The laboratory on Youdu Star was a cathedral of science, its walls a seamless blend of polished obsidian and translucent crystal that refracted the soft glow of floating orbs. The air hummed with the faint pulse of machinery, a symphony of whirs and clicks that underscored the room's sterile precision. At its center, a pool of molten gold churned, suspended in midair by invisible fields, its surface rippling like a living thing. The liquid metal caught the light, casting kaleidoscopic flecks across the faces of its observers: Zhou Jue, Zhou Ying, and Bai Sha Roning, the newly crowned Prince of the Ares Empire.
Zhou Jue stood transfixed, his dark eyes reflecting the golden tide. His usual stoicism had melted into something akin to awe, a rare glimpse of vulnerability that softened the sharp edges of his features. The golden material, a prototype of Bai Sha's latest research, was more than a scientific marvel—it was a beacon of hope for his "hypersensitivity," a condition that had haunted him since childhood. In the Federation's mech-piloting framework, hypersensitivity was a double-edged sword: a gift of heightened perception that came at the cost of excruciating pain, a genetic flaw that no doctor had fully tamed.
Beside him, Zhou Ying's excitement was palpable, his lean frame practically vibrating with anticipation. His dark hair, streaked with silver from years of stress, fell into his eyes as he leaned forward, his voice bright with a scientist's fervor. "The material's taken shape—how long until it's ready for practical use?"
Zhou Ying had devoted years to solving his brother's condition, his laboratory a graveyard of failed experiments and half-formed theories. Hypersensitivity, once deemed an insurmountable barrier, was now within reach of a solution, thanks to Bai Sha's audacious project. His hands, calloused from tinkering with mech circuits, twitched as if itching to dive into the research himself.
Bai Sha, standing at the control console, raised a hand, and the golden liquid obeyed like a loyal creature, dispersing into shimmering tendrils that danced in the air before coalescing once more. Her midnight-blue tunic, embroidered with silver Blackbirds, caught the light, making her seem as radiant as the material she commanded. Little White Chirp, now a majestic Blackbird with feathers like a nebula's edge, perched on a nearby stand, its crest flaring as it sensed the material's latent energy.
"Two years for a viable prototype, if all goes well," Bai Sha said, her voice steady but tinged with the cautious optimism of a scientist. "But full deployment? That's a longer road—rigorous testing, calibration, approvals. The material's sensitive to mental energy, which makes it promising but volatile. Right now, my lab's the only one pursuing this path."
She paused, her deep blue eyes flickering with a mix of pride and pragmatism. "Once we have a working model and it passes scrutiny, I'll release the preliminary findings. That might draw other researchers—more minds, more progress. But for now, it's just us."
Zhou Ying's excitement dimmed, his shoulders sagging slightly as the reality settled in. As a mech engineer, he knew the glacial pace of innovation. New materials, no matter how dazzling, were a hard sell in a galaxy obsessed with proven tech. The golden liquid before them was a gamble, its potential vast but unproven. It would take a breakthrough—a successful prototype—to lure the scientific community's attention. Until then, Bai Sha's vision was little more than a tantalizing dream, a grand pie she was sketching in the sky.
Zhou Jue, still captivated by the material's glow, said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes. Zhou Ying glanced at him, then back at Bai Sha, his voice soft but heavy with gratitude. "You're putting your heart into this, Sha Sha. Thank you."
The words carried a weight that transcended the lab's sterile confines. The material's success could redefine hypersensitivity, turning a curse into a strength. For Zhou Jue, it promised freedom from pain; for Zhou Ying, it was the culmination of a brother's devotion. But for Bai Sha, the project was a curious anomaly—a labor of love rather than ambition. Its benefits to her own power or the Empire's coffers were speculative at best. She had no personal stake in hypersensitivity, no urgent need for the material's applications. Her drive stemmed from something simpler, yet profound: Zhou Jue was her friend, and friends, in Bai Sha's world, were worth any effort.
Bai Sha's lips curved into a wry smile, her silver-gray hair catching the light like a comet's tail. "Don't get all sentimental on me, Ying. I'm just chasing a hunch. This stuff's fascinating—hyper-responsive to mental energy. Even if it flops for mechs, I could turn it into toys. Imagine glowing, shape-shifting trinkets. The kids on Tianshu would go wild."
