Neru's Estate
Auralis Haven, Alpine Confederation Zone
New Geneva, European Federation Zone
United Earth Federation
2435 A.D.
Her arm was gone—torn away so violently that she barely registered the pain, only the warmth spilling down her side in a torrent of red. The world around her was chaos: smoke curling through the fractured streetlights, sirens wailing like metallic ghosts, flashes of light cutting through the night as GSA units stormed the streets.
The one who had done this—her attacker—was already gone, darting through the labyrinth of alleys beyond her blurred vision. Elias had gone after them, a streak of fire and conviction vanishing into the dark. Naia didn't care. She couldn't.
Her body trembled as she dragged herself across the wet pavement, leaving streaks of blood beneath her. The world pulsed in and out of focus—voices echoing, boots pounding, commands shouted through comms—but none of it mattered. Her remaining hand clawed forward, nails scraping against broken glass and rain-soaked concrete. She could feel her strength slipping away, her heartbeat fluttering unevenly.
She wasn't crawling toward safety. She wasn't crawling toward help.
She was crawling toward her—the only one who mattered in that collapsing world.
Somewhere ahead, through the haze of smoke and crimson reflections, lay the reason she still clung to consciousness. Naia's vision dimmed as her breathing grew shallow, every movement a battle against gravity itself. Her blood mingled with the rain, tracing veins of scarlet across the asphalt.
Around her, GSA operatives moved with disciplined precision—detaining radicals, sealing off the perimeter, shouting codes through their visors. None of them noticed the small, broken figure dragging herself forward, fueled only by desperate will.
By the time Naia's fingers brushed the edge of a familiar silhouette, her arm gave out. Her body slumped forward, her cheek pressing against the cold ground. The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was the shimmer of light—the faint, comforting glow of the person she'd fought to reach.
And then everything went still.
~
Naia jolted awake, her breath hitching as if she'd surfaced from drowning. The sheets clung to her, damp with sweat. Her heart hammered against her ribs, the remnants of the nightmare still clawing at the back of her mind—screams, blood, the unbearable flash of light before the pain.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she tried to steady herself, one trembling hand pressed against her sternum. Then came the ache—the sharp, ghostlike sting that pulsed through her prosthetic arm. The phantom pain was cruel in its familiarity, a whisper from a past she wanted buried.
She turned toward the nightstand, where her arm rested in its charging cradle. The faint hum of the gem conduits filled the silence of the room, the device glowing in pale gold light. With a shaky exhale, she reached for it.
The limb was cool against her skin. She guided it into the socket at her shoulder with practiced precision. There was a soft hiss, followed by a surge of warmth as the lattice lines along her torso lit faintly beneath the skin, synchronizing with the prosthetic's gem core. The fusion was completed with a pulse of light.
Naia flexed her fingers experimentally—one, two, three—and felt the artificial sinews move like muscle. The pain dulled but didn't vanish; it never did. She sat there for a moment, staring at her reflection in the darkened glass of the window. Her eyes were shadowed, her hair clinging to her face, but there was a quiet determination beneath the exhaustion.
"Get up," she murmured to herself. "You're going home today."
The shower's steam washed over her like mist, blurring her reflection as she scrubbed away the clammy sweat and remnants of the nightmare. By the time she finished dressing, the morning light had begun to filter through the blinds—a dull silver glow over the quiet quarters.
Downstairs, the smell of food greeted her first: toasted bread, eggs, and the faint scent of brewed synth-coffee. Neru sat at the dining area, half a plate already gone, a datapad propped beside her. Her pale eyes flicked up when Naia entered.
"Oh—you're up," Neru said, setting the pad aside. "All ready to go?"
Naia nodded, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. "Yeah. We're heading back to New Boston this morning." She paused, glancing around the room. "Where's Elira?"
Neru speared a piece of fruit with her fork before answering. "She left."
Naia frowned. "Left? What do you mean, left?"
