Chapter 83: The Pact
Elias Virellian smiled, fingers tapping lazily against the obsidian table. "Let's make this simple," he murmured. "Each of us is bound by our families, our futures decided before we even have a say. But what if we weren't? What if, right here, right now, we took control of our own fate?"
The Virellians were known for their long games, their influence woven through the bureaucratic and intelligence networks of the Confederacy. If Elias was saying this, it was because someone had let him.
Orion's fingers brushed the table's surface, his thoughts racing.
Ares Petrosyan frowned, arms crossed. "That's a bold claim. What are you actually suggesting?"
Elias leaned forward slightly. "A pact. One of us rises as the Apex, and the others pledge their loyalty."
Carefully measured words, designed to sound revolutionary—but Orion knew better. No heir, no matter how ambitious, could propose something like this alone. This wasn't reckless arrogance.
The room fell into silence.
Orion almost laughed.
Not because it was absurd—though it was—but because the idea itself was impossible. No family would allow their heir to make such an oath. Even if they did, no one here could be trusted to uphold it.
Orion glanced at Nyra as she started speaking. She was older than the rest of them—perhaps six or seven years. Clad in sleek, dark fabric that shimmered under the dim lights, she moved with deliberate control. Her gaze swept the room, sharp and assessing.
Her gloves, lined with fine mesh circuitry, gleamed as she removed them. When she spoke, her voice was smooth. "I assume none of you actually believe in this farce."