I woke up to the sound of battle.

The Jericho shook violently, the force of the impact reverberating through the walls. Alarms blared, a mechanical wail of warnings overlapping in a disorienting cacophony. My body ached—every nerve raw, my limbs heavy, my skin still stinging with phantom pain from the accelerant experiments. My breath hitched as I tried to sit up, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me like a lead blanket.

Another impact.

The metal frame of my cot rattled, and the walls groaned as something massive exploded outside. I barely had time to register the disarray before my head swam, the lingering aftereffects of the experiments making my movements sluggish, almost disconnected from reality.

"No. Not again. Not now."

I forced myself upright, a sharp ache spreading through my spine as I swung my legs over the edge of the cot. The familiar taste of copper lingered on my tongue—my regeneration still burning through whatever damage had been done to me. A deep, rumbling vibration passed through the floor, a pulse that I could feel deep in my bones.

I moved to stand, but something coiled around my ankle. My balance wavered—I stumbled, slamming onto my hands and knees.

Pain flared, then vanished as my body repaired itself.

Then I saw it.

Pale white strands pooled around me, dragging against the cold metal floor. My breath caught.

My hair.

Not just long—unnatural. Seven feet of it, spilling over the ground like something alive.

The accelerant.

During the test, I had been too consumed by agony to notice. After that, the inhibitor had dulled everything. But it hadn’t stopped the process. Just numbed me to it.

Now, with it finally wearing off, the changes were crashing down.

I swallowed hard, fingers curling into the strands as I pushed myself up. The weight of it felt wrong—foreign.

Then I noticed my clothes. A thin, sweat-damp tank top. Loose shorts. No shoes. No armor. Nothing to protect me.

I was vulnerable.

Outside, another explosion—brief, contained. The walls trembled, but Jericho was already repairing itself. Built not just to endure war, but to erase it.

I pushed myself up, my too-long hair dragging behind me, balance unsteady.

I wasn’t fully myself anymore.

Hadn’t been for a long time.

No time to think about it.

I had bigger problems.

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, my voice barely more than a breath.

"Jericho," I rasped. "What the hell is happening?"

The AI responded instantly, its voice calm, clinical, completely detached from the destruction raging around us.

"Hostile engagement in progress. Seven enemy vessels detected. Two neutralized. Remaining forces: one dreadnought, one battleship, one carrier, two destroyers."

I swore under my breath. Seven against one.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the console, pulling up the external feed.

The void of space burned.

The wreckage of two organic ships drifted outside, their pulsing, plant-like hulls ruptured and lifeless. Their veins still glowed faintly, twitching, curling inward like dying flowers. Even in death, they looked alive—as if trying to regenerate.

Then, Jericho’s railgun fired.

The ship shuddered, a deep, earth-shaking boom vibrating through the walls. The force of the shot reverberated through my bones, a dull ache spreading through my battered body. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breath, while the other swiped across the console, stabilizing the feed just in time to show the impact.

A slug the size of a fighter craft punched through the dreadnought’s core, splitting it apart. Its hull—if it could even be called that—wasn’t metal but something living. Fibrous plating peeled back like muscle torn from bone, bioluminescent strands snapping and curling inward like severed nerves.

Thick, black ichor boiled into the vacuum, writhing, tendrils grasping—then freezing. Even in death, the ship twitched, convulsing as if trying to mend itself. But there was nothing left to heal.

Then, the second shot rang out.

The core ruptured.

A silent burst of iridescent flame consumed the wreckage near the core. For a moment, the ruined mass hung in the void, its organic remains pulsing weakly, resisting the inevitable. Then, the dreadnought began to break apart—two massive sections, each dwarfing the Jericho in sheer size, tearing away from the dying ship, its final spasms sending debris spiraling outward.

Escape pods and smaller vessels burst from the wreckage, desperate to flee. Twisting, organic crafts, some no larger than shuttles, others pulsing with erratic bioluminescence, attempted to break free of the carnage. They didn’t get far.