"She returned to the mothership," Neru said matter-of-factly, noticing how Naia's tone sharpened. The flicker of concern in the human's eyes made her tilt her head, studying her. "She told me to tell you not to worry. To go back to New Boston. She'll be back soon."
Naia's shoulders eased, though a trace of disappointment lingered in her gaze. "Oh… okay." She pulled out a chair and sat, the quiet hum of her prosthetic mingling with the soft clatter of utensils.
For a while, neither spoke. Neru returned to eating, and Naia sat still, her thoughts drifting. The idea of returning home should have filled her with relief—but somehow, it felt emptier without Elira there.
****
Ellira didn't like leaving Naia behind. Every step away from the apartment felt heavier, her heart tugging toward the warmth she'd just begun to understand. But some questions burned deeper than comfort—truths buried in the heart of the Luminia Concord, and only one place in the entire world could give her those answers.
Caelestis Prime.
The mothership hung far above the atmosphere like a radiant crown, visible even from New Boston as a distant star glimmering at dawn. For most humans, it was a myth of light and metal—a city of living radiance. But for Ellira, it was home… and a cage.
She stood in the Crown Spire district, the air shimmering with refracted hues from the tether's energy streams. The Caelestis Link Elevator rose before her—a colossal beam of pure light piercing the sky. Around its base, civilians and engineers moved with precision, maintaining the hum of energy that rippled through the air.
There were two elevators: one for cargo, bulky and mechanical; the other for living beings, woven entirely of Luminis weave. Ellira approached the latter. Its surface wasn't solid—it rippled like liquid glass, reacting to her presence. The control spire recognized her genetic signature and split open with a soft sigh, allowing her entry.
Inside, it was quiet and luminous. The chamber pulsed with gentle light, the walls a translucent cascade of shifting colors. As she stepped in, her reflection fractured across the weave, forming infinite silhouettes of herself—each one flickering in different wavelengths, like echoes of her potential selves.
She took a seat in the suspended cradle at the center, crossing her legs as the photonic seals formed around her. A deep, melodic hum filled the space—the voice of the Luminis weaves itself, aligning with her core.
Her fingers brushed the armrest, activating the tether. "Destination: Caelestis Prime. Clearance—Solenne Line."
The weave acknowledged her command, and a burst of light enveloped the chamber. For a moment, Ellira felt her body dissolve. Her atoms scattered, carried along a stream of pure radiance, her consciousness riding the current. The world below shrank into a swirl of blues and greens, the stratosphere bending around her like a curtain of glass. Stars appeared ahead, sharp and cold, and then—the light reassembled her.
When the chamber solidified again, the glow dimmed to reveal the interior of the Caelestis Arrival Hall. Polished white floors, walls embedded with flowing veins of light, and the scent of sterile air filled with ozone. Outside the vast panoramic windows, the curvature of Earth shimmered against the void.
Ellira exhaled slowly, her body adjusting to the gravity shift. The hum of the mothership welcomed her like an old song she'd once loved but forgotten.
Ellira emerged from the Link elevator into the soft gold radiance of the Caelestis Prime mid-ring, and for a brief moment, she simply stood there—breathing in the warmth of home. The Golden Sector unfolded before her like a sunrise painted in glass. It had been years since she'd last walked these halls, and yet nothing had changed: the air still shimmered with melodic light, and the walls still sang faintly with the pulse of her people.
She stepped onto the skybridge that overlooked the crescent sprawl below. The artificial sun glowed at the heart of the mothership, refracting through crystalline terraces that curved around the central sky well. Every surface—floor, tower, and garden—was alive, refracting golden hues that rippled like sunlight on water. The hum of harmony filled the air, a serene vibration felt more than heard.
The Golden Sector had always been different from the others. The outer sectors bristled with military precision, industry, and research. Here, light itself seemed to breathe—gentle, responsive, attuned to the emotions of the souls who lived within it. Ellira could feel the empathy woven into the architecture, the compassion pulsing beneath the Luminis weave.
