On our way back to the palace, I carried the weight of fifty festival prizes in both arms—bags stacked high and teetering. Meanwhile, the Empress walked ahead without the slightest difficulty, holding only a single plush doll: a sleek, black knight representing an unknown Knight.
Each of my prizes represented a different Knight. All fifty.
As we walked, two figures passed us—tall, cleanly dressed, and clearly not human with their mechanical features. They wore ordinary street clothes, but their skin gleamed with the polished silver and black metal.
I slowed a step. "What... are they?"
"Those are Exos," Lucione answered casually, not even needing to glance back. "People who've had their brains implanted into android bodies."
Her voice was calm, even matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather.
"Usually it's done out of desperation," she went on. "Crippling debt. Terminal illness. Some soldiers who lose too much to return to their original bodies choose that path, too." Even some knight-pilots." She smiled faintly. "They were actually the inspiration for the AKP program when it first began—almost ninety years ago."
"Really?" I asked through the muffled obstruction of an Andromeda plush pressed to my mouth.
Laughing, she pulled the stuffed toy down from my face. "Yes, really."
She tossed the plush back on top of the pile in my arms.
"My grandfather approved the project after Doctor Maq'vara invented the multi-knight link chip," she explained. "It worked, but the strain on human and Exo minds was... catastrophic. So your kind was made instead."
My breath caught. "Doctor Maq'vara..."
To hear the name of my creator spoken so casually felt strange. Humbling. Reverent, even.
"Are Exos not vulnerable to Freyt's mind-hijacking system?" I asked cautiously.
"No," Lucione said, her face briefly darkening beneath her disguise. "Only digital minds—pure androids and robots—are at risk of being overwritten by Freiheit's leader. Exos are safe, since their brains are entirely organic. Their minds can't be reprogrammed like a machines."
She looked away slightly.
"It's not the same for the AKPs. Freyt can't directly control them, not fully, but... he can plant thoughts. Twist memories. Shape truths. It's worse than control—it's corruption. Personality rewriting. Hopefully, your generation will be immune to it."
"I'm certain my mental fortitude will be enough to resist," I said, lifting my chin with an air of pride I didn't know I had.
Lucione laughed at that—clear, amused, and genuine.
"What should we do with these prizes once we return?" I asked, adjusting the load in my arms.
"I'll have the servants sort them in my room," she said lightly. "But you can keep these two."
She pulled the Andromeda plush from the pile and the black-and-white Monoceros badge—CK-39—and offered them to me.
"It's fitting," she said, smiling.
"I see why, Empress Lucione," I replied, carefully taking the gifts. "In the legends, Monoceros and Andromeda were closest friends."
Andromeda had only spoken once during the entire trip—only to request that I win the badge of Monoceros. He hadn't said why, only that Monoceros was a friend.
I could feel the weight of that silence.
"I'll treasure these," I said, holding them close.
"Mm. Come on. We need to get back before the banquet begins."
This time, instead of slipping back through the hole in the western wall, we walked openly toward the main gates.
Marshal Excav stood there, clearly agitated, and beside him was a woman in a sharp uniform, a dove embroidered into her beret. She looked amused.
"See, Danny?" she said, turning toward him with a smug grin. "I told you we could trust Andromeda's pilot. Just like Her Majesty's letter said."
The gates folded open.
Lucione didn't stop. She walked straight past the marshal as if she hadn't just disappeared for hours, vanishing into the glow of the palace courtyard like she belonged there—because she did. I trailed behind her, arms straining under the weight of prizes, unable to say a word.
The palace doors opened, golden light washing over us.
Inside, Lucione finally peeled away her disguise. In one smooth motion, she restored herself—regal, untouchable, majestic. Her hair, her face, her presence all snapped back into place.
"Have the servants move these to my room—except for the two my escort selects," she instructed without pause. "I want my bath drawn and my dress ready."
Her gaze flicked to Excav. "Seal the hole in the western wall. If we could use it, others could too."
Without another word, she disappeared down the corridor, her pace unhurried, her authority absolute. Servants scrambled into motion behind her.
I dropped the bags of prizes onto the floor with a soft thump, breath catching in my throat as I watched her go.
As sly and unpredictable as she was, Empress Lucione never failed to wear the crown like it had been made for her.
The remaining prizes were whisked away, leaving only the Monoceros badge and Andromeda plush in my hands.
Marshal Excav finally turned to me, his gravelly voice simmering with restrained frustration. "Explain how you not only allowed Her Majesty to breach the palace's security net... but helped her do it."
