Stella exhaled slowly, the breath leaving her lips in a long, quiet stream as the door to the meeting room sealed shut behind General Superbia. The soft click seemed louder than it should have, as though the room itself had been holding tension and finally released it with him gone.
The meeting was over.
Finally.
She sank back into her chair, shoulders losing their rigid posture as fatigue settled into her muscles. For a moment, she allowed herself to simply exist—no reports to deliver, no projections to defend and no careful wording to write the seemingly endless amount of E-mails to their respective recipients.
Her fingers curled loosely around the handle of her teacup. The porcelain was still warm. She lifted it and took a measured sip, the heat spreading gently down her throat and grounding her in the present.
On the screen before her, complex architectural projections shimmered: layered schematics of the floating ground—a structure that would defy conventional limits of infrastructure.
General Superbia had been delighted. Not merely pleased but delighted.
He had leaned forward during the presentation, eyes gleaming with interest that bordered on fascination. He had asked precise, incisive questions, not to challenge her authority but to explore the potential of the concept further. And then, almost casually, he had announced his personal investment in the project.
That part still unsettled her.
It was only a matter of time now. Once the layout of the floating ground was fully approved and constructed, the rest would follow: infrastructure, housing, commerce, a self-contained city rising above the earth like a declaration of triumph over limitation.
It should have filled her with pride.
Instead, it filled her with unease.
Her gaze drifted from the screen to the empty office around her. The room was quiet, bathed in the soft hum of machinery and distant activity beyond its reinforced walls. She should have felt accomplished. Validated.
But her thoughts returned, uninvited, to that mysterious light.
The memory lingered at the edge of her consciousness, hazy yet persistent. The moment the proposal was made to her, the surge of conviction that had overtaken her, the strange certainty that the idea was not only possible but necessary. She hadn't overanalyzed it. She hadn't hesitated. She had simply acted.
And everything had gone smoothly. Too smoothly.
Normally, projects of this scale sparked conflict. Rival departments demanded jurisdiction, budgetary committees raised objections, skeptics criticized feasibility. Entire sectors clashed over far smaller initiatives. Yet in her case, doors had opened one after another with minimal resistance. Approval followed approval. Resources were allocated almost immediately.
It was as if unseen hands were clearing the path before her.
That thought sent a faint chill down her spine.
She leaned back and closed her eyes, pressing her fingers lightly against her temple. Perhaps she was overthinking. Perhaps this was simply what success felt like when circumstances aligned perfectly.
Or perhaps it was something else.
A quieter question surfaced then, one she tried to ignore but could never fully silence.
Was this what she truly wanted?
She pictured herself back in uniform, standing beside Jeanne in the command room, exchanging quiet banter between briefings. She imagined Incarceratus's calm presence nearby, steady and unwavering even in the midst of chaos. Those days had been filled with danger, yes, but also with clarity. Purpose. Companionship.
Now she sat alone in a pristine office, planning cities that floated in the sky.
She sighed softly, tilting her head back against the chair and letting her eyes remain closed for just a moment longer.
The silence stretched.
Then, faintly, she heard the door open.
Her eyes snapped open immediately, instincts honed by years of command overriding the brief moment of vulnerability. Her posture straightened as her gaze locked onto the entrance.
Two figures stepped inside.
They moved in perfect synchrony, their footsteps aligning so precisely it almost seemed choreographed. Both wore standard military uniforms, yet on them the attire looked less like regulation and more like deliberate adornment, tailored to emphasize rather than conceal their physical presence.
The man was tall and broad-shouldered, his build lean yet powerful, the kind of physique that suggested both discipline and effortless strength. Long, straight black hair fell past his shoulders, catching the light in smooth, glossy strands. His face was strikingly symmetrical—sharp jawline, straight nose, and features arranged with such balance that they seemed almost sculpted rather than natural.
His eyes were a clear, vivid blue. Not cold, not harsh, but intensely aware, as though every detail in the room was immediately registered and assessed.
