The Great Consul meeting of Fanisila ended in a way no one present had anticipated.
When the last words were spoken and the nobles slowly began rising from their seats, a strange silence hung over the enormous chamber. The marble pillars of the hall seemed colder somehow, and the banners of the Terrian Empire that once symbolized unity now looked like silent witnesses to the fractures forming within its ruling class.
What had shocked them most was not the Emperor's verdict.
It was Leonora Kaelthorn's decision.
Her request to step away from royal duties had rippled through the chamber like a shockwave. Many nobles whispered among themselves even as they exited the hall, trying to make sense of the situation. The Kaelthorn couple had long been viewed as pillars of the empire's military strength. To hear Leonora ask for leave—especially after surviving such a catastrophic battle—felt to many like the first crack in something far greater.
But what truly unsettled the court came moments later.
Just as the hall began to empty, Prime Minister Alan rose from his seat beside the imperial throne.
His voice, calm yet sharp, carried through the chamber.
"Before we conclude," he said, adjusting the thin lenses resting on the bridge of his nose, "His Majesty has one final directive regarding the Terria incident."
The murmurs immediately died.
Even the nobles halfway to the exit stopped and turned.
Emperor Johan Adrin remained seated upon the throne, silent and still, yet the authority radiating from him filled the chamber more than any speech could have.
Alan continued.
"By the Emperor's command, an internal imperial investigation will begin immediately."
A wave of uneasy glances spread across the room.
Alan clasped his hands behind his back.
"This investigation will determine how the intruders bypassed the Catacomb defense grid, how they reached one of its nodes, and most importantly—who aided them."
A noble near the back laughed nervously.
"You speak as if there was a traitor among us."
Alan's eyes lifted slowly.
"Yes."
The word echoed like a dropped blade.
The room exploded into whispers.
The Catacombs were the empire's deepest defense network—a labyrinth of orbital systems and hidden installations protecting Terria and its surrounding space. For an enemy unit to breach it so precisely, strike one of its nodes, and escape with their objective intact meant only one thing.
Someone had opened a door.
Alan let the silence grow heavier before finishing the announcement.
"Per His Majesty's decree, no one will be exempt from this investigation."
The temperature of the room seemed to drop instantly.
Several nobles stiffened in their seats.
Others began speaking over each other.
"That is absurd!"
"You cannot mean the nobility!"
"This is an insult to our houses!"
But Alan's next words silenced them once more.
"The Emperor has placed the investigation under my direct authority."
He paused, his gaze sweeping the chamber.
"And any individual found guilty of leaking imperial intelligence or assisting the attackers… will face punishment more severe than the intruders themselves."
The finality of that statement struck like thunder.
Because everyone in that hall understood what it meant.
Execution would be mercy.
By the time the nobles spilled out into the marble corridors of the palace, the atmosphere had completely changed.
What had begun as shock quickly evolved into something far more dangerous.
Fear.
The Terrian nobility had long lived under the comfort of their titles. Their houses, wealth, and influence formed an invisible shield around them. Many had grown accustomed to the belief that they were beyond consequence.
Now that shield had cracked.
And fear did something terrible to powerful people.
It made them desperate.
Within hours, the corridors of power turned into battlegrounds of whispers.
Old rivalries resurfaced.
Secret alliances began to fracture.
Accusations were thrown like daggers.
"House Dalvern has always had suspicious trade routes."
"What about the Vartellis? Their shipyards handle half the empire's logistics."
"The Kaelthorn couple themselves were present during the incident—"
That last rumor spread the fastest.
It was whispered first in quiet corners of the palace.
Then in private salons.
Soon it was spoken openly in noble courts across Fanisila.
If someone had orchestrated the attack…
Who better than the ones closest to it?
Youri and Leonora Kaelthorn had fought the Hound directly.
They had been at the center of the catastrophe.
And now Leonora had requested withdrawal from royal duty.
To many suspicious minds, that looked less like exhaustion and more like guilt.
The Kaelthorn couple became an easy target.
And the more frightened the nobles grew of Alan's investigation, the louder those accusations became.
Meanwhile, the Special Committee formed under Alan's command began its work immediately.
Unlike the nobles, Alan moved with quiet efficiency.
He gathered analysts, intelligence officers, and investigators from multiple branches of the imperial administration.
Records were opened.
Trade logs were examined.
Communication channels were traced.
For the first day, nothing significant appeared.
The attackers had left almost no trace.
Their ship—still unidentified—had vanished into the dark of space.
The Hound unit itself had escaped after the battle with Youri.
Everything seemed perfectly executed.
Too perfectly.
Which meant someone had planned it carefully.
On the second day, a young analyst within the logistics division found something strange.
It was a small detail.
Almost insignificant.
But it didn't fit.
She flagged it immediately.
Within the hour, the file reached Alan's desk.
He read it once.
Then again.
His eyes narrowed.
"Bring me everything related to this transport vessel," he said quietly.
Two days before the attack on Terria…
An unlogged cargo ship had departed from Batuzane.
That alone was unusual.
Batuzane was the empire's central orbital hub—a massive station where every vessel entering or leaving Terrian space required strict registration.
Nothing left without documentation.
Except this one.
According to port surveillance, the ship had launched normally.
Its transponder indicated it was a standard shipping container transport.
Its crew consisted of only six individuals.
A skeleton crew, but not unheard of for automated cargo carriers.
Its declared route was simple.
Exit Terrian orbit.
Jump to an outer trade route.
Deliver cargo.
Routine.
But the problem was this:
It never left Terrian orbit.
Alan leaned back slowly in his chair.
The ship's transponder logs showed it accelerating away from Batuzane.
But long-range radar never recorded its departure.
Instead…
It vanished.
No jump signature.
No exit trajectory.
Nothing.
Then, several hours later—
The same vessel reappeared in Batuzane's docking logs.
Returning as if it had simply completed its route.
No one questioned it.
The station traffic controllers processed thousands of ships daily.
A container transport returning early barely registered.
But now, looking back at the timeline…
Alan noticed something chilling.
The cargo ship returned less than twelve hours before the Terria attack.
And when investigators finally located the docking bay it had used…
They discovered something even stranger.
The cargo containers were gone.
Not transferred.
Not registered.
Gone.
Alan stood slowly.
The room around him buzzed with analysts discussing the discovery, but his mind was already moving ahead.
A ship that never left orbit.
Cargo that vanished without record.
An attack that required precise access to Catacomb defenses.
The pieces were beginning to align.
But the picture they formed was unsettling.
Because if the attackers had hidden within those cargo containers…
Then they had been inside Terrian space before the battle even began.
Which meant the attack wasn't just infiltration.
It was preparation.
And someone inside the empire had made it possible.
Alan turned toward the large window overlooking the glowing lights of Fanisila.
Below, the imperial capital moved as if nothing had changed.
But beneath that calm surface…
Something dark was spreading through the empire's foundations.
He spoke quietly to the officer beside him.
"Find that ship."
The officer hesitated.
"Sir… the vessel identification code no longer exists in the registry."
Alan smiled faintly.
Not with amusement.
With realization.
"Of course it doesn't."
He looked back at the data pad in his hand.
Then gave his next order.
"Trace the crew."
A moment later the officer's terminal chimed.
He froze.
"Sir…"
Alan glanced up.
"What is it?"
The officer swallowed.
"The crew manifest…"
He turned the screen slowly.
"…every listed crew member is already dead."
Alan stared at the names.
Six individuals.
All Terrian citizens.