"Sister, this complicates everything," Roland said, his voice tight with worry.
Leonora's hands clenched around the controls until her knuckles went white. "You think I don't know that? Every part of me is screaming to turn this ship around and hurl it toward him, but my brain — my stupid brain — won't let me." Her words trembled with equal parts fury and longing, a whisper of anguish buried beneath the roar of the engines. "Why do you have to do this to me, Youri?"
She closed her eyes, and for a moment she was not on the bridge of the Aurelia at all. She was seven years younger, standing in the house she had grown up in, on the night everything had started.
Seven years earlier, the Kaelthorn residence stood in the old quarter of Fansilia, regal without being arrogant. Long, sweeping arches framed its façade, each one carved with subtle flourishes that spoke of heritage and prestige. Its tall windows glowed with soft gold light like polished gemstones. Inside, the air was calm and carefully kept. Holographic panels blended into wood-paneled walls, the scent of polished oak mingled with the faint hum of climate control, and artifacts from distant worlds sat beside heirlooms of the Empire, every piece chosen for what it meant rather than what it cost.
"Lady Leonora, you have a message." Anna's voice was hesitant and carefully measured.
Anna moved like silk and struck like steel. She was Lady Leonora Kaelthorn's maid, but she had always been more than a servant — a sentinel, a confidante, and a weapon wrapped in grace. Her long black hair was tied in a sleek ponytail that swayed like a ribbon of midnight when she walked. Her small, almost delicate frame was an illusion that never lasted long, because beneath her soft steps and gentle voice was a body trained in every form of combat the Empire offered. She could disarm a man twice her size or silence a threat before it spoke, and she never once flaunted it. Her strength was in her restraint.
Leonora turned her head sharply. "What is it, Anna?"
"It's from the Minister, my lady. He's requesting a meeting with you at the royal palace."
"Really? What does that man want now?" Leonora let out a long sigh. "What a drag. Can't I send Roland in my place?"
"I'm sorry, my lady, but I would advise against that."
Leonora sighed again, irritation and resignation mixing in it. "You have a point. Get the car ready, then."
At the palace, a steward met her at the door. "Welcome, Lady Leonora. The Minister is waiting in his office."
Minister Alan rose as she entered. "General Leonora, thank you for coming. I hope the short notice didn't inconvenience you."
"Don't worry about it, Minister," she said coolly. "But I'd like to get to the point, if we may."
"Of course. I summoned you to pass on a request that comes directly from His Highness. There is a problem in our Kalkan campaign. The rebel forces have proven unexpectedly resilient, and they've pushed our forces back past our initial formation. We believe reinforcements are needed."
Leonora's eyes narrowed. "So you want me to support the Kalkan forces."
"Yes and no. We need your fleet as backup, and as transport for the God Unit the Emperor has chosen to deploy there."
Her eyes went wide. "What? You're sending a god?"
"Yes. His Highness has decided that the time for decisive action is now."
"Minister, we haven't deployed a God Unit in eight years," she said, and her voice rose despite herself. "You know what the consequences will be."
"Leonora." His gaze did not move from hers. "I know you are honorable. I know your skill, and I know your instinct to keep civilian casualties to a minimum. But sacrifices are inevitable, no matter how carefully we tread."
Her jaw set. "I understand. But if you let me deploy the Royal Knights instead, I can guarantee you a victory."
"General, these are direct orders from the Emperor. You will deploy tomorrow at 0400. Thank you for your time."
The door closed behind her with a soft click that felt much louder than it was. Outside, Anna was waiting by the car. "The car is ready, my lady."
Leonora's shoulders sagged for a moment, and tension radiated from her like a storm. "Change of destination," she said. "I need a drink."
That night, in Fansilia's night district, Leonora stopped outside Marta's Tavern. "Are you sure you want to go in there, my lady?" Anna asked, her voice barely audible over the noise spilling out of the door.
"Don't worry. You wait in the car."
Anna bowed, though her shoulders were heavy with every fear she did not say out loud, and Leonora pushed the tavern doors open hard enough that they slammed against the wall. The pub stood like a relic in the middle of the Empire's neon-drenched night district, a stubborn echo of simpler times. Outside, the streets pulsed with holographic billboards and patrol drones, but inside the air was thick with woodsmoke, laughter and the smell of spiced ale. Its name was Marta's, though most of the regulars called it the Vault — a place where soldiers and ship crews came not to forget, but to remember. The walls were dark, aged timber, real wood scarred by decades of boots, fists and stories. The room was full of men with their uniforms half unzipped, some laughing over cards, some brooding in corners over drinks they were not really drinking.
