Golden light spilled across the cabin as the twin moons came into view, their glow reflected on Rue’s wings.

She sat at the viewport, silent, watching the planet below unfold—a patchwork of glowing forests and silver lakes. Aerthos was beautiful in a way that hurt. It always was. The locals would be lighting their lanterns soon, singing in the fields before the work began. The Grove cycles were sacred here. And for once, the word sacred didn’t feel like a curse.

Behind her, Prism’s claws clicked across a holo console, bored but restless. “Council’s got us leading restoration again,” she muttered. “Guess we’re gardeners now. I didn’t sign up to babysit trees.”

Amaya didn’t glance up from her tablet. “You signed up to follow orders, Prism. Consider it charity—one of the few we’re still allowed.”

Rue’s voice was quiet. “It isn’t charity.”

Both paused. The Commander didn’t look away from the window. Her tone was level, almost soft. “They still feed the children in those villages with what we bring. It matters.”

Prism’s smirk faltered a little. “Yeah… well. Try explaining that to the Council’s funding board.”

The cabin’s holo display blinked, drawing their attention.

SUMMIT DELEGATION: CONFIRMED

GROVE RESTORATION — TEAM A

Amaya scrolled through the roster. “Delegates from Solnyra, Ky’Rynia, and the Aviary have been placed under your jurisdiction, Commander. The Council wants high visibility this cycle.”

Prism leaned in, tail flicking. “Visibility, huh? Let’s see which walking disasters we’re hosting this time.”

She flicked her claws, projecting the list into the air. A dozen names scrolled past—officials, engineers, nobles. Then one glowed brighter than the rest.

LUMA NOVA — Registered Liaison, House Swan (Aviary Branch).

Prism’s grin froze. “Ohhh… hell.”

Amaya’s head lifted slowly. Her eyes met Rue’s.

Rue hadn’t moved, but the violet edge of her aura flickered once, faint and dangerous.

Prism swallowed hard, trying for levity and failing. “Guess Little Bat just signed up for community service. Restoration’s rough work. Hope she likes dirt.”

The silence stretched, brittle.

Amaya shut off the holo. “Commander, the Council’s watching every move we make this cycle. You’ll conduct yourself accordingly.”

Rue stood, smooth and deliberate. Her wings caught the light—storm-dark against the gold haze outside. “I always do.”

Prism muttered, “That’s the problem,” under her breath, but Amaya shot her a look that kept her quiet.

The engines shifted pitch as they descended into the planet’s atmosphere. Below them, the Grove stretched wide—fields of living light, trees pulsing with bioluminescence, locals already gathering near the riverbanks to greet the arriving transports.

For a heartbeat, Rue’s gaze softened. She almost smiled.

The Grove had always been kind to them. When every other world saw monsters, Aerthos saw something worth inviting back.

She turned from the viewport. “Prep the landing team. No weapons visible.”

“Copy that,” Prism sighed, already adjusting her armor seals.

Amaya tucked her tablet under one arm, eyes flicking toward Rue. “You do realize, if she’s really under House Swan, this won’t be simple.”

Rue paused at the hatch. Her hand brushed the control panel, claws tapping once.

Her voice was quiet, even.

“Nothing ever is.”

The hatch opened, flooding the corridor with gold light.

The ship cut through the clouds low and slow, keeping beneath the glimmering flight lanes that led toward the capital port. Far off, the main docks flashed with gold banners and holo screens announcing arrivals for the Summit of Aerthos. Swan’s crest pulsed brightest, his image plastered across every feed like a stain of light.

Prism groaned. “There he is. House of Feathers and Ego.”

Amaya didn’t look up from her data slate. “Ignore it. Focus on the drop point.”

Rue stood at the viewport, silent. Below them stretched Aerthos — gold fields breathing light, rivers of molten glass winding through valley veins. Villagers gathered near the glowing landing markers, waving as the ship descended.

“This is it,” Prism said, talons tapping the controls. “Landing zone secure. Gods, I missed dirt.”

Rue’s lips quirked faintly. “You missed attention.”

The ship settled with a soft hiss. Warm wind swept inside as the hatch opened, carrying the scent of soil, spice, and fruit ferment. Rue stepped out first, boots sinking into living earth. For a moment, the hum in her bones quieted.

Villagers crowded near, smiling despite the dust on their clothes. One older woman bowed deeply. “Commander,” she said reverently. “You’ve come back to us.”

Rue inclined her head. “You keep the fields alive. We’re only guests.”

Prism was already kneeling beside a crate, helping a group of children pry it open. Laughter rang out as she flicked a claw across the surface, activating the soft blue holograms hidden inside. Little lights danced like fireflies, reflecting in wide, curious eyes.

“You didn’t tell me we were delivering magic,” Prism teased, grinning sharp as her teeth.

