Blackout
West Point
Rider reaches for her rifle but doesn't move. Chron starts to get up but Rider waves her hand and commands him to stay. She observes the four push the barbarians back to the blood gates. She's impressed. But then she senses it. Something inhuman. Old and primal. Or perhaps more than that. Ancient and primordial. Like Chron. Rider looks to Chron who sensed it as well. He bristles uneasily. Rider feels old ache. She shifts in her seat. And smiles.
"Sia..." Rider wants to use her power for it. But there is no sport in that. "Chron do it." Chron stands up and breaths deeply. Then unleashes a howl so deafening it shakes the very heavens. Spaced/Time itself shudders and blood gates destabilize violently. 

"Burn the bodies. They can use them as transport for more soldiers. When you're done with that." Rider takes a sip of her coffee. "Well, then we can talk about striking a deal. To find your man."

Tip of South point
Four ships are being steadily loaded with two thousand soldiers each. It's going according schedule and will be completed soon. The beach is crowded by knights belonging to the Mystics. Mystic Knights stride about with their cloaks and Arcane swords able to summon elemental devastation with a single swing. Atop a stand with a solid golden orb is Major Knox. He has taken control of the Command Sphere and is in control of the remnants of the Admirals forces. A storm is approaching swiftly from the West.

Oasis at the Grand Arbor of Reality
Zaak feels a swell of pride. But also shame. He takes a deep breath, shaking off the hesitation, and preparing him self for his new role of Royal Protector.
"My daughter. My Sovereign. To fully ascend to station you will need not to join with The Oasis. But to become it. It will be no easy task. You have to abandon self and individuality for a state of being that is more law than human. It is a difficult thing to explain. But in a sense you will need to cease being Lilianna. You will need to abandon your ambition. And your dreams." Zaak speaks firmly yet with care as well. He knows what is necessary. But he was never able to do it. Inwardly he sighs. That is the one thing Galen did that he could not. "It is something not even I could bring myself to commit to fully. There are three levels to this. To explain it in simple terms. The first level is akin to unsheathing a sword. To draw it and make your intent clear. The second level is to wield the sword with fluency and inflict your intent on the world. The third is to become the sword. Your intent is inflicted on the world through your very existence."