The grand hall of Youdu Star's imperial palace was now a quiet sanctuary, its holographic murals dimmed to a soft twilight glow, casting faint constellations across the obsidian floor. Bai Sha Roning, newly crowned Prince of the Ares Empire, sprawled across a velvet sofa, her silver-gray hair splayed like a comet's tail. The dossier of potential Consorts, a digital tome of hundreds of Imperial youths, had taken her a full half-hour to skim, each profile a dazzling blur of beauty and pedigree. Her fingers lingered on the light-brain's interface, now closed, as if the weight of those names still pressed against her.
Cecil Roning, the Emperor, lounged in a nearby chair, his imperial purple robes pooling like liquid amethyst. His goblet of star-wine caught the light, refracting prisms across his sharp features. "Well?" he asked, his voice a velvet prod. "What do you think?"
Bai Sha let out a theatrical sigh, flopping backward onto the sofa. "Once you've seen the ocean, rivers seem trivial; after Wushan's clouds, no other peaks compare."
Cecil's brow arched, a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. "Meaning?"
She rolled onto her side, propping her head on one hand, her tone lazy but pointed. "Can any of them outshine Uriel?"
Cecil froze, his goblet halfway to his lips. Uriel, the radiant angelic being who had hovered in Bai Sha's orbit, was a vision of unearthly beauty, his luminescent wings and ethereal grace a standard no mortal could match. The Emperor's lips twitched, a silent concession. Bai Sha's tastes, it seemed, had been irrevocably shaped by the divine. His earlier fears—that she might be swayed by the Federation's charms—now felt like the fretting of an overcautious parent.
"Fair enough," he said, his voice warm with mirth. "If you're done gawking, toss it aside. Come to my study—there's real business to discuss."
Bai Sha squinted, her catlike languor deepening as she nestled into the sofa. "Can't it wait, Uncle? I'm half-dead here." The day had been a whirlwind: the coronation's pomp, the raucous gathering with her friends, and now this absurd marriage roster. Her body held firm, but her spirit was fraying at the edges, craving the oblivion of sleep.
Cecil's tone sharpened, cutting through her drowsiness like a blade. "It's about the attack."
The words jolted her, sleep fleeing as if chased by a storm. The attack—the brazen assault by Silver mechanoids during the joint military exercise—had shaken both Empire and Federation. Bai Sha sat up, her eyes narrowing. "The investigation team's back?"
"They returned today," Cecil confirmed, rising from his chair with a predator's grace. "Tonight, they'll present a full report. This is classified, Imperial secrets—normally above your rank. But as Prince, you're in the thick of it now. These are the threats you'll face, sooner or later. You need to be there."
Bai Sha nodded, her earlier fatigue replaced by a steely resolve. The Silver Core, a specter from the Silver Era, was no mere legend. She had pieced together enough from past events to suspect its survival, a malevolent intelligence that haunted the Empire's borders. Yet, to most, it was a myth, a ghost story dismissed with skepticism or apathy. Before the attack, few had paid the Silver remnants any mind.
In its wake, the Empire had launched a fleet to eradicate the mechanoids' nest, but weeks had passed without a public word on the outcome. Both Empire and Federation had formed investigation teams to unravel the attack's origins, yet both remained tight-lipped, their silence a calculated effort to downplay the crisis. The Federation, in particular, had begun spinning a narrative through official channels, suggesting the attack was a human plot cloaked in Silver Core's name—not the awakening of a true nightmare.
The truth was far graver. A Silver Core reborn was a terror beyond mortal schemes. In the Silver Era, it had enslaved human minds, reducing free will to a puppet's strings. Its chilling proclamation during the attack—"The exiled miracle returns; the Silver Era shall rise again"—had sent ripples of dread through those who understood its power. If confirmed, it would ignite panic, fueling demands to eradicate the Core once and for all.
Yet, the bitter truth lingered: centuries after the Silver Era's fall, its shadow still loomed, unvanquished. Humanity had never truly escaped.
At seven-thirty, Bai Sha followed Cecil into his study, a chamber of dark wood and glowing crystal, where a holographic table dominated the center. The lights dimmed, and a cascade of blue light unfurled like a waterfall, forming a virtual conference table. Around it sat a dozen figures—Imperial ministers, family heads, and advisors, their faces a mix of stern resolve and weary familiarity. Many were faces Bai Sha had seen earlier that day, now stripped of their banquet smiles. They nodded in acknowledgment, unsurprised by her presence. She was Prince now, no longer a bystander.