“It’s medicine,” Amaya corrected smoothly, though her lips curved just enough to betray her amusement.

Nearby, a few children craned toward the village’s lone holo projector. It flickered midair — showing the bright chaos of the Summit Port. Swan at its center. His feathers immaculate. His smile empty. And beside him, half-hidden under a mantle of black and gold silk… Luma.

The kids gasped in unison.

“Momma!” a little girl squeaked, clutching her mother’s leg. “Is that Miss Nova? Will she visit us too?”

The mother laughed softly, scooping her up. “If the gods bless us, maybe. Now come on, supper’s waiting.”

Further down, a group of older boys loaded crates onto the hover carts.

“I’m gonna marry her,” one declared proudly.

“Pfft,” another snorted, “you can’t even look a girl in the eye without stuttering.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll practice!”

A ring of younger girls started spinning in circles, their bracelets jingling as they danced.

“I’m Miss Nova!” one chirped.

“No, I am! You can’t even glow!”

“Can too!”

Prism leaned against a crate, watching the chaos unfold, grin wide. “Well, looks like the Boss isn’t the only one taken by Miss Noooo-va.”

Rue’s wings flared once. “Enough.”

Prism held up her claws, laughing. “Hey, I’m just saying — she’s got fans now. Even the farmers are swooning.”

Amaya hid her smirk behind her teacup. “Children have good taste, apparently.”

Rue didn’t answer. Her gaze lingered on the fading holo feed — on Luma’s smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“She doesn’t belong in that spotlight,” Rue said quietly.

The wind caught her words, carrying them off with the scent of fruit and lantern smoke.

She turned, voice low. “Finish the drop. Then prep the rovers. We leave for the Grove at first light.”

Amaya nodded. Prism watched her go, expression softening just enough to betray concern. “She’s gonna go find her, isn’t she?”

Amaya didn’t look up from her screen. “She always does.”

The port was a storm of sound.

Engines roared. Holo-screens flashed with the golden crest of House Swan. The air shimmered with charged particles from the twin moons’ light refracting through the dome.

Nyra stayed close beside her, antennae twitching from the overload. “Keep your head high,” she murmured. “Smile, don’t stare, and whatever you do—don’t flinch when they bow.”

Luma tried. Oh, she tried. But the noise pressed in from all sides, a thousand voices chanting Swan’s name. Cameras whirred. Drones swooped low to capture every flicker of her glow.

She wanted to fold her wings tight and vanish.

Swan, of course, basked. He glided ahead of them, feathers gleaming, every gesture rehearsed. The perfect host. The perfect lie.

“Smile, my little dawn,” he whispered as they stepped through the marble arch into the upper corridor.

Luma said nothing.

The lift carried them high—higher than she thought the port could stretch. The hum beneath her feet shifted from mechanical to organic, the walls alive with faint light veins that pulsed like a heartbeat.

When the doors opened, the noise fell away.

The suite waited—an impossible expanse of luxury:

a vaulted ceiling strung with glass feathers that glowed in shades of twilight,

a private bathhouse behind a curved wall of crystal mist,

and two beds on opposite sides of the room—broad, low, and shaped for wings.

A balcony arched outward, overlooking the entire summit city. Beyond it, the twin moons hung like watchful eyes.

Nyra’s breath caught. “By the gods… this isn’t a suite. It’s a shrine.”

Luma walked slow across the floor, the polished stone warm under her paws. The air smelled of sandalwood and sweet ozone.

“Why two beds?” she asked softly.

Nyra’s blush flared immediately. “Oh—uh—Swan believes comfort improves performance. We share until he decides we’re ready for private quarters.”

Luma frowned. “Performance.”

Nyra winced. “It’s… how he phrases everything.”

The bathhouse door breathed open with a hush of steam. A circular pool shimmered inside, fed by a fall of glowing water that pulsed in rhythm with the lights overhead.

Luma stared, half dazed. “It’s alive.”

Nyra giggled, stepping in beside her. “Everything here is. Even the tiles. They shift temperature with your body heat. It’s… decadent.”

Luma’s glow caught on the mist, casting faint golden halos across the surface. “Feels like a trap,” she murmured.

Nyra paused, her wings folding slightly. “Maybe. But it’s the prettiest one I’ve ever been in.”

They wandered back toward the balcony. The city below glittered—an ocean of suspended platforms, spires, and floating gardens glowing under Aerthos’ moons. Far in the distance, fireworks burst in amber spirals, announcing the festival’s commencement cycle.

Luma leaned on the rail, her eyes wide. “It’s beautiful.”

Nyra smiled faintly. “It always is… right before it burns us out.”

Luma glanced at her. “You sound like you’ve seen it happen.”

