Legacy of Blackwood

Scene: The Exchange – Chris & Christiana

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The private chamber was darker than usual. The lights dimmed by intent, not failure. Two guards stood at the sealed door, unmoving. Inside, tension crackled in the air like static before a lightning strike.

Christiana walked in, posture straight, chin high. The Dictator—feared by nations, respected by leaders—yet now, merely a daughter standing before her father.

Chris sat in a throne-like chair. No crown. No robe. Just him—alive, burning with a fury only a wounded god could carry. The only sound was the soft click of her boots.

She didn't kneel. Not this time.

"You called for me," she said, tone neutral, but her fingers were clenched.

Chris didn't move. Just stared.

"I did," he said, slow. "And you came. That alone surprised me."

Christiana's brow twitched. "You were unconscious for weeks. Half the empire nearly fell apart."

"No," Chris corrected. "You almost tore it apart."

Her fists tightened. "I held it together. I froze the budget to stop the Canine from turning the army into his personal force. I did what I had to."

"You defied protocol," Chris said sharply. "You escalated a political crisis into a civil conflict. You watched my son bleed because of your power games. Then celebrated when your rival was killed."

"That rival tried to imprison me!" she snapped. "He tried to strip me of my title—you created us equal!"

Chris stood slowly.

"I created order," he growled. "I gave you power because I believed in your mind. Not to prove you were stronger, or louder, or more feared. You let ego consume you."

Christiana took a shaky breath. "And what about him? You gave him a title without consulting me. He undermined my authority daily. You made me dictator—then made him my equal."

Silence.

Then Chris stepped forward, his voice like thunder.

"You forget your place."

She flinched.

"I am not your rival, Christiana. I am your father. I am your maker. And I do not need permission to create what I will. You exist because I said so. You rule because I trusted you. And yet, when the empire needed unity—you chose division."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back.

"I was scared you loved him more," she said softly.

Chris's expression faltered. A flash of something—guilt? Grief?—crossed his face, but it vanished instantly.

"You're my daughter," he said, quieter now. "But love does not give you immunity from judgment."

Christiana dropped to one knee.

"I was wrong. But I wasn't trying to kill Classic. I swear it."

Chris placed a hand on her head, not in comfort—but in warning.

"If he had died, I would have buried you with him."

A pause.

"But he lives."

She looked up, hopeful.

"You want redemption?" Chris said.

She nodded.

"Then rebuild. Every city you froze, every budget you stopped, every general you cast aside—restore them. You'll operate under my watch, not yours."

"And if I refuse?"

His gaze sharpened.

"Then I will do what I must. No Blackwood—no one—is above the empire. Not even you."

Christiana stood slowly. "I understand."

Chris turned away, facing the screen that showed the streets of Blackwood, the people chanting his name.

"Then go. Your time for mistakes has ended."

She walked out without a word.

The door shut behind her.

And Chris, alone again, whispered to the wind: "Let them come. Let them test me."

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