Page 79 of Ravaged By the Reaper

Then Panaka.

“Because the truth is, we already made the impossible happen. I’m proof. You’re here. You haven’t killed each other yet. That’s not just restraint. That’s a crack in the armor of hate.”

My voice lowers.

“This summit isn’t peace. It’s a seed. And if we don’t bury it in blood today… maybe one day it’ll grow.”

Malem’s hologram flickers again.

He speaks. “Inspiring.”

The word drips with contempt. But it’s the first time he’s addressed me directly. That matters more than tone.

I meet his gaze without blinking. “No, Commander Karag. Not inspiring.Necessary.”

I’ve stood on a dozen stages, worn silk that cost more than starships, spoken lines meant to beguile the most guarded of men. But none of that prepared me for this.

The eyes in this room aren’t just curious or calculating. They’re heavy. Judging. Daring me to slip. Malem’s hologram remains still, a cold sentinel. The Alliance admirals are stone-faced. The Reapers… inscrutable. Panaka swirls his drink again, ice clinking against crystal, and leans back with that signature grin of his.

And yet, I don’t back down.

I take a breath—deep, slow. Let the tension ride my lungs on the way out. And I begin.

“You all know what I am. Or you think you do. You know what I was made to be. A Companion. Trained to manipulate, to pleasure, to blend into any society and soothe it into silence. Some of you probably still see that when you look at me.”

One of the admirals shifts in his seat. Panaka quirks a brow. Malem? Still unreadable.

“I was taught to be everything to everyone. But never myself.”

My voice doesn’t waver, even when my fingers twitch by my sides. I press on, pushing past the staleness in the back of my throat.

“I lived in golden cages and velvet prisons. I smiled for men who thought I didn’t understand the words they whispered behind my back. I learned ten dialects in ten months, and never once did anyone ask what my favorite color was.”

A Reaper tilts his head slightly. I catch it in my periphery. Good. Let them listen.

“But then the universe cracked,” I say. “War. Chaos. Collapse. The roles shattered. And I was left staring at the pieces, wondering who I’d be if I wasn’t playing someone else.”

I take a step forward, planting my boots firmly in the cracked floor of the bridge.

“That’s when I met Haktron.”

Some of the admirals visibly stiffen. The name still carries weight—and fear.

“A Reaper known for brutality. For carnage. For ending disputes with teeth, not words. He should’ve killed me. Hell, part of him probably wanted to.”

I let that sit for a beat. Let them stew in it.

“But he didn’t.”

Another breath. This one tastes like ash and old metal. The command bridge is stifling, like the very walls are waiting to see how this plays out.

“He didn’t kill me. He listened. And I saw him for what he truly was—not a monster. Not a machine. But a man shaped by war, just like I was shaped by obedience. We were both forged in someone else’s fire.”

A flicker in Panaka’s eyes. Interest? Maybe. Maybe more.

“I fought him at first. Not just physically—but emotionally, ideologically. I couldn’t reconcile what I’d been taught with what I was feeling. But over time… the pieces started to shift.”

I speak slower now, choosing each word like a blade.