It was a storm of shadows and fire.

  The sky crackled with explosions and streaks of crimson tracers as Titans clashed across the battlefield, painting the ruins in violent bursts of light.

  Commander Gaia pressed forward. Her Titan moved like a steel giant, armored plating reflecting the burning remnants of the skirmish, mixing the sand with blood and oil. The once-pristine ruins of Bermuda had become a war zone, littered with the twisted remains of downed Titans and shattered infrastructure.

  From her cockpit, Gaia's pulse remained steady. The neural sync with her Sixth Sense functions properly—the coordination between man and machine feeding her HUD threat predictions, weapon diagnostics, and enemy positioning.

  A voice cut through the comms—sharp, amused, and unmistakably reckless.

  “So, tell me again, Commander—are we actually winning, or are we just looking good while doing it?”

  Gaia didn’t take her eyes off the targeting grid. “Hold your position, Lyric.”

  Lyric scoffed, her own Titan skimming the edge of the engagement zone with reckless ease. Unlike Gaia's heavily reinforced unit, Lyric's Titan was built for speed—jump jets firing as she weaved between enemy railgun fire, dodging in a way that would be impossible for most.

  “Oh, I’m holding.” A smirk edged into Lyric’s tone. “I’m just doing it while having more fun than you.”

  Gaia exhaled sharply. Typical.

  Ahead of them, Luna's Imperial Titans advanced, their armored behemoths moving with disciplined formation. Their lead unit—a mid-class brawler with reinforced Aitkenium plating and a Titan-Breaker Cannon—fired a slug that obliterated a section of ruined infrastructure, forcing Gaia’s unit to adjust course.

  Lyric flipped her Titan sideways, barely skimming the explosion. “Well, that was rude.”

  Gaia ignored the commentary. Instead, her neural sync pulsed—calculating the enemy’s movement patterns, tracking the subtle tells in their movement, the hesitation in their formation.

  They think they have the advantage. They don’t realize they’re walking straight into the kill zone.

  She switched to the command channel. "All units—we're almost at the ambush point. Do not break formation."

  Lyric’s voice came back, this time more serious.

  “You sure about this, Commander? We could push through now.”

  Gaia’s voice was ice. “No. We wait.”

  Luna forces were usually calmer and more calculated. However, these were Votaries looking to prove themselves to Oracles. That was their flaw—Gaia had studied their patterns, how they moved, and how they thought. She had seen through their aggressiveness—the arrogance in the belief that they were the superior force.

  That belief was about to cost them.

  ☉☉☉

  Scar repeated the Core Skills under his breath, locking them in place. "Threat Detection. Spatial Awareness. Quantum Instinct. Stealth Paradox. Augmentation Compatibility."

  For the first time in a long time, he wasn't just enduring—he was thriving.

  The whispers of monster still lingered, but they faded beneath calling of his new purpose.

  Adjusting to his new skills was one thing—managing the cost was another. Scar was inefficient, bleeding both mental and physical stamina at an alarming rate.

  He exhaled, focusing on his one saving grace—his Passive Trait. "Dragon Resilience, huh." Nova had called it an always-at-your-service perk.

  It was the only reason he was still standing after this brutal crash course.

  Then—he felt it.

  A shift. Subtle. Wrong.

  A presence that shouldn't be there.

  Scar tensed, and Nova's voice hummed through his mind, thrumming with satisfaction.

  "Yes, yes! You feel them, don’t you? They thought they could hide—how adorable. But you’re already too attuned for that, my young prodigy."

  The air shimmered. A mirage rippled—a deception unraveling.

  Cloaked war machines.

  Titan-sized shadows hunkered in silence, their stealth fields wavering. Lingering. Carrying the promise of unleashed fury.

  Nova yawned. "And now, dear Scar… all that’s left to do is wait. At least for you. As for me? Time for a well-deserved nap. Wake me when you've done something impressive."

  Nova yawned. "And now, dear Scar… all that’s left to do is wait. At least for you. As for me? Time for a well-deserved nap. Wake me when you've done something impressive."

  Scar exhaled sharply. "Wait—after all that buildup, you're just going to sleep?"

