A few hours after leaving the now-destroyed fortress, eight trucks moved forward: inside them were 67 soldiers—the 19 who had accompanied Prince and the 48 who served as guards in the fortress—and the 55 children who now formed the "Legion." When Irene woke up, she was resting against Prince's shoulder; the first thing she saw was the landscape sliding past the window of Prince's personal truck, where only the two of them and two Order soldiers—driver and co-pilot—were riding.
"Y-young heir… f-forgive that pathetic display of mine," she murmured, remembering the last thing before she fainted: S appearing, the suffocating pressure, the void.
Prince clicked his tongue. He pulled away out of habit, not rejection.
"If you already know what your mistake was, don't apologize, Vermeer," he said. "Petty things. Anyway, I'll send each subject's data to your helmet… prove you're not useless."
He manipulated his wristband: a state-of-the-art D'Alessio D'Link, part phone, part holographic assistant, part military device. His was modified under a direct contract with the Alhazen: access to military networks, Lirium's cameras, tactical functions… and a custom interface.
"Yes, young heir," Irene replied. She touched her shoulder pads and the helmet emerged, enclosing her face. She began reviewing documents, fingers sliding through the air like weaving invisible threads; she saw both the real cabin and the projected screens in the interface.
Prince wanted to speak to her for several minutes. Not about the reports. About her. But he only stared out the window, chewing on doubts he had no idea how to phrase.
When Irene finished, she deactivated the helmet.
"Done, young heir," she said. "According to the data, the most promising ones are Subjects 0, 23, 30, and 54. Number 0 shows a Type-I Elyth: Mirage, useful for close and long-range combat. Twenty-three has a Type-II: Hunter, ideal for long-distance elimination missions. Subjects 30 and 54 both have Type-V Elyths: Spectral Echolocation and Parasitic Swarm respectively—excellent for reconnaissance and espionage. I've already sent the full reports to your D'Link. I recommend assigning them as captains and grouping the rest of the Legion under their Elyths."
Prince made only a minimal gesture.
"Fine."
Five minutes passed. Awkward. Heavy. Irene searched for a way to be more useful, stronger. She was a general of the Eleventh Platoon and yet she'd fainted without reacting to S's Demonic March.
Prince was the one who broke the silence.
"Vermeer… why did you join the army? And… why are you so loyal to my family?" he asked, still staring at the landscape.
"Young heir?" Irene answered, confused. The question pushed her into a place she rarely stepped into. "Why do you ask that?"
"Curiosity. Just answer, Vermeer," Prince said, turning toward her irritably… but what he saw surprised him. Irene hesitated. Irene—the iron soldier who never wavered, not even to deny him a snack after training—showed, for the first time, a fragile expression.
"Vermeer?" he insisted, frowning.
Irene's silence wasn't military. It was human. A silence full of broken glass.
"I… I don't have anything else," she finally said. "A while ago, when I started working by your side, I gained access to more army files. I looked up my own file to… you know… see what they'd seen in me when they assigned me as general of the Eleventh Platoon."
She paused. Swallowed.
"Part of… what you're about to hear… is your fault," she added timidly. "Because you don't use good passwords, okay?"
"What did you do?" Prince growled.
"I was going to look at my info. It asked for a level-10 password. Only you, the President, and… S…"—the mere syllable twisted something in her memory—"have that level. So… I used yours. But don't get mad; it's not my fault your password is your own name."
Prince's eyes widened to absurd proportions.
"YOU WHAT?!"
"I-I told you not to get mad…" Irene shrank, looking like an embarrassed puppy after a mischief.
Prince inhaled. Counted to three. Exhaled.
"Fine… continue," he said with a forced smile. He was one second away from hitting her for such carelessness, but he held back.
Irene stayed quiet for a few more seconds, like someone standing at the edge of an abyss they know far too well. When she finally spoke, her voice was a thin thread stretched between duty and the child she once was.
"According to the reports, I was born in Chronus, April 17. Or at least… that's what the record says. No photos. No witnesses. Just a cold file written by someone who'd never held a baby in their life."
Prince watched her without interrupting.
"They found me in a basket," she went on. "A blood-stained blanket and a note with my name and birthdate; two bodies nearby, labeled as traitors. No names, no motives. Just one tag: 'Enemies of the State.'"
"Your parents?" Prince asked, serious.
"Most likely. But for me… they're barely a rumor."
She sighed, as if exhaling an entire life.
