Book 3: 206. Seeker of Hope
The Twelve Who Defied Death
"Twelve Celestius gave their touch to a body gone cold, then retreated into silence. They never forged a hero. They only paid the toll to hold the gates ajar... and watched him bear the cost of walking through alone."
***
8 April 2539 CE
On board the Yamamoto battlecruiser
The deep, continuous hum of the engines vibrated through the deck plates, a constant thrum beneath his boots. Leaning forward, hands clasped, Zetius tapped a restless rhythm against the tallic floor.
His dark gaze was lost in the featureless grey of the deck, finding a strange comfort in its emptiness.
He rubbed a thumb against the bruised shadows under his eyes. Sleep had not been kind to him this past week; a recurring nightmare plagued his soul, a ghost of battles fought and prices paid. He hadn’t realised it at the ti, but in the cockpit of his Armatus, a simple flick of his finger had ant death for hundreds.
The war machines dehumanised their pilots. When he shot down his enemies, he saw only machinery erupting in flas, not people.
He could not have been more wrong.
The click of a mug on the table snapped him back to reality. A cascade of dark hair entered his periphery.
“Ah, Lyra…” Zetius rasped, his voice rough from disuse.
“Your coffee, Zetius.” The tall, elven mage eyed him warily. She adjusted the cuff of her perfectly tailored grey blazer, a small, precise movent with authority.
The aroma of roasted beans whiffed into his nose, a welco change from the stale air of the room.
“Thanks,” he replied, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.
“We appreciate your cooperation. Our intelligence is compiling the statent for the Thylin war as we speak… But—” Lyra’s lips parted, then snapped shut, the words catching in her throat.
Instead, she sank into a seat and flicked through her datapad. Her crown braids were woven elegantly into a high ponytail. She was, as always, the perfect professional he’d t at the Pantheon administration office. With her perfect posture and sharp features, she could have been a model, yet she’d chosen a life of bureaucracy.
“Is there anything else you need?” Zetius stared into the black swirl of the coffee, its subtle ripples a srising calm.
“Not… um, not really…” Lyra replied, her head wobbling in a way that was entirely out of character.
Zetius sighed, a deep, weary sound. “Lyra, you don’t have to walk on eggshells around .” His voice was flat, colder than he’d intended.
Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry. It’s just, sothing in your statent has been nagging at . You are aware that once we finalise this, the report will be accessible to everyone, right? That is why Ryusei-sama launched this investigation in the first place.”
“Of course. The world will chase after him. But, Master Ignius is amusingly elusive and awfully crafty,” Zetius quipped. The joke landed in a cavern of silence. Not even a twitch of a smile from Lyra.
“We need all hands on deck, all the information we can get. Any minor detail must be scrutinised and analysed, as per standard,” Lyra said, tapping the edge of her glasses.
“Such cowardice,” Zetius grumbled, sucking in his cheeks.
“We’ll find him, Zetius.”
“Hm,” he humd, flexing his fingers. A sharp pain jolted up his arm, a lingering side effect from the excessive use of Astrapyion.
He noticed she was wearing glasses. Had she always worn them? He dismissed the thought with an internal shrug.
Lyra shuffled, her gaze flicking between him and her datapad. He watched her, a clear sense that she was holding sothing back.
Leaning back in his chair, Zetius t her gaze. “What is it?”
Her voice trembled slightly as she began. “It’s… It’s about your statent regarding the Platinum Knight, Rhok Wagner.”
“Rhok Wagner… Why?” His interest was piqued. He leaned forward, an eyebrow raised.
“It gives the impression that you were endorsing his actions.” There. She’d said it. The thought that had been circling her mind.
“Endorsing?” Zetius questioned, his tone husky with disbelief. He didn’t rember giving any such statent.
Pointing at the datapad, Lyra explained. “Your statent here indicates that Rhok Wagner seeded a secret agenda to take the Umbral force down with him. And while the facts check out — we have found evidence to support your claim—” She paused, correcting herself. “—his claim. Zetius, this man committed a dozen war cris, if not more. Worst of all, systematic genocide.”
Zetius’s gaze remained locked on hers until she looked away. “I rely stated a fact. I did not condone his actions. Hades… I tried to stop him from taking that darker path. We stopped him from fully decimating Dunkelheit’s entire power structure. If it weren’t for us, Arc-Harm wouldn’t have survived.”
