Star Zaraki
11:42 EST
November 5, 2030
McGhee Tyson Airport
Knoxville, TN
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“Here you go, Star,” Aura said as she approached, a folder of papers in hand and an all-too-satisfied grin on her face.
I glanced up from the massive stack of inventory paperwork Cayro had so graciously dumped on me earlier, my eyes narrowing at Aura like daggers. Great. Just what I needed. More damned paperwork.
“Seriously? Do I look like I need or want more paperwork, Aura?” I snapped, the irritation clear in my voice.
“Oh, don’t start with me, Star. You might be the Queen of the Draconians, but I’m the Luna-damned Queen of the Wolves. Your glare and sharp tongue don’t faze me,” she shot back, shoving the folder into my hands with the finesse of someone who absolutely didn’t care about my mood.
Snatching it from her grasp, I flipped it open and began leafing through the pages. My fingers froze mid-turn as my brain caught up with what I was reading. Slowly, I looked up at her.
“Are you serious?” I demanded, pointing at myself for emphasis.
“Yes,” she replied with that infuriating simplicity.
“He wants me to…” My voice trailed off, my disbelief bubbling up as I gestured dramatically at the papers. “Me? Why me? You would be a better choice!”
“Because the President chose you,” she said, her grin growing even more devious. “Besides, you have a beautiful voice.”
“Aura!” I screeched, clutching the folder like it might somehow bite me.
“Don’t ‘Aura’ me, Star. We all know you can sing. And this is important,” she added bluntly, her tone softening just enough to make the weight of her words sink in.
“But… in front of the entire nation? I can’t! This is too important!” I whined, waving the folder as if that would somehow erase its contents.
“Well, it’s not my call,” she said with a shrug, already turning to walk away. “Take it up with the President.”
“AURA!” I shouted after her retreating figure.
“Good luck, Star!” she called over her shoulder, her hips swaying dramatically like she was wagging a nonexistent tail.
“Arrrg!” My frustrated growl was loud enough to make several members of my Night Witches stop what they were doing and stare at me. They were busy sorting the mountain of supplies that had been shipped in for the feast—a logistical nightmare in its own right—but now they looked genuinely concerned.
“I’m fine!” I barked, waving them off before flipping back to the folder in my hands. As I scanned the music inside, the reality of what Andrew had asked me to do began to sink in. This wasn’t just singing. This was bigger—much bigger. He wasn’t just asking me to perform; he was asking me to represent something. Something heavier than I was ready for.
I clenched the folder tighter. “Captain Rodriguez!” I called out.
“Yes, ma’am?” Rodriguez, a short Hispanic woman with an unflinching work ethic, replied immediately.
“You’re in charge of the inventory now. I have to go speak to the President about something,” I said, my tone flat as a sour expression settled on my face.
“Uh… yes, ma’am,” she replied, giving me a quick salute. I returned it before pulling out the second song Aura had slipped into the folder.
“Also, make copies of this and distribute it to the unit. This is our new unit song,” I ordered, handing her the papers.
She glanced over them briefly and nodded. “I’ll make sure everyone gets a copy.”
“Good. Make sure they start practicing immediately. We only have a few days before the pass and review,” I added, making it clear there was no room for delay.
“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, already heading off to carry out my orders.
Leaving Captain Rodriguez to handle the inventory, I headed toward the hangar bay doors where our tactical skyboards were parked. The flight to the new national capital was quick—about ten minutes—but it felt longer with the weight of my frustration simmering beneath the surface. Grabbing my board, I activated it and climbed on, reaching out to Cayro through our neuro implant coms link before taking off.
“Yes, babe?” he replied, his tone soft, familiar. It was a rare luxury for us to talk like this, without the weight of titles or appearances pressing down on us. Even though we were married, we always had to present a united, unshakable front as leaders of our respective units. The implants and the mental space they gave us felt like the only way we could breathe freely.
“I’m heading to the capital,” I said bluntly, my irritation bleeding through every syllable.
“What! Why?” His concern was immediate.
“I have a bone to pick with my adopted father,” I grumbled, my grip tightening on the folder in my hand.
“Uh oh… What did he do now?” Cayro asked, already bracing for whatever mess I was walking into.
“I’ll explain later, but let’s just say he’s added more to my plate, and I’m not happy about it,” I replied, my voice sharp.
“Uh… Star, please don’t get us in trouble,” he pleaded. “We already have enough to deal with without adding any more Presidential chaos to the mix.”
“That’s exactly why I’m going—to straighten this out before it blows up in all our faces,” I shot back.
“Oh… well, okay then,” he said, his tone a mix of resignation and understanding. He knew better than to argue when I got like this.
Ending the link, I kicked off from the hangar, the hum of the board’s engines blending into the steady rhythm of my thoughts. I flew straight toward the capital, my focus narrowing as the peninsula came into view.
The Unity Spire dominated the landscape, rising from the heart of the peninsula like a monument to ambition. Its steel-and-glass exterior glinted in the afternoon sun, the clean lines and towering height making it impossible to miss. From this distance, it looked almost finished—a pristine centerpiece surrounded by a chaotic sea of cranes and half-built structures. The cranes moved methodically, their skeletal arms swinging as workers scurried across the ground below, adding to the sense of urgency that pulsed through the scene.
