The Strategy Council

Later that evening, Lena gathered the Alliance's high-command in a strategy council. The room was dimly lit, the walls alive with holographic displays of the Rhytil fleet's movements, intelligence reports, and the casualty counts from the most recent engagement.

"We cannot afford to celebrate just yet," Lena began, her voice steady but laced with an undertone of urgency. "The Rhytil have suffered losses, but they've also learned from this battle. They'll adapt, and they'll come back stronger."

"And we need to be prepared for that," General Kessler, the Alliance's battle-hardened leader, said, nodding in agreement. "We must keep pushing, but we also need to learn from this victory. The Rhytil are smarter than we've given them credit for. They'll change their tactics, and we'll need to counter that."

The holographic map flickered, and a series of projections displayed possible locations where the Rhytil might launch their next strike. The mood in the room grew tense as the officers exchanged glances, each of them fully aware that every move they made from here on out would be a game-changer.

Lena studied the map, analyzing each potential battleground, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the core. She couldn't shake the feeling that her reliance on it had been a dangerous move. What if they didn't have it next time? What if it was taken from her, or worse—what if she couldn't control it?

"I want all of our fleets to prepare for a counterattack," Lena said, snapping back to the task at hand. "We'll need to divide our forces into smaller units. Hit them hard and fast. Take away their ability to regroup."

General Kessler raised an eyebrow. "Smaller units, Commander? Against the Rhytil's massive fleets? That's risky."

Lena's jaw tightened, but she didn't back down. "We'll be more flexible this way. We can't fight them head-on all the time. We need to hit them where it hurts, break their momentum. If we spread them thin, they won't have time to think. They'll panic."

There was a brief silence as the officers considered her proposal. Slowly, the murmurs of agreement began to ripple through the room.

"We'll make it work," Tavon said, his voice unwavering as he stood by her side. "We trust your judgment, Lena. We'll fight how you tell us to fight."

Lena nodded, though she felt a flicker of doubt in her chest. It was one thing to give orders. It was another to execute them. She had led them this far, but every step felt like walking a razor's edge. If she faltered, everything would collapse.

"Get it done," she ordered firmly. "I want every fleet ready within the next twenty-four hours."