Altopereh stood motionless now atop the twin moons of Antia, the metal panels covering its cockpit slowly crumbling and fully exposing it. Its core—housing the monster inside—now lay exposed just above the cockpit, still faintly glowing as if wanting to wake again. But Altopereh was truly done. Its last attack had decimated nearly every remaining ship, leaving only five: the Morphius, Leonora's flagship Millia, and three barely-holding warships.
On the Morphius control deck, the two generals stared at the battlefield in awe. Despite all their campaigns, they had never witnessed a battle more terrifying or costly than this. It was as if the devil itself had climbed from hell and joined the fight. Nevertheless, even though their mission had not been completed, Altopereh was now back under the Empire's chains. The Tartarusios' most dangerous weapon was gone, and it was only a matter of time before they shared the same fate.
Mikhail turned to Leonora and said, "I don't know how we survived. I saw my life flash before my eyes twice, and yet here I am. I just hope my men can forgive me—for I marched them straight into hell."
Leonora stood silent for a moment, looking at Altopereh, then replied, "I don't know, Mikhail. I came here to witness my husband's execution… but in the end, the ones executed were my men. As his once-wife, I'm not worthy of asking forgiveness from them. I can only hope I'll atone in the future, however long this mere life of mine goes on."
Leonora's words made Emilia step forward. She gently placed a hand on Leonora's shoulder and said, "Don't be so hard on yourself, Leonora. His sins aren't yours to bear—least of all the casualties of this battle. Every soldier who boarded those ships knew exactly what they were heading into. Bless their souls for the noble cause they gave their lives to. Sorrow would only harden their passage."
Leonora smiled faintly and whispered to herself, "I guess he wasn't sure which ship I was on… To think you'd miss on purpose and let me live. I don't know if I can forgive you for that."
The Morphius retrieved Altopereh from Antia's orbit. Inside the flagship, the once-towering orbiton barely resembled its old self. Mechanics surrounded it, climbing atop the cockpit. With a giant plasma saw they began cutting into it, trying to open it so they could retrieve Youri's body per Leonora's orders. The saw made painfully slow progress against the monstrous alloy. It took six hours before they cut enough to initiate the emergency release.
The cockpit hatch tore open with a violent hiss, revealing Youri's body—cut, bruised, and covered in blood. One mechanic shone a light into the cockpit and froze as he saw Youri's finger twitch. He quickly pressed two fingers to Youri's neck and shouted:
"He's alive! Quick—get the commander!"
Emilia was on the deck when an officer burst in, barely catching his breath.
"Commander! The Duke—he's still alive!"
Emilia frowned sharply. "What are you saying?"
"Altopereh's pilot is alive," the officer repeated.
Emilia rushed to the hangar. When she entered, Youri lay on the floor surrounded by mechanics. She pushed her way through, knelt beside him, and checked his pulse. It was faint—but present. The news raced through the flagship like wildfire, reaching Leonora in her quarters.
Leonora stormed toward the hangar. As she stepped inside, she saw Emilia and shouted, "What the hell is going on here?!"
The room fell silent.
Emilia rose and answered, "General… we need a med team. I think your husband is still alive."
Leonora froze. Then—in an instant—she ran to Youri, knelt, and held his face.
"Get a medical officer here immediately!" she shouted, tears dripping onto his cheeks. Leonora, who had thought she would never see him again, now clung desperately to a tiny flicker of hope.
Back on Fansilia, a young soldier sprinted through the halls of the royal council, his steps echoing beneath the vaulted ceilings. Reaching the prime minister's office, he struggled to speak through heavy breaths.
"I have urgent news from General Rozasar," he said to Alia.
"The Prime Minister is busy," Alia replied calmly. "I can relay it."
"I'm sorry," the soldier said, "but I must speak with him directly. I'm under strict orders."
"Then you'll have to wait," Alia responded.
"Shit—there's no time," he muttered.
He suddenly vaulted over Alia's desk and ran straight toward Alan's office.
"What do you think you're doing?!" Alia shouted, but it was too late.
The young soldier burst into the Prime Minister's office.
The office exuded a regal calm, wrapped in deep mahogany tones and gold flourishes. At the heart sat a commanding wooden desk, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen. Behind it, a tufted leather chair stood like a throne, flanked by twin armchairs that invite—but do not presume—conversation. Rich wood paneling climbed the walls, carved with ornate motifs and kissed with gold accents. Built-in bookshelves stretch behind the desk, filled with leather-bound volumes and curated curios. Glass doors trimmed in gold protect the treasures within, while a framed painting and twin red candles gave the room a bit softer touch.
But the office was empty.
The soldier looked around, awe-struck—until the air behind the leather chair rippled like water. A man stepped out.
His golden hair fell in soft, windswept waves, each strand catching the light as though it held a glimmer of dawn within it. The gentle curls framed a face both regal and ethereal, lending him an air of effortless nobility.
His skin was smooth and luminous, with a warm, almost radiant glow that contrasted strikingly with the cool, piercing blue of his eyes. Those eyes held a quiet intensity—distant yet thoughtful, as if he were gazing far beyond the world before him. His lips, full and softly colored, carried a serene, almost melancholic poise.
He smiled once and moved closer.
The soldier barked, "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
The mysterious man smiled again. "Oh, right—give me a second."
A white hue enveloped him, then faded—revealing Alan.
The soldier froze. "Prime Minister… is that you?"
Alan exhaled once and said, "These Terrians…" Then he slowly raised his hand and closed it around the soldier's throat. The young man gasped as his life drained away.
"Aha… so that's what you wanted to tell me," Alan murmured, a sinister smile widening across his face.
The soldier's body disintegrated into shimmering light particles, scattering through the air.
Alan sat down behind his desk, clasped his hands beneath his chin, and said quietly:
"Things might get interesting."