Calm before the storm

The dim warmth of Ryssa's room hummed quietly, a soft golden glow wrapping the space in an almost surreal calm. Kael sat on the edge of the modest bed, staring at the single flickering light above the desk. Ryssa stood a few paces away, arms crossed, but not out of defiance—out of nervous energy. Her expression teetered between composure and unraveling.

"I know what people are saying," she finally said, voice low. "I know they think I'm reckless, compromised… weak."

Kael looked at her, eyes unreadable but locked onto her with the same silent weight that had always made him feel like a mountain — quiet but immovable.

"They don't matter," he replied.

"I wish I believed that," Ryssa whispered. "But I do care what you think. That's the problem."

Kael slowly got up and stepped toward her. His presence, as always, wasn't loud or overly intense—it was constant. He reached out and gently touched her cheek with the back of his hand, then tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. It was a soft gesture, one he hadn't done for anyone in what felt like lifetimes.

"I think you're stronger than half the commanders in any battleship," he said. "And I think… I care more than I should."

Ryssa's lip trembled slightly, and she blinked fast. But then, something shifted. Maybe it was the safety of the quiet. Or the exhaustion of constantly holding everything in. But she stepped forward—slow, measured—and wrapped her arms around him.

At first, Kael hesitated. His body tensed instinctively. But then his arms came around her shoulders, pulling her in like an anchor.

No words. Just warmth. Just the unspoken promise that here, they could breathe.

She rested her head against his chest, eyes closed. "Just for tonight," she said. "No war. No orders. Just you and me."

Kael nodded against her hair. "Just us."

Elsewhere, in the Brawler Hangar

Ziya sat with her back against a support beam, still in her undersuit, idly polishing the edge of her weaponized gauntlet. She wasn't focused. Her thoughts had unraveled hours ago.

Every whisper in the hallways, every offhand comment from a passing squadmate—all pointed back to Tyren. To them. The rumor mill didn't sleep, especially when it had something juicy like the golden boy of Brawler Squad and the emotionally reclusive tactician whispering about each other when they thought no one was listening.

She felt exposed. Yet… also strangely seen.

A shadow fell over her. She didn't need to look up to know it was him.

"You know," Tyren began, scratching the back of his neck, "if you keep polishing that gauntlet, it'll reflect my entire emotional damage."

Ziya scoffed, smiling despite herself. "I'm thinking."

"Dangerous."

She finally looked up. "Are you really okay with them talking about us?"

He leaned on the beam beside her and dropped to a crouch, looking her directly in the eyes for once—not with teasing, but with honesty.

"I wasn't," he admitted. "But I read your diary. That makes me a criminal already. Might as well own the role."

Her eyes widened. "You—Tyren!"

He held up a hand. "Only the first few pages! And only because it fell open while I was cleaning your pack."

She groaned, covering her face.

"But," he said more gently, "you wrote about feeling safe around me. That's… everything I want to be. So, yeah. I'm okay with the rumors."

She looked at him again, lips parted in surprise.

Tyren hesitated a moment longer, then reached out and gently took her hand, lifting it with his own calloused fingers.

"So, what do you say, Ziya? Tomorrow… maybe we do something couples do?"

Her cheeks flushed instantly. She couldn't speak—but she didn't let go of his hand either.

Back in Ryssa's Room

The sheets had grown warm with shared body heat. Kael sat upright in bed, shirtless but draped in a throw blanket. Ryssa lay beside him, head on his shoulder again. The room had long since fallen silent, save for the occasional creak of the battleship hull adjusting in the void.

"I'm not good at this," Kael said suddenly.

Ryssa stirred. "What? Being close to people?"

He nodded. "I was always the one left behind. Vireya, the unit. My family. I stopped hoping a long time ago."

Ryssa's fingers tightened around his. "And now?"

"I don't know. But I want to try."

She leaned up and kissed him softly. "Then we try. Together."

The Morning After

The mess hall was surprisingly quiet, the usual chaos dulled by recent events and fatigue. Tyren and Kael sat at their usual table, their trays half-touched.

"You sleep?" Tyren asked, sipping his tea.

"Not much," Kael replied, eyes still a little tired.

"Because of…?"

Kael didn't answer right away. Then, after a pause, he simply said, "Yeah."

Tyren grinned. "Good. Because I didn't sleep either. Ziya wouldn't stop pacing. I think she's afraid I'll turn into a golden retriever or something."

Kael smirked. "You kinda already are."

Tyren chuckled, then leaned in slightly, voice lowering. "So, what now? We play house until another Kaiju knocks?"

Kael leaned back, eyes scanning the room thoughtfully. "No. We make the most of the calm. Because we both know it won't last."

And they were right.

Somewhere deep in the archive network of the battleship, a classified report was being flagged.

Title: Unidentified Energy Signature on R22 – Likely Mutation Cluster

And in red bold beneath it:

Recon Intercept: Possible Fourth Origin Class Kaiju

Authorization Pending for Operation: Ashveil