Episode 2 | The Everlight Protocol

Hael had thrown himself in with the Dread Knights, demanding only two things: first, that no one so much as breathed in the direction of those listed in his transmission as “off limits”, and second, that Griffin Hartwin would be left out of the mission entirely.

The woman was as cursed as she was crazed, the worst sort of deranged tech pirate he’d ever had the misfortune of meeting, and he had never met one that wasn’t missing part of their mind or body. But Hartwin was different, the kind that genuinely meant well while committing atrocities, tossing out an “oops” as if it was all a harmless mistake.

The only mistake would be inviting her in the first place, though Hael doubted her mistakes were ever without design. There was a kind of genius to her unhinged mind at times. He wouldn’t be shocked to discover she’d “accidentally decommissioned” the other tech pirate during a side mission. She was cursed, as was everything she touched, and she loved it; Hael was sure of that.

It could be worse, Erde murmured. Remember Jaedis? Images danced from the sve-wendril’s mind to his, a flood of fire and blood. And Hartwin with that coldly curious sparkle in her eye, offering to dissect every body for the cause.

Not helping, Hael sighed, waving Hartwin and Erde from his thoughts as the grand doors burst open once again. A boy—barely eighteen, blond hair plastered to his sweaty brow—stumbled in, gasping for breath. Soot streaked his bronze cheeks, and vapors of smoke curled from his singed shoulders. His eyes darted around the room, wide with shock, until they landed on Grand Knight Lu, his direct superior.

“The VITAS network is down,” he half-shouted to the room. “The main satellite is toast. All trains and comms are down until further notice. The VITAS network is down, sirs. It’s all down. It’s all–“

“Yes, we got the message, Argent. Now return to your post.” Grand Knight Lu nodded, raising a hand to wave him back out the doors.

Find Steeltalon, Hael instructed Erde, anxiety prickling his lungs. He pinched his nose, dragging in a breath, trying not to think of all the wrenches thrown into his plans, poised to trip them up.

Tell him to meet me at The Silver Chalice later, and to bring a network ghost; we’re going to need it if the entire network is down. Proceed with extreme caution.

Should I relay your sentiments regarding Hartwin?

No, Hael thought, a dry laugh slipping out. I can relay those myself.

Everything will be fine, Hael. You’ll see.

Your optimism is noted.

“We haven’t the time or the manpower to deal with this crisis.” The Science Division rep’s voice cut through their silent conversation. Arguments had resumed the moment the grand doors had closed behind the knight errant. Tensions in his wake were so tight and sharp, you could taste the promise of death in the air. “If the network is down, then we are duty-bound to prioritize the orbital mirrors. If nothing else, local comms can be restored.”

“If we can recall the Starward Legion to Cystirin, it would be possible,” Sir Veyas, the female knight commander said, all the fury and bitterness of a few moments ago melting into weariness. “As it stands, we don’t have enough knights to protect the city. That is why the plasmic veil cannot be powered down.”

“By the Oracles…” Grand Knight Lu cursed under her breath. She brushed by Hael, stepping out of line and glowered down into the pit of the forum. “Sirs, if Cystirin is hurting for manpower, let me remind you that we have a reserve of knight errants to fill that need. Their training is limited, but this year’s selection is diligent and quick on their feet. Not to mention—and excuse my lack of decorum here—it’s not as though we have many options. If we must, call upon the Citizen Councils to rally the people.”

“Yes,” the Science Division rep clapped her hands together, bowing her head in agreement. “There are plenty of people within the city who would be more than willing to assist the Starward Legion while power is rerouted—”

“The knight errants are volunteers,” Sir Veyas scoffed, “and hardly qualified to assist in this matter. Did you not see Knight Errant Argent? His hands were trembling. He’s a child. And the citizens? Even worse. They would only be a burden.”

Hael stiffened at the slight, a flare of outrage rising from the depths of his chest. No one, not even Knight Master Thalas, insulted Sir Lu. Despite her low rank, she was the backbone of the city, more connected to its people and councils than the rest of them. She’d trained them all, including Hael; she took them from sniveling idealists to knights worthy of defending this crumbling city. Without thinking, he opened his mouth to defend her, but Grand Knight Lu beat him to the punch.

