Chapter Title: The Marshal's Tomb
-----------------------------------------------------------------
At the same moment, on the vast desert of Red Earth Star.
Cool moonlight bathed the desert, distant endless dunes reflecting a hazy white glow. The night wind whipped up grains of sand, howling into the distance with a ceaseless, weeping wail.
The Emperor, wrapped in a coarse cloth cloak, sat quietly before a solitary stone monument in the desert. The pure white marble gleamed icy cold under the moonlight, its front face smooth and unadorned, like a mirror.
No one knew this was the tombstone of Alliance War God Gavin Celia.
When Heinrich was young, he had wondered what his own tombstone should say if he one day died. "Here lies a great soul"? "Loyal son and warrior of the Alliance"? Or simply and plainly, "This was a good man"?
Back then, he hadn't defected yet. He wasn't Emperor. All the arduous and glorious campaigns lay ahead. A young man's fervent mind always dreamed up impractical things—until one day he couldn't hold back and shared this fantasy with the lofty Marshal Celia.
They had been standing at the edge of the plaza, waiting for the military parade. The Marshal wore a white uniform, his lines from shoulders and back to waist and long legs impeccably straight—hotter than the galaxy's spiciest models. Heinrich looked up and saw a faint smile on his lips. After a moment, he said softly,
"I thought about those things too, when I was your age…"
"What did you decide?"
"How should I put it, Heinrich. I've lived too long, fought too many battles, done things most people couldn't dream of in a lifetime…"
Heinrich interrupted earnestly.
"You're a great man."
"No, no. In the vast galaxy, every soul is equally small and insignificant—nothing great about any of us. Long ago, before I enlisted, I was just an orphan from a White Egret Star orphanage. My biggest wish was a full belly. No different from every 'social burden' those bourgeois types despised…"
"No Alpha elite training system on White Egret Star?!"
The Marshal fell abruptly silent.
Before Heinrich could regret his blunder, the Marshal looked up, his deep black, clear eyes fixed on him.
"Those reports are fake,"
he said flatly.
"I'm a Beta."
Heinrich was speechless.
"My life's been too long, too hard to sum up. If I die someday, don't put anything on my tombstone."
He paused, then added,
"I don't need that kind of mournful epitaph."
After Celia's death, the Emperor had wanted to build him an unprecedented monument. He'd considered sinking an entire continent, letting the sea flood in—even draining the planet's core to turn it into a cold, desolate dead star as the Marshal's graveyard.
In the end, he did nothing.
He realized Celia had been right: no words, no poems could summarize the Marshal's brilliant, lengthy life.
In life, every day he'd fought bitterly against the massive political machine, guiding the loyalty and fervor of billions of soldiers, leading them through endless darkness toward that faint, nearly impossible light. In death, he left with empty hands and nothing else—as a defeated man, he couldn't even have a proper funeral. All that accompanied him was this lonely wasteland and the distant stars.
The Empire's billions saw him as a god, yet no one knew how lonely and grueling his life had been.
"Do you regret it, Celia?"
The Emperor slowly poured the last of his wine onto the ground. The howling cold wind instantly swept away the aroma. After a long pause, he chuckled and shook his head.
"Sorry, I asked anyway—though the question's probably blasphemy to you. Not everyone… gets to die for their faith, after all."
"Faith in what, the Alliance? Forgot it was those cowardly Alliance parasites who betrayed him in the end?"
The Emperor didn't turn, sighing.
"Aaron, we'll never agree on the Alliance. No need to rehash it."
Aaron clambered up the dune and flopped down heavily, an electromagnetic patch for mental strain still on his forehead, looking utterly dejected. The Emperor glanced sidelong.
"How're you feeling?"
Aaron shook his head, fumbled with the wine flask till it dripped dry, then irritably tossed it aside.
"Don't worry, Griffon won't get lost."
"Of course not. That's not what's bugging me." Aaron held his breath, then burst out arguing again.
"If not for the Alliance's betrayal, the Radiant Legion never would've lost that final battle!"
Heinrich started to speak, but Aaron cut him off sharply.
"Even with Empire victory inevitable, the Alliance still had Celia, had the Radiant Legion. They could've safely withdrawn to the extragalactic rivers! Or even if the Alliance dissolved, the Radiant Legion had Marshal Celia—the spiritual leader of the entire military. As long as he lived, resistance would never end! It was those gutless parliamentary bastards who sold him out at the last, letting the Legion get ambushed and slaughtered, and the Marshal…"
"He'd have died anyway,"
the Emperor said quietly.
"Even without the betrayal, he'd have ended it himself."
"What?!"
Heinrich remained unmoved.
