The crowd's roaring continued for minutes, unrelenting, blending with the rapid-fire flashes of cameras. I was sure I even saw a news team attempting to leap down from the stands, only to be intercepted by vigilant soldiers.
[Andromeda, fight me.] Draco's demand cut through the noise like a blade, his dragon-inspired helmet gleaming with an ominous crimson glow. His sheer intensity made both Sam and me turn, instincts sharpened by the weight behind his challenge.
Andromeda shifted, taking deliberate steps away from Draco, its stance refusing to rise to provocation. [Request denied. In such a setting, combat would cause unnecessary destruction and harm.]
[Inconsequential. There is still a score I need to settle with you.] Draco moved to raise its arm—until a silvery-white gauntlet clamped around it, halting the motion with an effortless grip. [What are you doing, Ara?]
Ara's voice carried a firm, mechanical certainty. [This unit would also like to determine the strongest among us, but Andromeda is correct. A fight here will only tarnish our pilot's reputations.]
Catching where Ara was leading, Andromeda reinforced the argument. [CK-44 is correct. If our pilots' images are tainted, higher command will not entrust them with significant missions. We may be relegated to minor objectives.]
Draco hesitated, tension humming in its frame. [You don't mean...]
[Correct,] Andromeda confirmed. [You may only ever be assigned to guard duty for a minor installation.]
The shift was instant. Draco straightened, shoulders snapping into place like a model cadet at inspection. Andromeda and Ara resumed their composed stances as if the entire exchange had never happened.
Sam blinked at the sudden obedience, baffled. "How the hell did they manage to convince Draco?" His gaze flicked between his normally aggressive knight and its uncharacteristic discipline. "If only he half-listened to me like that."
"Sam!" Zero hissed through his smiling teeth. "Don't turn your back on the crowd!"
"Why don't you stop being such a nagging loser?" Sam shot back, his temper flaring just as quickly as his mechanical knight's.
They were already at each other's throats—bickering, smirking, feeding off each other's energy. The crowd loved it, mistaking their spat for playful camaraderie. I exhaled through my nose, exasperated by how quickly they combusted when put together.
Meanwhile, Haslein continued his speech—though, by now, no one was listening.
My gaze strayed, following the shifting energy in the stands. Orion's pilot was speaking to a secretary, his expression sharp, almost angry. Others, however, looked pleased—too pleased—as if my very presence under Andromeda's towering frame had justified some long-awaited expectation.
Then Haslein's voice rose, commanding silence. The crowd stilled, anticipation thickening the air.
"Now, as per tradition, the newest Constellation Knights will be given a choice," Marshal Haslein announced, his voice rising over the microphone. The cheering crowd hushed in anticipation. "These three young soldiers must embark on their first military expedition to fully grasp the weight of their responsibility. They may take the path of an ordinary knight, completing two assigned tasks, or they may join one of the empire's knight battalions and be thrust directly into the heat of war. The choice is yours, pilots. Make it."
The three of us exchanged glances, uncertain at first. But our mech's had their own opinions.
Andromeda's voice resonated in my ear, clear and unwavering. [The first option—the two-task assignment—is what I recommend, Pilot. It will provide optimal real-world combat experience while allowing you to retain more freedom and accolades. The alternative—joining a battalion—will ensure your safety amid a more intense conflict, but it is unlikely to foster significant growth as a pilot.]
I turned to glance at Andy's turquoise visor, a small smile forming as I recognized his attempt to analyse the situation from my perspective. Regardless of my choice, in six months, I would stand before the Empress to be anointed as a fully recognized Constellation Knight. The real question was how I wanted to earn my recognition before then.
"Thanks, Andy," I murmured. "But there's something I want to ask..."
Zero and Ara were still deep in contemplation, but before either of them could decide, Sam stepped forward with firm resolve. "I choose to complete the two tasks, sir! I refuse to be coddled."
Marshal Haslein nodded in approval before shifting his attention to Zero, who had finally made up his mind. "I would like to compete within a battalion, Marshal Haslein, sir."
Then all eyes turned to me.
I had just finished my private exchange with Andromeda, still processing the unexpected answer I had received. Looking up at the marshal, I spoke with steady conviction. "I want to do both, sir."
A ripple of surprise moved through the crowd. Haslein arched a brow, his expression unreadable. Even Sam and Zero shot me incredulous looks.
"...May I ask why?" Haslein finally inquired, speaking for the collective curiosity.
Before I could answer, Andromeda took a step forward, the ground trembling beneath his weight. Lowering his massive hand, he carefully lifted me onto his shoulder and spoke on my behalf. [Marshal Haslein, it is imperative for a Constellation Knight pilot to prove their capability. After careful analysis, I have determined that the optimal path is for my pilot to undertake double the workload or more dangerous assignments. This unit formally requests permission to complete both objectives.]
The field marshal considered Andy's reasoning in silence, then turned to his advisor, exchanging hushed words while the crowd murmured among themselves. A minute passed before he faced us once more.
"Your logic is sound," he finally declared. "Your request is granted. And as such, your fellow Constellation Knights and their pilots will now be required to do the same." He glanced at Sam and Zero, gauging their reactions before continuing. "In the next three months, you will each complete two separate missions. In the three months following that, you will be assigned to a battalion of your choice for frontline experience. Dismissed!"
As Andromeda gently set me back on the ground, I snapped a salute in gratitude. Sam and Zero followed suit before our mech's shifted into their card forms, reducing their towering frames into sleek insignias that we carried with us as we exited the arena.
