In the boundless darkness of space, a formidable fleet carved its way forward, its sleek vessels slicing through the void with lethal precision.
The lead ship bore an imposing emblem of a blazing sun on its hull, its golden rays seeming to burn through the cold emptiness—a symbol as fearsome as it was awe-inspiring.
Inside the ship's command center, Frederick sat, radiating a quiet but intense focus. A holographic projection of Cohen, standing tall and resolute, flickered before him.
"The situation near Wyrmtrace is deteriorating fast," Cohen reported. "I'm requesting clearance to transfer Lyra to my C30 Division and get her into the field immediately."
In this brutal, unyielding war, victory wasn't just a matter of tactics; it came down to superior tech and the deployment of the strongest Master Peculiars. And the Empire excelled in both.
Frederick's expression didn't waver. "Is that her request?" he asked, his tone flat but probing.
