POV: Christiana Blackwood — The Dictator
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The walls of the upper tower pulsed with tension. Christiana stormed through the central corridor of the Imperial Palace, her boots clicking sharply against polished obsidian floors. Her guards didn't dare follow too closely.
She didn't ask for an audience. She demanded it.
And the moment she entered the Emperor's chamber, the door slammed shut behind her with the weight of her fury.
"You authorized ₿50 billion without notifying me?" Her voice cut like steel. "Dad, that's not a small decision. That's not even a military emergency. That's infrastructure on a war scale."
Chris didn't even look up at first. He was leaning back in his throne-like chair, fingers laced, eyes scanning a screen. Calm. Silent.
Deadly.
"I did," he said.
"You did," Christiana echoed. "Do I mean nothing to your administration anymore? I'm your Dictator. The Director of Systems. I handle the finances, the civil affairs, the regulations, and yet—"
Chris looked up. Slowly. His eyes glowed with that cold authority that had made entire governments collapse with a blink.
"Are you questioning your Emperor?"
Christiana clenched her fists, but didn't back down. "I'm questioning my father. I'm questioning why you didn't consult your appointed Dictator—the one you made swear on her life to enforce order."
He stood. The air changed. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"Christiana... you enforce. I command."
The silence that followed could shatter planets.
"I created the title 'Dictator.' I gave you the badge. I gave you the signature power, the seal, the Blackwood Enforcement Order. All of it. But don't ever confuse proximity to power with possession of power."
She flinched. Just slightly.
Chris walked forward, stopping just inches from her. "You are powerful because I allow you to be. Because I will it. And because I trust you to execute—not to question."
"…So I'm just a pawn now?"
"You were never a pawn. You're my blade," he replied. "And right now, I need my blade focused."
He turned, picked up a sealed crimson document, and handed it to her.
"New assignment. Your eyes only."
She opened it slowly. Her brows furrowed.
"You're deploying me to the Eastern Refugee Interrogation Sector?"
"Yes," Chris said, turning back to his console. "Several high-value targets claim they're former nobility hiding among non-Blackwoods. I want names, intel, and if they've corrupted my citizens—I want heads."
She looked at him. Furious. Torn.
"And if I refuse?"
Chris didn't look away from his screen this time.
"Then I revoke your title and send someone colder in your place."
Christiana stared at the document again.
Then she bowed—deeply, with clenched fists—and left the room.
But not before whispering under her breath:
"One day… I'll be more than your enforcer, father."
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