The transmission came during a weapons calibration cycle.
Kael stood alone in the cold-lit depths of Sublevel Theta—one of the Bastion's underground R&D facilities. The hum of machinery echoed faintly, punctuated by the quiet pulse of the Neural HUD interface displaying tactical simulations before his eyes. He adjusted the modulation frequency on a prototype gauss rifle without looking, fingers precise, mind elsewhere.
Then the signal pinged.
Encrypted. High priority. Lucent Alliance channel.
Kael blinked once, and the HUD responded—decrypting, authenticating. The image that flickered to life before him was grainy, low resolution, and tinted blue from the compression—but it was unmistakable.
Chancellor Vaerin Sol of the Lucent Alliance.
He was old, almost skeletal, dressed in a robe embroidered with the banners of six nations. His eyes, sharp and tired, narrowed as he peered through the transmission.
"Kael Riven. You've been… difficult to find."
Kael didn't respond immediately. He didn't need to. He merely watched. Calculated.
"I assume you're aware of the situation in the northern reaches. Sevren's Gate will hold, but not without reinforcement. You've… established something of a reputation, even among our scouts."
Still, Kael was silent. The HUD ran emotional scans. Micro-tremors in speech, pattern analysis. Sol was not lying. Not afraid, either.
Interesting.
"We request support. Strategic, if not direct. Personnel, weapons—information. You claim to want peace, Riven. This is your moment."
Kael's gaze remained fixed, unblinking.
"…You waited this long to reach out. Why?"
The Chancellor gave a brittle smile. "Because you make peace the way hammers make sculpture. Effective… but costly."
Kael's head tilted slightly. A gesture of curiosity. Not offense.
"I offer results. You offer negotiations that have already failed."
Sol's expression faltered—barely. "We'll give you access to our northern outposts. You'll have logistics routes. In return, we want cooperation. Tactical transparency. No autonomy for your independent agents in Alliance territory. Especially not her."
Kael's HUD flashed red at the emphasis.
Aera.
"…She has value," he said.
"She has a soul," Sol countered.
The silence stretched between them. Then Kael spoke again, voice steady as glass.
"The HUD predicted she would survive. The odds were high. The lesson was necessary."
Sol stared.
"You endangered her?"
"I taught her," Kael replied.
And in that moment, it wasn't arrogance. It was clarity. Pure, surgical logic.
Sol exhaled through his nose. "If you plan to be part of this world after the war ends, Riven, you'll need to learn that people aren't just parts on a board."
"I am not part of your world," Kael replied. "I am its result."
The transmission cut. Kael stood in the silence again, only the low pulse of the lab lights keeping him company.
He turned slowly.
Behind him, through reinforced glass, the training yard flickered with motion. Soldiers sparring. Engineers testing drones. Civilians walking between quarters and fields.
In the corner of the yard, children chased a mechanical dog—laughing.
Kael watched.
They were the only ones he could understand.
Children were honest. Simple. Predictable.
But adults… they were chaos wrapped in flesh. Liars who cried for hope and killed for certainty. They baffled him.
Why couldn't they just think like he did?
He adjusted his HUD.
The emotional interpretation software needed refinement. It had missed Sol's final microexpression. He'd detected something strange there.
Pity?
Kael returned to his private chamber—sterile, immaculate, lined with battle reports. He sat. The lights dimmed automatically.
A blinking cursor hovered on the edge of the HUD:
Lucent Alliance Request for Strategic Cooperation: Pending Response.
Kael tapped his finger once against the table.
Then twice.
And finally, his voice, soft and even.
"…Route supplies. Assign two scouting units to Sevren's Gate. No command interference. I will observe."
He paused.
And in a whisper only the walls heard:"…Let's see if sentiment can build a world."