As she began her walk toward the Solarium of Serenity, the shuttle platform beneath her feet lit with her resonance signature, carrying her forward in silence.
She passed beneath the arches of the Hall of Sol Accord, its suspended amphitheater shimmering with faint echoes of past negotiations. She remembered standing there beside her mother during the first Concord summit with the UEF—her mother's calm voice soothing tempers that threatened to ignite war. Julia Solenne had always been more than a diplomat; she had been a force of balance, her light both shield and bridge.
Further along, she glimpsed the Sanctum of Lightweavers—a towering temple of golden glass where healers sang resonance hymns to restore broken cores. Threads of light spiraled around the structure, weaving through the air like silk. Ellira slowed, watching a young weaver mend a patient's Luminis core with a gentle touch. For a moment, she smiled, remembering her own training in that very sanctum before she had chosen the path of liaison instead of healer.
The shuttle glided over the Solar Gardens, where fields of bioluminescent flora glowed in cascading colors. The plants swayed in rhythm with unseen music, absorbing the emotions of those nearby and exhaling warmth. Floating prisms drifted above the terraces, scattering light into hundreds of miniature rainbows. Ellira lingered, her reflection refracted in each spectrum—thousands of versions of herself, all wondering the same thing: what truths awaited her mother's voice?
Finally, the shuttle ascended toward the highest terrace—the Solarium of Serenity. The transition from the public gardens to the private residential sanctum was seamless; the atmosphere grew softer, quieter, more reverent. The hum of light here was slower, like a heartbeat at rest.
Ellira stepped onto a crystalline causeway that wound around the Mirror Basin, a tranquil lake that reflected the sector's golden sky. Above, the constellations of Luméthra shimmered—a recreation of the lost homeworld her people still mourned. The air was perfumed with radiant blossoms and filled with faint harmonic tones, gentle as a lullaby.
Her mother's residence came into view—a circular dwelling of living light-glass and crystalline wood, its surface breathing softly like a heartbeat. The structure radiated warmth, the kind of light that didn't blind, but embraced. No doors marked its entrance; only a shifting threshold of light that pulsed in response to her approach.
As Ellira drew closer, the light parted for her like a curtain.
Inside, everything was bathed in dusk-gold hue. The floor glowed faintly beneath her bare feet, and the walls flowed with subtle constellations. At the center was the Resonance Pool, a shallow basin where threads of golden light continuously circulated, humming in perfect rhythm with the heartbeat of its mistress.
"Ellira."
Her name was spoken softly, yet it carried through the chamber like a note of pure harmony.
Her mother sat beside the pool, her form bathed in gentle luminance. Julia Solenne looked more ethereal than Ellira remembered—her brilliant core flickered with brilliance, her eyes held the same radiant compassion, the same serene strength that had always anchored Ellira's childhood.
"Mother," Ellira whispered, her voice trembling between relief and guilt.
Julia smiled, a light blooming faintly at her fingertips as she gestured for her daughter to come closer. "You've returned to me, my little dawn."
She appeared in her human form—a shape she had worn for as long as Ellira could remember. Among the Solenne tribe and the other Luminian houses, that choice was quietly scorned, an act many deemed beneath her station. Yet none dared voice it aloud; her authority and legacy made her untouchable.
Ellira understood why her mother chose that form. It wasn't rebellion or shame—it was love. A way to bridge the distance between herself and her children, whose mixed heritage had set them apart from the pureborn of their kind. By wearing a human face, Julia Solenne made a silent declaration: my children will never stand alone.
In that form, she looked like an older reflection of Ellira—aged into grace, yet untouched by time's cruelty. Her features held the same luminous poise, her eyes the same golden warmth. The spiral markings along her cheeks shimmered softly, identical to Ellira's own, though fainter now, like sunlight fading through thin clouds. She radiated a quiet majesty, a beauty that had never needed perfection to command reverence.
