The Falcon's Wing descended like a predator in glide, its hull shimmering against the sun's final light. Kael leaned over the skyship's railing, struck speechless by the sheer size of the capital below. Towering citadels, vibrant markets, and arterial roads stretched in every direction. The capital wasn't just alive—it was awake. Like a sleeping giant with one eye open, watching.
Is this what power looks like?
Is this what I'm stepping into?
"Impressive, isn't it?" Veyna's voice sliced through his awe. "But don't mistake size for strength. The Empire wears beauty like armor—polished and deceptive."
Kael swallowed hard. He had trained, bled, even died—but nothing could have prepared him for this.
At the skyport, a figure awaited them: tall, sharp, and wrapped in a crimson-lined military coat. His expression was as unreadable as a locked vault.
"This is Arien Vale," Veyna introduced. "Sub-commander and one of the Empire's golden boys."
Kael nodded, barely holding back a grimace at the nickname. Golden boys don't usually last long in real war.
Arien didn't seem like the type to be underestimated, though. His eyes were observant, but not unkind. "Follow me."
They moved through the bustling tiers of the capital, passing glass-paneled towers and watchful Sentinels. Kael's senses were overwhelmed—foreign smells, the hum of Crest-powered tech, and the unsettling gaze of nobles and soldiers alike. More than once, he reached for Kurozan, only to remember the blade was tucked away in soul space.
When they reached the Military Administration Hall, Kael felt the weight of the capital fully settle on his shoulders. Every hallway was polished, every corner hiding another expectation he wasn't sure he could meet.
Inside, a black-haired woman adjusted her glasses and looked up. She was beautiful in a cold, imperial way. The moment her eyes fell on Kael's ragged cloak and worn boots, her smile thinned.
Then she noticed Arien. Her face lit up like dawn.
"Arien. Escort duty today?"
"New recruit," he said. "Needs outfitting."
She handed Kael a slip of parchment without another word and gestured to a nearby door.
Inside the tailoring room, a silver-haired veteran eyed Kael like a sculptor appraising stone. "Strip. I need to measure you properly."
Kael stiffened. "I'd prefer not to."
"Wounded?" the tailor asked flatly.
"Scars," Kael replied, lying with ease.
A long silence.
Then a grunt. "Fine. I've dressed men with worse secrets."
As the tailor worked, Kael's thoughts wandered. If I revealed the Void Crest now, would they dissect me? Cage me? Senn's warning rang in his mind like a sacred oath: No one must know—not yet.
He returned to the front hall where Arien waited, still unreadable.
"Uniform will be ready in two days. Come on."
They moved through the grounds of the military academy, where polished marble gave way to fortress-like arches and training fields. Veyna stood by the entrance to the barracks.
"There's a meeting in three days," he said without preamble. "Instructors, captains, decision-makers. Your presence is mandatory."
Kael simply nodded. The storm was gathering. And he was right in the eye of it.