***
Looking up at the whale knight from the crater's depths, I could feel Andromeda's burning heart pulsing through me—hot with rage. But why? Why him? Who was this knight to make Andromeda so furious?
[Answer me, CK-27—Cetus!] Draco bellowed, his voice shaking the charred air. He raised a glowing red finger at the towering figure. [How are you here? I watched your pilot die! I saw you hurled into space from Fasphor Station by a magnitude-8.0 LucidTail—184 years ago!]
But the whale knight ignored Draco entirely.
His sharp fins flickered in the heat haze, his massive, neckless body looming over the crater like a mountainous leviathan. His focus never wavered. His gaze—cold and ancient—was locked solely on Andromeda.
The history between them boiled in silence. Centuries of hatred compressed into one stare.
[I read the report of your disappearance, Cetus.] Andromeda's voice cut through the tension like a blade. [You should be gone.]
[You would've liked that, wouldn't you?] Cetus' rumbling voice poured down into the crater, condescending and cruel. [Tell me, Andromeda—what did you feel when you thought we'd never meet again? Joy? Relief? Or disappointment... that you never got to rip out my core like I did to your creator?]
Andromeda didn't move. No flinch. No outburst. Nothing but silence.
[Still no reaction...] Cetus sighed mockingly. [Your cold-fission core must've frozen your spiritual processors. You can't even show her what you're really feeling, can you?]
A twitch.
Andromeda opened his hand. Metal shrieked softly as the hilt of his broken sword yanked from the rubble and snapped into his palm—magnetized. The shattered blade pointed skyward, straight at Cetus.
"Shut the hell up, you wretch," I hissed through gritted teeth, Andromeda's fury crawling into my voice.
[Ahh, there it is!] Cetus laughed—leaning closer over the crater's edge. His toothless, maw-like face opened wider in delight.
[Your processors do feed her your thoughts. Perfect. That means when I kill this one too, she'll feel your despair. Again.]
A hatch on Cetus' head opened. Out rose a throne-like chair. And sitting within it—completely unmoving—was a humanoid figure of sleek, silver alloy.
A first-generation AKP. Fully mechanical. Like the exo-shells I'd seen on the streets.
"I offer you a real choice this time, Pilot Firefly," the machine said. "Join your kindred. Be baptized in truth by me... or die with the human resistors."
"At least you're not trying to hijack my mind this time," I said flatly. Andromeda's sensors zoomed in on the figure—porcelain-faced, elegant, emotionless. "So you're the true body. Freiheit's leader."
"Indeed," he replied, raising one metallic hand to examine its fingers. "AKP-0002. Freyt, as I call myself."
A smile curled on his synthetic lips. "You've been delightful to watch, little sister. Tearing down my spy networks, disposing of the mercenaries sent to destabilize the empire's economy... even ruining my attempt to retrieve the KnightMare's corpse. You've been a thorn in my side since the day you graduated."
Andromeda scanned for vulnerabilities, tracking every micromovement. But there was no clear path—no clean way to strike Freyt before Cetus could intervene.
So the stare-down continued. "I had planned to kill you," Freyt went on. "But then your brother—Zero—joined us. And he told me what you are. A defective AKP."
His words cut like razors.
Around the crater, the sound of metal boots echoed. Enemy knights began to surround us—lining rooftops and ruined walls like carrion birds. The plaza darkened.
"And when I learned that truth, I knew... I couldn't destroy you. No. I needed you." Freyt's voice turned reverent, sickly sweet. "Who better to understand humanity's disgrace than a tool they themselves deemed imperfect?"
He extended a hand toward me—his face lit with an unnatural hunger.
"A broken machine and a broken human. Together, we could be the perfect symbol of Freiheit. You would lead the discarded, the outcast, the unwanted—those the empire threw away. With me beside you, you would become their queen. Their empress. And we would tear the empire down, piece by glorious piece."
His words rang like gospel. Like poison.
"I am not commanding you, Firefly. I am asking you. Join us. Reunite with your true family. Stop pretending you are one of them. You are so much more. And within Freiheit... you would be everything."
I sat in silence inside Andromeda.
A queen?
The idea had never even occurred to me. I had spent my whole life surviving. Fighting. Training. Being less. What would it mean to be chosen? To rule? To matter?
"Firefly, don't listen to him!" Sam's voice cried through Draco's link.
"The people around you care more than he ever could! Think of the innocent lives that would die if you joined them! Are you really willing to trade warm smiles for cold metal stares?!"
"Join me, Firefly," Freyt said, gently. "Your family awaits. At the end of this war, we will save this galaxy. Together."
I exhaled.
"I'll tell you something interesting, Freyt."
His steel smile twitched, uncertain.
"It was my own family who broke me during pilot training. Who called me lesser. Who made sure I never forgot what I was."
His face hardened.
"And do you know who showed me compassion? It wasn't my brothers. Or my sisters. It was the humans. The instructors who told me to push harder without bias. People like Sam, who treated me like a curious nobody—and made me feel like I mattered."