Julia sensed it the instant Ellira stepped into the dwelling—the subtle tremor in her daughter's resonance, the uneven hum beneath her light. The connection between them, long muted by distance, flared alive again, threads of golden empathy weaving through the air.
"What is it that troubles you, my little dawn?" Julia asked gently, her voice carrying the warmth of sunlight through mist. "Is it the investigation into the bombing?"
Ellira's gaze flicked toward her, cautious. "Marienne told you I was involved?"
A faint smile curved Julia's lips. "She keeps me informed about you," she said softly. "Even when you think you've slipped beyond my light."
"I didn't mean to keep my distance," Ellira said quietly, her voice almost swallowed by the gentle hum of the room. "Between the academy and my internship with Marienne… things just kept piling up."
Julia's expression softened, her golden eyes shimmering with understanding. "I know, my dear," she said. "You have your own path to follow—your own light to tend." She rose gracefully from where she sat, her movement as fluid as the currents of Luminis weaving through the air. "Come with me."
Ellira hesitated only a moment before following.
They moved through a threshold of light that rippled open at Julia's touch, entering another section of the residence. The space resembled a kitchen, though no human design could quite compare. Arrays of crystalline conduits and resonance panels pulsed softly, channeling Luminis weave through hovering instruments. Metallic petals unfolded and refolded as they simmered glowing mixtures in translucent vessels.
At the center stood a large cauldron of living crystal, its contents swirling with warm gold luminescence. The air was thick with the scent of honeyed spice and solar nectar, sweet yet grounding—comfort distilled into aroma.
"It smells wonderful," Ellira murmured, a small smile breaking through the tension in her face.
Julia glanced over her shoulder, her tone light but tender. "It's an old Solenne remedy. You used to love it as a child."
ChatGPT said:
"Are you… cooking?" Ellira asked, lifting an eyebrow as she eyed the cauldron's gentle swirl of gold light. The aroma was rich—sweet, warm, and faintly metallic, like sunlight caught in honey.
Julia smiled, amusement flickering across her face. "Of course. Some things I prefer to do myself." She stirred the luminous mixture with a slow wave of her hand. The surface rippled, responding to her touch. "And," she added with a soft hum, "it looks like it's ready."
She gestured gracefully, and the cauldron obeyed. Threads of light lifted from its surface, carrying the glowing contents upward. The liquid separated into orbs that shimmered like molten amber before settling neatly onto crystalline plates hovering nearby. With a pulse of golden weave, the plates floated down a corridor of light toward the adjoining chamber.
"Come along," Julia said, her voice calm and inviting.
Ellira followed her mother through the softly pulsing threshold into the dining hall. The room glowed with a mellow, eternal-dusk hue, its curved walls alive with faint constellations that shimmered as they entered. A great table dominated the center, though it had been condensed to a smaller, more intimate size—a private setting instead of a council feast.
The dishes arranged on the table were a quiet blend of two worlds. Luminian fare shimmered faintly, light-infused grains and photonic fruits resting beside simple human dishes—bread, soup, and roasted vegetables, their steam curling lazily into the air. Julia had always believed that balance could exist even in something as small as a meal.
Ellira sat beside her, the crystalline chair molding softly to her form. The surface of the table glowed faintly in response to their presence, harmonizing with their resonance frequencies.
"It's been a long time since we've shared a meal like this," Julia said, pouring a radiant liquid into translucent cups.
Ellira nodded, her expression softening. "It feels… strange. Familiar, but distant."
Julia smiled gently. "That's how light works, my little dawn. It travels far, but it always finds its way home."
ChatGPT said:
The two sat together at the small crystalline table, a soft hum of resonance weaving through the air like a quiet song. The food gleamed faintly in the golden light—warm bread infused with solar grains, luminous fruit slices that glowed like sunrise, and a bowl of honeyed soup that shimmered when stirred.
Ellira ate slowly, savoring each bite more than she intended to. It was the first real meal she'd had since waking up after the fight with the assassins—after the chaos, the blood, and the fear that had nearly claimed her and Naia both. Her body still carried the faint ache of that battle, though the warmth of the food dulled it.
