The command center was silent.
Not the tense kind of silence that comes before violence, but the hollow kind that follows it—when everything that mattered has already happened, and nothing can be undone.
Elara's body lay where it fell.
The Phantom Queen no longer looked like a ruler. No crown. No command. Just a woman on a cold floor, blood dark against steel, eyes half-open as if caught between holding on and letting go.
Kain stood over her for a long moment.
He did not bow.
He did not speak.
He simply watched, as if waiting for something to change.
Nothing did.
Behind him, monitors still glowed. On one of them, the child remained bound, unmoving, watching. They had not screamed. Had not begged. Their stillness was worse than any reaction.
Kain turned away from the body and tapped his comm.
"It's done," he said. "Secure the room. No one enters without my clearance."
A pause.
"Yes. Confirmed."
He disconnected and approached the screen.
"You're alive," he said to the child. "That was the agreement."
The child's voice came through the speakers, steady and quiet. "I saw."
"Yes," Kain replied. "You did."
Another pause.
"You killed her," the child said. Not a question.
"I executed a threat," Kain corrected. "She ruled through fear. Through force. Through you."
The child's jaw tightened. "She ruled because people followed her."
"They followed her because they were afraid," Kain said. "There's a difference."
The child said nothing.
Kain studied their face carefully, as if measuring damage. "You have a future now. One she would never have allowed."
"She allowed me to live," the child replied. "You only allowed me to watch."
That landed harder than Kain expected.
He straightened. "You'll be released. You'll be protected. You'll be educated. Everything you need."
"To become what?" the child asked.
Kain did not answer immediately.
"Something better," he said finally.
The child laughed once—short, dry, empty. "That's what she used to say."
Kain's expression hardened. "She's dead."
"Yes," the child said. "But you're still using her words."
Silence stretched between them again.
Kain turned away and gestured. The restraints disengaged. Metal clasps fell open. The child flexed their wrists, standing slowly. No guards rushed in. No weapons were drawn.
They were free.
And yet—
They did not move toward the exit.
Instead, they stepped closer to the camera, eyes locked on Kain through the screen.
"You think this ends with her," the child said. "That killing her closes something."
Kain crossed his arms. "It does."
"No," they replied. "It just changes who carries it."
Kain narrowed his eyes. "Be careful."
"I am," the child said calmly. "That's why I'm listening. Watching. Remembering."
They turned away then, walking out of frame without another word.
The screen went dark.
Kain stood alone in the command center.
Behind him, Elara's body remained untouched. No one rushed to claim it. No medics. No ceremony. Just silence and the faint hum of machines that no longer answered to her.
For the first time since the betrayal began, something uncomfortable settled in Kain's chest.
Not guilt.
Recognition.
He looked down at her one last time.
"You should have been stronger," he said quietly.
But the words felt thinner now—less certain.
Somewhere beyond the walls of the command center, the world continued. Orders would be given. Histories rewritten. The Phantom Queen would become a cautionary tale, a tyrant brought down by her own excess.
And her child—
Her child would grow up knowing exactly who pulled the blade.
Kain turned and left the room.
Behind him, Elara remained—dead, defeated, and yet impossibly present.
Because power does not vanish when a ruler falls.
It waits.
And it remembers.