Day 435. 14:00 hours.
Olympus.
Level 2
The Medical Bay.
Alessia was reviewing the Mindanao extraction reports when the Life Sense caught something it hadn't been looking for.
The power hummed the way it always did, reaching without being asked, scanning the building like a radio drifting across channels without settling on one.
It had done this for four hundred and thirty-five days now — quiet, constant, background — while the reports scrolled past on her screen.
Then it locked.
Two signatures, unfamiliar.
Not Jennifer's.
Not her own, not Hua's, not Elaine's, not Ji-yoo's.
Small and faint, carrying the particular frequency of a life just begun — and there were two of them.
Alessia's eyes lifted from the reports as the weight of what the Life Sense was telling her settled into her chest.
"Yue. And Gabriel." Alessia breathed, her voice barely above the hum of the monitors, her hand flattening against the desk.
She said it to the empty room, the reports forgotten.
Two more pregnant women had flown to Mindanao that morning in twenty-five-foot war machines.
Two more pilots had pulled children off tables while their own children grew behind their ribs.
Alessia stood so fast the chair scraped the floor, and she was already moving toward the HERACLES Bay, where Yue was running a diagnostic on the ASSASSIN's jian mount.
Gabriel was checking the SONIC's wind cage calibration.
"Yue. Gabriel." Alessia called, Alessia's voice clipped and even, her stride not slowing.
The two women turned.
Marble eyes, gold eyes.
Something in Alessia's face told them before she said another word.
"The Life Sense felt the signatures." Alessia stated, her tone giving nothing away, her gaze moving between them. "Both of you. Three weeks. Maybe four."
The bay went silent.
Yue's eyes went flat.
Gabriel's went wide.
"I was going to tell you." Yue admitted, her voice flat, her arms crossing over the diagnostic panel. "After the mission."
"After the mission." Alessia repeated, her tone hardening, her jaw setting. "After you flew a war machine into a live extraction and pulled children off tables while your own were growing inside you."
"I was going to tell too." Gabriel confessed, her voice thin, her hand drifting to the wind cage as if it might hold her up. "After the war. After the children were safe."
"You both knew. And you both flew anyway." Alessia snapped, her voice sharpening despite the clinical edge, her blue-black eyes narrowing. "Pregnant women do not pilot frames. Ji-yoo was pulled from the REAPER the moment her pregnancy was confirmed. Gabby trained as her proxy because Gabby shares her gravity affinity. That rule doesn't bend for either of you."
Then her voice dropped into the register that was worse than shouting — measured, exact, a scalpel instead of a fist.
"Eight Gs at launch, in under three seconds." Alessia continued, her voice low and deliberate, her hands folding behind her back. "In the first trimester, the placenta hasn't attached yet — it's still forming. That kind of force can shear it loose. That's bleeding. That's a miscarriage. In the cockpit. At altitude."
"And the PROMETHEUS core." Alessia pressed, her tone unyielding, her eyes fixed on Yue. "Baryon decay radiation. The shielding is calibrated for an adult, not a first-trimester fetus. Those cells are dividing right now, and radiation damages cell division."
"And the void anchor." Alessia warned, her voice dropping further, her gaze shifting to Gabriel. "The spatial distortion from the Satellite Link fire — ARTEMIS puts the effective radius at six hundred meters. The ASSASSIN was four hundred meters out. The SONIC was three hundred. You were both inside it."
At the words dead babies, Yue's eyes went flat and still. Gabriel's filled.
"The Life Sense reads stable." Alessia relented, her voice softening a fraction, her hand unclenching at her side. "Both signatures intact. Both fetuses look normal so far. But the Life Sense isn't an ultrasound. I'll confirm tonight — full examination, Medical Bay, both of you."
"And you're grounded." Alessia finished, her tone allowing no argument, her chin lifting. "Effective immediately. No frames, no HERACLES Bay — not until I've confirmed the pregnancies are stable and the first trimester is behind you."
