"Hold it. Hold that position."
Balanced in a handstand, I clenched my core and held steady, a heavy rock pressing against the sole of my left foot while a restless baby black fox perched atop my right.
"Remember to keep your spiritual energy flowing throughout your body," Traveler reminded me.
"Y-yes!" I gritted my teeth, straining against the weight of the rock and the unpredictable shifting of the fox. Holding my balance was already a challenge, but I also had to consciously concentrate my spiritual energy into nine precise points within my body.
The stone's weight crushed down on my leg, making it difficult to hold up, and the fox kept shifting, its tiny paws scrambling against my foot, throwing my balance further off. Worse, keeping my spiritual energy locked in place instead of letting it flow naturally only made the strain even greater.
"Thirty seconds."
As soon as Traveler lifted the rock and plucked the fox from my foot, my arms buckled, and I collapsed onto the cold dirt, exhaling in exhausted relief.
"Good work," he said, crouching beside me. "This past year and a half hasn't been a waste."
"Thank you..." I huffed, staring up at the sky as soft snowflakes drifted down onto my flushed cheeks.
Since the day Traveler started training me, no two days had been the same.
At first, the exercises had been straightforward—running up the mountain and back until my legs gave out, attacking with every combat technique I knew until my arms felt like lead, grueling body exercises in seven sets followed by submerging myself in an ice bath. The usual torment.
Then things got stranger. And harder.
Navigating an obstacle course while blindfolded.
Holding my breath while swinging a stick at a moving target.
Fighting a wolf while standing only in specific areas to avoid falling into the river.
Each task had to be completed ten times before we moved on to the next, ensuring I never grew comfortable.
"Here."
Traveler handed me a chilled glass filled with golden liquid. I took it gratefully, and as I drank, the strong, crisp taste of apple filled my throat.
"You've done well to survive this far," he said as I drained the drinks last drop. "For a three-year-old, you're astonishingly resilient."
I lowered the glass, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Technically, I turned fifteen six-months ago."
"Technically, maybe." Traveler leaned back, exhaling a warm breath that fogged the cold air. "Physically, sure. But mentally, you're still an infant. It's a shame you're not more curious. If you were even half as inquisitive as I was at your age, you'd be asking the important questions."
I watched as the baby fox scurried back into the forest, then turned to him. "Like what?"
A slow grin spread beneath the shifting static that obscured his face. "Like why I trained you in such a wide range of skills when I could've just had you do the same ten exercises over and over, only increasing the difficulty when you got lazy. Or perhaps why, despite how hard you try, you still can't see my face through the static."
I looked away, feeling like a child caught sneaking out of bed.
Traveler chuckled, clearly amused by my embarrassment. "The first answer is simple—experience. On the battlefield, nothing stays the same except one thing: your opponents will always be trying to kill you. I trained you to adapt, to hold your own in any situation."
"You did make me fight and kill a lot of different animals..." I muttered, rubbing my hands together to keep warm.
"Yeah, and you'll have to prove that experience was worth something tomorrow against the other cadets. Now—do you want to know why you can't see my face?"
I nodded, peering at the glitching veil that obscured his features.
"Hmm. Alright, then." He adjusted his fedora. "It's an aftereffect of a strange mutation. Unless I choose otherwise, this is how it normally is. One day, I hope to let you see my face—but you'll have to earn it first."
A strange warmth settled in my chest. I was lucky Traveler had agreed to train me at the empress' request. "Thank you for being there for me when I had no one else, Traveler." I leaned against him, unable to suppress my smile.
He patted my head. "Who knows what your future would be without me in it, Firefly? You certainly won't."
Standing, he brushed the frost from his coat. I rose alongside him.
"I'll stick around to watch the contest tomorrow," he said. "But by the time you're off to be selected by the knights in the Constellation Program, I'll be gone."
Before he could walk away, I grabbed his sleeve. He turned back, peering at me from under the brim of his hat.
"Can you... tell me what a knight is?"
He blinked. "Haven't the professors already told you?"
"They have, but..." I hesitated. "I want to know what you think of them."
Traveler placed a steadying hand on my back, guiding me into the facility where the air grew considerably warmer.
"The plain answer?" He glanced at me. "Highly advanced mechs—ten times as effective as a tank, and infinitely more dangerous. Depends on the model, but they can either be a fortress capable of saving hundreds of thousands or a weapon that leaves nothing but ruin in its wake. Some are as small as seventeen feet, others as massive as thirty-two. But no matter their make, they're the core of entire strategies, moulded and modified to suit their pilots."
I absorbed that for a moment before pressing further. "And the not-so-plain answer?"
As we walked through the corridor, passing other cadets and their instructor moving in the opposite direction, I noticed them nod at Traveler in silent acknowledgment.
"They're heroes of steel and war," he said, his voice laced with something between reverence and nostalgia. "The first of their kind was built over a thousand years ago. They're driven by human will and the precision of artificial intelligence. The only thing that can stop a knight... is an unstoppable force—or an equal opponent."
"Another knight pilot, you mean?"
Traveler nodded. "Exactly. Or something similar. Pilots have skills and senses that surpass human limitations thanks to stimulants, bodily augmentations, and years of training. But only a rare few survive the process of becoming a knight pilot—roughly one in a million. Which is why they started making your kind, Firefly."
"AKPs," I murmured, understanding dawning. "Robotic humans with the skills and training of a fully-fledged pilot—capable of operating a hundred knights at once."
