Chapter 10 · The Boy Inside the Anchor

The red eye opened in the command glass.

It was not a reflection. It had no socket, no face, no body—only a narrow crimson iris floating beneath layers of tactical data. Around it, the Crown flagship shuddered as the Ash Fleet rebuilt its targeting web.

“Authorization required,” the voice said inside Kellan’s skull. “Second burn sequence prepared.”

Kellan tasted blood.

He was on one knee beside the ruptured Crown Core, one hand pressed against the metal deck while the other clutched the base of his neck. Every nerve along his spine sparked with white heat. The command lattice had withdrawn from his mind, but something had remained behind. Something small. Something buried.

Brom Hark slammed the emergency bulkhead shut. The locking wheel spun under his grease-blackened hands.

“Tell me that door holds,” Brom said.

“It won’t,” Sir Caedran Holt answered from the command pit. His voice was thin from blood loss, but his pistol remained steady. “Not against a fleet.”

Beyond the forward glass, hundreds of warships moved through the upper clouds of Ashring. Their armor glowed dull orange in the gas giant’s storms.