She returned the gesture, pressing a hand to her chest in the Imperial salute, her posture rigid but composed. Little White Chirp, now a majestic Blackbird, perched on a nearby stand, its nebula-like feathers shimmering faintly.
The lead investigator, a young man with a chiseled jaw and piercing eyes, stood within a glowing halo, his voice steady as he began. "First, the mechanoid cleanup. All units from the arena have been neutralized. We traced their spatial teleportation to a derelict factory on a barren planet three systems away. The facility was destroyed, but we found no signs of human activity."
No human traces. The mechanoids had acted autonomously, ruling out direct manipulation. Bai Sha's mind raced, the implications chilling.
"Did you intercept any Silver Core command signals?" Cecil asked, his voice calm but edged with expectation.
The investigator hesitated, his jaw tightening. "None. We may have arrived too late to capture viable data."
"Tracking the Silver Core is like chasing a ghost," a minister interjected, his tone resigned. "Its elusiveness is expected. What about the Starbugs?"
The investigator's hologram shifted, displaying forensic data. "The Starbugs were embedded in the arena's walls, dormant until the match's destruction woke them. His Highness cleared most, but we extracted residual samples. We can't yet determine their maximum dormancy period."
Starbugs were masters of stealth, capable of lying in wait for weeks, even months, until triggered. Without knowing their dormancy, pinpointing when they were planted was impossible.
"The arena used a mix of recycled structures from other planets and newly built ones, aged for aesthetic," the investigator continued, frustration creeping into his voice. "The blend makes tracing origins nearly impossible. We cross-referenced the arena's blueprints, but found nothing."
How had the Starbugs infiltrated? Perhaps during transport, or mixed into the materials. The arena, a joint Empire-Federation project, had passed through countless hands, muddying the trail. The Empire's team had sifted through a deluge of data to no avail, and the Federation's efforts mirrored their failure.
"We suspect the Federation's investigation is lacking," the investigator said, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "They likely think the same of us. Full transparency between us is a fantasy."
A family head scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "The Federation's hiding something. Why else plant so many military spectators? They knew trouble was coming, cushioned their losses with trained personnel."
"Enough," Wei Li, Cecil's chief minister, cut in, his monocle glinting. "Petty accusations waste time. Their actions could be precaution, just as ours seem suspicious to them. Starbugs first appeared in our territory—some might argue we bred their variants. Blame achieves nothing without evidence."
The room fell silent, the air thick with frustration. The report was a litany of dead ends, a stark reminder of the Silver Core's intangibility.
"Feeling the thorns yet?" Cecil murmured, leaning toward Bai Sha, his voice low. "This is the norm with the Silver Core—chasing shadows, finding nothing."
Catching an electronic wraith was a Sisyphean task. Bai Sha shook her head, her eyes scanning the investigator's report on her light-brain. She paused at the arena's blueprint, her brow furrowing as she studied its lines. Something was off. She expanded the hologram, zooming in and out, her fingers dancing across the interface.
"You're sure this is the designer's original?" she asked, her voice sharp, eyes like cold lightning.
The investigator blinked, then nodded. "Confirmed."
"Contact every worker who built the arena," Bai Sha said, her gaze locked on the blueprint. "Have them verify it. This doesn't match what I saw in the arena—some details are wrong."
Cecil's eyebrow rose. "You memorized the arena's layout?"
"I fought there," Bai Sha replied, her tone dry. "It's not that strange."
The investigator, though surprised, didn't question her. "I'll arrange it. Some workers are Federation-based, so it may take time."
Bai Sha nodded, then opened her light-brain's contacts, messaging Zhou Ying.
Bai Sha: You there?
Zhou Ying: Yep.
Bai Sha: How much of the arena's terrain do you remember?
A string of ellipses followed. Just as Bai Sha assumed he'd forgotten, a hefty file arrived, accompanied by a voice message. Zhou Ying's tone was flat, almost resigned. "Arena scan map. Our team's cyborg put it together."
The admission was a subtle jab at their loss, their tech outmatched by Bai Sha's team. She smirked, typing a quick "Thanks," then overlaid the scan with the blueprint. Her suspicion was confirmed—discrepancies glared in the structural details. She circled the mismatches and sent them to the investigator.
"Check again," she said, her voice low but resonant, striking the investigator like a quiet thunderclap. "Either someone lied, or the system did."
The room stirred, a ripple of intrigue breaking the earlier stagnation. Bai Sha leaned back, her Blackbird chirping softly, as if echoing her resolve. The Silver Core's game was afoot, and she was no mere pawn.