GSA Wardspire Annex
GSA North Atlantic Bureau
New Boston, North Atlantic Federation arc zone
Western Hemisphere,
United Earth Federation
2435 A.D.
"What's the status report?"
Marshal-Director Caden Holt's voice cut through the din of the command center—a low, commanding baritone that immediately drew attention. Screens flickered across the vast chamber, projecting live data streams, encrypted transmissions, and footage from surveillance drones still circling the New Boston arc zone.
"Bring me a full analysis of all damage reports—Civilian officers, structural, and infrastructural. I want the preliminary threat assessment within the hour."
The analysts scattered into motion, their holo-interfaces lighting up in rapid succession. The air buzzed with tension, the steady hum of the citywide neural grid echoing faintly through the command walls. The Gem Security Agency—GSA—was in chaos. It had been ever since the lockdown in New Boston was lifted.
Holt didn't like it.
The decision had come from the UEF Senate itself, hand-signed by the President of the United Earth Federation. That meant it was final—untouchable. He had protested the motion, argued that lifting the lockdown while the Unveiled Choir was still at large was reckless, bordering on suicidal. But the order was clear: resume public stability by any means necessary. There was nothing he could do. Not in this structure. Not in this system.
The United Earth Federation—UEF—was the largest intergovernmental body in human history, a planetary network that had absorbed every nation under a unified administration after the first Gem Wars. Its reach spanned six continental Federation Zones, each governed by its own Arc Senate but all answering to the central High Senate in Geneva Spire, the UEF capital city that hovered above what was once mainland Europe.
The North Atlantic Bureau, where Holt commanded, belonged to the North American Federation Arc, itself one of the three major political blocs under the UEF's influence. In theory, the GSA functioned as an independent enforcement and intelligence branch—neutral, unaligned with corporate or political factions.
In practice, neutrality was a lie. Holt knew it better than anyone. The GSA's funding came directly from the Federation Treasury—a treasury heavily subsidized by the Corporate Dynasty Houses. Aurion, Vasselheim, Celestex, Chronostone, Mirage—each House controlled vital Gem infrastructures and supplied the UEF's power grids, especially by Aurion House. Their influence ran through every department, every committee, every "neutral" bureau.
And it showed. The order to end the lockdown had not come from the security council or the military oversight committee of the UEF. It had come from House Celestex's representatives in the High Senate, funneled through bureaucratic language and delivered as a "public welfare measure."
Holt stood at the center of the command bridge, the golden glow of data streams reflecting off his uniform's insignia—Marshal-Director, the highest rank under the Directorate Board of the GSA. His dark eyes tracked the movement of the holographic map: red zones across the Wardspire annex marking structural collapse, blue zones indicating stabilized Lumenis network, and blacked-out areas marked restricted.
"Sir, damage to the north industrial ring remains severe," an aide reported. "Civilian Workers displacement count has reached forty-two thousand. Energy fluctuation in sectors seven through nine is stabilizing, but… the Gem lattice still hasn't recalibrated."
Holt exhaled through his nose, expression tightening. "And the terrorists?"
"No trace, sir. Not since the last resonance signature vanished beneath the Sol Core grid."
He turned away from the screen, his jaw clenched.
The Unveiled Choir. A radical network that preached freedom through destruction—born from the growing resentment between humanity and the Luminia. They called the UEF's peace a cage, its Gem economy enslavement, and the corporate Houses false gods. And though most dismissed them as extremists, Holt knew better. Their movements were coordinated, funded, and deliberate.
"Send me every report on whatever is missing from the Veiled well," Holt said, voice low but cutting. "And patch me through to Elias Vasselheim."
He turned toward the vast holo-window overlooking the city. From here, New Boston shimmered—its spires glittering under the artificial dusk, powered by Gem energy veins running like arteries beneath the streets. A metropolis reborn after centuries of war.
And yet, beneath all that brilliance, Holt could feel the rot. The Federation preached unity, but its peace was built on the bones of compromise—and the corporations now owned every piece worth keeping. For all its grandeur, the United Earth Federation had become exactly what the old world once feared: A government not by nations, but by shareholders.
