Chapter 28: The Light That Remains

The bridge of The Steadfast was a relic of another age, a stubborn survivor of time’s relentless march. Once the pride of Fenralis shipwrights, it had been the cutting edge of interstellar travel—its hull forged from void-hardened mithrititanium alloy, its systems once guided by a sentient AI rumored to rival the cognitive depth of its makers. Now, it was a mismatched symphony of rust and retrofit, a corpse reanimated with scavenged parts and jury-rigged solutions.

The walls bore the scars of battles long past, pockmarked with scorch marks from laser fire and emergency welds that whispered of frantic repairs in the void. Dim, flickering overhead lights struggled against the shadows that clung to every crevice. The air carried the scent of machine oil, ozone, and something older—the faint musk of history, the residue of a hundred souls who had once called this ship home.

At the heart of the bridge sat the command throne—a worn captain’s chair reinforced with titanium plating to accommodate the needs of the modern age. The original cushioning had long since rotted away, replaced with a makeshift leather wrap that had begun to fray at the seams. Embedded within its armrests were outdated interface ports, their screens cracked but still stubbornly functional, displaying readouts in a mixture of Fenralis Standard and newer, hastily integrated coding languages.

The control consoles lining the bridge were a patchwork of eras. Some still bore the sleek, geometric aesthetics of their Fenralis origins, their interfaces smooth and minimalist, pulsing faintly with bio-luminescent filigree. Others had been ripped straight from salvaged warships, their rugged mechanical toggles and flickering readouts a sharp contrast to the ship’s once-elegant design. A few screens had been crudely mounted onto the walls, displaying scrolling lines of data from subroutines barely held together by quick fixes and sheer willpower.

The main viewport loomed over the bridge, its reinforced glass smeared with the ghostly streaks of past atmospheric re-entries. Beyond it, the sky of Verdant Vale stretched vast and unforgiving, its emerald fields marred by the scars of war. The battlefield below was a maelstrom of clashing forces—Emberclad warriors pressing their siege against Vellmont Keep, their ranks ablaze with volatile magic. Defensive wards shimmered as they intercepted fiery salvos, while counterattacks in the form of raw elemental magic streaked across the sky. The once-lush fields bore the smoldering scars of battle, torn apart by arcane fury and siege engines alike.

Garett stood at the helm, his fingers brushing against the cold metal of the control panel. He had always felt an odd kinship with this ship. Like him, it had been broken, repurposed, forced to adapt. The Steadfast wasn’t the most powerful ship in the fleet, nor the fastest, nor even the most reliable. But it endured. And in a universe where power ebbed and alliances crumbled, endurance meant everything.

A faint hum echoed through the bridge as the reactor core cycled, its archaic energy conduits pulsing in erratic rhythms. Somewhere beneath the deck, the ship’s automated systems sputtered in protest, trying to reconcile their ancient programming with modern demands. It was a miracle The Steadfast still flew at all.

Behind him, the crew moved with well-practiced precision. The ship’s engineer had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, arms streaked with grease as she coaxed life out of a particularly stubborn console.

Garett was seated next to the captain, commandeering the ship. Leona and Lyra stood beside him. Garett requested the captain's permission to hail Vellmont Keep. The Captain acknowledged and commanded his comms officer.

The holo of the Lord Mayor lit up in front of them. He wore the armor of his house, a relic from his younger, fighting days.

"Vellmont Keep, this is The Steadfast, approaching your territory. It looks like a shitstorm here. How’s your status?" Garett asked.

"Lord Governor." Lord Mayor Magnus curtseyed.

"We’ve seen better days," the Lord Mayor grinned. "The barriers are holding, and we have plenty of supplies in stock. We’ll hold on until your help arrives."

Garett smirked. "Good to hear. And the dragon-mech?"

Magnus sighed, rubbing a gauntleted hand over his face. "Ah, that ugly bastard? Still prowling the outskirts. It tore through our outer defenses like parchment, but we managed to hold it back with the enchanted ballistae. Damn thing's faster than it looks. Feels like it’s testing us."

"Figures," Garett muttered. "Tell your men to hold tight. We’ll handle it."

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Lyra turned to the captain. "What about The Steadfast's SES (Spell Enhancement System)?"