Beside him stood a young woman who mirrored him with uncanny precision. She was smaller, her figure curved rather than angular, with wide hips and narrow shoulders that gave her silhouette a soft yet defined elegance. Her long black hair was tied high into a sleek ponytail that swayed lightly as she moved. Her face held the same symmetrical perfection as her brother's, though her expression carried a gentler curve at the lips.
Her eyes were the same shade of blue.
Identical.
They stopped before Stella's desk and saluted simultaneously, movements aligned down to the smallest degree. The gesture was crisp, flawless—almost too flawless.
"Commander Astrum," they said in unison, voices overlapping so precisely that it sounded like a single voice layered in two tones. "We have been summoned by General Superbia to assist you in your affairs."
They smiled.
It was a beautiful smile.
Too beautiful.
Stella returned the salute automatically, though a faint crease formed between her brows as she studied them more closely.
"May I ask who you two are?" she inquired, curiosity carefully masked behind professionalism.
"We are the specialist officers and siblings, Luxuria," they replied together once again.
The synchronized speech was unsettling, yet oddly mesmerizing.
"Oh, you two do look very similar," Stella said with a polite smile, though inwardly she noted that "similar" felt like an understatement. They looked less like siblings and more like reflections shaped into different forms. "What exactly did the General instruct you to help me with?"
"He only said we should remain by your side," they answered, still perfectly aligned, "and assist you with anything you may require."
There was no hesitation. No divergence. Not even the slightest delay between one voice and the other.
Stella tapped her finger lightly against the edge of her desk, thinking.
"That's very considerate of him," she said finally. "But at the moment everything is under control. You're free to familiarize yourselves with the facility. I'll inform the General later that I may assign you to civilian coordination roles until something more specific arises."
The siblings glanced at one another, a brief silent exchange that lasted less than a second, yet somehow felt loaded with unspoken understanding. Then they nodded at the exact same moment.
"Understood," they replied, smiling once more.
They turned and exited together, their steps still perfectly synchronized until the door slid shut behind them.
The moment they were gone, Stella's expression changed.
The warmth vanished.
Her face hardened, eyes narrowing slightly as she replayed the encounter in her mind. It was strange—far too strange. Their identical speech patterns, their flawless coordination, their sudden assignment by the General himself. It wasn't that she distrusted Superbia. He had always acted with clear logic and calculated intent.
But this level of direct support, for a project she herself had proposed almost impulsively, felt excessive.
Unnaturally so.
She leaned back in her chair again, folding her arms.
Perhaps she was simply being paranoid.
Yet something about them lingered in her thoughts—not just their behavior, but their presence. They were strikingly beautiful, almost distractingly so, in a way that seemed deliberate rather than coincidental. Their symmetry, their poise, their calm, confident smiles—it all radiated a subtle magnetism that was difficult to ignore.
She felt it then.
A faint tug at her chest.
An unfamiliar warmth that spread uneasily through her, as if some instinctual part of her mind had reacted before reason could intervene. It wasn't affection. It wasn't admiration. It was something more primal, more unsettling—an attraction not rooted in personal connection but in sheer aesthetic allure.
It disturbed her.
She shook her head quickly, forcing the sensation away.
Ridiculous.
They were just officers. Nothing more. Perfectly trained, perfectly disciplined, perfectly… composed.
Too perfect.
She inhaled deeply and turned back to her screen, forcing her focus onto the schematics of the floating city. Numbers, projections, and structural models were safer than ambiguous emotions. They followed rules. They made sense.
Yet even as she resumed working, a small part of her mind remained preoccupied.
Their synchronized voices echoed faintly in her memory.
Their identical blue eyes.
Their flawless smiles.
And the strange, almost imperceptible feeling that their arrival marked the beginning of something she did not yet fully understand.
She tightened her grip on her stylus and continued her work, pushing those thoughts aside for now.
But deep down, a quiet unease remained, coiled beneath her composure—waiting, watching, and wondering whether the support surrounding her was truly a blessing… or the first sign of something bigger she had not yet recognized.