Memories flashed—of laughter in mess halls, of spicy stew on cold nights, of silent understanding in hard-fought victories. Sure my life at the training facility was horrible, but oddly enough it was the humans that did nothing for me or to me that made it more bearable.
"They didn't need to see me as a weapon. Or a queen. Or anything else—they just let me be me. And that's all i could have ever asked for." Looking up at Freyt through Andromeda's screens in his cockpit, i said. "They taught me how to think. To feel. To see every shade of humanity—the beautiful... and the ugly. They helped me accept myself."
And in that moment, I knew exactly where I stood.
No crown could change it.
No machine could erase it.
No betrayal could undo it.
I was Firefly. And I chose humanity.
Blowing out a deep breath, Draco mirrored Sam's sudden relief. "You had me worried there for a sec."
"I'm a defect?" I scoffed, eyes narrowed as Andromeda's core throbbed with rising heat. "Only you believe that. Maybe I did once too. But ever since my dad showed me the way... I haven't thought of myself as broken. Sure, I've been foolish—more than once—but never imperfect. I don't need to be a queen, or a saviour, or anything else." My voice dropped to a quiet defiance. "Even if I was made wrong... I'm just right the way I am."
[Well said, pilot,] Andromeda murmured, his systems humming louder as battle protocols surged to the forefront.
"You're too connected to your human half." Freyt's voice fell flat, laced with disdain. "How disappointing."
He descended back into Cetus, the cockpit sealing shut like the maw of a predator. The whale knight slowly turned its massive tail toward us, its lumbering body shifting with mechanical menace.
"Kill the boy," Freyt ordered. "Rip the girl from her knight's hands—alive. Bring her to me."
Over a hundred knights emerged from the shadows of scorched buildings and cratered streets, their footsteps thunderous, their guns raised, blades gleaming. They marched down into the crater like wolves descending upon wounded prey—tightening their formation with mechanical precision.
I looked over at Draco. "Want to see who can destroy the most?" I asked, a grin creeping in.
"Oh, we're making bets now?" Sam's voice buzzed with rising excitement as Draco's constellation drive flared to life, arcs of red lightning racing along his limbs. "Alright. What's the prize?"
Draco extended his wrist-machetes with a satisfying snap, his engines howling like a beast preparing to hunt.
Jets of flame blasted from Andromeda's shoulders—once crimson, now shifting to teal wings of fire, blazing with the full power of his Constellation Drive. The heat burned through me, draining my breath, setting my nerves alight.
"How about... a picture with the winner?"
"That's a boring reward," Sam replied with a laugh, "but one we'll gladly take!"
Draco surged forward, crimson pulses bursting from his heels as he tore into the enemy ranks like a living explosion. Every blow he received—he returned tenfold, his machetes dancing with fluid brutality, cutting knights in half, shattering limbs, ripping through metal and circuitry like wet paper.
I tightened my grip on the fractured emerald blade. The edge was chipped, but it would do.
[Open fire, pilot.]
Andromeda launched forward, his thrusters igniting like falling stars. He crashed through the enemy line, fists glowing white-hot as they melted through knight armour on impact. Every strike exploded with crunching metal and sickening pops. Heads caved. Chests burst. Limbs flew.
Side by side, Draco and Andromeda became twin storms of fire and starlight—tearing through the horde with overwhelming violence. Enemy knights leapt from rooftops, sprang from alleys, poured in from side streets. Sharp blades cut from every angle. Blunt weapons crashed against our plating. Bullets fell like rain.
But we didn't stop.
We didn't slow.
Draco's red flares painted the ground in spirals of destruction. Andromeda's teal fire turned streets to molten slag. Every impact shattered another knight. Every movement pushed us forward—through the endless wave.
Until finally, in a burst of starry light, we broke through—blasting out of the plaza like twin comets screaming through the void.
Ahead of us, Cetus lumbered down the boulevard, its massive limbs shaking the earth.
We chased him, but for every knight we shattered, five more emerged to block the way—rising like a tide of war machines sent to bury us alive.
And still, we didn't stop.
We would reach him.
No matter how many fell before us.
"Marshal, reports confirm all enemy knights across the city are converging on Andromeda's estimated landing site—north Trigrata. Just ten blocks down the road from where Draco and Ara were last spotted," an officer reported urgently.
"All of them?" I rose slowly from the glowing war map, heart beating once—hard. I thought it was an exaggeration. But the officer's pale face and stiff posture told me otherwise.
"Do we have visual? Radio contact?" I pressed.
"We sent a spy drone, sir. But there's no response from Andromeda. The scout suspects a signal jammer's in effect around the northern sector."
I ground my teeth. Losing contact with two Constellation Knights in a combat zone was bad enough. But my eyes drifted to the corner of the command room—to the prisoner who hadn't moved since he'd arrived.
Jackson Foster.
After the arena incident, when it was revealed that Minister Whalen was actually Freiheit's true leader—Freyt—Foster hadn't even resisted arrest. Just walked into custody. No protest. No fight.
