The air in the Citadel's command center shifted the moment the portal swirled open. Lucian stepped through first, his expression grim. Then came Kael, his immense, scaled form having to dip slightly to clear the doorway. The difference was jarring—the sleek, human technology of the Citadel framing a king from a realm of monsters.

Marc, who'd been leaning against a console, straightened up slowly. His eyes, hard and assessing, moved from his brother to the monster king and back. Vyn, standing near the main viewscreen, didn't move, but her serene expression tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Well now," Marc said, his voice a low rumble. "Look what followed you home." He crossed his arms. "Taking help from the ones who tried to turn this planet into a graveyard not too long ago. That's a choice."

Kael's crimson eyes glowed faintly, but he remained silent, letting Lucian handle it.

Lucian didn't even break stride, moving to the head of the central table. "The situation's changed. Old fights don't matter. We're all friends here now." His tone left no room for debate. It was a statement of fact, not a request.

Marc and Vyn exchanged a look. It was a look that said, 'He's lost his mind.' But it was also a look that held a deep, weary trust. After a moment, Marc just shrugged one massive shoulder. "Your show."

With the fragile, temporary peace established, Lucian's gaze swept the room. His eyes landed on Vyn, or more specifically, on the small, draconic figure perched on her shoulder, currently examining his own claws with an air of profound boredom.

"Kaelis," Lucian said.

The dragon didn't look up. "The one with the lamentable interior design taste speaks. How novel."

"We need to talk. Now."

"I am not a database to be queried at your whim," Kaelis sniffed, finally deigning to glance at Lucian. "I am the Progenitor. The First Spark. My wisdom is not for—"

Lucian didn't raise his voice. He didn't make a threat. He simply looked at the ancient dragon. His gaze was flat, patient, and utterly uncompromising. It was the look of a master who had run out of patience for his pet's theatrics.

The silence stretched. Kaelis's tail gave an irritated twitch. He looked from Lucian's unwavering face to the hulking form of Kael, to the skeptical faces of Marc and Vyn. He let out a dramatic, put-upon sigh that smelled faintly of ozone and ash.

"Oh, very well." With a flutter of his wings, he dropped from Vyn's shoulder, landing in the very center of the polished table with a soft click. He sat there, wrapping his tail around his feet, looking like a disgruntled piece of living jewelry. "You wish to know how to kill a god. Ask your questions. But be quick about it. I have napping to do."

Lucian took a seat, leaning forward. "We're not talking about killing. We're talking about stopping. Start with their weaknesses."

"Weaknesses?" Kaelis let out a dry chuckle. "You might as well ask for the weakness of gravity. Or time. The Aethels were not a race of soldiers. They were a race of… authors. The universe was their manuscript. Their 'strength' was the ability to pick up the pen and edit."

He tilted his head. "Your own burgeoning ability, boy-king, that clumsy scrawl you call 'Conceptual Sovereignty'? That is a pale, watered-down echo of what the least of them could do by instinct. An Aethel did not declare 'there is no attack.' They would simply decide that the concept of 'harm' was aesthetically displeasing in that particular sector of space, and it would be so."

Marc shifted uncomfortably. The scale of what they were facing was beginning to sink in.

"So they have no weaknesses?" Lucian pressed, his voice steady.

"I did not say that," Kaelis replied, flicking a bit of invisible dust from his scale. "Their weakness was the same as their strength: their nature. They are beings of pure concept, wearing flesh as an afterthought. To fight one is not to throw bigger explosions. It is to wage a war of ideas."

He looked around at their blank faces and sighed again, this time with genuine exasperation. "You are all so very literal. Let me make it simple for your concrete minds."

"An Aethel's power is tied to their conviction, to their understanding of the concepts they wield. It is an act of absolute, unshakable belief. The moment that belief wavers, their power flickers. This is why the lesser races were able to defeat them. Not through superior force, but through corruption. They introduced… dissonance."

"What kind of dissonance?" Vyn asked softly, her curiosity piqued.

"Philosophical contradictions. Emotional turmoil. An Aethel who defines themselves by 'Order' can be unraveled by introducing a paradox their mind cannot resolve. One who wields 'Protection' can be broken by forcing them to choose who to protect. They are masters of reality, but they are slaves to their own self-defined truth."

Kaelis's eyes glinted as he looked directly at Lucian. "Your father, for instance. He has anchored his entire being to 'Vengeance.' It is a powerful, clean, and terribly brittle concept. It offers no nuance, no mercy, no room for doubt. To stop him, you would not need a bigger gun. You would need to shatter his conviction. Make him question the very foundation of his revenge."

"And how do we do that?" Lucian asked.

"How should I know?" Kaelis spread his tiny claws. "Perhaps remind him he has sons he abandoned. Perhaps show him the innocent lives his war will burn. Perhaps force his newly awakened daughter to choose between her father and her brothers. It is a psychological war, not a physical one. You must attack the idea of 'Alistair,' not the man."

The room was silent, digesting this. It was a completely different kind of battlefield.

"And Lucy?" Kael's voice was a low growl, the first time he'd spoken since entering the room. "How do we free her from his influence?"

Kaelis turned his piercing gaze to the monster king. "The girl is the key, and the vulnerability. She is awakened, but new. Her conviction is still forming. She is not yet fully an 'Author.' She is still, in part, the woman you know. Her ties to you, to this place, to her past… that is the dissonance you must amplify. She is the crack in your father's armor. Exploit it."

He looked back at Lucian, a faint, almost respectful smirk on his reptilian face. "Your father seeks a war of annihilation. You must give him a family therapy session from the depths of hell. I wish you luck. You will need it."

With that, Kaelis fluttered back to Vyn's shoulder, looking immensely pleased with himself, having delivered a universe-shattering lesson and reduced it to a problem of dysfunctional family dynamics.

Lucian leaned back, staring at the table where the dragon had been. The path was clear, and it was more terrifying than any fleet. They weren't just hunting a man. They were preparing to break his heart and his mind, using his own children as the weapons. And at the center of it all was Lucy, their sister, now the ultimate prize in a war of beliefs.

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