(Meanwhile, Across the Neutral Worlds, Cult Commoners’ POV)
The crackdowns began quietly at first, a few extra patrol drones circling above the markets, a few more guards stationed at the spaceport entrances, but within just a handful of days the difference became impossible to ignore, as the neutral planets that once served as safe shelters for scattered Cult refugees now pulsed with an uneasiness thick enough to taste in the air.
*Step*
*Step*
*Step*
A woman hurried through the open market of Tithera’s Lower Ring with her hood pulled low, pausing only when another cloaked figure tugged her gently aside into the shadow of a closed stall.
"It has become worse since Lord Shadow Dragon struck those planets," the figure whispered, his voice strained as he checked the corners before continuing.
"They are searching harder now. Anyone who looks even slightly suspicious is taken in for questioning."
The woman nodded once, her eyes tight with both fear and pride.
"We all cheered when we heard he made them bleed," she said softly, "but now we must be cautious. They are frightened... and frightened people do reckless things."
Her companion did not disagree, but before either could speak again, a young messenger boy rushed past them with a half-empty crate, his whisper carrying just enough strength to reach their ears.
"He destroyed two planets alone, they call him the Demon Of Omega now....
And in my understanding, they fear him as much as Lord Soron now." he said as he darted by, his footsteps quick and nervous.
The two adults watched him disappear into the crowd before exchanging a somber glance.
"Children should not need to know such things," the woman murmured.
"Children of the Cult have always known too much," the man replied, as he let out a deep sigh.
If possible, the elders wanted to give the children a sheltered and golden childhood like every other parent, however, unfortunately for the Cult sympathizers, a sheltered childhood was a luxury that they could not afford for their kids.
*Step*
*Bustle*
*Stumble*
Soon, the world around the duo shifted with the movement of the crowd, and their conversation dissolved into the marketplace noise, yet the same words echoed elsewhere almost identically, carrying from one corner of the plaza to the next, like a rumor traveling on the wind.
Inside a nearby tavern, the same unease hung heavy over dim lantern light and chipped tables.
Miners, merchants, and refugees sat clustered together, speaking in low tones that blended seamlessly with the murmurs outside the building, each sentence picking up where another dropped off in the streets, creating a continuous river of anxious voices.
"Border checks doubled again today," a miner muttered as he pressed his cup against his lips. "They stopped everyone on my transport. Asked for lineage records, demanded to know which clans our grandparents belonged to."
His companion shook his head in disbelief.
"They are not even pretending anymore. The execution date of the Dragon is drawing close, and they think we will riot or run or summon the Cult’s armies."
An elderly man at the next table turned slightly toward them, his voice carrying the weary authority of someone who had survived the crackdown of local authorities for decades now.
"They fear what happens after the execution.....
The Cult without a leader, will become a rogue organisation.
And they don’t like that..."
The old man said, as a young woman beside him leaned forward, her voice unsteady but full of yearning.
"Do you think they will save him? The Dragon? Or do you believe it to be impossible?"
She asked as the old man did not answer immediately.
For a while, there was but silence in the tavern, until eventually the old man spoke again.
"I want to believe that they will," he began, as he looked straight towards the ceiling.
"I want to believe that the brotherhood within the Cult transcends what is possible or impossible.
However, those are just fantasies.
The reality is that the Righteous Faction has called everyone to that damned planet.
The Great Clans. Their Commanders. The Universal Government Soldiers. Every weapon they own.
The Pit is a fortress now.
And saving Lord Dragon from it will not be easy..... not easy at all."
He shared, as the young woman lowered her gaze, but before fear could fully settle into her expression, another voice spoke from deeper inside the room.
"They will try," a man said as he polished his worn gloves. "They must try. He saved us. Hid us. Protected us. Fed us when no one else would. If the Cult abandons him now, then what meaning do we have left?"
A quiet ripple passed through the tavern, a shared breath of agreement that felt almost ceremonial.
As people got up to leave, the tavern door opened and the sounds of the outside streets flowed back in, creating a seamless continuation of the ongoing conversation that seemed to cover the entire district.
The voices outside echoed the same sentiments, the same fears, the same hopes, as two merchants closing their kiosks lowered their voices as they worked.
"I heard the Righteous Faction brought half their elites to that cursed planet," one whispered. "They are preparing for war, not an execution."
The second merchant nodded grimly.
"They know the Cult will not sit quietly. Something will happen. And whatever it is... the universe will shake."
Further down the street, in a cramped residential quarter where dozens of displaced families lived stacked atop one another in converted cargo pods, people spoke in hushed tones through cracked doors and narrow windows, their words drifting upward like incense.
"They say Lord Dragon has been chained for months."
"They say he was tortured."
"They say the Cult is quiet only because something massive is coming."
"They say Lord Soron will tear the sky apart to reach him."
"They say the day is almost here."
Whispers, rumors, prayers, warnings.
Fear and faith interwoven so tightly that neither could be separated from the other.
Every Cult-born heart on every neutral world felt the same approaching storm, a storm none of them could see yet all of them recognized instinctively.
And in every home, every tavern, every alleyway, every hidden corner of every neutral planet, the same final line was spoken with trembling hope.
"Whatever happens on the day of the execution... the universe will remember it forever."
Because even frightened, hunted, and scattered across the void...
The Cult still believed their Dragon could still be saved.