Lyra hit the battlefield like an apocalypse.
With the Stellar Devourers no longer in her path, she became an unstoppable force, carving through enemy ranks like a scythe through a brittle straw.
Every swing of her blade, every burst of power, left devastation in her wake.
By the time yet another Empire general crumpled at her feet, Admiral Barret could barely contain his fury.
"Retreat!" he snarled, his voice cutting through the chaos.
The fleet scrambled to obey, retreating over a hundred miles to lick their wounds.
Inside the Empire's command ship, the tension was palpable.
Barret stormed into the medical ward like a thunderstorm ready to unload. His voice shattered the uneasy silence, booming across the sterile hall.
"Ian! You'd better have a damn good excuse for this disaster!"
In one of the advanced healing pods, Ian lay slouched and pale, his face a ghostly mask of pain.
