The first wave of Dynasty interceptors came like locusts. Their cannons spat molten tungsten. Bonto’s left engine took a hit—flames, alarms, the sickening lurch of gravity. He closed his eyes.
He had been late. Three minutes late because the water pumps in the Lower Tiers had failed, and a man had to choose: save his son’s flower or save his son’s life. sine mora nsp
For one perfect, final moment, Bonto remembered everything. The terrarium. The violet. His son’s name— Rento . A small, good name. He had been three years old. He had asked for a bedtime story. The first wave of Dynasty interceptors came like locusts