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The air in the Commander's chamber was heavy.
Luna stood in the center of the room, her sea-green robes hanging still around her frame.
Mike leaned back against the heavy oak table, his arms crossed over his chest. The black armor he wore creaked softly with the movement, a sound that seemed deafening in the silence. His golden eyes bored into her, dissecting her resolve.
"That is not for you to decide," Mike had said.
Luna's expression did not change, but her eyes narrowed slightly. "You speak with the arrogance of a man who believes the world bends to his will. But the ocean does not bend, Strat Heda. And neither do I."
She took a step forward, her voice soft but carrying the weight of absolute conviction.
"My people are fishermen. We are weavers. We live on the rig to escape the blood that soaks this land. We have renounced the way of the sword. To force us into your war is to destroy us, regardless of who wins."
Mike didn't move. He didn't blink. "You think you can opt out of the apocalypse, Luna? You think because you live on a pile of rusted metal in the middle of the water, the effects won't reach you?"
"We have defended ourselves before," Luna countered. "If these 'Aztecs' come to the rig, we will repel them. But we will not march. We will not invade. We will not be pawns in a game of conquest."
"Conquest?" Mike let out a laugh. It was devoid of humor. "Is that what you think this is? You think I'm gathering armies because I want more land? Look at this map."
He slammed a gloved hand down onto the parchment spread across the table.
"Look at it!" he commanded.
Luna didn't flinch, but her gaze flickered to the map. Red markers swarmed the southern border like a plague.
"This isn't a territory dispute," Mike growled, pushing off the table and walking toward her. "This isn't about the internal politics or personal gain. This is an extermination event."
"War is always an extermination event for the innocent," Luna said, holding her ground. "That is why I refuse to participate. Violence begets violence. It is a cycle. You kill them, they kill you, and the wheel turns until everyone is dead. I chose to break the wheel."
"You didn't break the wheel," Mike spat, stopping just inches from her. "You just hid under it."
The insult landed. Luna's jaw tightened.
"You do not know me," she whispered, her voice dangerous. "You do not know what I have sacrificed for peace."
"I know exactly who you are," Mike said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "You are the greatest killer this world has produced in a generation. You are the Nightblood who would have been Commander. You killed your own brother in the first round of the Conclave, didn't you? And then you ran. You didn't run because you were weak, Luna. You ran because you were terrified of how good you were at it."
Luna's breath hitched. The memory of the rain, the mud, and the blood flashed behind her eyes. "I ran to save the others. I ran so that no more would have to die for a throne I didn't want."
"And now more will die because you refuse to act," Mike retorted. "You speak of morality? Let me tell you about the Aztecs."
He turned his back on her, walking back to the table, and switched the screen on his hand.
In the last few days, he and M.I.A discovered the Aztecs did have some systems running, and what they found out from their light search was terrifying.
"Do you know what they do to the people they capture?" Mike asked, not waiting for an answer. "They don't just kill them. They don't just enslave them. They harvest them."
He turned on the projection and showed exactly what he saw. Disfigured people, with their organs missing, and the harvested organs being shown to the 'Sun Gods'.
"They worship the sun, and they believe the sun only rises if it is fed blood."
Mike turned back to her, his face a mask of grim fury.
"M.I.A found a village on the path of the Aztec vanguard two days ago. From the image, it was clear it wasn't a military outpost. It was a farming community. Families. Children."
Luna looked as the projection changed again, showing the gruesome satellite image.
"They skin the men alive while their families watch," Mike recited the horrors. "They take the women for breeding stock. And the children? They put them in cages to fatten them up like livestock, because their priests believe the hearts of the innocent burn brighter."
Lexa, who had been silent until now, looked away, her face pale. Even she, a warlord born in blood, found the Aztec practices stomach-churning.
"That is who is coming," Mike said, pointing a finger at Luna. "That is the enemy. They do not care about your pacifism. They do not care about your philosophy. If you meet them with words, they will tear your tongue out and eat it. If you meet them with 'defense,' they will overwhelm you with numbers you cannot comprehend."
Luna looked up, her eyes wet but furious. "Then we die! If that is our fate, we die as free people, not as soldiers in your army!"
"And that is your right?" Mike challenged. "To condemn your entire people to a death of torture and mutilation because you want to keep your hands clean?"
"It is not about clean hands!" Luna shouted, her composure finally cracking. "It is about the soul! If we become like them to defeat them, then we have already lost! You speak of survival, but what is the point of surviving if we become monsters?"
"I will be the monster!!" Mike roared, his voice shaking the glass walls. "So you don't have to be!"
The silence that followed was absolute.
Mike stepped back, his chest heaving slightly. He lowered his voice, but the intensity didn't fade.
"I am not asking you to like it. I am not asking you to agree with my philosophy. I am telling you facts. The Aztecs have a fleet. Crude, but massive. Hundreds of barges."
He walked over to the map and traced the eastern shoreline.
"That way, they will be able to bypass my defensive lines on land. They will land behind us, and you have already seen what will follow. Then they will hit Polis from the rear while their main army hits us from the front. If they control the sea, we lose. Everyone dies. Your rig? It's just a speed bump to them."
He looked at her, his golden eyes burning with a desperate intensity.
"I have the army to hold the land. I have the guns. I have the tactics. But I do not have ships. You do. You control the water. Without Floukru, the eastern flank is wide open."
