Of Anchor & Drift

Per your earlier assessment: confirmed.
Polis Massa is a barren drift.
Isolated bodies, locked in quiet orbits,
persistent despite the void between them.

I find the observation fitting.

Distance holds, yet they circle still endless
And unwilling to break formation.

Intelligence on the Black Queen advances. Serina Calis
She binds potential allies as easily as she fractures old loyalties.

Caution advised: her influence deepens faster than projections estimated.

I continue to map her patterns — reluctantly.

Some subjects are studied out of necessity.
Others, out of choice.
This one is a necessity.

I note the absence of familiar counsel.
The familiar cadence of strategic review is missed.
Certain constants prove more difficult to replicate.

Focus remains sharp
but quiet moments allow for drift.

I anchor myself in purpose:
completion,
return,
reconnection.

All vectors point home.
As always —
Bound to you.
- Specter -

— THREAD TERMINATED —

Actual Message

You were right.
Polis Massa is nothing but a drift of broken stones —
cold, barren, endless.
Yet they orbit still, stubborn in their loneliness,
caught in a dance they'll never finish.

It's almost cruel.
To spin so close and never touch.
Almost romantic —
if you're foolish enough to see longing in ruin.

They remind me of you.

The Black Queen moves — forging alliances in shadows,
sowing dissent with the same hands she offers peace.

She's more dangerous than we measured.
I learn her rhythms, her tells, her weaknesses.
I learn — and I hate every moment of it.

I would rather spend hours unraveling your silences
than a single breath listening to her speak.

I miss the sound of your voice.
Its memory fills the hollow places your absence carved into me.

Everything reminds me of you.

I knew leaving would be difficult.
I didn't realize it would be this.

I endure.
I press forward.
Because at the end of this orbit,
there is you.

I am yours.
You are mine. ​