"The formation needs eight pilots." Yue argued, her voice flat, her hand still resting on the ASSASSIN's plating. "Ground us, and we're down to six."
"The formation can survive six pilots." Alessia countered, her voice steady, her eyes never leaving Yue's. "It can't survive two dead babies and two grieving mothers."
Nobody spoke.
The silence that followed had the weight of a diagnosis already made — the risk measured, the risk real, two children who had spent that morning riding inside cockpits at war.
"You'll need proxies." Alessia decided, her voice brisk again, her attention already moving past the immediate crisis. "The way Gabby backs up Ji-yoo. Someone with a space affinity for the ASSASSIN. Someone with solar wind for the SONIC. We test the rescued children in the simulator."
"There's no one else with space except Jae-min and Yi." Yue objected, her voice flat, her arms folding.
"There's no one else with solar wind." Gabriel echoed, her voice small, her eyes dropping to the floor.
"Then we find them." Alessia replied, her voice firm, her feet already carrying her toward the door. "Some of the rescued children are Enhanced. We test. We find. We train."
She left them standing among the frames and went to find the captain — to tell him three things he didn't know yet.
That Jennifer was pregnant.
That Yue was pregnant.
That Gabriel was pregnant.
Three children coming.
Two pilots grounded.
And, finally, an explanation for why the telepath down the hall had been unraveling for weeks.
— • • • —
Level 2
The Command Deck.
Jennifer sat at the far end of the table, one hand resting on her belly, her face pale, her eyes fixed on the map that tracked seven hundred and twelve engagements.
She'd vomited that morning.
Cried.
Begged.
Been told the truth, said I love you, heard it back — and the truth and the baby had arrived on the same night, neither of them aware of the other, the baby quietly driving everything all along.
"Jae-min." Alessia announced, her voice carrying weight without volume, her steps unhurried. "I need to speak with you. Privately."
Jae-min looked up from the console.
Mark Jordan and the staff filed out, leaving the captain, the doctor, and the telepath alone at the far end of the table.
"Three pregnancies." Alessia stated, her voice flat and clinical, her eyes fixed on Jae-min.
Jae-min went still — not calm, exactly, but controlled.
"Jennifer." Alessia began, her voice gentling slightly, her gaze flicking toward the woman at the table. "Confirmed this morning, on the kitchen floor. The hCG has been driving all of it — the possessiveness, the claiming, the lap-sitting, the fish-feeding, the I love you seven times over, the hiccups, the begging, the breaking point. Not just the truth. A baby."
Jae-min's eyes moved to Jennifer — hand on her belly, eyes wet, face pale, the woman who'd said I love you seven times while carrying a child neither of them had known about.
"And Yue and Gabriel." Alessia continued, her voice steadying again, her hands clasping in front of her. "Three weeks, maybe four, both of them. The Life Sense felt the signatures ten minutes ago. Both flew this morning. Both fetuses appear stable. I'll confirm tonight."
Jae-min was still looking at Jennifer — invisible for three years, then told the truth, then given agency, then unraveling, because the truth and the baby had landed on her at once and the baby had amplified everything.
"You're pregnant." Jae-min repeated, his voice stripped of rank, his hand braced against the table. "You are carrying the seventeenth."
"I didn't know." Jennifer whispered, her voice breaking, her hands trembling over her belly. "I thought it was the truth doing this to me. I didn't know."
Jae-min crossed to her, his hand finding her jaw, his thumb against her lower lip — the lip that had trembled in the cafeteria, that had smiled at Kiara, that was trembling again now under his thumb.
"I know." Jae-min murmured, his voice low and unsteady, his thumb tracing her jaw. "You didn't know."
His eyes left her and found the doorway.
His jaw tightened — not the regressor's tightness, but the captain's: a man who had launched his two pregnant wives into combat without knowing it, while they had known, and flown anyway.
