Volume 2, Chapter 1: A Dying Sun and Distant Hearts

  Four months after The Battle of Vellmont

  Perched atop the Celestial Promenade, the Imperial Solarian Academy stood as a testament to Solarius' martial and intellectual supremacy. Overlooking the grand avenues of Elyndor, its towering gold-and-marble spires stretched toward the heavens, a sanctum where the empire’s finest minds and warriors were forged. The academy’s vast training grounds extended beyond its hallowed halls, a meticulously designed landscape of reinforced alloy and artificial terrain, sculpted to simulate the myriad battlefields of the cosmos.

  At its center, golden titans clashed, their voidsteel weapons carving streaks of brilliance through the air. The Solarion Knights—the latest and most advanced sixth-generation mechs of House Solarius—stood in formation, their heavy armor glinting beneath the artificial sunlamps suspended overhead.

  Each of these masterpieces of war bore the unmistakable mark of Solarian craftsmanship. Gold-plated exteriors, layered with micro-thin luminite filigree, exuded divine authority. Their frames were massive, built for both resilience and elegance, each knight a walking fortress. The winged heraldry of Solarius was emblazoned across their pauldrons, a reminder of their sworn duty to the God-Emperor’s will. Accompanying them were Ignis Drones, their black-and-gold frames hovering ominously, their mechanical optics scanning for threats with cold, machine precision. They lacked the intelligence of manned mechs but compensated with ruthless, unrelenting firepower.

  Opposing them were the prototype Direhound Igknight mechs—sleek, aggressive, and built for mobility. A direct result of Prince Lucien’s technological exchange with House Fenralis, these experimental units retained the Direhound’s modular versatility but incorporated a reactive luminite lattice, allowing their armor to dynamically adapt to incoming attacks. Their crimson plating contrasted sharply against the radiant gold of the Solarions, like embers dancing defiantly in the presence of the sun.

  The mock battle was brutal.

  The opposing Direhound Igknights burst forward, their thrusters kicking up dust, weaving between Ignis Drone suppressive fire. Their pilots, trained in Fenralis combat doctrine, fought with feral precision, utilizing guerrilla tactics to overwhelm and exploit gaps in the Solarion formation.

  A Direhound Igknight leapt into the air, dodging a plasma bolt from an Ignis Drone, and swung its voidsteel blade in a wide arc. The Solarion Knight raised its shield just in time, deflecting the attack with a crackling burst of energy. The knight’s pilot countered, thrusting its lance forward with an aftershock-enhanced thrust, sending the Direhound Igknight sprawling. The impact sent a thunderous boom across the field, rattling the onlookers.

  Among those watching from the grandstand, Prince Lucien Horus Solarius III smirked, sipping lazily from a jeweled goblet. He reclined comfortably in his velvet-seated throne, draped in resplendent robes that shimmered in the light of the battle below. Beside him stood Lord Valerius Magnus, his ever-stern expression betraying nothing, his arms crossed as he observed the engagement with an analytical eye.

  Seated near them, Garett Fenralis watched impassively, arms crossed, his brows furrowed. On either side of him stood Leona and Anya, both in full combat gear, their gazes locked onto the battlefield with professional interest.

  “This is promising,” Lucien mused, swirling his drink. “A fusion of Solarian might and Fenralis adaptability. I do believe we’ve created something magnificent.”

  “I’m sure you’ll take full credit, Your Highness,” Valerius murmured, unimpressed.

  Lucien smirked. “Naturally.” His eyes flicked to Garett, a glint of amusement hidden behind his otherwise nonchalant demeanor. “Tell me, Lord Fenralis, does the sight of these machines stir any memories? Perhaps… a certain gift from a certain prince, many years ago?”

  Garett’s jaw tightened slightly, but his expression remained composed. He knew exactly what Lucien was referring to—the Solarion mech that had been ‘gifted’ to him as a child, a backhanded insult meant to humiliate the magicless second son of House Fenralis. It had been a message: You do not belong among us.

  Lucien leaned closer, his tone deceptively casual. “I must say, it’s quite the mystery, watching you now—piloting mechs, wielding magic. One has to wonder… how?”

  Garett flashed a disarming smile, dodging the question with practiced ease. “I like to keep people guessing,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “Besides, a little mystery keeps life interesting, don’t you think?” His Azeroth Drive gleamed faintly, its blue glow pulsing in quiet defiance.

  Lucien studied him for a moment, then chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, ever the enigma. Fine, keep your secrets—for now.”

  He then turned his attention back to the battlefield, lounging deeper into his seat. “Once this is over, we must celebrate properly. I know a delightful brothel in the upper district. Exquisite selection, truly. I insist.”

  Before Garett could even open his mouth, Anya cut in flatly, “He’s busy.”

  Leona followed up with a deadpan, “Very busy.”