****
Gemcraft Martial Academy of Neo Tokyo,
Neo Tokyo, Neo Japan
Eastern Hemisphere,
United Earth Federation
2435 A.D
Elias sat cross-legged on the mat in one of the empty rooms of the GSA Academy's training hall. The air was quiet—too quiet—broken only by the faint hum of the Lumenis stabilizers buried beneath the marble floor. Thin shafts of light filtered through the high lattice windows, cutting across the polished white walls in long, deliberate stripes.
He exhaled slowly, letting the breath slip from his chest in a controlled stream. His posture was perfect, back straight, palms open, body still. The technique was old—Ancestral Stillness, the meditation his master had taught him in childhood. Still the mind. Quiet the breath. Let the body dissolve until only intent remains. But no matter how deep he sank into the silence, his thoughts betrayed him.
Xerna's face flickered behind his closed eyelids—black hair, sharp crimson eyes, that faint look of regret she always wore before vanishing into chaos. Every time he tried to let go, she returned, slipping into his focus like a ghost that refused to leave.
He opened his eyes, drawing a slow breath. The room expanded around him again—empty, echoing, serene.
After hearing about the break-in at one of the GSA's New Boston facilities, he hadn't waited for orders. He'd left the city immediately, returning here—to the academy—to seek out his old master. There was nothing left for him in the capital now.
The Hall of Radiance bombing investigation was dead, buried under redacted memos and bureaucratic silence. House Celestex had invoked its corporate authority and shut it down entirely, its influence reaching deep into the Senate chambers. His own House—Vasselheim—had stood by in silence—compliance disguised as pragmatism.
It made his blood burn. With Naia recovering aboard the Luminian mothership and Ellira by her side, there was nothing left for him to protect, no cause left to chase. The walls of duty felt tighter now, the world smaller.
So he came here—to this quiet place, the only one that ever felt honest—to ask for counsel from the man who had taught him to wield conviction like a blade. He closed his eyes again, trying to steady the turbulence within.
But the moment he sought stillness, Xerna's image came again—unbidden, vivid—her voice, her resolve, her betrayal, and the sorrow that followed her every step. He remembered the first time he saw her. The memory surfaced like a ripple breaking the calm surface of his mind.
~
"This will be your first assignment under the Intelligence Division of the GSA," his father had said that day, his tone clipped and formal.
Darius Vasselheim, patriarch of the family, stood tall in the brightly lit corridor of the Aegis citadel, his shadow falling long against the floor. The polished obsidian wall reflected both men—father and son—mirrors of the same lineage but worlds apart in demeanor.
"This assignment will determine your operational and management aptitude," Darius continued. Elias—only nineteen then—stood at attention, the weight of the Saber of Conviction slung across his back. The relic's sheath gleamed faintly in the morning light, its golden engravings pulsing with restrained energy.
He had joined the GSA barely a year before, entering the Sapphire Intelligence Division, specifically the OCW—the Observational and Collection Wing. It was a unit built for precision, subtlety, and intellect, responsible for harvesting information across all layers of UEF civilization—from the corporate boardrooms of the High Arc to the hidden alleys of the lower districts.
That was where he first met Xerna Solenne. A woman who would change everything he thought he understood about order, peace, and justice.
They stopped before a sleek, metallic door embossed with the insignia of the Sapphire Intelligence Division—a faceted gem set against a ring of stars. As Darius and Elias approached, the door scanned their presence, then parted with a quiet hydraulic hiss.
The room was cool and sterile, lit by pale blue lumen-strips running along the walls. Inside the room was a broad-shouldered man with silver streaks through his dark hair, wearing the double-banded insignia of authority on his collar—Hassan Pier, commander of the Observational and Collection Wing (OCW). His eyes were sharp, assessing, the kind that weighed worth before words. Beyond the glass in the room were OCW officers and some Luminia, speaking to someone within. Elias couldn't get a good look at who they were interviewing.
"Commander Vasselheim," Hassan said, stepping forward with a measured nod. His voice was deep and steady, the kind that could command a briefing room or calm a storm. He clasped Darius's hand firmly in greeting.
