I stared at the half-shut hangar doors, my jaw tightening. The worst possible outcome had happened. Firefly had escaped.
I had planned to use her disappearance as the final push to justify escalating her punishment—an excuse to force her into the Harmonic Pack battalion. Not something I wanted to do, but with Verwin pinning so much blame on her for the station's damage, her opinion of my battalion had already soured. And the scorn from the very hostages she had saved? That certainly hadn't helped.
I had seen it all unfold on the security feeds. The way Rogue Raven's captain had stood by her, receiving the same hateful treatment—but unlike her, he hadn't cared in the slightest. Firefly had already made her decision. I had been too slow.
Now, those degenerates would corrupt a perfectly good sprout with their twisted ideas. Footsteps approached behind me, slow and deliberate. I didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"You didn't have a part in this, did you?" I asked, still watching the hangar.
Sam came to a stop beside me, hands shoved into his pockets. "No, sir," he answered, his voice even. "But I respect my fellow pilot's decision. She has her goals, and I have my priorities. I know which is more important."
His words, calm and resolute, tempered some of my frustration. Still, I reached for a cigarette, only to find my pack empty. My scowl deepened.
"...Why do I feel like Traveler is out there laughing at me right now?" I muttered, rubbing my temple. "If he knew our goal—if he knew we were trying to bring down your father, Sam—I have no doubt he'd involve his student somehow."
Beside me, Sam's expression flickered—something unreadable passing through his gaze before he masked it. "If Traveler himself were here," he mused, "it's not impossible that he'd destroy this station outright—along with you—for trying to restrict Firefly."
Blunt. Disrespectful, especially coming from a second-lieutenant. But that didn't mean he was wrong.
Traveler was dangerous—obsessive when it came to the few things he cared about, despite his usual indifference to the world. He was protective, unpredictable, and utterly ruthless when it suited him.
Perhaps... it was a good thing I had failed to stop Firefly from leaving.
My fingers absently brushed across my jaw, feeling the faint ridges of the scar running across my cheek—the one I had earned twenty years ago during the empress's uprising. The one Traveler had given me. Even now, buried beneath the rough texture of my beard, it still burned with phantom pain.
Just one more reason to stay as far away from that madman as possible.
***
Evan guided the small spacecraft expertly through the green planet's atmosphere, descending with practiced ease. The ship was gripped by the planet's gravity, yet it cut smoothly through the cloudy skies, skimming over a landscape unlike anything I had ever seen. Below, sprawling forests stretched endlessly, punctuated by scattered rural cities.
Gazing out the cockpit's backseat window, I whispered in awe, "I don't think I've ever had dreams with this many trees."
Evan chuckled from the pilot seat in front of me. "You like it? The founder of the battalion hated big cities, so he built Rogue Raven Base way out here—far enough to be nowhere, but close enough to still matter. We're only three solar systems away from Palace-World, and thanks to how well-hidden it is, most people never find us. Locals are nice too."
"Palace-World?" I asked, frowning. "Don't you mean Home world?"
"Oh, right," Evan said, glancing at me. "You were made and trained on Vistella, so I guess even as an AKP, you call it Home world. People who weren't born there—like me—call it Palace-World, since it's where the Nymphas Empire is centered. You know, like a palace in a city."
I considered that for a moment. The empire's capital was technically my home, but hearing it framed like that... It would be weird to call a place 'home' if you were never truly raised there.
Evan's ship slowed as we approached a clearing deep in the forest. Before long, we touched down on a hidden landing pad, seamlessly camouflaged by the surrounding trees. As I stepped off the platform, the ground beneath us shifted, sinking into the earth as it concealed both the pad and Evan's ship beneath layers of foliage. A security measure, most likely.
"Clubhouse is this way," Evan said, motioning for me to follow.
We walked along a faded path, a winding trail of worn grass and dirt. The scent of fresh leaves and damp earth filled the air, so different from the cold sterility of warships and space stations. For three months, all I had known were walls of metal, corridors of steel, and the distant hum of artificial life support. And before that—battlefields ravaged by the war against the Dream Swarm, barren wastelands, lifeless, uncolonized planets...
I took in the sight of the vibrant green canopy overhead, the sunlight filtering through the dense foliage in shimmering patches.
"This place is beautiful," I murmured.
[The atmosphere is 97.4% cleaner than on Vistella,] Andromeda stated matter-of-factly. [Due to the lack of factories and urban pollution, this planet has retained its natural splendour. This has resulted in you calling it... 'beautiful.']
I laughed softly. "Thanks for the scientific confirmation, Andy."
Curious, I turned to Evan. "What do you think Rogue Raven's members are like, wanting to live somewhere this remote?"
Andromeda answered before Evan could. [According to multiple news articles and military archives, common descriptors include: undisciplined, eccentric, sociopathic, and anarchist. Further in-person analysis will be required to determine their precise disposition.]
