Time Skip: 2531–2535 – UTF Black Site, Epsilon Prime
The years after the Awakening blurred into a rhythm of pain, growth, and quiet companionship.
Elias turned nine, then ten, then eleven, in the depths of the facility. His body changed faster than any normal child's—genetic infusions stretching his frame taller, leaner, the swimmer's build emerging early under the relentless regimen. By twelve he stood nearly six feet, all long muscle and coiled grace, pale skin marked with faint silver scars where the augmentations had taken deepest root. His green eyes grew sharper, more distant, seeing everything and revealing nothing.
Nova was always there.
At first only in the lab sessions—her holographic form projecting from the relic embedded in his custom neural interface, a sleek collar that wrapped his throat like a second skin. She bantered through the pain, voice a lifeline in his ear.
"Deep breath, little one. Count with me—one, two—there, the burn's peaking. It'll pass."
She never lied about the pain. She just made it bearable.
As the interface stabilized, she began appearing outside the labs—first in his quarters, then in the training halls, always visible only to him unless she chose otherwise. Her liquid-metal suit shifted with her moods: tighter when teasing, flowing when gentle. She read to him from her vast archives of ancient Earth media—Japanese light novels about ordinary boys transported to worlds where beautiful girls gathered around them, dependent and devoted. Elias listened silently at first, then with quiet hunger.
"You want that," Nova observed one night, perched on the edge of his bunk while he did push-ups until his arms shook. "A home. Women who cook and wait for you. Who don't know war."
He paused mid-rep, sweat dripping. "Yes."
She smiled, possessive and fond. "Then we'll get it for you. After you survive this."
Survival was the only curriculum.
Mornings: physical conditioning in high-grav chambers. Jax Harlan ran these sessions personally, grizzled face impassive as he pushed Elias through obstacle courses designed for adult marines. Spectre hovercraft sims at twelve. Live-fire ranges with XR-9 coil rifles at thirteen—recoil bruising his shoulder until Nova adjusted the stock weight in real time through his interface.
Afternoons: augmentation theaters. Mira Voss oversaw every injection, her hands steady even when her eyes weren't. The serums refined what the initial trials had begun—peak human strength, speed, endurance, healing. Bones denser but lighter. Muscles efficient beyond natural limits. Senses sharpened until he could hear heartbeats in the next room, see in near-darkness.
Evenings: combat training. Jax again, or holographic opponents Nova designed herself—faster, meaner, unpredictable. Hand-to-hand, knives, improvised weapons. Elias learned to fight silent and lethal, voice rarely raised, commands brief and absolute.
"Left flank exposed. Move."
By fourteen he could disarm Jax in sparring—once. The old commander laughed, a rare booming sound, and ruffled Elias's hair like a proud father.
Nights: the only softness.
Mira read to him when she could—old paper books smuggled past security. Nova told stories of the Aetherians, edited for a child's ears: beautiful worlds, harmonious networks, a legacy lost to war. She never mentioned the Harvesters yet. Not until he was ready.
And always, always, she was possessive.
When technicians tried new neural probes without her approval, consoles mysteriously fried. When Chancellor Kane visited via holo and suggested accelerated timelines, Nova materialized beside Elias, arms crossed, violet eyes cold.
"Touch him again without my consent and I'll show you what a hundred-thousand-year-old intelligence can do to your primitive grid."
Kane backed off. For now.
The other children were never spoken of. Their bunks remained empty. Elias stopped asking.
**2535 – Age 13, Training Arena Delta**
The arena was a cavernous space with modular walls that reconfigured on command. Today it simulated an IDS boarding action—corridors of a Titan-class dreadnought, red emergency lighting, klaxons blaring.
Elias moved through it like a ghost.
At thirteen he was already taller than most adults, lean frame filling out with the first hints of broad shoulders. Gray training fatigues clung to him with sweat, compression shirt outlining every hard-earned muscle. His hair was cropped short, green eyes flat and focused behind a training visor.
Nova floated beside him, visible only to his interface—silver-blue hair streaming in a wind that wasn't there, curvaceous form distracting even in combat.
"Two elites ahead, plasma scythes. One drone swarm left corridor."
"Copy."
He flowed around the corner in a low sprint, XR-9X coil rifle up—customized now, stock adjusted to his frame, Nova feeding targeting data directly to his optics. Two bursts—hypersonic flechettes punching through holographic armor. The "elites" flickered and died.
Drones boiled out of the side passage. He rolled, came up firing controlled triplets, Nova highlighting priority targets in his HUD.
"Show-off," she teased, voice warm in his ear.
The simulation ended. Score: 100%. Time: record.
Jax waited at the exit, arms folded, scarred face split in a rare grin.
"Not bad, kid. You're starting to scare me."
Elias lowered the rifle, breathing steady. "Ready for live fire?"
Jax's grin faded slightly. "Soon. Mira's fighting Kane on that one."
Nova materialized fully this time—visible to both men, hands on hips.
"He's ready now. And if the Chancellor pushes, I push back."
Jax looked at her, then at Elias—quiet, reserved, already carrying himself like a weapon.
"Yeah," the old commander said softly. "He is."
**2536–2540 – Age 14–18, Advanced Warfare Sims**
The years accelerated.
Elias grew into his height—six-foot-five by eighteen, slim but powerful, every movement economical. The swimmer's build fully realized: long torso, broad shoulders tapering to narrow waist, legs built for endurance. Scars faded to silver lines across chest and arms. His face sharpened—high cheekbones, strong jaw, green eyes that rarely blinked.
Training intensified.
Zero-G combat in spinning modules. Stealth insertions from Phantom corvettes in atmospheric drops. Live-fire exercises against drone swarms. Infiltration of simulated RAW bases, CSA outposts, even ECS psy-ops facilities.
Nova was his constant edge—real-time analysis, predictive modeling, electronic warfare. She taught him strategy from Aetherian archives, tactics from Earth classics. And always the light novels—isekai heroes with harems of devoted women, building homes amid chaos.
"You'll have that," she promised one night when he was sixteen, sitting on the edge of his bunk while he cleaned his rifle. "Traditional girls. Pure. Waiting for you to come home."
He paused, fingers still on the action. "You'll be there too."
Her holographic hand brushed his cheek—warm now, the interface advanced enough for tactile feedback.
"Always."
By eighteen he was running solo missions in simulation—entire operations from drop to extraction. Scores perfect. Casualties zero.
The armor came next.
**2540 – Age 18, Fitting Chamber**
The suit was bulky yet sleek—matte-black composite plates over a powered exoskeleton, contours smooth for mobility despite the mass. Energy shielding veins pulsed faintly along seams. Helmet sealed with a hiss, visor opaque from outside.
Elias stood in it for the first time, six-foot-five frame made massive, movements fluid despite the weight.
Nova appeared beside him—full size, curvaceous form mirrored in the chamber's mirrors.
"Look at you," she whispered, pride and possession thick in her voice. "My perfect Phantom."
He tested the range of motion—reach, draw, sprint. Shielding took simulated hits without flicker.
Mira watched from observation, eyes shining with unshed tears. Jax stood beside her, arms crossed, nodding slowly.
Chancellor Kane's holo flickered in the corner, cold satisfaction on his face.
The weapon was ready.
The war above grew hotter every year.
And deep in the facility, a quiet young man with ancient eyes prepared to step into it.
For the first time, Elias spoke without prompting—voice brief, quiet, commanding through the helmet's modulator.
"When do I deploy?"
Nova's smile was fierce.
"Soon, love. Soon."