The car hummed like a caged thing beneath them. Leonora sat rigid, hands folded into white-knuckled composure. The city lights threw quick, hard reflections across her face — a shadowed mosaic of oath and anger.
"Lady Leonora — the ships are ready to launch."
"Let's go, Anna."
The young woman's eyes found Leonora's, full of worry. "May I ask you one question, my lady?" she whispered once the engine coughed to life.
Leonora's jaw was a line of steel. "What is it?"
"Last night you seemed… irritated. Did something happen to you?" Anna asked, voice thin as paper.
Leonora looked out at the passing facades, the hum of the engines translating to a slow, threatening drum. "No — just a drunk bumped into me, spilled his drink on me. I got angry because we had to leave today and my uniform was ruined." She said it like a command, but something in her eyes seethed with harder things.
Anna's hand hovered, afraid of crossing into orders. "If you want me to take care of the guy, just say the word, my lady."
A ghost of a smile — cruel and private — touched Leonora's mouth. "Don't worry, Anna. I think he's got it coming."
"Alright, my lady." Anna bowed, relief and dread braided together. The car slid to the station, and Anna peeled away on her route home.
Leonora stepped from the vehicle, boots eating the platform, breath puffing in quick clouds. A motorbike's engine rose like a challenge. The rider slowed and pulled off his helmet with a casual show of audacity that made the station's hum feel smaller.
"It's you!" Youri said.
"Do you know who you're talking to? Who are you!?" Youri's grin was too bright for a man with bottles in his pockets and war in his eyes. He laughed like it was a private joke.
"Oh — me? I'm sorry, I did not introduce myself." He stepped forward, charming and dangerous in the same breath. He removed the helmet. "My name is Youri Kronos. You probably know me as D7."
The words landed like metal. Leonora's nostrils flared. "You — you're that idiot who spilled his drink on me!"
"Really? I'm sorry; I don't remember. I blacked out last night. Feel free to send the bill to me — I'll take care of it." He shrugged as if a universe could be settled with pocket change.
Her voice dropped to ice. "And you have the audacity to say that? Huh, Youri Kronos — do you know you can be court-martialed for just stopping here and talking to me? Not to mention using an unauthorized vehicle in a high-security station. If you're looking to die, please save it for the battlefield — you'd be doing us both a favor."
Youri's grin softened into something like apology, then mischief. "Sorry for the trouble, General. Do you want a lift to the ship?"
Leonora's hand hovered near the hilt at her hip, a promise of consequences. "Fine. I'll just have to kill you myself here if you keep this up."
He took that as an invitation. "I'll take that as a no."
Aboard the Main Ship — Hangar and Bridge
The cargo bay smelled of oil, ozone, and the metallic tang of pre-battle nerves. Officers moved like patterns in a machine. A dozen boots stamped in rhythm.
"General — welcome back."
"Thank you, everyone. Sorry for the short notice — orders from the Emperor himself. How are preparations going?" Leonora asked, her tone clipped but watchful.
"Everything is ready, my lady. Everyone is on board, except for the god pilot — he is still missing."
"Send someone to drag his ass onto the ship. Check the buffet — I'm pretty sure he's there." The words were a command and a memory both.
"Yes, my lady." A team moved like a shadow across the mess decks. They found him where they always found him — leaning on a counter, the smell of gin and old decisions clinging to him. Hands moved with practiced efficiency; cuffs snapped cold against skin.
"Man, I can't find shit here. Where do these guys keep the booze?" a petty voice joked, then cut off when a hand fell on Youri's shoulder with a clinch. "There he is. Detain him."
They cuffed him. He looked amused. He always looked amused. It annoyed people the wrong way.
"General — the pilot is on the ship." Leonora's eyes flicked to him with an unreadable expression. "Great. All engines full force. Let's go."
Briefing — Officers' Circle (mid-transit)
The briefing was a circle of cold light and warmer tempers. The man at Leonora's side spoke before introductions could harden into ceremony.
"Oh — it's you, General. I hope those guys got my booze too. Listen here, D7 — I read your profile. I know you're a loose cannon; your tendency for self-sabotage and alcoholic addiction doesn't help either. But when it comes to talent, you are the best: a 97% link with the artifact — that alone speaks volumes. You hide your procedures under those tattoos, but I can see: behind this facade it's just a little attention-seeking puppy desperate for its owner's attention." He clapped slowly, like someone giving a verdict.
Youri's gaze skated over it like water. "You hit the nail on the coffin, General. So about my booze." He smiled, half-apology, half-insult. A hand came swift as a judge's gavel — a slap that knifed through the stale air and left red on bone.
Servants and crew stiffened. The General's voice hardened as the metal ramp sealed. "This is my ship. We do things my way here, and you are no exception. Keep him here until we reach the destination. He has one job: execute others. Once he's done, put him back in."
"Yes, my lady." The tone held the brittle politeness of the obedient and the terrible edge of necessity.
A last jab from Leonora, softer and poised. "Hey, General — do you know what monsters do when they lose their source of food?" The door closed on the echo like a latch.
Kalkan Fleet — Arrival and Tension
The fleet arrived like a storm of metal, lines and formations folding into a grim choreography. Holo-maps spun: positions, orders, kill matrices. Count Markus' voice purred with impatience over the comms.
"We have reached the destination, General. Put me through to the commanding officer."
"Yes, my lady."
"This is Count Markus, leader of the Kalkan campaign." His tone was velvet with knives. "Nice to meet you, Count Markus. General Kaelthorn at your service." Leonora's courtesy was armor.
"We have brought the god orbiton. What's the plan?" Leonora asked, the question a scalpel.
"Yes, General — you are free to deploy the god unit now."
"Wait, Count Markus! You want to deploy the god unit right now?" Leonora's voice flared — a flare of steel. The men around her inhaled.
"Yes, General. I'd like this battle to end quickly — I have duties back at the capital I must attend to very soon. So the sooner we finish, the better." Markus' impatience tasted like thin ambition.
Leonora's eyes narrowed. Pride and duty walked her lines. "I understand, Count Markus. As of now, I will take command of this campaign. You are free to leave any time you want." The words were an invitation and a warning.
"Are you trying to steal my glory, General?" Markus snapped, offended pride flaring.
"Heavens, no. But since you mentioned duties back at the capital, I can fill in for you here." Leonora's grin was a blade hid under silk: polite, final, and dangerous.
"No need for that, General. But since you insist, I want to see how you decide to handle this." Markus' challenge hung like static. The fleet braced, engines thrummed, and Leonora turned to the deck with a resolve that would not be bargained away.