My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 745: Departure

The preparations were complete, and we stood poised to depart from Dragos, with the landing area swept clean for takeoff, the steady drone of nearby vessels' engines seeping through the atmosphere as an unending signal that rest was a fleeting concept here.

Near the platform's brink, Kharzun positioned himself, arms crossed over his torso, his armor once more locked in its official gleam, the relaxed vibe from the festivities now fully banished. Saleos lingered at his side, his stance relaxed yet vigilant, gaze sweeping the surroundings without locking onto any single point.

Silence shattered when Kharzun spoke up. "You altered the course of this war for us," he declared. "Not just this rift. Not just this planet. The way we fight from here on."

A slight shake of my head followed. "I just removed blind spots. You already had the strength. You’ll handle the rest."

For a beat, he examined me, seemingly debating a counterpoint, before dropping it. "Perhaps," he conceded. "But blind spots are how empires bleed out."

Then Saleos pivoted to face me.

"You did more than improve our tactics," he stated. "You bought us time. And in a war like this, time is the rarest resource."

He held back briefly, allowing the statement to sink in. "We didn’t realize how much we needed that until you handed it to us."

His delivery carried no embellishment. Pure straightforward truth.

"Thank you," he murmured softly.

I dipped my head in acknowledgment.

A bit removed behind us, Primus remained with Lana. She bore little resemblance to the figure I'd first spotted amid the crowd. The bold assurance she'd displayed back then had faded, exposing a subtler, more vulnerable essence beneath. Direct eye contact eluded her. Her stare lingered somewhere amid the floor panels and the vast heavens above.

Primus kept his distance from touch, yet positioned near enough to erase any real separation.

I approached him steadily.

Aware of my nearing, he rotated, face composed and restrained, though a deeper intensity filled his eyes.

"This is where we split," I announced.

He gave a nod. "Yeah. I’ll take her home."

No doubt colored his tone.

My hand extended toward him.

Without delay, he clasped it, his hold strong, reassuring, and well-known.

"I’ll leave the demon side to you," I instructed. "Whatever quest you get from here on, you complete it. Don’t stall. Don’t settle. Push through and become transcendent."

A subtle clench gripped his fingers around mine. "I was planning to."

Our eyes locked. "I’m serious. I’ll need you someday. Not as backup or support. I’ll need you standing on your own."

That sparked a faint grin on his face. Not his old playful smirk. Something subdued. More genuine.

"You will," he affirmed. "I won’t make you regret it."

Response eluded me before he advanced and drew me into a quick, sturdy hug.

"Thank you," he whispered. "For everything."

Words failed me in reply. None were required.

He pulled back, spun around, and headed to the compact vessel idling at the platform's distant edge. Lana trailed after a pause, her pace hesitant and unsteady, yet she pressed on. As the entry sealed and the drives whirred to life, I resisted the urge to observe.

Certain conclusions demanded no observers.

Kharzun drew near once more, clutching a compact, secured item in his armored palm. Its shell gleamed in somber alloy, dense despite its modest dimensions, inscribed with symbols that exuded command even in dormancy.

"This bears the Demon Monarch’s seal," he explained, depositing it in my grasp. "It will grant you passage into Sector Zero."

The item's heft hit me right away, prompting a halt.

"The center," I murmured.

Confirmation came with his nod. "Elementals. Nagas. Ferans. All three maintain their core headquarters there. Entry is... controlled."

In my palm, I rotated the encased missive. "This should help."

"It will," Saleos assured. "And it will be noticed."

My gaze shifted to him. "Good."

At that moment, a pair of massive cruisers peeled from neighboring docks, their exteriors boldly emblazoned with Dragos' emblem. They slotted into place smoothly, no fanfare involved, guarding our craft with seamless precision.

Escorts.

A message.

Toward them, Kharzun cast a look. "They’ll take you to the boundary. Beyond that, you’re on your own."

"That works for me," I responded.

A single nod from him. "Then go. Dragos remembers who stands with it."

Prior to embarking, my focus drifted to the platform's flank.

Steve lingered nearby alongside Mazikeen, near enough for conversation, distant enough that their hands hung in uncertainty. The clamor from launching vessels and dispersing teams masked their exchange, yet the tension hung thick.

"So," Steve uttered, scratching his nape, vision darting everywhere except her features. "Looks like we’re heading out."

A soft huff escaped Mazikeen. "I noticed. Big dramatic exit. Escorts and all."

His smile emerged, somewhat forced. "Yeah. Guess that’s my life now."

Silence stretched.

"Take care of yourself," he ventured at last. "Dragos isn’t exactly... gentle."

Her eyes met his, brow arching. "You worried about me?"

"I’m realistic," he countered. "And maybe a little worried."

A subtle twist touched her mouth. "Good. I’d hate to think you forgot me already."

After a beat, he appended, "If something happens to you, I’ll come back."

Her laugh rolled out, deep and edged with peril. "For revenge?"

"Something like that," he admitted. "Wouldn’t be fair otherwise."

Mazikeen closed the gap. "Relax. It was one night. I survived worse."

She retreated once more, offering a parting glance. "But don’t die out there."

Her departure drew his stare, then a slow breath escaped him as he rejoined our group, face pensive.

Boarding ensued soon, the area behind us already emptying.

All had returned to the vessel save for Primus. With Dragos fading in our wake, a known tug stirred within my core, not tied to the world we abandoned, but drawn from an emerging force deep inside. One invocation remained unmade, one I'd intentionally withheld until free of Dragos, and the eagerness to witness it honed my mind as we surged into the void.

As ascent carried us higher, Dragos dropped below.

Viewed from on high, the divide struck unmistakably. The ordered portion expanded in rigid designs, harnessed blaze, order imposed through resolve and custom. Past it, the untamed zone roiled without cease, a vibrant wound of inferno, disorder, and liberty, demons wandering unbound, power dictating endurance without remorse.

One planet.

Two truths.

Neither pretending to be the other.

A quick backward peek from Steve.

"So," he remarked, a slight grin forming, "Sector Zero next?"

"Eventually," I answered.

The craft pierced the outer layers, blaze and cinders yielding to the endless expanse. Dragos dwindled astern.

Silently, the escort vessels aligned.

Ahead, the galaxy awaited.