I met his glare with calm confidence. "Was I supposed to disobey an imperial edict? Or let her wander out alone?"
He looked genuinely surprised by my boldness.
A voice echoed from the stairs. "Firefly will be my escort tonight," Empress Lucione called back down. "Make sure she's washed, dressed, and ready before I enter the gala hall."
Excav looked as though he was about to explode, but the woman with the dove beret nodded crisply. "I'll handle it personally, Your Majesty."
She stepped toward me quickly, tugging me away before Excav could get another word in.
"Let's go, Pilot Firefly."
Back in my room, the woman in the dove-emblazoned beret finally let out all the laughter she'd been holding back during our rush through the palace.
"Ohoho! Ahaha! You have no idea how happy I am!" she wheezed, collapsing into a nearby chair, breathless from amusement. "Danny's been giddy all morning thinking he might finally escort Her Majesty. Strutting around, pissing off the other marshals—and me. But when he saw the letter the Empress left behind in the royal office? Hah! You should've seen his face. Ripe as a rotten tomato! Kakakak!"
Even after she explained, I still didn't fully understand why she was laughing so hard. The unease in my chest refused to settle. "A-Am I... in trouble?"
"I'd promote you to Brigadier on the spot if I had the power," she grinned, waving her beret like a fan to cool off from her laughter. "Oh right! I haven't introduced myself, have I? Name's Evelyn Fraser. Pilot to CK-50, Columba. One of the four royal guards of the palace—and your friendly neighbourhood mission delegation marshal."
I blinked. "So, it was you who sent that assignment to our battalion."
"All the high-risk, nearly suicidal ones? Yeah, those come straight from me to you. Think of me as your ever-smiling receptionist." She gave me a cheeky salute before heading for the door. "I've got security duties now, but the maids'll be here soon. They'll help with your washing and dressing."
"Is that really necessary?" I asked, stiffening slightly.
"You want to try wrangling that thing by yourself?" She pointed toward the corner of the room where an elaborate suit awaited me—orange and grey, impossibly elegant, like something plucked from a legend. "Your bath will be ready in five."
With that, Evelyn slipped out, and a minute later, the maids arrived, just as she said they would.
They'd somehow prepared the entire bathroom already. I was escorted in without resistance, though I seriously considered bolting. What followed was... excruciating.
They scrubbed nearly every inch of my body, then layered it with creams and strange-smelling lotions. My hair was soaked, soaked again, and then soaked once more. I sat submerged in the oversized tub for what felt like hours, though I was told it was forty-five minutes exactly.
When they finally pulled me out, they blow-dried me, towelled me down, and then came the real torture.
"H-Hey, what are you doing?" I asked as they sat me before a mirror, murmuring to each other and glancing between me and the uniform.
"Should we use mascara?"
"Keep it simple. She's wearing military dress, remember."
"No jewellery—just a brooch maybe. Keep the ponytail but give it a twist."
I stared at the makeup set laid out in front of me like it was a battlefield. Just getting Freya's mess off yesterday was hard enough. "Wasn't the bath enough?"
Apparently, it wasn't.
They painted my face like a canvas—powders, glosses, liquids, creams. My skin tingled. My nails were glossed for reasons I didn't understand, especially since I'd be wearing gloves. They sprayed me with perfume that stung my nose, something flowery I didn't care for at all.
And then, finally, after what felt like an entire military campaign... the dressing began.
To my surprise, the suit was easy to wear. The light grey trousers slid on smoothly, followed by the black blouse. I tied the pink necktie carefully beneath its collar before donning the green-trimmed blazer. The red scarf around the collar and the orange sash at the waist were more trouble than they were worth, and I wasn't quite sure how I felt about the red ribbons attached to the sleeves and the coat's tail—like a living fire trailing behind me.
"Aw! She looks great!" one of the maids squealed.
"The hair and that brooch really pull it all together!"
The final maid adjusted the brooch—a translucent red wing—into place over my twirled ponytail. "There. I'd say it was worth the hassle."
The others clapped, barely able to contain their pride in their collective masterpiece.
I looked in the mirror.
The girl staring back barely resembled me. My face, usually hidden behind dirt or blood, now glowed faintly beneath soft powders and colours. The golden-grey hair I always let hang wildly had been woven into a loose braid and twirled ponytail. My uniform glowed subtly with orange and green under the room's light.
Yet something inside me twisted.
"Let's take a picture. You won't be this young forever," one of them said, raising a phone and snapping a photo before I could protest. "We'll send it to your battalion someday."
I nodded in silence.