The rest of the peninsula was a patchwork of progress. Cleared fields stretched out near the spire, their purpose unclear but brimming with potential—future plazas, ceremonial spaces, or perhaps something grander. For now, they were just dirt and scaffolding. Farther south, the beginnings of paved roads and utility lines cut through the landscape like veins, tracing what would eventually become the city’s arteries. On the eastern edge, the Ijams Nature Center clung to its natural beauty, a quiet holdout against the relentless march of construction.
To the west, the island sprawled across the Tennessee River, a stark contrast to the peninsula’s central focus. Its southern half was crowded with temporary structures and prefab housing, while the northern edge bristled with activity. From above, it was clear that the island served as the capital’s staging ground, a functional base of operations for the workers and materials fueling the peninsula’s transformation.
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As I approached the landing pad near the spire, the hum of the construction grew louder, mixing with the faint roar of machinery and the distant calls of workers. The capital was a vision of ambition and chaos—unfinished, imperfect, but undeniably alive.
Landing, I stepped off my skyboard, my boots hitting the ground with a sharp click as I marched toward the entrance. The Secret Service agents stationed at the door watched me approach with their usual mix of wariness and professionalism. Narrowing my eyes, I pulled out my military ID and held it up, followed by reciting the code word required for entry.
They ran through the motions efficiently—first taking my sidearm, then scanning my fingerprints, and finally subjecting me to a facial recognition check via their shiny, high-tech software. Once the scans confirmed my identity, one of the agents returned my pistol and ID with a curt nod.
I paused just beyond the checkpoint, turning to face them with a devious grin. Without a word, I shifted into my half form—a towering, draconic hybrid of claws, scales, and sharp teeth. The growl I let out rumbled through the air like distant thunder, and every single one of them jumped, pistols flying into their hands. Their wide-eyed panic was priceless.
Laughing, I reverted to my human form and sauntered toward the elevator as if nothing had happened. Behind me, I could hear the muffled curses of agents trying to calm their frayed nerves. As I reached the elevator, the soft ding of its arrival announced its presence. The doors slid open, and out stepped President Clark himself.
He froze for a moment, letting out a low groan as he took in the sight of the rattled agents and me, still grinning like a cat who’d cornered a mouse.
“Put your weapons away,” he said with exasperation, waving the agents off before turning to me.
“Hi, Captain,” I said brightly, my grin widening just enough to make him sigh.
“Do you have to upset the Secret Service agents every time you visit?” he asked flatly.
I shrugged innocently, brushing past him to step into the elevator. “Just keeping them on their toes,” I said, leaving the question unanswered.
President Clark sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging slightly as he turned to follow me into the elevator. “You know I’m not a Captain anymore, right?” he asked, the tone of a man who’d said this more than once.
“Sure, but calling you ‘Dad’ would be weird,” I replied cheerfully, leaning against the elevator wall. “So, Captain it is. To me, it means the same thing.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath before straightening. “Why do I have the feeling this isn’t a friendly visit?”
“Because it’s not,” I said bluntly, my grin dropping as I locked eyes with him. The weight of my frustration simmered just below the surface, ready to boil over.
He sighed again, deeper this time. “Alright, let’s hear it.”
“Oh no,” I said, crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes. “We’re waiting until we’re in your office for this conversation. I’d rather not air my grievances in front of your entire staff.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough,” he said, leaning back as the elevator ascended in tense silence.
When the doors slid open, we were greeted by another security team, who snapped to attention and gave Andrew a crisp salute. He returned it with the ease of habit and motioned for me to follow. As we walked into the Presidential Office, the familiar sound of my boots clicking against the polished floor echoed in the expansive space.
The room looked much the same as the last time I’d been here. The glass walls still offered their sweeping views of the capital, and the massive desk sat at the center of the room, an immovable symbol of power and responsibility. Behind it, the blank wall loomed, the absence of the Free States’ flag still a glaring reminder of the unfinished state of this new government.
But some things had changed. The timeline mural along the western wall was finally complete, its intricate details now visible without the scaffolding and tools that had once obscured it. My gaze drifted to the section depicting the Twilight Battle—fiery skies, Washington D.C. in ruins, and a nation ripping itself apart. It hit just as hard as it always did, the memories too fresh to ignore. Forcing myself to look away, I focused instead on the brighter scenes near the mural’s end, where the Unity Spire rose like a beacon of progress.
Progress. That’s what this place was supposed to represent. So why did it always feel like an uphill battle just to get there?
I turned toward the display case near the conference area, noticing it for the first time. That was new. Inside, carefully arranged artifacts shimmered under recessed lights—a tattered page of the Constitution, a soldier’s medal, and the Lupus Amulet. Clark had clearly been busy while I wasn’t looking, adding his own touches of symbolism to the space.
The faint hum of the holographic map table drew my attention back to the desk. Its soft blue glow illuminated projected maps and tactical data in the corner—a sharp contrast to the historical artifacts in the display case. It was a quiet reminder that while this office was steeped in legacy, it was already leaning hard into the future.
