The worlds were burning.
He growled as he saw the nodes on the comm panel winking out as world after world fell. He listened to the last, despairing transmissions, hearing the screams, and forced himself to harden his heart to them. He could take his fleet to these worlds, to try in vain to save them, or he could hurry back to see their homeworld, the creche of their people, protected and safe. These were not easy decisions to make, but desperate times like these necessitated them.
Let them hate him. He would accept being seen as heartless, of being unfeeling, if it meant his people would live. He would accept being viewed as a cold, emotionless automaton. Even now, he heard the whispers among his oathborn crew. That he had a heart of stone. If his people were safe due to his actions, then he would be a Kell of Stone.