Cronus—a rumored secret society hidden in the shadowed depths of space, where ancient rites merge with the silent expanse.

Here, a hidden order stirs, bound by prophecy, their gaze fixed on the secrets of a box.

Their faith in the box is unyielding. Worshipers gather in hollow chambers to spread the word.

Echoes fill the void like the remnants of distant stars, carrying the prophecy of a box caught in rings—a vessel lost in the cosmos.

This is no ordinary artifact; to Cronus, it is everything.

They call it by many names, each title a hallowed homage in the darkness of space.

Their Vessel.

Their Savior.

Their Beacon—holding the promise of liberation and transcendence.

The devout preach, "The box is the Eclipse and the Essence, a Divinity wrapped in mystery. " They weave this sacred enigma into the very fabric of their beliefs.

It is both Oracle and Cipher the answer to questions humanity has yet to ask.

At the center of this reverence stands the chosen Harbinger of Pandora's Box—a Mad Scientist embracing destiny with unflinching fervor.

To him, it is more than prophecy; it is truth, a Sanctum and a Veil, the key to an ultimate awakening.

In the darkest shadows, this box is their Awakener, their Embrace, their Anointed.

It is the culmination of Cronus' dreams.

A vision of unbound power hidden away in the box—shielded by rings.

Cronus sees its promise in the Harbinger, their Sanctum.

An end and a beginning, a final salvation among the stars. A Mad Scientist driven to unlock the box and release what lies within.

In his mind, humanity is not ready for this truth—but those who hold the faith are.

"For when Pandora's Box opens," he declares, "the universe itself will shudder."

While Cronus looked to the heavens for salvation, Scar remained grounded in the harsh reality of the battlefield below, where prophecy gave way to explosions and survival.

Beneath the vast expanse of stars, he watched the blast ripple across the field.

A shockwave resonated through him, stirring memories of Nova—a lesson etched into his instincts:

"Every battle is a test, Scar. The enemy is only part of it. The rest lies within you—your resolve, focus, and restraint."

"According to plan so far."

Scar let the words slip as if to reaffirm his choice.

The blast tore through the cliffside, unveiling a hidden base embedded deep within the rock. Ancient steel doors were blown apart, exposing the dimly lit interior.

The battle raged on. The explosion still crackled in the air, sparking wires as faint alarms blared in the distance.

But most vital was what Scar sensed deep inside—the undoubted presence of a dormant Titan.

"The Earth mech will be my ticket out of here."

Scar's heart raced, and every beat was a warning drum.

This was it—the opportunity he needed.

He sensed the presence long before the explosion and positioned himself to be close when the moment came—lying in wait like a predator on the hunt.

As the mechs scattered to regroup after the explosive ambush, Scar’s smirk was faint, but the path forward felt unmistakable. “Excellent.”

Tension taut as a bowstring, ready to snap as Scar slipped into the base, his movements like an arrow loosed, cutting through the shadows without a sound.

The damp breeze carried the musty scent of decaying wood and oil from the abandoned equipment.

Like the ruins of an ancient beast, the machinery surrendered to the earth, slowly corroding and turning to dust.

"I know every route available," he assured himself, his voice low and confident.

Scar's eyes locked onto the opening—a jagged tear in the structure, exposing a path into the belly of the complex.

The entrance was partially collapsed, but Scar squeezed through the twisted metal.

His steps were barely audible as he descended into the dimly lit corridors.

Only a few alarms still worked, their sirens reverberating through the long, winding passageways as dying red lights cast an eerie glow on the walls.

No hesitation, he told himself—just like every other time. He moved, his muscles responding before his mind could even register.

Scar's skills raced, guiding him forward, his Dragon's Resilience keeping his Sixth stable.

Reaching the Titan increases his chances of survival.

But this wasn't just about seizing a weapon.

No, the giant mech might contain clues—its advanced systems could be the key to finding his sister.

Every thought flickered with her image, his missing shard, her absence leaving a hollow void inside him.