"Where are they." Jae-min demanded, his voice dropping to a register the household had learned to fear, his hand falling away from Jennifer's face.
"Level 5, HERACLES Bay." Alessia replied, her voice even, her eyes tracking him toward the door.
He walked past her and out.
Jennifer watched him go, hand still on her belly, eyes still wet.
Alessia sat beside her, the doctor beside the telepath, and rested a hand on her shoulder.
"He won't shout." Alessia murmured, her voice quiet, her hand tightening on Jennifer's shoulder. "The quiet is worse."
— • • • —
Level 5
The HERACLES Bay.
Jae-min stood in the doorway, his eyes on the two women at their frames.
He didn't enter.
His eyes weren't angry so much as cold — the cold of a man holding the father behind his teeth while the father pushed to get out.
Yue saw him first, the swordswoman who didn't do sentiment, and she knew from the cold alone.
Gabriel saw him a beat later, and knew the same way.
The bay was silent except for the PROMETHEUS cores humming low in their berths.
"You knew." Jae-min stated, his voice quiet, his hands still at his sides. "You knew you were pregnant, you sat in the cockpit, you launched, you fought, and you pulled children off tables while your own children grew inside you."
Yue met his eyes.
Gabriel looked at the floor.
"You filed it under not relevant." Jae-min continued, his voice unchanged, his gaze fixed on Yue. "Or under not now. You swallowed the nausea and descended on a facility that eats children, while carrying children of your own. Eight Gs. PROMETHEUS radiation. Spatial distortion — all of it, because the children on the tables mattered and yours didn't."
"If the placenta had sheared." Jae-min pressed, his voice dropping lower, his hand curling into a fist at his side. "If the radiation had damaged the cell division. If the distortion had reached the fetus — you'd have lost them. In the cockpit. At altitude. Over a facility that eats children."
"I wasn't thinking about the G-forces." Yue admitted, her voice flat, her chin lifting despite the words. "The children were on the tables. The extraction was live."
"The pregnancy is the mission." Jae-min countered, his voice gone to ice, his stance unmoving in the doorway. "It's the reason for the frames. The reason for the Satellite Link. The reason for the void. You filed the reason under not relevant and flew it straight into combat."
Gabriel's eyes stayed on the floor, the flyer who was always bright, and wasn't.
"You're grounded." Jae-min declared, his voice final, his arms folding across his chest. "Both of you. Effective immediately. No frames, no HERACLES Bay, no simulator — not until the first trimester is behind you and Alessia clears it. You report to the Medical Bay every morning. You eat. You sleep. You stay alive, because the babies need you alive, and the babies are the reason for everything now."
"You knew." Jae-min repeated, his voice shifting, the father bleeding through the captain now. "And you flew anyway. And I didn't know. I launched you. That's on me."
The bay stayed silent — the two women at their frames, the captain in the doorway, the cold following him like a current.
"Medical Bay. Tonight. Alessia. Full examination." Jae-min ordered, his voice hard again, his hand already reaching for the door frame. "Both of you."
"Copy." Yue answered, her voice flat, her eyes returning to the ASSASSIN.
"Copy." Gabriel murmured, her voice small, her shoulders curling inward.
Jae-min turned and walked out, the quiet trailing him down the corridor.
Yue stood at the ASSASSIN, eyes on the frame, no longer marble-calm.
"He's right." Yue conceded, her voice low, her palm flattening against the hull. "The pregnancy is the reason. I filed it under not relevant."
Gabriel stood at the SONIC, staring at the floor. "He's right." Gabriel whispered, her voice barely audible, her hand curling around the wind cage strut. "I filed it under not now."
— • • • —
Day 435. 14:30 hours.
Olympus.
Level 5
The HERACLES Simulation Cockpit.
The simulator sat in the workshop basement — a full-scale HERACLES cockpit, same seat, same grips, same HUD, minus the PROMETHEUS core and the radiation that came with it.
Mark Jordan had built it before the first real frame existed.
