Opening his eyes as if returning to life, Rey made his presence known inside the colossal ship. It could be said that even time itself stopped for a second, making room for a shift in the behavior of many of those present. Still, the young man with white eyes remained silent. He wasn’t only assessing the situation outside—he was also taking stock of his people’s condition, their resources, and the decisions he needed to make for the common good. In his mind, unity was the pilr beneath every choice.

  “Starving to death is far sadder than any defeat. Even if our differences are bound to split us, we can’t allow them to fracture us at a moment this critical. As a leader, I don’t just have to guide you in battle—I have to guide you in life, making sure each and every one of you can endure… and thrive.”

  Little by little, among the others—people who were, without a doubt, waiting for a miracle—every single reason began to surface, the motives that had forced two, three, four, five, even thirty individuals to fight one another inside the ship, out in space.

  Román, his stride steady, ignored the arguments, the shouting, the blows, as he pushed through the crowd toward Rey, who remained seated in silence. He didn’t look it, but the older man had the power, the knowledge, and the respect to keep order—he simply didn’t find it convenient to do more than necessary. In a way, a man who felt as if he were fighting a reckless battle with every movement, so much so that merely staying upright cost him more physical energy than it should have, had no reason to take on extra burdens. Not when someone else could do them for him.

  Keeping up appearances, he understood that no one could know that with every breath, a vicious curse drained a little more of his life—that his body, firm in outward show, was slowly crumbling. Even so, he made his way forward with a smile, pretending the opposite… despite the fact he could lose everything at any moment. Until he reached Rey and stopped, staring down at him, sprawled on the floor.

  Though chaos reigned all around, the young leader didn’t rise or act at once. It wasn’t from ck of interest—it was because he understood that a ruler must weigh every action carefully. Rey didn’t govern on impulse; he governed through reflection, knowing rushed decisions could shape everyone’s fate. His body might have been weakened, but his mind stayed sharp.

  Román understood that Rey wouldn’t move until he was certain his intervention would benefit everyone. Because for him, ruling wasn’t just a matter of power—it was responsibility to his people, putting the collective above the self.

  “What is it, Román?” Rey asked, teeth almost bared, irritated by the man’s intense stare announcing his presence.

  To Rey, Román certainly had his… conditions. And despite having replenished his energy core, he was still sick from humanity’s poison—poison that had accelerated even more after the explosion of the pnet he’d escaped at the st second. Rey was one of the few who knew that the older man had the strength, power, and knowledge of ten gods combined—he just refused to use it, as if clinging to that restraint could keep death at bay. That was why Rey was angry: a capable man was approaching with problems, not solutions. A man whose weakness came not from how he rationed and used the resources around him, but from trying—at all costs—to avoid facing the chains that held him.

  As if he already had the situation mapped out, the man who’d captured Rey’s attention said, “I think it would be better to discuss this in private.”

  The suggestion, merely by being spoken aloud, redirected the crew’s attention so completely that it—ironically—undercut the very purpose of saying it.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Rey replied after the commotion died down as people strained to hear what Román had to say. “What happened?”

  “Even if no one’s chasing us,” Román said, “I’m afraid I’m no longer the pilot. The humans have remotely hijacked the navigation systems, and the consequences could be devastating. If we cut the engines manually, we’ll drift in space for the rest of eternity. But if we stay on the course the humans imposed, we’ll reach a pnet in a couple dozen hours.” He paused to let his words sink in, his voice firm and clear as his gaze flicked toward those still squaring off. “The pnet we’re headed for isn’t habitable, and it will probably become our tomb… without even giving us a chance to fight.”

  “The weapon capable of wiping out an entire pnet?!” someone blurted, chewing at their nails as they looked to Rey with naked worry.

  “Will the same thing that happened to Bellthewar happen again once we’re there?” added Jhades, Rey’s vampire brother.

  “That isn’t exactly a small weapon—nor something you can use that often,” someone said, as if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing. “Even so, if the pnet really is deserted, a missile will be unched toward the nearest star and, at the very least, it’ll spit out a fre powerful enough to incinerate several pnets in a line.”

  “And in the worst case?” someone else pressed.

  “The star will colpse into a supernova,” Román answered, and the words seemed to freeze the air. “It’ll wipe out the entire sor system, and then it could end as a bck hole that devours whatever’s left.” His expnation left everyone staring open-mouthed, because the event would be even worse than what had happened on the moon they called “sun.”

  Rey didn’t even truly grasp those words, or what exactly would happen—he didn’t know what a bck hole was. Even so, the worry in everyone’s eyes made him respond as if he did.

  “Do we prepare to eat, or to fight? To live, or to die?” Rey asked loudly, but silence was the only answer. His gaze swept over everyone before he continued. “I don’t want you preparing to fight. Starving to death is much sadder.”

  He paused, his expression darkening with frustration as he took in the tight, crackling tension in the air.

