• Departure From Forward Bastion

Daybreak at Forward Bastion

The hangar of Forward Bastion was a vast, reinforced chamber, large enough to house a fleet of transports and fighter-class aerial units.

Towering support beams lined the walls, their surfaces glowing faintly with embedded Aether conduits, which helped power the station's automated systems.

The ceiling was a complex lattice of retractable docking arms and magnetic stabilizers, keeping the various aircraft and shuttles in perfect alignment.

Even this deep in the mountains, the hangar doors had been reinforced with layered titanium plating, ensuring nothing short of orbital bombardment could breach them.

Alex stood near the boarding ramp of his assigned transport—a VLX-990 "Falcon" dropship.

Unlike the heavily armored gunships used for combat deployment, the Falcon-class was built for high-speed, long-range travel, primarily used for VIP transport, reconnaissance extractions, or urgent priority missions.

Its sleek, obsidian-black hull bore faint crimson markings, denoting its high-clearance status.

Twin Aether-core engines pulsed softly beneath the craft, their crimson glow reflecting off the polished hangar floors.

Despite the crisp morning air, Alex remained unfazed, his gaze locked onto the vessel.

He was currently dressed in a black and red military uniform, the fabric tailored for both function and presentation.

The silver insignias pinned to his chest gleamed under the hangar lights, signifying his rank and commendations.

A flowing shoulder cape, attached by an ornate clasp, draped over his left side—a mark of distinction given only to high-ranking Handlers upon retirement.

Strapped to his left hip was his katana, a weapon that seemed both outdated and fitting in this era of high-energy firearms.

The blade itself was forged with an Aether-infused alloy, making it one of the few melee weapons capable of cutting through Kryll's reinforced exoskeletons.

It was named Xarul—a gift his now-dead mother had given him the day his service began.

For all the years he had fought, the sword had saved him countless times when he had near-death encounters with Daggerlings.

A sharp whistle echoed through the hangar's ambient hum.

"Didn't think I'd see you suited up like this, golden boy."

Alex turned toward the voice, already recognizing the teasing tone.

At the top of the Falcon's boarding ramp stood Iris Calwen, a veteran pilot who had flown more combat extractions than most would believe possible.

She was a woman of tanned skin, cropped dark-brown hair, and sharp, fox-like eyes that always had a look of amusement.

Unlike most flight personnel, who adhered strictly to regulation uniforms, Iris had a habit of bending the rules—her flight jacket was unzipped slightly at the collar, her gloves were fingerless, and her aviator shades perched lazily atop her head.

Alex sighed. "Should've known they'd send you."

Iris grinned. "Oh, don't sound so disappointed. You know I'm the best pilot you're gonna get."

"I also know you talk too much."

She leaned against the frame of the ship, arms crossed. "And yet, you never tell me to stop."

Alex gave her a flat look.

Iris chuckled. "Alright, alright, I'll be nice. But I gotta say, you look really sexy in that uniform. Almost a shame you're retiring—half the women in here are about to be devastated."

Alex shook his head. "Are you done?"

"Not even close, but we've got places to be." She tapped the side of the dropship. "Strap in, golden boy. We take off in five."

Alex exhaled, casting one last glance at the hangar before stepping onto the Falcon.

The moment he stepped onto the Falcon's polished metal floors, the hull sealed shut behind him, and the faint hum of the Aether-core engines thrummed beneath his boots.

The air inside was crisp, filtered through the ship's atmospheric stabilizers, and the holographic displays along the cockpit walls flickered to life as Iris Calwen took her seat at the controls.

Beyond the reinforced viewport, the hangar doors of Forward Bastion groaned open, revealing the cold, mist-draped peaks of the Vallerian Western Front.

The world outside was bathed in the soft glow of dawn, the battle-scarred terrain below a reminder of the war that never truly ceased.

Then, with a press of Iris's gloved hand, the Falcon ignited.

The ship shot forward, tearing through the sky in a smooth, near-silent ascent.

As they reached cruising altitude, Alex unfastened his seat's restraints, reclining slightly as he gazed at Iris with an expectant look.

"Any idea which Supreme Commander summoned me?" he asked.

Iris let out a chuckle as she adjusted their course. "Relax, golden boy. You look like you're preparing for another battle."

Indeed, Protocol Crimson-Veil was a summons only Supreme Commanders and the Queen were capable of issuing.

Valleria was a vast kingdom, one of the last surviving strongholds of civilization on the planet, and the Supreme Commanders were the backbone of its military and governance. Each was a living legend, responsible for managing different sectors of the kingdom's defense.

They were seven.

The Seven Supreme Commanders

Supreme Commander Ivanna Dros – Master of the Western Front, in charge of all military operations along the border with the Kryll-infested regions.

Supreme Commander Naeva Oris – Head of the Aether Corps, overseeing the training, deployment, and enhancement of Aetherians.

Supreme Commander Rhyne Solvar – Strategist of the Sky Fleet, commanding Valleria's airborne forces and orbital defense stations.

Supreme Commander Lena Vael – Overseer of Logistics and Infrastructure, responsible for supply chains, fortifications, and technological advancements.

Supreme Commander Mara Voss – Leader of Special Operations, commanding elite units assigned to high-risk missions behind enemy lines.

Supreme Commander Aldana Tyros – Guardian of the Capital, ensuring the direct defense of Valleria's core territories and governmental centers.

Supreme Commander Elysia Valtoria – The Queen's Blade, personally appointed by Queen Selene to act as both a military leader and a personal enforcer of royal decrees.

These seven individuals were the most powerful figures in Valleria, second only to the Queen herself. To be summoned by one of them was not a trivial matter—it meant something urgent, significant, or personal.

A unique honor.

Iris smirked, glancing at him from the pilot's seat. "You're the fourth Handler in history to ever receive the Aegis Model, Alex."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "You really think I don't know that?"

"Then you also know that every Handler who got that title was so good at their job that people kept pulling them out of retirement. Maybe one of the Supreme Commanders just wants to borrow you for a little while before you disappear into civilian life."

The Aegis Model—a title awarded only to exceptional Handlers whose battlefield coordination had turned the tide of war on multiple occasions.

Three had come before him, all legends, and now he was the fourth. The title came with respect, but also with expectation.

Still, Alex wasn't convinced. "You still haven't answered my question. Do you know who summoned me?"

Iris tilted her head, then sighed. "Honestly? No clue, details of this kinda stuff are sometimes made top secret."

She drummed her fingers against the controls before adding, "But I do know that there's a wedding being prepared in Eredon Prime."

Alex frowned. "A wedding?"

"Yep. Rumor is, a Supreme Commander is getting married. Maybe you're just being called as an honored guest."

Alex's expression remained neutral, but inside, his mind was already working through the possibilities.

A wedding?

And yet, he had been summoned with a protocol ranking second only to the Queen herself. Why not an invitation? And he didn't know any of the commanders personally to warrant such a summons.

Something didn't add up.