Trap Within a Trap

Present time.

Roughly 5 hours away from where Arthur and the rest were. A fleet of ships was gathered, zooming through hyperspace at tremendous speeds.

Each vessel bore a dark hue—so deep it was as if they'd run out of paint options and just chose pure black instead. On the hull of every ship, a bold and conspicuous insignia was emblazoned: a white, shadow-less hawk, wings fully spread, as if moments from taking flight.

Unlike the forged emblem Arthur painted on his own fleet, this one was no imitation.

These were the real Shadowless Hawks.

All 10,000 ships in this armada carried this genuine mark without exception.

At the heart of their formation stood the flagship. There, in the captain's chair, sat a woman—her posture relaxed but commanding, one hand propping up her cheek, legs crossed. Her eyes, half-lidded and distant, hinted at deep, calculating thought.

"Boss, are we really…?"