"Commander Pier," Darius replied.
Hassan's gaze shifted, settling on the young man beside him. Elias stood tall, his expression neutral, but his pulse thrumming in his throat.
"So," Hassan murmured, studying him. "This is the boy."
Elias met his eyes without flinching. Hassan had heard the stories—the prodigy of House Vasselheim, the one born with a frail body that could barely withstand the strain of Gem resonance. A child of noble blood who was whispered to be unfit for combat, destined to live in the shadow of his lineage.
And yet, there he stood.
Nineteen years old, carrying the Saber of Conviction—a Relic Gem that had chosen him when even his own House doubted him. The youngest operative in the UEF to ever attain full resonance synchronization. His presence radiated quiet control, a restrained confidence forged through hardship rather than privilege.
Hassan's lips curved faintly, almost approvingly. He had read all the reports and achievements of the boy, and the aura he radiated proved how true they were.
"I've read reports of your achievement," he said. "I can't wait to see what you're capable of,"
Elias bowed his head slightly.
"I look forward to working with the OCW," Elias said, his tone measured but sincere.
He stood tall before his father, though his eyes briefly drifted toward the Luminians stationed at the far side of the room beyond the glass. They sat among the other GSA officers in the room—four of them, their luminous appearance masked by the human skin they had taken. The faint hum of their Lumenis fields filled the room like the sound of breathing light.
Darius noticed the glance. His lips curved into the faintest, knowing smile. "Good," he said. "Because I've recommended you for the Harmony Op."
Elias's attention sharpened.
"It's a joint operation between the OCW and the Choir Unit," Darius continued. "The Luminians assist us with—"
"Infiltration and intelligence gathering on radical groups connected to Luminian affairs," Elias finished for him.
Darius arched a brow, half in approval, half in warning.
"Correct," Hassan said. "You're well informed, young Vasselheim. The Harmony Op is one of our highest-level black operations. Even most within the UEF Directorate don't know it exists. Only a handful in government and the corporate houses are aware of its details."
He paused, eyes flicking toward the Luminians. "And those who do… prefer it that way."
Elias said nothing, but the tension in the room was palpable.
Darius clasped his hands behind his back, adopting the lecturing tone Elias knew too well. "Since the arrival of the Luminia two centuries ago, humanity has fractured into ideological camps."
He began pacing slowly, his voice echoing faintly against the polished stone floor.
"There's the Coexistence Group—those who dream of unity, of mutual growth and harmony. Then there are the Exploitationists—industrial lords and corporate scientists who see the Luminia as living resources, vessels for Gem-based power. And finally, the Religious Orders—the ones who believe the Luminia are divine messengers, heralds sent by God Himself."
Elias listened quietly, his gaze shifting again toward the Luminians.
"The GSA monitors all of these groups," Darius continued. "Especially the religious sects. Faith has become one of the most dangerous catalysts in our modern age. Belief can radicalize faster than war."
He stopped pacing and turned to Elias. "The Harmony Op exists to identify those radicals, observe them, and if necessary, neutralize them before they ignite conflict. That's why we have Luminian agents embedded within the operation."
Hassan nodded, adding quietly, "They see what we can't. They hear things in their networks that no human sensor or algorithm ever could."
Darius's gaze lingered on his son. "You'll be working with one of them—a young agent who's proven exceptional in the field." He pressed a control on the wall, and the door to the adjoining room slid open with a soft hiss. The low hum of voices and Lumenis fields spilled through the gap.
"Go on," Darius said, gesturing for him to enter.
Elias straightened his posture and stepped inside, the door sealing shut behind him as Hassan followed. "Who?" he asked, his voice steady but curious.
Darius's reply came just as the chamber lights adjusted. "Xerna Solenne."
A figure rose from among the gathered Luminians—a young woman with midnight-black hair that shimmered faintly under the glow, and eyes the color of burning crimson. Her calm, measured gaze met his, and in that instant, Elias felt something shift within him. Her name—and the quiet power behind it—would etch itself into his memory forever.
~
"Elias."
