The murmurs became gasps. Shouts of disbelief.
"Impossible!" someone called from the upper tiers. "Barkaze died a century ago!"
"He did not." Serna's voice cut through the noise like a blade. "He faked his death. And in the century since, he has been systematically murdering every other candidate who competed in the Prime trials."
The chamber erupted. Voices shouting, demanding proof, expressing shock and horror.
Serna raised her hand, and the massive overhead screen flickered to life.
The footage was grainy, pulled from the shuttle's security systems, but clear enough. The timestamp showed it was only days old.
The first image made my stomach turn even though I'd lived through it. There I was—strapped to that chair, my body twisted at an unnatural angle, blood streaking down my face and chest. My eyes were half-closed, my skin a sickly gray-white that made me look more corpse than man. Even knowing I'd survived, seeing myself like that—broken, tortured, barely clinging to life—sent a chill through me.
"This is Admiral Cullen Blackwood," Serna said, her voice tight with controlled emotion. "After Riuondo captured him.After hours of torture designed to extract information and my cooperation."
The image shifted, showing Riuondo himself. Alive. Undeniably, impossibly alive. His distinctive features were unmistakable—the sharp angles of his face, the cruel set of his mouth, the cold calculation in his eyes as he circled my broken form.
The chamber had gone deathly silent.
The footage continued. Riuondo speaking, gesturing, his lips moving in what was clearly a confession. The attack of the Alliance rescue team. His fight with my mate. Then the moment of his death—Serna's blade finding its mark, the spray of dark blood, his body crumpling to the deck.
The screen froze on that final image: Riuondo Barkaze, unmistakably dead, lying in a pool of his own blood.
"This footage has been verified by three independent forensic teams," Serna said. "The biometric data confirms the identity. Riuondo Barkaze lived. And now he is truly dead."
The chamber devolved into chaos, voices raised in both support and disbelief.
A grizzled Kerzak stood, his voice booming across the chaos. "Order! Let the Prime speak!"
Gradually, the noise subsided.
Serna continued, her voice steady. "Kaell'inth Zir'naex. Threnara Serac. Vextaral Morvan. Sollix Van-arstan. Melthis Vaelara. All dead. All under suspicious circumstances that were never fully investigated. Riuondo confessed to these murders before his death. He spent a century eliminating his competition, building alliances with those who shared his vision of the universe—a vision that included the enslavement of all humans and the execution of any being who took a human as a mate."
The silence that followed was different now. Heavier. Horrified.
"He planned to force my abdication," Serna said. "To take control of the Alliance and implement these policies. He would have started by executing Duke Ako—" she gestured toward where we sat, and I felt every eye in the chamber turn toward us "—for his decades of advocacy for human rights. Then he would have moved on to my own son, Charick, for his association with humans."
I saw Charick in the seats across from us, his face pale but composed. Willa sat beside him, holding Titus close.
"But he failed," Serna continued. "Because I was not alone when he attacked. I was accompanied by Admiral Cullen Blackwood of Earth—a human warrior who has served the Alliance with distinction, who risked his life to protect me, who stood beside me when I needed someone most."
She turned, and her eyes found mine across the chamber.
"And in the process," she said, her voice softening slightly, "I discovered something I never expected to find. Commander Blackwood is my true mate."
The chamber exploded again. This time the voices were mixed—some shocked, some approving, some clearly opposed.
Serna raised her hand, and gradually the noise died down.
"I know this is unprecedented," she said. "I know some of you will question this bond." She hesitated, heavy sign echoing through the chamber.
That got their attention. The chamber went silent again.
"For a century, I believed that a good Prime hid their emotions. That strength meant control, that leadership required distance. I believed that to serve the Alliance, I had to sacrifice my own heart, my own happiness, my own emotions." She paused. "I was wrong."
I could feel the shift in the chamber—the way beings leaned forward, listening intently.
"The Alliance doesn't need a leader who hides their feelings," Serna said, her voice growing stronger. "It needs a leader whofeels. Who hurts when their people hurt. Who rages against injustice. Who loves deeply and fights fiercely for those they care about. That is the kind of Prime I want to be. That is the kind of Prime the Alliance deserves."
