Mid-November, Space Era Year 101.
The sirens of the Central Command howled through the corridors of the flagship Bismarck.Within the dim-lit strategy chamber, Lord Aelyzabeth Thors stood before a vast holographic display,its shifting lines and crimson markers tracing the warfront of the Kepler Union.
Her gaze turned briefly to the boy standing beside her—a child of merely ten years old, clad in the black uniform of an officer,his eyes cold and crystalline, like frozen glass.
"Aerys…""The time has come for you to command a fleet of your own."
She handed him a crimson dossier, the cover embossed with the Thorsian Crest and the official seal of the High Command.
"By my decree, you are hereby appointed Captain of the battleship Santa Maria," "to serve in the Eastern Front under Operation Celestial Dawn."
Aerys regarded the document in silence before giving a single, slight nod. No smile. No thrill. Only acceptance—a solemn acknowledgment of duty to his mother's command.
Battleship Santa Maria.
Model: Astra-Class Support Battleship Armament: Spectrum-energy main cannons, auxiliary beam batteries, and the most advanced radar array in Centory's fleet.
The voice of the communications officer cut through the intercom.
"Captain Aerys, all systems ready. Departure in twenty seconds!"
The boy took his seat in the command chair—and for a moment, the entire crew of one hundred and fifty stared in disbelief. A child, barely ten, seated where most men never dream to stand.
"All ships, form up to support the Bismarck Group." "Set course 030-Delta, speed half-light."
His voice was calm, steady, and absolute. The silence that followed was not disbelief—but obedience.
Weeks of battle followed. The Santa Maria fought across every major front—from the siege of Kepler 139 to the relentless pursuit of enemy convoys through the Delta-7 sector. Under his command, there was no hesitation, no wavering. Every order was precise—cutting and clean as a blade. And with each engagement, victory came without fail.
"Report, Captain! Enemy vessels destroyed—over fifty confirmed!" "Their combat strength down to twelve percent!"
Aerys replied evenly.
"Maintain fire for another three minutes."
He never raised his voice, never showed emotion. His tone—cold, unyielding—became the heartbeat of the crew. And in that chilling steadiness, they found comfort, even faith.
Before long, his name spread throughout the frontlines—"The Child Captain of the Santa Maria," "The boy who solved war like an equation."
11th January, Space Era Year 102.
The war ended in absolute victory for the Centory Kingdom Reich. Reports confirmed the Kepler Union's losses—over thirty million soldiers and more than three thousand warships, their wreckage drifting across the void like an endless graveyard of steel.
Within the ceremonial hall of the Zerwiscz Berlyn Schutz, the trumpets of triumph sounded their solemn hymn. Aelyzabeth Thors descended the dais, bearing a polished steel case in her hands.
"By the authority of the Centory Kingdom Reich," "I bestow upon you the rank of MajorAerys Vilozyver,""in honor of your courage and your command beyond your years."
She pinned the Iron Cross, Class A-IV, upon his chest, followed by the Silver Valor Cross, Class C-IV—awarded for the destruction of over one hundred thousand enemy lives.
Applause thundered through the hall. But Aerys remained still. Silent. He looked down upon the medals as though they were nothing more than cold metal. No pride. No joy. Only the reflection of fire—the memory of war—burning in his eyes.
When the ceremony ended, Aelyzabeth placed a gentle hand upon her son's head.
"You've done well, Aerys… You've made me proud."
He replied softly.
"I merely followed orders, Mother."
Aelyzabeth smiled, though her eyes shimmered with quiet sorrow. For she knew—her son no longer understood happiness in victory. He understood only duty.
Soon after, Aerys was sent back to the Wenter Academy to continue his studies—by order of his father, General Vito Vilozyver, who wished for his son to live, if only briefly, as an ordinary child.
That final night before departure, he stood alone, gazing upon the Santa Maria from afar. It was the ship that had made him a hero—yet to him, it felt more like a tomb for his emotions.
"War," he murmured to himself, "is homework that can never be completed."
With that, he turned and boarded the transport vessel—returning to a world without gunfire, yet one far emptier than the silence of space itself.
Thus ends Chapter B-III.