A League observer follows, voice clipped but official. “The League recognizes the legitimacy of Reaper governance under multilateral transparency accords.”
There it is.
Public acknowledgment.
Not of power.
Of existence.
Outside the chamber, feeds surge immediately. Commentators dissect the language in real time.
“—Reaper sovereignty recognized?—”
“—Trade corridors permanently reduced?—”
“—Hardline factions denounce capitulation?—”
On the side monitor, I catch a glimpse of a League-aligned senator pounding a desk in outrage.
“This legitimizes insurgency!” he shouts. “We are rewarding destabilization!”
An Alliance hardliner appears in another pane. “Reduced corridors are insufficient. Reaper militarization remains a threat.”
Their anger is predictable.
Their influence is not negligible.
Rethan shifts slightly behind me. “They will try to unravel this,” he says quietly.
“Yes,” I reply.
The independent delegate speaks again. “Buffer enforcement begins immediately. Defensive fleets remain active but restricted.”
“Restricted,” Rethan mutters under his breath.
“Conditional peace,” Voss clarifies.
“Conditional on what?” I ask.
“Compliance,” he replies.
The word hangs in the air like a thin blade.
We rise from the table one by one. No applause. No handshake theatrics. Just a quiet acknowledgment that something fragile now exists where open war nearly did.
As we step into the corridor outside the chamber, civilian station traffic resumes its rhythm around us. Docking clamps thud softly in distant bays. Traders argue over shipment manifests. Life refuses to pause for political recalibration.
“You secured survival,” Elara says quietly at my side.
“Yes.”
“Not dominance.”
“No.”
Rethan exhales slowly. “Trade corridor reductions will cut revenue by nearly thirty percent.”
“I know,” I reply.
