Title: Whispers Beneath the Throne

Christiana's POV

The air was colder now.

Not from the climate controls—but from the knowledge I carried. Since unlocking the Origin Protocol, every move I made felt heavier. Like the walls were listening. Like the marble floors could snitch. Like the Empire itself was alive—and loyal only to him.

Chris.

My father.

My God.

But not my king.

I moved through the halls with calculated ease. Every step rehearsed, every glance measured. The world still thought I was the Dictator—his loyal enforcer. I still signed decrees, oversaw executions, chaired meetings with fake smiles and venom-laced speeches.

But beneath all that? I was digging.

And tonight, I had a meeting that had been forbidden for decades.

The Origin Council.

No one even knew they still existed. Not Skylar. Not even Chris, apparently. The original architects of the Blackwood Empire—his earliest allies. The minds who designed the filters, the rankings, the numbered identities. They had been silenced, dissolved, declared "extinct" the moment Chris no longer needed their input.

But they weren't gone.

They were hidden.

And they were waiting—for me.

In the abandoned catacombs beneath Blackwood Tower, deeper than any surveillance feed could reach, I found them. Cloaked, aged, voices like wind scraping stone. Each one once a god in their own right. Now reduced to shadows.

"Why now, Christiana?" the eldest asked. His voice was cracked but sharp. "You've sat at his table. Carried his seal. What makes you crawl to us now?"

I didn't flinch.

"Because I've seen what's coming," I said. "And if he succeeds, none of us will matter. Not me. Not you. Not the Empire."

One of them laughed bitterly.

"You're his blood. You'll survive."

"He's not trying to survive," I cut in, stepping closer. "He's trying to restart. A new world. No memory of this one. No records. No resistance. Just his chosen few. You. Me. Even Skylar—we're all disposable once our roles are finished."

They went quiet.

That's when I placed the chip on the table.

Not just data—proof. Footage. Memos. Biological plans. The culling protocols for the lower-ranked numbers. The final stage of the Reclamation.

They watched.

And they understood.

"What do you want from us?" one finally asked.

"I want to hijack the reset," I whispered. "We don't destroy the Empire. We rewrite it. Under my name. My system. One that selects based on merit, not blood."

They looked at one another.

The deal was silent—but sealed.

As I left the catacombs, I didn't feel triumphant.

I felt hunted.

Because now I wasn't just planning to betray my father.

I was challenging God.