"You wouldn't get it—that's why you're no politician. Fifty years ago, Empire victory was set. The Radiant Legion's efforts were just wasting lives. You said it yourself: as long as the Marshal lived, resistance wouldn't stop. So he couldn't live on… Know how many troops the Alliance had left? Eight million four hundred thousand. Laughable next to the Empire's billions, but those were lives. Celia's death saved them."
Aaron roared like a raging lion, hurling the flask into the sand.
"Don't insult them! Different sides or not, they were honorable soldiers—they had the right to die for their faith!"
"Faith,"
Heinrich sneered.
"War's just faction against faction at the end. Eight million four hundred thousand grunts—who really had faith? Celia fought for the Alliance. They fought for Celia, that's all. Heads rolled, blood spilled—admirable, sure. But life's worth more than that. With Celia's lone sacrifice, they got to live on as Empire citizens and enjoy it."
"Hold up, I don't buy that view coming from you,"
Aaron said suspiciously, eyeing him.
"Who taught you that?"
Heinrich was silent a long time, then murmured,
"The Marshal and I discussed it, years and years ago… So many of his ideas I couldn't grasp then—thought he was wrong. Now I see I was the shallow one."
The night wind swirled sand grains, galloping like silver mist under the moonlight.
Heinrich rose, saying faintly into the wind,
"You don't need to dwell on reasons. Even without that, he wouldn't have surrendered to the Empire. Picture Celia as a POW here? He'd rather die than set foot in the New Fontaine Dew Palace."
Aaron frowned.
"Why?"
"He was a Beta. How many would… You still don't get it?"
Aaron fell silent, then said coldly after a bit,
"Not necessarily. He could've taken our protection. He didn't know anything anyway."
Heinrich's lips twitched in a smile full of bitterness and self-mockery.
"Yeah. Lucky he always… didn't know anything."
The Emperor turned and walked out beyond the dune, his deep footprints gleaming in the moonlight—soon buried by wind and sand.
Aaron stared at the white monument, leaning forward as if to touch its cold face. But then the Emperor whipped around like eyes in the back of his head, demanding sharply,
"When did you recall Griffon?"
"…I will!"
Aaron, thoroughly downcast, dragged himself off the dune, muttering to cover,
"That Omega's mental threshold is higher than mine—what the hell. My head's still killing me…"
"Where'd they go?"
"White Egret Star. Probably two days till they land."
Heinrich nodded. Aaron exhaled hard.
"Suicide mission. Those Protection Association nuts on White Egret Star are extreme chauvinist lunatics. An unmarked Omega spotted…"
"Send him to a military lab,"
the Emperor said flatly.
"I want to know what the fugitive forces are researching."
Aaron waved it off carelessly.
"Relax, he ain't escaping."
2.
Three days later, White Egret Star customs.
Gavin's face was blank.
"Let go of me. I don't know what you're talking about."
The hall bustled with crowds. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, shuttles came and went on distant landing pads; customs swallowed streams of travelers from every planet.
He was in a cramped corner outside the restrooms, blocked by towering potted plants that hid them from view. Two tall Alphas in police-like uniforms hemmed him in, their vigilant menace crowding the narrow space.
"No interstellar travel record with your entry clearance. Blood scan shows unregistered Omega."
The older gray-haired one said politely.
"Come register with the Protection Association right now. Don't make us arrest you."
Gavin stepped back, spine hitting the cold wall. The younger blond Alpha instantly closed half a step.
"I don't know what you're talking about. Move."
The blond bristled, but his colleague cut in.
"Don't make me repeat myself, Omega. Refusing registration's a serious crime. Under the new Gender Protection Act, we can arrest you on the spot and hold you at the Association for years… Just cooperate quietly. You're clearly about to go into heat."
Gavin's composure cracked slightly.
On the shuttle, he hadn't realized how strong his hormone scent was. But after landing on White Egret Star, disembarking, every passerby—mostly Betas—had gawked like they'd seen a diamond necklace strolling down the street.
The intense sweet fragrance shot through the crowd first thing. Gavin hadn't noticed, but it drew Alphas fast—like dangling unwrapped cake before starving rats.
"Steer clear of the blond. He's dangerous."
Griffon's voice whispered suddenly in his ear.
"He's never bonded. He's about to lose it."
Griffon had morphed into a tiny gold earring on Gavin's left cartilage, voice faint. Gavin murmured low,
"Why?"
"The gray-hair's bonded. Your pheromones won't faze him. The young one's not—he'll go feral like a beast in heat any second."
Griffon cursed softly.
"Damn, your scent's too potent. He…"
Before he finished, the blond lunged, one hand to Gavin's face, the other straight into his collar. The older one couldn't stop him, bellowing,
"Stand down!"
"Let go!"