It had trained all eight pilots.
Now it would train their replacements.
Jae-min stood in the simulator room with Alessia beside him and Mark Jordan at the console, while twelve candidates from the rescued children waited in the corridor — fourteen to seventeen years old, the ones who'd shown Enhanced signatures during the Mindanao screening.
"Twelve candidates." Mark Jordan reported, his voice brisk, his fingers already moving over the console. "Testing for space affinity and solar wind affinity."
"Begin." Jae-min ordered, his voice clipped, his eyes fixed on the door.
The first candidate walked in — a girl of sixteen, ribs visible through her shirt. She sat, and the console lit up.
"No space. No solar wind." Mark Jordan announced, his voice even, his eyes scanning the readout. "Minor healing enhancement."
The second through fifth candidates showed healing, strength, heightened senses, speed — the common signatures the facility had been harvesting to fuel its V2 composites.
No space.
No solar wind.
The sixth candidate was a girl of seventeen, her eyes flat from months in a cage. She sat, the simulator hummed, and Mark Jordan's eyes sharpened.
"Space." Mark Jordan confirmed, his voice careful, his hand hovering over the console. "Weak. Untested. But it's there."
From the back of the room, Yue watched her.
"My power, in another body." Yue murmured, her voice quiet, her eyes narrowing on the girl. "A girl who was on a table this morning."
"Name." Jae-min asked, his voice softening slightly, his attention shifting to the girl.
"Lia." The girl answered, her voice small, her hands twisting in her lap. "Lia Martinez."
"You have a power." Jae-min informed her, his voice steady, his eyes holding hers. "Space — the ability to move through it, to blink, to cut through walls. Yue will train you. When you're ready, you sit in the ASSASSIN. You'll be her proxy."
"Copy." Yue accepted, her voice flat, her arms uncrossing for the first time that hour. "Four weeks. I'll have her ready."
The seventh through ninth showed nothing.
The tenth was a boy of sixteen with eyes that had learned to hold steady inside a cage.
He sat, and the console lit again.
"Solar wind." Mark Jordan confirmed, his voice careful, his eyes narrowing at the readout. "Weak. Untested. But it's there."
Gabriel looked up from the back of the room.
"My power, in another body." Gabriel observed, her voice quiet, her eyes fixed on the boy. "A boy who was in a cage this morning."
"Name." Jae-min asked, his voice level, his gaze on the boy.
"Renz." The boy answered, his voice steady despite everything, his shoulders squaring. "Renz Velasco."
"You have a power." Jae-min told him, Jae-min's voice even. "Solar wind. Gabriel will train you. When you're ready, you sit in the SONIC. You'll be her proxy."
"Copy." Gabriel accepted, her voice small, her hands unclenching at her sides. "Four weeks. I'll have him ready."
"Training starts tomorrow." Jae-min instructed, his voice brisk, his gaze sweeping the room. "Yue trains Lia. Gabriel trains Renz. Eight hours a day. Four weeks to basic proficiency — four weeks for the pregnancies to stabilize, four weeks for the formation to get back to eight."
"Dismissed." Jae-min finished, his voice final, his eyes landing on Yue and Gabriel. "Yue, Gabriel — Medical Bay. Alessia. Now."
The pilots filed out.
The proxies filed out behind them.
Jae-min turned and went upstairs to find his sister.
— • • • —
Day 435. 21:00 hours.
Olympus.
Level 2
The Medical Bay.
The lights were low, the instruments humming with the low, constant note of PROMETHEUS-powered equipment that never quite went quiet.
Yue lay on the first examination table, shirt pulled up, belly bare, eyes on the ceiling.
Alessia's hand rested against her skin, the Life Sense reaching, searching for the life underneath.
"The signature's stable." Alessia reported, her voice clinical, her eyes fixed on the ultrasound screen. "The fetus is intact. The placenta's attached. Cell division looks normal. The spatial distortion didn't cause any damage."