Nyra’s antennae dipped. “I’ve seen dancers turn into ghosts before their contracts even end.” She tried to laugh it off, forcing brightness back into her tone. “But tonight isn’t for ghosts, right? We unpack, we rest, and in twenty-four hours—shopping, honey wine, and fitting for the festival robes.”

Luma nodded slowly, gaze drifting back to the city.

Behind them, the holo-screen above the door blinked to life—quiet, unannounced.

“All Delegations Confirmed. Summit Commencing in Forty-Eight Hours.”

Under it scrolled the delegation listings.

Group 3 — Aerthos Grove Restoration Project — Lead: Commander (Agency Representative, TBN)

Assistants: Lieutenant Amaya / Specialist Prism / Envoy Luma Nova — House Swan.

Dawn stretched thin across Aerthos.

Not gold—more silver, cold, the kind that clung to the bones of things.

Rue without a word. The air here carried scent—real scent. Moss, dust, soil that breathed. It was the only world left where the ground didn’t hum with wires.

Her boots sank into the damp loam as she moved through the grove’s outer edge. The trees weren’t like TBN’s metallic forests. These were ancient things—roots braided with crystals that pulsed faint, alive beneath her touch.

She crouched low, gloved fingers brushing the soil. It thrummed faint against her palm, a heartbeat answering her own.

Amaya’s voice crackled soft in her ear.

“Report when you reach the north quadrant. The Council wants an updated scan of the Grove’s resonance before the summit starts.”

Rue didn’t answer.

She set down the scanner anyway, its lights gliding in slow circles across the roots. Numbers streamed in soft blue across her visor. Stable. Healthy. Thriving.

Her jaw tightened. At least something still is.

She stood and looked out past the rise—where the Grove rolled into distant meadows, each threaded with light veins that glowed like the remains of stars.

It had been a century since the wars burned this world hollow. The restoration was supposed to be symbolic. For Rue, it was something else—something sacred.

Her voice dropped low. “You’ve done well,” she murmured to the soil. “Held on longer than any of us.”

Wind moved through the leaves.

Soft. Almost like a reply.

She closed her eyes, exhaling through her nose. For the first time since the pit, her shadows stilled. They clung quiet against her back, no longer writhing.

Amaya’s voice again, firmer now.

“You’re avoiding the main camp.”

Rue smirked faint. “Observation doesn’t require company.”

“Neither does brooding,” Amaya countered. “You needed air, understood..”

Silence. Then Rue switched off the comm.

She walked deeper into the Grove, toward the old archway; overgrown with vines and cracked sigils from the last cycle’s work. The air thickened there. The resonance denser, quieter.

A flicker of light caught between the roots. She knelt again, brushing it away. Beneath the moss was a fragment of crystal—smooth, warm to the touch, humming faint gold.

Her breath stilled.

Gold. Not violet.

Luma’s glow.

The same tone. The same hum.

Rue closed her fist around the shard and slipped it into her coat pocket.

The shadows stirred again, restless.

She looked up toward the horizon where the summit towers gleamed faint through the morning haze. “You really had to come here, didn’t you, Moonlight?”

The Grove didn’t answer. Only the wind did..soft, cold, and almost kind.

The docking bay hissed open, violet mist curling off the hull.

Rue stepped through, boots slow against the deck. Shadows clung to her like tired ghosts, quieter now but still restless.

The crew waited—Prism leaning half-asleep against the console, tail flicking; Amaya seated with her cup as if nothing in the galaxy could rattle her.

“Rovers are charged,” Prism yawned. “Forty-eight hours until launch. City’s shutting down for rest.”

She cracked a grin. “Whole planet goes dark before the Summit. Even the courtesans are off shift. Creepy quiet out there.”

Rue didn’t answer. She paused beside the viewport, watching the lights of Aerthos dim one by one until the horizon went black. In the silence, her reflection looked older—hollow around the eyes, edges frayed by containment and command.

“Boss,” Prism said softly, rubbing her neck. “We got what we needed, yeah? No more solo hero runs for a while?”

Rue’s wing twitched in faint irritation. “We’re not here to play hero.”

“Didn’t say that.” Prism smirked, pushing off the console. “Just… maybe remember to breathe before we hit the grove. Locals love you, but you scare the hell outta their livestock.”

Amaya’s quiet chuckle cut through the hum. She rose, moving past Prism with the same unhurried grace as always, tea steaming faintly in her hand.

“Rest well, Commander.”

Rue turned halfway, shadows stirring at her heels. She didn’t look back—only dipped her wings once, a silent acknowledgment.

The doors sealed behind her, sound swallowed by the pressurized lock.

Outside, the city slept. Inside, the ship pulsed low and steady, heartbeat of a storm waiting to wake.

Prism yawned, dragging herself toward the lower deck. “I’m hittin’ my tank. Maybe next century we actually get a vacation...Forty-eight hours,” she murmured. “And the gods help us all.”