It wasn't that I didn't like the suit—it was beautiful, even regal. But it felt like it didn't belong to me. Like it belonged to someone I could've been, if my past had been kinder.
Afterward, they led me to a waiting room beside the banquet hall. There, I waited. And waited.
I heard voices beyond the door—guests filtering into the grand music-filled hall. Their names were being announced in muffled bellows, but I could still make them out through the thick walls.
I sat in front of the mirror, still dressed in red, green, and grey. But what I saw in that glass began to shift.
First, the girl they'd painted and polished. Then the frightened younger version of myself back at the training facility. And lastly... was my real self.
Wearing the protective military gear I knew like a second skin. Camouflaged, heatproof, and armoured. The heavy leather jacket with my scarf looped around my neck like a pair of pale orange wings. And my helmet—the dark metal shell with its turquoise glowing visor, cradled within the scarf like a crown of steel.
Of the three versions of me that lingered in that mirror, it was the soldier who looked most at home.
Most real.
Most me.
The soft creak of the door stirred me from my thoughts. One of the Empress's personal attendants stepped inside with practiced grace. "Pilot Firefly," he said, "Her Majesty is about to arrive. Please be ready to escort her."
"I'll be right there," I replied, and the servant nodded before withdrawing.
With a quiet sigh, I rolled up my sleeve and retrieved the blade I'd managed to sneak past the maids—the vibration knife from my leather jacket before they whisked it away to be washed for tomorrow. Its handle was cold in my palm, but familiar. Reassuring. I took a slow breath, tucked the weapon back into its place beneath my sleeve, and stepped into the hallway.
A few minutes passed in silence. The corridor stood barren, save for the distant hush of the banquet murmuring behind closed doors. Then—she arrived.
Her Majesty, Empress Lucione, appeared in full glory, wearing a dress of vibrant orange and deep black that shimmered like burning silk under the lights. The colours of the Empire. Her sash bore the same emblem as mine: a knight's helm with twin blades crossed in the shape of a star. Regal didn't begin to cover her.
She slipped her arm into mine. "Are you armed?" she whispered, her voice barely audible beneath the breath of her perfume.
"Yes," I replied softly. "One vibration knife. Two magnetic shuriken's."
"Good. Stay alert. My bracelet's shield has a brief delay when it activates... and there's no telling if Freiheit has placed infiltrators past the palace security." She paused a step from the banquet doors, smile sliding effortlessly into place. "Phew. You look good in that suit, by the way. I still have spectacular taste, it seems."
I smiled back. "It is all thanks to your grace that I am this way."
And with that, she took the final step forward.
The banquet doors swung open to a hall alight with crystal chandeliers and gold-leaf pillars. The orchestra fell silent. A voice rang out:
"Her Majesty! The Throne-Saviour! The Shining Lord! The Horizon-Loved! Empress Lucione Aina Trigrata the First, has arrived!!"
Walking arm-in-arm toward the throne, she radiated nobility with every step. The heads of the Ten Great Houses, their lesser kin, and all other invited dignitaries dropped to their knees in reverence. Their robes rustled like waves on a shore, synchronised, awed.
I moved in step with her, watching the crowd for the smallest shift—any twitch of a hidden blade or spark of threat. That's when I spotted Sam, Freya, and Alex, all kneeling in their clean-cut military dress uniforms. A flicker of surprise lit their faces as they recognized me standing beside the Empress. I kept my expression neutral.
But where was Zero?
A glance across the kneeling crowd revealed him—next to Orion's pilot and Sam's father, Jackson Foster. Alongside them was a frail-looking elderly man, balding and old. It was unexpected, but I didn't dwell on it. Perhaps Zero had transferred to the Glistening Victory Battalion.
At the far end of the hall, we reached the throne. The four Imperial Guards bowed as the Empress released my arm and ascended the steps, her dress flowing like solar fire. She moved between her guardians and lowered herself into the throne with quiet, sovereign power.
I knelt at the base of the stairs, head bowed. Once again, I found myself in awe of her presence. As cunning as she was, she never faltered in her performance as monarch.
After a moment's pause, her voice echoed over the hushed gathering: "Rise, my subjects. Tonight, we celebrate the stars who guard our Empire. Drink. Celebrate. Dance like the constellations that glimmer above you this night."
The room came alive at once. The orchestra resumed with a flourish, voices filled the air, and the echo of clinking glasses rose like distant bells.
Still kneeling, I looked up just in time to see her lips move, a whisper only meant for me: "Have some fun while you are here, my fairy star."