Jericho’s laser arrays came to life, precision beams slicing through the escaping ships with cold efficiency. Drones swarmed, hunting down survivors like carrion birds, plasma cutters igniting as they carved through hulls of flesh and chitin. The pods flared briefly—bursts of fire, silent screams swallowed by the void—before they, too, were reduced to nothing.

Then, piece by piece, the dreadnought dissolved into the black, its last remnants devoured by the endless night.

I had seen Jericho fight before—in simulations, in war games where victory was a controlled certainty.

But this?

This was different.

The dreadnought had been a behemoth, a living fortress of tendrils that blotted out the stars. And yet—

Reduced to nothing.

By humanity’s might.

By my father’s warship.

One dreadnought down, his voice cooed in my mind.

The screen flickered—debris tumbling, biotic plating curling inward, twitching like severed nerves. Even in death, it spasmed, refusing to die.

Silent in the void—but in my mind, I heard it.

A death wail. A final, broken scream.

The last embers of its life, snuffed out.

But as the wreckage burned, a small chunk drifted free, slipping past the carnage—an ember escaping the fire.

Then, another escape pod erupted in flame.

Laser fire lanced through its hull, searing flesh and chitin alike. It twisted, desperate, trying to hold itself together before crumpling in on itself. Another burst of fire. Another vessel erased.

This wasn’t just war.

This was first contact.

And humanity had answered with annihilation.

I bit down on my tongue—hard. Pain flared, iron flooded my mouth, anchoring me.

They dared to reach out, thinking they were our equal. The whisper curled around my thoughts, silk-soft, insidious. We burned them for it. Let them see the Phoenix's flame.

My stomach twisted.

This is your legacy.

The hunger stirred, coiling in the pit of my gut.

I swallowed hard, but the copper tang still clung to my tongue.

The whisper hummed, pleased.

And the worst part?

Some small, terrible part of me agreed.

The enemy carrier followed next.

Its enormous, root-like structures pulsed erratically, curling inward as its biotic network collapsed. Half its hull was already gone—torn away by nuclear fire. Fleshy masses of ruptured tissue drifted into the void, still twitching, still leaking, great veins bulging as they hemorrhaged whatever lifeblood sustained them.

Desperation.

Small ships burst from the dying carrier, a final, frantic attempt at retaliation. Fighters—or whatever passed for them—twisting, organic things that looked more like predators than spacecraft. Pulsing with sickly bioluminescence, they swarmed outward, their erratic movements betraying the blind instinct that drove them.

Jericho’s drones met them mid-flight.

A wall of cold precision surged forward—sleek, angular machines moving in perfect synchrony. Plasma cutters ignited in unison, slicing through the first wave like a butcher’s knife through raw flesh. The xeno fighters writhed, tendrils lashing wildly, organic wings beating in futile escape. Where they had instinct, Jericho had calculation. Where they had desperation, Jericho had inevitability.

But the Xeno were not without teeth. Spores burst in the vacuum, clinging to the sleek surfaces of the drones, corroding metal with organic rot. Acidic tendrils lashed out, dissolving hulls like flesh under flame. Hundreds of Jericho’s drones fell, their sleek forms twisting apart, reduced to drifting debris before they could counter. But the AI adapted instantly, rerouting surviving drones into hardened formations, sacrificing the compromised units to protect the assault.

One by one the organic fighters fell.

The last few tried to retreat—to flee back to the husk of their dying carrier. Jericho didn’t let them.

The drones descended, precision-made reapers, overwhelming the final stragglers in a storm of plasma and steel. Screams—if they could be called that—were swallowed by the void. Within seconds, it was over.

Humanity was born to inherit the stars, the whisper murmured, thick with certainty. A safe galaxy is a human galaxy.

Then, the drones turned to the carrier.

Hundreds of them. Thousands.