The space was cramped and dark. Rows of rusted crates lined the interior, relics of a bygone era.

His Quantum Instincts worked in overdrive, calculating every possible scenario.

The base was a warren of shadowed corridors, but Scar navigated it unerringly thanks to his Spatial Awareness.

As he rounded a corner, he spotted it—amidst the dust-covered debris in a massive chamber bathed in flickering lights.

Standing out among the chaos of broken machinery and sparking consoles was something giant, hulking, and undeniable.

"The Titan."

Its towering frame loomed in the shadows, half-buried beneath a web of scaffolding and cables.

The explosion had partially dislodged the protective layers surrounding it, revealing the war machine's sleek, lethal design.

He recognized the streamlined, angular build crafted for speed and agility even in the dim light.

Dulled plating covered its side, marked by a faded emblem of an Earth militia.

His hand reached out, brushing against the cool metal of the Titan's leg. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the energy flow between him and the machine.

"This is it," Scar whispered, relief filling his words.

"This is how I find her."

A distant explosion shattered Scar's focus.

Not now.

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Scar gritted his teeth, scrambling up the scaffolding and maneuvering toward the open cockpit.

Scar's fingers danced over the control panel inside, accessing the systems.

Core Skill: Augmentation Compatibility.

This skill enables integration with Sixth-tech, a form of nanotechnology that enhances performance through neural-cybernetic links.

His Sixth latched onto the Titan's core systems, and a flood of raw data poured into his consciousness—targeting matrix, diagnostics, telemetry, visual feeds—all clamoring for his attention at once.

"Razor—a dogfighting Titan built for speed and close-combat engagement. Fast and agile, but considered obsolete next to the newer models dominating Luna's arsenal."

Outdated or not, it will prove effective.

The Razor responded to Scar’s thoughts like it was brand-new, its circuits singing harmoniously with the power woven through his Sixth Sense.

"Everything is falling into place—"

This is almost suspiciously easy.

The sudden shift in fortune felt more troubling than comforting.

Scar's mind worked in tandem with the Titan's systems, unlocking the final security protocols that had kept it dormant.

He felt a rush of anticipation as he keyed in a manual override, bringing the Titan to life.

The familiar susurrus of hydraulics rushed through the Razor as its systems flashed on, resonating through the bunker and shaking dust from the ceiling.

“I shouldn't have to push the machine too hard, considering what I saw.”

Warning: Limited Power Supply.

The Razor wasn’t in prime condition, but it didn’t need to be perfect.

It just needed to be enough.

Every focused thought directed energy where it was needed most.

The Razor surged forward, a beast brought back to life with borrowed power.

The ground rumbled beneath as its massive form came fully online, breaking free from the last of the scaffolding.

"The spherical cockpit core of this unit is suspended within a gyroscopic frame, allowing it to rotate freely in all directions."

Scar familiarized himself with the Titan's design.

"It's fitted with multi-layered shock absorbers at key points to minimize impacts during abrupt movements.”

The Razor responded as if it had never been buried, humming in perfect sync with his thoughts.

"Guess those forgotten still have their moments—we have that in common."

Outside, the fighting between Lunar and Earth forces showed no sign of stopping. Their sensors picked up on the Razor's activation.

Scar shot out from the bunker just as an explosion erupted from the crumbling cliffside behind him.

His senses flared—danger all around as more attacks came his way.

But now, he had the Razor.

Its controls buzzed beneath his fingers as he took the battlefield with a renewed purpose.

Scar's breath steadied, his hands tightened, and his voice was firm as the Titan's weapons systems powered up.

"Blades, huh—that fits me."

The Razor surged forward, scattering debris in its wake, its thrusters roaring to life.

Scar pushed the machine to its limits, sensing the battlefield shifting around him.

Every instinct screamed that he was being targeted. He fully expected one side—if not both—to mark him as hostile.

As Scar maneuvered the Razor through the battlefield, he could sense the fractured chaos around him.

