PROLOGUE

998 RE, Somewhere in the galaxy

She stood before the vast window, contemplating the cosmic panorama. Beyond the reinforced glass and invisible layers of force fields, the planet was a dark shape against the cosmos, its outline bathed in a fiery red-orange halo from the rising star behind it. Everbright lights dotted the planet's body in intricate patterns, echoing the golden illumination of the constellations above and to the right. A host of moons circled the spatial ocean in between, some fully visible in their many-hued glory, others mere specks of reflected photons, nearly hidden by the blinding radiance of the planet's crystal ring.

"We need to confer about the Lightbringer," she said.

"What about him?"

She turned away from the window. The room was dark. The only light came from the aperture behind her, casting heavy shadows along the walls. There was no decoration, except for a single desk.

"The situation has escalated beyond control," she said. "The Lightbringer wants to turn reality into singularity. All of it."

"Yes, that would be... problematic, for the rest of us," he said. He sat behind the desk, looking at her. The shadows obscured both their features, outlining only the sharp contours of his suit and the sleek lines of her attire. "I agree measures must be taken to contain the problem."

"The time for proxies is over," she said. "His ambition imperils everything, including us. We must act directly."

"No," he said. "It is too early. If we personally prevent this crisis, the enemy will take notice. Either way we fail. An alternative solution is required."

"We can eliminate the entire system."

"Annihilating a Shard? We might as well let the Lightbringer finish what he started. The results will be comparable."

"Let us make the Consortium bring an armada then," she said. "Or the Union. Both of them have enough resources to handle the situation, despite possible losses."

"We can't. Thanks to the Lightbringer's actions, the stellar civilizations have been pushed almost to an all-out conflict," he said. "If either of them sends a battlefleet to the system, it would mean war for the whole Sector. Again."

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"What about the Fractured States?"

"Insufficient. Even in their united power, they lack materiel and trained Conduits."

"The H'raal?"

"Too deep in their own problems."

"Utopia Draconis?"

"Out of the question."

She crossed her arms, exploring mentally nonviable solutions one after another. Silence fell upon the room. The distant, nigh-imperceptible hum of energy sources mixed with the slowly twisting shadows as the space-borne construct followed its orbit.

Something clicked, and a flicker cut the darkness. He dragged on the cigarette, the glowing ember illuminating his pensive gaze. "There is one elusive option," he said, watching the drifting smoke. "Volatile, but with fair odds of success."

Her eyebrows lowered faintly. "You propose the employment of narrative causality."

"Precisely," he nodded. "The Lightbringer, once a galactic hero, has now begun a mad crusade against reality itself. What better opportunity is there now for a champion to rise against such a villain? If done right, this is exactly a clear-cut story about good triumphing over evil."

"Madness," she said. "We have no power to control such processes in our own reality. You know that."

"Yes," he said, "but we can set the initial variables to ensure the maximum chance for a best case scenario, without exposing our move to the enemy."

"And the chances are?"

"Above zero," he said, and took another drag of his cigarette.

She tsked and turned again to the window. "We could try other methods."

"Such as?"

There was no use. They had no time to develop a productive solution. Events had completely blindsided them. They both knew it. Either they could lose now, in a variety of ways, or they could lose a little later. Luck was not a factor on the scale they operated. Except it was the only variable left now.

She sighed. "If this narrative dream of yours is going to work, we can't just send anyone," she said, her gaze fixed beyond the window, unseeing.

"I know," he said. "There is the perfect candidate for the job."

"Who?"

"The Dragonslayer."

She gave him a sidelong look. "I thought that was a legend."

"It is for the dragons," he said, blowing a wisp of smoke. "But the person behind the legend is real. He is currently in cryostasis. Take a look in the datalinks."

She did. "I see," she said. "A rival-turned-archenemy of the Lightbringer. A decorated soldier, an exceptional warrior, one of the finest minds of his time. Still, you want to send only one man against possibly the greatest Æthereal in the entire galaxy?"

"Of course not," he said. "He shall only be the pivot, the symbol around which the rest will gather. But he will be the driving force; he will be the one which in the end will face the Lightbringer. This is the narrative we want to set up. The rest... is up to the Great Cosmos."

"We cannot simply send him there. If we do, the enemy will foresee this plan and counter us from the onset. There needs to be a cover."

"There is. The Firstborn."

"Her? But if she comes into contact with the Lightbringer, she... You mean to sacrifice her?"

"Regrettably," he said, looking at the desk's surface. He crumpled his cigarette and threw it away. "The Firstborn will be the cloak, and the Dragonslayer... the dagger."

Again barely audible hum of transforming matter and working machinery permeated the room. The shadows quickened their twisting dance as the orbit changed. The fiery halo beyond the planetary horizon intensified, and celestial rays began to flood the room in blinding radiance.

"Is that the way we want to determine the fate of the galaxy?" she asked.

"That is the only way we can save the galaxy," he replied.

They stood, she by the window and he behind the desk, looking at each other.

"I'll make the call," she said.