The captain shook his head. "Unfortunately, my girl’s too old for ‘em fancy tech. Took her through the Nyx’thuul wars, the Luminite conflict, and countless other skirmishes with minor houses. She’s got spirit, but modern enchantments? Ain't happening."

Lyra glanced at the deck. "Then it looks like I'll have to fight the same way my old professors from the Astralis Lyceum did."

She turned to Garett. "I’ll be at the deck, reinforcing The Steadfast’s modest luminite cannons with my offensive spells."

Garett frowned, mulling it over. Lyra placed a hand on his arm. "Nyx will protect me."

He exhaled through his nose before nodding. "Leona, go with her. Extra safety."

Leona nodded. "On it."

As Lyra turned to leave, Garett grabbed her hand and kissed her forehead. She blinked, momentarily taken aback, then blushed.

Leona rolled her eyes, scowling. Nyx’s voice purred in her mind. Jealous?

"Tch. As if," Leona muttered.

The two made their way to the deck, their banter trailing behind them.

A while later, Garett entered the hangar, clad in his Fenralis armor-pilot suit. A small embossed emblem of a wolf’s head adorned its collar. He climbed into his mech, the Solarion-Lupus Revise. The HUD flickered to life, beeping softly as system checks cycled through. Readouts scrolled across his vision—reactor stability, armament diagnostics, mobility calibration. The familiar weight of the controls settled into his hands as the engines hummed, resonating through the frame like a living heartbeat.

His thoughts drifted—to Fenris Lupus, to his father Duke Alden, to his mother Elara, and to Cassia, his sweet sister. He wondered how they were faring. If word of this distant battle had reached them. He thought of Cassia’s last letter, her warnings about House Draconis. She had been right.

He exhaled.

"Anya, status report. Are you guys ready for deployment?"

Anya’s voice came through. "Ready."

Nissa, her vice-captain, doubled in. "Locked and loaded."

Garett hailed the captain. "Patch me through to the entire ship."

The holo-feed lit up across The Steadfast. Faces turned to watch—the bannermen, mechanics, officers, soldiers, chefs, even the volunteers from the Vallorien Adventurer’s Guild.

"Is it on yet?" Garett asked.

A static pop. "Oh, looks like it is." He cleared his throat.

And then he spoke.

"Welp. Looks like this is the part where I get to have a big speech. To sell war to you and how this is all worth it and all that crap. But if I'm going to be real honest with you - I'm not very good at all those things. You may see me as the great Governor General Garett of house Fenralis, but in the grander scheme of things, outside this planet and into the tens of thousands of world of the Celestial Empire, let's be honest here, I'm just 'That guy who can't do magic."

A few laughs could be heard from the comms across the ship's hallways.

"I was ten when I first set foot on the Vale. Just a boy, really. Leona was with me. Two lost children, thrown into a world we didn’t understand, caught in the endless scheming of the great houses. I thought this place was my punishment. For my failures. For being weak. For not being enough."

Garett paused, his gaze sweeping across the gathered warriors. The holo-feed flickered, illuminating faces hardened by battle and loss.

"But the people of the Vale didn’t see me as a lost cause. They didn’t turn me away. They helped me find my footing. Helped me become the man I am today. I stand before you not just as a soldier, not just as your commander—but as someone who owes this world everything."

His voice sharpened. "I know what some of you are thinking. That this isn’t our fight. That Vellmont isn’t our city. That we shouldn’t throw our lives away for something that doesn’t belong to us. And you’re right." He let the words hang in the air before continuing. "But look around you. Look at the person standing beside you. Look them in the eye. Are they not of the same flesh and blood? Do they not bleed as you do? Do they not dream, as you do? The people of Vellmont are no different from us. They fight for their homes, for their families, for the right to live free. And if we let them fall today, then what does that make us?"

The deck was silent, save for the distant rumble of battle.

"I won’t lie to you. Some of us will not make it out of this. That is the nature of war. That is the nature of life. But even after the brightest stars burn out, their light lingers for thousands—millions—of years. So tell me, what will your light be? What will our light be? Will we let it flicker and die, or will we burn so brightly that history will never forget?"

He took a deep breath, his grip tightening on the controls. A slow grin crept onto his face.

"So let’s go kill some motherfuckers."