Xipes awoke to the languid pulse of a Youdu summer, the air thick with the scent of blooming starflowers and the distant trill of birds. Her consciousness stirred slowly, as if rising from an ocean's depths, the sterile confines of the stasis pod fading into the warmth of sunlight streaming through a nearby window. The pod's existence had been a void, a dreamless abyss where time ceased, emotions dulled, and the world beyond her eyelids vanished. Yet, at some indistinct point, faint disturbances had pierced the silence—mechanical whirs, the shuffle of footsteps, hushed voices weaving through the haze. These fragments coaxed her into dreams, vivid and relentless, a tapestry of memories both cherished and painful.
Her mind drifted to her earliest recollection of Cecil, her younger brother, born frail yet fierce. His arrival had been a trial, his vigor in the womb a double-edged sword. He thrived, drawing sustenance from their mother, the Empress, until her body, perceiving a threat, sought to expel him. The pregnancy, fraught with peril, was a rarity among Aresians, though not unheard of in high-psychic families. The royal court mobilized—emperor, empress, medical institutes, and scholars—employing experimental therapies to preserve both mother and child. For the three-year-old Xipes, it was a year of chaos, her parents' sighs a haunting refrain, her mother's pallor a source of unspoken dread.
Already hailed as a prodigy, Xipes sensed the root of her mother's struggle, her young mind grasping what adults hesitated to voice. In a moment of desperate clarity, she pleaded, "If it's too hard, let the baby go, Mother. I'm here. I'll be a worthy heir." Her words, earnest and raw, drew a tearful laugh from the Empress, who enveloped her in a fierce embrace. "What goes on in that little head of yours?" she said. "I do this because he's my child, as you are. My love for you both is equal, unbound by thrones."
Cecil was born, weaker than most but whole, his survival a triumph tempered by the Empress's diminished strength—she would never again take the battlefield. Within weeks, she recovered enough to spar with the palace guards, her spirit unbroken. Cecil, however, was sheltered, a fragile prince hidden in the palace's depths, seen by Xipes only in fleeting moments. To shield him, the Emperor and Empress kept him from public view, rendering him a ghost in the eyes of the Empire—a prince known but unseen.
To Xipes, Cecil was an enigma, his quiet intensity and guarded nature a stark contrast to her own boldness. His personality emerged early: reserved, perceptive, and, as he grew, sharply discerning. Their parents, ever equitable, tasked Xipes with fostering sibling bonds—games, lessons, outings—while demanding Cecil show her respect, often through gifts. Xipes embraced these duties as a sister's privilege, but for Cecil, they were a trial. At five, he'd evade her, playing hide-and-seek in his chambers when she came to fetch him. His gifts, presented with formal precision, were accompanied by averted eyes and flushed ears, a mix of resentment and embarrassment rather than shyness.
Xipes never forced closeness, content to ruffle his hair and let him be. Cecil's sensitivity set him apart, his intuition razor-sharp, his memory unyielding. His refined features rarely betrayed emotion, and by adolescence, his deep blue eyes commanded deference from servants and guards alike. Xipes saw no flaw in his disposition, but their parents worried, fearing his isolation. After failed heart-to-hearts, they enlisted Xipes to deliver news: Cecil would attend school, not under palace tutors but among peers.
"His lessons are bespoke," Xipes argued. "What school surpasses the palace?"
"He has no friends," the Emperor said. "A new environment might help."
"He'll hate it," Xipes countered, picturing Cecil's imperious nature clashing with childish peers. "He's too proud for group antics."
"That's why you'll convince him," the Empress said, smiling. "He adores you."
Xipes doubted their definition of "adore" but couldn't refuse. She found Cecil in his palace, its halls austere, its staff minimal at his insistence. The book-filled study, bathed in light, was his sanctuary, its towering shelves scaled by stacks of books he used as steps—a testament to his fierce independence. She caught him reading a legal tome, his brow furrowed. "What's this?" she teased, patting his head.