“You didn’t consider my knight errants a burden when you had them ferry supplies accross the Hund Sea to Sulna, did you?” Red spread across Lu’s cheeks, but to her credit, her voice didn’t waver. “Or when you borrowed them to assist with the sun-sickness outbreaks to the east or had them transport rations to the outer colonies of the Solisglade. Nor when they fought in skirmishes against the Northern Kingdoms. They were more than adequate then, or do you only suffer them when their blood and sweat are spilt for your benefit?”

“We cannot civilians policing the streets. It would be madness during these times.”

Grand Knight Lu laughed. “No more mad than us shut away in this room, bickering like wendrils starved of pride.” She tucked her hands behind her back, thumb tapping impatiently. “If they can assist in those rudimentary assignments, Sir Veyas, then surely you can allow it.”

“Sir Astraeus, what are your thoughts on the matter?” Infernal Knight Belis Hargrave lifted his head, eyes as unreadable as the clouds in the sky. A subtle challenge on the diplomacy of his voice. “You have the most experience running the streets with the knight errants and dealing with the flux anomalies.”

The room stilled, waiting.

“Lu trains the errants well enough that they rival even the best efforts of my team, at times.” Hael didn’t rise from his seat nor break eye contact with Sir Hargrave; he’d earned the right to do both when he rose in the ranks to Knight Marshall and performed his de facto knight regent duties for Knight Master Thalas. “I see no reason to deny good help when it’s offered.”

Sir Hargrave nodded, an amicable smile spreading across his lips. “Then the Infernal Knights will lend their assistance in this matter.”

This complicates things, doesn’t it? Erde whispered. Steeltalon won’t like working blind.

We cannot tell him, Erde.

But we’d only be warning him. It might not change anything.

No, Hael said firmly. It will change everything.

Hael had seen this moment a hundred times through his Fractured Sight. The Infernal Knights would always join; Knight Master Thalas would always look the other way, protocols be damned. The emperor would always have his hand curling around their strings, making them dance with the right promises of power. The only variable that ever changed the outcome was whether his Dread Knights knew about the Infernal Knights in advance.

It always puzzled Hael as to why this detail mattered; it was inconsequential compared to the hundreds of others that could go wrong, but now he understood why this detail made or broke their mission.

Griffin fucking Hartwin, no doubt. That deranged spark in her eye when she smelled weakness, and that drive to strike while the mikja metal was hot, consequences be damned. This was the violent variation he’d tried to avoid: Lu’s errants bleeding in the gutters, half his Knights butchered by Starward blades, the orbital mirror conspiracy buried while the Solisglade burned for its ignorance, and him back in that lightless prison beneath the city, caged like a stillborn secret between the Cathedral of Knowing and the Science Division.

His stomach churned. If Hartwin knew of the threat the Dread Knights faced today, she wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger to protect them. They would all bleed tonight to expose the truth, yes. That was the accord struck between them all those decades ago.

But not like that. No, Hael would die before he ever let that happen again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The Tower of Pheria shuddered under centuries of neglect, its once-gleaming flux sigils now shimmering like dying embers in the oppressive humidity invading its halls. Cracks crawled across the delicate stonework beneath their books, dusted with flecks of golden foil and chips of paint from the unsettled ceiling. Piece-by-piece, the pride of Cystirin crumbled around them, barely held together by a lattice of disintegrating magic. Magic that the Astral Veil hated, but had to rely on to maintain all of their ancient structures from before the Astaris War.

As the meeting dispersed, a contingent of knight mages shoved their way through the crowd, haggard and sweat-caked and so flux-ravaged that the tips of their fingers were permanently bruised. Even the veins around their flux dampeners were swollen from cycling too much magic at such a restrained pace. Each wave of magic poured into the tower’s bones breathed life back into the sigils, giving them a barely stable dim glow, but it did little to quench its insatiable thirst.

Hael shouldered past them, not pausing to spare them a glance of pity or a helping hand. He didn’t dare get close to the walls or touch them. Not with bare hands. Not with his own flux cycling through his veins, burning insistent for release.

The tower’s hunger had grown sharper—greedier—over the years, yawning wider with every sip of magic the mages fed it. He could fool the Astral Veil, the Starward Legion, and the Oracles of Aisil into thinking the Flux Arcana churning around his core was little more than light and ice. But this building always knew better. It sensed what churned at his core—his true essence—and begged for it, clawing at him whenever he drew too close.

That was one of the first nasty lessons he’d learned on Arboros: starved things got desperate and desperate things bit. Like everything else in this star-cursed place, its glorious arcana was reduced to…this.