They poured into its open wounds, burrowing deep, a virus infecting soft tissue. Plasma cutters flared, carving through the remaining defenses with surgical precision. The ship shuddered, its organic plating peeling away in charred, curling ribbons, veins bursting, hemorrhaging light.

It had been grown, not built.

And now, it was being dissected.

The carrier shuddered.

It was dying.

The wreckage of its dying husk convulsed as if it were trying to fight back, its few remaining organic tendrils flailing outward, trying to reach, trying to—

The drones cut them down too.

No hesitation. No mercy.

They swarmed the openings in the hull, pouring in like a plague, burning everything in their path. The screens flickered with distorted visuals from the internal drone feeds—nightmarish flashes of dimly lit corridors lined with pulsating tissue, organic walls that oozed and bled as the drones set them alight. The ship had been grown, not built. And now it was being dissected.

The carrier let out one final, heaving spasm—then collapsed inward, crumpling like a dying flower.

I watched it fold into itself, the core rupturing as a wave of internal detonations sent the wreck spiraling into oblivion.

Then—

Nothing.

The carrier was gone.

Four down, Three to go.

I barely had time to process it before the battleship and destroyers retaliated.

Bright plasma bursts twisted through space, warping the void as they curled unnaturally toward the Jericho. The ship’s plasma shields flared, a wall of energy absorbing the brunt of the assault before the kinetic barriers snapped into place, scattering what little force remained.

A few shots slipped through. The hull buckled, seared, molten metal peeling away in ragged, glowing scars—only for the ship to begin healing itself instantly. Nanites swarmed, liquid metal knitting over the wounds in real time, plating reforming, solidifying, as if the damage had never happened at all.

The Jericho buckled but did not yield. This was the first coordinated counterattack—Sol could feel it in the way the ship trembled, the way its shields flared under sustained fire. Until now, the aliens had been caught off guard, their forces scattered, their defenses shattered before they could even react. She hadn’t fully realized it before, too focused on the massacre unfolding before her, but now, as plasma bursts curled unnaturally through the void, as biotic tendrils lashed out in desperate retaliation, she understood—this was the first real resistance. The first proof that the Xenos had been reeling, blindsided. And now, at last, they were fighting back.

The destroyers broke formation, trying to flank, but the laser arrays adjusted instantly. A storm of high-energy beams lanced outward, striking the first destroyer mid-flight. Its hull twisted violently, its organic plating melting like wax beneath a flame. One of its tendrils reached outward, convulsing, writhing as if trying to escape its own death—then the ship ruptured from within, its core detonating in a silent explosion.

The second destroyer veered off course, still active but barely holding together, its once-fluid movements now erratic and failing. Its living hull pulsed weakly, its desperation palpable. It turned, engines flickering as it attempted to flee.

The railgun fired again.

The battleship took the full force of the impact.

The slug punched straight through its command structure, and for a moment, the massive warship simply drifted. Then, its body collapsed inward, folding into itself as the internal pressure gave way. A heartbeat later, the entire vessel imploded, vanishing into a scattered cloud of debris.

I gripped the console, my knuckles white. My breath came in shallow, uneven gasps.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Seven against one.

Now, only one remained.

The last destroyer was barely functional, its body shredded, a quarter of its mass missing. And yet, somehow, impossibly, it still clung to life.

Then, it turned.

In the next instant, it jumped to FTL.

Cowards. The whispers stirred in my head.

That left only wreckage—drifting, broken remains of the fallen.

And then, movement.

A fractured piece of the dreadnought—one of the largest surviving fragments—still limped through space, barely holding together. The glow of failing life flickered in its twisted hull, its pulsing veins sluggish, the last dying beats of a once-great vessel.

A transmission came through.

The remaining husk of the dreadnought was hailing us.

I stared at the console, at the incoming request flashing weakly on the screen. A plea? A surrender? A final act of defiance?

The Jericho’s only response was the railgun.

