"A monarch must have both compassion, and a heart of steel. Sir James... become a man worthy to lead the Kingdom. Worthy of your blood."
Virtus stood atop the wing-like Opus, gazing back at his comrades. His features were inscrutable, but his voice... guarded. Every word they spoke he listened intently, even as time grew short, his back ramrod straight as he stood in the void, magnets in his spacesuit's soles holding him close to the drone. Selene had been a disappointment, in his eyes - but as the young man had spoken?
It reminded him of better times. Of the King.
"And you, esteemed Arbiter."
He gave a dry, almost self-deprecating laugh, leaning on one of the stabilizers. Sir Franklin would have been proud - that much, he knew. It was hard to say which was sturdier: Charles resolve, or the Giganscudo he rode into battle - perhaps that was why it had been changed so much from before. Not a sword to cut down evildoers, but a shield to protect the weak.
"...Your kind words are wasted on the likes of me. Even so... I thank you. I will not forget them, nor the hard-fought victory won today."
As he spoke, his hand came up to his throat gently, a familiar gesture among their kind, like a knowing tap of the nose. Its meaning was simple, yet often lost on outsiders.
"You have your obligations... as do I."
A matter of honor. Duress perhaps, even. The telltales on the edge of the wing turned bright red, and he began to feel it shift under his feet, proton engines whining to life.
"When next we meet, it will be on the field of battle." He said, raising an arm in a salute that looked especially lonely, framed against the distant, infinite blackness of space.
"The only true value of conviction... is the steel it holds in its hands. Never forget that."
And like that, he was gone, the Opus units hurtling away, blinking out of existence until the Arm Stora as well, seemed to vanish in a flash of bright light. Even the wreckage left behind had faded, leaving no trace that they had ever existed except the memories of the two men, to what had been witnessed.
Later, on the bridge of the Arm Stora
En Route to Relay Point
Click.
The recording of the events that had transpired earlier ceased. The moment of the Diamd's lance slamming into the Lunar surface was held on the main monitor of the warship. Seated at the center of it all was... not quite a man, but a projection thereof, not that any could have told from a casual lance. The grey, crisp of his uniform, his pale features, and overall appearance was indicative of his nature as a functionary, albeit one with unparalleled authority in the world. Not far from him stood Virtus, arms folded in contemplative silence.
"Well, that was... unexpected." Said the Aristarch, breaking the uneasy silence.
He was rewarded with a hailstorm of information, voices and texts flooding in from all the other nodes that had been observing the situation unfold.
"-subversion of temporal protocol-"
"-deserves to be atomized and his thoughtcore wiped-"
"Who will be held accountable for this? The Praestulor wouldn't have-"
Speaking over the din, the Aristarch continued:
"Censor Irkalla. Please deliver your report."
The clacking of heels upon laminated floors caused Virtus head to turn. Sure enough, she was here.
What unnerved him about Irkalla was her movements. Graceful as they were, at first glance he would have been entirely fooled that she was human. Yet, as the one in charge of disposal, deletion, and record maintenance that body was merely the avatar of a killing machine of the utmost efficiency. The blonde haired construct's voice, for once, however, was not full of its usual smug self-assuredness.
"It's as our scouts reported: He's destroyed the body." She said, tersely.
"There is no way we can correct this. It's completely unprecedented-"
"Hmph."
A barely suppressed chuckle escaped Virtus' mouth, causing the construct to shoot him a glare.
"Do you even understand what you've done, human?"
"Nothing a cog in a machine would ever understand."
Irkalla's eyes narrowed in contempt, and she opened her mouth- but a waved hand from the hologram caused her to stop.
"Let him speak."
"Aristarch...!" She gasped - but Virtus wasted no further time, speaking unhurriedly.
"I have no interest in returning to that life."
A collective murmur went up among the electronic cloud of onlookers. The Aristarch leaned forward with interest, giving what some algorithm somewhere had determined to be a sympathetic smile.
"Is that so?" He said, a hand coming up to his chin.
"For a moment there, I was certain you would choose to join them."
At least for that second, Virtus was grateful his face was hidden from view. The statement did not surprise him, but it already confirmed his suspicions about the engagement.
"I doubt that." He said, dryly.
The Aristarch, for his part, leaned back in his flickering seat once more, and spread his arms wide.
"Regardless, you've put me in a difficult position. Now, what are we to do with you?"
There was a long silence.. and finally, the masked man spoke.
"About what you said before..."
"You've made your decision?"
"I suppose I have."
Hisss...
His fingers closed about the latches at the base of his helmet, and there was a hiss of escaped air as the protective covering was removed. He'd needed it, for a while - or, so they'd told him. He was almost glad, at the time. A new face, a new name... He'd thought he could put everything behind him. But, after today's encounter? He wanted to retain at least some part of himself. It came off easily into his hands, and he breathed deep of the recycled air, watching the Moon - his home - fading away in the distance on the monitor.
He would return to it, some day. With tales of glory, treasure, and bravery, just as the knights of old once did. All his life, he had dreamed of such a life, unfettered by the petty politics and preening attention seeking of his peers. Now, destiny had seen fit to deliver it to him.
The road ahead was deep and dark, having never been trod by a mortal man.