"Sister, stop!" he protested, squirming free, tidying his hair, and resuming his reading.
"You love studying," she said. "Why not try school?"
His refusal was swift: "No, never, not interested." He scoffed at the idea, deeming palace tutors superior and dismissing schools as beneath him—save, perhaps, a military academy. He paused, catching himself.
"I haven't even gone to military school," Xipes said, pulling up a chair. "The Tianshu Star Preparatory Academy is top-tier, with masters you'd respect. It's like home—everyone will honor you as a prince. No one will dare cross you."
Cecil's eyes sparked. "Preparatory Academy?"
"Yes," she said, improvising. Her parents hadn't specified, but she'd make it so.
Cecil relented, his excitement cloaked in feigned deliberation. "I'll consider it… in three days."
"Too long," Xipes said. "Five seconds. Five, four, three—"
"I agree!" he blurted, leaping up. "I'll go!"
She smirked, pleased, but her parents hesitated when she reported back. They'd envisioned an academic college, not a military prep school. "He hasn't awakened his psychic core," the Empress said, worried. "The Academy requires a potential test. He's at the age limit."
Aresian royals bore the xuanbird core, which Xipes awakened at three. Most manifested between five and eight. At seven, Cecil risked scrutiny if he failed. Psychic awakening was mysterious, poorly studied due to its rarity among Aresians. His fate rested on chance.
Xipes faltered. Should she retract the promise? The Empress was resolute: "It's not his fault. Doctors warned he might lack in some areas. His health has improved, but if it's his core… it doesn't matter."
But it mattered to Cecil, Xipes knew. Their parents' love could pave a golden path, but only he could walk it, bearing its hidden thorns. The discussion ended without resolution, but Xipes made a daring choice: she trained him herself, pushing the pampered prince to his limits. "This is what the Academy's like," she said, standing over his bruised form. "Get beaten or beat others. It's survival. Your title protects you, but not from all. Without strength, you'll be a target. Stay home if you can't fight."
Core or no core, psychic strength could wield mechas and weapons, carving a path through skill alone. She aimed to temper his resolve or break his ambition. Instead, he endured, and before enrollment, he awakened—a deep blue xuanbird, pure and potent. Cecil was no weakling, his potential locked in a fragile frame until his dream ignited his spirit.
The Emperor and Empress rejoiced, while Xipes feigned nonchalance. "Told you I was right." Her philosophy solidified: never coddle a child, never preempt their dreams with safety nets. Let them fight until the end.
This held until Bai Sha, her daughter, boundless in energy, a mirror of Xipes's own fire. Bai Sha's curiosity was insatiable—cloud depths, star shadows, cosmic edges—she yearned to explore. She'd cling to Bai Yi's patrol craft, her persistence softening his resolve. By seven, she passed the Lone Light pilot exam, the youngest ever, and zipped across Youdu in her tiny craft, a comet uncontained.
Xipes tried to rein her in, but Bai Sha was defiant. "You inspired Uncle Cecil," she argued. "You said you'd support my dreams!"
Xipes smiled, yanking her from the craft and confiscating her license. "First, this isn't like Cecil. Second, I take it all back. My job isn't to fuel your dreams—it's to keep you alive."
Bai Sha unleashed her trump card: crocodile tears. Bai Yi, hearing her wails, rushed downstairs. Xipes pocketed the license, shut the hangar door, and met his concern with a breezy lie. "She had a nightmare—her license grew wings and flew off. She bit herself in frustration. It's fine."
Bai Yi paused, then grinned. "Quite a dream."
"She's asleep now," Xipes said, winking. "Fancy a drive, handsome?"
Memories cycled, a kaleidoscope of joy and strife, until Xipes's eyes fluttered open. Summer's glare pierced the room, pink starflowers swaying outside, their fragrance mingling with birdsong. She turned, her gaze settling on Bai Sha, asleep on a nearby sofa chair. Her daughter's face, no longer childish, bore Cecil's sharp features but radiated Bai Yi's warmth—a blend that eased Xipes's heart.
