***
Scanning the hall, I searched for Firefly. She'd been missing for over half an hour. Where the hell did she go?
"Ah, there she is," Freya said, pointing toward a side doorway just as Firefly emerged alone from the corridor right behind Zero who quickly vanished.
I started toward her, and Firefly looked up, surprised as Freya stepped in front of her. "Where've you been? People have been asking for you everywhere."
"I just stepped out for some air." Firefly said calmly. "W-was I not supposed to?"
"You've been gone forever. Let's—" Freya reached for her hand, but Firefly yanked it back with far more force than usual. Freya winced. "Ow, hey! That hurt!"
"You know I don't like it when you suddenly grab me, Freya." Firefly's voice was cold. Tight. Like she was biting down on something sharp. Whatever had happened out there, she wasn't just annoyed—she was furious. Freya backed off, eyes flickering with confusion and guilt.
"I'll greet those who were looking for me," Firefly said, already turning away. "Oh, and Sam—could we speak in private tomorrow morning? There's something I need to ask you."
"Can't you ask me here?" I caught a flicker in her eyes—sharp and distant. I knew that look. It was the same one she wore during drills, when nothing existed but the mission. Something wasn't right.
"It's awkward," she said, tone neutral. "Just hoping you can walk me through the ordainment procedures. I don't want to mess up and embarrass myself."
"If it's just that, sure." I nodded, glancing over her shoulder just in time to catch Zero slipping out of the same corridor. He didn't even look our way.
"We'll meet outside my quarters at seven," I added. "That should be early enough—ceremony starts at ten."
"Perfect. Thank you." She gave a tight nod and disappeared into the banquet crowd without another word.
Freya clutched her wrist, wincing. "Did she seem... different to you?"
"You're the one who keeps throwing yourself at her and getting rejected," I said, dry as ever.
Freya shot me a glare. "I'm getting a drink, you insensitive prick. Firefly better apologize by the time I get back."
With her gone, I was left alone in the hall, sipping from my wine glass and scanning the crowd again. No sign of Firefly. Just nobles flattering one another for titles and honours, merchants weaving through the noise looking to seal deals, and the Constellation Knights—four of them here tonight—standing vigil in pairs or alone, flanked by modest squads of guards. My father wasn't among them.
I spotted Alex trying to charm the girl he'd danced with earlier, but still no Firefly. Maybe the Empress would know. They seemed close.
Making my way to the throne, I arrived just in time to hear the grating voice of the man who'd been whispering in my father's ear all night—Minister Whalen. He was speaking to Empress Lucione.
"Perhaps we could remove the duel from the event roster, Your Grace. On a day of celebration, why encourage violence?"
The Empress didn't bother to hide her disinterest. She seemed more engaged with the tart she was eating than with the Minister's whining.
"The public already expects a duel, Minister Whalen. You had the same concerns last year—and my stance hasn't changed. It isn't every day ordinary citizens witness a duel between two Constellation Knights in safety."
"Only once every eight years, it seems," Whalen said, a little too smugly.
Marshal Excav, who had been standing quietly behind the throne, stepped forward at that. He let the mace half-concealed beneath his cloak swing slightly into view.
"Mind your tone, Minister," he warned. "You have no authority over Her Majesty's decisions. Push further, and House Genttem will hear of it."
"Of course, Marshal," Whalen said, bowing slightly. "I only wish to serve the Empire's interests. Replacing the duel with something more civilized—"
"And what would that be?" Empress Lucione cut in. "A circus? One of those Halfdansen family concerts? Or shall we follow your own House's traditions, Whalen—release convicted murderers into the arena and hunt them for sport?"
Marshal Excav nodded solemnly. "Wouldn't take long to gather the prey."
Whalen's expression darkened as he bowed, his defeat plain. The Empress set her tart down, having only taken a single bite.
"Repeating a request does not make it any more likely to succeed," she said. "Even if I liked you, Minister—which I do not—I would not amend the schedule this late. Now leave, before I change my mind about humouring your presence."
"Of course, Your Highness. Enjoy your evening," Whalen said, turning on his heel and pushing his way down from the throne.
As he passed, the Empress looked up and noticed me waiting at the base of the stairs. She raised a hand, beckoning me forward. I knelt without hesitation.
"Glory to the Empire's throne," I said.
"Good evening, Pilot Samuel," she replied, her tone lighter now. "To what do I owe this visit? We already spoke, did we not, when you were with your father?"
