The Foundation

Responsibilities

The silence hung thick, waiting for me to prove I had more than rhetoric. I let my eyes sweep across the chamber—the veiled masks, the allies leaning forward, the sharp gaze of Eve beneath her veil most of all—and then spoke.

"Here is what Grax'Tiruun will be in Alpha-9." I rose slightly in my seat, enough to let the weight of my presence settle. The war-god mantle thrummed under my skin, that tether of earth and storm reminding me of what I carried. "His role will not be ceremonial, nor token. Grax is shock infantry. He will lead breaches where no human squad could survive, where conventional firepower fails. His regenerative capacity allows him to tank firepower that would shred armor and reduce fortifications to rubble. Where the Insurgency weaves thaumaturgic cages, Grax will be the hammer that breaks them. He will be our spearhead — directed, not unleashed."

I let my gaze settle on the American, O5-6, who still bristled at the idea of fielding a living apocalypse. "He won't be scattered across operations like a gun for hire. His deployments will be chosen carefully. No more than two per quarter unless exigent threat requires it. And always under Alpha-9 command structure, with me in direct authority. There will be no chain of handlers, no half-measures. He answers to me, and only to me." The Annalist tapped his stylus against his datapad, skeptical as always. "And if—when he refuses?"

"Then I end him," I said it without hesitation. My hand flexed slightly, energy prickling against my palm. "You know what I carry. Speed enough to strike before thought, power enough to sever anomalies from their gifts. I've put worse than him into the ground when it was necessary. If Grax ever breaks faith, I won't ask for consensus. I will erase him." That silenced even Blackbird. I leaned forward again, steady. "But we're not building this on fear. Fear kept him thrashing in a tank for centuries. This time it's about structure." I raised one finger. "First safeguard: team integration. Grax never deploys alone. He is bound to Alpha-9 in practice as much as by oath. Cain is his balance—Grax respects him, though he won't say it aloud. Leora, Rainer, and even Dean will learn to flank him, not follow him. Our formation will shift to absorb him, and Jocasta will run predictive models to prevent clashes of power."

Another finger. "Second safeguard: monitoring. Jocasta will run constant biometric and thaumaturgic scans during operations. Regeneration spikes, adaptation anomalies, aggressive surges — all tracked in real time, all transmitted to me instantly. If he even begins to slide out of tolerance, I'll know before the first claw lands." Third finger. "Third safeguard: containment triggers. Not cages, not tanks. Triggers. Dean can counter him through terror resonance; Bacab's geokinesis can pin his mass; 457's controlled plasma can cauterize his regenerative flares. Each of these is a check, a brake, a moment for me to close in and finish it if I must. Alpha-9 itself becomes his containment protocol."

My hand flattened against the table. "And fourth: oath enforcement. You heard him — he gave me his name. Names carry weight. If he breaks that oath, it dies with him. That truth matters more to him than steel." I paused, letting the words root into the silence. Across the table, Eve inclined her head ever so slightly. The others wouldn't notice — but I did. She wore her veil as carefully as the others wore their masks, but her approval was a warmth I could feel even across the gulf of the chamber. Eve never coddled me, never spoke of it, but I knew what I was to her. Daughter, even if she'd never say it aloud here. And in that tilt of her head was her answer: I trust you. They may not, but I do. It steadied me.