THE CHILDREN OF BROKEN MOONS

The third dead region contained a graveyard of moons.

Hundreds drifted around a blue giant, each broken open and hollowed into refugee habitats. The people living inside them had fled worlds selected for destruction. They called themselves the Uncounted because the War God's records listed them as dead.

The Astra Noctis arrived during a siege.

Red warships surrounded the largest moon. Their weapons were aimed not at the habitat's defenses, but at the life-support core.

Ren'ō stood from the meal he had just prepared.

Izanara glanced at the blackened pan. "The siege may be less dangerous than your cooking."

"Save the insults for after evacuation."

He stepped through the observation glass without breaking it and vanished into space.

The first warship fired.

Ren'ō caught the beam in both hands. Gold spread across the red energy, reversed its path, and cut the vessel's engines without touching the crew compartments.

He moved through the fleet like a quiet disaster.

Cannons turned. Space folded. Ships collided with empty coordinates. Command bridges lost power. Every weapon aimed at the moon found itself pointing away.

Then the enemy admiral opened a channel.

"First Light. Surrender the Uncounted. Their survival violates divine decree."

Ren'ō appeared outside the bridge window, standing on nothing.

"Your surrender terms need work."

The admiral froze.

Ren'ō tapped the glass. "Open the door."

"There is no door."

Ren'ō looked at his fist.

The admiral opened an airlock.

Inside the refugee moon, Izanara found thousands of children gathered in tunnels while adults prepared for a last defense. One girl held a metal spear twice her height.

"Where is your army?" the girl asked.

"He refused one," Izanara said.

"Then who is fighting?"

A distant impact shook dust from the ceiling.

Izanara looked upward. "A man with poor delegation skills."

Ren'ō returned carrying the enemy admiral under one arm.

He placed the man before the refugee council.

"He has information on six transport routes and a list of worlds scheduled for erasure," Ren'ō said. "He also has a newly developed interest in cooperation."

The admiral stared at the floor.

A small boy approached Ren'ō and touched the glowing circle on his chest.

"Does it hurt?"

Ren'ō considered lying.

"Sometimes."

"Why do you keep it?"

The question silenced the adults.

Ren'ō crouched until they were eye level. "Because someone trusted me to use it better than the people who wanted it."

"Are you going to save every world?"

"No."

The boy's face fell.

Ren'ō continued. "I am going to help people save their own."

He spent three days repairing the moon's core. He let the children paint gold symbols over the places where enemy fire had scarred the walls. One drew him with a head twice the size of his body.

Ren'ō studied it seriously.

"Accurate," Izanara said.

"The proportions are hostile."

"The artist captured your ego."

The child laughed so hard he dropped the paint.

Ren'ō left the drawing untouched.