They ate mostly in silence. Julia moved with quiet grace, her every motion deliberate, almost ceremonial. Every so often, she glanced up at Ellira, her eyes soft and radiant with affection. It was a mother's gaze—half pride, half longing. Ellira noticed it, though she said nothing. The warmth of it stirred something deep within her chest, something she couldn't yet name.
When they had finished, Julia waved a hand, and the table cleared itself in a slow ripple of light. Two cups of golden tea materialized between them, steam curling upward in thin, luminous strands. The scent was floral, delicate, a memory of the Solar Gardens distilled into a drink.
Ellira held her cup gently, letting the warmth seep into her palms. The silence between them lingered—soft, but heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken things.
Finally, Julia broke it.
"So, Ellira," she began, her tone light but probing, "why have you come here?" Her golden eyes searched her daughter's face, kind yet knowing. "You wouldn't leave your duties on Earth without reason."
Ellira hesitated, her fingers tightening around the cup. The tea trembled slightly, its surface reflecting her uncertainty.
"What happened to Xerna?" she asked at last. Her voice was low, almost fragile. "How did she die?"
Julia froze. The name hit her like a shard of light through the heart. For a moment, even the living glow of the room dimmed, as though reacting to her sudden stillness.
"…Xerna?" Julia echoed softly, her composure faltering for the first time.
Ellira met her gaze. "I need to know."
Her mother's lips parted, but no words came immediately. It had been years—eight long years—since that name had last passed between them. Ellira had avoided it, buried it, refused to let it echo through her mind. Yet here, surrounded by the soft hum of home, it had resurfaced.
Julia's fingers trembled slightly as she set her teacup down. "It's been so long since you've spoken her name," she murmured, her voice a whisper of both sorrow and wonder. "I thought you had finally let her go."
"I never could," Ellira said quietly. "She was my sister."
ChatGPT said:
"You know what happened to Xerna," Julia said softly, though there was an uneasy edge beneath her calm tone.
"I know only what you told me," Ellira replied, her voice steady but her eyes searching. "That she died during a mission in the southern hemisphere zone… for the Veiled Choir."
Julia inclined her head slightly, the light around her dimming to a muted gold. The Veiled Choir—the Luminia Concord's specialized security force—had long worked alongside the GSA, their operatives known for precision and secrecy. While Ellira had followed the path of the healer, Xerna had chosen the path of the blade, dedicating her life to protecting others through strength. Two halves of one resonance, guided by opposite callings.
"Yes," Julia murmured at last. "That was what we were told."
Ellira's gaze drifted downward, her fingers tightening on the edge of the table. "Xerna and I… as twins, we had a bond," she said. "A Resonance tether. We could always sense each other—our emotions, our pain, even when we were galaxies apart." She paused, her throat tightening. "When she died—or when you said she did—that bond went silent. I thought it was proof. I convinced myself she was gone."
Julia's expression softened, a shadow of sorrow flickering behind her golden eyes.
"But now…" Ellira continued, her voice trembling between hope and fear, "not long ago—before the bombing of New Boston's Hall of Radiance—I felt her. Just for a moment. The Resonance came alive again." She looked up, meeting her mother's eyes. "It was her, Mother. She reactivated it. I know it."
"Ellira…" Julia's voice was low, hesitant, a quiet plea woven into the word.
Ellira leaned forward. "Mother," she said, her tone sharp now, demanding truth, "what do you know about Project Heliospire?"
The air between them thickened. The gentle hum of the room seemed to falter, the golden light wavering like a flame caught in the wind. Julia's gaze hardened, the maternal warmth fading into something guarded—ancient, burdened.
"Where did you hear that name?" Julia's voice had dropped—no longer soft, but edged with something sharper, something almost fearful.
Ellira drew in a breath. "The GSA investigation led us to Malcolm Hynes," she began carefully, "and his past as a researcher for the Celestex Corporation—"
She didn't finish.
