Ankrae could only stare at the creature that looked like Kraklak, wondering, were these fragments of his memories twisted into this mental image of Kraklak, or was this truly him—just… altered?

"I don't have much time to talk," Ankrae said, her voice rough but steady. "The Hydrarchs want to negotiate on how to end this conflict."

The creature said nothing, It just looked at her for a few moments, then spoke again.

"I agree."

Was she hearing or imagining things?

Had her mind already been broken, was it playing tricks with her memories? Maybe she's dead, she thought, her mind was spinning.

"Did you just agree?"

"Yes," it answered, as if reading her mind. "As long as they offer me Aegirarch alive and a ceasefire, I'll negotiate."

"So this is real, but why do I look like this? I don't look like this in the real world." Kraklak spoke.

She turned to Kraklak, who was examining his altered form.

"I had to fix several genetic inefficiencies in your body," the creature explained casually. "This appearance is a possible side effect—one I'll study later."

It paused for a moment, "Although, strangely, these changes have affected your mental image."

Silence stretched between them before Kraklak turned his black-eyed gaze back to her. "How's your situation, Ankrae?"

"Currently being held hostage along with the rest of the assembly," she said stiffly. "All our ships and assets seized. Our home… ruined."

She said, bitterly.

"But we're alive."

"I see that as an advantage," the creature said calmly. "Tell them you shall host the negotiations on Ivinal's surface." It leaned closer, voice sinking lower. "Now, do you wish to survive?"

Ankrae hesitated, calculating the odds, the possibilities, the betrayals ahead.

"What are your terms?" she asked.

"Eternal servitude."

She was silent as she stared into its black, bottomless eyes. "Why would I agree to that?" she asked.

"How long do you believe your fleet could survive? Your numbers are dwindling, your loyalty is fractured, and there's no unified front left to fight me."

Not long, she thought grimly.

"What do you offer if we accept?" she asked instead, her voice hard.

"You live," the creature said simply. "I would alter your genetic structure—bring you closer to Kraklak's new design. He looks normal in the physical world."

"These are my terms—for you, a few chosen individuals, and the surviving clone forces. If you think destroying Imreth and Phaedra will kill me, then you've already lost."

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Ankrae stayed silent, glancing at Kraklak. He was just staring back, those strange black eyes locked on her.

"How did you survive?" she asked him softly. "The reports said you were dead."

Kraklak shrugged. "Nothing grand, I was captured, transported in some biological horror, mind-probed, pleaded for my life and got a job."

That shut her up fast.

Her mind raced, every path she saw led to death or worse. There was no choice left.

"I accept," she said finally.

"Good," The creature replied. "Tell them I will negotiate a ceasefire only when Aegirarch is handed to me alive. One of my ships will orbit Ivinal to deploy a diplomatic envoy."

"You will inform them that my name… is Trumek."

With that, Ankrae felt the connection break. She snapped back into her body—whole, intact. No changes she could detect. But with something like Trumek, she thought uneasily, I'd never know if it had done anything.

Kraklak turned to Trumek.

"So… peace?"

"No." Trumek's voice was almost amused. "I just want to break Aegirarch's mind myself. He is the architect of this entire campaign."

"I see…" Kraklak muttered.

"You were close to him," Trumek said, almost lightly. "I'm sure his death will affect you.

Do you want me to alter your memories?"

Kraklak shook his head quickly. "No. No, I'll keep them."

"But why," he muttered to himself, "do I remember every mistake I've ever made? Every tiny failure… It's unnerving."

"I simply made your brain more efficient," Trumek said with a shrug. "If you wish, I can remove selected memories. But you'd have to go back into the pod."

Kraklak recoiled at the thought.

"No. No. I'll keep them. I… I find all this biological technology unsettling.

You don't seem to understand how your very existence could destabilize civilized space."

"I understand perfectly," Trumek said calmly. "But I have no interest in interacting with your region of space—unless I must. I only require one item from your space."