The ground shuddered with every blast, each impact rippling through his frame.

Yet his thoughts remained clear through the din of explosions.

Find her. No distractions.

While Scar sliced through the Lunar Titans with precision and ferocity, a figure stood at the edge of the battlefield, their focus on the Razor.

The leader of Earth's most prominent resistance fighters—a name spoken with fear and admiration—watched every move closely, analyzing the young pilot's skill and the outdated Titan's unexpected performance.

The leader was none other than Captain Sylvan Gaia, the renowned commander of Earth's Freedom Fighters.

Gaia's targeting HUD flashed to life, locking onto the sudden burst of movement.

"Razor sighted," her officer reported, a calm urgency underlying his voice.

She grimaced, thinking, What now?

The earlier ambush hit its mark, yet the Earth units remained outmatched and on the defensive.

The rebels struggled to hold back the Lunar forces tearing through their countermeasures.

Now, another active Titan—one they hadn’t accounted for—threatened to tip the fragile balance into complete chaos.

Adjusting her sensors, Gaia locked her scope on the sleek war machine as it darted from the cover of the cliffs, trailing dust and debris.

Then she saw it: a faded emblem etched into the weathered plating.

Her heart caught, the recognition hitting her like an icy, frigid, unrelenting surge.

"It's carrying the emblem of a fallen rebel organization..." she whispered, her voice laced with disbelief.

Gaia's targeting HUD flashed as the Razor streaked across the battlefield with terrifying speed, its sleek frame weaving effortlessly through the chaos.

She watched, stunned, as it outmaneuvered the Lunar Titans—cutting through their ranks like a knife through silk.

"How is it moving like that?" she breathed the words, her voice wavering with shock.

One of her officers leaned closer to the display. "That model’s ancient—there’s no way it should move like that."

Yet it did. The Razor danced between explosions, its thrusters blazing as it skimmed low beneath enemy fire.

With unnerving precision, it closed the distance to the nearest Lunar Titan, slipping into its blind spot with a dazzling twist and the lethal sweep of its blade.

Shhhk—Sliiick!

Before the pilot could react, the Lunar Titan's legs crumpled beneath it, severed cleanly by the Razor's calculated strike.

The enemy mech collapsed. "Target immobilized," her officer murmured, but Gaia didn't need him to tell her. She could see it—the mysterious Titan was dominating.

Another Lunar Titan pivoted, thrusters sputtering as it tried to track the Razor's unpredictable trajectory.

"Too Slow," Gaia muttered, her forces now little more than spectators.

The Razor jetted forward, a blur of steel and fury, dismantling attackers with ruthless accuracy.

One by one, the Lunar Titans faltered, their formations crumbling as machines fell inert or scattered in chaos.

Gaia's instinct flared—this is our chance.

She wasn't about to let the chaos go to waste.

"Push forward!" she barked, her grip locked on the controls, raw emotion surging through her voice.

"All units, advance! Now!"

The Earth rebels stormed the battlefield, cannons thundering in unison as they shattered the fractured Lunar line.

At the forefront, Gaia’s Titan spearheaded the assault, her sensors alive with tactical data. The rush of seizing the advantage coursed through her veins.

It always feels good to be on the offensive.

Smoke and fire engulfed the battlefield, forcing the Lunar Titans into retreat.

Explosions pounded the cliffside, raining debris into the crashing waves below. Gaia advanced steadily, her focus unyielding.

"We've done it..." her officers cheered, a tone of relief and triumph colored their voices.

"Not yet," Gaia uttered quietly, her gaze sweeping the battlefield before locking onto the source of their unlikely victory.

The Razor.

"Whoever's piloting that machine has serious skill," Gaia spoke under her breath, her tone underscored by curious awe.

The Razor's presence had shifted the balance in ways neither side could have foreseen.

The mysterious Titan commanded attention, its frame catching the distant glow of burning wreckage.

Gaia's breath hitched.

