knows you can make the galaxy feel his crimes. You have become his primary strategic objective."
The victory was complete. The war was officially declared. But in winning the galaxy, they had placed the love that bound them at the very center of the crossfire. The proving grounds had tested Vrax's weapon, but they had also proven the terrifying, unifying power of the Veridian Weave. Now, that power would draw the enemy's fire like a lightning rod.