The gentle hum of the battleship's night systems echoed in Ryssa's chamber. Outside, the stars blinked coldly in the void, but her thoughts were far from the endless sky.
She stared at the holo-screen, flickering images of Kael in combat—silent, composed, feral in focus.
> "What is this…?" she whispered to herself.
It wasn't just admiration anymore. It had grown into something messier, more turbulent. Ryssa had been around warriors—charming ones, dangerous ones, those desperate to prove something. But Kael…
He didn't try to be impressive.
He just was.
Unbending in principle, brutal in execution, silent in pain, and loyal to death. Even when the world abandoned him, he didn't beg to be accepted—he stood alone and survived. That was the part she couldn't shake.
> "Why you?" she muttered, leaning forward.
She closed her eyes for a moment. "If I wasn't me—if I wasn't a commander—would you even glance my way?"
She didn't want to admit it, but part of her wanted his validation. His cold stare felt more rewarding than a room full of medals.
She let out a breath and stood.
> "I need to get it together. There's still a war to fight."
But deep down, she knew—this wasn't just war anymore. This was personal.
---
The Next Morning – Competition Arena
The loading deck was alive with commotion. Engineers scrambled, weapons systems were being calibrated, and the arena's protective dome shimmered above the main hull like a bubble ready to burst.
Kael stood silently as Ravager Mk III's systems purred behind him, freshly repaired, polished like a blade prepared for ceremony.
Next to him, Tyren cracked his knuckles, eyes glowing with anticipation.
> "You ready for this?" Kael asked, voice calm.
Tyren smirked. "Born ready."
Kael gave him a glance. "Try not to show off."
Tyren grinned wider. "Can't promise that."
In the stands above, the Siren Squad had claimed their seats, eyes wide. Ziya leaned forward, murmuring to Misha, "Tyren looks different today."
Misha nodded. "It's like he's on fire."
Even Rynn was unusually silent, eyes locked on the arena.
---
Round Two – Start
The klaxon blared and the arena gates split open. From the opposing side, two massive mechas thundered in—sleek, state-of-the-art, brimming with flashy enhancements.
The crowd roared.
Kael took a step forward, but Tyren raised a hand.
> "Let me."
Kael tilted his head. "All yours."
And then hell broke loose.
Brawler shot forward like a missile, thunder cracking beneath his feet. The first opponent—a twin-blade type—barely had time to block before Tyren shoulder-rammed him so hard his mech's left arm flew off in a shower of sparks.
> "One down," Tyren muttered.
The second enemy, a heavy artillery class, fired a barrage—missiles, plasma, tracking rounds.
Tyren didn't dodge.
He ran through them.
Brawler's shielding glowed white-hot as it took the brunt of the damage, but Tyren's timing was lethal. He dodged at the last second, swung a reinforced arm around, and slammed into the opponent's cockpit casing with a sickening crunch.
The crowd was stunned.
Kael hadn't moved an inch.
> "...Show-off," he muttered with a smirk.
---
Later – Observation Deck
Ryssa had watched the entire battle silently from the command booth. The officers beside her were cheering, clapping, noting data points. But her eyes were only on the screen.
On him.
Even now, after that victory, Kael didn't bask in praise. He just stood by the hangar, leaning against Ravager, eyes distant as if none of this mattered.
Her fist clenched at her side.
> "What am I doing…?"
But her heart already knew.
Sh
e wasn't just attracted to his strength. She was consumed by the mystery of him.
And she wasn't sure she'd survive it.