The familiar voice drew him back from the edge of his meditation. His eyes opened, slow and steady, the stillness in the room dissolving like mist. Standing in the doorway was his master, Hoshin Takahara.
The man moved with quiet grace, his turquoise kimono flowing like rippling water as he entered the room. The fabric caught the light, its subtle embroidery depicting dragons entwined with sunbursts—a mark of the Takahara Ryu, the oldest surviving school of Lumenis swordcraft. Despite his ageless features, Hoshin radiated vitality that felt almost unnatural, a living example of perfect inner balance.
"Master," Elias said, inclining his head in respect.
Hoshin's gaze swept over him, sharp yet calm, his presence filling the space more powerfully than any energy surge could. "I can see you're full of distractions," he said at last.
Elias exhaled quietly. "I'm trying the breathing technique you taught me."
Hoshin stepped lightly along the wooden path circling the meditation mat, each footfall silent. He reached the weapon shelf, where a line of polished bokken rested in perfect order. Selecting one with practiced ease, he turned toward a row of wooden targets across the room.
He took his stance—back straight, feet angled, body still as a mountain—and with a slow inhale, he raised the sword.
"The Ancestral Breathing Technique," he said, his tone measured, "is not meant to be tried, Elias. It is meant to be remembered."
The wooden blade moved in a blur—clean, precise, silent—and the target split neatly down the middle. No...it was the target behind the one in front of Hoshin. He had cut the wooden target behind, ignoring the one in front of him.
He lowered the sword, not looking back. "When your heart is unsteady, your breath betrays you. When your thoughts drift, your energy scatters. The body cannot follow a mind at war with itself."
Elias watched him, the words striking deeper than they should have. Because his master was right. He was at war—with duty, with guilt, with the face that haunted every moment of his stillness. And Hoshin, as always, saw it without needing to ask.
Elias had always believed in the structure the UEF provided—the order, the peace, the illusion of stability that held humanity together. Seventeen-point-four billion lives—across Earth and its orbital colonies, the lunar settlements, and the terraformed outposts of Mars and Europa—all depended on the Federation to function. The UEF's reach spanned the Arc Zones and Federation Rings, an intricate web of bureaucracy and data streams that governed life itself.
And Elias had trusted in it.
He'd seen corruption, yes—senators with corporate loyalties, GSA directors who bent rules for profit—but he had dismissed them as acceptable flaws in an otherwise necessary system. Nothing was perfect. Stability demanded compromise. That was why, when Nine had called him a corporate dog during their earlier battles, Elias hadn't felt anger. He'd felt nothing at all.
In seven years of service within the Gem Security Agency, he had faced every kind of radical imaginable—terrorists, separatists, religious zealots, and the disillusioned poor. Every one of them claimed to be fighting against the machine that ruled them. Everyone had fallen, and every time, Elias's conscience had remained unshaken.
Until now.
Since being tasked with investigating the attacks on the GSA outpost in the European Arc Zone—and the subsequent bombing in New Boston—something inside him had begun to fracture. The lines he thought were clear had started to blur.
The silence in the training hall thickened. Hoshin's blade gleamed faintly where it leaned against the wall. Outside, the low hum of the GSA academy's reactor pulsed like a heartbeat through the floor.
"What weighs on your mind, young one?" Hoshin's voice broke the quiet, calm yet piercing.
Elias's answer came slower than it should have. "The assignment in Europe," he said. "The one to track the missing Gem loads after the GSA facilities were hit. My father assigned me to lead the investigation, and I did…"
"Ah." Hoshin's eyes narrowed slightly, the turquoise of his kimono catching the ambient light. "I heard about it. I also heard the case was… closed."
Elias looked up, meeting his master's gaze. The words hung between them, heavy with implication.
Hoshin Takahara was no ordinary instructor. Beneath the calm exterior of a swordmaster lay one of the most powerful men in the Federation—a Senate Chair of the UEF's High Council, a man whose voice carried through the great spire chambers of Geneva Prime itself. He had access to truths buried deeper than the public ever knew. Of course, he'd heard of the case. Of course, he'd known from the moment it began.
Elias's chest tightened. The air in the meditation room felt thinner now.