“I understand completely, and the people of Thylin are grateful for that, Zetius,” she reassured, holding up her hands. “I’m only asking you to reconsider the wording. It won’t benefit anyone.”
“The man is dead, Lyra.” Zetius shot to his feet. The shriek of chair legs on the tal deck was a raw, ugly sound — a perfect echo of the nerve he’d just exposed.
“Exactly my point. I only care about you,” Lyra retorted, stepping towards him. “You are a war hero. People look up to you now. It wouldn’t be appropriate to glorify the enemy. Even the slightest implication could cause a backlash. Intelligence must be handled with care.”
Her fingers reached for his wrist, but he flinched away as if struck. Stunned, she clasped her hands to her chest, biting her lip.
“You only care about my image and what I represent,” he said, his voice detached, void of emotion.
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Only he knew the furious undercurrent churning within. “I will not play a perfect hero. I’m tired of these word gas.”
His boots clapped against the floor. He paused, turning to glance at her one last ti. “If that’s all, I’ll be taking my leave. I have another matter to attend to.”
In response, Lyra could only manage a faint hum.
As Zetius’s footsteps faded down the corridor, her shoulders slumped. She let out a long breath, her gaze falling to the untouched coffee mug. Her own tired reflection stared back.
“I knew he wouldn’t pull back his statent,” she murmured, making peace with the fact. Still, she’d had to try.
Having read the full report, she understood the crucible he had faced. He had been shattered and remade — once as a pri disciple and again as an Armatus pilot. Two lives, two deaths. It was a burden that would have vaporised a lesser soul, yet it still hadn't been enough to break him.
A wave of empathy washed over her. Her mind drifted to the true source of his scars, and a na escaped her lips like a ghost.
“Lupus Hoffmann, the executioner…”
Zetius strode through a long, wide hallway. The tallic grey walls and exposed ceiling piping were a dead giveaway of the battlecruiser’s interior, the sections separated by grating tal floors.
Passing mbers of the Yamamoto's crew in their red jumpsuits, he arrived at a set of double sliding doors that reached towards a ceiling fifteen tres high.
He placed his fingers against the scanner.
After a few soft beeps, the doors whirred open.
The workshop was enormous. The pungent slls of lubricants, hot tal, and oxidising air pierced his nose. Rows of war machines stood docked in their tal fras, ready to unleash devastation at a mont’s notice.
In a corner, a handful of maintenance crew mbers were gathered around a massive shop table. Kneeling beside it was his Armatus, its sleek, dark fra and signature X-wings unmistakable.
A hidden compartnt in its rear was exposed.
“Alas, the final installation!” A familiar voice rang out amidst the noisy atmosphere. It ca from a floating cube. A blue, holographic projection of a six-dinsional chanical arm protruded from the top of Cubie.
She was using it to lift the Arcanite engine, a powerful orb encased in gleaming, intricate tal.
The crew watched, transfixed, as Zetius approached. So bit their lips in anticipation.
With a fluid motion, Cubie slotted the orb ho. For a heartbeat, there was only silence. Then, a low thrum vibrated up from the deck. A network of crimson light pulsed across its chassis before converging in the visor, which ignited with a demonic, intelligent glow.
“Miss! You’re amazing!” one of the maintenance crew praised, wiping sweat from his forehead.
“See? The little Cubie knows exactly what she’s doing. Now pay up, y’all!” a muscular man exclaid, a cunning smile spreading from ear to ear as he collected credits from the others.
“Ahoho! I’ve studied these engineering drawings, schematics, and an 800-page installation and operation manual. Of course, I know what I’m doing!” Cubie raised a holographic finger to where her mouth would be.
“Zetius, you’re back.” She greeted him as he entered the view.
He offered a small wave, leaning against the shop table. His dark arc coat cascaded majestically around him.
“What are you all doing? Stop ssing around with military assets!” The Admiral of Zeigerlich, Sandria inhardt, stomped towards them, a trio of knights at her heels.
The crew scattered imdiately, grabbing wrenches and datapads, doing anything to look busy.
“Just so healthy competition…” a senior technician blurted out, scratching an oily smudge on his cheek.
