Unity, Lily quickly learned, was a pretty word for a messy, grinding, and profoundly unstable machine. The Galactic Compact existed on parchment and in the shared psychic horror she had unleashed in the Conclave. Translating that into a functional war machine was another matter entirely.
The strategy atrium in the Vex spire had become the compact's nerve center. It was now crowded with holographic avatars and physical emissaries from a dozen different species, each with their own command protocols, technological incompatibilities, and political agendas. The air was a cacophony of translated arguments.
Zark stood at the central holotable, a map of the known galaxy shimmering above it. Red tendrils, indicating Vrax's suspected influence and fleet movements, spread like a venomous root system from the Fringe towards the core systems. Blue pinpricks, representing Compact forces, were scattered, hesitant, and poorly connected.
"The Typhon Drift Coalition will not commit their leviathan-class carriers to a forward position," announced the ambassador for the gas-giant dwellers, his form a shifting vortex of ammonia clouds within a containment suit. "They are planetary defense vessels. Their doctrine is static."
"And without them, we cannot shield the agricultural worlds in the Vega Belt," snapped the military attaché from the human-colonized Centauri Federation, a stern woman in a crisp grey uniform. "If Vrax cuts off the grain supply, half the Compact's organic populations face famine within cycles."
A silicon-based delegate from the Crystal Wastes emitted a series of grating clicks. "Our war-spheres require precise harmonic frequencies to mobilize. The varied energy signatures of this… collection of forces create disruptive dissonance. We propose all forces recalibrate to our command frequency."
A roar of protest erupted. Zark's hand came down on the table with a controlled but thunderous crack that silenced the room. His energy field, usually contained, flared for a moment—a brilliant, intimidating burst of silver-white light.
"Enough." His voice was low, but it carried the weight of stars. "We are not here to debate doctrine or frequency. We are here to coordinate annihilation. Vrax does not care about your traditions or your territorial pride. He will turn your worlds to dust and your people into echoes. The Typhon carriers will deploy to the Vega Belt. The Crystal war-spheres will find a compatible harmonic or they will be left behind as target practice. Is that understood?"
It was the voice of the CEO, the Overseer, the Supreme Commander. It brooked no argument. The delegates subsided into sullen, fearful silence. Orders were given, dispatches sent. But as the holograms winked out and the emissaries were led away, Lily felt the cracks forming. The unity was one of fear, not trust. It was brittle.
Later, in their private chambers, the mask fell. Zark paced like a caged panther, the stress he had absorbed from the council radiating from him in almost visible waves. The Veridian Weave hummed with his frustrated, corrosive energy.
"They bicker over frequencies while Vrax forges planet-killers," he growled, pouring himself a measure of a harsh Xylarian spirit. "They see the war as a negotiation, a chance to gain advantage. They do not see the void staring back."
"They're scared," Lily said, her own nerves frayed from a day of mediating petty disputes and sensing the swirling undercurrents of deceit. "And you're scaring them more. You can't just command them into cohesion, Zark. They need to believe in the cause, not just your authority."
He turned on her, his starry eyes blazing. "We do not have time for belief! Every moment spent coddling their insecurities is a moment Vrax uses to build another World-Singer, to corrupt another system. What we need is obedience. Efficiency."
The words struck her like a physical blow. "Obedience? Is that what you need from me too?" The question hung in the air, charged with all the unsaid tensions of the past weeks.
Zark froze. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a pained frustration. "Lily, that is not what I meant."
"Isn't it?" She stood, crossing her arms. "You bench me from the tactical planning. You have Kaelen shadow my every public appearance. You flinch every time I suggest using my abilities proactively. After what happened on Aevaria… you see me as a liability to be managed. A fragile piece that might break and lose you the war."
"I see you as the reason for this war!" he erupted, his control snapping. "Vrax's primary target! Every scan, every probe, every hunter-knight he has left is searching for the Conduit! The moment you step onto a battlefield, you become a beacon drawing his full, annihilating force. My strategy depends on keeping you safe, on keeping you here, where our defenses are strongest!"
"Your strategy depends on turning me into a trophy in a vault!" she shot back, hot tears of frustration springing to her eyes. "I am not a symbol to be protected, Zark! I am a part of this! The Weave is our strength, but you're trying to use it to tether me to this spire while you fight our war!"
"It is not our war to fight in the same way!" He was in front of her now, his hands gripping her shoulders, not to hurt, but to impress the raw, terrifying depth of his fear. "You are human. Your biology, your neurology—it is miraculous, but it is fragile. The psychic feedback from the Conduit abilities, the strain of the Weave under combat stress… I have run the simulations, Lily. The probability of neural cascade failure if you are subjected to a direct, focused attack is over 40%. I cannot… I will not risk that."
He was protecting her out of love, but it felt like a prison. She saw the logic, the cold, horrifying math of it in his mind through the Weave. But she also felt the stifling weight of his fear, smothering her own agency.
"So my role is to be your weakness," she whispered, pulling away from his grasp. "The one thing Vrax can use to hurt you. That's what you've reduced me to. Not a partner. A vulnerability."
The hurt in his eyes was profound. "You are my everything. That is not a reduction. It is the core of the problem. In love, there is always a vulnerability. In war, that vulnerability must be secured."
"By locking it away?" She shook her head, the diamonds he'd given her—the pieces of her world—catching the light. "That's not securing it. That's admitting defeat. The Veridian Weave was supposed to make us stronger together. But you're using it to feel when I'm in danger so you can pull me back, not so we can push forward together."
The argument spiraled, old wounds and new fears mixing. He accused her of human recklessness, of not understanding the scale of cosmic warfare. She accused him of Xylarian coldness, of treating their bond as a command-and-control network. The Weave, which usually carried their harmony, now thrummed with the discordant feedback of their clash, amplifying the hurt, making every word cut deeper.
It ended not with a resolution, but with a shattered silence. Lily retreated to the observatory, staring at the stars she once loved with a hollow ache. Zark remained in the strategy room, his head in his hands, the weight of a galaxy and a fractured heart bowing his shoulders.
The fracture within was not mended that night. It was papered over by necessity. The next morning, a critical report came in. Vrax's forces had been sighted near the Serenity Prime nexus, a hub of refugee worlds. A major battle was imminent. The Compact's fragmented fleet needed a unifying command presence.
Zark, as Supreme Commander, had to go. And he refused, point-blank, to let Lily come to what would be the war's first true battle.
"It's a trap. Serenity Prime is a symbol. He's baiting us," Zark stated, his face an emotionless mask. "You will remain here with Elara. That is an order."
The word 'order' was the final stone in the wall between them. Lily didn't fight it. She just looked at him, the connection in the Weave feeling thin and strained. "Then go win your war, Commander."
As he departed for the command ship, the distance between them—physical and emotional—opened like a wound in the fabric of their bond. The Veridian Weave still connected them, a taut, aching thread stretched across the stars. It carried no warmth now, only a chilling echo of their anger and a terrifying, shared loneliness.
The Sentinel was going to war to protect the galaxy, and in doing so, he had left his Conduit feeling more alone and weaponized than ever before. The enemy was at the gates, but the most dangerous fracture was now inside the fortress, threatening the very foundation of their power.