Zhou Ying chuckled, his gaze drifting to the golden tendrils. The material's beauty was undeniable, its fluid grace and luminous sheen evoking a sense of otherworldly mystery. Even if it never found a home in mech cores, it could dazzle in a thousand other ways—jewelry, art, or even ceremonial relics. "Don't jinx yourself," he said, his tone mock-stern. "This won't fail. I'm betting on you."
Bai Sha clapped his shoulder, her touch warm and reassuring. "Borrowing your luck, then."
Zhou Ying's eyes sparkled with a new thought. "If this works, the Empire might have a new export on its hands. The Federation's mech tech leans heavily on mental interfaces—this material could be a game-changer for us."
The conversation shifted to technical speculation, a rapid-fire exchange of ideas about integration protocols, energy thresholds, and market potential. Zhou Jue listened, his understanding fading as the jargon thickened. He was no scientist, his world one of instinct and action rather than equations. Quietly, he raised a hand, drawn to the golden light, its warmth beckoning like a star's embrace. His fingers hovered, trembling with a mix of longing and restraint, before he withdrew, a faint smile softening his face. The material was a promise, but not yet his to claim.
The trio left the lab, their footsteps echoing in the crystalline corridors of Youdu's research complex. Outside, their friends—Federation and Imperial alike—awaited in a small banquet hall, its walls adorned with holographic murals of interstellar vistas. The group had gathered to celebrate Bai Sha's recent coronation, a rare moment of camaraderie amid the galaxy's tensions. As Bai Sha, Zhou Jue, and Zhou Ying rejoined them, the room buzzed with curiosity.
"Where'd you three sneak off to?" Cen Yuehuai asked, her voice teasing as she leaned against a table laden with crystal fruits and luminescent wine. Her Federation uniform, a sleek contrast to the Empire's ornate finery, gleamed under the hall's soft light.
"Just showing them my latest project," Bai Sha said, snagging a fruit and tossing it to Cen Yuehuai. "A new material—mental-energy sensitive. You didn't miss much."
Cen Yuehuai caught the fruit, her brow arching. "Why just them? What, we're not cool enough for your secret lab?"
Bai Sha grinned, her tone matter-of-fact. "It's not about coolness. The material's a bit… temperamental. Too many people, especially with your mental signatures, and it might go boom."
"Boom?" Cen Yuehuai's mouth twitched, half-amused, half-alarmed. "As in, explode?"
Bai Sha tilted her head, considering. "Not explode, exactly. More like… a kettle boiling over, or a melon bursting when it's overripe. It's not stable yet, let's just say that."
Cen Yuehuai snorted. "Got it. Sounds like a party I'm happy to skip."
The group laughed, the tension easing as they settled into the banquet. The hall was a microcosm of the galaxy's diversity: Imperial nobles in flowing robes, Federation officers in tailored uniforms, and a scattering of allies from neutral systems, their attire a riot of colors and textures. The meal was a feast of interstellar delights—roasted beasts from Kaiyang's plains, fruits that shimmered like miniature suns, and wines that glowed with bioluminescent hues. Laughter and music filled the air, a fleeting reprieve from the weight of politics and war.
Cecil Roning, the Emperor, presided over the gathering with an air of effortless charm, his imperial purple robes a beacon of authority. His demeanor was warm, almost paternal, as he toasted Bai Sha's friends, his words laced with subtle diplomacy. But as the last guest departed, his facade shifted, the genial host giving way to the languid, sharp-eyed ruler. He lounged in a cushioned chair, a goblet of star-wine in hand, his gaze settling on Bai Sha with a mix of amusement and scrutiny.
"Your Federation friends are a decent bunch," he said, his voice low, a velvet blade. "But those twins—Zhou Jue and Zhou Ying—they're a headache. One's too quiet, like he's plotting in his sleep, and the other's got more schemes than a star-chart. Hard to believe they're brothers."
Bai Sha shrugged, unfazed, as she leaned against a pillar, Little White Chirp fluttering to her shoulder. "That's just how they are. Opposites, but they balance each other. It's normal."
Cecil's eyes narrowed, a sudden intensity in his gaze. "Normal, sure. But if you had to pick one—Jue or Ying—which do you like more?"