"The First Platoon found me… and your father. To him, I wasn't a child. I was… an opportunity. A lump of clay freshly pulled from a grave, ready to be shaped."
Her gaze hardened—not out of resentment, but habit. Like someone who learned to live without skin.
"They brought me to Lirium. I grew up in the barracks. Learned to obey orders before hearing kind words. At seven, I completed my first mission. I eliminated ten insurgents. Ten. Me, wearing a uniform too big for me and carrying a gun heavier than I was."
She looked up at Prince.
"Your father congratulated me. Said I was… 'the most useful.' That if I continued like that, I'd be the perfect tool for the army. That was my real birthday, Heir. The day I understood what I'd been brought into the world for." The word tool hit the air like a hammer on stone. "Since then… I learned not to fear, not to feel, not to doubt. Only to exist to serve. You know the rest: I became general of the Eleventh Platoon and, for almost a month now, I've been your training partner."
She fell silent, this time with something unusual: modesty.
"That's why I'm loyal to the Alhazen. Not out of honor or ideology or any of that crap. But because the President gave me a purpose… or at least, that's what I think."
Her fingers intertwined over her knees.
"When you discover you were born without a past… you cling to any hand that tells you you can be more than what you think you are."
She said it without victimhood. Without melodrama. With the serenity of someone who expects nothing anymore.
And yet that serenity was cracked inside.
Prince burst out laughing.
"Ha… haha… HAHAHAHAHA."
Irene stared at him, incredulous. She had shown him her open wound, and he was laughing.
"Prince, you're a—"
"Sorry," he said, catching his breath and cutting her off. "It's just that… my father? The man who tells me every day I'm a failure? The one who didn't want to touch me when I was born because I didn't absorb anything from S? The one who talks to me with the warmth of a granite block? That man gave you a purpose?"
His tone became compressed fire.
"He lied to you, Vermeer. He probably says the same thing to everyone to manipulate them. To make them think they're 'special.' You're an idiot, Irene."
She bit her lip. Then remembered something. She looked at him closely.
"…Did you just call me by my name?"
Prince froze.
"Huh? I said Vermeer like always."
"No. I heard something else." Irene leaned in with a mischievous smile.
"You heard wrong, Vermeer."
"Irene," she repeated with extra teasing. "You said Irene… Prince."
Prince puffed his cheeks in fury.
"You have no right to say my name, Irene," he replied with his usual cold arrogance.
"Ha, I knew it. You did say it," she triumphed.
"Ughhh! JUST SHUT UP!" Prince growled.
Irene, playful, tickled him. Prince tried to maintain dignity but ended up laughing, lightly pushing her away with his elbow while she kept poking.
The road to the Alhazen mansion filled with teasing, tense laughter, and small sparks of something neither of them knew how to name. After a few hours, the teens calmed down and ignored each other. About 500 km from Lirium, they reached the entrance of a cave leading to a hidden underground path—a direct connection to the Alhazen mansion, one of the many entrances the Order of the Black Mantle had used for generations. The eight trucks entered; the tunnel glowed with white lamps.
"Verme—" Prince stopped before finishing Irene's last name. "Irene… ready for what awaits us when we get there? My father won't be happy we didn't bring the Genesis S promised him," he added while looking at the window; his hand trembled slightly.
Irene turned, and seeing his nervousness, answered as she always did.
"Oh, Prince… don't be such a pussy getting nervous over what the President says… We did our best…" she said, though her voice trembled because she knew they had failed. "Besides… the fact that that 'Genesis' escaped was S's fault… I think; I don't know, you didn't tell me anything when I woke up. That's just what I'm assuming, since I didn't find any documents under the name 'Second Genesis' or anything similar." She leaned closer and put a hand on his shoulder. "Relax, young hei—"
She was cut off.
"NO," Prince shouted. "I know you know my father as well as I do… meaning not at all… but both you and I know he'll be angry… Irene," he said with his typical cold fury.
Irene lowered her gaze, moved back to the opposite end of the seat, and stared out the window.
An hour after entering the tunnel, they arrived at a platform in a huge cavern; there were sports cars, military vehicles, and customized ones… all stolen or owned by the Black Mantle Order. The 55 Legion kids were taken out and escorted by three suited men Prince recognized instantly: his instructors from a little over two years ago—Tadeo Rains, Philip Kaiser, and Magnus Seifer—his father's personal guard. Then the kids left. The three men bowed when Prince walked by with Irene. They went up from level -15 to level 1 and walked through hallways toward the presidential office.