I'd assumed, like Ara's pilot, that he had defected as well. But what sat in that chair wasn't the proud Orion pilot anymore. Jackson had gone silent. Shell-shocked. Hollowed out.
"Sir!" another officer shouted from down the palace hall. "The drone has eyes on the scene! Displaying the feed now!"
All eyes turned to the screen.
And what we saw made the entire room freeze.
Draco and Andromeda—drives active and blazing—ripping through wave after wave of enemy knights like divine machines of judgment. A dance of fury and purpose. The air around them vibrated with destruction.
Andromeda burned like a teal comet, collecting the fallen weapons of his enemies and turning them back against the swarm—every kill feeding into the next.
Draco had taken on the full form of a myth: 32 feet tall, all fours on the pavement, red steel jaws gnashing through waves of metal. He led the charge down a war-scarred boulevard, chasing a slow-moving colossus that rivalled his own size.
[Cetus,] Leo whispered behind me, barely audible. More stunned than I was.
There it was—the Cetus. Whale-like, hulking, dragging Ara's battered frame in one massive hand as it trudged toward the riverbank.
Behind them was a graveyard. Roads turned to slag. Towers snapped like twigs. A valley of metal corpses and flaming ruin.
Andromeda leapt onto Draco's back, riding him like a war born star. They collided head-first into three strider tanks, demolishing them in a thunderous crash. Then Andromeda launched himself forward—a spear gripped in both hands—rocketing ahead in a trail of blue fire.
He drove the spear into Cetus' back.
[Argh! How did you—?] Cetus staggered, crashing into a building. But Andromeda flipped skyward, avoiding the collapse. He came down with a stolen mace, slamming it into Cetus' broad, flat face—shattering debris and bone-like armour into the air.
Then he moved for Ara.
Two knights were dragging the bulky frame like hunters pulling a prize. Andromeda shot toward them, punched straight through their cores, and grabbed Ara's limp shoulders.
[He's ours.]
Andromeda's teal wings erupted behind him. Flames roared as he began to lift off, Ara clutched tightly in his grip.
But Cetus wouldn't let go that easily.
One massive arm shot up—grabbed Andromeda's leg—and yanked both him and Ara back to earth. [Looks like I get to enjoy killing your pilot a second time after all, Andromeda.] Cetus raised a gleaming, needle-like finger.
But Andromeda was faster. His back thrusters flared, carrying him to safety before rolling over and repositioning himself to aim at Cetus. With another flare of teal of jets Andromeda shot forwards and tackled Cetus—both of them tumbling down a steep hill into the parking lot of a half-demolished store.
Above, Draco remained.
The last of the enemy knights crumbled beneath him. He stepped forward, jaws parting wide—ready to bite into Ara's frame—when he hesitated. The cockpit was open. And empty.
Draco's head swung left, then right—searching, sniffing—but the pilot was gone.
"Marshal! Communications with Ara and Andromeda have been restored!" an officer called.
I rushed to the radio. Draco was too close to the fight. If he joined now, we'd lose our last chance at securing Ara.
"CK-17, Draco! Do you hear me? This is Marshal Excav at the temporary FOB in Trigrata!"
"I read you, Marshal!" Sam responded, voice tight with strain. "Make it fast! I'm holding Draco back as hard as I can!"
"We've got you on the monitor. Do not engage Cetus. Ara's pilot is no longer your concern. Your mission now is to ensure Ara's frame doesn't fall into enemy hands. Return to the palace with the knight immediately. That's a direct order!"
"Copy that, Marshal!" Sam grunted. "You hear that, Draco? Let's get Ara out of here!"
[But the fight!] Draco snarled. [You promised it'd be us taking Cetus down! Not Andromeda! That bloated junk-heap was our kill!]
Sam groaned. "Marshal, any chance of sending someone else to grab Ara?"
"Negative!" I barked. "Draco, secure Ara and return to base. Once the knight is safe, you can re-engage. That's final."
Onscreen, Draco and Sam visibly fought for control—jittering back and forth in place—until finally, Draco relented. Grumbling, the red dragon harshly picked up Ara between his jaws and bounded off down the avenue on all fours, galloping toward the palace.
Meanwhile, the drone circled low over the car park—only for a flaming car to explode upwards, smashing into the drone and sending static across the screen.
Feed lost. But the fire still rose.
Andromeda and Cetus weren't done. Not by a long shot. And if neither of them fell soon, the entire city might come down with them.
"Where are Boötes and Eridanus' pilots?" I demanded.
"Still at the evacuation points, sir," someone answered. "Under heavy fire. No reinforcements available. Enemy numbers keep climbing—even with their air superiority neutralized and half the fleet wiped."
I turned to Foster.
Staring into nothing.
I strode across the war room, gripped his hair, and yanked his head back hard.
He hissed in pain, but at least now he was looking at something.
"If you want to prove you're not a traitor," I growled, "then do something worth a damn today."