The area surrounding the tunnel was sealed within hours.
Barriers were erected, armed patrols stationed at every possible access point, and official statements were issued declaring the site a structural hazard. To the public, it became nothing more than another dangerous underground collapse—an unfortunate but mundane incident. Questions were discouraged. Curiosity was redirected. Silence was enforced.
Commander Incarceratus and Constable Armando were transported under heavy guard to a military hospital on the outskirts of the city. Both men remained unconscious during the transfer, their conditions stable, their vitals steady. No immediate threat to their lives was detected, yet neither showed signs of waking.
The remaining two soldiers, those who had vanished deeper into the tunnel, were officially listed as Missing in Action after forty-eight hours. The declaration came swiftly— too swiftly for the comfort of their comrades. Formal protests were filed. Heated arguments broke out in briefing rooms and barracks alike. Men demanded extended search operations, additional resources, and they needed answers.
All were denied. No one knew anything, not even their superiors.
The case was closed.
Colonel Ira submitted no report.
Those who knew him found this deeply unsettling. Ira was not a man who let opportunity slip through his fingers—especially not an opportunity to place blame, to elevate himself in the eyes of his superiors. Yet this time, he remained silent. No debriefings. No accusations. No requests for commendation.
He vanished from the matter entirely.
Jeanne Ancora, meanwhile, was given no such luxury.
Her remaining sick leave was revoked without discussion. The official reasoning cited a "temporary lack of capable acting commanders," though the wording felt almost punitive. She was reassigned to the outpost immediately, placed back into the grind of logistics, coordination, and damage control.
Lieutenant Vage was ordered to act as her right hand.
He accepted the position without complaint, though the tension in his posture betrayed how heavily the responsibility weighed on him. With Commander Incarceratus unconscious and Commander Stella absent, the burden of stability rested squarely on their shoulders.
***
General Superbia stood before a mirror, adjusting his appearance with meticulous care.
The room was bathed in soft morning light, which reflected brilliantly off the polished surface as he brushed his snow-white hair into perfect symmetry. Each movement was deliberate, practiced, almost ritualistic. When he was satisfied, he leaned closer, inspecting his reflection.
Bright green eyes stared back at him—sharp, confident, alive with self-assured fire.
He smiled, revealing immaculate white teeth that gleamed unnaturally in the sunlight.
Perfect.
Superbia straightened his uniform, smoothing invisible creases, and turned as his bodyguards stepped into place. The moment he exited the building, attention followed him like gravity.
Pedestrians slowed. Conversations faltered. Heads turned.
Superbia was a tall man, broad-shouldered and powerfully built, his posture radiating command even when he said nothing. From a distance, his presence alone demanded notice. Up close, it was impossible to ignore the finer details—the chiseled lines of his face, the carefully groomed mustache, the way his snow-white hair framed his features like a crown.
Women whispered. Men watched with narrowed eyes, measuring themselves against him and coming up short. Children stared openly, awe written plainly across their faces.
Superbia noticed all of it.
He always did.
And he enjoyed it.
As he approached the newly claimed headquarters of Astrum Industries, he paused before the towering glass façade. The building gleamed, its reflective surface capturing his image perfectly. For a brief moment, he admired himself once more—then stepped inside.
***
Stella Astrum had been preparing since dawn.
The meeting room was immaculate: polished table, neatly arranged chairs, documents stacked with obsessive precision. Fresh coffee steamed gently beside carefully selected snacks—nothing extravagant, nothing cheap. Just right.
She stood near the window, hands clasped behind her back, breathing slowly.
This meeting mattered.
After all, it had been General Superbia himself who had orchestrated her temporary removal from active command, granting her the freedom—and the mandate—to establish Astrum Industries and pursue the construction of the floating city. The city she had been ordered to build by that blinding, mysterious and impossible light.
The city she still dreamed of at night.
The ease with which she had assembled her industrial empire was no coincidence.
Jason Astrum, her father, was a billionaire with holdings that spanned continents—energy, construction, technology, assets so vast they blurred into abstraction. Vivianne Stellarum, her mother, was a global icon, a singer whose voice reached billions, whose influence transcended borders and languages.
Doors opened when Stella spoke their names.
Money flowed. Permits were granted. Resistance dissolved.
A soft signal light blinked near the door.
He had arrived.
Stella straightened her posture, her expression sharpening into professional calm. When the door opened, she stepped forward and saluted crisply.
General Superbia waved the gesture away with an easy chuckle.
"No need for formalities when it's just the two of us," he said warmly.
For the briefest moment, Stella's eyes sparkled—then the light vanished, replaced by focused restraint. She gestured him inside, offering a seat at the head of the table. One of his bodyguards remained nearby, silent and watchful.
A staff member entered with the coffee.
Superbia smiled at her as she set the cups down. Her hands trembled. Color bloomed in her cheeks. She fled the room moments later, heart racing.
Superbia noticed once again.
"So," he said, folding his gloved hands atop the table. "Commander—no. Mrs. Astrum." His lips curved upward. "How is your project progressing?"
Stella took her seat across from him, fingers resting lightly atop her documents.
"Efficiently," she replied. "Faster than projected, in fact."
She slid a folder toward him, its contents detailing structural schematics, material sourcing, early-stage prototypes. Superbia flipped through the pages with interest, his eyes glinting brighter with each turn.
"A floating city," he murmured. "Still such a beautiful idea."
"Necessary," Stella corrected calmly.
He looked up at her, amused. "Is it?"
She met his gaze without flinching. "The threats we're facing are no longer bound to the ground, General. Our infrastructure shouldn't either."
Superbia laughed softly, clearly intrigued.
He leaned back in his chair, studying her now—not just her work, but her.
"You remind me of myself," he added. "That same fire. That same certainty."
Stella felt a chill crawl up her spine.
Outside, Astrum Industries buzzed with life.