I shot Evan a look. "That doesn't exactly paint the best picture."
Evan sighed dramatically, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah, well, that's what happens when you don't play by the empire's rulebook. We get labels."
Still, I wasn't deterred. Picking up my pace, I caught up to him. "Do you have any advice on how I should introduce myself? I—I want to make a good first impression."
Evan slowed, then abruptly turned to me, a shadow crossing his face. "Why are you so excited, you weirdo?" His voice darkened. "Didn't your AI already tell you everything? Rogue Ravens are scum—worse than criminals."
I frowned, immediately catching onto his shift in attitude. Petty. He was pouting because I had ignored his flirting for too long, wasn't he?
I elbowed him sharply in the ribs, knocking him into a tree. "Bully."
"AH! I'm mortal! Spare me!" he wailed, dramatically clutching his side.
I left him groaning as I continued ahead, and as the path dipped downward, I finally saw it—our destination.
A large stone and wood structure stood alone in the middle of the forest, unlike any metal-walled facility I had ever known. It had an old feel to it, as if it belonged to another time—a relic of a world long past. A strange sight, yet oddly fitting for a place called Rogue Raven Base.
"That's it," Evan groaned, catching up as he rubbed his ribs. "Looks quiet. Everyone must still be out on missions. They were gone the last time I came back, too."
As we walked down the final stretch, a thought struck me. "Oh, right—Rogue Raven only has a few members, don't they? How many, exactly?"
Evan shrugged. "Probably around eighteen. Never counted heads myself."
I balked. "That few?"
The building was massive, yet it housed fewer people than I expected.
"No backing out now," Evan teased, grinning like a villainous merchant. "You already know how we do high-risk missions across the galaxy, Firefly. We usually send fireteams of three to six people, and those ops are rare. If we had too many members, we'd just have a bunch of people sitting around, draining the battalion's funds. That's why there's a cap—fifty members max, at any given time."
I mulled over his words. Rogue Raven wasn't a traditional battalion—it was more of a specialist unit. An elite task force, not an army.
"I... guess that makes sense," I admitted. "But wouldn't having more people on high-risk missions increase success rates?"
"Eh," Evan smirked. "I'll let the commander explain that one. He's the house sitter this month."
We finally reached the entrance—a set of towering wooden doors, wide enough to fit half of Andromeda through. Evan stopped, placing a hand against them.
"Alright," he said. "When these doors open, let me do the talking. We got lucky arriving when everyone's out, but the ones still here... they're going to be excitable."
I swallowed. "O-okay..." I didn't trust him. That tone... That grin... He was up to something. "What exactly are you—"
Before I could finish, Evan slammed the doors open, dramatically dropping to one knee. "BEHOLD!" he bellowed. "I have returned—with an aspiring recruit for the Rogue Ravens! WEEP AND GROVEL AT MY FEET, AND I MAY ALLOW YOU TO SPEAK TO HER!"
Silence.
I blinked. Past the doorway, the so-called *grand audience* he had prepared for consisted of... two people.
The room beyond was dimly lit, a warm and intimate atmosphere reminiscent of a high-class lounge. Smooth jazz filled the air, and the entire space felt more like a hidden bar than a military base.
Evan remained frozen, his grand entrance utterly wasted. His shoulders slumped in utter defeat. "Oh," he mumbled, voice hollow.
I couldn't help myself. As much second-hand embarrassment as I felt, I patted his head in consolation. He had put effort into it, after all. And for that, I had to at least give him some points.
Seeing that Evan was too embarrassed to move, still kneeling dramatically in the doorway, I decided to take the lead. Stepping inside, I let the rich ambiance of the lounge wash over me—the low hum of a jazz melody drifting from a music box pressed against the dark wooden walls. The space was dimly lit, exuding a kind of casual intimacy that clashed with my expectations of a mercenary hideout.
Behind the bar at the far end of the room, a red-haired woman in a mechanic's jumpsuit was effortlessly shaking a cocktail. She worked with an absentminded grace, her focus entirely on the glass in her hands. Seated before her was a hulking man sculpted from sheer muscle, clad only in a simple vest. He didn't acknowledge me, nor did she, but I approached anyway.
Summoning my courage, I spoke up. "H-Hello. I am Pilot Firefly. I've come here to—uh—please join the Rogue Raven Battalion. It's a pleasure to meet you both."
The woman barely spared me a glance before returning to her task. At the man's subtle tap against the bar, she nodded, seemingly resigned, and pulled out two small glasses from beneath the counter. With practiced ease, she poured a striking red-and-white liquid into each one.
Pushing one of the glasses across the counter, the man finally spoke, his voice a deep, gritty rasp. "Drink this. All of it, and you can stay."
I blinked at him, puzzled. No questions? No enlistment forms? Was this some kind of initiation ritual—what Traveler had once called "hazing"?
