It was done quietly—almost in secret—before we departed. The Empress gave me my official military rank.
Rover-Captain Firefly.
A title she had created solely for me. It granted near-unrestricted movement across imperial territory, ranking me just beneath a Marshal, on equal standing with a General. In terms of evaluated combat effectiveness, I was now considered a constellation-grade knight... assuming this ordainment was ever officially recognized.
"A one-of-a-kind treasure," the Empress had said, smiling gently as she placed the rank badge into my palm before I boarded the ship. "All your future taskings, once you've recovered, will come directly from me, Rover-Captain Firefly."
I stared at the badge. A sword with fairy wings. Elegant. Fragile. Out of place in a world of death and war.
"Why... something so special, Your Majesty?" I asked, barely able to look her in the eye. "I'm not the right one to receive such favour."
"Trust me. You are." Her voice was calm, assured. "The empire values prosperity above bloodlines. A soldier who cries so deeply for strangers they've never met deserves this more than you realize. You moved the hearts of many simply by standing beside me."
To argue with her now would be to tarnish her grace with my self-doubt. So, quietly, I bowed my head and accepted her words.
The Empress read me easily—my reluctance, my guilt. With a sigh, she leaned slightly closer.
"People aren't omnipotent, Firefly. No one can save everyone. Suffering is stitched into the fabric of life. You fulfilled your duty—not just by fighting, or defending the empire's pillars—but by doing something far rarer. You tried to be better."
I looked up at her, uncertain of what she meant.
"I know many of my soldiers fight for selfish reasons," she continued. "Money. Benefits. Stability. For many, the military is the only home they've ever known. But for you, it's different. You were made to serve. Your purpose was written into your bones—live and die for the empire. Your siblings understood that. Zero did, too. And yet..."
She smiled sadly.
"You were the only one who ever asked why."
Shame rose to my face. I couldn't meet her gaze anymore. It was true. I had questioned it countless times—long before the coup, long before the war. I had even asked Traveler and Andromeda during my early pilot training.
"You try to be better because you know what is beautiful in this empire. You understand what deserves to be protected—and what deserves to be cast into the fire," the Empress said, placing her fingers gently on my cheek, guiding my eyes back to hers. Her smile was radiant with quiet pride. "And I don't mind that... because it's already clear you deem me as beautiful. That's why you didn't betray me when you had the chance. You found a future worth fighting for."
"...It's something stupid," I muttered, flustered. "Even Traveler said so. He said—"
"That your morals have an aesthetic criteria?" she interrupted, finishing the sentence I couldn't.
I blinked, startled. She knew exactly what Traveler had said.
"Yes," she continued. "It's something he would say. That if you burn a spider, you're a hero—but if you incinerate a kitten, you're a villain. That's what he meant, isn't it?"
I nodded, biting back the memory of Traveler's half-hour monologue about moral aesthetics, which ended with him hurling his snack apple into a tree and asking me, 'Would you call that a beautiful or ugly act of morality?' I still had no idea what he was trying to prove. But what he said afterward never left me.
"Tell me, Rover-Captain Firefly," the Empress asked softly, "what was your teacher's conclusion after hearing the future you chose for yourself?"
I closed my eyes and recalled that quiet moment in the forest—the breeze in the trees, the faint chirping of birds, and Traveler's voice.
"I had a close friend who saw the world the same way," he said. "She adored mundane things, even though she was the glitteriest person I'd ever met. That's how we bonded. So I asked her one day why she saw the world that way. She told me:
'Anyone can adore the painted canvas, but it takes heart to love the brushstrokes. It's easy to love the masterpiece, but rare to love the process.'
"It stumped all of us for days," he said, laughing. "Especially considering how flashy she was. But... it did explain why she loved my boring angel of a brother so much."
The Empress smiled, satisfied with my answer. Then she turned, her ceremonial robes catching the wind as she prepared to leave.
"Always remember what he taught you, Rover-Captain Firefly," she said. "Even I don't know what kind of background Traveler comes from to speak with such storied wisdom. Who knows what he's lived through to worry about us so loosely."
Before she left, I asked one last question.
"What's going to happen to Ara?"
She paused.
"CK-44's situation has no precedent," she said after a moment. "He's severed from his pilot, who turned traitor, but he remains active. He's been helpful—offering detailed intelligence on Freiheit's infrastructure—but that doesn't make him safe. He may be buried in deep storage, hidden on a remote planet, or used for classified weapons testing. We don't know yet."
"...I only asked because... Ara begged me to kill Zero when he finally regained his voice. He's still loyal to the empire. That's all I wanted to say."
The Empress gave a knowing nod. "I'll remember that. Regardless of the final decision, your insight matters."
Then she departed, escorted by her guards, vanishing into the halls behind her.
I sat quietly, letting Traveler's words echo in my mind more than they already had throughout my short life.
