Chapter 56: Hekatryon
Orion sat alone in his quarters, posture relaxed but mind razor-sharp. He had initiated the secure comm minutes ago, bypassing several layers of encryption only he and his father had access to. The screen flickered once before stabilizing—Cassian's image materialized, seated behind his polished obsidian desk on a distant flagship.
He had come here with a simple purpose: to gauge his father's reaction.
And the moment he spoke the name—Hekatryon—he got exactly what he wanted.
Cassian's expression tightened. Not by much, just a flicker, a fractional delay in his usually seamless control. A pause, a hesitation—uncharacteristic for a man who had mastered the art of deception in both war and politics. But Orion had been raised to notice these things. And once seen, they couldn't be unseen.
A silence stretched across the encrypted channel, the air between them somehow heavier despite the physical distance.
Cassian's face smoothed over, regaining its usual unreadable calm. His hands, resting on the desk in the video feed, remained still—no twitch of fingers, no subtle motion betraying unease. But Orion had already seen it.
His father knew.
"Where did you hear that name?" Cassian's voice came through the comm with no lag—level, composed, but Orion caught the shift in its weight. This wasn't casual curiosity—it was controlled restraint.
Orion didn't answer. He just waited.
The briefest flicker of consideration—how much to say, how much to withhold.
Then, finally, his father exhaled, leaning back slightly. "You are too perceptive for your own good, kid. You'll learn about it in the Special Candidates Program."