The bond between their families ran deep—the Takahara clan and the House of Vasselheim were bound by centuries of kinship and enterprise. The first Vasselheim smiths had learned their craft from Hoshin's ancestors; the forging arts of the Takahara had shaped Vasselheim into the greatest weapon-manufacturing conglomerate in the UEF.
Generations of alliance had built both empires, and now, Elias realized, it might be the same alliance that was keeping the truth buried. He clenched his fists unconsciously. The calm rhythm of his breathing wavered. The order he had once believed in felt more fragile than ever, and the silence of his master felt like judgment.
"What are your thoughts on the situation?" Hoshin asked.
Elias blinked, pulled from his thoughts. The question landed heavier than it sounded. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Hoshin said, stepping closer, his voice smooth as the draw of a blade, "what is your gut telling you to do? You don't approve of the Senate's decision to close the case—I can see it in your face. So. What's your next move?"
The faint hiss of energy filled the silence. Elias rose slowly from the meditation mat, the cool wood pressing against his palms. His sword rested beside him—sleek, obsidian-edged, humming faintly with restrained power. He gripped the hilt and stood.
Across the room, rows of wooden targets waited like silent witnesses. He walked to one, each step deliberate, each thought heavier than the last. Since joining the GSA, he'd made it a point not to see what was right in front of him—the rot beneath the Federation's light. He'd watched corruption thrive under the same order his family helped build.
He thought of Project Heliospire—how it had twisted lives and left scars even on those trying to bring peace. He thought of Xerna, who had once believed in coexistence before the system broke her.
And now, it wasn't theoretical anymore. Now it was personal. The truth came like a blade to the gut: he had only cared when the pain reached his doorstep. That made him no better than the hypocrites he despised.
His grip on the sword tightened. The faint vibration of the metal pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. He thought of Kestrel Muir, the bombmaker mother who'd turned to crime to buy her dying son time. He'd felt nothing when he'd detained her. Just duty. Procedure. He thought of Nine, and of the other victims of Heliospire—lives discarded and branded radicals for daring to survive.
The weight of it pressed into his chest. He couldn't unsee it now. Couldn't close his eyes like before. Order. Stability. Peace. Justice. The pillars he had sworn to uphold now stood like hollow monuments—beautiful, but crumbling.
"I made a vow when I took up the sword," Elias said quietly. His reflection wavered in the polished sheath of his family's relic—the Saber of Conviction. "To protect what I held dear."
He saw their faces flash through his mind—his father, stern and silent; Naia, his sister; and all his family members who shared the same blood as his. And then Xerna, her crimson eyes full of defiance and pain.
He moved.
The blade came alive in his hand, even through the sheath—a single swift arc. The sound cracked like thunder, and the air itself split. The wooden target before him remained still, but the one behind it fell cleanly in half. A perfect cut. Exactly like his master's.
Hoshin's expression softened. He slid his hands behind his back, voice calm but approving.
"It seems you have your answer." He said. Elias exhaled, lowering the sword. Then Hoshin tilted his head toward the door, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"It also seems," he added, "you have guests."
The chamber door slid open with a soft hum. Standing in the doorway were Naia, her familiar lilac eyes bright against the training hall's pale light, Ellira beside her—golden aura faint but steady—followed by Neru, ever composed, and Ryn, silent but alert.
The faint hum of the Saber of Conviction faded as Elias released the Lumenis flow from its blade. The golden light dissolved into air, leaving behind only the soft whisper of energy dispersing.
He turned—and for a moment, surprise flickered across his face. Naia was standing at the entrance, steady on her feet. Relief settled in his chest like a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. That relief quickly shifted to resigned amusement when he noticed Ryn behind her. Of course they'd found him, even with his locator app disabled. Tracking him was child's play for a Gembeast attuned to spatial resonance.
"I'll leave you with your guests," Hoshin said. As he passed them on his way out, he paused by Ellira. She bowed respectfully, her posture formal but warm.
"Uncle," she said softly.
Hoshin smiled, faint but genuine. "El. It's good to see you again. It's been too long." His gaze shifted toward Naia, the edge of familiarity softening his tone. "And I'm glad to see you well, Nia."