Glancing at the drink in my gloved hand, I hesitated for a moment before sniffing it. A faint, sweet aroma tickled my nose. I took a cautious sip. Baffled, I stared at the glass. "This is just... strawberry milk?"
The woman, now leaning back against the liquor shelf, smirked slightly. "Peter likes the show I do with the mixer."
Peter. The name suited him. Lowering his now-empty glass, the massive man turned his gaze on me for the first time. His eyes were like stone, unreadable and full of disinterest. "What's a greenhorn pilot like you want here?" Something about his tone sent a prickle of unease down my spine.
"Uhm..." I instinctively leaned back on my stool, intimidated. "I'm not exactly sure. A 'rebirth,' I suppose you could say."
At that, something shifted in his expression—curiosity, perhaps? He leaned in slightly, scrutinizing me like I was some kind of oddity. "Strange place to look for one of those."
"I would have to agree, sir." My fingers tightened slightly around the glass.
"You said your name was Firefly, correct?" Peter's tone remained casual, but something about it felt sharper now. "Looking at you, you're an AKP. Rare for your kind not to have digits in their name."
"Yes, sir," I confirmed. "I'm... a defective unit."
A flicker of something crossed the woman's face. A subtle twitch in Peter's back.
"My brain chip won't process the multi-knight control software," I continued, keeping my voice steady. "I can only pilot one manually—like a human does."
Peter exhaled through his nose in what might have been a sigh. His left shoulder slumped slightly as he reached for something. "Polite little thing," he muttered. "Shame I gotta do this, then."
Before I could process his words, his arm swung toward me—fast. I barely had time to react, my arms instinctively crossing to block whatever was coming.
Impact.
The sheer force sent me flying across the room. My back crashed through the wooden door, splintering it apart before I tumbled onto the dirt outside. Rolling with the momentum, I forced myself upright, every muscle in my arms screaming in protest. My bones felt dangerously close to snapping.
'What the hell did he just hit me with?!'
Steadying myself, I looked up to see Peter stepping out of the building, the shadows of the lounge giving way to the light. That's when I saw it—his entire left arm wasn't human. It was mechanical.
A knight's arm. A massive, armoured limb, far too heavy for any ordinary person to wield. But Peter moved it effortlessly, like it was just another part of his body.
'Fraction materialization.' I recognized the technique instantly—an advanced form of armament-mode, where a pilot could summon and wear specific parts of their knight like armour. It was incredibly difficult, requiring precise spirit-energy control. Few could even attempt it, let alone wield something that heavy in combat.
No wonder Peter was built like a war machine. He had to be compensating for the sheer weight the anti-gravity modules couldn't account for.
"Surprised you managed to block that," Peter remarked, flexing his mechanical fingers. "Good reactions, pipsqueak." A groan of pain snapped my attention to the side. Evan dangled helplessly from Peter's metal grip, held up by his skull. "What's the idea bringing this girl here?" Peter demanded, squeezing slightly. "Don't tell me you're trying to get lucky again."
"N-No! I swear, Commander!" Evan kicked uselessly, clawing at the metal fingers crushing his head. "She asked me to bring her! I didn't—ahhh, okay, I hoped to, but she beat me up every time I tried to touch her! You're going to crack my skull open, Commander! Commander!!"
Peter seemed unimpressed. With a flick of his arm, he hurled Evan screaming into a tree. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to me.
"That's fraction materialization," I muttered, my stance shifting slightly as I analysed him.
Peter took another step forward, the weight of his metal arm causing the dirt beneath him to sink slightly. "Huh. Smart kid. Not many know it's possible."
From my belt, my beetle device shifted, unfolding into twin swords. "Armament-mode," I stated. "My teacher told me about it as a theory, but I never thought someone would actually do it. That arm alone must weigh at least 3.5 tonnes, depending on its material."
"About right." Without another word, Peter's mechanical hand plunged into the dirt, gripping a massive chunk of earth.
Then he hurled it at me.
I didn't flinch. My spirit energy surged through the emerald blades, and in a single, scorching arc, I sliced clean through the boulder.
Peter grinned. "Not bad."
He dug his claws into the ground again, preparing another attack. "So what kind of 'rebirth' is it you're really looking for in this dump, Firefly?" Another boulder flew through the air. "Usually, people wanting a fresh start have a past they're trying to run from!"
I slashed through the second boulder just as easily.
"No! I just—" I redirected my spirit energy, my next slash freezing the debris solid. "I just want to be worthy the next time I see him! Failing over and over won't help me with everything that man has taught me!"
Peter shattered the frozen boulder with his metal fist, barely fazed and I lunged through the dirt explosion, my blades aimed at his exposed side. My attack bounced off the thick armour plating, barely leaving a scratch as he blocked with the oversized arm.
Peter looked down at me. "So you're chasing after someone."
I clenched my teeth.
"You're a coward, then." The overbearing and powerful soldier chastised.