High above, the Logos sensed the failure of its vanguard. The massive Aether-Cannons on its underside began to glow with a sickly, violet light. They were preparing to "Sanitize."
Livius felt the build-up of energy. It felt like a mountain of lead was being positioned over his head. He looked at Cian, who was frantically working on a series of mirrors he had positioned around the mine entrance.
"The mirrors are set, Livius!" Cian shouted, his face pale with terror. "But if you don't 'Angle' the reflection perfectly, the blast will just melt the mountain!"
"Trust me," Livius said.
He closed his eyes, sinking into the "Deep Memory." He didn't look at the Dreadnought. He looked at the "Threads" of the world. He saw the violet beam as it began to form—a concentrated line of destruction. He also saw the "Silver Mirror" in his mind, the ability to reflect that he had used against the Southern Fleet.
The Aether-Cannon fired.
A beam of violet energy, ten feet wide, lanced down from the sky. It was enough to vaporize the Ironspire complex in a second. But as the beam hit the "Mana-Storm" Livius had created, it slowed down.
Livius raised both hands, his skin glowing with a blinding, white-silver light. He didn't try to block the beam. He became the "Apex" of the mirror. Using the silver-threaded duster and the Aether-Dust on the mirrors Cian had set, he "Caught" the violet energy.
The pressure was immense. Livius's nose began to bleed, and his vision blurred. He felt the Golden fire in his blood trying to lash out, to explode, but he forced it to remain "Still." He was a Silver Dragon now—a mirror that reflected the world's truth.
"Return to sender," Livius gasped.
He twisted his hands. The violet beam didn't hit the mine. It curved, spiraling around the localized storm, and shot directly back up at the Logos.
The Dreadnought's Aegis Shield was down—disabled when Livius shattered the tanks in the gallery. The violet beam, its own "Sanitization" energy, struck the flagship's central turbine.
A secondary explosion of white-gold light lit up the night sky, turning the blizzard into a field of shimmering diamonds. The Logos groaned, its brass hull bucking as the internal mana-engines began to cascade. It didn't explode, but it lost its "Lift." The massive vessel began to tilt, its engines sputtering as it drifted toward the empty, frozen plains to the West.
Livius fell to his knees, his hands charred and his mana-pool completely, utterly dry. He looked up at the retreating Dreadnought, a dark, regal satisfaction in his eyes.
"They... they're retreating," Cian whispered, stepping out from the wreckage of his mirrors. He looked at Livius, then at the sky. "You just shot down a Federation Dreadnought with its own gun."
"I didn't shoot it down," Livius wheezed, leaning against the cold stone of his home. "I just reminded them that 'Logic' has its limits. Cian... get the survivors to the capital. Use the 'Hidden Veins.' The Federation won't stop here. They've lost a ship, but they've gained a reason to hate us."
Raven appeared by his side, supporting his weight. She looked at the King—the boy who had been a ghost, and who was now a protector. "What about you, Master?"
"I'm going to sleep," Livius said, his eyes finally closing. "For the first time in seventeen years... I'm going to sleep without a secret."
As the survivors emerged from the dark tunnels, looking at the stars with wide, tearful eyes, the "Rebirth of the Dragon" was no longer just a title. it was a living, breathing reality. The Ghost had saved his people, but the war for the continent had only just begun.