The Snow That Dances Through Summer Nights（1）

"The civil unrest that erupted in Year 128 of the Neo-Stellar Era was a mistake. The ghosts of war were unleashed from their confinement, their frenzied forms dancing a bloodthirsty waltz—not only destroying the glory of an era, but shattering the century-long brilliance built beneath the wings of the Federation's eagle."

 — Hamir Angelo, The Shattering of the Democratic Eagle

Snowflakes drifted across the summer night.

On Aeganien I—a moon orbiting five hundred thousand kilometers around Aeganien, the Federation's second core planet—even in June, warmth was but a distant memory. The ever-falling white spirits, like silent whisperers, descended quietly from the sky, blanketing the frozen valleys and every inch of this sleeping, glacial land.

A shuttle designated LZ-74, of the Gu Huo Niao-class, pierced through the clouds like a silver blade, slicing through the upper atmosphere at high velocity. As it descended, frost clung to the edges of its wings, trailing misty contrails behind it.

Buffeted by blizzards, the shuttle trembled violently—like a small boat struggling through a storm. Against the will of nature's spirits, its metal frame seemed so fragile, so insignificant, that even with a veteran pilot wrestling the controls, a single stray snowflake could bring it down.

"The places the Council picks are always so damned inhospitable... Look at this—it's already June, and it's still snowing like hell out here."

The man in the rear seat leaned back, head tilted slightly as he exhaled a stream of smoke toward the cabin window. His cigar glowed faintly red, that single spark standing out starkly against the bleak, gray-and-white world beyond.

Moisture in the smoke instantly condensed on the cold glass, forming a veil of fine droplets that blurred his vision.

The young woman sitting across from him gave a light cough, raising a finger to point at the holographic projection flickering above the small table. The screen was broadcasting yet another public trial—this time of a military officer accused of dereliction of duty.

"They're always putting on these little shows. Five years ago it was the same, and five years later, nothing's changed… They never really wanted to fix anything."

There was a note of disdain in her voice. With a wave of her hand, the image dimmed and faded into silence.

"Don't worry. Zarik will be fine. Tarin—whatever else he's become—is still an old friend. He has no reason to go after him. Otherwise, Zarik would already be the one standing in that trial.

But we've paid a heavy price to keep it that way."

The woman seemed to read something in the man's gaze and offered a few words of quiet reassurance.

She reached out and gently took the still-burning cigar from his hand, pressing it out in the silver ashtray with a soft motion. Her tone softened.

"But you, you need to stop. The doctor said if you keep smoking like this, they'll force you into retirement.

There aren't many people left in the military who still hold on to their conscience like you do. No one wants to see you leave—not yet."

The man said nothing. He simply reached for a tissue from the box on the table and gently wiped the condensation from the cabin window.

His eyes returned to the snow outside, filled with quiet worry. The endless snowfall seemed heavier than the Federation's own starships—its silence and loneliness seeped into his very bones.

The shuttle flew on through the blizzard for several more minutes before finally breaking through the turbulent air layers, descending slowly toward the designated runway of the icefield base.

The tremor of landing sent a deep rumble through the cabin, and as the engines gradually wound down to silence, the slightly rusted hatch began to open with a heavy hiss.

The two donned thick, military-green wool coats and stepped out into the storm—immediately swallowed by wind and snow.

Snowflakes surged around them the moment they emerged, dancing wildly in the air. Ice crystals clung to their shoulders and caps in seconds, and the warmth of their breath turned instantly to white mist.

Waiting at the bottom of the boarding ramp stood a man in a gray Federation military uniform. His cap was pulled low, one gloved hand gripping the brim to shield against the snow and wind. A genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips—but the epaulettes on his shoulders, along with the insignia of the Federal Defense Council, instinctively created a sense of distance.

As one of the Federation's oldest institutions—established at the very founding of the state—the military intelligence service under the Council operated, in many respects, above even the Federation Constitution itself.

Even active-duty officers carried a quiet reverence, if not unease, when faced with their presence.

"Fabiana ▪ Rin—you little fox. Tell me, what trick did you use to get those old men to sign Zarik's release order?"

