The void did not stay empty for long. Where the white tower had once been, a ripple of golden static bloomed, expanding like the rings of a tree tossed into a still pond. The fleet of the Masters, vast and terrifying in its geometric perfection, surged forward to claim the coordinates of the explosion, but their sensors met only resistance. They were not scanning a physical structure anymore. They were scanning a ghost.
Malphas and Lyra were gone, yet they were omnipresent. Their consciousness had diffused, weaving into the fundamental resonance of the sector. They were in the hum of the cooling silica, the vibration of the wind through the spruce needles, and the static that flickered across the screens of the Masters’ dreadnoughts.
Inside the command ship of the lead fleet, an Overseer