  In the distance, metal groaned—a dying breath from a forgotten ruin. Scar listened as it faded, the lullaby for an ancient beast settling into a slumber.

  Nova was gone.

  But Scar stayed awake. Watching. Waiting.

  A symphony of destruction filled the air, the percussions of battle pounding around him.

  A gust of air sliced through the broad, fan-like palm fronds—a warning, a premonition.

  They were moving.

  "It's time."

  Scar melted into the darkness.

  The world held still for a moment—a fragile, suspended instant.

  BOOM.

  The first explosion shattered the silence.

  A shockwave tore through the cliffside, unveiling something hidden—a base buried in the rock. Timeworn alloy doors blew apart, exposing the dim interior.

  Scar’s instincts locked into crystalline precision. Every motion, calculated. Every step, part of an unfolding equation.

  A lesson whispered in his mind—Nova’s words, burned into memory.

  "Every battle is a test, Scar. The enemy is only part of it. The rest lies within you—your resolve, focus, and restraint."

  The mechs scattered, regrouping after the explosive ambush.

  Scar, tension taut as a bowstring—vanished into the night, his movements cutting through the shadows like an arrow loosed.

  The inside of the base reeked of decay and rusted oil, old machinery surrendering to time. Darkness stretched before him, but Scar wasn’t blind.

  "I know every route accessible."

  Spatial Awareness mapped a path forward—a jagged tear in the facility's structure, leading into the heart of the base.

  Only a few alarms still functioned, their dying wails echoing through the winding corridors. Red emergency lights pulsed weakly, throwing eerie shadows across the walls.

  Every flicker dragged Scar back to that night. Her face—bathed in crimson light. A memory slipping, sharp as glass. "Not now."

  Then—he saw it.

  A Titan.

  There it was. Half-buried in scaffolding, hope in the shape of a war machine.

  Streamlined. Angular. A lethal design, not built for brute force—this was speed incarnate.

  Scar stepped forward, his hand brushing the cool metal. A dormant beast, waiting for a pilot.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "My way forward."

  —another explosion.

  Scar’s jaw clenched.

  He gritted his teeth, scrambling up the scaffolding and maneuvering toward the open cockpit.

  His hands flew across the controls, syncing his Sixth with the Titan’s systems. A flood of raw data surged through him—targeting matrices, telemetry, visual feeds—all demanding his attention.

  A diagnostic flickered across the display.

  Warning: Limited Power Supply.

  Scar grinned. "No worries. You'll do."

  Hydraulics hissed, a harmonious susurrus of pressure as—

  The Razor roared to life.

  "Blades, huh? That fits me."

  ☉☉☉

  The battlefield burned, but Gaia's focus narrowed.

  The razor shot from the bunker, a silver streak against the smoke-filled sky. An explosion followed—a detonation so violent the cliffside collapsed in its wake.

  The Razor moved through the battlefield like it was choreographed. It wasn’t just fighting—it was carving a path through the Lunar forces.

  Twisting in midair, thrusters screeching to life. It left scattered pieces of debris in its wake, a blur of steel and motion, its energy blade cleaving through the nearest Lunar Titan.

  Gaia’s targeting HUD flickered—a warning.

  “Commander—Razor sighted.”

  Gaia grimaced. What now?

  Her sensors locked onto the anomaly darting through the chaos, moving like it had existed on the battlefield long before the fight even started.

  Then, she saw it.

  A faded emblem, etched into the Razor's plating.

  Her heart lurched. A surge of recognition—frigid, unrelenting.

  “That insignia…” Her breath caught. “That’s—the forbidden symbol.”

  The Razor blurred forward, cutting through the Lunar Titans like a knife through silk.

  Impossible.

  One of the mercenaries came through the comms, disbelief lacing their words. “That's a prototype—basically a training unit. How the hell is it moving like that?”

  It shouldn’t have been able to. It wasn’t just speed—it was precision. A dance of steel and death.

  Dancing into blindspots, thrusters blazing as it skimmed low, weaving beneath enemy fire. It closed the distance to the nearest Lunar Titan in a dazzling twist, its blade flashing in a lethal arc.

  Shhhk—Sliiick!