Gavin's voice nearly cracked. The instant Alpha male scent hit him, a sensitive nerve deep inside snapped taut. Pleasure surged like current from limbs to brain—so fast his whole body shuddered!
"Fuck, stay still and come here…"
The blond's eyes went feral. He seized Gavin's jaw, yanking him into his chest. The heavy male scent set Gavin off big-time. The gray-hair couldn't pry his raging partner loose—then Gavin ripped off the earring, shouting,
"Griffon—!"
A thunderous boom. With its master's mental pulse, Griffon shifted to a massive golden sword, whipping up fierce winds that blasted the blond flying!
The hall went dead silent—then exploded in screams.
"Aaahhh—!"
"Stand down! Drop the weapon!"
The gray-hair drew his gun on Gavin—in a tenth of a second, the golden sword slashed him midsection, slamming him into the wall. The Alpha's sturdy frame spiderwebbed cracks across it.
Screams multiplied. Gavin bolted panting from the corner. Everyone gaped like at a monster, shrinking back fearfully.
"I…"
Gavin couldn't explain, pointing at the distant blond.
"He… he groped me."
The Beta crowd nodded knowingly. A few bold ones trembled,
"Y-you'd better run. Fast."
Gavin blanked a second, then dashed for customs exit. The crowd pointed him right.
"Not that way—over there! There!"
"Th-thanks."
Gavin wheeled and burst from the hall. The instant he hit the street, shrill sirens wailed behind. Red hovercraft screamed up to customs, each armed with terrifying shock cannons—Protection Association muscle.
They'd beaten the cops there, fully geared.
Gavin finally saw the Association for what it was. Not protectors—enforcers fit better.
"—The Alliance never had shit like this."
The thought flashed through his mind. No time to wonder why; next he spotted the busy skyway at street's end, millions of civilian shuttles gleaming ocean-like in the sun.
"Griffon!"
The golden sword shifted on command to a small shuttle. Gavin vaulted one-handed through the canopy, vanishing into the traffic flow in a blink.
Half an hour later, Gavin collapsed exhausted in the seat. Inside, fire burned—like countless tiny currents crackling along nerves, sparking shivers.
The sealed cabin brimmed with cloying sweetness—pure hormones from an Omega's first true heat approaching. Unmarked, utterly fresh and intense. A cracked window would beam it kilometers out, proclaiming to every Alpha in range: Fresh, pitiful sweetheart in heat—come mark me!
Disaster for Gavin. By skyway congestion, over two hundred Alphas lurked within five klicks.
His first full heat crept closer. Pre-heat jitters left him restless—waking nights from hot, sticky dreams drenched in sweat, flushed, inner thighs twitching from spasms.
He blamed the bedsheet—Admiral Aaron's, unchanged god-knows-when, thick with crushing Alpha scent. Like pouring oil on heat flames.
Griffon protested the Admiral's hygiene was fine, scent just from Omega hyperosmia in pre-heat—but Gavin ditched it anyway.
Then Aaron's strewn dirty clothes, pillowcases, towels… Useless. Three days in flight: pure nightmare.
Griffon's voice came from the music player.
"I suggest the Protection Association. You can't handle Alphas alone. Once heat hits, moving'll be hard. If they find you…"
Gavin bit his handknuckle bloody, exhaled long and weary.
"Shut up."
"Why so stubborn? Heat's natural. Nothing shameful."
Gavin stared a beat, then confessed,
"Can't picture… being pinned down."
Griffon:
"…"
"Feels like I should be Alpha or Beta. Y'know? Lived as a guy forever, wake up a girl… Anyway, where to now?"
"Not sure, but gotta keep speed—no stops—or pheromones'll leak."
Gavin nodded, mulling next moves, asking offhand,
"How's your marrow fluid?"
The mech paused, then adroitly replied,
"Enough for non-combat daily ops so far."
Gavin's gut pinged wrong: Fresh from Red Earth escape, Griffon claimed low energy. After three jumps, still good?
"If you need marrow fluid…"
Electronic billboards whooshed past outside. Gavin froze.
"Citizens, attention. Citizens, attention."
The hovering screens aligned midair, auto-playing footage of Gavin's customs escape.
"Latest authorities report: Omega youth in video wanted for dodging registration, disrupting customs, endangering public safety. Report sightings to Omega Protection Association. Repeat: Youth poses urgent public threat. Association mobilizing manhunt—report immediately…"
Final seconds: close-up of Gavin vaulting into the shuttle, side-profile crystal-clear—watery eyes, flushed cheeks in full view.
Cabin silent five seconds.
Man and mech spoke at once:
Griffon:
"You photograph well…"
Gavin:
"Royal Military Academy! Now!"