The black stars

**Kelly Thompson's POV**

The black stars aren’t stars—they’re *ships*.

Massive, jagged vessels blot out the fractured sky, their hulls bristling with weapons that hum with the same green lightning as the Arbor Prime. The Eden shard pulses in my grip, its voice fraying at the edges. **“They’ve come to sterilize the infection. That’s us.”**

Veyra stares at the armada, her Custodian-metal stinger trembling. “We need to run.”

“No.” The static in me—no, the *Upheaval*—recoils at the thought. “We need to *fight*.”

But the army we’ve cobbled together from the Sovereign’s ruins is a mess of hybrids and half-mad abominations. They kneel at my feet, not out of loyalty, but primal fear. The Upheaval’s storm terrifies them. It terrifies *me*.

The Eden shard whispers again, colder this time. **“You’ll need more than fear to win this war.”**

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**The Fractured Allies**