Zerg: I ​​was picked up by the cold and beautiful Major General at the start of the game.

Lin Luo returned to the bedroom, lay down on her side, and snuggled into Ailand's arms.

Then he gently took Eland's hand, which had distinct knuckles and thin calluses, and wrapped it around his waist, burying himself deeper into Eland's neck.

The cool, serene atmosphere, however, became his most comforting support at this moment.

Almost simultaneously, Ayland's spiritual form materialized into a transparent phantom, gently embracing Lin Luo from behind.

Lin Luo raised his hand, his fingertips tracing the sleeping face of Ailand.

It brushes across the full forehead, slides down the straight brow bone, glides over the tightly closed eyelids, and lingers on the high, straight nose.

Finally, it lingered on her slightly pale lips.

As I touched it, my childlike nature came out.

He gently pressed Ailand's cheek with his fingertips and pinched the tip of his nose, as if playing a soft "pinching game," enjoying it immensely.

My energy was gradually depleted, and a strong feeling of drowsiness washed over me.

Lin Luo's fingers slowly stopped, his breathing became even and long, and he fell into a deep sleep.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Military Headquarters Conference Room

Marshal Arnold sat in the main seat, his expression solemn.

Below them sat three candidate insects: Terman, commander of the Second Fleet; Ross, who had been transferred from the Edge Star; and Acto, who had served in the Seventh Fleet.

Seventh Fleet Lieutenant-Admiral Hawke and several other senior officers lined up on either side, with Dr. Parks also present as a special advisor.

"Gentlemen," Marshal Arnold's deep voice broke the silence.

"As you all know, the Imperial Medical Department submitted Major General Eland's final health assessment report this morning."

He gestured, and the key conclusions of the report immediately appeared on the screen:

[The patient's mental state is showing a stable and improving trend, but the timing of awakening consciousness is unpredictable, and they are not capable of performing their duties in the short term.]

"Based on this assessment, and the rule that military positions cannot be left vacant for extended periods," Arnold's gaze swept over everyone present.

"Today, we must decide on a successor."

Hawke clenched his fists and pressed his lips together, but remained silent due to military discipline.

Terman sat upright with his chin slightly raised and his eyes calm and unwavering, as if victory was already assured.

Ross looked down at the table, his expression unreadable.

Akto seemed somewhat restless, his eyes frequently glancing at Hawke and the glaring report.

Dr. Parks adjusted his glasses and couldn't help but speak:

"Marshal, gentlemen! The data shows that the Major General's recovery speed is far exceeding expectations. Perhaps we should give him a little more time..."

"Doctor," Arnold interrupted him, his tone decisive and leaving no room for argument.

"I understand your feelings and appreciate your efforts, but military regulations are strict and the fleet cannot keep waiting for a 'maybe'. We must be responsible to all our officers and soldiers."

He turned to the three candidate insects:

"According to the procedure, the three of you are currently the most qualified candidates. However, given the special circumstances, I would like to hear your opinions, as well as... the views of the representative of the Seventh Fleet."

His gaze finally settled on Hawke.

Hawke took a deep breath, stood up, and gave a standard military salute:

"Marshal! Sirs! We request... we request that the military headquarters consider granting us some more leeway!"

Upon hearing this, Terman finally spoke, his voice cold and detached:

"Lieutenant Hawke, your loyalty is commendable, but when it comes to military regulations, emotions must give way."

"What the fleet needs are commanders who can immediately engage in combat and make decisions, not a 'miracle' lying in a medical pod."

Inside the meeting room, silence fell over the moment, and a tense atmosphere spread silently.

Hawke met the gazes of Field Marshal Arnold and the three candidates, his voice heavy with sorrow:

"If... if there is truly no time to spare, the entire Seventh Fleet... favors Aktor to temporarily assume the position of commander."

A brief commotion broke out in the conference room.

Terman, who had been expressionless the whole time, subtly twitched the corner of his mouth downwards.

Ross, sitting opposite Hawke, breathed a barely perceptible sigh of relief after hearing Hawke's words, and his furrowed brows relaxed slightly.

Akto himself, who was called out, subconsciously looked at Hawke, his lips moving as if he wanted to say something.

But under Hawke's unwavering gaze and Marshal Arnold's watchful eye, he swallowed his words, his hands clenched into fists in nervous tension on his lap.

The other senior military officers present exchanged meaningful glances and whispered among themselves:

"As expected, they still chose someone from their own company..."

"Akto's experience is still a bit too limited; I'm afraid he won't be able to control things..."

"It's good that that scoundrel, Bittmann, is gone; the Seventh Fleet will probably be dismantled and reorganized under his leadership..."

Field Marshal Arnold took in all these reactions; his gaze was deep and unreadable.

"Actor, you heard about the Seventh Fleet's choice. What are your thoughts on it? And Terman, Ross, what are your opinions?"

The focus has returned to the three candidates.

Terman spoke first: "Marshal, gentlemen, during my tenure as commander of the Second Fleet, the mission completion rate, battle victory rate, and the results of our exploration of new tactics are all verifiable among all the fleets."

"The Seventh Fleet needs not only a commander, but a leader who can guide it to maintain absolute superiority in complex future situations."

"I believe that, in terms of seniority, combat record, and experience in commanding large-scale fleets, I am the most suitable candidate at present."

Terman’s tone was sharp and even contained a hint of disdain for the other two candidates.

When it was Ross's turn, he stood up, his tone noticeably calmer:

"Marshal, I have served in the outer star system for over ten years, handling numerous sudden conflicts and asymmetric warfare, and have extensive experience in combat against space pirates, alien creatures, and in extreme environments."

"These experiences may offer the Seventh Fleet some different perspectives and additions."

"But I respect the Seventh Fleet's choice and will abide by any decision made by the military."

Finally, all the insects' eyes focused on Akto.

He composed himself, stood up, faced Field Marshal Arnold, then turned to Hawke and his colleagues in the Seventh Fleet, his eyes hardening.

"Marshal," he said frankly, "if this is the trust my brothers in the Seventh Fleet have placed in me, if the military ultimately makes this decision, I, Akto, hereby swear that I will do everything in my power to temporarily assume this post!"

Hawke looked at him, his tense expression finally easing a little, and nodded slightly.

Field Marshal Arnold listened in silence, his fingers tapping lightly on the polished table. His gaze slowly swept over the three candidates, each with a distinct style, and he already knew what his final decision would be.

The meeting room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

After a moment, the marshal spoke: "The final choice is—"