The man stepped forward, revealing a sharply chiseled face beneath the brim of his gray-black officer's cap, his eyes sharp as a hawk's.

They had known each other for many years—long enough that words were rarely necessary. A glance was often all it took to understand what the other was thinking.

Now, Tarin ▪ Vekar, Director of Division One of the Federal Defense Council, was standing here in person—a clear sign of just how seriously the Federation was taking the man held in the heavily fortified complex beyond the landing strip: the one called Zarik.

A rare smile appeared on Fabiana's cold yet striking face. She tilted her head slightly, gesturing subtly with her eyes toward the man behind her.

Tarin followed her gaze, and his eyes landed on the elderly officer in the military coat.

The dark scar that ran from the right temple down across the cheekbone made him freeze in place.

"General... Kaelen Rysov?"

The old man gave a faint nod.

"It's been... five years, hasn't it?" Tarin's voice carried a note of hesitation—and a trace of shame. He stepped forward quickly, reaching out to grasp the general's hand.

"Forgive me. I've been so caught up with work, I never managed to find the time to visit you in Myuretan."

"Trying to hold this fractured Federation together is trouble enough," General Kaelen said with a faint touch of irony in his voice.

"Compared to us old men on the brink of retirement, the burden on your shoulders is far heavier."

His gaze shifted between Tarin and Fabiana, his expression momentarily complex.

"You, Fabiana, and Zarik—you were the finest students I ever had. I always imagined we'd meet again someday… I just never thought it would be like this."

At those words, the faint smile that had lingered on his face began to fade.,

His gaze drifted past the two of them, through the storm of swirling snow, and settled on the massive shadow of a building barely visible in the blizzard behind them.

Shrouded in snow and distance, the looming black silhouette resembled a demon—casting its shadow across the boundless radiance once carried by the Federation's eagle.

Hearing the old general's quiet lament, the flicker of excitement on Tarin's face quickly ebbed like a retreating tide, replaced by a shade of unease that was difficult to name.

He instinctively turned his head away, avoiding Kaelen's piercing gaze.

"…There was no choice. It was an order from above." His voice was low, as if directed not only at the general—but also at himself. 

"In the end, it was Zarik's own fault… A soldier has no business meddling in politics."

He paused, his eyes briefly flickering with guilt.

"Signing his arrest order… was just meant to teach him a lesson. Nothing more."

"A lesson?"

Kaelen's voice cut across the snowy plain like a winter wind—calm, yet razor-sharp.

"Just because he refused to shut his eyes and pretend he couldn't hear the truths that demanded to be spoken?"He didn't look up. He simply continued walking through the snow, the flakes settling on his shoulders like they were falling onto a silent statue.

"No matter what you say, arresting him over that was wrong.At the very least, he's still the hero of Azure Emerald."

Tarin said nothing more. He let the old general's quiet fury fall on him, the silence settling between them like fresh snow. Kaelen's words weren't angry—but they were heavy, like blocks of lead, each one landing squarely in his chest.And he couldn't really blame the general.

Over the past decades, the Federal Defense Council had indeed become more reckless in its actions—its reach extending further, its grip growing tighter.

A dim yellow light illuminated the end of the corridor as the heavy prison door creaked open. A wave of dampness and rust-laced air rushed outward—thick with the scent of mildew and old metal, as if some long-forgotten suffering were slowly waking from its slumber.

The old general paused, his steps halting for a breath. His gaze sharpened in the gloom.

He saw Zarik.

In that moment, a trace of long-suppressed relief surfaced on his face, like a heavy stone finally lowered in his heart.

Beside him, Fabiana also let down the walls she had held so tightly. A subtle, almost imperceptible curve lifted the corner of her lips.

She turned her head, casting a heavy, wordless gratitude toward the friend who had once stood beside them.

Tarin frowned slightly, as if trying to look away—but in the end, he simply sighed and murmured,"Don't look at me like that… I'm not completely heartless."

His tone remained light, almost casual—but deep inside, a quiet ache began to rise, one he couldn't quite name.

Five years.

The voices were the same. The glances still familiar. Even the chill in the night air felt no different from that night so long ago.

And yet, they both knew—something had changed.

There was now a veil between them, thin as mist, but just enough to blur what once was clear.

