POV: Chris Blackwood
Location: The Obsidian Room
The chamber fell silent once more.
Chris's gaze burned through both women—his daughter, Christiana, standing firm like an unyielding blade, and Amara, a calm storm behind stoic eyes.
He stood slowly, the subtle creak of his throne echoing like thunder.
"You both sit on fire," he began, walking down the stairs between the thrones. "And yet one of you carries rage, the other patience. I created the Dictator… I created the Caniner… and I abolished both, not because of failure—" he glanced at Christiana, "—but because of imbalance."
Christiana's jaw clenched. "Then why give her my duties?"
"Because," Chris's voice dropped, dangerous and steady, "I gave you the empire's sword, and you used it to test your own blood."
Amara's eyes remained lowered, respectful.
Christiana stepped forward, voice sharp. "I protected your empire. I enforced your laws. I never—"
Chris raised a hand. She stopped.
"This is not about loyalty, Christiana. You are loyal. Fiercely. But a leader must also listen, see beyond pride, and master restraint."
He turned to Amara. "And you. Speak freely."
Amara lifted her chin.
"I never asked for her duties, my Lord. I took no command unless you gave it. I seek only to serve the Blackwood line… not replace it."
Chris gave a subtle nod. "Your humility is your weapon. That is why I trust you."
Christiana's face hardened. "So I'm just fire? Something to be feared, controlled?"
Chris turned to her, stepping close enough she could feel the power of his presence.
"You are my fire. You were never meant to be controlled—but you were meant to be directed. And lately… you've burned everything near you."
Silence.
Amara spoke gently. "We can lead together, Christiana. Your name is already carved in stone. I never wanted your throne."
Christiana didn't respond. Her hands shook slightly.
Chris stepped back to the center, arms behind his back.
"I will restructure the command. Amara, you will take charge of international operations—supply lines, foreign policy. You are my blade in the dark."
He turned to Christiana.
"You will return to the capital. The heart of the empire. You will manage internal order—law, security, policy enforcement. You will no longer lead from the battlefield, but from the throne room."
"And if I refuse?" Christiana asked.
Chris stared. "Then you'll force my hand to choose a successor. And I have no desire to bury a daughter."
Her breath caught.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"But if you accept… you will not serve. You will rule. Beside me. As it was meant to be."
Christiana looked at Amara. The younger woman nodded once, not smugly, but with calm respect.
Finally, Christiana dropped to one knee, fist to chest.
"I will not abandon my throne."
Chris's lips twitched—almost a smile.
"Then rise, True Dictator of the Blackwood Empire."
—