The shot rang through the hull, the deep reverberation shaking the deck beneath my feet.

Through the screen, I watched as the slug tore through the last remnant of the dreadnought, punching through it like a hammer through rotting wood.

The broken ship shattered, its pieces scattering into the abyss like embers from a dying fire.

No mercy. No hesitation. No prisoners.

And then—

Silence.

The battle was over—a one-sided slaughter.

I swallowed hard, my stomach churning as I stared at the wreckage. We won. We actually won.

Then, the lights flickered. A deep, mechanical hum vibrated through the ship.

"Who is in command right now, Jericho?"

"Lion is in command as Supreme Commander under emergency protocols set by Julian Voss."

The words hit like a gunshot.

I froze. My fingers curled into the console, my stomach twisting.

"Are the other crews awake... the captains?"

"Yes. All skeleton crews have been awakened, along with the Royal Guard. Knight is currently in Lab 3, preparing Project Chimera..."

Then, the ship’s voice changed.

A subtle shift at first—like static laced with something deeper, something wrong. The smooth, clinical tone of Jericho’s AI wavered, its modulation fracturing into something human. Something familiar.

A voice I hadn’t heard in fifty years.

"My Little Phoenix..."

The words curled around me, warm, knowing—loving.

"You have to finish what I started."

Ice flooded my veins. My breath caught in my throat.

That wasn’t Jericho. That wasn’t Lion.

That was my father.

No. No, no, no.

I swallowed hard. My father was dead—or at least, half of him was. The other half, the one buried inside Jericho’s AI core, was still very much alive.

And so was the Yellow-Eyed Monster.

I felt my stomach drop. So much had happened. Too much. The battle. The massacre. The whispers in my head that I couldn’t shut out. And now—this.

No time to think. No time to breathe.

Then—a knock at my door. Sharp. Urgent.

I turned, pulse spiking.

The door hissed open, and Reid stumbled inside, his chest heaving, his green eyes wide with something I had never seen in him—fear. His usual cocky grin was gone, replaced by something raw, desperate. His signature Hawaiian shirt was wrinkled, stained with sweat, and his ever-present sunglasses were missing. Without them, his face looked younger, more vulnerable. His blond hair was a mess, damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead in unruly strands. His left hand, the sleek metal of his cybernetic limb, flexed involuntarily, fingers twitching as if even his synthetic nerves were reacting to the sheer panic in his system.

"Sol," he panted, barely catching his breath before grabbing my wrist, his grip cold from the artificial alloy of his robotic hand. "We have to get you out of here. Now."

I stared at him, still sluggish from everything—my body aching, my mind struggling to keep up. "Reid, what—?"

"It’s Lion," he interrupted, his voice urgent. "He’s taken total command. Locked the captains in their quarters after declaring an emergency—same as before, only this time, there’s no vote to stop him. Jericho won’t listen to anyone but him now. Without the captains able to veto him, he has full control. They can’t even communicate with the rest of us."

Reid’s grip on my wrist tightened, his cybernetic fingers cold against my skin. "That means you’re the last threat to him. You’re the only one left with captain-level clearance."

My stomach lurched. "What?"

Reid shook his head, panic flashing across his face. "He’s a goddamn psycho, Sol. The Rue—that’s what they call themselves—hailed us first. They tried to talk." His grip on my wrist tightened, like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go. "But Lion—he fired first. Didn’t even hesitate. Caught the first two ships and the carrier by surprise with a full-scale assault. Nukes and EMPs wiped their shields clean before the railgun started tearing into them."

He chocked on his words, his voice dropping. "It was a massacre."

I swallowed, a cold weight settling in my chest.

"The captains wanted to talk," Reid continued, his voice rising. "They wanted to at least try diplomacy. But Lion shut them out. Wouldn’t hear it. This was his call. And you know what that means."

I did. It meant that, to Lion, the decision had already been made. My blood ran cold.