"Show me what lies beyond the sea of stars." Said William of Exeter.
Virtus stood atop the wing-like Opus, gazing back at his comrades. His features were inscrutable, but his voice... guarded. Every word they spoke he listened intently, even as time grew short, his back ramrod straight as he stood in the void, magnets in his spacesuit's soles holding him close to the drone. Selene had been a disappointment, in his eyes - but as the young man had spoken?
It reminded him of better times. Of the King.
"And you, esteemed Arbiter."
He gave a dry, almost self-deprecating laugh, leaning on one of the stabilizers. Sir Franklin would have been proud - that much, he knew. It was hard to say which was sturdier: Charles resolve, or the Giganscudo he rode into battle - perhaps that was why it had been changed so much from before. Not a sword to cut down evildoers, but a shield to protect the weak.
"...Your kind words are wasted on the likes of me. Even so... I thank you. I will not forget them, nor the hard-fought victory won today."
As he spoke, his hand came up to his throat gently, a familiar gesture among their kind, like a knowing tap of the nose. Its meaning was simple, yet often lost on outsiders.
"You have your obligations... as do I."
A matter of honor. Duress perhaps, even. The telltales on the edge of the wing turned bright red, and he began to feel it shift under his feet, proton engines whining to life.
"When next we meet, it will be on the field of battle." He said, raising an arm in a salute that looked especially lonely, framed against the distant, infinite blackness of space.
"The only true value of conviction... is the steel it holds in its hands. Never forget that."
And like that, he was gone, the Opus units hurtling away, blinking out of existence until the Arm Stora as well, seemed to vanish in a flash of bright light. Even the wreckage left behind had faded, leaving no trace that they had ever existed except the memories of the two men, to what had been witnessed.
Later, on the bridge of the Arm Stora
En Route to Relay Point
Click.
The recording of the events that had transpired earlier ceased. The moment of the Diamd's lance slamming into the Lunar surface was held on the main monitor of the warship. Seated at the center of it all was... not quite a man, but a projection thereof, not that any could have told from a casual lance. The grey, crisp of his uniform, his pale features, and overall appearance was indicative of his nature as a functionary, albeit one with unparalleled authority in the world. Not far from him stood Virtus, arms folded in contemplative silence.
"Well, that was... unexpected." Said the Aristarch, breaking the uneasy silence.
He was rewarded with a hailstorm of information, voices and texts flooding in from all the other nodes that had been observing the situation unfold.
"-subversion of temporal protocol-"
"-deserves to be atomized and his thoughtcore wiped-"
"Who will be held accountable for this? The Praestulor wouldn't have-"
Speaking over the din, the Aristarch continued:
"Censor Irkalla. Please deliver your report."
The clacking of heels upon laminated floors caused Virtus head to turn. Sure enough, she was here.
What unnerved him about Irkalla was her movements. Graceful as they were, at first glance he would have been entirely fooled that she was human. Yet, as the one in charge of disposal, deletion, and record maintenance that body was merely the avatar of a killing machine of the utmost efficiency. The blonde haired construct's voice, for once, however, was not full of its usual smug self-assuredness.
"It's as our scouts reported: He's destroyed the body." She said, tersely.
"There is no way we can correct this. It's completely unprecedented-"
"Hmph."
A barely suppressed chuckle escaped Virtus' mouth, causing the construct to shoot him a glare.
"Do you even understand what you've done, human?"
"Nothing a cog in a machine would ever understand."
Irkalla's eyes narrowed in contempt, and she opened her mouth- but a waved hand from the hologram caused her to stop.
"Let him speak."
"Aristarch...!" She gasped - but Virtus wasted no further time, speaking unhurriedly.
"I have no interest in returning to that life."
A collective murmur went up among the electronic cloud of onlookers. The Aristarch leaned forward with interest, giving what some algorithm somewhere had determined to be a sympathetic smile.
"Is that so?" He said, a hand coming up to his chin.
"For a moment there, I was certain you would choose to join them."
At least for that second, Virtus was grateful his face was hidden from view. The statement did not surprise him, but it already confirmed his suspicions about the engagement.
"I doubt that." He said, dryly.
The Aristarch, for his part, leaned back in his flickering seat once more, and spread his arms wide.
"Regardless, you've put me in a difficult position. Now, what are we to do with you?"
There was a long silence.. and finally, the masked man spoke.
"About what you said before..."
"You've made your decision?"
"I suppose I have."
Hisss...
His fingers closed about the latches at the base of his helmet, and there was a hiss of escaped air as the protective covering was removed. He'd needed it, for a while - or, so they'd told him. He was almost glad, at the time. A new face, a new name... He'd thought he could put everything behind him. But, after today's encounter? He wanted to retain at least some part of himself. It came off easily into his hands, and he breathed deep of the recycled air, watching the Moon - his home - fading away in the distance on the monitor.
He would return to it, some day. With tales of glory, treasure, and bravery, just as the knights of old once did. All his life, he had dreamed of such a life, unfettered by the petty politics and preening attention seeking of his peers. Now, destiny had seen fit to deliver it to him.
The road ahead was deep and dark, having never been trod by a mortal man.
"Show me what lies beyond the sea of stars." Said William of Exeter.
