Camelot Star Tower base
Avalon Star system
Divine Federation
7th Y-1909 Krios cycle Solaris Prime
The Star Tower loomed as a beacon of authority and bureaucracy, its spires piercing the void of space above the planet of Albion. More than a mere structure, it served as the planet's foremost defense and hub of governance, standing as a testament to the Federation's fading dominance. Inside, the atmosphere buzzed with a mix of tension and fatigue as the Zodiak broadcast the Senate meeting across the tower's sprawling corridors. Holographic displays in every chamber projected the ongoing debates, making it impossible to escape the relentless arguments of the Federation's senators. For five grueling days, they had been locked in heated discussions about Lamentias, a beleaguered planet in the colony Regions whose plight had become a glaring symptom of the Federation's faltering stability.
Lamentias was a mining planet rich in adamant, seriphium ore and rare ores—resources critical to the Federation's economy and military. Yet, its value to the Federation had come at a steep cost to the Lamentian humans who called the planet home. Unlike the Pleiadians, the Lamentian natives bore no genetic ties to the elite ruling class and were treated as second-class citizens. Over time, the systemic injustices had escalated: jobs meant for the locals were handed to privileged off-worlders, and food and resources were disproportionately allocated to those higher up in the caste hierarchy. Protests had started as whispers of discontent but had grown into a deafening roar.
The Uprising had left scars across the Federation, and Starlight, once a powerful stabilizing force, had been reduced to a shadow of its former self. The collapse of Starlight's authority in the outer colonies allowed unrest to fester, and Lamentias had become the loudest voice among many. Tensions between the lower classes and the elites were reaching a boiling point, not just on Lamentias but across the colony planets. The Outer regions were rife with conflicts that Starlight had struggled to contain, especially while battling the Abomination threat. Although the chaos had temporarily subsided, it was clear that the fragile peace was beginning to fracture once more.
The Fallen Stars, a notorious terrorist organization, had inflicted deep wounds on both the Federation and Starlight. Their influence had destabilized entire systems, and their actions had left a lingering shadow over the galaxy. Rex Pendragon tried to push the memories of them—and his family's entanglement in their actions—from his mind. He had just returned from the Infernal incident on the Avalor colony, a world perilously close to Albion. After delaying the Devil's onslaught, he regrouped with his team, only to learn of Zelock's death. The loss had been grim but unsurprising. It was an unspoken truth among their ranks: their work came with a steep price.
Now, back in his quarters within the Star Tower, Rex sought refuge from the guilt gnawing at his soul. The shower offered momentary solace as hot water washed over him, but it did little to cleanse the weight of responsibility. After dressing in a red shirt and black pants, he stepped onto the patio of his room. The view before him momentarily stole his breath, as it always did. A nebula of vivid colors—crimson, azure, and gold—stretched across the infinite expanse of space, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within the Federation.
It was a cruel irony, Rex thought, that such beauty could exist in a universe marred by conflict and suffering. Beyond the mesmerizing view, he could almost feel the faint echoes of cries and struggles rippling across the stars. The patio's serene atmosphere was at odds with the chaos unfolding on Lamentias and countless other worlds. The Federation was teetering on the edge, and Rex couldn't shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come.
As the Senate's arguments droned on in the background, Rex's thoughts turned inward. The Fallen Stars had torn apart lives, sowed discord, and pushed the Federation to its breaking point. Starlight, once a symbol of hope, was now overstretched and crumbling under the weight of its responsibilities. The Neutral Free Zone, a supposed buffer of independence, had become a battleground for exploitation and rebellion. The galaxy was in flux, and Rex knew that the decisions made in these moments would shape its future—for better or for worse
"Ziron cut the broadcast," Rex said. The monitor turned off, and the image of the Senate meeting vanished. He was tired of listening to it. Rex wanted to do something—anything—about the chaos in the outer regions or even the colony planets. He wished he could help the people who were suffering. But Rex knew that wasn't his job. His true purpose was more complicated than going from one region to another as a Star Knight.
Though the Stellar Council had appointed him to the position, it hadn't been given to him willingly. Many within the Stellar Council didn't trust him. Rex's ties to the Fallen Stars, through his father, made his life within the Federation difficult. Whenever someone learned he was the son of the former leader of the Fallen Stars, their poisonous glares felt like tiny blades stabbing him from behind.
His school years had given him the strength to endure it, especially with the help of his friends. The ache within his heart at the thought of his family made him pause. He pulled out his Zodiak and looked at the image it was set to. They were just kids when this image was captured. Back in the Ascension Academy days, when life had been simpler. Emily stood in the middle, her arms around him and Leon. They were laughing, dressed in the black uniforms of the Academy.
Rex left the patio and went to the office within his quarters, where his report for the recent incident awaited him. As a Star Knight, his responsibilities as a Paladin had increased, meaning the only ones he answered to within Starlight were the Council members. But reporting an anomaly within the Beta Sector wasn't something he was sure the Council would take seriously—not when there were larger fires to extinguish. He sat down at the desk and began finalizing his report.
He had just finished signing his name when a flicker of light caught his attention. A firefly emerged from a miniature rift and hovered in front of him. Raising his arm, Rex allowed the firefly to land on his finger. He felt the message it carried enter his mind. The transmission was one he had been waiting for. As the firefly vanished, Rex reached into his dimensional storage band and retrieved an additional Zodiak. He ensured the line was secure before initiating the call. A hologram projected from the device, revealing a figure clad in a dark golden cassock robe, their face obscured by a white veil.