  Before the pilot could react, the Titan’s legs buckled, severed cleanly by the Razor’s deadly strike.

  Another Lunar Titan pivoted, thrusters sputtering as it struggled to track the Razor’s erratic trajectory.

  "Too slow," Gaia muttered, her forces now little more than spectators.

  One by one, the Lunar Titans faltered, their formations crumbling as machines collapsed or scattered in disarray.

  Gaia exhaled. Who the hell is piloting that thing?

  Then—her instinct flared. This was their chance.

  “Push forward!”

  The order tore from her throat, urgency rising.

  Her group of mercenaries surged, cannon fire blazing as they ripped through Luna's faltering lines.

  The battlefield turned.

  Lunar Titans staggered, faltered, fell.

  Gaia’s Titan pressed ahead, momentum finally swinging in their favor. The ground shook beneath the force of explosions, and the world was swallowed in fire and metal.

  But her attention was fixed on one thing.

  The Razor.

  The battlefield had now fallen eerily still.

  Lyric’s voice crackled in through the comms, her usual teasing edge returning. “So, Captain... should we offer the pilot a job?”

  Gaia’s response was immediate. “Stick to training the recruits, Lyric. Let's leave recruiting to Nia.”

  Lyric snorted. “Noted. Let's leave it to the ice witch.”

  Gaia wasn’t amused. She opened the command channel.

  "Everyone follow me. We need to contain the pilot before they disappear."

  Her Titan slowed by measured caution, its sensors locked onto the silent, unmoving Razor.

  Gaia’s hands clenched against the controls.

  Her experience told her this is when victory could be snatched away—the moment you think you've won.

  She wouldn’t let that happen.

  Steam hissed from the Razor’s cooling vents, like the machine itself was catching its breath.

  The comms channel opened.

  “Pilot of the Razor.”

  Gaia’s voice was steady, but her pulse was anything but.

  “Identify yourself.”

  Silence.

  Bermuda's coastline smoldered in ruin around them.

  Then, the armor plates groaned as the cockpit hatch creaked open.

  A dense cloud of steam billowed outward—and from it, a figure emerged.

  Gaia’s pulse jumped.

  There.

  A lone pilot stepped forward, boots landing softly on the platform. The insignia on his scarf shifted with the wind.

  The mark of the Dragon.

  Gaia’s stomach twisted.

  No arrogance. No hesitation.

  Just calm, unwavering resolve.

  Locking eyes with her through the Titan's visual feed.

  This kid… he wears the mark of a dead cause.

  Her voice dipped lower, the weight of recognition settling in.

  "You’ve got a lot to answer for."

  Scar didn’t flinch.

  “I didn’t come here to explain.” His tone was even. “I’m here to find someone.”

  He licked his lips, the salt of the breeze lingering like the taste of an old wound—bitter, familiar, impossible to forget.

  Gaia’s knuckles whitened against the controls.

  Who is this kid?

  And more importantly—what is he really after?

  Her first instinct was containment. Take him in. Question him. But something in her gut twisted, warning her.

  This wasn’t just another rogue pilot. The way he moved… the way the Razor responded to him—it wasn’t natural.\Gaia studied him for a long moment. Then, finally—

  "You’ve got skill," Gaia admitted, voice even. "That’s not the problem."

  Scar smirked faintly. "Then what is?"

  "I don’t like unknown variables."

  A beat of silence. Then, Scar shrugged.

  The battle was over—at least this one. But the Razor’s HUD flashed with residual heat signatures across the battlefield.

  Gaia’s sensors picked them up too.

  "We don’t have time for this," she muttered.

  Scar gave her a knowing look. "Then let’s skip the formalities."

  Gaia frowned but didn’t argue.

  For now.

  ☉☉☉

  The memory fractured.

  Something lingered.

  Star felt it press against her mind—a presence within the memory, something that had not been there before.

  The ridges of Iapetus flickered—darkness stretched where there should have been light.

  The voices warped—Scar’s words repeated, but not quite right.

  "One day… when all of this is over…"

  “…when the Ferrex are gone…”

  "…find a way… together…"

  The whispers grew louder.

  Star stumbled backward, pulse pounding. The landscape had changed—the ice had turned black, a consuming void spreading outward like ink.