"The G-forces." Yue pressed, her voice flat, her hands gripping the edge of the table.
"Didn't shear the placenta." Alessia confirmed, her voice steady, her hand resting lightly on Yue's belly. "The first trimester is stable."
"I was careless." Yue admitted, her voice flat, her eyes fixed on the ceiling tiles. "I knew. I flew anyway. The baby could have died."
"You weren't careless." Alessia corrected, her voice gentling, her hand pausing over the swordswoman's skin. "You were the swordswoman — the one who doesn't do sentiment, who filed the pregnancy under not relevant because that's what the swordswoman does. She does the mission."
"And now the swordswoman's grounded." Yue murmured, her voice quieter still, her eyes closing briefly.
"She is." Alessia agreed, her voice warming a fraction, her hand withdrawing. "She'll also be a mother. She'll train a proxy. She'll do both."
Yue stared at the ceiling, the swordswoman who didn't do sentiment thinking, despite herself, about a baby.
"Lia." Yue murmured, her voice softening, her eyes finally closing. "The proxy. Four weeks. I'll have her ready."
Gabriel came in next, gold eyes dim, none of her usual brightness left.
She lay back on the table, and Alessia's hand found her belly, the Life Sense reaching again.
"The signature's stable." Alessia reported, her voice even, her eyes tracking the screen. "Fetus intact. Placenta attached. Cell division normal. The G-forces didn't shear anything."
"I was stupid." Gabriel confessed, her voice small, her hands twisting the edge of her shirt. "I knew. I flew anyway. Mach one point five, the wind cage — the baby could have died."
"You weren't stupid." Alessia countered, her voice softening, her hand steady against Gabriel's skin. "You were the flyer — the one who's always bright, who filed this under not now because that's what the flyer does. She does now."
"And now she's grounded." Gabriel whispered, her voice trailing off, her eyes drifting shut.
"She is." Alessia confirmed, her voice gentle, her hand lifting away. "She'll also be a mother. She'll train a proxy. She'll do both."
Gabriel looked at the ceiling and, despite herself, thought about a baby too.
"Renz." Gabriel murmured, her voice fading, her breathing slowing. "Four weeks. I'll have him ready."
Both women sat up and left.
Alessia stood alone in the quiet, the instruments humming around her.
"Five pregnant women." Alessia said to no one, her voice tired, her hand resting on her own belly. "Jennifer. Ji-yoo. Yue. Gabriel. Five babies in a fortress that's about to become the target of every faction in the archipelago." She rested a hand on her own belly, where Jin was fifty-three days from arriving. "The war is coming. And the fortress will hold."
She turned off the lights and went upstairs, where the captain was waiting and the sleep, tonight, would be short.
The war wasn't going to wait for any of them.
— • • • —
Day 435. 15:00 hours.
Olympus.
Level 5
The Workshop.
Ji-yoo sat at her workstation with a cup of instant noodles and a stack of telemetry reports — the same noodles she'd been living on since her first trimester began, three times a day for eight weeks straight.
The woman who'd named a baryon decay generator after the titan who stole fire from heaven was eight weeks pregnant and eating instant noodles at her desk, because they were the only thing that settled her stomach, the only thing she wanted, the only thing she could keep down.
Jae-min walked in — the captain, the brother, the man who'd just grounded two pilots and found two proxies — and found his sister eating noodles at three in the afternoon.
"Ji-yoo." Jae-min greeted, his voice low, his hand brushing the doorframe.
"Oppa." Ji-yoo chirped, her voice bright, her chopsticks pausing mid-air. "Telemetry from Mindanao — Satellite Link drift was point two five percent. Clean. I've got the numbers."
Jae-min crossed to her, his hand finding her waist — a gesture he hadn't made in weeks — and felt something different under his palm.
Thicker.
Softer.
More than the pregnancy alone could account for.