"Oh! We've got a lady here, boys!" someone bellowed as she came in. "The night just got better! Cheers to the beautiful lady!" The rowdy cheers that followed rattled the hanging lanterns.
"Please don't mind them," said the bartender as Leonora reached the bar. "Not everyone sees someone like you every day."
She was a stocky, solid woman in her mid-thirties, with ginger hair pulled back in a loose knot and hands calloused from years of lifting barrels and breaking up the occasional brawl with nothing but her voice. Her bright green eyes cut through the haze of the pub like twin lanterns. Though there was a roughness to the way she moved and spoke, there was warmth underneath it, the kind that did not ask questions and simply poured the drink and gave you a moment to breathe.
"If you don't know who you're dealing with in this city," the bartender added with a faint smile, "trouble will find you."
Leonora's eyes glinted. "I like you. May I ask your name?"
"Only if you give me yours."
Leonora laughed. "I'm Leonora. The pleasure's mine."
"That's more like it. Welcome to Marta's, Leonora. I'm Marta."
"Hey, Marta, another bottle of gin!" a slurred, reckless voice called from a shadowed corner.
"Get out of here, Youri. You've had enough. Go home!"
"Come on, just one more bottle. Please!"
"I said no. You deploy tomorrow. Go home, idiot."
"You're no fun, Marta."
"Out!"
Leonora's gaze drifted toward the corner, and her breath hitched slightly. The man there radiated danger and recklessness; he had the look of someone who had stared death in the face and smirked at it. Every careless, slouching movement he made spoke of a man who lived right on the edge, untouched by caution but always teetering on chaos.
"Do you get a lot of men like that?" she asked.
"No. Mostly ordinary soldiers and crew members," Marta said, and her voice became almost reverent. "But him? Never. Not in my life. I wouldn't trade places with him for anything."
"Is he a criminal?"
"No," Marta said quietly. "More of an executioner. He pilots a god."
Recognition struck Leonora like lightning, and the pieces fell into place all at once. "If he pilots a god, what is he doing in a place like this?"
"Everyone has demons," Marta said, her eyes flicking toward the corner. "The bottle helps ordinary people cope with theirs. I'd bet he has something far worse than most." She studied Leonora for a moment. "Did it help with yours?"
Leonora finished her drink and set the glass down. "Thanks for the drink, Marta. I'll see you next time. Not too soon, though. I've had enough of this for one night."
She turned for the door, and her boots struck the wooden floor like a drumbeat. Halfway there, a voice called out from one of the tables. "Hey, Youri! Where've you been? Come drink with us. You owe us from last time."
Youri staggered toward them, swaying as he went. "Sorry, guys. I'm broke." He stumbled. Before Leonora could step aside, he collided with her and knocked the bottle she had bought for the road out of her hand. It shattered across the floor.
"Shit! My bottle!" Leonora's voice cracked with fury. "What do you think you're doing, idiot?"
"Oh, sorry. Did I hit you?" Youri slurred, trying to steady himself, the smell of gin clinging to him like a second skin. "Are you blind or something? Come on, I lost my bottle too. Let's call it even—"
Leonora's patience snapped. Her fist caught him across the jaw before he had finished speaking. She seized him by the collar and pulled him off balance until his face was inches from hers. "You damn monster," she hissed. "You think you can toy with everyone and get away with it? Let me open your eyes, Youri. You are nothing but an empty husk." She leaned in closer. Her voice dropped, low and lethal. "And do you know what I hate most in this world? Empty things."
Youri's knees buckled. He sagged in her grip, stunned, something like guilt and awe mixing in his eyes. She released him with a shove and walked out, her cloak snapping around her, every footstep ringing like a judgment. The whole tavern sat frozen with its mouth open until the door had swung shut behind her.
"Holy shit," a soldier whispered at the bar. "That goddess just beat up Youri."
"Get up, man," another muttered, hauling him to his feet. "We told you to be careful."
Youri rubbed his jaw slowly, pride, embarrassment and a grudging kind of respect warring on his face. "Eh," he said. "She had a point."
Outside, Leonora stopped on the step and let the cold night air bite at her cheeks. Her chest was heaving, anger and something she could not name tangled together inside it. For a long moment she simply stood there and breathed, with the noise of the tavern fading behind her like a distant memory. She did not yet know that she would see that man again in a few hours, or that their fates had already begun to tie themselves together