Before I could answer, the door slammed open—this time with force.

The air in the room seemed to shift, the presence that entered sucking all the oxygen out with it.

Lion.

He stood in the doorway like an executioner, clad in gleaming gold armor—a figure out of some ancient war. His helmet’s golden visor obscured his eyes, but I didn’t need to see them.

I could feel his gaze. Cold. Absolute. Unstoppable.

It all happened so fast.

Reid moved first—his left hand jerking toward his sidearm, desperation overriding reason.

He never stood a chance.

Before his fingers could even brush the grip, Lion had already cleared the twelve feet between them. A blink—nothing more.

A golden blur. Nine feet tall. Massive. Unbelievably fast.

Reid was ripped away from me, his feet leaving the floor as Lion’s armored hand closed around his collar like a vice. Then—he threw him. Like he weighed nothing.

Reid’s body twisted mid-air, flung across the corridor with brutal efficiency. The impact shook the walls. His skull cracked against the metal with a sickening thud. His cybernetic fingers twitched once. Then went still.

His body crumpled into a heap, unmoving.

I felt a sharp, breathless panic rise in my chest. "Reid!" My voice was raw as I moved toward him, but before I could reach him, the door slammed shut between us.

Jericho had locked me in. And I was alone with him.

I turned on Lion, rage burning through my veins like fire. "You bastard!"

Lion didn’t flinch. "You should be thanking me, Highness," he said evenly. "If he had pulled that trigger, I wouldn’t have been so gentle."

I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, the pain barely registering beneath the lingering soreness from the experiments. My body was still weak, still recovering, but it didn’t matter. Even if I were at full strength, I wouldn’t win in a fight. Not against him.

The inhibitor was gone. The burning hunger that came with my regeneration, the raw, aching need for more surged through me. I roared and lunged, instincts overtaking reason, teeth extending, claws sharpening—

And Lion slapped me.

Not a punch. Not a calculated strike. Just a simple, almost lazy backhand.

My jaw shattered instantly. The force of it sent me crashing to the ground, my vision exploding into white-hot pain. Teeth and blood sprayed across the floor, my body convulsing as I gasped, stunned and disoriented.

The pain was unbearable for the briefest moment. Then it was gone. My bones knit back together, flesh sealing, but the hunger howled, tearing through me like a beast untethered. The craving for blood. For his blood. For fuel.

I pushed myself up, my hands slipping slightly on the floor slick with my own blood. It had mixed with the strands of my unnaturally long, ghost-white hair, streaking through it like rivers of crimson in fresh snow. The sight of it sent a twisted shiver down my spine. Red on white. Death and purity. A contradiction, just like me.

I clenched my teeth, my body still trembling from the lingering echoes of pain. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me weak. Not again.

Lion sighed, almost disappointed. "Stop that, Highness," he said, his voice infuriatingly calm. "You know what I’ll do to him if you continue."

I clenched my fists, nails biting deeper into my palms. The sting barely registered before it was erased, but the pressure gave me something to hold onto. Something real. Something I could control. The coppery tang of blood lingered on my tongue, and the hunger roared in response, a gnawing need that twisted through my gut like a blade.

Lion exhaled, watching me with something close to realization. "Jericho’s been tracking your patterns," he mused. "It notices everything. How you hurt yourself when cornered, when you can’t lash out. It calls it a habit." His head tilted slightly. "I call it a problem." His voice was almost lazy, but there was something sharper beneath it, something patient—like he was filing away observations for later use.

"And the drinking—it's becoming a pattern too. Not enough to impair you, of course. Not for long given the virus. But enough." A pause, deliberate. "If you keep this up, we’ll have another incident like when you broke into your father’s safe again." His voice dipped lower, almost thoughtful. "Tell me, Highness, is it the pain you’re drowning? Or are you just trying to silence the voices?"

I swallowed hard, but the weight in my chest only grew heavier.