"Anyone can adore the painted canvas, but it takes heart to love the brushstrokes. It's easy to love the masterpiece, but rare to love the process."
After that day, Traveler brought me leaves and stones, even little animals from around the forest. Each day he'd ask me: "Do you see them as beautiful?" And every day, I'd say yes. He would smile, pat my head gently, and whisper: "Thank you."
I don't know how, but the Empress knew exactly how to pull me from the darkness. Not by dismissing it—but by replacing it.
With warmth.
With memory.
With the strange, joyful, chaotic conversations I used to have with Dad.
Afterward, I was taken back to Rogue Raven Base by the Commander, Jason, and Nicole to complete my recovery in safety. Commander Peter returned to the front lines almost immediately, leaving my care primarily to Maya, with Jason and Nicole handling my daily needs. Two doctors I hadn't met before were assigned to oversee my medication and monitor my recovery.
Andromeda hadn't fared much better. His body was so damaged during the fight with Cetus that nearly his entire outer shell needed replacing. Some internal gears had to be reworked too. But the emerald sword... it couldn't be saved. Even with every shattered piece recovered, there was no way to repair it. All Maya could do was melt it down and refit the material into something new.
Still, there was a silver lining. Thanks to the damage, Maya could finally install the upgrades I'd been eyeing for Andromeda—enhancements that were long overdue, especially now that he understood the need to evolve after his stalemate with Cetus. He'd come close to losing. That realization changed him.
There wasn't much I could do physically. I had to leave everything in Maya's hands, which frustrated me more than I expected. Most days, I tried to help in the garden, only to be dragged back inside by one of my two new doctors.
As time passed at the base, word of the war's rapid escalation reached me. The Empire had turned the tide in the Greyrot quadrant. Ten battalions—backed by the Noblesse Oblige fleets—crushed Freiheit forces in the fourth sector using planet-scale chain-reaction EMP bombs. Now they were advancing into the fifth sector and already approaching the sixth.
Secret warp-tunnels between sectors and neighbouring quadrants had also been discovered—either destroyed or repurposed for imperial use.
Then came news that Constellation Knights were fighting for Freiheit's resistance. Ten had been confirmed, though it was suspected more remained hidden, waiting for the right moment to strike. Their involvement was first revealed when the General of the Ultra Guard Knight Battalion—one of the new ones—was killed by an enemy CK. A lieutenant took over the fallen Constellation Knight after its resurgence protocol activated.
Meanwhile, Sam was becoming something of a legend on the front lines. As General Fenrir's new second-in-command with the Harmonic Pack Battalion, she'd earned the nickname "Victorious Dragon," a title that even reached broadcast reports. I couldn't help wondering how Verwin felt, having her position beside Fenrir usurped—especially after forming her own battalion from the ground up.
As for Alex and Freya, there was less news. Their movements were harder to track, especially as they pushed deeper into contested territories. Still, they were alive. They were working hard. That much, I knew for certain.
By the end of my first month in recovery, I began physical training again, limited though I was by lingering wounds. I was just grateful to walk on my own—even if I had to rely on a cane. It meant I could finally help Maya with Andromeda's upgrades. Not that she ever let me do much before having Nicole or Jason drag me out of the underground hangar the moment she noticed I was pushing myself.
At least no one interrupted me while working on the garden anymore. The little drone Monica got for me had been a huge help in maintaining the flowers. I wasn't sure when it happened, but someone had added fish and turtles to the pond. Ducks had even started nesting nearby.
It had become such a peaceful space. Sometimes, I couldn't help but fall asleep among the flowers, lulled by their gentle fragrance and the whisper of wind through petals. Somehow, someone always carried me back to my room without waking me. I'd open my eyes each time with a groggy sense of confusion.
Then, after two full months of recovery, I was finally cleared for active duty again. Without hesitation, I went straight to the hangar.
It was time.
[Are you set, Pilot Firefly?] Andromeda asked, running diagnostics as he loaded his new weapons. The fresh modifications gleamed under the hangar lights, seamless in their integration.
"It's been too long waiting," I said, already stepping toward him. "Let's show them their patience was worth it."
[Then please embark with the fireteam, Pilot. I will be right beside you, as always.]
I climbed aboard, heart steady.
For the first time in months, I felt whole again.
And I was ready—to stand for the empire, to fight for its citizens, and to shield this galaxy from the ugly ideals of Freyt.
"You failed, Freyt," the man in the nightmarish blue robe hissed, voice coiled in rage. "You promised the attack would succeed. That Nymphar would fall. Yet it still stands! And now the Empire's people are working harder than ever to uproot your spies and dismantle the cults. The assassins you sent clearly failed. Even worse—your mercenary couldn't retrieve the God's Advent."
His eyes flicked toward me across the steel-walled room. He flinched when he noticed my pistol raised beneath my arm, half-hidden in shadow.