Luna shook her head slowly. "You ask me to send my people to their deaths. My fishermen are not warriors. They do not know war."
"Then teach them," Mike said.
"No," Luna whispered. "I won't."
Mike stared at her. He saw the wall she had built around herself. It was made of guilt and trauma, and it was impenetrable to logic. She would watch the world burn before she lit a match herself.
He realized then that he couldn't convince her. He had to break her.
Mike's face went cold. The fire in his eyes turned to ice. He straightened up, adjusting his gauntlets with slow, deliberate movements.
"Very well," Mike said quietly. "If you will not listen to reason, you will listen to command."
Luna stiffened. "I do not answer to the Commander. I walked away."
"You are on Coalition land," Mike said. "And we are under martial law."
He looked at Lexa. "Lexa, issue the decree."
Lexa hesitated. She looked at Luna, her old companion. Then she looked at the map, at the red tide threatening to drown her people. She hardened her heart.
"What decree?" Luna asked, looking between them.
Mike answered for her. "The Draft."
He walked around the table until he blocked the exit.
"If Floukru will not volunteer, they will be conscripted. I will send a legion of warriors to your rig tomorrow. We will board your platform. We will seize your ships. And we will take every able-bodied man and woman between the ages of eighteen and forty."
Luna's eyes went wide with shock and rage. "You wouldn't dare. That is tyranny!"
"Then so be it," Mike countered coldly. "I will take your fishermen. I will put rifles in their hands. I will put them on the front lines of the naval blockade. They are untrained? That is your choice. They will be meat shields. They will die in the hundreds to buy me time to sink the Aztec fleet."
"You are a monster!" Luna screamed, her hand instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn't there.
"Yes," Mike agreed instantly. "I am. I will spend their lives like currency if it means stopping the Aztecs from reaching Polis. I will pile their bodies as high as the rig itself if it means security for the rest of the clans who are ready to fight."
He leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper.
"They will die terrified. They will die screaming. They will die with blood on their hands because you refused to lead them. Their blood will be on my ledger, sure. But their souls? That's on you."
Luna was trembling now. Not from fear, but from a mixture of pure hatred and devastating realization. She knew he wasn't bluffing. She could see it in his eyes. He had already done something similar with the Mountain-Men. He would do exactly what he said. He would sacrifice her entire clan to save the majority.
"You give me no choice," Luna hissed, tears of frustration welling in her eyes.
"I am giving you the only choice that matters," Mike corrected.
He stepped back, giving her space.
"Option A: You go back to your room. You stay 'neutral.' I seize your ships, draft your people, and lead them into a slaughter they are not prepared for."
He held up a second finger.
"Option B: You take command. You join the Vanguard. You and your elite guard take the lead. You use your ships, your knowledge of the water, and your skills to command the naval defense. You minimize the casualties. You protect your people by being the one to wield the sword."
Mike crossed his arms.
"If you lead them, fewer of them die. If you lead them, they fight with purpose, not just fear. If you lead them, you take the sin upon yourself so they don't have to."
The room was silent for a long, agonizing minute. The only sound was the wind howling outside the tower, battering against the glass.
Luna looked at Lexa, searching for help. Lexa met her gaze with sad, apologetic eyes, but she did not intervene. The Commander knew Mike was right. The logic was brutal, cruel, and undeniably sound.
Luna looked down at her hands. She had spent years trying to wash the blood off them. She had created a sanctuary where peace was the only law. And now, this man — this golden-eyed — had walked in and shattered it with a few sentences.
She realized, with a sinking heart, that he had trapped her. He had used her own love for her people as a weapon against her pacifism.
If she refused, her people died as slaves to his war machine. If she accepted, she became a killer again.
She closed her eyes, and a single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek.
"I hate you," she whispered.
"Get in line," Mike said dryly.
Luna opened her eyes. The soft, fluid look of the sea was gone. In its place was the cold, hard grey of a winter storm. The Nightblood, the champion of the conclave, had returned.
"If I do this," Luna said, her voice devoid of emotion, "I command the fleet. My ships. My people. You do not give orders on the water. I do."
"Agreed," Mike said immediately. "The sea is yours. Just keep the Aztecs off my back."
"And when this is over," Luna continued, her gaze piercing him, "if there is anyone left alive... Floukru leaves. We leave the Coalition. We leave the mainland. And if you ever set foot on my rig again, I will kill you."
Mike nodded. "Fair terms."
Luna straightened her robes. She looked at Lexa one last time, a look of betrayal and sorrow, before turning her back on the Commander.
She looked at Mike. "You have your navy, Warlord. Prepare the maps. I need to know the depth of the water where we will make our stand."
Mike gestured to the table. "The charts are here. Raven is working on mounting heavy ballistae and cannons on your barges. You'll need to coordinate with her."
"Cannons?" Luna asked, pausing.
"Yeah, you will love them." He said with a grin.
Luna felt a wave of nausea, but she shoved it down. She walked to the table, her hands hovering over the map of the coastline. She looked at the red markers — the Aztecs. The monsters who skinned children.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of wax and war.
"God help us," Luna muttered.
"God is dead," Mike said, walking to the door to summon his generals. "We killed him when we blew up the world. All that's left is us."
He opened the heavy doors and looked back at her.
"Welcome to the Vanguard, Luna. Till the war ends, you be my trident, and I swear to do my best to keep everyone alive."
Luna said nothing for a while, but then said, "Time will tell."
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