  Lucien placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “You wound me, ladies. Have some faith in my intentions. I only wish to show our dear Lord Fenralis a night of… cultural appreciation.”

  “Cultural appreciation, my ass,” Anya muttered, arms crossed.

  Garett chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s tempting, but unfortunately, Leona has me buried in paperwork.” He shot a glance at his knight-commander, who smirked with no remorse.

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  “You’re not escaping this time,” she said simply.

  Lucien sighed dramatically. “Tragic. A man of war, shackled to bureaucracy.” He took another sip of his drink before gesturing to the battlefield. “Speaking of which, I hear your lady mage and her familiar have gone ahead to the Vale's Eastern Continent. Something about a pilgrimage?”

  Garett exhaled. “Yeah. Lyra wanted to grow stronger… for what’s coming.”Garett leaned forward slightly, his expression thoughtful as he turned to Lucien. "Tell me, Your Highness," he began, choosing his words carefully, "do you know of any potential allies? The Non-Aggression Pact with House Draconis held for now, but he had to ensure it stayed that way. Lucien arched a brow, swirling his drink lazily. "Potential allies? Hmm..." He tapped his fingers against the goblet, feigning deep contemplation before a slow smirk curled his lips. “Now that you mention it....." Lucien smirked. “Now that you mention it, there is a minor house… House Caprathis, of Ordis Prime. Their loyalty to Solarius has… wavered, due to a certain prince fleeing from a rather unfortunate arranged marriage.”

  "Surely you're not suggesting marrying off the second heir of House Fenralis to some daughter of a lesser-known lord of a minor house, your highness?" Anya asked, her tone half-protesting. Leona glanced at her with skepticism. She knew her true feelings for her 'dearest' lord governor.

  Garett mulled it over. He thought of a dozen or so ways Lyra could roast, freeze, electrocute, or deprive him of air via wind magic if she ever found out. She would do it all while smiling, too. The thought of him dying again didn't seem all too appealing. His head started to spew steam from all the hard thinking.

  Lucien chuckled, swirling his drink. "You know, polygamy isn’t just legal in Solastrism—it’s encouraged, especially for nobles of your rank."

  Garett raised a brow. "And this is relevant because...?"

  Lucien smirked. "Because, my dear friend, you could always take your two lovely guards and your lady mage as concubines."

  Leona’s ears went red upon hearing this, while Anya pretended to protest. “The fuck did you just say?” But her expression betrayed her—blood ran from her nose while a wild, perverted look took over what was once her poised, composed, and "always cool" face.

  Garett studied Lucien for a moment before asking, "What do you get out of this?"

  Lucien’s smirk deepened. "Must I always have an angle? Can’t I simply wish for my dear friend to embrace all the luxuries his station allows?"

  Garett remained unimpressed. "You don’t do anything without a reason. So, tell me."

  Lucien sighed dramatically, swirling his drink. "Fine, fine. If you must know, a stable and powerful Lord Fenralis makes for a rather convenient ally in my ongoing efforts to keep certain Imperial hands off my throat. And, well… a man who enjoys the finer things in life tends to be… more agreeable."

  Leona narrowed her eyes. "You mean more manipulable."

  Lucien grinned. "Tomato, tomahto."?

  From the corner of her eye, Anya caught sight of a group of young cadets marching past the ramparts of the stadium. Their uniforms were crisp, their movements sharp, yet their laughter carried through the cool evening air. They reminded her of her old squad—of days spent training together, of shared meals, of whispered jokes in the dead of night before a mission.

  She folded her arms, watching them disappear into the distance. Healing had been slow, like trying to mend something shattered with hands that still trembled. Some days, she could almost forget the weight of their loss. Other days, grief returned like the tide, rising and receding in slow, unrelenting waves.

  But today, as she stood beneath the dimming light of Solara Prime’s dying sun, she found herself grateful. Grateful to have known them. Grateful that their memory, though heavy, was hers to carry.

  She exhaled softly, composing herself, before turning back toward the present. There was still work to be done.

  Lord Valerius Magnus escorted them through the towering halls of the orbital elevator, its golden inlays catching the dimming light of Solara Prime’s dying sun. As the lift ascended toward the stardocks, he walked beside Garett with an easy grace, hands folded neatly behind his back.

  "It has been some time since the soiree, hasn’t it?" Valerius mused, glancing at Garett with a knowing smile. "Years, in fact. And yet, I find myself asking—how has Lord Fenralis been faring in these turbulent times?"

  Garett returned the smile, nodding respectfully. "Busy, but then, aren’t we all? House Fenralis has been rebuilding, fortifying our lands. We are preparing, but I’d rather prepare with allies than stand alone."

  Valerius tilted his head. "A prudent mindset. And how do you find Solara Prime?"