"Looks like your seclusion paid off," the voice came—soft, luminous, almost teasing in its warmth.
Rex felt it before he fully processed it. A faint curve touched his lips, rare and unguarded, breaking through the stillness he wore like armor. He rose from his chair and stepped toward the hologram, boots whispering against the floor.
She stood veiled in gold.
The cassock shimmered with quiet authority, its fabric catching the ambient light like liquid dawn. Her face remained hidden, obscured by the delicate fall of the veil, but it didn't matter. It never had. Her presence filled the space in a way sight never could.
Even now—after years, after distance, after everything—the sound of her voice slipped past his defenses with unsettling ease. Familiar. Steady. Safe.
"And how does it feel," she continued, tilting her head slightly, "to stand within the Pseudo-Immortal Realm?"
Rex folded his arms, exhaling slowly. The breath left him heavier than expected.
"It's… different, Aria," he said at last. His voice carried less certainty than usual. "The Awakening Realm was… tangible. Measurable." He paused, searching. "This isn't just power. It's perspective. Clarity. Like—" His gaze drifted, unfocused for a moment. "Like realizing the universe isn't something you grow into… It's something you were never prepared for."
His eyes returned to her.
"You don't understand it. Not until it happens."
A quiet satisfaction laced her reply, subtle but unmistakable.
"I knew you'd ascend. I never doubted it."
Rex huffed softly, the ghost of a smirk returning as he shifted the conversation.
"Your intel was clean," he said. "Balial showed up right on schedule. Tried to tear his way into our plane." His jaw tightened slightly. "I stopped him. Barely."
The memory flickered behind his eyes—pressure, collapse, the edge of failure.
"If I hadn't broken through to the second realm of Ascension…" He shook his head faintly. "I wouldn't be standing here."
Aria's voice softened, the warmth deepening.
"And did it help?" she asked. "Facing him again."
Rex didn't answer immediately.
The silence stretched, thin and fragile.
"A little," he admitted, quieter now. His gaze dipped, shadows crossing his expression. "But that's not what I'm after."
"I know."
The words settled gently between them.
The room hummed—the low, constant vibration of the Zodiak filling the silence like distant breath. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Rex straightened, the shift subtle but decisive.
"So," he said, tone sharpening, "what's going on?"
Aria didn't hesitate.
"The Fallen Star has made their move."
Something in her voice changed—not louder, not harsher, but anchored with urgency.
"Terra is on the brink of entering the Ascended Realms."
Rex's brow knitted together.
"Sector Zero won't let that slide."
"That's exactly why this can't be ignored," she replied, her tone firm now, layered with intent. "If we wait, we lose control of the situation entirely."
A flicker of tension passed through him.
"Does the Admiral know?"
The air rippled.
A second hologram manifested—sharp, precise. A man in a navy military uniform stood rigidly, his chest adorned with rows of medals that caught the light like fragments of distant stars. His gaze locked onto Rex instantly—cold, calculating, measuring.
Rex dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling under his breath.
Not even a moment to breathe.
Seclusion hadn't lasted long enough.
It never did.
Starlight's Hunting Dog.
The title pressed against his thoughts like a weight he couldn't shake. No matter how far he climbed, no matter what he became, it followed. Waiting. Demanding.
"Admiral," Rex greeted.
"Pendragon," Admiral Wilcock replied evenly. His attention shifted briefly. "Delos."
"Admiral." Aria inclined her head in a respectful bow.
Rex didn't bother with ceremony.
"So what's the assignment?"
"I've already forwarded the data packet," Wilcock said.
Rex lifted his Zodiak tablet, the interface blooming to life beneath his touch. Streams of data scrolled—metrics, projections, energy readings.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Terra's Odic concentration is spiking," he muttered. "Faster than projected." He glanced up. "Just like you said."
The implications settled quickly.
A planet on the verge of ascension.
A system on the edge of instability.
"What do you need me to do?"
Wilcock's expression didn't change.
"Your mission parameters are outlined in the file. The Federation is… unstable. The Great Peace has held for a millennium, but it's beginning to fracture." His voice remained controlled, but the weight beneath it was unmistakable. "We cannot afford escalation."
Rex scoffed faintly.
"Isn't Leon and Emily already on Terra?" he asked. "Let them handle it."
"They're suspended from all Starlight operations," Wilcock said flatly. "Whatever they choose to do, it is no longer under our jurisdiction."
Rex's expression didn't change—but something flickered behind his eyes.
"Right."
The word carried more than agreement.
Wilcock held his gaze.
"So," the Admiral said, "will you accept the mission?"
Rex already knew the answer.
He always did.
Choice had never really been part of it.
A quiet breath left him as he lowered the tablet.
"…Sure," he said, voice edged with dry resignation. "Why not?"
"Very well," Admiral Wilcock said. With that, he was gone. Aria turned to Rex, giving him a slight bow.
"I'll see you on Terra, then," Rex said.
"See you there. And be careful," she replied softly. Her hologram flickered, then disappeared, leaving Rex alone to wrestle with his thoughts. Going to Terra meant dealing with things he had put on hold. Something he was not looking forward to. But he had no choice.
He took one last look at the image of his youth, then sighed as he began to read through his mission briefs.