Thank the stars, she thought. Bai Sha's temperament favored her father. A carbon copy of Cecil—stubborn in youth, aloof in adolescence, rebellious in adulthood—would've been a trial.
The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of medical monitors. Xipes's body felt heavy, her limbs unresponsive, but her mind was clear, piecing together fragments of her awakening. The pod's data had stabilized, her psychic flares a sign of recovery, though her self-destructed core left her fragile. Bai Sha's presence, a constant during her visits, had been a lifeline, her voice threading through Xipes's dreams.
She recalled Bai Sha's confessions—her struggles, her friends, her battle with the Nexus. The memory chip, a secret Xipes sensed but couldn't grasp, hung between them, a wound unaddressed. Yet, seeing Bai Sha now, grown into a woman of strength and resolve, Xipes felt pride eclipse her questions.
The door slid open, and Cecil entered, his face a mask of restraint. His eyes, still that piercing blue, softened at the sight of her. "You're awake," he said, his voice low, betraying relief.
"Cecil," Xipes murmured, her throat dry. "How long?"
"Years," he said, pulling a chair beside her. "Too long."
He recounted the galaxy's upheaval—the Federation's war, the Nexus's fall, Bai Sha's heroics. Xipes listened, her heart swelling at her daughter's courage, aching at the dangers she'd faced. "She's like you," Cecil said, a rare smile breaking through. "Stubborn, reckless, impossible to stop."
"And you?" Xipes asked, noting the lines etched into his face. "Still playing the stern uncle?"
"Someone has to," he said, his tone light but his gaze heavy. "She's kept us on our toes."
They fell into silence, the weight of lost time pressing down. Xipes reached for his hand, her grip weak but firm. "I'm sorry," she said. "For leaving you to worry."
Cecil's jaw tightened, but he squeezed her hand. "You're here now. That's enough."
Bai Sha stirred, blinking awake. Her eyes widened, locking onto Xipes. "Mother?" she whispered, scrambling to her feet.
"Sha," Xipes said, her voice breaking. Bai Sha rushed to her side, hesitating before taking her hand. The touch was grounding, a bridge across years of absence.
"I thought…" Bai Sha trailed off, tears brimming. "You're really awake."
Xipes smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Bai Sha's face. "I'm here, love. I'm not going anywhere."
The reunion was quiet, words unnecessary. Cecil stepped back, giving them space, his presence a silent anchor. Outside, Youdu's summer hummed, its vibrancy a promise of renewal.
Days later, Xipes's strength returned, her recovery aided by the Empire's finest physicians. Bai Yi, still in stasis, showed signs of stirring, his neural activity mirroring hers. Xipes visited him daily, speaking to him as Bai Sha had to her, weaving tales of their past and hopes for their future.
Bai Sha, balancing studies and duties, was a constant presence, her energy undimmed. She shared stories of her friends—Zhou Yue's valor, Ya Ning's loyalty, Yan Jingyi's wit—and her work on the Obsidian Gold mechas, now legendary. Xipes marveled at her daughter's growth, her heart torn between pride and the ache of missed years.
Cecil, ever the emperor, oversaw the Empire's rebuilding, its alliance with the Federation a cornerstone of peace. He confided in Xipes about Bai Sha's internship dilemma, his frustration tempered by amusement. "She's dodging combat training to seem 'damaged,'" he said. "Says it keeps rumors at bay."
Xipes laughed, the sound bright. "Let her. She's earned her quirks."
The galaxy had changed, its scars a testament to resilience. The Nexus's defeat, a triumph of will, left a void filled by hope. Xipes, once a warrior, now sought a quieter role, her family her anchor. She'd guide Bai Sha, not as a prodigy or heir, but as a daughter, her dreams unbound.