The three of them stepped through the warded archway and into the open courtyard, straight into the ravaging teeth of the heatwave gripping the city. Hael raised a hand to shield his eyes, pupils tightening sharply against the sudden brightness of the bloated twin suns lording over the rusty afternoon sky.

The courtyard was a withering mess of dried up fountains, thick-stemmed and yellowing grass, and trees clinging to their burnt golden leaves. Everywhere Hael looked, there were signs of decay, of life being leeched by every minute in this boiling inferno.

In the distance, the city was distorted—bending and rippling, heat-hazed and glowing with fine particles of flux radiation that twisted in the scalding breeze like a swarm of golden locusts. The taste of solar fallout, boiled garbage, and baked earth caked his tongue, but he swallowed it down.

Evencrest barely seemed to notice the heat as she tied her uniform jacket around her waist—a habit of knight guardian variety types that value utilitarianism over ceremonial garb—and tucked the broken touchpad into her cargo pants. She turned to face him, hands tucked behind her back. “Permission to oversee the Science Division’s efforts to reroute power from the Plasmic Veils to the Orbital Mirrors. If there’s a surge, we risk losing both—”

“Go.” Evencrest was gone before the word had fully left his mouth, boots kicking up dirt as she jogged in the direction of the Science Division headquarters, ponytail swinging like a pendulum of fierce determination. Nothing she did would fix the mirrors, no matter how brilliant-minded she was. Doomed efforts. Undeservedly so.

Beside him, Silas exhaled a curse. “Our plans of laying in the shade and sipping a mug of mead are wrecked. From one hellpit into another,” he muttered, pulling wheat-blond hair into a bun at the base of his bronzed neck, where beads of sweat dripped down into his uniform collar. Wind snaked around him, conjured by the subtle flourish of his fingers, but it did nothing to budge the stagnant humidity pooling around them in the courtyard.

Hael unsheathed his sword and, with subtle force, pierced the ground. In a soft flash, ice spread across the thick-stemmed grass, offering a brief reprieve. The knight mage stopped conjuring the wind the moment Hael raised a hand and cast a smoldering, cutting glare in his direction.

“Go to the nearest waypoint to retrieve our orders. Then find Satori, Oberon—anyone who isn’t on the verge of fluxxing out. Have them meet us near the Gardens of Clarity.”

With a half-hearted salute, Silas grumbled under his breath and headed in the opposite direction in a gust of wind. Hael pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, then glanced back up at the sky.

Overhead, fractured orbital mirrors drifted in lazy arcs, their shards reflecting solar flare in bladed flashes across the courtyard stones—caught in the thin layer of artificial gravity that hung invisibly above them.

“It feels impossible, doesn’t it?” Grand Knight Lu appeared next to him, gazing up at the broken mirrors with a somber expression. Her long black braid danced restlessly at her back, frayed by the humid breeze rushing through the courtyard. Not a bead of sweat or speck of dust on her. “How will we ever fix this mess we’ve made, Astraeus?”

You can’t. “I doubt you’ve made a mess of anything,” Hael gave a small smile, dislodging his sword from the ground and returning it to its sheath. He stepped back into the shade of the archway and leaned against the sun-warmed stones and crossed his arms.

“You’re right,” Grand Knight Lu smirked. “I’m far too busy cleaning up messes that I hardly have the time to make them. Still…” She turned to face him, a shadow of worry clouding her violet eyes. “This is different. It’s a mess I can’t clean up, no matter how hard I try. At least, we don’t have to do it alone, right?” She patted a reassuring hand on his shoulder, pausing long enough to utter, “Be careful out there,” before leaving.

Hael’s smile faded as a fleet of robots collected mangled debris, drawing solar meshing across the breach—smaller than it had appeared from the Golden Spire of Pheria, but still a nasty gap.

Twelve nasty gaps, Erde reminded him, a series of incidents from the last three months flicking between them.

“Sir Astraeus.” A barking command broke his thoughts midstream.

Popular today, aren’t you?

Divines Within, Hael grumbled, head swinging around. What now?

Across the sun-bleached courtyard, Advern Thalas stood framed by ornamental Jarbi trees, their clementine leaves wilting in his fuming presence. His lips were curled in displeasure, frustration carved deep into his brow, but despite it all, his molten gaze sparked with unmistakable relief when he spotted Hael approaching. As he stepped beneath the second archway, Hael’s eyes adjusted—and then snapped to the second figure beside the Knight Master.

