THE WAR THAT FOLLOWED ME

CHAPTER 7: THE WEIGHT OF BEING CHOSEN

The sky over New Ardent didn't darken naturally.

It dimmed like something massive had passed between the city and the sun—an unseen hand lowering a veil. Vaelith dropships cut through the clouds in precise formations, but above them, farther out, unfamiliar silhouettes moved with the patience of predators that knew their prey couldn't escape.

Three factions circling.

Three different ideas of what Earth should be.

And one planet caught in the middle.

Kade Reyes stood at the edge of the transit hub's roof, watching contrails slice through the atmosphere. For the first time in his life, he didn't know where the next blow would land. Didn't know who would strike first, or why, or how to stop it.

No relic whispering futures.

No prophecy to follow.

No safety net.

Just him. Just responsibility.

And God, it was heavy.

They didn't call him a leader at first.

They didn't need to.

It started with looks. With the way conversations paused when he entered a room. Messengers asked what he thought, what he wanted done, whether he believed they could hold the next district.

Kade hated it.

He moved through the hub like he was trying to disappear, ignoring the way people straightened when they saw him, how arguments stopped mid-sentence. He wasn't a symbol by choice, but apparently choice didn't matter anymore.

Mila caught up to him near the eastern stairwell.

"You can't keep avoiding them," she said.

"I'm not avoiding it," Kade replied. "I'm breathing."

She didn't smile. "The city's looking for direction."

"Then give them one."

"I did," she said. "They asked for you."

That hit harder than any weapon.

Kade leaned against the concrete wall, scrubbing a hand down his face. Everything ached—his ribs, his back, his head. "I never wanted this."

"I know," Mila said quietly. "That's why it matters."

He looked at her. She looked exhausted. They all did.

"What if I get it wrong?" he asked.

"Then we figure it out together," she said. "But you don't get to hide."

Far above the city, in a fortified arcology that had escaped the worst of the invasion's damage, what remained of the Global Council convened in an emergency session.

Fear hung thick in the chamber.

"He's destabilizing everything," Councilor Bren said, slamming his palm on the table. "First the relic, now interstellar attention? This wasn't part of the plan."

Another councilor leaned forward. "The Axiom Concord has already issued warnings. If we don't contain him, they will."

A third voice cut in, smooth and calculated. "Then perhaps we should act first."

Silence followed.

A plan took shape in the dark. Not against the Vaelith. Not against the Concord.

Against Kade Reyes.

The message went live without warning.

Every public screen in New Ardent flickered, overriding emergency alerts and resistance broadcasts.

Kade's face appeared—recorded, spliced, digitally altered just enough to look real.

"I accept responsibility for the escalation," the fake Kade said, voice flat and wrong. "Earth must submit to interstellar governance to prevent total annihilation."

Murmurs rippled through the hub. People stopped what they were doing, staring at the screens in confusion.

"What the hell?" Rashid whispered.

Mila's blood ran cold. "That's not real."

But the damage was already spreading. Outside, confusion twisted into anger. Some saw betrayal. Others saw confirmation of what they feared all along—that Kade was no longer human enough to trust.

Kade stared at the screen, disbelief slowly hardening into something darker.

"They're trying to turn the city against me," he said quietly.

Elira Voss clenched her jaw. "No. They're trying to isolate you first. Then they'll move on you."

The difference mattered.

While the city tore itself apart over the fake broadcast, the Vaelith struck again—but not with force.

Their commander appeared across multiple channels, calm as ever, almost sympathetic.

"You resist governance," it said. "Yet your own leaders deceive you. Humanity cannot even trust itself."

The irony burned.

"We offer orders," the commander continued. "Not through dominance, but integration."

Integration. The word sent ice through Mila's veins.

"They're offering a deal," she whispered, pulling up intercepted transmissions. "To the council."

Kade's hands curled into fists. "They're playing everyone."

"And winning," Rashid said grimly.

Envoy Serex returned—this time not as a polite request, but as a judgment.

"The probability of planetary fracture has exceeded acceptable thresholds," it announced, voice echoing across every display. "The Axiom Concord will intervene to restore stability."

Kade stepped forward. "You said you preferred stability through choice."

"We do," Serex replied. "And stability now requires the removal of uncontrolled variables."

The meaning was unmistakable.

Mila felt a panic rise. "They're talking about you."

"No," Kade said slowly, understanding settling over him like cold water. "They're talking about all of us. Anyone who won't fall in line."

Serex's luminous form seemed to sharpen. "Your species stands at a crossroads. Governance ensures survival. Autonomy ensures chaos."

"Then we'll take chaos," Kade said.

For the first time, Serex hesitated. Like the answer I was genuinely surprised by it.

"That is... unfortunate," it said finally.

The transmission cut out.

That night, the city fractured.

Some districts rallied behind Kade openly, broadcasting resistance signals, defying council orders, organizing militias from whoever could hold a weapon.

Others sided with the council, demanding surrender to interstellar authority, arguing that survival mattered more than pride.

Families argued. Friends turned away from each other. The oldest human weakness—division—rose again, sharp and ugly.

Kade walked the streets alone that night, hood pulled up, watching it happen.

This was the cost the relic had never shown him. This was what freedom actually looked like.

Messy. Painful. Human.

Mila found him near the ruins of the old financial district, standing in front of a building that had collapsed during the first wave.

"You can still step back," she said softly. "Let someone else carry this."

Kade shook his head. "They won't stop. Not until I'm gone or controlled."

She swallowed hard. "Then what do we do?"

He looked up at the sky, at the overlapping shadows of alien fleets and unknown watchers, all circling, all waiting.

"We choose," he said. "And we accept the consequences."

"Even if the consequences are terrible?"

"Especially then," he said. "Because at least they'll be ours."

The sound cracked through the night like thunder.

A single gunshot.

Kade staggered as pain exploded through his side. His legs buckled. He hit the ground hard, breath knocked from his lungs, vision swimming.

"KADE!" Mila screamed, dropping beside him.

Elira drew her weapon, scanning rooftops, windows, and shadows. "Sniper! Get him to cover!"

Blood pooled beneath Kade, hot and spreading fast. He tried to speak, but couldn't. Tried to breathe, barely managed.

Above them, council drones broadcast an emergency declaration across every screen in the city:

"Kade Reyes is hereby declared an enemy of planetary stability. Lethal force is authorized."

Mila pressed her hands against the wound, shaking, tears cutting tracks through the grime on her face. "Stay with me. Kade, stay with me."

He looked up at her. I tried to smile. It probably looked terrible.

"Guess," he rasped, tasting copper, "they made their choice."

Sirens wailed in the distance. Footsteps echoed. People were coming—some to help, some to finish what the sniper started.

The city held its breath.

And the war that had started with aliens became something far more dangerous.

Human.