Christiana Blackwood’s POV – The Call of Power

My encrypted phone buzzed.

Only one person had this direct line.

Dad.

I answered immediately. "Yes, Father?"

His voice was calm, yet absolute, carrying the same weight it always did—the voice of a ruler who had already won.

"Christiana, I need a report. How many nations are still begging for entry?"

I glanced at my screen. Thirty-two applications were pending. Desperate calls from prime ministers, presidents, and self-proclaimed kings who once mocked our empire.

"Thirty-two," I responded. "Some have the funds, but they hesitate at our conditions. Others are still scrambling to gather the money."

There was a slight pause. Then he spoke.

"Deny all hesitant nations. If they are not willing to comply fully, they are not worthy of salvation."

I smirked, fingers already moving to execute the order. "Understood."

"And the nations that have paid?"

"They are still undergoing screening."

He was silent for a moment before adding, "Good. But I want the process tightened. No delays. No exceptions. If they fail any part of the requirements, they die outside our walls."

A test. A lesson.

Weak rulers begged. True rulers conquered.

"As you command, Father," I said.

Then his voice turned sharper. "One more thing."

I straightened. "Yes?"

"I want the Blackwood Union's military presence increased in all new member states. No nation should think of rising against us. Make sure they understand—entry means submission, not partnership."

A slow, cruel smile spread across my lips.

"Consider it done."