"What item?" Kraklak asked warily.

Trumek turned toward him, eyes gleaming.

"When the time comes, I'll show you."

Then the connection cut.

Kraklak jerked awake, finding himself back in the physical world.

Only a minute had passed.

The clones around him were still asleep. He checked the map— and it showed they were still moving southward.

He leaned back, staring into the ceiling of the transport, mind racing.

What could Trumek possibly want?

He shook his head and closed his eyes, hoping to drift back into an uneasy sleep.

———

With everyone gone, I stood alone in the endless white expanse. With a single thought, the void shifted, reshaping itself into a model of the solar system.

Most of my mind remained focused on the battlefields, but part of me turned to study what I knew of Ivinal's surface.

The moon was a frozen wasteland—its composition primarily ice, laced with small amounts of ammonia and traces of methane.

Larger methane deposits are clustered in the east and north.

Its most notable features were the sprawling glacial caves, a few naturally formed cavern systems, and the scattered Valurian habitats studying the microbial life beneath the ice.

I could expand there, I mused. With enough biomorphs and harvesters, I could establish a foothold within one of those caves.

As for this so-called diplomatic exchange… it was meaningless.

I didn't seek peace.

All I wanted was Aegirarch's mind—intact—for absorption.

———

Ankrae returned to the physical world, her mind racing.

What was about to unfold would surely doom them all—but when survival was at stake, her survival was all that mattered.

"Has it agreed to negotiate?"

Her spiralling thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Oryss-Vezhiran.

"Trumek has agreed to a ceasefire," she said. "On the condition that Aegirarch is handed over alive and unharmed. Those are its terms."

"Is that all, or was there something else?" Oryss-Vezhiran asked.

"Trumek will only negotiate with me," she continued, "as it feels a certain kinship with those who possess etheric abilities."

For several moments, Oryss-Vezhiran said nothing more, studying her.

"How fortunate for you," he finally murmured. "And I assume you wish for the return of your Assembly and assets in exchange for acting as our envoy?"

"Correct," she replied, her voice steady despite the weight pressing down on her.

"Then they shall be returned," Oryss-Vezhiran said. "However, no ship capable of contributing to the war effort will be restored to you. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Once again, it seems I am right," he said, a hint of smugness in his voice. "There is always a path for hostilities to end without further bloodshed, Ankrae."

But she barely heard him.

Her mind was elsewhere, coldly calculating what her future would look like under Trumek's rule.

Eternal servitude.

The thought made her shudder.

Seeing the extent of its biological mastery, she realized she could be bound to it for eternity—serving its will until the end of time… or until the Great Light returned and wiped this twisted realm clean.

———

Aegirarch lounged back, watching the endless flood of holographic videos stored in his archives.

Currently playing was a complex political drama, set during an era when the Grithan's were still primitive—divided, underdeveloped, and far from the towering power they had become.

He found those times fascinating.

Their politics and wars were both simpler and paradoxically, more sincere compared to the tangled traditions and endless scheming that defined modern Grithan society.

His enjoyment didn't last.

An urgent communication blared across the fleet comms, carrying a simple order: Capture Aegirarch alive.

He read the transmission details, feeling a wave of cold fury flood through him—but he crushed it down, forcing his mind to stay calm.

With a flick of his wrist, he summoned his V.I., watching as ship after ship moved into coordinated search patterns across the system.

He laughed—a deep, humourless sound.

Do they truly believe this will end peacefully? That the anomaly will simply negotiate because they delivered me like a trophy?

Fools.

It had to be the Hydrarchs behind this absurd plan.

The ever-present sickness of Grithan society: greed—always pushing, always consuming, until even common sense drowned beneath it.

He chuckled again, colder this time, thinking of how many of them would die for their arrogance.

Let them come.

His V.I. would track their desperate movements.

If they wanted him alive, they would have to bleed for it.

He leaned back, returning to his drama, letting time slip by as the net tightened around him.

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