The sea didn't care for titles, but Elias Thorne cared for the sea. At sixty-four, with a face like a topographic map of the Atlantic, he was the youngest man ever to be named , and the oldest to still insist on taking the helm during a gale.
"Admiral, the Kaelian blockade is tightening," Commander Vane reported, her voice tight. "They’re expecting us to dive. Standard tactical procedure for a ship this size."
Elias looked out at the stars, a faint smirk on his lips. "I didn't. But a good Admiral knows that sometimes, you have to let the universe take the wheel." admiral
The Invictus didn't just move; it screamed across the vacuum, a streak of white fire. They tore through the Kaelian line before the enemy could even rotate their turrets.
Elias didn't look at the holographic displays. He looked out the reinforced viewport at the swirling nebula, a graveyard of ships that had followed "standard procedure." The sea didn't care for titles, but Elias
His flagship, the OSS Invictus , was a leviathan of steel and silicon, humming with the power of a captured star. But today, the hum was a frantic vibration.
At the precise moment the ship reached the apex of the gravity well, Elias slammed his fist onto the thruster engagement. "Now! Give me everything!" "They’re expecting us to dive
"No," Elias chuckled, adjusting his cap. "It's because I'm the only one crazy enough to treat a starship like a sailboat. We aren't diving. We’re going to catch the solar tide." "Sir, the heat shields—"