They were no longer the comrades who could entrust their backs to one another without hesitation.

The figure lying half-covered on the cot stirred, like a beast startled from slumber by storm and snow. His eyes snapped open—sharp, alert—as if he had long anticipated this day.

"I knew you'd come,"

Zarik grinned, flashing a crooked smile at Fabiana and pulling a ridiculous face. His voice was hoarse, but carried that familiar mischief.

"Looks like you're living quite comfortably," came Kaelen's voice from behind, laced with dry humor.

"Maybe we should let you stay a few more days—what do you think?"

The moment the words fell, Zarik froze—as if struck by frost and snow.His gaze slowly shifted from Fabiana to the figure standing in the shadows—that military-green wool coat, the silver double-headed eagle gleaming on the epaulet, that weighty presence echoing from the depths of memory.

"...Teacher?"

His voice trembled slightly, barely more than a breath—like something uttered in a dream.

"So you still remember me?"

Kaelen stepped out from the shadows, his expression grave.

There was joy in their reunion, yes—but beneath it, a sorrow too deep to name... and a quiet, lingering disappointment.

"You came after all… sir," Zarik said quietly.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was bitter—like snowmelt: clear, cold, and devoid of warmth.

Kaelen said nothing. He stepped forward slowly, gently—almost as if he feared disturbing the stillness of this fragile moment.

He reached out and adjusted Zarik's uniform collar with quiet care.The gesture was the same as it had been ten years ago, on a sun-drenched afternoon at the academy parade ground—when the young officer stood straight and proud, yet always managed to wrinkle his uniform in the most exasperating ways.

"You still haven't kicked that sloppy habit of yours," the old general said, his tone laced with gentle reproach—but more than that, it carried a deep, aching tenderness.

"No matter how many times I fixed your uniform, you always managed to look like you'd just crawled out of a snowdrift."

"You've always been strict, General," Zarik replied with a smile, though his eyes had already grown wet.

"Yes… I haven't changed much.

But you—my most brilliant student—you've changed so much, I hardly recognize you anymore."

Kaelen withdrew his hand and looked him in the eye.

"The impulsive young man who once chased his ideals without hesitation... has now been pulled into a vortex that devours everything in its path."

For a moment, silence fell between them.The dim yellow light of the cell cast deep shadows across Kaelen's face—lines carved by time and burden.

The old general sighed, and his voice—weathered, hoarse, rusted by the years—was filled with sorrow.

"I failed your expectations, sir."

His voice was low, and though a faint smile touched his lips, the ease he once carried was nowhere to be found.

His gaze drifted—across the corner of the cell, the flickering lightbulb, Fabiana's shadow on the wall—before finally settling on the silver double-headed eagle gleaming on Kaelen's shoulder, radiating its sharp, unyielding presence.

"I truly believed... that there was room for compromise between Darius and Synai."

His voice caught in his throat, trembling.

"But later, I realized—I had already walked too far down the wrong path. So far... I couldn't even see your shadows anymore."

In that moment, even the air seemed to freeze.

The faint scent of mildew, the metallic tang of peeling walls, the cold seeping from damp cracks in the stone—everything in that small cell felt saturated with silence.

It crept into the bones like the wind outside, sharp and merciless.

So cold, it was almost impossible to breathe.

"Think it over, Zarik. There's no need to answer me right away."

The old general's voice was steady, unhurried—but beneath it lay a weight that bordered on pleading.

He stepped aside, placing a hand on the doorframe. With a gentle push, the frost-covered iron door creaked open, revealing the corridor beyond—bathed in pale light and bitter cold.

The young officer said nothing.He simply rose in silence, every movement deliberate, as though the floor beneath him were not level ground, but a chasm carved from a century of faith and loyalty.

Step by step, he moved toward the threshold that symbolized freedom—and yet, with each pace, it felt more like he was walking into a corner of fate from which there would be no return.

"It's not too late to turn back," Kaelen said, his voice carrying the weary plea of old age.

"The eagle of the Federation must not fall—not in our hands.You are… all that's left of the future."

Zarik's steps faltered, just for a moment—like a flame frozen in the wind, trembling faintly in the cold.