  “Splitting into factions might be inevitable in the long run, but we can’t let those divisions destroy our unity in the face of a common enemy. Not the way it’s happening now. Teamwork…” Rey added, his tone loaded with irritation, like steel drawn across stone.

  Then he raised his voice, a surge of force that rang into every corner of the ship.

  “Work together, fight together, live together—and die together!” he roared, snapping everyone’s attention to him, even his brothers’, who turned to watch.

  Román took a step back at the young man’s sudden heat.

  Rey seized one of those nearby with a hard grip, yanking him up roughly, and hurled a question that cracked through the warriors like thunder.

  “Look me in the eyes and tell me—what does it mean to be a warrior?”

  The man, terrified, couldn’t find an answer. Rey didn’t wait.

  “Combat isn’t only about physical strength,” he said, fixing his stare on the crowd. “It’s discipline. Loyalty. And above all, controlling your emotions. A warrior isn’t defined by his victories, but by how he stands back up after defeat. Master yourselves before you pretend to master a battlefield.”

  He paused, letting the words settle, eyes traveling over every face around him.

  “I’m someone who isn’t defined by defeats, failures, mistakes—by life, or even death itself. I’m someone who, in every moment, chooses how he wants to be seen. Someone who doesn’t let others judge him however they please. I’m someone recognized by what I do after I’ve made a mistake, after I’ve failed, after I’ve been defeated.” His jaw tightened. “But I’m not better than you—because you are the same as me.”

  He stopped again, his voice carrying with unmistakable force as he gestured toward the mass of bodies before him.

  “You have the right to make mistakes. To fight hunger, discomfort, filth, your companions’ bad habits—and your own personalities. All of that can make you feel inferior to humans, but it doesn’t change the fact that you are the same as me. Remember that. You’re free to take any emotional blow and react in a way that could affect the group… and still, you are the same as me.”

  He moved closer to one of the men, close enough that the other could feel the heat of his presence.

  “You—still wearing a swollen face from a beating—you are the same as me. You, who lost so many of your loved ones, you’re still the same as me. You, who lost an arm, who’s sick, who few people want to help—you are the same as me.”

  His gaze swept the room, nding on each face in turn, as if counting them with his eyes.

  “You, you, you, and you… all of you are the same as me. And who says so?” He tapped his own chest with two fingers, the gesture sharp. “Someone who, just like you, has sat at the end of the line. Someone who wasn’t the first to stand up and solve a problem. Someone who, all this time, didn’t have the ability to address his people like a leader. Someone who made mistakes—and now has the chance to use what he’s learned from the others. The chance to be seen the way he chooses to be seen.”

  He took one st pause, his voice firmer than ever.

  “Anyone who believes this is the moment to change what others think of you—stand up, step out, and walk to the back. Those who don’t… come closer to me.”

  Román, Dante, Jhades, Heliúk, Max, Danie, and Marín walked to the back along with a considerable number of people. From there, standing shoulder to shoulder, they watched Rey on the opposite side.

  “Why do you think you can’t make a difference?” the young man asked once he was sure no one else would get up and walk to the back.

  A thousand different reasons rose at once—arguments for their own incapacity, excuses spilling out of those who clearly cked both the will and the strength to do anything for themselves. Rey held his posture, refusing to sag with weakness or allow himself to cough blood. He listened to the compints of the sick, the dying, and the starving all the way through, and only then said:

  “There’s something inside you that will eventually push you to prove the greatness that sets you apart from the rest. Even if you try to run from it, the courage you carry will come to light. Maybe not now—maybe not in the way you imagine—but it will. Because that is what our coexistence will be built on. Those of you back there will py a crucial role in keeping this group united, and you’ll be responsible for noticing and valuing their strengths every time you interact with them.”

  He let the words settle, then continued, turning his attention toward those who had moved to the back.

  “Each of you who stood up and walked back there showed strength and determination to keep fighting. From now on, each of you will be responsible for caring for, helping, and guiding four of them. If the person in charge of you fails their responsibility, you will speak to their superior. If the problem continues, you may go to someone of higher rank—until, finally, you can speak to me directly. Anyone who skips this chain of command will not be heard by me, and their problem will not be solved. It’s important that you respect the order. Is that clear?”

  No one objected. Rey moved to the back, where the others stood, and went on.

  “Román, Dante, Jhades, Heliúk, Max, Danie, Marín, and I—who will temporarily take Lía’s pce—will be the leaders of some of you. In turn, each of you will be the leader of four more people.” He swept his gaze across them, measuring their attention. “Why this chain? To distribute focus evenly among everyone here, so you can function without depending on a single leader. The strongest protects the weakest—and guides them until they grow strong, too. We are all equal, and I trust your ability to solve problems.”

  He raised a hand, counting the steps as if ying stones in a path.

