The train glided forward without a sound, as if space itself had chosen not to resist it.
Taren pressed his face close to the wide glass panel, eyes glowing brighter than the Sol outside. He leaned so far forward that his reflection almost disappeared, replaced entirely by the endless black stretched beyond the reinforced window. Stars scattered across the void like careless brushstrokes, distant yet sharp, unmoving yet alive.
"Look at that," he said, his voice filled with something close to awe. "No matter how many times I see it, it still feels unreal."
Cyros sat beside him, hands resting loosely on his lap, gaze fixed beyond the glass but far less animated. This was only the second time he had ever traveled through space. The first had been the journey from Helior Prime to the academy—a blur of transition, confusion, and silent resolve. This time, he allowed himself to truly look.
The Sol dominated everything.
It was enormous. Not merely large, but overwhelming in its presence. Its surface shimmered with controlled brilliance, layers of light folding into one another in patterns too precise to be natural, yet too seamless to feel artificial. It radiated warmth even through reinforced glass, a constant reminder that everything—kingdoms, academies, lives—revolved around it.
And yet, standing before it now, Cyros felt no deception.
If this was artificial, then it was the greatest lie ever perfected.
Behind the Sol, stars remained unchanged. Distant pinpoints of light, familiar and indifferent, just as they had always been when seen from the ground. The universe had not bent itself to accommodate humanity's creation. It simply allowed it to exist.
Across from them, Aerin sat with her legs crossed, posture straight, shoulders relaxed. A book rested in her hands, its spine worn slightly, as if it had been opened many times before. The cover read The Fault in Our Stars.
Taren noticed it only after several minutes of enthusiastic commentary about star clusters and light refraction. He smirked faintly, glancing between the book and Aerin's composed expression.
Cyros noticed it too.
"You like romance?" he asked quietly.
The question landed without warning.
Aerin startled, fingers tightening around the pages for just a fraction of a second. Her eyes flicked upward, meeting Cyros's gaze before immediately dropping back to the text.
"Yes," she said, barely above a whisper.
She turned the page quickly, as though the act itself could shield her. Her expression remained composed, but there was a faint warmth at the tips of her ears that betrayed her.
Cyros nodded once.
He turned back toward the window without another word, giving her the silence she clearly wanted. Aerin exhaled softly, shoulders easing as her eyes returned to the lines on the page, though her focus took a moment to settle again.
The academy slowly receded behind them, its spires shrinking into distant geometry until it became just another structure beneath the Sol's glow. Cyros watched it disappear without sentiment. That place had already reshaped him more than Helior Prime ever had.
The train slowed briefly as it approached its intermediate stop.
Helior Prime.
Taren straightened slightly, excitement dimming into curiosity as the city came into view. Towers rose in rigid formation, reflective surfaces catching and redirecting the Sol's light with calculated efficiency. Everything about the kingdom spoke of dominance, structure, and control.
Aerin closed her book.
Both she and Taren glanced toward Cyros, waiting.
He said nothing.
Cyros continued staring out the window, expression unreadable, eyes reflecting the city that had shaped him and failed him in equal measure. Thoughts drifted through his mind—memories of expectations, of quiet judgments, of being surrounded by power yet denied access to it.
Taren noticed the stillness and chose not to break it.
The train departed soon after, Helior Prime slipping away like a closed chapter.
Several minutes passed in companionable silence before Taren clapped his hands together softly, as if struck by sudden inspiration.
"You know," he said, turning toward them, "we should have a name."
Aerin lifted an eyebrow. "A name?"
"For the team," Taren clarified. "Every good group has one."
"It's not like we'll always be together for every case," Aerin replied, tone practical as ever.
"True," Taren admitted easily. "But imagine solving the case and people praising us. Doesn't it sound better with a cool team name?"
He nudged Cyros lightly in the shoulder.
Cyros sighed. "Fine. Think of something before the case closes."
Taren beamed, as if he'd just been handed a priceless gift.
Aerin shook her head faintly and reopened her book.
Hours later, the train eased into its final destination.
Vireth Kingdom.
As the doors opened, fresh air swept in, carrying a subtle scent of metal, ozone, and something faintly floral. Cyros stepped onto the platform and paused.
It was peaceful.
Not quiet in the sense of emptiness, but calm—like a place accustomed to thought rather than command. Buildings stretched outward rather than upward, designed for efficiency rather than intimidation. Researchers, students, and technicians moved freely, their conversations blending into a low, steady hum.
"This is… nice," Taren said, surprised.
Vireth was known as the kingdom of research, a land devoted to understanding the Sol rather than ruling beneath it. Journals often described its people as obsessed—scientists who chased data with near-religious fervour. This was the kingdom that had helped construct the Sol, or so history claimed.
Yet standing here, it felt human.
They hailed a taxi and made their way toward the lab, passing districts filled with observatories, small research facilities, and communal spaces where scholars debated openly. The atmosphere felt strangely familiar, not unlike the academy itself.
The research lab sat modestly at the edge of an academic district. Clean lines, reinforced glass, and discreet security measures suggested importance without arrogance.
As they entered, a man in a lab coat stepped forward to greet them.
"You must be the students from the academy," he said, offering a polite smile. "Nagumo Sensei mentioned your arrival."
Patrick Neil.
Blonde hair neatly combed back, eyes sharp behind thin-framed glasses, posture straight but not rigid. He extended a hand, professional to the core.
Taren shook it with an easy grin. "Nice to meet you. We're here about the case."
Aerin followed with a respectful bow. "Thank you for receiving us."
Cyros nodded silently.
Patrick studied them briefly, gaze lingering just a moment longer on Cyros before gesturing inward. "Please. I'll show you around."
The lab was alive with motion. Screens displayed real-time readings of the Sol—energy fluctuations, calibration numbers, complex equations scrolling endlessly. Scientists moved between stations, voices low, focused, entirely absorbed in their work.
"This facility specializes in calibration and long-term stability analysis," Patrick explained. "We ensure the Sol remains… consistent."
They were led into a quieter section of the lab, away from the hum of machines. A door slid shut behind them, sealing them inside a small conference room.
Patrick turned to face them, hands clasped neatly in front of him.
"It was two days ago," he began.
And with those words, the case finally began.