“This is not a ga, Michael. What would you do if anything happened to the Armatus Celer!?” Sandria demanded, her deadpan expression and monotone voice making her seem more intimidating than she probably intended.
Michael fidgeted, ashad, with nothing to say in his defence.
“Cubie!” Sandria yelled.
Cubie dismissed her holographic arm and fled to Zetius. “Zetius, save !” she pleaded, hiding behind his broad shoulder.
Sandria exhaled, and Zetius offered a helpless shrug.
“Before she scolds for real, the Armatus Celer is working perfectly fine!” Cubie whispered, just loud enough for Sandria to hear.
After inspecting the tal giant and confirming it was unhard, Sandria waved the crew away with an icy gaze, letting them off the hook — including her guards.
As they retreated, their gossiping voices faded.
Patting Zetius’s collarbone, she studied his expression. “Are you alright, Zetius?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he deflected, avoiding her gaze.
“Please… I saw you with Lyra,” Sandria implored. “I an, if you need to talk…”
“It’s war,” Zetius muttered bitterly. He finally scanned her appearance, the sleek, dark uniform and officer’s hat atop her crown braid. She was dressed to command.
“I know. I just wanted to say, I’m here for you.”
Zetius nodded slowly, letting the silence stretch between them.
“Why are you here, Admiral Sandria?” Cubie interjected.
“Thanks for asking, but that’s classified, Cubie,” Sandria replied bluntly, propping up her chest.
“Awwwww…” Cubie groaned.
Her gaze returning to the now-empty workshop, Sandria cupped Zetius’s forearm. “I have to go. Call anyti. And again, thank you for saving us, Zetius.” Her tone was softer now, almost soothing.
With that, she departed, leaving Zetius and Cubie alone in the sombre quiet.
“Zetius…” Cubie drawled. “It’s been a week.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“About Sister Frain… I figured… I haven’t had a proper goodbye.”
“No,” he clipped, waving her off as he drifted towards the viewport.
Afternoon light filtered through the thick glass, illuminating the scattered clouds that drifted over the mountain ridges separating Thylin and Tabit.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to bury the haunting images.
“I want to see Sister Frain. Hasenwald is just an eight-hour flight from here,” Cubie pressed, beaming a holographic map into the air. “See? The waterfall is starting to lt! I heard it’s beautiful!”
The Grand Riverfall…
The na was a key, unlocking a mory he kept buried. It didn't just strike him; it blood behind his eyes with agonising detail — the roar of the falls, the impossible warmth of Lupus's hand in his, the taste of stolen wine on her lips.
When did I forget that? No. I wanted to forget. He pressed his lips into a thin line, a hand clenching subconsciously over his chest.
“Um, and Lupus… maybe she’ll listen to you now—”
“QUIET!” Zetius snapped, his face a mask of pain. The sudden outburst sent Cubie recoiling in the air.
“Cubie, I’m—” He reached out a hand, regret flooding him instantly.
Just then, Aurelia appeared, her expression etched with concern.
She moved to shield the talkative cube with her small fra, dressed in her usual white and gold tunic.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” Zetius managed, cupping his face and running a hand through his silver bangs. “I’m not in my right mind.”
“Cubie, you shouldn’t push him,” Aurelia said softly, her gentle tone a balm as she cupped the small cube in her palms.
“I’m sorry, too, Zetius,” Cubie spoke up, her synthesised voice trembling. “I just miss her. I miss when you, Frain, Aurelia, and I were all together. Every day was special to …”
Pain was contagious; he only realised that now.
Zetius stepped closer, placing his hand over Aurelia’s, his touch covering Cubie. “I’m not ready to see her,” he admitted, the words raw and heavy.
“Um, um,” Cubie humd quietly.
“But we’ll give Frain a call, alright?” Zetius promised.
The words were like a switch. Cubie’s blue, holographic form brightened. “Really?!” she exclaid.
“Really,” Zetius affird.
“See, Cubie?” Aurelia lectured gently. “You don’t need to keep pressing. He’ll co around. You just need to give him so ti.”
“Yes, Mama!” Cubie replied.
She floated up into the air, zipping in joyful circles. For the first ti in what felt like an eternity, a genuine, small smile touched Zetius’s lips as he and Aurelia watched her.
Perhaps, he thought, not all was lost. Hope, however fragile, remained.
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