Lion hummed, the sound almost amused. "Either way, this is no doubt a problem of bad friends." His tone darkened. "Like Reid. Or those others back on Earth—the ones who dragged you down, the ones I had to carry you away from that night you snuck out of your father’s lab." He leaned in slightly. "You remember, don’t you? The filthy streets, the reek of sweat and desperation. The way they used you."

My breath hitched.

The hunger recoiled, smothered beneath ice. My fingers twitched, aching to lash out—but I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

Reid. Unconscious. Bleeding. Helpless. Because of me.

Lion didn’t need another blow. He didn’t need chains or threats. He knew exactly where to strike. And I hated that it worked.

My gaze snapped to the sealed door, to the unconscious body just beyond it.

Lion followed my eyes, expression unreadable behind his helm.

"You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?" I forced the words out, my throat tight.

Lion exhaled, tilting his head slightly, his golden visor catching the dim glow of the room. "That depends on you, Highness," he said smoothly. "The timetable has been accelerated. After the data Knight gathered from your last session, the accelerant has been deemed safe enough. We must finish Chimera and reunite your father’s two halves."

A cold weight settled in my stomach. He said it like it was inevitable, like all of this had already been decided. Maybe it had.

I wiped the blood from my mouth with my tank top, the fabric soaking it in, staining deep. The hunger still gnawed at the edges of my mind, a dull, aching roar. I forced it down. The last thing I needed was to give him another excuse to put me back in that chair.

The hammer must be wielded, Princess, the voice in my mind whispered, smooth, certain. But until the forge is hot, you must watch the blacksmith work. Let him shape humanity into the weapon we need, so you can claim your birthright.

My breath hitched. No. Not now. Not here.

Lion took a step closer, his golden armor catching the dim light, casting reflections across the walls like shifting fire. His voice was calm, measured—the voice of a man who had already decided the future.

"The Jericho and its arsenal must be fully realized soon," he said. "And only he can do that."

I clenched my fists. "If I help you—if I do this—you let him go. You have Eagle take him to Yates. Now."

Good, my little Phoenix. Good. The whisper curled around my thoughts, warm, approving. You’re learning.

Lion studied me for a long moment before nodding. "Agreed."

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t argue. Because he knew, just as I did, that I had already lost.

He tapped his comm. "Eagle, retrieve the engineer. Take him to Yates."

Outside, I heard the shuffle of armored boots. The rustle of fabric. The weight of a body being lifted. The metallic thud of the Royal Guard moving with methodical efficiency.

A faint groan.

Reid was still alive.

Then, silence.

Lion turned back to me. "Now that distractions are out of the way—"

"Why?" My voice was raw, hoarse. "Why did you fire first?"

Lion tilted his head. "Because all xeno species are a threat to our existence. Until your father says otherwise, that is standing doctrine."

I swallowed. "They hailed us."

"And then they would have tried to understand us. Or bargain. Or warn us. It doesn’t matter." His tone was flat. "They’ve encountered human ships before, but never one like this. Never one like us."

A shiver ran down my spine.

"They weren't expecting Jericho," Lion continued. "And they sure as hell weren't expecting what happened next." He exhaled sharply, almost amused. "Xeno scum," he muttered. "They thought they were the apex predators, that humanity would cower. But they never saw it coming. I tore their fleet apart before they even knew they were dying. They didn't stand a chance."

I clenched my jaw. "And what does that mean?"

Lion let out a slow breath, as if explaining something obvious. "The Rue—" he spat the name like a curse, voice curling with disgust "—were only a vanguard force. Reinforcements will come. They won’t be caught off guard next time. And if they don’t catch us in another fight? Someone else will. The galaxy is watching now, Sol. We made sure of that."

