Leo stepped through the gate, and the immediate shift in atmosphere—from the silent, crushing weight of his dream to the vibrant, focused energy of his present—was palpable. Inside the circular main chamber, dozens of Stellars in training paused, but his immediate squad, the Arcana Protocol, rushed forward.
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Handshakes were exchanged, firm and warm, a rare physical contact Leo usually reserved only for his closest team members.
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"Good morning, Senior Leo!" a chorus of enthusiastic voices rang out.
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"Good morning," Leo replied, allowing a genuine smile to finally touch his lips. The raw, honest camaraderie always felt like the only dependable anchor to his remaining humanity.
He quickly dropped the casual tone, his face hardening as he turned professional. "Alright, let's get the status report. Max, what do we have on the Superiors?"
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Max Levai stepped forward, already holding a data slate. Max, twenty years old and the #2-ranked Stellar on the planet Arcana, was Leo's trusted second-in-command and a good friend. He had a naturally easygoing confidence that always seemed to balance Leo's silent intensity.
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"Hey, Leo, what's up, buddy? I have something grim to show you," Max said casually, handing over the report. "Just landed a few minutes ago. It was the fourth planet this month."
Leo's eyes scanned the grim display—a chilling summary of resources drained and life extinguished. He looked up, the brief joy from the greetings extinguished. "I see." He handed the slate back.
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"Well, how many light-years are they away from us now?"
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"Does it even matter?" Max shrugged, though his eyes held gravity. "They have full control of the Fourth Dimension, just like us."
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Leo sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "True. They can easily create wormholes and jump entire fleets here in hours." The thought was discouraging, a reminder that distance provided no safety.
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Max gently retrieved the data slate. "Look, don't dwell on those things. Tomorrow is your birthday." He lowered his voice, the question becoming serious. "Also, have you decided if you're going to become immortal or not?"
Leo walked to the central console, placing his hands flat on the cool metal. "No, not now." He looked at Max, his gaze piercing. "Max, you should become immortal if you want. But you know the condition: after you drink the syrup, you won't be able to show love or any strong emotion. If you do, your immortality will shatter."
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Stellars could achieve "Stellar Immortality" by drinking a rare syrup, gaining eternal life and enhanced power. The dark price, however, was the required suppression of all strong human emotions.
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"No, I won't," Max said quickly, his bright, honest smile back in place. "I think the trade-off is stupid. Besides," he continued, shifting topics with an enthusiastic bounce. "I was reading some ancient history from the Pre-Civilization II archives. It was incredibly interesting."
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"Oh?" Leo's unreadable eyes finally showed a flicker of curiosity. "What was it? Tell me."
Max leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "It was about Earth. Do you know about Earth?"
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"Yeah, I know the beginning of us," Leo replied, dismissive of the well-trod ground.
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"Not just 'us,'" Max insisted. "The very beginning of Human, Stellar, and Superior existence. They all started there. And do you know how Earth was destroyed?"
Leo gave him a flat look. "Of course. The Superiors sucked the energy right out of it. Earth was ruined.
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They destroyed it in 2199 AD. That's when we officially became Civilization II and scattered into the cosmos."
Max's expression softened into one of deep longing.
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"I know, but... what would it be like to stand there now? In the place where everything began? Do you want to go to Earth?"
Leo paused, the question hitting him harder than Max realized, especially after his dream of a dying world. He turned back to the console, unwilling to commit to such an emotional, perhaps foolish, pilgrimage. "We will think about it."
Max took the non-answer for what it was and let the moment pass. Tomorrow was their leader's birthday, and he had a job to do.
"Right," Max said, clapping his hands together. "Now for the actual briefing..."
"Now what?" Leo muttered, but a burst of laughter escaped him.
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They both started laughing—a genuine, unrestrained sound that made the other Stellars look up, surprised at the close camaraderie between their intensely private leader and the lighthearted Max.
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"Bro," Max asked, leaning in, his tone dropping back into casual friendship, "do you have a girlfriend or something? I see how you look at some of the cadets."
"Max, you know very well I don't reveal anything about myself," Leo replied, his voice still shaking with suppressed laughter. "But yes, I don't have a girlfriend. What about you?"
"I will not tell you, buddy!" Max returned, his laughter bubbling up again.
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"Seriously though, want a girlfriend as a birthday present?" Max teased.
"No need for now," Leo said, the smile instantly turning brittle and forced. "I don't have time for this."
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Max's expression sobered immediately. He stepped closer, his voice low and serious. "Leo, we will visit Earth after celebrating your birthday. It's settled."
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"We'll see," Leo replied, the fleeting emotion gone, leaving his face utterly expressionless.
The official briefing took ten minutes. By the end, the new plan was set, the tension in the room coiled tight, awaiting the inevitable Superior advance.
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Leo gave his final orders, dismissed the group, and walked the opposite way.
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He wasn't heading to his quarters; he was headed to the isolated, forgotten corner of the compound. In the small, dusty practice room, Leo picked up a simple, unadorned training blade. He had the strength of an Arcana Protocol leader and the magical power to command the Fourth Dimension, yet the last will of his unknown parents was to master the fighting style of his enemies.
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As he ran his fingers over the grip, the weight of the metal felt alien, a dangerous secret. A Superior's weapon, he thought, pulling the blade into a sharp guard position. I wish I were a Superior. The thought was a treasonous echo of his dream, confirming the depth of his broken identity.