Page 73 of Ravaged By the Reaper
He steps closer, arms loose at his sides. No weapons. No defenses. Just a Reaper standing in front of a war-forged woman like she’s the only thing worth defending.
“I’ve seen you in battle,” he says. “Heard your scream over plasma fire. Watched you rally the broken and shame the arrogant. This—” he gestures to the makeshift summit room “—this might be the most dangerous battlefield you’ve ever walked into.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“And yet you go anyway.”
“I have to.”
He nods once, slow and deliberate. Then, with that inhuman grace of his, he lowers his head until we’re eye to eye. The air tightens between us.
“Win or lose…” he says, voice low and reverent, “I will stand beside you.”
It hits like a body blow.
No fanfare. No dramatic promises. Just truth—pure and sharp and sacred.
I blink, throat suddenly too tight for words.
He’s never said he loves me. Not outright. But this? This is what it looks like when a Reaper pledges his soul.
“I…” I falter, then laugh under my breath. “Stars, Haktron, you make everything harder.”
He smirks. “I aim to please.”
“You succeed.”
He leans in, voice a gravelly whisper near my ear. “Just don’t get yourself killed before the speech. It’d ruin the whole aesthetic.”
I roll my eyes, but my heart’s full to bursting.
This is what I’ve been fighting for—not just survival, not just justice, but the right to stand here, seen and respected. Not as a tool. Not as a possession. But as a force of my own.
“Take your place,” I tell him.
He inclines his head and moves to the shadows near the rear wall—watchful but unintrusive. A sentinel, not a savior.
The doors slide open with a hiss.
Alliance enters first, crisp uniforms and narrow glares. Then the Coalition rep, cloaked in crimson and contempt. Finally,Panaka—swaggering in like a predator invited to dinner. He nods once at me, then takes his seat with the barest grin.
I grip the edges of the podium.
My voice doesn’t shake.
“Thank you for coming,” I begin. “I know this wasn’t what any of you planned when you woke up this cycle. But here we are—standing on the edge of something far more important than victory.”
Eyes narrow. Brows raise.
I don’t let up.
“You came here for control, for territory, for political leverage. But what you’re getting is a chance to rewrite the end of this story before it finishes writing us all into ash.”
I let silence stretch.
“The terms are simple. A ceasefire. An agreed-upon retreat zone for civilian ships. Temporary amnesty for all vessels present. And an open table for negotiations once this station is secure.”
The Coalition envoy sneers. “And what of reparations?”