"Thank you, Master Hoshin," Naia replied with a small bow.
"Good. Then I'll leave you all to it." He waved them off casually and slipped out, the sliding door sealing shut behind him.
As the quiet returned, Naia turned toward Ellira, brow raised. "Uncle?"
Ellira gave a sheepish smile. "Uncle Hoshin is married to my master. So… technically, yes."
Before Naia could respond, Elias broke in. His tone was steady, but there was a tension beneath it. "What are you doing here?"
Naia's expression softened. "To talk to you."
He said nothing, and she continued, "I heard the investigation into the bombing was closed. I guess that means you have no reason to stay in New Boston."
The words landed harder than she probably intended. Elias's grip tightened on his saber. There was unfinished weight between them—years of it. Words spoken in anger after her injury. Words never taken back.
Naia could feel it through the faint resonance between them—his guilt, buried but alive.
"The investigation is closed," Elias admitted, his voice low. "But…" He reached into his coat, pulling out his LumenPad. A soft blue projection flickered to life above it. "I'm going after them anyway."
Naia stepped closer. "Them?"
Elias expanded the holographic display—schematics, encrypted files, fragments of something technical and forbidden. "These were downloaded onto my device after it was stolen."
Lines of data shimmered across the projection—complex circuitry, Gem lattice cores, structural blueprints.
Ellira's eyes widened as she examined the details. "Wait—this design…" She zoomed in on one of the crystalline circuits. "This looks familiar. Almost identical to the bomb that destroyed the Hall of Radiance."
Elias nodded grimly. "Kestrel Muir's handiwork."
Ellira's throat tightened. She had read about Kestrel Muir—the bombmaker who had designed the impossible. A woman whose genius had been overshadowed by tragedy, her inventions twisted into tools of terror. She remembered feeling admiration and sorrow when she learned Kestrel had died. And now, seeing her design resurface…
"This is some kind of bomb," Ellira said, her voice low as the hologram's blue light reflected in her eyes. "A high-grade device that compresses Lumenis into a singularity point, then detonates—releasing a wave of Resonance radiation."
The schematics pulsed faintly, rotating in midair like a silent threat.
Elias's jaw tightened. He'd suspected as much the moment he saw the data, but hearing it confirmed made the air in the room feel heavier. Whoever had left this file for him hadn't done so by accident. It was a message—or a test.
Ellira circled the projection, her fingers swiping through layers of complex equations and internal diagrams. "This kind of weapon would need an enormous energy source. We're talking Prism-tier levels at minimum. A Crown-tier couldn't sustain that kind of output."
Elias's eyes narrowed. "What about a Relic Gem?"
Ellira stopped, her golden aura dimming with realization. "A relic gem would do it. Easily."
For a moment, no one spoke. The hum of the hologram filled the silence, faint and menacing.
"The break-in at the GSA facility…" Ellira said slowly, piecing it together.
Elias nodded. "A relic gem was stolen." He flicked his wrist, and the holo-image collapsed into dust-blue motes before vanishing. The glow faded, leaving only the cold light of the training hall.
Ellira looked up at him. "Do you think they're planning another attack? On the Gem Access Treaty?"
Elias met her gaze, his expression grim. "Probably."
The word hung in the air like a verdict—quiet, heavy, and certain.
"Then we need to be there," Naia said, her tone steady, certain. "To stop them."
Elias looked up, startled by the conviction in her voice. For a moment, she sounded exactly like the soldier she used to be. But then his gaze dropped to her arm—the one she'd only just regained. The smooth skin where there had once been a gem prosthetic glowed faintly under the light, a reminder of how close he'd come to losing her for good.
He felt his chest tighten. He'd already failed to protect her once. The thought of dragging her back into danger made his grip on the Saber falter.
Naia caught the look immediately—the flicker of fear behind his calm. She exhaled softly, her expression shifting from determination to understanding.
"I knew you'd react like that," she said, crossing her arms. "You're still trying to keep me on the sidelines."
Elias said nothing.
Naia took a step closer, her voice quieter now. "We should talk, Elias."
The weight in her tone left no room for argument.