The Phyrax Dorne mothership loomed above the ruined ocean, an obsidian monolith against the stars. Unlike the brutal, utilitarian warships under its command, this vessel was elegance and dominance incarnate—a structure not built for war, but for rule. It pulsed with controlled energy, each fiery vein within its framework pulsating like the slow, deliberate heartbeat of something ancient.

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  Inside the vast chamber of the Primordial Throne, Kael’Zir knelt, his head bowed, the molten glow of his exoskeletal armor dimmed in submission. The holographic projection before him flickered, revealing a towering figure cloaked in flowing embers, wreathed in firelight.

  Queen Iskhera.

  Her form was not solid but ever-shifting, a mirage of fury and absolute authority. The living embodiment of the Phyrax Dorne’s will. The cold precision in her luminous gaze burned through him, her molten irises locked in contempt.

  The silence before her voice carried a weight of judgment.

  “Explain.”

  Kael’Zir clenched his fists against the ground, his voice firm but careful. “The human is an unexpected interference, my Queen. They have been in contact with the Vey’Narii. It seems their primitive warship has been upgraded. The technology is… almost as good as ours.”

  A spark of annoyance flickered across Iskhera’s burning visage.

  “Almost?” she repeated, the word dripping with disdain.

  Kael’Zir did not flinch. “It is still crude, inferior. But it adapts. They adapt.”

  Iskhera leaned forward, her presence swelling. “Adaptation is a survival trait. It is not strength. It is desperation.”

  Kael’Zir hesitated only a moment before continuing. “I have met the human who calls himself Captain Henshaw. He is… more than we expected.”

  A deep, reverberating hum filled the chamber—a low vibration of displeasure.

  “Do not insult me with your reverence for these creatures.” Iskhera’s voice was sharper now, like a blade dipped in molten fury. “You are Phyrax Dorne. The pinnacle of what remains. You do not observe primitives—you eradicate them.”

  Kael’Zir tensed. “Yes, my Queen.”

  Her fire-wreathed silhouette shifted, the embers around her flaring violently. “I will not tolerate failure. Especially failure caused by these insignificant, unevolved vermin.”

  Kael’Zir lowered his gaze. He knew better than to argue.

  She continued, her tone slow and deliberate. “You are there for a reason, and only one reason. Terminate that planet and return with the resources. I care not for these distractions.”

  Kael’Zir bowed his head further. “It will be done.”

  Iskhera narrowed her gaze. The embers around her wavered like coiled serpents of flame, flickering in agitation.

  "Next time they attack, we will be ready," Kael’Zir promised, his voice laced with a determined growl. “This ends now.”

  A pause. Then, the Queen exhaled slowly, the chamber pulsing with energy as she spoke the words that had been carved into the very essence of their kind:

  “See to it that it is.”

  Her eyes burned through him.

  “Remember, Kael’Zir. We all answer to something.”

  And with that, her image vanished—leaving only the smoldering glow of dominance hanging in the air.

  Kael’Zir rose slowly, his fists clenched. The embers along his plated armor flared, fueled by his fury.

  Henshaw.

  The name lingered in his mind like an ember refusing to die.

  This human captain had done something no creature had before.

  He had made Kael’Zir hesitate.

  Never again. He turned, his burning silhouette disappearing into the bowels of the mothership. Preparations for annihilation had begun.