The war room was quiet.
The air felt heavy.
The usual hum of conversation—overpowered by the gravitational tension in the room.
This was a room for power. Where decisions were made that affected entire fleets, entire galaxies. Where the weak were discarded like litter while the strong moved on.
The high-ranking officers stood around a polished obsidian table, the only light emanating from the cold, distant view of the void outside the ship's windows. They were dressed in the usual gray and black uniforms, their eyes sharp and calculating, faces unreadable. Oris and Tyren sat across from them, both uncomfortable in the presence of those who had cast them away so easily.
And yet, the real twist was yet to come.
Kael's fate wasn't the only one hanging in the balance. Today, the men who had written his sentence would soon face the truth of their decisions.
---
General Osen, a tall, thick-set man with battle scars across his face, leaned forward. His fingers drummed lightly on the table.
"So… we're certain the asset they brought back is as dangerous as it seems?"
"Unquestionably," a junior officer spoke, looking down at his holo-pad. "The damage to Ravager Mk III alone suggests a formidable force. If he survives the injuries, we may have something we could weaponize, something we shouldn't ignore."
Colonel Taris, his graying hair and cynical eyes showing years of service, added, "We've seen his file. His combat prowess, his refusal to bow, his intelligence. If he's alive, we may just have to use him. As a weapon."
"Or dispose of him before he becomes one," Osen countered. "We cannot risk losing control over assets like that."
---
Just then, the doors to the war room slid open.
A figure in a black, ornate uniform entered—a man with a mask obscuring his face, walking with a calm yet calculated stride.
No one reacted. This was someone who wielded power beyond anyone else in the room. His presence alone demanded attention, yet he moved with a quiet arrogance, like an ancient king whose rule had never been questioned.
High Commander Varros.
Tyren tensed. Oris, for the first time in years, felt his throat dry up.
Varros was an imposing figure. Known for making decisions that reshaped planets.
But that was not the most important thing about him today. No, today, there was someone else who walked in behind him.
---
Kael's grandfather.
The same man who had cast Kael out—rejecting his grandson and favoring the more "suitable" child. The one who had prioritized family pride over Kael's worth.
The old man entered with a long, silver beard that contrasted against his cold, steely expression. He was masked, too. His gaze was far colder than any soldier's. His cold, calculating eyes were fixed straight ahead. He took a seat at the table, sitting with a kind of detachment that spoke of someone used to looking down at people.
Beside him stood Kael's younger brother—a tall, athletic boy in his early twenties with hard eyes and a predatory air. His jet-black hair was neatly combed, and his uniform marked him as part of the military elite. He was no prodigy—he was a golden child, born with the kind of privilege Kael had never been afforded.
Behind him was his uncle, Kael's father's brother. The man who had been wheelchair-bound after a battle injury, yet still carried the pride of a soldier who had seen it all. His father was never on Kael's side, but his uncle had always been a quiet support in the background. Kael's uncle had trained him in piloting the mecha, shaping him into the fierce warrior he had become.
And now, the old man with the mask…
The family that rejected Kael was all here, gathered like predators in the same room. They had no idea what they were about to face.
---
Tyren glared at the group, his fists clenched, but his thoughts were spiraling.
> What are they doing here?
It wasn't just Kael's fate in question today. It was his whole existence. His entire bloodline.
He remembered the days when Kael would talk about his family with so much hope and optimism. He would tell stories about his grandfather and the family legacy he was supposed to uphold. And yet, here they were—surrounding him like vultures.
Tyren's rage boiled over.
> These are the people who caused his downfall.
---
Kael's younger brother looked at Tyren with disdain. His jaw set tight, the same arrogance that his family exuded.
"Why is he still alive?" the younger brother sneered, voice dripping with superiority. "He's a liability. A failure." His voice carried an edge of bitterness, as though Kael's existence was a personal affront to him.
Oris clenched his fists in silence, unable to speak.
This proud prodigy had never had to fight for anything. Kael had been forced to earn everything. Even his family's love.
"You are the failure," Tyren muttered, barely containing his fury. "The failure is what's sitting right in front of me." He locked eyes with the younger brother.
The younger brother sneered back. "You don't know anything about him."
---
Kael's grandfather, seated at the head of the table, had said nothing thus far. His piercing gaze flicked toward Tyren.
"You should have stayed out of this, boy," the grandfather finally said. His voice was chilling. "Your role in this was always secondary. Your loyalty is misplaced."
Tyren stood up, shaking with barely restrained fury. "I'd rather be the misplaced loyal than be a coward like you. The way you discarded your own grandson—your own blood—because he wasn't 'worthy' enough for you. He'd have bled for this family."
Kael's younger brother's eyes narrowed. He hadn't seen it yet—he hadn't understood Kael's real pain.
"You're no soldier," the younger brother snapped.
"No," Tyren snarled, "but I'll die for Kael. I'll die for the one man who actually knows what loyalty is."
---
Kael's uncle, silent until now, cleared his throat. His wheelchair creaked as he shifted his weight.
"The kid's right, you know." He looked around the room, then locked his gaze onto Kael's grandfather. "What's the use of your 'bloodline' when you're willing to sacrifice the ones who are capable? If anything, you should have learned from Kael's sacrifice."
Kael's grandfather stiffened, but the old man held his tongue.
---
Varros, the high commander, looked at the assembled family with cold calculation. "Kael may be of no use now, but he could still be a weapon—or at least a lesson."
The younger brother turned to him, a glint of interest in his eyes. "So what are you suggesting? You think we can make something of him?"
Varros leaned forward. "The boy's anger is his greatest asset. But it needs to be shaped… controlled. If we recondition him and put him in the right environment, we can make him one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy. He's already been broken, but not enough. He'll never be the boy you rejected again."
---
The room fell into silence.
Tyren's blood boiled. They weren't seeing Kael for what he
was—what he had become. They were seeing what they could use him for.
But Kael was more than that. He was more than their weapon.