Millia drifted back into the protective shadow of Central Command.
The once-pristine hull of Leonora's flagship was scorched and torn open along its upper spine. Entire plating segments were gone, exposing rib-like structural beams and flickering conduits that spat occasional sparks into the vacuum. Emergency drones swarmed around her, welding, scanning, sealing breaches as escort frigates formed a protective perimeter.
The battle had lasted less than an hour.
The consequences would linger for years.
Two Royal Knight units—reduced to drifting debris.
One battered beyond recognition.
Dozens injured.
And an enemy that had walked into the Empire's territory, challenged its finest, and vanished at will.
The hangar bay doors of Central Command yawned open, swallowing Millia into the artificial gravity field. As the flagship locked into its berth, the internal clamps hissed into place.
The ramp lowered.
Leonora Kaelthorn climbed out of her cockpit slowly.
Her uniform was torn at the shoulder, darkened with blood. A deep cut traced along her forearm, and dried crimson marked the side of her temple where she had struck the control console during the first impact. Mechanics and medics rushed toward her the moment her boots hit the metallic deck.
"General, you're bleeding—"
"I'm fine," she snapped, pulling her arm away.
"Ma'am, we need to—"
"I said I'm fine."
Her voice carried steel. The personnel froze instinctively. Leonora descended the remaining steps herself, jaw tight, ignoring the dull ache radiating through her arm.
Her eyes were already searching.
The NOIR unit stood at the far end of the hangar, towering and silent. Scorch marks traced across its torso. One shoulder plate was cracked. Its left forearm bore a deep gouge from the rogue orbiton's plasma blade.
The cockpit hatch was still sealed.
Leonora strode across the hangar without another word.
Inside the NOIR cockpit, Youri sat motionless, helmet resting beside him. Multiple holographic screens hovered in front of his face, replaying fragments of the battle: the rogue orbiton's movements slowed frame by frame, energy spikes mapped in red, structural strain projections scrolling along the margins.
He leaned forward, eyes sharp.
"There," he muttered to himself. "Energy surge before the overdrive… it's not random."
Suddenly—
The cockpit hatch burst open with a sharp hydraulic hiss.
Youri jolted upright.
Leonora climbed inside without permission, fury blazing in her silver eyes.
"I told you," she said, voice low but trembling with anger, "not to go out alone."
Youri stared at her for a moment.
He had expected this.
What he hadn't expected was the blood running down her wrist.
He rose slowly from the pilot's seat.
"And I told you," he replied quietly, "that I could handle it."
"You could have been killed!" she shot back. "Do you understand that? You left without informing me. Without informing Central Command. You engaged an unknown enemy after we had already suffered losses!"
"And if I hadn't?" Youri countered. "It would have continued testing us. Picking ships apart one by one."
"That was not your decision to make!"
He stepped closer.
The anger in her voice faltered when he gently took her injured hand.
She tried to pull away.
He didn't let her.
"You're bleeding," he said softly.
She hissed through her teeth. "It's nothing."
He lifted her hand slightly, inspecting the cut. His fingers were steady, but his expression hardened.
"I'm sorry," he said.
The words surprised her.
"But right now," he continued, "you need medical attention more than you need to yell at me."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The hum of the hangar echoed around them.
Leonora pulled her hand free.
"I don't need help," she said, but her voice had lost its edge.
She turned abruptly and climbed down from the cockpit.
Youri watched her go.
He didn't follow immediately.
Instead, he turned back to the holographic displays. The rogue orbiton's image froze mid-motion: matte-black armor, amber visor slit glowing faintly, twin cannons mounted high like spires of judgment.
It had not fought like a pirate.
It had not fought like a terrorist.
It had studied them.
Tested them.
And when its output spiked to nearly one hundred and seventy percent—beyond safe Royal Knight thresholds—it had done so deliberately.
"This wasn't random," Youri murmured.
Leonora walked alone through the vast corridors of Central Command.
The station's interior was immaculate—polished alloy floors, towering glass panels overlooking the curvature of Terria below, officers moving with disciplined purpose. Normally, the sight filled her with pride.
Today, it felt suffocating.
She had lost men.
She had lost machines entrusted only to the Emperor's most elite guard.
Two Royal Knight units—destroyed under her command.
She clenched her injured hand.
Not just defeated.
Outmatched.
Somewhere out there existed a machine that could challenge the might of the Terrian Empire and survive.
That humiliation burned more deeply than the wound on her arm.
She entered Central Command Headquarters and requested an immediate secure channel with the Prime Minister under the classification of Urgent Military Matter.
Minutes later, the wall-length screen flickered to life.
Prime Minister Alan appeared, standing behind the broad window of his office overlooking the capital below. His expression was composed, calculating.
"General Leonora Kaelthorn," he said. His gaze flicked briefly to her bloodied sleeve. "What is the matter?"
Leonora straightened.
"I have a report to make."
She delivered it without embellishment. The unidentified orbiton. The first attack. The damage to Millia. Duke Kaelthorn's initial engagement. The retreat. The second assault. Youri's solo interception with the NOIR unit. The coordinated Royal Knight deployment. The rogue unit's energy spike. The destruction of two units. The heavy damage to her own.
She did not hide the failures.
When she finished, silence hung between them.
Alan folded his hands behind his back.
"And your opinion, General?"
Leonora lifted her chin.
"This unit was not a pirate or a terrorist," she said firmly. "It entered our territory to test itself against us. It measured our response times. Our coordination. Our limits. And it succeeded."
Her jaw tightened.
"For falling into that trap, I take full responsibility. I am prepared to step down as Commander of the Royal Knights and accept any punishment the Emperor deems appropriate."
Alan's eyes sharpened slightly.
"General Leonora Kaelthorn," he said in a colder tone, "your title and duties will not be relinquished because of a single defeat."
She did not respond.
"You faced an unknown enemy with unknown capabilities. Losses occur in war. What matters is how we respond."
He leaned slightly closer to the camera.
"You will continue your service. You will prepare a comprehensive analysis. And you will ensure that the next encounter ends differently."
A pause.
"Do not mistake setback for disgrace."
Leonora inhaled slowly.
"Yes, Prime Minister."
The screen went dark.
The room felt larger once the call ended.
Leonora lowered herself into one of the command chairs, exhaustion finally pressing against her shoulders.
The door slid open quietly.
Youri entered.
He stopped a few steps away, studying her expression.
"How did it go?" he asked.
She gave a faint, humorless smile.
"He told me to keep serving the Empire."
"And?"
"I'm not worthy of that title."
Youri stepped forward and crouched down so they were at eye level.
"That's not true."
She shook her head. "Two Royal Knights gone. My unit barely functional. We were pushed back by a single machine."
"If our lives were defined only by our defeats," Youri said gently, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face, "we would have been erased long ago."
She looked at him.
His hand moved from her hair to her chin, lifting her gaze slightly.
"Raise your head," he said.
Her eyes wavered—but she obeyed.
"We lost a battle," he continued. "We didn't lose the war."