"Ready… Irene?" Prince asked with his hand on the doorknob, swallowing hard.
"Not at all," she murmured, afraid.
They entered. Aidrien was sitting at his desk, signing a last set of documents.
"Five days…" Aidrien said in a cold, rough voice as soon as they entered. "Five days… you impress me, Prince," he added, glancing at the children with a hint of threat.
"T-thank you, Father…" Prince said, staring at the floor; both stood straight, hands behind them.
"Fifty-five new soldiers for the Order… consider it a gift from me," Aidrien said, standing and walking toward Prince. He placed a hand on his shoulder. "Now you are the leader of the Legion… the sub-branch of the Order of the Black Mantle. Just like I started with Rains, Kaiser, and Seifer… you'll begin your path as an Alhazen right now." His words, far from recognition, sounded like threat. "You have fifty-five soldiers under your command… fifty-five to claim the slums and make them yours. You'll take them by force and make a name for yourself, as I did at your age. This time… don't fail me. You couldn't even bring me a simple person because S says he escaped or died," he added with disdain toward his son.
"How do you kno—"
Prince began, but before he could finish, Aidrien snapped his fingers and a hologram projected a text message S had sent him two days ago—the same day Prince began returning with the soldiers and the Legion.
"Heyyyyy Hazen, don't ask how the hell I got your number 😜. Sooo… the Genesis I promised you escaped and your little boy won't be bringing him… Honestly I don't know where the Genesis went… just too lazy to go look for him… plus I'm enjoying my vacation after my temporary firing… don't bother looking for me; like you asked, I'll disappear from your sight until you need me. Until you need me again 😘."
"S himself told me," Aidrien said before dismissing the hologram. "IRENE," he barked.
"Y-yes, Mr. President!" she replied, startled.
"From now on, you will become Prince's right hand in everything… not just his assistant. You will no longer be general of the Eleventh Platoon."
Irene felt life draining from her; they'd taken the position she had fought so hard for. But Aidrien continued:
"And now you will be the Legion's Deputy Commander. Understood?"
Irene's eyes brightened for a split second and she nodded.
"Yes, President," she exclaimed.
"Good…" Aidrien said, activating his Elyth, crushing both of them with gravity—not to kill them: he applied a brutal weight on Prince and a tolerable but immobilizing one on Irene. "If you fail at anything again… I WILL KILL YOU!" he threatened with a cold stare, releasing them as they gasped for air. "That's all. Out of my office."
"Y-yes, Father," Prince panted, standing and leaving.
"Y-yes, President," Irene said, catching her breath and leaving.
Once outside, Aidrien closed the door with his Elyth. He turned and stared at the central plaza outside the mansion. Whispered:
"Laura…" He lowered his head and sighed. "I hope I'm doing this right… for the future of the Alhazen… and for Prince."
Meanwhile, the kids walked away talking.
"Irene… we did it!" Prince yelled, raising his arm. "WE DID IT! THAT DAMN OLD MAN FINALLY ACKNOWLEDGED US AND NOW WE HAVE OUR PLACE IN THE ORDER!" His voice overflowed with pride.
Irene simply smacked him on the head.
"SHUT UP, IDIOT!" she snapped. Prince held the spot she hit. "Don't forget this is only to prove to your father that we're capable… he already said it…" she added fearfully. "If we don't meet his expectations…"
"So what?" Prince replied. "He won't kill us because we'll never fail again. From now on we'll train harder, together… You still have your guaranteed position as future leader of the Black Mantle Order. If you're afraid of dying, it means you're not fit for the role… and that I'm the most fit." He smirked, arrogant.
"What?!" Irene exclaimed, outraged. "No way… I'm not letting some shorty take the position the President already granted me."
"Who are you calling short?!" Prince demanded. "Just wait a few years, I'll be taller than you."
"I want to see that," Irene challenged, stepping closer.
"Then… whoever gets to the training hall last has to take 1,000 hits from the other," Prince said, sprinting toward the secret stairs.
"Hey, that's cheating!" Irene shouted, chasing him.
And so something began between them: laughter, fights, a game that wasn't just a game. Two teens seeking recognition from the same man. Two broken children forbidden from having a childhood. Two souls who, despite growing in barren soil, found a way to bloom.
An alliance.
No… a friendship destined to become synonymous with perfection and destruction.