Antique or not, it humiliated some of Luna's most advanced war machines.

She inhaled sharply, the air thick with the metallic tang of exhaustion and days without proper food or rest.

Lyric's voice crackled through the comms, her tone mixed with playful sarcasm.

"Well, Captain, if that pilot isn't one of ours... should I make it official and offer them a spot on the team?" A sly grin tugged at her lips. "It's not every day you find someone who can make miracles out of spare parts."

Gaia’s reply was sharp and immediate.

“Stick to the battle plans, Lyric. Recruitment isn't your strong suit. Let's leave that to Nia.”

Lyric snorted, equal parts amused and irritated.

“Noted, Captain.” Muting her mic, she mumbled under her breath, “Guess I’ll stick to what I'm good at—saving everyone’s asses.”

Known for her sarcastic humor, Lyric Kain, second-in-command of Gaia's forces, balanced sharp comebacks with sharper strategy.

Gaia keyed her comms. "Lyric, take your squad and follow me to restrain the pilot. The rest of you, secure the perimeter," she ordered, though a gnawing doubt lingered.

I get the feeling this one's the type to fight until their last breath.

Gaia slowed her Titan, advancing toward the Razor with measured caution, her senses on high alert for any sudden movements.

The battlefield had fallen silent, but Gaia knew this was the moment when victory could be snatched away—the instant you think you've won.

I can't afford to drop my guard.

Her group of Titans advanced cautiously, sensors scanning the Razor's hull for any trace of movement.

The tension seemed to stretch time momentarily, draping the world in an eerie stillness.

Steam hissed softly from the Razor's cooling vents, as if the machine itself were catching its breath after the battle.

Her HUD flickered, the standoff hanging heavy in the air—silent and charged with uncertainty.

Bermuda's coastline smoldered in ruin around them, but Gaia's focus narrowed to the machine before her and the enigma it concealed.

Gaia leaned forward, her hands trembling with restrained force, knuckles aching against the unyielding metal of the controls.

With a measured breath, she opened a comms channel directly to the Razor’s cockpit.

"Pilot of the Razor!"

She called, her voice steady despite the anticipation thrumming beneath it.

"Identify yourself!"

For an interminable moment, silence reigned, broken only by the steady hum of Gaia’s sensors sweeping for any subtle movement from the Razor.

No response.

Then, with a faint whir of hydraulics, the armor plates shifted, groaning as they parted.

A dense cloud of steam billowed out as the hatch creaked open.

Gaia's pulse quickened.

Here we go.

The figure inside stepped forward, boots landing softly on the platform, each step echoing faintly in the still air.

Their features were partially obscured in mist, but Gaia's eyes locked onto the insignia on the scarf swaying in the breeze.

The mark of the Dragon.

Gaia’s heart skipped. Whoever this was, they defied every expectation.

The vague figure tilted his head slightly, as if locking eyes with her through the Titan’s visual feed—calm and unwavering.

No fear. No arrogance. Just resolve.

Gaia’s eyes narrowed, the suspense simmering just below the surface as she sized him up.

He's just a boy—no older than a cadet. And yet, he wears the mark of the Dragon.

"You’ve got a lot to answer for." Her voice was low, almost taunting, daring him to respond. "Who do you fight for? Why do you carry the symbol of a lost cause?"

Scar didn't flinch. “I didn't come here to explain,” he said, his tone somber and steady.

"My name is Scar, and I'm here to find someone."

He licked his lips, the salt of the breeze lingering like the taste of an old wound—bitter, familiar, and unshakable.

Gaia’s knuckles whitened as her grip tightened on the controls, her mind racing with questions she couldn't yet articulate.

Who is this kid? And what is he really after?

The Razor stood silent but poised, its systems humming faintly at low power—alive, ready to act.

This wasn’t over. Not yet.

The battlefield felt distant, fading into irrelevance as if the only thing that mattered was the tension crackling between Gaia and the boy before her.