"Disarm," Freyt commanded, more preoccupied with his partially melted arm than my defiance.
I rolled my eyes and holstered the pistol, playing the obedient dog. For now.
"The message was delivered," Freyt said, voice distant. "The Empire's civilians are in chaos. Their armies are the only truly united force left within the hegemony of forced sovereignty. All we must do now... is remove the focus of their collective hate. Without it, the Empire will tear itself apart trying to find a new scapegoat."
"You're dissolving Freiheit?" I asked, arching a brow. I scoffed, unsure whether to be amused or alarmed. "Who the hell's going to keep my pockets full now?"
"Freiheit will not disband. We only need Nymphas to believe it has," Freyt replied. With a fluid, unhesitating motion, he laid his scorched arm across the table and sliced it off.
"The sudden war the Empress launched caught me off guard," he continued, as blood and oil dripped in harmony. "It disrupted much. But the schedule remains unchanged. The weapon will be completed."
"That won't sway the great houses," a mechanical voice chimed in. Another synthetic, a lieutenant like Freyt, but less... flamboyant. "The vassal-states are fractured from the Empire. Their loyalty hinges on fear—the fear wielded by the Constellation Knights. Your possession of that fear has only unified them further. Their tithes buy protection. But you, Chief Freyt, with a weapon pointed in all directions, have become a catalyst for collective resistance. Your CK's craving for amusement has dulled your tactical edge."
Freyt stood slowly, almost languidly, and began circling the room.
"You doubt me?" His voice had dropped to something colder, quieter. "It was my plan that infiltrated the central galaxy. My army, my hand-forged weapons. My ambition that brought us to the gates of their paradise."
He stopped beside the sceptic and tilted his head.
"And what have you done?" Freyt asked, low and razor-thin. "Except manage what I built—because I told you to?"
"You've lost your mind," the droid replied flatly. "The organic part of you is failing after your duel with Andromeda."
Without hesitation, Freyt sliced off the lieutenant's head. A metallic hiss escaped as he then tore off the synthetic's arm.
"And yours," Freyt muttered, reattaching the arm to his own socket with a wet click, "is obsolete."
Returning to the head of the table, he sat, his movements strained. "You're not wrong. My body is failing. Andromeda's backlash left irreversible damage. I have maybe a few years left in this... outdated vessel."
His voice dipped into something more human—something weary.
"That's why Freiheit must retreat into the shadows. So I may recover my clarity. Rebuild myself."
"How?" the cultist asked carefully.
Freyt pointed straight at him. "The Empire thinks we're in retreat. Good. Let them. I'm lulling their guard, planting the whispers of a dream across their worlds. Once that dream spreads, once hope takes root, the Empire will eat itself alive trying to preserve its lies. That gives us time—to finish the weapon, and build my new body."
The hall doors slid open. My attention snapped to the two figures who entered.
A boy—half of him scorched and clad in metal, barely concealing the burns. And the doctor. The one who never stopped smiling. A face no sane person could trust.
I recognized them both. Unfortunately.
"My new secondary will oversee all military operations in my absence," Freyt said, voice steadier now. "And she—" he gestured to the doctor, "will provide me with a new body. One worthy of my vision."
"What's our timeline, Zeran?" he asked.
"The Empire will be consumed by infighting within four years, Chief," Zeran replied, hands behind his back. "A false base has already been created to serve as a decoy. Movements to stoke the greed within each noble house have begun. Toppling loyalty built over centuries will take time—but it's underway."
Freyt wheezed softly through his metal mouth, but his tone was light. Almost relieved.
"Remember," he said. "Only the nobles and those in power are to be harmed. Let them fight. Let them tear each other apart. Nymphar was simply a message. Nothing more."
Zeran nodded.
Then, without warning, the robot zipped across the room, gripping the cultist by the throat in a single blur of motion.
"You're lucky your bombs beneath the city were found, Pope of Nightmares," Freyt hissed. "Had they detonated... had innocent blood stained my dream, I would've ensured your screams echoed for decades."
The cultist gasped, choking. "We both want... the Empire gone! Who cares about... sacrifices for such a cause?"
Freyt lifted him higher, unblinking. "I care," he said coldly. "My directive is to save humanity—not end it. The deaths of innocents are not a strategic tool. They are a tragedy. Only kill those who resist change, or seek to hoard the old world's power."
He tossed the robed man across the floor like trash. Then, limping, he turned to the doctor.
"You know your missions. Zeran is my other. Do whatever you must to save this galaxy's people."
As the doctor helped him out of the hall, Freyt moved like a man who had finally begun to feel his age. For the first time since I'd met him, he looked mortal.
One thing was clear—after today, my jobs were going to get far more tedious. And far more dangerous.
Just what is the galaxy going to turn into at this rate?