I tensed at the mention of him but kept my voice steady. "I came to ask about Pilot Firefly. She seemed... off, when I saw her. I think something may have happened—something involving Pilot Zero."
The Empress tilted her head slightly. "Oh?"
"I saw him leaving the same corridor as she did, just before I found her. She seemed... focused. Cold. Asked to meet with me in private tomorrow morning. Said she needed help with ordainment procedures so she wouldn't embarrass herself."
Lucione smiled. Regal and unreadable. "How filial of her. Do be sure to assist her, Samuel. I'm afraid I haven't seen her since the ceremony ended. Perhaps she's simply had too much to drink and excused herself."
I tried to think—had I seen her take a single sip? I could only remember her refusing a drink from one of the servers. Maybe she had one while Freya and I were dancing?
Still, something about the Empress's knowing tone made me uneasy.
Just then, Marshal Fraser approached the throne in her dove-themed armour. She bowed and handed the Empress a folded note.
Lucione took it, eyes narrowing slightly as she unfolded the message.
As I lingered, wondering what the torn piece of paper contained, the Empress's expression remained unchanged. If anything, she looked... pleased. A soft, knowing chuckle escaped her lips as she folded the note with elegant fingers.
"Excuse me, Pilot Samuel," she said, rising with calm grace. "There's a matter I must attend to in the gardens. The agricultural magnates have come to speak on a joint proposal. My apologies for not being able to assist you further."
"It's no issue, Your Majesty. Thank you for your esteemed time." I remained kneeling as tradition demanded, watching as she descended the steps with her twin guards in tow. Without urgency, the Empress strolled across the hall and vanished through a side door, golden silk trailing behind her like a whisper in the air.
Only once she was gone did I allow my shoulders to relax. No point fretting over Firefly now—whatever happened between her and Zero could wait until morning. She asked for privacy, and she'd have it.
For now, it was time to enjoy what was left of the night... and drink enough wine to collapse a horse.
The morning of the ordainment arrived all too quickly. The banquet faded into a blur, and now thousands packed the arena's stone stands, banners fluttering above them like waves of colour.
I stood just beyond the archway leading into the arena's sandpit, buried deep in the corridor's shadows and desperate for the clouds to smother the sunlight glaring down.
"Urgh... damn alcohol." I leaned against the stone wall, feeling the weight of my hangover churn like fire in my skull. Every breath felt like breathing razors, and the sun above might as well have been a second, crueler star.
The wine had been weak—but I drank enough to kill an ox. At some point, I woke up with a marble statue in my bed. I didn't do anything, thankfully... but just standing upright now made me want to throw myself back into unconsciousness.
"I told you not to touch the drinks." My father's voice, low and judgmental, grated across the hallway. "This is what happens when you don't listen."
"You know damn well why I never listen to you, old man," I snapped, groaning as I shoved myself off the wall. I grabbed the front of his Constellation Knight combat gear and dragged him closer. "Why the hell are you here? Come to steal the credit for my work again?"
Jackson Foster gritted his teeth. He looked like he wanted to strike me, but instead his hand gripped my wrist tight.
"Son... what happened, it wasn't—"
"It was your fault!" I shoved him hard, slamming him into the wall behind. "You still cling to that man—the one who killed Mom—and pretend like none of it matters! Twelve years, and you still follow him like some obedient pet. You're a parasite. And every Constellation Knight knows it."
He stared at me, something flickering behind his eyes—remorse, guilt... or maybe nothing at all.
"I tried to save her," he whispered.
"By turning her into a monster?" I slammed him again, harder this time, seething inches from his face. "You let him turn her into that thing—and you did nothing when it dragged me into the forest! I was eight, Jackson! I had to hide in trees, crawl through wolf shit to get away from that machine you both called my mother! And even now you dare pretend she's still in there?"
I was shaking, fists trembling with the weight of everything unsaid for over a decade.
"The first thing I'm doing after ordainment," I growled, "is levelling that forest with Draco and turning whatever's left of her into ashes."
"...You're still drunk." He sighed, letting go of my wrist. "I'll ask for more time before you're called on stage. Try not to get summoned by the Empress. Especially not for the duel."
And just like that, he walked away. The same way he walked away twelve years ago while that metal horror dragged me screaming into the woods. The same way he always walked away.
Breathing hard, I shouted after him.
"You're not my father anymore, you damnable old man!"
He froze in place, halfway down the corridor.
