The STF Headquarters was alive with its usual rhythm, controlled chaos humming through every corridor.
Holo-screens flickered with reports. Officers moved with urgency. Messengers darted between wings. For the first time since the Ascendants crisis, Steel (Eighth Great) and Stark (Seventh Great) stood at the center of it all, in charge.
Steel sat rigid at the command table, fingers pressed into his temples as reports stacked faster than he could clear them.
Stark leaned over a console, scrolling rapidly.
"Steel, we've got demon flare reports, two political disputes, and three fleet-level requests coming in."
Steel exhaled sharply.
"Just… send two Greats to deal with it."
Stark nodded and keyed the comm.
Moments later, Buzzblade (Seventeenth Great), the massive, chain-sword-wielding warrior, and Azaryl (Fourteenth Great), the Ice Prince and descendant of Ice King, stood before them.
Stark spoke first.
"Buzzblade, we've got a demon flare on a distant planet. I want you in command, end it fast."
Buzzblade grinned beneath his helmet.
"Sounds fun."
Azaryl folded his arms.
"And me?"
"Iron Summit," Stark replied.
"Political dispute. I need you to hear both sides and come back with a solution, not a fight."
Azaryl nodded calmly.
They departed without another word.
Iron Summit – Debate Hall
Azaryl entered the stone-lined chamber dressed not in armor, but in a tailored suit. Representatives sat in opposing pews, tension thick in the air.
A speaker from the right side rose first.
"Trade has controlled the budget for too long. We need to shift toward development and infrastructure."
Before he could finish, a representative from the left side cut in.
"This planet was built on trade. Trade made us strong. You don't dismantle the foundation of an empire for convenience."
All eyes turned to Azaryl.
He stood.
The room fell silent, cameras swiveling, voices dying mid-breath.
Azaryl spoke evenly, his voice carrying without effort.
"Trade will always be vital to the Empire. But strength isn't refusing change, it's adapting to time."
He paced once, slowly.
"We no longer live in the age of the Second or Third Great Wars. We don't require the same level of imports. We can shift funding toward development without weakening trade."
A pause.
"If the Empire is to last, it must grow with its era, not cling to its past."
Applause erupted from both sides.
When the representatives departed, they did so respectfully, disagreement softened by leadership.
Demon-Flared Planet – Orbit
Buzzblade's transport slammed down at a fortified base.
Soldiers stiffened as he passed. Commanders bowed instinctively.
Inside the war room, the Colonel spoke quickly.
"A demon ship emerged from hyperspace and destroyed part of our navy fleet. Our plan is to board it with specialists and senior troopers and take it from the inside. We requested a Great to end this fast."
Buzzblade cracked his neck.
"Good plan. Let's do it."
They deployed via Horizon dropship, breaching the demon vessel under heavy fire.
Buzzblade hit the deck like a wrecking force.
Demons didn't slow him.
He ripped through corridors, lifted enemies off their feet, slammed them into walls, tore through ranks with brutal efficiency. The ship fell within the hour.
By dusk, the vessel was secured and handed over to the Navy for dismantling.
STF HQ – Night
Steel and Stark slumped into chairs, exhaustion written across their faces.
Steel rubbed his eyes.
"Tomorrow you take day shift. I'll handle night shift."
Stark nodded.
"Deal. No more sunrise-to-sunrise nonsense."
Aurelion Peaks – Evening
Far from command rooms and reports, Ian, Optimus, and Blade sat at a long dining table with their families.
The younger kids finished eating first and disappeared upstairs.
Later, the older kids filtered in from sports practices, clubs, and hangouts, laughing, loud, full of life.
After dinner, the three Greats collapsed onto the couch, a sports broadcast playing softly.
The front door opened.
Tarin, Blade's oldest, stepped in.
"Hey, everyone."
Blade glanced over.
"How was your day?"
"Good," Tarin said, grabbing food and sitting down with them.
"Everyone asleep already?"
"Yeah," Blade replied.
"Optimus's wife must've put everyone out with that dinner."
Optimus laughed.
"She tries. Cooking isn't her strongest battlefield."
They watched the game in silence, comfortable, tired, together.
When it ended, lights dimmed and doors closed.