It was time to end this.
"Good. Let's bring this boring war to an end as quickly as possible."
Djibril sat back down, composed as a monarch returning to his throne.
He adjusted his collar, smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from his cuffs, and his voice returned to that chilling calm.
He swept his gaze across everyone present. The meaning of that arc was perfectly clear; no words were needed to supplement it—you could keep hesitating, but history would roll over your hesitation and move on.
No one objected to the decision he had made so casually. Or rather, no one dared to.
The young leader who had been the only one to speak earlier had lowered his head, staring fixedly at the documents before him. He probably could not read a single word of their contents, but staring at the documents was still better than looking up and meeting that gaze.
The others around him were not much better—some drank water to conceal their unease, some pretended to check their communication terminals, while others simply sat up straight in silence, as though proper posture could distance them from the decision about to be made.
The conference room fell into deathly silence. Only the wind outside and the deep rumble of distant ice sheets cracking reminded them that the world was still turning.
The waves had not stopped, the ice and snow had not melted, and the colonial satellites floating in space still traveled along their original orbits, utterly unaware of the flames about to descend upon them.
"They've started attacking Boaz!?"
Yzak Joule's voice exploded from the entrance to the operations room. His silver hair was slightly disheveled from his sprint, his blue eyes wide as red warning markers flashed across the main screen, reflected in his pupils.
The enormous