"You just love making things harder for yourself, don't you?" Sam muttered, though the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. "Damn efficiency freak."
As we descended the arena steps, I shrugged. "It helps us stack more accolades early, doesn't it? We need as many achievements as possible before our ordainment with the Empress. The more public support we have, the better."
Zero sighed, rubbing his temples. "I'm going to be exhausted soon. Ara isn't built for mobility like Andromeda—hell, he's even slower than Draco. I'll have to get creative if I'm going to manage both assignments."
Guilt tugged at me for making things harder on him. "Sorry about that."
I lifted my gaze to the sky, a question forming unbidden in my mind. It was a foolish thought, a hopeless wish. Would I see Traveler again in the next six months?
Cadet Graduation Day came and went. By the time the ceremonies concluded, every graduate was officially granted the rank of Second Lieutenant.
Even as a knight pilot—a prestigious title in the Nymphas Empire—we weren't given special treatment when enlisting in the military. Everyone, including Constellation Knight pilots, had to carve out their own legacy. Rank wasn't inherited—it was earned through achievement and tribute.
That said, we did have one advantage. For ordinary soldiers, the empire's ranking system consisted of twelve stages, ranging from Cadet—the lowest—to Marshal, the highest. However, knight pilots followed a separate hierarchy based on the combat effectiveness of their mech's.
At our current rank, we were ordinary knights—Second Lieutenants, just starting our service. The next stage, Tactical-grade, would grant us the rank of Lieutenant, proving we weren't liabilities.
Beyond that, our ranks would carry real weight.
Omega-grade pilots were Majors. Valkyrie-grade pilots were Captains. My goal for the next six months was to earn enough accolades to reach Omega-grade. If I could push for Valkyrie-grade, it would be ideal, but I lacked the experience and recognition for such a leap.
Then came the last two ranks—the ones that truly mattered.
Seraphim-grade pilots were Brigadiers, holding command over entire fleets. And at the pinnacle sat Constellation-grade pilots—Generals, second only to Marshals.
It would take five to seven years to reach that level under normal circumstances. But as a Constellation Knight pilot, I would be sent on far more assignments, stacking my achievements faster than the average soldier. Meanwhile, pilots of mass-produced knights—no matter how heavily modified—typically needed at least fifteen years to reach Constellation-grade.
If they lived that long.
***
The paper crumpled in my grip, then slipped from my fingers, dissolving into the puddle at my feet. The damp, stifling air of the cave did little to cool the irritation surging through me.
"How could you let them go undiscovered for so long?" My voice cut through the darkness, sharp and seething. "If they were still needing to be mothered, we could have erased them before they became threats. But now? Now, they're trained, and their skill makes it impossible to find assassins capable of removing them."
A shadow shifted against the cave wall. "Apologies," the masked figure behind me intoned, his voice carefully measured. "We only uncovered this recently."
A long, frustrated sigh passed through my lips as I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Nineteen years of work—nineteen years—to weaken the Empress in the public eye, to rot her support from within. And then, three children step into the spotlight, and suddenly, the people rally behind her again. Three! What exactly have your spies been doing in the training facilities?"
A pause. Then, cautiously, the masked figure replied, "We believe their identities were falsified—perhaps for quite some time. If that is not the case, then their concealment until now should have been impossible."
I turned sharply, rage flaring. "Three children left the Star Crypt alive!" My voice slammed against the cave walls, a thunderous echo that sent a ripple through the stagnant water pooled at my feet. "How stupid do your people have to be not to realize what that means? Maybe I should deliver you to the Empress while I still have the chance—" I let the words hang, watching the way his shoulders stiffened. "That might at least make her wary of my position long enough to keep her watchdog at bay."
The masked man's composure wavered, just for a moment. "Calm yourself," he said at last, though there was something uneasy in the way he held himself now. "The Imaginary Knight is of no consequence. He remains occupied on the frontier worlds, still fighting the Dream Swarm's host worlds. He has been for the past decade. There has been no word of his return to the central rings, nor any indication that he intends to do so. The emergence of the new Constellation Knights' pilots was an oversight—nothing more. But," his voice slowed, deliberate, "there is good news."
I narrowed my eyes. "As far as you are aware," I corrected. His lips parted slightly, caught off guard. "Your people missed something this crucial. So tell me, Sleepwalker, what exactly is this good news you speak of?"
A beat of silence filled the secretive cave. Then, his answer:
"We know the missions the new pilots will be given."
I did not react outwardly, but I listened. He took that as permission to continue.
"We will send assassins to eliminate them and claim the Constellation Knights for our own cause. The one behind me has ensured that every possibility has been accounted for. They will die. They are being dispatched to barren worlds—places where the dreamers reach is stronger than the Empire's. It is only a matter of time."
There was logic in his words, yet unease slithered beneath my skin. My instincts—always sharp, always right—told me not to trust his confidence.
"And all you ask in return," I muttered, unimpressed, "is that I continue my efforts against the Empress."
Sleepwalker gave a slow nod.
I exhaled through my nose, then ran a hand through my hair. "Now is no longer the optimal time," I said at last. "Until the Empress's favour with the public dies down, my supporters in Parliament won't back me. You will ensure the job is done right this time."
He gave a low bow before vanishing into the shadows, melting into the depths of the cave without another word.
Alone once more, I frowned. How had I ever found them useful partners? No matter. They were puppets, dancing on my strings, useful only as far as I allowed. This man behind the dream—whoever he was—would bow to me soon enough.
Just like all the others.