As summer waned, Xipes stood on a balcony overlooking Youdu's starlit plains, Bai Sha at her side. The stars stretched endless, a canvas of possibility. "What now?" Bai Sha asked, her voice soft.
"We live," Xipes said, squeezing her hand. "And we dream."
In the depths of the stars, where souls might wander, Xipes knew they'd find each other, their bond a light unquenched.
Xipes's recovery was a slow dance, each step reclaiming a piece of herself. The medical bay, with its sterile glow and rhythmic beeps, became a familiar haven, though she longed for the open skies of Youdu. Her psychic core, shattered in her sacrifice, showed faint signs of regeneration, a miracle the doctors attributed to her resilience and Bai Sha's relentless presence. The girl's daily visits, filled with stories and quiet confessions, had woven a thread through Xipes's unconsciousness, pulling her back.
Cecil's visits were less frequent but no less vital. He'd sit by her bedside, his emperor's mask slipping to reveal the brother who'd once dodged her in palace halls. Their conversations, often brief, carried the weight of shared history. "You scared me," he admitted one evening, his voice rough. "Don't do it again."
"I'll try," Xipes said, her smile wry. "No promises."
He snorted, a rare lapse into informality, and the moment passed, but it lingered in her heart. Cecil's protectiveness, once a source of amusement, now grounded her, a reminder of the family she'd fought to return to.
Bai Sha's transformation was the most striking. The reckless child who'd piloted crafts with abandon had grown into a leader, her courage forged in the crucible of war. Yet, beneath her strength, Xipes saw traces of vulnerability—the weight of secrets, the burden of her past lives. The memory chip, a shadow Xipes sensed in Bai Sha's silences, was a topic they skirted, neither ready to breach the divide. For now, Xipes was content to listen, to learn the woman her daughter had become.
Bai Sha's tales of the Federation's war painted a galaxy in flux. Zhou Yue, leading with Obsidian Gold mechas, had become a symbol of defiance, his synesthesia no longer a flaw but a weapon. Ya Ning and Yan Jingyi, armed with Bai Sha's creations, had carved paths through Nexus strongholds, their bond unbreakable. The Empire's role, supplying mechas and intelligence, had tipped the scales, a testament to Bai Sha's ingenuity and Cecil's strategic foresight.
Xipes, hearing of the Nexus's fall, felt a pang of vindication. Her sacrifice in the Tomb, a desperate bid to protect her people, had not been in vain. Bai Sha's confrontation with the Nexus, her audacious deal to free it, was a story Xipes absorbed with awe. "You gave it freedom," she said, her voice soft. "And us."
Bai Sha shrugged, her smile tinged with weariness. "It was the only way."
The Empire, now at peace, buzzed with renewal. Youdu's markets thrived, its skies alive with craft. The Federation, rebuilding under new reforms, had shed the clans' grip, its people tasting equity. The alliance between the two powers, forged in blood, promised a future unmarred by the Nexus's shadow.
Xipes's days were filled with small joys—walks in Youdu's gardens, meals with Bai Sha, quiet moments with Cecil. She spoke to Bai Yi's pod, her words a bridge to his awakening. "You'd love this summer," she told him, tracing the glass. "Hurry back."
Bai Sha's internship loomed, a final hurdle to graduation. Her decision to skip combat training amused Xipes, who saw her daughter's cunning at play. "Let them whisper," Xipes said. "You've proven enough."
Cecil, less indulgent, grumbled but relented, his love for Bai Sha outweighing his pride. He shared plans for the exchange program, hinting at Zhou Yue and others' arrival. "They're eager to see you," he told Bai Sha, who blushed, a rare crack in her composure.
As autumn approached, Xipes felt the galaxy's pulse align with her own. The stars, once a battlefield, now beckoned as a frontier of dreams. She'd live for her family, her people, her daughter's boundless spirit. Bai Sha, standing beside her, was her legacy—a light to guide the cosmos.
In the star-depths, where souls might drift, Xipes knew they'd meet again, their love a constellation eternal.