Inside the heart of Minerva, deep beneath layers of steel and tech, a vast command center buzzed with activity.
Rows of operators were positioned before their luminous consoles, their fingers gracefully gliding over holographic panels that shimmered in the dim light. Streams of data cascaded across the displays like a waterfall of information, illuminating their focused faces.
The air buzzed with overlapping voices—urgent reports, swift confirmations, and sharp alerts—yet amidst the chaos, the room operated with a synchronized precision, each operator working seamlessly in harmony with the others.
Anyone who stepped into this chamber would know instantly: This was the military mind of Minerva.
Above the command floor was a dark-glass observation room. Hidden behind its tinted barrier sat nine figures around a circular table, each one an authority whose influence shaped the West. The room was silent except for the quiet hum of projectors casting a hologram in the air before them.
The footage showed three figures walking through an opening gate—two humans, one male and one female —and trailing behind them was a massive tiger with luminous eyes.
All nine watched with furrowed brows and hardened faces.
A man finally broke the silence. His tone was sharp, skeptical.
"Are you all certain he is the one?"
No one answered.
The man leaned closer, scowling at the image.
"Even for us, surviving out there seems, in that black zone, unlikely. But now you expect me to believe a Rank Two nobody, there for more than a year," He scoffed. "Ridiculous."
The man, continued—thin, sharp-eyed, with an air of careless confidence—let out a short laugh.
"Are you all seriously that intimidated by this?" he said, tapping the projected image of David.
"Sarl," a woman snapped, her voice laced with disdain, "be quiet."
Sarl clicked his tongue but leaned back.
"We are not afraid of the boy," she continued, her gaze cold. "But rather we are afraid of the name he carries."
A tense quiet fell over the room.
"We know it is a miracle he survived out there," she said softly. "But that's not what troubles us. It's the change his return will bring." Her eyes narrowed, voice dropping lower. "And more importantly… what the boy truly is."
At those words, all heads turned toward the man seated at the head of the table.
He had said nothing since the footage began, yet his presence commanded the air—authority distilled into flesh. His expression was unreadable as he studied the hologram.
A long moment passed before he finally spoke.
"…We will let him in."
He exhaled slowly, but his tone sharpened like a blade drawn across stone.
"It's not as though we have a choice. But hear me well—no one in this room is to extend any form of assistance. Not directly. Not indirectly." His gaze swept across them like a silent threat. "If anyone does…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
The room fell into total silence as they continued to watch the boy on the screen walk forward.
…
Beyond the towering gates of the Citadel, David stepped through the widening entrance alongside Rea and Thalassa. As they walked, Thalassa's eyes gleamed with fascination, tracing the enormous mechanisms and shifting plates that folded seamlessly into place behind them.
"Look at that…" she murmured. "The walls are reconfiguring—adjusting pressure seals, defense grids, everything. This entire place feels… alive."
Rea flicked an ear, but said nothing.
Inside, squads of patrol units moved with military precision, armor gleaming beneath the harsh overhead lights. Watchtowers and drones monitored every angle. Even from a distance, several soldiers paused mid-stride to glance at the trio—especially at the massive tiger at David's side.
As soon as they fully stepped inside, the gate rumbled shut behind them.
A pulse of red light swept across their bodies—a full-spectrum scan. Thalassa flinched slightly as it passed.
A moment later, the whir of engines echoed. Three sleek, armored escort vehicles approached.
The first stopped directly in front of them.
From the vehicle stepped a man dressed in a butler's immaculate attire—an odd contrast to the harsh military surroundings. His posture was perfectly straight, his expression unreadable.
He placed a hand over his chest and bowed slightly.
"Welcome," he said, voice calm and formal. "Young Master."