Julia shot to her feet in an instant. The gentle warmth of the room shattered as her presence surged outward, commanding and radiant. With a few swift gestures of her fingers, threads of pure light unraveled from her core, streaking through the air in intricate spirals. They wove together, layer upon layer, forming luminous sigils that anchored themselves into the walls, the floor, even the ceiling.
The entire residence thrummed, its atmosphere changing from serene to sealed. Ellira felt it immediately—the sharp, resonant shift that made her Lumenis core pulse unevenly. The weave her mother had conjured was no ordinary barrier. It didn't just muffle sound or energy; it cut them off entirely. The Resonant Network itself—the psychic lattice that connected all Luminia aboard Caelestis Prime—went silent, like a song abruptly ending mid-note.
Ellira's breath caught. "Mother, what are you doing?"
Julia's expression had darkened; the golden markings on her face flickered faintly, pulsing with urgency. The resonance around her had changed—no longer the tender warmth of a healer, but the cold precision of someone who had once wielded authority that could silence empires.
"Ellira…" she said quietly, but her voice carried an undeniable gravity. "Why would you look into the Celestex Corporation?"
The words were spoken not in English, but in Luminis Cantus—the ancestral language of light and tone, understood not through the ears but through the very core. The shift made Ellira's pulse quicken. Her mother only spoke that way when something was too dangerous to be overheard, even by the ship itself.
Ellira swallowed hard, her gaze darting to the glowing threads that now sealed the room like a cocoon of living light. The weaves were complex—so refined that even she, trained in resonance architecture, could hardly follow the layered patterning.
"What's the matter?" she asked softly, though her voice betrayed her unease. "Why would you—"
Julia turned toward her fully, the faint golden glow in her eyes now tempered by something older, heavier. "Because, my daughter," she said in the same melodic tongue, her words resonating like bells under pressure, "there are names that should have burned with the first sun of Luméthra. And Heliospire is one of them."
"What do you know about Project Heliospire?" Ellira pressed, her voice low but firm. "And don't tell me you know nothing. I've seen the files, Mother. I know Father was involved. Malcolm Hynes brought him in under a false name—his original name. Aurel. I saw the images."
Julia's composure faltered for the first time. Her shoulders slumped as a long, weary sigh escaped her lips. For a moment, she didn't look like the radiant matriarch of House Solenne—only a mother carrying the weight of too many buried years.
She sat down slowly, her light dimming to a soft amber hue. "So… you've uncovered that much," she murmured. "Then there's no point pretending otherwise."
Her gaze drifted toward the luminous patterns flickering across the barrier weave, as if the light itself carried the ghosts of the past. "Before Heliospire, there was Project Dawnmirror."
"Project Dawnmirror?" Ellira repeated, the name unfamiliar yet resonant.
Julia nodded. "Yes. You're aware that long before the Revelation Era—before our people formally revealed ourselves to humanity—some Luminia were already living among mankind."
"Yes," Ellira said quietly. "It's not something the Concord likes to discuss."
"For good reason," Julia replied. Her tone was calm, but there was sorrow beneath it. "I won't trouble you with all the details of why they were there. But you should know this—your father, Heloth…" She paused, as if the name itself was a wound. "…He was one of them."
Ellira's breath caught. "Father… he was born on Earth?"
Julia's eyes softened with a distant melancholy. "Yes. His bloodline had already taken root there, long before the first migration fleets ever arrived. His ancestors survived hidden among humankind for centuries, adapting to the planet's resonance field. Their physiology began to change—less radiant, more solid. Their light anchored into matter. They came to be known as the Luminarion."
Ellira's pulse quickened. "Like me."
Julia nodded. "Yes. You and your sister both. You are the living bridge between two evolutions of light—the Celestial and the Earthborn. Your father embodied that union. He believed the Luminarion could be the key to coexistence."
Her gaze darkened slightly. "That was what Dawnmirror was meant to prove—before it became the foundation for something far more dangerous."