The manipulation had run its course.
The conference chamber had long emptied, but the stench of betrayal still lingered in the steel corridors. Words uttered behind closed doors had carved irreversible scars, and consequences were now falling like silent judgment.
Tyren stood in the corner of a dim hallway, shoulders square, face blank—but his eyes... his eyes burned.
He had always been sharp-tongued, quick to action, always loyal. But that loyalty had been taken and twisted. In return, he was given a seal of dishonor.
"Demoted." The word repeated in his head like an echo in a tomb.
No longer a unit commander. No longer anything but a number. No longer "Tyren of Unit 404," but just another cog in the massive machinery of a system that never wanted him to begin with.
Beside him, Oris leaned against the cold wall, arms folded. His knuckles were bruised from punching a wall earlier. He hadn't said much since the verdict. For the first time, even his defiance had run dry. They had stripped his rank, his access, his tools—even his workshop.
He was now just an assistant mechanic, under strict surveillance. The message was clear: Create nothing. Build nothing. Speak nothing.
And worst of all?
Kael.
Still unconscious.
Still under twenty-four-hour surveillance, monitored like a dormant weapon, not a wounded soldier.
There was no apology for the brutality he had endured. No report filed about the abuse. Just silence… like nothing had happened.
Like he had never mattered.
---
But not everyone was ready to bury Kael.
In the upper quarters of the rival battleship, a lone woman stood beside a wide tactical display, her crimson uniform contrasting with the sterile blues of the interface. She was the commanding officer of the elite Unit Aegis. Calm. Cold. Calculating. But under it all, something else pulsed:
Ambition.
Purpose.
She wasn't just a soldier—she was a visionary. And right now, all of her vision was centered on one thing.
Kael.
"Transfer him," she had said earlier in the high-level meeting.
"He's a weapon. But not the kind you lock in a cell. You sharpen a blade like that."
Her request was met with some resistance. But Ryssa didn't wait for permission—she pushed until they relented.
And now she held the authorization to retrieve Kael personally.
The moment she stepped onto the walkway toward the medical block, she smelled the rot of hypocrisy in the air.
And then she saw Vireya.
---
Vireya was standing near the med-bay entrance, arms crossed, head slightly down. She looked paler than usual, like she hadn't slept in days. There were shadows under her eyes that couldn't be hidden even by her sleek black uniform. Her back was straight—but barely.
Shame sat on her like armor, heavier than any mecha.
She turned at the sound of boots approaching.
"Ryssa…"
The name barely left her lips when the slap of boots against steel silenced her.
Ryssa stopped only a step away, hands behind her back. Her sharp, piercing gaze scanned Vireya once—twice—then curled with something between amusement and disgust.
"Well, well," Ryssa said with a dry smile. "The traitor's doll."
Vireya stiffened.
"I didn't expect you to slink around this hallway like a stray. But I guess guilt doesn't let you sleep."
Vireya's lips parted. "I didn't come to argue."
"Of course not," Ryssa interrupted. "Because you lost your right to speak when you watched him get beaten unconscious and did nothing."
Vireya looked away. Her hands clenched at her sides.
Ryssa took a step closer, voice now lowered, venom threading every word. "You were once proud, weren't you? High command's favorite pet. Betrayed Kael for a little taste of glory. And where did that get you?"
She tilted her head. "Cast aside. Humiliated. And now you linger outside his cell like a ghost—hoping he might forgive you?"
Vireya's voice cracked. "I didn't know it would—"
"Don't." Ryssa's tone hardened.
She stepped right into Vireya's space, so close their shoulders almost touched.
"Let me make this clear. That man in there? He doesn't need your sympathy. He doesn't need your guilt."
She exhaled slowly.
"He needs vengeance. And maybe, just maybe… someone who doesn't stink of betrayal."
Vireya's eyes welled up, but Ryssa didn't pause.
"You want forgiveness? You don't deserve it. Not from him. Maybe not from anyone. And if I were him, I'd leave you to rot here with the rest of the parasites."
She turned to walk past her but stopped just at the door. Her fingers rested briefly on the metal frame before looking back over her shoulder.
"This place," she said softly, nose wrinkling, "smells of traitors."
Her eyes flashed.
"You should leave before it clings to you forever."
---
As Ryssa disappeared into the medical bay, Vireya stood frozen.
Her knees buckled slightly, and she leaned against the wall, breath ragged. Every word Ryssa had spoken cut like glass—not because they were lies, but because they were true.
She had made the wrong choice.
She had believed in the system—trusted the ranks, the golden child, the illusion of safety.
But she had betrayed the only person who had stood tall even when the universe had broken his back.
---
Inside the med-bay, Kael lay still.
Machines beeped in slow rhythm. His face was pale, the bruises still fresh, the faintest rise and fall of his chest the only proof of life.
Ryssa approached the glass, her gaze softening only slightly.
She didn't whisp
er to him. She didn't make promises or offer pity.
Instead, she said just one thing.
"Wake up, Kael."
"We've got wars to start."