The Needle was no longer just a tree; it was an embassy of the stars. But while the upper branches reached for peace, the iron roots were starting to rot. General Ironwood had spent decades as a man of war, and a man of war feels n***d in a garden.
Deep within the hollowed-out trunk of the lower levels, Ironwood had constructed what the soldiers whispered was "The Throne Room." It wasn't made of wood or moss. It was a cold, jagged spire of Star-Steel, salvaged from the wreckage of the UES Valorous. Here, the gravity didn't flip; it doubled. Ironwood sat in the center of a localized high-gravity field, testing his own strength against the weight of a dying era.
The Weight of Authority
Xin stood at the threshold of the heavy blast doors. The air inside the room was thick, like walking
