The command net had gone quiet. No more unified orders from the core. Atlas stood in the reinforced observation deck, arms crossed, staring at the overlapping tactical displays.
Clara sat beside him, her eyes bandaged on one side. The Weave's threads pulsed on the screens—thin, strained lines holding against the dark.
"Three fronts at once," Atlas said. "They timed it perfectly."
Clara nodded. "The Choir knows we're split. Kael and Jiro on the borders. Flick in the inner nodes. Garran and Torval holding the beachhead approach. We stay here as reserve. Hit where it breaks."
Reports flooded in. Hybrid amplification towers rising along the outer sectors. Propaganda waves crashing through civilian nodes. A direct probe pushing against the core's outer threads. No single target. Everything at once.
Atlas keyed the comms. "All commands, independent operation. Report status only. No waiting for approval. Execute."
The responses came back clipped.
"Border command active," Kael said.