Traveler chuckled. "It's something to witness. A small company of knights moving as fearless drones, coordinated by a queen bee."
Turning the corridor toward my room, a thought tugged at me. "But... wouldn't splitting focus like that—controlling so many at once—put the pilot in danger?"
"Naturally." Traveler waved a hand dismissively. "And knights aren't exactly cheap to produce. Especially Constellation Knights—those are like demigods on the battlefield. That's what squads and fireteams are for. No matter how useful an AKP may be, once isolated, they can be taken out with a single bullet to the head. Just like anyone else."
His words carried weight, but I sensed there was more to the lesson than he was letting on. As I reached for my door, I hesitated, turning back to him. "Do you have a war story's you could tell me? you've taught me a lot of things with your stories but I don't think you've once mentioned any of your battles."
Traveler leaned against the doorway, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his ever-static face. Filtering through his memories, he lifted his bandaged right hand and gestured as he spoke.
"My old strategist and clairvoyant friend, Sathuna. She used to write scripts for every member of our team to follow during missions. Real detailed ones, too. Five pages each, on average." He smirked. "She figured out early on that I don't take well to orders, despite our arrangement. So instead of a script, I'd get a short note. A simple request—more like a demand really—telling me what not to break and what to break."
His words struck me as contradictory to what he had once told me. Brow furrowing, I crossed my arms. "But... didn't you say that cooperation is all about compromise?"
"That I did." He grinned, eyes gleaming under the brim of his hat. "But some people have values and ideals they won't compromise on. Whether it's past experiences or personal morality, everyone has a line they refuse to cross. A boundary in the sand, and another one inside themselves." His tone grew quieter, more solemn. "I hope you find yours before you're forced to question it."
With a sharp bang against the doorway, Traveler pushed off with his elbow, straightening up.
"Sleep well tonight. I'll see you at the main arena in the morning—with a graduation gift."
The door slid shut automatically.
Checking the time, I had two hours before ten o'clock—my usual bedtime. There were a few things I could do, but one idea stood out. I had a spare dinner coupon from one of the collective training drills.
Two dinners in one night couldn't be *that* bad, right? My growth had been a little stunted due to all the training, after all.
Stepping out of my room, I glanced down the hall. Traveler had already vanished. With a shrug, I made my way through the winding corridors of Fallen Moon Facility until I arrived at the open cafeteria. The space buzzed with activity—the majority of the 127 remaining cadets gathered in their usual cliques, chatting between bites of their meals.
I headed to the dispensary, scanning the menu.
"Chicken ramen... steak cutlets... scampi... scampi, carrot salad, potatoes, and something sweet..." I mumbled, weighing my options.
"Try the cake rolls."
The voice came from my left.
I turned, recognizing the speaker instantly—Samuel, the Rank 1 cadet. We rarely spoke directly, but I knew of him.
"Personally," he continued, selecting his own meal, "the cream and strawberry ones are good. But you like salted foods, right? Go for the caramel and vanilla."
Caught off guard, I blinked. "Ah... thanks, Samuel." I keyed in my order and inserted my coupon, receiving a ticket with a number. "...How did you know I like salted foods?"
"It's hard not to notice the person who's always alone." He leaned against the counter, waiting for his meal. "You're usually done eating before the rest of us even finish training."
I shifted slightly, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "As expected of the first-ranked. You're observant."
A few curious eyes drifted in our direction. I tensed, lowering my voice. "What are you doing eating this late?"
"Pilot Ferrwul gave me some extra one-on-one lessons for the combat tournament before the knight selection tomorrow." He rolled his shoulders with a groan. "Helpful, but exhausting. What about you? And that stranger who's training you?"
"You mean Traveler?" I picked up on the faint hostility in his tone. "He's... great. Unconventional, weirdly philosophical, but he's the only reason I've been able to keep up. None of the other pilots wanted to train me."
Samuel exhaled sharply, gaze flickering away. "...I overheard some pilots talking about him. They said he helped the current Empress rise to power thirteen years ago as her advisor. And after she was crowned, he disappeared. No one saw him again until a few months before the pilots arrived to tutor us."
I stilled. "Really?"
If that were true, then—despite his youthful appearance—Traveler would've been barely a teenager at the time. Unless, of course, he had access to some kind of anti-aging miracle drug...
"Mhm." Samuel crossed his arms. "No one knows much about him. His real name, what he does—he's a mystery. But one thing they were sure about? He's a knight pilot. I think his knight's codename was... Thornicus? Or Ayouru? Something like that."
The bell rang, signalling an order was ready. I glanced over my shoulder—my second dinner had arrived.
"Ah, that's mine. Thanks for telling me this, Samuel."
As I turned away, I thought I saw his hand twitch—like he was about to reach for me. But by the time I registered it, I was already weaving through the tables, tray in hand.
What Samuel said about Traveler didn't bother me, but... was he trying to drive a wedge between us?
Traveler had been upfront—he trained me on a whim. And I wouldn't put it past him to use me for his own amusement. But when he looked at me, it felt like he saw a friend.
I sighed, pushing those thoughts aside. No point in dwelling on them.
Placing my tray down, I picked up my fork and reached for the scampi—then hesitated. My gaze drifted to the caramel-coloured sponge cake, its swirl of vanilla cream inviting.
Unable to resist, my fork changed course, taking a bite.
As the soft sponge melted on my tongue, its sweetness balanced with just the right hint of salt, a quiet murmur escaped me.
"...So good."