Sand.

That was the first absurd detail his mind registered. Grains of Duskran sand clung to a familiar evergreen cloak and dusty cargo pants, glittering like gold flecks when the sun passed over them. Oryn Thalas stood there, wind-swept, sun-kissed, freckled and carefree as the day he was born. His usual earthen-dyed messenger bag slung across his chest, one steady hand gripping the worn leather strap, fingernails still caked with red clay from dig sites.

Hael fought the impatient urge to dust him off and ask him if he’d been rolling in the dunes again, hunting for singing spiders. Oryn’s head tilted sideways, golden eyes softening as a smile tugged at his lips—apologetic, warm, and irritatingly familiar. As if he could read the thoughts bouncing around his mind.

How have you been? Did you find what you were looking for on Duskra? Did you get to eat those candied uji-nuts you like so much? Were the stars kinder than our mirrors? Did you sleep well? Why are you here? The questions tangled around Hael’s ribs with dizzying tightness. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here.

“Sir Thalas,” Hael said cooly, shutting down the thoughts as swiftly as they came and tearing his gaze away from the knight scholar standing before him. Swallowing hard, Hael bowed his head, fist pressed firmly over his pounding heart. “Forgive me, but my unit is waiting. What is it that you need from me?”

But knight master had already gone off on a tangent, mouth moving rapidly and throwing out frayed phrases about lectures, obligations, wasted resources, and boyish selfishness. Duties, duties, duties. Hael caught only pieces of “…only listens to you…” “…six damned months of rebellion… and for what?” “…embarrassing attire…”

Sir Thalas yanked Oryn forward by the cloak, sending a plume of golden flux and desert dust into the air. “Take him into your unit. Clean him up and put him to work. I don’t care what he does as long as he stays out of the way. I’ll deal with him later.”

Hael stiffened. Absolutely not. “Sir, I am no longer his defacto regent—”

Without waiting for confirmation or any response at all, the knight master turned on his heel and stormed down the corridor, disappearing around the corner with an entourage of oracles and knight mages.

An awkward silence fell between them. Then—

“Did you miss me?”

Voice warm and bright as a mild summer, yet airy and light, as if always a breath away from laughter, Oryn hadn’t changed a bit. Just as cheeky and unexpected as ever. That infuriating smile crinkled a faint scar on his left cheek, a wound Hael had personally tended to after the boy’s first encounter with flux anomalies. All but twelve and already bleeding for a city that would never love him back. All for a father who would never accept him for who he was, only who he could be to the emperor and the Oracles of Aisil.

That was why he should have stayed away while he had the chance. That was why, despite feeling Oryn’s absence more than he anticipated, there was still comfort in the knowledge that he was better off, safer, in a distant world.

A muscle jumped in Hael’s jaw. His core pulsed suddenly, gelid starlight churning in his chest like an icy whirlpool. His hand found the worn grip of his sword, the leather whispering familiar mixed warnings. This person will ruin everything. This person is someone I need to protect.

Don’t. Erde’s voice lapped at his consciousness. And don’t be mean.

Mind your own business for once. He silenced her with the mental equivalent of a slammed door. The sudden quiet of her absence rang louder than the space between two people barely speaking.

“Didn’t I tell you—” Hael’s voice scraped raw, cold and taut with six months of unanswered letters and a decade of betrayal catching in his throat, “—if you were going to leave for Duskra this time, you should stay gone?”

Oryn didn’t flinch under his cold gaze, nor did his grin falter, but his fingers tightened on that damned messenger bag. Sand scattered from his boots onto the pristine courtyard tiles as he treaded forward. “But you didn’t mean it,” he said softly, “Just like you didn’t mean ‘don’t write.'” His golden eyes flicked to Hael’s collar. Then rose defiantly to meet his gaze. “Though you certainly committed to that part.”

For a moment, Hael stared coldly at the boy-turned-man, who was still the only creature in the whole of R-39 reckless enough to turn his warnings into jokes. The only one foolish enough to cross his lines and live to smirk about it.

And the only one who could ruin everything.

Today—when they cripple the orbital mirrors and his betrayal is laid bare—Hael couldn’t, wouldn’t, afford to let him get in the way, no matter how much he’d come to care for him. Another mission. Another sacrifice. One life in exchange for billions.

If that’s what it took.