Then he moved on. His pace was steady, yet each step seemed heavier than the last.

Five years ago, he had sworn an oath to the Federation—an oath forged in steel, in fire.But now, that oath had been torn to shreds by the shadows of reality.

And the moment he walked through that door, the vortex no one dared to name pulled him in once more—dragging the young general back into a night without end.

Just as he was about to step into the darkness at the end of the corridor, a calm yet restrained voice rang out behind him.

"Zarik."

Tarin's voice cracked through the silence like distant thunder—low, heavy, tearing a thin rift in the stillness.

"You should be grateful it was our Council that issued the arrest order first."

His expression was grim, his tone devoid of emotion.

"If it weren't for us, you'd already be in the hands of the Military Intelligence Bureau.

Do you really think they would still bother with things like 'due process' and 'military ethics' the way I do?"

The figure at the end of the corridor stiffened ever so slightly.

Tarin went on.

"That's why we did it—to give you a warning."

"You've gone too far, Zarik. You're already close to crossing the line that must never be crossed."

His words struck like iron hammers, each one landing hard against the back of the man ahead.

Under the corridor lights, Zarik's shadow stretched long and sharp, like a blade.He stood half in light, half in darkness—his figure cleaved in two, as if the world itself had torn him apart.

After a long silence, the figure finally spoke. His voice carried a trace of exhaustion—and something quietly broken.

"…I'll give it serious thought."

He paused, as if swallowing down something bitter—something that wanted to spill out, but was sealed behind the last fragments of reason.

"We've all poured our blood into this Federation…I won't let us be remembered as traitors."

With those final words, his figure vanished completely into the darkness—swallowed by the endless night.

Kaelen stared in that direction for a long time, saying nothing.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, barely more than a sigh.

"Let him go.

Neither you nor I can change Zarik's path now."

He turned slowly, his voice dry and heavy.

"I just hope... he crosses that line a little later, not now.I've seen more than enough tragedy in this lifetime.As long as I still draw breath... I don't want to see another one."

He looked toward the far end of the corridor, where the light still shone.Behind them stood the heavy iron door—solid as a sealed tomb.

Clack.

Tarin turned and slowly closed the door. The echo of the lock sliding into place rang down the hallway, like a silent farewell.

He said nothing more.

Only a cold breath slipped from his lips as his eyes fell to the door handle—his knuckles pale, whitened by the force of his grip.

He hadn't even realized how tightly he was holding on.

The three of them stepped into the corridor.

At the far end, the light was blinding—clean and white. On the wall, the embossed metal double-headed eagle gleamed coldly under the glare, its sharp lines catching the light like a blade.

Yet beneath that brilliance lay a backdrop of deep military green—heavy, unmoving. No one could ever truly see where the light ended…

Just as no one could fully comprehend what lay hidden beneath the weight of such solemn grandeur.

"Well then," Kaelen murmured, taking the coat Fabiana handed him and draping it gently over his shoulders,

"I suppose that concludes my part in this."

He reached into his pocket and drew out a cigar. With a quiet flick, he lit it. Smoke curled upward—thick, black-blue tendrils rising slowly in the cold light reflected by the snow,until they dissolved into the low-hanging clouds that had blanketed the sky above this world for months, never once parting.

"I'll go with Zarik," he said.

"I want to make sure the Intelligence Bureau doesn't trouble him—and… I'd like to talk with him a little more."

He raised a hand and removed his cap, revealing a face weathered by wind and frost.

With a slight nod to the two behind him, he turned and walked away—his figure heavy with age and memory, yet every step remained steady.

He made his way slowly toward the landing pad.

It was a solitary silhouette.A figure that should have been adorned in glory long ago, but now was burdened only by fatigue… and duty.

"Synai nationalism… and it somehow outweighs the future of the entire Federation."

Fabiana's voice was low, edged with disbelief.

"I honestly have no idea what goes on in the minds of those people."

She gazed into the distance—toward the shuttle slowly ascending above the landing pad, trailing a long plume of vapor as it climbed toward high orbit.

For a fleeting moment, something like fervor flickered in her eyes—only to be extinguished the next instant, replaced by a colder, deeper indifference.