  “If an obstacle appears, stop. Breathe deep. Ask yourselves if you truly aren’t capable of overcoming it. If you believe you aren’t, consult an equal. If you still can’t find a solution, inform a superior. They must be able to solve it—or consult with their equals. If necessary, they’ll pass it up, and I will give the solution so you can move forward.”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “My role as number one in this chain is to prevent cliques from forming, or anyone from thinking they’re above the rest and neglecting their responsibilities. If I witness something, I won’t accept it—but I also won’t intervene until you’ve exhausted every possible option to resolve it yourselves. Understood?”

  Everyone nodded—except Dante and Jhades, who, being family, resigned themselves to the formalities and followed suit with a more reluctant assent.

  “This is only the first step toward our evolution as a group…” Rey added, voice steady. “Though ter, it’ll be inevitable that one of you gathers enough strength to take my pce.”

  “And what about the humans?” Dante asked—Rey’s werewolf brother.

  “…Let me finish,” Rey snapped, patience thin. “As for the humans, you don’t need to worry. I give you my word that I will fulfill my duty to guarantee each and every one of you the chance to live the free life you’ve always wanted.”

  Dante and Jhades, more than anyone, were tempted to protest—How?—but one look from Rey pinned the question in their throats.

  Rey, for his part, knew perfectly well that the groups fighting each other were mostly the people who followed Jhades and Dante—fueled, more often than not, by the women at their sides. Marín demanded justice, insisting that whoever had more should give to whoever needed it most; Danie defended the right to reserve and use property according to what each person had earned and understood as theirs.

  “Before we reach the other pnet, you’ll choose from among those present, and you’ll make sure your subordinates choose who they’re responsible for. There are wounded and sick who need care—and they’re waiting on you.”

  Rey understood that when people have something to keep their minds occupied, they tend to anchor themselves in the present and let the future fall quiet. He also knew that because he stood at the top, no one would help him—no one would tend his wounds, not now, not ter. Being a hero was the opposite of being selfish. Struggling forward for others was not the same as struggling forward for yourself.

  Inside the ship, little by little, everything began to grow more organized. But the young man with white eyes didn’t fool himself: he knew this behavior wasn’t truly because of his words, but because of the fear they all shared of the humans. In time, it wouldn’t be surprising if things changed. If he remained the only hero, those who followed him would eventually begin to defend their own interests, revealing the selfishness woven into each of them.

  He knew that moment would come—and when it did, a well-structured government would be key to dulling that tent egoism. Reflecting on how the nature of individuals tends to split society apart, Rey addressed them again at one point:

  “Society will have to organize itself into csses according to each individual’s aptitudes,” he said, voice firm, drawing everyone’s attention. “Without forcing anyone, social csses will be based on each person’s natural qualities. As you already know, we will have our ‘Principal Leaders’—the rulers. Román, Dante, Jhades, Heliúk, Max, Danie, Marín, and I: we’ve proven the willingness and the ability to help and unify those present.”

  He held their gaze, then added, making the rule as clear as a bde.

  “Our positions can be repced by those who, with power and wisdom, can benefit many and harm few. We will be the ones to lead, because we understand the needs of the common good better.”

  Rey paused to make sure they understood what came next, then continued.

  “The next rung in our structure will be the Warriors: those willing to fight to protect the others, and to enforce the decisions of us—the principal leaders. With firm character and discipline, they will also be the guardians of order and the security of our society. Lastly, we will have the ‘Producers’—the ones responsible for essential economic functions. They will provide the goods and services needed for everyone’s well-being.”

  He made a small gesture with his hand, like closing a circle.

  “It’s important that you understand: neither the Warriors nor the principal leaders will be allowed to hoard wealth or use power for personal gain. This structure is designed to prevent individual selfishness from destroying the unity of the civilization we’re building. By distributing responsibilities according to each person’s capabilities, we’ll achieve a more banced coexistence. That way, order will prevail—even when individual interests begin to rise.”

  Rey fell silent for a moment, studying the faces around him. The murmurs began to fade, leaving only the tension you could almost taste in the air—a mix of uncertainty and fear of what awaited them. He knew words wouldn’t be enough to keep them united forever, but he also understood that true leadership revealed itself in the darkest moments, when everything seemed on the verge of colpse.

  “What we do now,” Rey said, his voice firm but calm, “isn’t only for us. It’s for what we’ll be in the future. We can’t afford to fail.”

  Silence wrapped the room.

  “You have a reason to keep living—live for what we can build, and die for the fulfillment of your dreams. Let’s do it together. It still wouldn’t be impossible…”

  The fate awaiting them would not be decided by a leader alone, but by everyone’s unity. Words wouldn’t be enough; each of their actions would chart the course of their future.

  Rey stopped for an instant, staring ahead as one st thought crossed his mind:

  “With this sick body, at least I still have my sorcerer’s powers… one step at a time, and we’ll see what the future has in store.”