Noise.

Tension filled the tiny space, clinging to him like smoke.

“Nightshade to Kansetō. Do you copy?”

Glitch.

A swirl of electrical noise. His ears adjusted to the comms as his helmet gripped his head like a god’s embrace of its creation.

“Kansetō to Nightshade. I copy. ACC in progress. 67% complete.”

The cockpit of the R-12 Falcon thrummed with an almost imperceptible hum. Designed to pierce the sky’s limits, the cabin wrapped around him in an embrace of both precision and power. Cedric adjusted the controls, fingers moving with practiced ease, despite the narrowing space that seemed to shrink under the weight of what was about to happen. The soft blue glow of the displays bathed him in calm, though the sheer volume of flashing data reminded him that this plane was a step beyond anything he’d flown before. The others would envy him for this—piloting the R-12 Falcon, a machine that could change everything.

“Kansetō to Nightshade. ACC complete. Ready for manual check?”

“Initiating manual check. Primary flight controls: check. Secondary flight controls: check. Beginning navigation systems check.”

“Proceed.”

Through his NeuroLink, Cedric coordinated with Sami, his ground operator. She had been with him for a decade of missions—some of the most dangerous in the military’s history. Despite the sophisticated AI in the Falcon, Cedric always performed manual checks. It was part of what made them such a great team. 

After confirming the final systems for launch, Cedric took a deep breath, eyes locked on the runway. He never expected to become the top pilot in the military, let alone the one entrusted with the most advanced plane in existence.

“Systems check complete,” Sami’s voice crackled. “You’re clear for takeoff.”

He nodded, adrenaline kicking in as the hum of the Falcon’s engines grew louder. He was about to take off in a plane that represented not just his skill, but the technological edge of his nation.

“Cyclic holders released. Platform in position. Coordinates on the holographic display.”

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The engine roared to life, and the Falcon shot forward, accelerating faster than any plane he’d piloted. 

“Ready for takeoff, Kansetō. Wish me luck…”

“You don’t need it, Major. You were born for this.”

The Falcon surged down the runway, its power intoxicating. For a brief moment, everything was perfect—the speed, the power, the control. Cedric felt invincible. This was why he flew.

But then, the pressure in his head started. Subtle at first, then sharper. Cedric blinked, trying to focus, but the pain was growing, pressing at the base of his skull. 

“Major, are you alright? We’re detecting anomalies in your neural network.”

The cockpit, once a marvel of control and precision, began to blur. His heart raced, and each breath grew shallow. His vision tunneled. He forced calm.

“It’s interference, Kansetō. Ignore it.”

“Copy. Proceed with top-speed check.”

Cedric accelerated toward the test circuit—a controlled environment that simulated a battle zone. The Falcon was designed to execute high-speed maneuvers and evade enemy fire. Today, he was testing the plane’s ability to shift directions in an instant. If the system failed, he’d rely on his own skill to guide the plane manually—a dangerous feat at these speeds. That was why they chose him.

“Major, are you ready to attempt the final maneuver? Major?”

Cedric’s voice was strained. “Apologies, Kansetō. What were you saying?”

“Final maneuver as listed in the mission plan. Ready?”

Another pause. Silence hummed in the comms. Cedric’s responses were getting slower.

“Major! Are you okay?”

Sami’s voice grew frantic. But Cedric’s mind was clouding over, sinking into a thick fog. His worst fear was creeping closer. 

“I have to finish this mission… one last mission,” he whispered to himself, resignation blending with determination.

“Major, the system is requesting automated override. You’re veering off course! Major!”

Cedric’s head pounded. He refused the automated pilot request, switched off the NeuroLink, and steered toward a nearby water reservoir. If he was going to crash, at least he’d minimize the damage. His hands moved over the controls, activating the emergency landing protocol.

With a trembling hand, he reached for the personal recorder on the console, took a deep breath, and activated it.

“So, this is what it feels like… when you’re about to…”

The pain flared, but he focused on the recorder. He needed to leave something behind.

“Hey, Kage,” his voice cracked but held steady. “If this ever reaches you… I’m sorry. I couldn’t save you. Couldn’t save myself. But I’m glad we met. You’re the only one who…”

His words faltered as a weak chuckle escaped him. “I’m pathetic. I wanted to save you, but I guess I won’t get the chance. Maybe someday, though, we’ll meet again. And I’ll show you a proper twilight… Sayonara…”

The recorder blinked off. Cedric slumped, vision narrowing. The mark on his right forearm—a long-ignored mystery—glowed bright red. He had no idea what it meant, though he’d tried to find out once. Now, the answer was clear. Imminent, irreversible danger.

A tear slipped down his cheek. The cockpit, once his fortress, now felt distant, cold. The water below rushed toward him as the Falcon plummeted.

In the darkness, Cedric’s last thoughts were of Kage.

Black. White. Pale skin. Icy eyes.

The memory of his voice, soft as a whisper.

“Don’t follow me into the white room, Kage.”