Crossing my arms, I leaned back slightly, my eyes sweeping the room one last time. No matter how polished it became, this space always carried the same weight—a reminder of everything we’d lost, and everything we still had to build.
Clark took his seat at the desk, lacing his fingers together as he leaned forward. “Obviously, this isn’t a friendly visit. What can I do for you, Star?”
I pulled the folder out of my cargo pocket and handed it to him, my tone blunt. “You want me to sing this in front of everyone?”
He opened the file, scanning its contents as his brow furrowed. Before he could respond, a tear ripped into existence behind him, the air warping and crackling with energy. Clark practically leapt out of his chair, nearly toppling it in the process.
I rolled my eyes as my father and Zen stepped out of the Soul Realm. My father looked composed as ever, but the queasy look on Zen’s face was priceless. Poor dragon. He hated the Soul Realm, and I wasn’t exactly innocent when it came to that grudge.
Last year, we’d had a verbal spat that ended with me ripping open a tear right under Zen and dumping him into the Realm without warning. He spent several hours wandering through it before my father finally pulled him out, and I earned a very long lecture about “responsible uses of magic.” The highlight, of course, was promptly tossing my father into the Soul Realm to end his monologue.
Zen still hadn’t forgiven me for that one.
I let out a soft chuckle, locking my gaze on my brother. “Still don’t like traveling through the Soul Realm?”
He narrowed his eyes at me, sneering. “No.”
Poor dragon. Never fun to prank. He always acted like he had a stick shoved up his tailpipe.
My father, clearly catching the predatory gleam in my eye, wasted no time closing the tear behind them. He knew exactly what I was thinking. With the tear sealed, he turned toward the President and gave him a short nod, his usual composed self.
Turning back to Clark, I arched a brow, silently waiting for him to answer my question.
He sighed and placed the file down on his desk, pushing it slightly forward so that everyone could see it. Predictably, both Zen and my father leaned in, their nosy streaks in full force.
A moment later, Zen let out a low chuckle.
I swung my head toward him, narrowing my eyes into a glare sharp enough to cut steel. Zen quickly choked back his laughter, wiping the grin off his face as fast as it had appeared. He knew better than to push me.
I didn’t need to say it out loud, but I made sure he saw it in my expression: Try me, dragon. If he stepped out of line, I’d drop him right back into the Soul Realm. My father might have enough energy left to scold me, but rescuing Zen again? That would have to wait.
“Star, be nice,” my father chided, his tone calm but carrying that familiar edge of authority.
I shifted my glare to him instead, unrelenting. “No.”
He shut his mouth, clearly realizing that pushing me further wasn’t going to end well. His gaze flicked toward Clark, who was now settled back in his chair, watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement.
With my arms crossed, I finally turned my glare on the President, who met it head-on.
“Star, I chose you for this for several reasons,” he began, his tone steady and measured. “First and foremost, if there’s anyone who deserves this spotlight, it’s you. You were a victim. You lost your country of origin. You lost your home.”
My heart sank a little at his words, his calm delivery cutting deeper than any argument could. They weren’t wrong. Those same words had tumbled from my lips to Cayro years ago, back when the wounds of exile and being branded a fugitive were still fresh. Cayro had been able to live a happy childhood in his country. I hadn’t been so lucky.
“The next major reason,” Clark continued, “is that you’ve earned it, Star. You’ve shown this country—time and time again—that you’re here for them. You are their beacon of hope, even when there is no hope to be had.”
I felt the weight of his words settle on my shoulders. He wasn’t wrong. I’d heard it from the people themselves, over and over. The fan mail Cayro and I received was endless; we’d had to set up a dedicated post box just to manage it all. Some nights, we’d sit together reading the letters—heartfelt, raw, filled with gratitude or pleas for help. And then there were the swarms of people whenever we dared go out on a date night, enough to make us give up the idea entirely.
“Any other reasons?” I asked, though my voice lacked the fire I’d carried into this conversation. I already knew there were more.
“Yes,” Clark said, his tone softening just slightly. “But maybe you should reconsider your standpoint on this.”
My father stepped forward, his presence grounding and yet irritating in the way only a parent could manage. “Sweetheart, I have to agree with Andrew. You’re the right person for this. You and Cayro have become the people’s champions.”
I let out a slow breath, my shoulders sinking under the combined weight of their words. For once, I couldn’t argue. Couldn’t fight back. They’d hit me with something worse than an order—it was a request that appealed directly to my heart, to the part of me that couldn’t walk away when people needed me.
I nodded wordlessly and reached for the paperwork on the desk. Turning to leave, I paused as my eyes caught on Zen, his mischievous grin practically glowing. The glint in his reptilian eyes made it clear he was enjoying every second of my defeat.
“Zenny,” I growled, letting a dangerous edge creep into my voice, “I know where you sleep at night. Keep it up, and I’ll stuff you in the darkest pit of the Soul Realm. It’ll take Father days to find you.”
I didn’t bother looking back to see his reaction. I knew the message had landed. The only sound behind me was my boots clicking against the polished floor as I left the office.