  "A marvel, as always," Garett replied. "Your house has done well keeping the Astral Ministry in balance. A delicate task, I imagine."

  Valerius let out a soft chuckle. "Balance is a fickle thing. Much like a tightrope over an abyss—some believe the trick is to walk slowly, cautiously. Others believe the best way across is to sprint before the rope snaps beneath you."

  Garett considered his words before shifting the conversation. "Speaking of precarious footing, what’s your opinion on House Caprathis?"

  Valerius’s smile did not fade, but there was something sharper beneath it now. "Ah, Caprathis… a house that understands the necessity of shifting winds, but has never quite learned how to sail them properly. Dangerous in their desperation, intriguing in their ambition."

  Garett nodded thoughtfully. "Then they may yet be swayed."

  Valerius inclined his head. "Perhaps. But a wise leader does not only prepare for war—he ensures that, should he win, he is prepared for what comes after. Power is not merely the sword, but the hand that wields it, the tongue that guides it, and the mind that foresees its consequence."

  As the elevator slowed to a halt, Garett met Valerius’s gaze. "That is wisdom worth remembering."

  Valerius gave a slight bow. "I do hope so. Safe travels, Lord Fenralis. May your journey bring clarity and not just conflict."

  Garett inclined his head in a respectful bow, and Valerius returned the gesture with equal measure. "And may Solara’s light keep you in its grace, Lord Magnus. Until we meet again."

  With that, the elevator doors hissed open, revealing the vast expanse of the stardocks and The Steadfast waiting beyond.

  Anya folded her arms behind her back, her expression composed, but there was a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "Have you checked the bath yet? It's much more luxurious now," she said smoothly, her tone perfectly measured, but the way she rocked slightly on her heels betrayed her excitement. "No more lukewarm water and questionable plumbing. We’re traveling in style now, my lord.", her expression composed, but there was a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "Have you checked the bath yet? It's much more luxurious now," she said smoothly, her tone perfectly measured, but the way she rocked slightly on her heels betrayed her excitement. "No more lukewarm water and questionable plumbing. We’re traveling in style now, my lord."" she declared, grinning as she stretched her arms behind her head. "No more lukewarm water and questionable plumbing. We’re traveling in style now, my lord."

  Garett chuckled at her enthusiasm but said nothing as the crew snapped to attention. A towering figure stepped forward—a humanoid with the head of a great-horned ram, his fur dark as midnight and eyes a piercing silver.

  "Welcome back, Lord Fenralis," the captain rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. "The Steadfast is ready to sail the stars once more."

  "Good to see you again, Captain Thorne," Garett replied, shaking the Lupheran’s massive hand. The goat-like race had long been known for their prowess in navigation and war, and Thorne was no exception.The new navigator hesitated before asking, "Captain, permission to set warp coordinates directly over the Eastern Continent?"

  There was a beat of silence. Then—

  SMACK.

  Thorne slapped the back of the navigator’s head with enough force to make the poor fool stumble forward. "By the stars, where do they keep finding you people?" the Lupheran captain groaned, rubbing his temples. "Listen here, whelp—unless you want to materialize inside a bloody building or get us fined into the void for violating half a dozen airspace laws, you never warp within a celestial body’s atmosphere!"

  The navigator, now thoroughly humbled, rubbed the back of his head. "I-I just thought—"

  "That’s the problem, lad, you thought! Next time, try knowing!" Thorne exhaled sharply, waving him off. "Set the coordinates properly—outside the planet’s gravity well, where we won’t be breaking the laws of physics or diplomacy, thank you very much!"

  The captain turned to Garett. "The Eastern Continent awaits," Thorne said, gesturing towards the bridge. "We’ll break orbit within the hour."

  Garett nodded, excusing himself as he strode toward his quarters. Once inside, he exhaled slowly, sinking into his chair. His personal interface flickered to life at his command, the soft glow of holo-messages filling the dimly lit room. His inbox was filled with reports, messages from allies, and encrypted communiqués.

  But his gaze went straight to the ones from Lyra.

  He opened one at random, her voice crackling to life in the dim silence. "Hey, Garett... I hope you’re not working yourself to death. The Grove is... different. I don’t know how to explain it yet, but... I think I’m getting closer to understanding. I’ll tell you everything once we see each other again."

  That message had been from two weeks ago. There was nothing after that. Fourteen days of silence.

  Garett leaned back, running a hand through his hair. The ache in his chest had become familiar, a slow, creeping weight that settled there every time he checked his inbox only to find nothing new.

  He could still see her—the way the moonlight traced her features that night, how her breath had hitched when he had leaned in, the unspoken promises that passed between them in that fragile moment. His fingers curled slightly, as if he could still feel the softness of her skin, the warmth of her so close to him.

  But she wasn’t here now.

  And the distance between them was starting to feel wider than the stars.