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My heart pounds. I knew this was coming. But somehow, there was this feeling, this denial of reality, that maybe it would be okay. That maybe Obsidian would keep to the recesses of wild space, that he would be pressed back by the Aurelian defense, held at a standstill for my natural life.

“How long before Obsidian’s fleets arrive?”

“Uncertain. He’s slowed now, in our borders. He can’t Orb-Shift in our territories freely. Short jumps only, in space not covered by our disruptors.” Gallien cocks his head, listening silently, and I know him well enough to tell he’s communicating telepathically with his battle-brothers. I wait, patiently, and he lets go of the railing, standing to his full height. His eyes narrow.

“The Emperor has decreed our wedding will be tomorrow.”

“Does it give us enough time?”

He nods, and we both glance to the palace, striking white against the black clouds. The white flags are sodden, but they fly straight without wind. Unnatural technology, defying the elements.

Shecan’t hear the storm. Not where she is, deep below, isolated by hundreds of feet of reinforced stone and metal.

At once, the storm hits. Gallien turns, shielding me as he pulls me against his white robes, the clean smell of fresh laundry and the undercurrent of his alien musk that is uniquely his fillingmy nostrils. He lets the wall of rain crash against him, hulking over me as the water drips from him.

“You believe we are fated to be together,” I whisper, as I lean my head against the thick muscle of his chest, the steady beat of his heart in my ear.

“Yes,” he replies, the simple word so certain it should bolster me. It only makes my fear spike. He breathes in, tasting my emotions, and pulls me tighter against his chest, those huge corded biceps wrapping around me.

“Do you ever wonder if there’s another kind of fate? That nothing we can do can stop him, that he’ll sit on the throne of Colossus?”

“No. Nothing is pre-determined. We will stop him before he ever sets foot on Colossus. Not a one of his Reavers will darken the sky.”

I pull away from Gallien, walking in closer to the wall. The terrace above shelters us. “Why would he do that? Just walk into certain death? He has to know his fleet can’t match yours, not with the orbital defenses.”

“He has no other choice. It is either that or have his son born in enemy hands.” He brings his smart-watch to his lips, murmuring, and a few seconds later a pure white Reaver appears at the edge of the terrace, the side doors opening. Gallien extends his hand, and I take it, and he pulls me into the ship which darts through the storms.

I follow him to the cockpit, looking out the reinforced glass windows, protected from the rain by the shields. Underneath, Colossus is like a hive that has been kicked over. Men fill the streets, Reavers dart about, preparing for war, but all I see is the long, empty roads where no one lives, the hangar bays of Reavers without pilots, the emptiness.

“Look,” says Gallien, his voice low, pointing past the city walls, past the fields where Aurelians train, to the newly built factories which billow black smoke.

From them, men are streaming out in long rows. They move in uncanny unison as they file into transport ships. The white transport ships, with none of the grace and agility of the Reavers, ascend once their holds are filled. I’m transfixed by the endless river of bodies leaving the buildings and entering

“The Mark-13s,” I say, shivering.

The Empire may be dying, but there are still bright minds like Evelyn’s. There are still huge orbital batteries above, still disruptors stopping Obsidian from Orb-Shifting.

I look up at Gallien. His jaw is set, his visage determined as he stares out towards the Cyborgs like a ship’s captain peering through the gale.

For all the technology and ships, it is men like Gallien and his triad who are the true heart of the Aurelian Empire.

It is men like them who can stop the War-God himself.

We fly back to the estates in silence, landing with a jolt. We’re the sole Reaver at Evelyn’s home. I imagine her and her triad are at the factories, producing non-stop to create the half-machine, half-organic soldiers that have been pushing back Obsidian’s advance.

We walk to the dining room, where Doman and Titus are in a heated conversation, which ends the moment I enter. The table is laden with fresh baked goods, fruits and yogurt. We eat in near silence, no one cracking jokes, no one laughing, the four of us in a tense silence.

Finally, Doman breaks it. “The meeting with your legal staff. Did it have to do with the wedding?”

I try to smile. “So you still have your spy network operating in Pentaris.”

“None needed. It’s all over the news. A new political party that’s calling you a traitor.”

I shake my head. “I knew letting Aurelian troops into our borders would cause dissent, but these people… they want to call another election in times of war.”

“So what did you tell your staff?”

“They aren’t my staff. They’re an independent legal body that watches over the Administration. But they’re smart enough to know an election now would be chaos. I told them to make it to go away until the war is finished.”