  Her breath caught.

  This wasn’t Iapetus.

  This wasn’t real.

  She reached out—to something, anything—but the void ripped through the memory, unraveling it strand by strand.

  And then—

  A voice.

  "It is done. The Key has been found."

  The words did not belong to the past. They did not belong to her.

  And yet, they filled her veins with fire.

  Star gasped, tearing herself out of the memory, back into the present—back into the void of the rift.

  Her lungs burned. Her skin prickled with an energy she couldn’t contain.

  She remembered Iapetus. She remembered Scar.

  But something else had remembered her.

  Something older.

  Something waiting.

  Star opened her eyes.

  For a moment, she could still feel the aftershocks of the fractured memory—the ice of Iapetus turning to darkness, Scar’s voice warping into something not his own.

  Then, reality solidified.

  She was not alone.

  The cold bite of metal beneath her skin. The low hum of containment fields pulsing in slow, methodical intervals. The weight around her wrists—restraints.

  Her breath steadied, but her pulse refused to slow.

  Where am I?

  The room was sterile, bathed in a deep crimson glow, its dim lights casting elongated shadows against the smooth alloy walls. The architecture was sleek, devoid of excess, with no signs of natural wear—too pristine, too precise.

  This wasn’t a prison. It was a vault.

  And she was the treasure locked inside.

  A figure loomed beyond the flickering field of the containment cell, their presence a silent command over the room.

  Their robes were woven with the deep blacks and silvers of Cronus’ inner circle, the intricate concentric rings across their chest a mark of authority—of prophecy.

  A member of The Oracles' Choir.

  Delivering the final coda in the name of the Harbinger.

  And they were staring directly at her.

  “The Key awakens.”

  Star stiffened at the words. That title again.

  The figure tilted their head, eyes gleaming in the half-light, as if reading the question forming in her mind.

  “Do not struggle,” they said, voice smooth—almost reverent. “Your path has already been written.”

  Star clenched her jaw. "Yeah? Well, I don't mind spoilers. I'm all ears."

  Her fingers twitched, testing the restraints. The metal barely shifted.

  Heavy. Designed to hold someone stronger than her.

  The precentor stepped closer, placing a gloved hand against the shimmering barrier separating them. The field pulsed in response, as if recognizing a rightful authority.

  “You still do not understand, do you?” they mused, almost amused. “You were never lost. You were never alone.”

  Their voice dipped, a whisper of certainty.

  "What do you want from me?" she snapped.

  "Want?" They shook their head, almost amused. "It is not a matter of want, child. It is a matter of inevitability."

  They stepped back, their shadow stretching across the dim floor.

  "You are the Key to our ascension."

  The words struck like ice in her veins.

  "And soon," the precentor continued, "the rest of the universe will know it, too."

  A cold weight settled in Star’s stomach.

  A sharp beep cut through the chamber—the ship shifting course. Star felt the pull of acceleration, the distant whir of a ship’s engines rumbled—steady, ascending.

  Where are they taking me?

  They were in transit. She was being taken somewhere.

  Star inhaled sharply, pushing down the growing unease clawing at her ribs.

  She had fought before. She had escaped worse.

  But something about the precentor’s words—how the memory warped before she woke—it all felt different.

  Wrong.

  She didn’t know how, but something had changed.

  The void had found her.

  And now, Cronus had, too.

  The precentor’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer before turning away.

  They reached for their comm unit, voice slipping into measured control.

  “The Key is secure. Initiating final approach.”

  A sharp beep confirmed the transmission.

  The containment field glowed brighter, and Star could feel its energy press against her skin—more than a barrier, more than a cage.

  A lock.

  A feeling crawled up her spine, something deeply, undeniably wrong.

  She wasn’t just a prisoner.

  She was a piece being moved into place.

  The ship lurched, engines shifting course. The weight of gravity pressed against her chest.

  Where are they taking me?

  The preceptor stepped through the exit, the door hissing shut behind them.

  Star exhaled, slow and steady, as the silence swallowed the room.

  Her hands curled into fists.

  Her restraints did not budge.

  The void had found her.

  Now, she just had to hope that Scar did, too.