"I'm not drunk. I'm not delusional. I'm just done with the lies. I'm angry that you still believe that bastard minister. Oh, he saved her, right? Really? Look at what she became, you coward. Look at her!"
Jackson turned then, eyes blazing—not with fury, but something deeper. His fingers trembled around the card-mode frame of Orion, his trusted armament. For a heartbeat, I thought he might say something. Do something.
But he didn't.
He lowered his hand... and said nothing.
"Just go," I muttered. "I'm waiting for a friend. Don't embarrass me by thinking I still care about you."
My voice dropped, quiet but sharp.
"The only reason I even spoke to you yesterday was so I wouldn't disgrace Mom's memory in front of her grandfather."
Jackson didn't respond. He just stood there for another long second—Thoughts passed behind his eyes—flickers of guilt, doubt, or just empty resignation. Then, as if something inside him finally caved in, he gave up. "...If that's what you want, Sam." His voice barely carried. And then he was gone—vanishing down the corridor, swallowed by its curve. Orion's pilot finally left... and with him, the sour taste of his presence faded from my mouth.
[That was fun to watch.] Draco's voice purred in my ear, amused and vile. [A broken old man and his brat of a son yelling before the biggest event of the year? I'd pay for front-row seats. Hell, if I still had a stomach, I'd be stuffing it with popcorn.]
I pressed my head against the stone wall and let out the last of my fury in one long, searing exhale.
"Draco," I muttered, eyes shut, "shut the fuck up before I split you in two."
[Ohhh, let's go, brat.] The ancient voice vibrated with manic glee. [I'll fight you fair and square—only a ten-thousandth of my full power. That's more than enough. I could break you with my weakest finger!]
Sometimes I genuinely wondered why I hadn't fantasized about killing my father. With Draco constantly whispering bloodlust into my mind, you'd think it would've crossed my thoughts at least once.
And yet... even with all the hatred... There's still a sliver of me that wants him to fix the mistake himself—before I'm forced to.
"Sam...?" The voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I turned my head to see Firefly peeking hesitantly around the corner, concern written across her delicate features. "Are you... drunk?"
"I wish I still was." I rubbed the back of my head and faked a smile. "Woke up face-to-face with a statue this morning. No idea where I picked it up from."
Then I remembered. "Wait. You've been looking for me all this time?"
"Yeah. You weren't in your room, so I asked around. They said you headed to the venue, so I rushed here. Then I heard shouting and..." Her eyes trailed down the corridor. "Well, figured I'd find you."
"You were right." I scratched my jaw awkwardly. "...How much did you hear?"
"Nothing. Just saw your father leaving. That was it."
She stepped beside me, shifting back and forth on her heels. Something in her energy was soft—hesitant, maybe—but curious.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not in the slightest," I said quickly. "Let's go over the ordainment ceremony. You said you wanted help getting through it without screwing up. Sounds like the perfect distraction."
"I'm sure I can assist with that." Firefly gave a small, genuine smile—briefly, before her expression faltered.
"...Do you remember the bet you won? Six months ago, during the knighthood exam. You earned a favour. Any favour within reason."
I blinked, unsure where she was going. "Yeah? What about it?"
"No reason," she said a little too fast. "Just thinking. The three of us... You, me, Freya... and Zero. We've changed since then." She paused, moving uncomfortably on her feet. "I'm sorry, by the way. For how I acted with Freya last night. I was just... spooked."
"You looked spooked," I said, chuckling. "But you should probably say that to her, not me."
Still, I was relieved. Firefly sounded like herself again. But the way her gaze lingered on the floor, the subtle tightness in her voice... Something still felt off.
Getting more serious, I prodded. "So, what did happen last night? What had you so on edge?"
Her face darkened. Not just solemn—haunted. "A twist of life," she said, voice a breath on the wind. "I guess you could call it that."
Then she turned to me, eyes distant but unwavering. And when she spoke—really spoke—it was like a dam broke inside her.
She ranted without pause, words spilling out like glass shards, too fast to stop and too sharp to ignore. Her voice shook but didn't break, and every word etched something cold into my spine.
And when she finally took a breath—just one—"Trust me," she whispered, "it's for the best."
I stood there, unable to reply. Whatever she'd said—whatever it meant—lodged deep into my chest like an anchor.
And for the first time in years... I became afraid.
Afraid for the Empire.
Afraid for the rot that had begun to bloom.
Afraid that even someone like Firefly, pure and proud, had been touched by it.
And most of all—I feared what came next.