He exhaled sharply, as if even speaking of them was an offense. "You’ve seen what they are. Filthy, grown things. They don’t build like we do, don’t innovate, don’t create. They grow their ships, their weapons, their entire wretched existence as if the universe is just another forest for them to infest. A plant-based species, from what we can tell—fucking trees playing at war. Twisting their roots through the stars like they have some right to it. And they hate us for reasons we can only guess. But we know they attacked the Hemlock. We can assume they’ve ambushed other human ships. How many? We may never find out. And they were fools to think Jericho was like the others. To think we were just another target."

His visor gleamed as he straightened, his disgust shifting into something colder. "They underestimated us. They won’t get the chance to do it again."

He inhaled, rolling his shoulders slightly before his tone flattened once more, all emotion burned away. "Xeno scum never learn."

I exhaled, a slow, shaking breath.

"This is why you locked the captains away."

Lion didn’t deny it. "They would hesitate. They would waste time debating ethics while our enemies prepare for war." He gestured to the walls, to the ship humming around us. "Jericho is more than they ever understood. It was built to ensure humanity’s survival. And that means strength. That means power. That means—"

"My father," I finished for him, nausea curling in my gut.

Lion inclined his head. "You’ve always known it. He is the key to it all. His mind and the Jericho—merged into one. The ship will reach its full potential."

I forced my voice to stay steady. "You think bringing him back will make us invincible?"

Lion exhaled, his golden visor catching the dim glow of the room. "Oh, if you only knew." His voice was calm, measured, but beneath it, I could hear something else—something close to awe.

"You think you understand what was built here, what was left behind. But you’ve barely scratched the surface, Highness."

My pulse quickened.

"You know the names they let you see." He began listing them, slow and deliberate, like he was testing me. Watching for a reaction. "Code Name: Dragon. Phoenix. Gryphon. Wyvern. Chimera. Leviathan. Hydra."

The ones I had spent sleepless nights trying to understand. The ones I had seen in fragmented files, buried in encrypted archives or scrawled in the margins of my father's notes. The ones I had overheard in whispered conversations between him and Knight in the lab.

Lion took a step forward, his golden armor shaking the floor. "But that is only a fraction of what was started here. Your father’s vision went far beyond what you were allowed to glimpse."

I swallowed hard, keeping my face unreadable.

"Tell me, Highness—have you ever heard of Kraken?"

I stiffened.

"Manticore?" His tone was almost amused now. "Cyclops. Basilisk. Minotaur. Gorgon. Aether Lens. Cockatrice. Titan."

Each name landed like a stone dropping into dark water. Unfamiliar. Unknown. But they felt like something. Like echoes of doors I had never been allowed to open.

I clenched my jaw. "What are they?"

Lion let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. "You think this ship is powerful now? You think you’ve seen what Jericho is capable of?" He shook his head. "You haven’t. The projects you know of—the ones they let you glimpse—were only the first phase."

A slow, crawling dread settled over me.

Lion’s voice lowered, reverent. "The future, Highness. Power beyond anything humanity has ever wielded. More than weapons. More than war."

He took another step forward, his golden armor gleaming under the cold artificial light.

"Minotaur—power armor for any who can survive it, strong enough to rival a Royal Guard. Aether Lens—an eye beyond the veil, a way to see past the boundaries of our universe. Titan—a machine capable of siphoning the life of a star. Anti-matter quantum destabilizers. Phase-shifted weaponry. Exotic matter reactors. Singularity stabilizers. Temporal anchors to hold reality in place. A fleet that doesn’t need fuel, only the laws of physics bent in its favor. And weapons that don’t just kill, but erase—matter unmade, consciousness shattered beyond recovery."

His visor glowed in the dim light. "Dragon was only the beginning. Jericho is the key to something greater then a mere ark. A ship not just built for war, but for conquest. And your father was the only one who could command it fully."

His voice dipped lower, almost reverent now. "He called it the Arsenal of the Gods."

The words settled like a weight in my chest.

"Phoenix and Chimera were meant to change humanity," he said, almost thoughtful. "But your father planned for more. He planned for a war no one else saw coming."