The question caught Bai Sha off guard, her brow furrowing as if he'd asked her to solve a quantum equation blindfolded. "What kind of question is that? They're both my friends. Why would I rank them?"
Cecil's smile was slow, almost predatory, and Bai Sha felt a prickle of unease, like a starbug skittering across her spine. "Humor me, kid. If you had to choose."
Bai Sha hesitated, her fingers brushing the Blackbird's feathers for comfort. "Zhou Jue, I guess," she said finally, her voice reluctant. "We go way back—met him first. And… I don't know, his vibe suits me. His face, his quiet intensity. It's just familiar."
Cecil's expression was unreadable, his fingers tapping the goblet's rim. Without a word, he activated his light-brain, a holographic interface shimmering to life. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a file to Bai Sha's device. She opened it, her curiosity piqued, only to freeze as the contents loaded: a dossier, hundreds of names long, each entry a meticulously curated profile.
"What… is this?" she asked, her voice tinged with dread as she scrolled through the list—names, ages, family histories, mental energy ratings, even holographic portraits.
Cecil's tone was casual, but his eyes gleamed with mischief. "The list of candidates vying to be your Consort."
Bai Sha choked, her cough echoing in the now-empty hall. "My what? Consort? Are you serious?"
"You're nearly of age," Cecil said, his voice maddeningly calm as he swirled his wine. "The court's buzzing about it. I thought it was early, too, but you said you're nostalgic, right? Pick someone now, build a bond. It's practically a childhood sweetheart by Imperial standards."
Bai Sha's jaw dropped, her mind reeling. "The ministers have lost their minds! You're right there, young and unmarried, and they're hounding me about a Consort?"
Cecil's laugh was a low, wicked thing. "Oh, they've hounded me plenty. But I've named my heir—you. Their goal was always a successor, and I've delivered. Now their sights are on you, kid."
Bai Sha groaned, sinking into a chair, her head in her hands. "This is absurd. I haven't even graduated!"
"No one's forcing you," Cecil said, his tone softening, though the amusement lingered. "Just take a look. No harm in browsing."
With a mix of resignation and morbid curiosity, Bai Sha opened the dossier. The profiles were exhaustive: noble lineages, academic achievements, combat records, mental energy grades, even notes on personality quirks. The candidates, all Imperial youths, ranged from her age to a decade older—an acceptable gap in the Empire, though it raised her Federation-bred eyebrows. The portraits were striking, each face a study in beauty, from chiseled features to ethereal grace.
She scrolled numbly, the sheer volume numbing her senses, until a familiar face stopped her cold. "Why is Ji Lun on this list?" she demanded, pointing at the hologram of the stoic general, his black uniform stark against a training ground backdrop, his expression as unyielding as ever.
Cecil frowned, then smoothed his brow with practiced ease. "He's not overage, he's single, and his credentials are impeccable. Why wouldn't he be included?"
Bai Sha's eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring. "Ji Lun, volunteering for this? I'm not buying it. Someone slipped him in."
Cecil's smile was thin, a touch too innocent. "Maybe. If he's not your type, skip him. What, don't like his looks?"
Bai Sha studied the portrait, her head tilting. Ji Lun's features were sharp, his dark eyes piercing, a classical handsomeness that carried the weight of his battlefield scars. "No, he's handsome enough," she admitted, her voice thoughtful. "But he's not the Consort type. Probably got dragged into this by some overzealous clerk."
Cecil's goblet paused mid-air, his expression unreadable. "Handsome, huh? You've got broad tastes, kid."
She rolled her eyes, flipping past Ji Lun's profile. "I was kidding. Relax."
Cecil hummed, a sound that carried both approval and calculation. He leaned back, watching her scroll through the list with a faint smirk. The dossier wasn't about forcing a choice; it was a display of the Empire's wealth of talent, a reminder that Bai Sha's future was a constellation of possibilities. And, perhaps, a subtle warning to keep her heart guarded against the Federation's charms.
As the hall's lights dimmed, Bai Sha closed the dossier, her mind a whirl of gold and choices. The Blackbird on her shoulder chirped softly, a quiet anchor in the storm of her thoughts. The galaxy was vast, but her path—crown, friends, and all—was hers to forge.