Chapter 6

In the High Courts of Hebron, on the far side of the vast creation, the Prious moves with measured authority down the endless corridors. The looming alabaster walls rise on either side, cold and pristine, adorned with intricate steel designs that jutted out like metallized skeletal remains. The air thrums with a quiet tension as his steps echo against the gleaming floor. Behind him, in perfect synchronization, marches his elite Bellator soldiers, their polished armour gleaming under the artificial light. Two parallel rows, silent and disciplined, flank the Prious like an unbreakable force.

Eventually, the Prious arrives at the sealed ingress. "Wait here."

The guards give a strong salute. The Prious moves forward and the ingress slides open. Once he enters, it closes behind him.

"Seal the ingress and encrypt all communication lines."

"As you wish, Prious." 

The Prious glide effortlessly across the pristine, white granite stage, the circular platform emblazoned with the emblem of the Intergalactic Planetary Alliance—a symbol of boundless power and unity. His robes whisper against the surface, the sleek material catching the light as he moves, drawn to the throne at its centre. Forged from gleaming Actian steel, the throne emanates authority, its cold surface shimmering under the chamber's soft luminescence. As he settles upon it, his presence magnifies the grandeur of the moment.

With a subtle gesture, the Prious activates the embedded data screen on the armrest. Instantly, the chamber responds. Four holographic figures flickers into existence at the room's far edges, casting faint shadows of ethereal light. As the figures solidify, four thrones rise from the floor, one for each hologram, crafted uniquely to reflect the identities of the other Priosess. They materialise in full, the other leaders of the Intergalactic Interplanetary Alliance seated in their regal forms—commanders of distant realms, bound together by the fabric of their interstellar governance. 

"Prious Canis, why have you summoned an assemblage?" the Prious of Lupherya queries. Ornate in a gilt garment that flatters the rich bronze of her Sepian skin. Her head is adorned with an extravagant gilt crown that spurts out fine golden rays, arcing above her head majestically. The sharp tips drip down gilded strings that cascade to her shoulders.

"Because of this." Prious Canis keys in a few commands into the data screen. The projector on the centre of the ceiling activates. Once he locates what he is searching for, he uses his index finger to scroll upwards exaggeratedly. The holographic image moves off screen. It sails through virtual channels and it halts perfectly in the heart of the room. Prious Canis double taps on the data screen so the holographic image enlarges, automatically swivelling on display.

"It cannot be…" the Prious of Korpha murmurs in sheer horror.

"This must be an error. That Mark has not been seen in a millennium," the Prious of Venereah says, his face painted with metallic cosmetics that cannot shroud the look of terror that is engraved beneath.

"It is true. And if it is true, that means this Mark symbolises more than an insignia," Prious Canis says.

The Tsarina of Oresyia sits poised, her posture a portrait of regal dominance, her forearms resting with elegance on the arms of her obsidian throne. Her body radiates a cold, unyielding grace. The pure white crown atop her head, adorned with bristly crystalline spikes, remained fixed in place—a symbol of her pristine authority as she inclines her head, her lofty gaze sweeps over the others, cold and imperious. Her eyes gleam like distant stars, observing them from the heights of her superiority, each glance a calculated assertion of her power.

 "It seems the sins of our Predecessors have come to plague us." The Tsarina lifts her hand. Her pearly skin shimmers like the silky glimmer of a solar moon, her talons stroking her chin thoughtfully.

There's a beat of silence.

"What sin?" the Prious of Venereah questions, voice like the hiss of an unsheathed sword. "The only legacy our Predecessors left behind is the very charge we are now bound to uphold: to protect the Priostry, safeguard our citizens, and defend the myriad beings that dwell among the stars."

The Tsarina barely rotates her head to flick him an apathetic glance, her perfectly straight hair falling down her shoulder in an iron stream. "Do you think that salvaging our citizens vindicates them of what they did in order to protect us all?" she questions, her steel gaze piercing virtual holes in the Prious of Venereah's chest.

Their voices sharp, their quarrelling shrill, tongues lashing out.

He counters, saying, "There are times when one must do what is necessary, regardless of the cost, for the greater good. The truth, harsh and unyielding, is seldom palatable, nor does it seek to be. Yet, as a ruler of your own realm, you must already understand this grim reality—that the weight of leadership often demands actions that neither comfort the soul nor ease the conscience."

Anger bades the Tsarina to retort. "It was subterfuge under the veneer of benevolence."

"Enough!" Prious Canis thunders.

Silence bathes the steel chamber.

What fills the air is not fraught silence but the silence that holds insurmountable uncertainty. This lull forebodes an existential threat upon all Captises. The peril of the unknown.

The Tsarina clears the emotion from her tone. "What does this mean?" she queries somberly. Her forearm lifts to gesture to the symbol that levitates on display in front of them. "What does this mean for us all?"

Prious Canis inclines his head, fear sowing dread in his innards. "The emergence of the Mark belies my qualms. Which for one I do not believe that anyone or anything could survive such a cataclysm—"

"Of course not," the Prious of Venereah snaps, "not even a celestial god could resurrect from an annihilation of that ambit."

"—but despite what I may believe. We should adhere to the Predecessor's instructions. Precautions that have been long before set. Now it must be executed. I have been counselled by my most trusted advisor. The plans for the relocation must commence."