A war.

His visor gleamed as he stepped even closer. "Some were weapons. Some were… something else. Tools. Shields. Machines beyond anything this galaxy has ever seen."

I thought of Dragon—the living core of Jericho, the black hole engine that devoured and burned, an experiment that should have never worked but did. I thought of Chimera—biology overwritten by a machine. Hydra—resurrection twisted into something unnatural, the memory of Wilks fresh in my mind.

And now, for the first time, I wondered if it had ever truly been meant for us.

Lion watched me, silent, patient. Like he knew I would come to the same conclusion he had. Like he was waiting for me to accept it.

I exhaled slowly, my fists tightening. He thinks this is inevitable. That I’ll see things his way. That I’ll fall in line, just like before.

I scoffed. "So that’s it? Finish Chimera, bring him back, turn Jericho into a god? And I’m just supposed to smile and go along with it?"

Lion tilted his head slightly. "You don’t have to smile, Highness. You just have to walk."

I rolled my eyes. "And if I don’t?"

"You will."

Arrogant bastard.

Lion gestured toward the corridor, the dim glow of the emergency lights stretching long shadows along the walls. "Now come. Your father’s other half will only arrive if you are present."

I didn’t move. "He’s not my father."

Lion exhaled, almost amused. "You say that now."

"Yeah, I do." My throat was tight. "And if he did all this, if he really set everything in motion—maybe I don’t want to see him again."

Lion paused, tilting his head slightly, like he was studying me. Then, with quiet certainty, he said, "You miss him."

The words hit harder than they should have.

I opened my mouth—to deny it, to tell him to go to hell—but nothing came out. The lie wouldn't form.

My throat tightened, something twisting deep in my gut. I miss the man I remember. The way he used to smile, the warmth in his voice when he called me Little Phoenix. The father who carried me on his shoulders, who whispered bedtime stories about the stars, who made me believe I was special—not because of what I was made to be, but because I was his.

But that man was gone. Had been for a long time.

I swallowed hard, forcing the ache down, shoving it into the pit where I'd buried every other piece of him that hurt too much to keep. My voice was steady when I finally spoke.

"I miss the man I remember. But if he really planned for all of this—Phoenix, Chimera, the Arsenal of the Gods—then I don’t think that man exists anymore."

Lion didn’t argue. He didn’t need to.

Because in the end, we both knew I was going inside.

His golden armor gleamed as he turned, leading the way, and I followed. Not because I wanted to.

But because I had no choice.

Lab 3 had been sealed for over a year, its horrors locked away—until Lion reopened it after the Hemlock. Until I was dragged inside. The first test subject since Wilks had been torn apart. The first to endure the new accelerant. The first who couldn’t die.

The first proof that it worked.

I felt it in my body even now—the lingering burn beneath my skin, my metabolism still in overdrive, my too-long hair dragging behind me like some twisted reminder of how much I had changed. How much they had made me change.

The hunger gnawed at the edges of my thoughts, demanding fuel. Blood. Flesh. I forced it down.

Not here. Not now.

The door loomed ahead, cold steel, unyielding.

A shiver crawled down my spine.

The last time I had stood here, I had been locked to that chair kicking, screaming, too weak to fight back. The last time I had stood here, I had bled.

Now, I walked in on my own. The locks disengaged with a hiss.

The scent hit me first—disinfectant, metal, and something else, something deeper. Something wrong.

A memory surfaced unbidden—straps biting into my wrists, the sharp sting of a scalpel, the burn of the accelerant flooding my veins. The way it had felt to be torn apart and remade, over and over, until I stopped fearing death because death was never coming for me again.

Lion stepped aside, gesturing forward. "Welcome back, Highness."

I hesitated—just for a second.

Then I stepped forward, and Lab 3 swallowed me whole once again.

The door sealed behind me with a final, mechanical hiss—a sound like a coffin lid sliding shut.