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It will harm no one, unless Doman’s brother Cal and the prophets of Etherion were right. A vision of the mighty krakens fills my mind, the behemoths twisting and recoiling from us.

“Open the deep hangar,” Doman commands. He is a titan beside me, his body protected by the Orb-Armor that gleams darkly, the crown that he was born to resting on his mane. His battle-brothers are to the left of me, taut, standing rigid and peering out like ancient generals watching the battle from a hilltop.

From the corner of my eye, the movement catches my eye. “Opening the deep hangar,” says a technician, a young, thinAurelian who flicks his fingers against the display. There’s a depth to his tone, a gravity that infects the room.

Everyone in attendance knows we are witnessing history.

The first use of the Planet-Killers by the Aurelian Empire since over a millennia ago, a relic from the Galactic War’s era of chaos and bloodshed that nearly engulfed the universe into a night without end.

“Sector clear,” reports another technician. I pull my eyes off the planet we are about to obliterate to cast a glance back at him. His eyes are glued to the map display in front of his seat, his voice steady. He has been reporting every thirty seconds like clockwork.

Pure white Reavers are positioned in a protective embrace around the Imperator, darting and flicking, battle-ready triads weaving around us. If Obsidian is going to attack, it will be now.

We’re outside of Pentaris space, vulnerable to ambush. If Obsidian has word of this mission, he will flash in his entire force to destroy us. Doman prepared for it. Warships are poised, ready to counter-attack, put in place months ago by his parents who planned this demonstration. But it is not the three warships which were positioned here that are the true ambush.

Gallien believes that Obsidian will sense the results of the test results even before news reaches Colossus. He wants him to come. We’ve laid a minefield of nuclear bombs ready to destroy his fleet the instant they shift in.

Doman tried to convince me to stay safe inside my territory. I refused. I am culpable for my part in this. I must bear witness.

“Marcus. Disruption check.” Doman’s voice is crisp.

“Clear,” comes the ice-cold reply. The slightest hint of Obsidian’s approach could change the course of an ambush. Last night was sleepless in the triad’s chambers, fear and anticipation gnawing at my belly.

The Rift was thought to be impenetrable, but if Obsidian is shifting in, we might get a small advance notice.

Might.

Doman’s brother Cal is working with Prince Bruton’s human Mate Evelyn back on Colossus, studying the Rift. They’ve made little progress, but the one development in studying the void between worlds is subtle changes in gravity which precede an opening in reality for Obsidian to transport his fleet. We’ll be lucky to get three seconds to react.

The Planet-Killer appears before us. It looks so small, a fleck of white in the vast darkness of space. So much death, so much destruction concentrated into its angular lines. The entirety of it is nothing but a conduit for the Orb which is exposed to space, glowing darkly behind it. The Orb pulses faster than when I witnessed it in the hangar bay. It is like a heart quickening before a battle.

A cold frisson rushes down my spine.

The Orb wants to unleash its pent-up energy. It has been sitting, dormant, for over a thousand years, hidden in the depths of Colossus. If it is alive, if it has thoughts beyond my comprehension, then what it wants is chaos and death.

It moves unerringly towards the planet.

Doman flicks his fingers, and the view from the cockpit opens in front of us. We get a split view, one of the pilot, and one of the planet growing in his viewport. It is an older Aurelian piloting, perhaps in his eight-hundreds, an Elite who has shed the Orb-Armor of his station in the cramped quarters of the PK. His expression is unreadable, but despite his discipline, a bead of sweat is on his wrinkled forehead. He volunteered for the job.

“Akarix. Power the weapon.”

I watch as thin, marble fingers flitter over a tiny holographic display in the PK cockpit. Akarix moves his fingers upwards, and the Orb that is the bulk of the ship glows a darker black, likestaring at a sun at the moment it is sucked into a black hole, the energy inverting and offending the senses.

“The weapon is active.”

The feed is direct to our ship. We are not transmitting data to the Aurelian Empire, not even through encrypted channels. It’s too risky. My mind races over everyone who knows where we are. Who could betray us? Who would? Would Aeris leak the information, to stop the test from ever being conducted? We went over every possibility last night.

No one would dare. The Toads have already tested the Planet-Killers and reality did not cease to exist. But no one knows the consequences of a Planet-Killer being destroyed in an ambush, and even Aeris knows that we would not go down without a fight. The weapon will be used, no matter what.

It is an open threat to the Toads to do the demonstration in the space between our borders, and bait for Obsidian if he is able to sense a disturbance in the Rift.

I look up at Doman. His side profile is like a mountain face, hard lines, eyes set forward. His blue eyes never blink. He is riveted on the scene in front of him.

This is him in his element, commanding, authority inherent to his being. He has never looked so beautiful, so handsome, as when he is wielding death in his hands. His battle-brothers mirror his energy, hard, slate-gray gazes fixed on the scene in front of us.

Though X4-Z is only a third the size of my home planet, I can’t help but imagine Virelia, teeming with life. If we don’t conduct this test, it could be the Toads wielding their weapons on my homeworld.

I don’t know if I’m justifying this to myself, or if it’s the truth. All I know is that events are in motion I cannot control.