Leonora woke slowly, as though she were rising through deep water. At first there was nothing but silence. Then the light came, a harsh white brightness that made her squint as her eyes opened. For a moment she couldn't tell where she was. Her body felt heavy, her limbs numb and distant, as if they no longer belonged to her. The faint hum of medical machinery filled the room, with a steady rhythmic beep somewhere close by. As her vision cleared she saw a smooth white ceiling lined with long strips of sterile light, and she smelled antiseptic. The medical bay of Central Command.
But her mind wasn't there. Her mind was still in the cockpit of the Phantom. The last thing she remembered was the Hound. The beam. The blinding orange light that had swallowed everything.
Her breathing quickened. She shot upright, and her muscles protested violently, pain erupting through her ribs and spine as the sudden movement strained injuries that had barely begun to heal. She ignored it. Her eyes darted around the room — rows of empty beds, softly glowing equipment along the walls, transparent medical screens hovering quietly above the consoles. Where am I? What happened? Her thoughts raced faster with every second. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. The moment her bare feet touched the cold floor, a sharp stab of pain shot down her back and through her legs like lightning. Her balance gave way, and she grabbed the edge of the bed to keep from collapsing. "Damn—"
At that exact moment, the door slid open. A doctor came in carrying a data pad, and the instant he looked up and saw her standing, his eyes went wide. "My lady!" He rushed to her side. "You have to sit down — please, you shouldn't be standing yet."
She turned on him sharply, her voice strained but urgent. "Why am I here?"
He tried gently to guide her back to the bed. "You were brought in with severe injuries. Your Orbiton was critically damaged in the battle."
Leonora frowned as fragments of memory raced through her mind. Then the only question that mattered tore through all of them, and she seized his arm. "Where is the Duke?"
The doctor hesitated. Only for a moment. But she saw it — the hesitation, the uncertainty — and her grip tightened. "Where is Youri?"
He lowered his head a little before he answered. "The Duke… is in intensive care."
Leonora froze. The words echoed in her mind like distant thunder.
"We recovered him only a few hours ago," the doctor went on quietly. "Frankly, it's a miracle he survived."
For a split second she couldn't breathe. Then she grabbed him by the front of his coat. "What did you say?!"
He raised his hands quickly. "My lady, please — he held off the rogue unit and the unidentified warship alone. He held them long enough for the remaining Terrian ships to withdraw safely. A great many of the pilots out there owe him their lives."
Her grip loosened slowly, and his coat slipped from her fingers. Of course he had. Youri would never retreat. He would never leave a battlefield while anyone else was still in danger. She took a slow breath and straightened, in spite of the pain surging through her body, and without another word she began to walk toward the door.
"My lady—!" The doctor hurried after her. "You're not fit to move yet! Your injuries—"
She didn't stop. Every step sent sharp pain through her spine and ribs, but she forced herself forward anyway, her bare feet echoing faintly on the cold floor of the medical sector, while doctors and nurses turned to watch her pass and whispered among themselves. She didn't notice any of them. There was only one thing in her mind. Youri. She walked and walked, down long sterile hallways under soft white light, past sealed wards and recovery rooms. At last she reached the intensive care unit, and its doors slid open with a soft mechanical hiss.
The room was quiet. In its center stood a large recovery tank, its glass glowing faintly green. And Youri was floating inside it, suspended in thick, translucent fluid. For a moment she couldn't move. It felt as though her heart had stopped. Cables ran across his body, thin wires fixed to his chest and arms to monitor everything about him. His face was pale beneath the strands of brown hair drifting gently in the liquid. A breathing mask covered his nose and mouth, its thin tube the only thing keeping him alive. Machines hummed softly all around the chamber, their hovering screens showing his vital signs.
Leonora stepped slowly closer, and the green glow of the tank reflected in her eyes. This was the man who had faced the Hound alone — who had stood against an entire battlefield and refused to fall. And now he floated here, barely alive. The Hound had escaped. Too many lives had been lost that day, and too many ships destroyed. And something about the attack didn't feel right. It didn't feel random, or like a simple raid. It felt planned. Carefully orchestrated. Deep down she knew Youri would come to the same conclusion when he woke. But right now, none of that mattered.
She laid her hand gently against the glass, and her reflection looked back at her from its surface — exhausted, injured, afraid. Seeing him like this, unable to move, unable to protect himself, broke something inside her. For the first time since the battle had begun, Leonora felt truly helpless. She had spent her entire life fighting — training, commanding, protecting the Empire. And now, standing here, she understood something she had never allowed herself to think before. She couldn't bear to lose him. Not like this. Not ever.
Once before, a long time ago, she had lain on an operating table in a white room while a boy she barely knew gave his blood to keep her alive. She had never stopped owing him for that. She had simply never known how to repay it.
And that day, standing alone in that silent chamber, Leonora Kaelthorn made a decision that would shape the rest of their lives — a decision she knew would change everything. She would never step onto a battlefield again. She would never pilot an Orbiton again, or fight another war. She chose the selfish path — the path that would one day cost her everything. But in that moment, none of that mattered. There was only one thing she knew with absolute certainty: she never wanted to see her husband hurt like this again. Even if it meant leaving behind the only life she had ever known. Even if it meant living in isolation, far from the world. She would do it. For him. For Youri.