His eyes moved to her neck, which had thickened too, the particular puffiness of someone who'd been eating salted noodles three times a day for two months straight.
"Ji-yoo." Jae-min repeated, his voice careful, his hand still resting at her waist. "Turn around."
She turned — the twin, the fundamental, the woman with the noodles and the bright voice — and found her brother's eyes on her neck.
"Ji-yoo." Jae-min stated, his voice plain, his gaze steady on her face. "You're getting fat."
The workshop went quiet.
"What." Ji-yoo blurted, his voice suddenly small, her chopsticks clattering to the desk.
"Your waist." Jae-min continued, his voice matter-of-fact, his hand tightening slightly at her side. "Your neck. It's bloating — that's sodium. From the noodles. Three times a day, for eight weeks."
"I'm not fat." Ji-yoo protested, her voice cracking, her arms crossing over her stomach. "I'm pregnant. The baby's doing this to me."
"The baby's in your belly." Jae-min countered, his voice unmoved, his eyes not leaving hers. "Not your neck. Not your face. The bloating's sodium from the noodles you always ate."
"Min-joo will see me and think I'm ugly." Ji-yoo sobbed, her voice breaking, her eyes spilling over.
"Min-joo loves you." Jae-min replied, Jae-min's voice flat, his arms crossing over his chest. "He's not leaving you over sodium. He might leave because you're eating instant noodles three meals a day and calling it a diet."
"I can't stop it!" Ji-yoo wept, her voice thick, her hands pressing against her face. "The baby makes me sick. The noodles are the only thing that stays down. If I stop, I'll throw up everything!"
"Once a day." Jae-min instructed, his voice softening slightly, his hand finding her shoulder. "Not three times. Once. And drink water — it flushes the sodium that's causing the bloating."
"I'll still be fat." Ji-yoo cried, Ji-yoo's voice muffled now against his shirt, her arms wrapping around him. "My neck is fat. Min-joo will think I'm ugly."
"You're my twin." Jae-min murmured, his voice low and steady, his hand smoothing over her back. "You're the wisest person in this compound. You named the generator. You named the AI. You're carrying a baby, and you're getting a little puffy from noodles. Both of those are true. Neither one makes you ugly."
"Liar." Ji-yoo accused, her voice muffled, her fists bunching in his shirt. "You touched my waist. You looked at my neck. You said I'm fat. You did. You're so mean."
"I said you're getting fat." Jae-min clarified, his voice patient, his hand still moving over her back. "I didn't say you're ugly. You said that part yourself. The fat's from the noodles, and the noodles are something you can change. Once a day. Water. The bloating goes away."
"I hate you." Ji-yoo mumbled, Ji-yoo's voice thick with tears she didn't mean, her grip on his shirt tightening rather than letting go. "You're so mean. I'm fat, and it's your fault for telling me."
"It's the noodles' fault." Jae-min corrected, Jae-min's voice even. "Not mine. Once a day. Water."
Her arms tightened around him, the tears soaking through his shirt, and despite the crying, despite the accusations, she held on.
"You're not ugly." Jae-min soothed, Jae-min's voice quiet, his chin resting against her hair. "You're my twin. Once a day. Water. It'll go down."
"I'm fat." Ji-yoo whispered, her voice small against his chest, her breathing hitching.
"You're my twin." Jae-min whispered back, Jae-min's voice steady, his arms not letting go.
The workshop went quiet around them — the noodles cooling on the desk, the telemetry reports untouched, the brother holding his sister while she cried about instant noodles.
Five hundred kilometers south, the regional factions were burning the archipelago.
The nation was tearing itself apart over food.
And in the workshop, the captain who'd grounded two pilots and found two proxies that same afternoon was holding his twin while she cried about her neck.
"You're not ugly." Jae-min repeated, his voice gentle, his hold not loosening. "Once a day. Water."
"I'm fat." Ji-yoo whispered.
"You're my twin." Jae-min whispered back.
The war had begun.