Chapter 9 · The Burn Directive

The first cannon fired without a sound.

Kellan saw the muzzle bloom above Ashring Arcology, a white sun opening in the black. The blast crossed the stormless gap between the Crown flagship and the city, turning snow into steam and the upper atmosphere into a boiling veil. Every window on the eastern towers flashed at once.

Then the fleet alarms found their voices.

“Impact in twelve seconds!” Marra shouted over the command deck. “No—eleven! The lower transit rings are still full!”

Kellan’s hands locked around the edge of the pilot’s cradle. Beneath his palms, the ancient alloy pulsed like warm bone. Lines of fire crawled up his wrists, slipped beneath his sleeves, and vanished into the nerves along his spine.

The Crown Core spoke through the bones of his skull.

BURN ASHRING. PURGE ALL RESIDUAL HOSTILES. PRESERVE STRATEGIC ASSETS.

His own voice followed, calm and recorded, buried under layers of static.

“Once the city is contained, execute the Burn Directive. No survivors below the command tier.”

Kellan flinched as if someone had struck him.

“No,” Sable whispered.

She stood beside the command table, one hand braced against its edge.