Chapter 97: Chapter 97: Ghosts of the Past
Chapter 97: Ghosts of the Past
CLINK.
The crisp sound of crystal glasses touching echoed in the private, heavily warded sanctum of the Lord Commander’s office.
Far removed from the oppressive, formal atmosphere of the High Council Chamber, the five most powerful individuals in Bastion Seven finally allowed their rigid postures to relax.
Lord Commander Helion Goldmane stood by the massive floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the sprawling, neon-lit inner city.
In his massive, scarred hand, he swirled a glass of amber liquid. Sitting on the plush leather couches behind him were the Four High Lords: Lady Logcheville, Lady Seraphina, Lord Tokks, and Patriarch Hennessey.
There was no political scheming here. No greed for territory or power. In this room, they were simply tired veterans who had spent their entire adult lives holding back the apocalypse.
"The Miasma Clearing Tower," Lord Tokks whispered, staring down at his glass. The usually stoic man rubbed his weary eyes.
"I had sent the blueprints to the elite Engineers to verify it’s authenticity. It is real. If we can build this... Natalie and her generation won’t have to live their entire lives behind a wall. A life without the constraints of the Wall."
"These students are incredible," Lady Seraphina smiled softly, a rare, genuine warmth breaking her icy demeanor.
"Reina often tell me sunny stories about their day in the Academy whenever she speaks to me. She says those classmates of hers feel like a family. And Aegon too. I cannot believe how head over heels she is for him! Well, he will make a good Commander as he has led them wonderfully."
Lady Logcheville nodded, her golden eyes filled with profound, quiet pride.
"Aegon was not born strong, but he awakened early just like Neville. Due to some constraints he was not able to grow further and his growth stunted... I never knew that the boy, who I had gave up on, would one day lead a squad to find a treasure to save humanity from peril."
She paused as her eyes moistened, seeing the growth of her son. She continued.
"I was worried that the burden of leadership will go to his head and swallow him whole. Just like our Ancestors. We used roam freely beyond these walls, everywhere in the World. We lost not because we were weak, but due to the arrogance of Humans itself! Thanks to the people around him he was able stay sane and not be corrupted by power. Us Humans need friends. Company. Family."
"They are perfectly unified," Patriarch Hennessey agreed, leaning back against the sofa.
"Neville spoke of their bond as if it were forged in iron. The Strike team Zero will prove to be the Best Team Humanity has ever seen. They are the hope of the new generation and we shall make it our mission that they will not fall behind."
Helion took a slow sip from his glass. The amber liquid burned his throat, but the warmth couldn’t chase away the sudden, heavy chill that settled in his chest.
"They are unified, yes," Helion rumbled, his deep voice carrying a sudden, melancholy weight.
"And I believe that Unity will last forever. You had asked me before why I sent them to the Wildlands. The place filled with unimaginable Monsters, even stronger than us. We had led parties and squads to kill off those Monsters, but we couldn’t succeed. Couldn’t succeed because of the fucking miasma. Even if we try to capture those lands, humans would not be able to live in them. Us awakened may survive, but others would just suffocate. All because of the foolish decisions our ancestors made. We cannot repeat their mistakes. The Past has to be united for the Future to stay united."
He turned away from the window to face his oldest friends.
"Just like we were."
The smiles faded from the faces of the High Lords. A heavy, suffocating silence blanketed the sanctum.
"Helion..." Lady Logcheville warned softly, her golden eyes flashing with a painful memory.
"Look at them," Helion continued, gesturing toward the digital Vanguard files of Strike Team Zero hovering over his desk.
"A brilliant tactician in the shadows. A golden prodigy. A noble leader. An unbreakable shield. They mirror our old Vanguard Academy squad so perfectly it terrifies me."
Lord Tokks clenched his jaw, his knuckles turning white around his glass.
"We were the finest generation Bastion Seven had ever produced," Helion said, his voice dropping to a harsh, gravelly whisper.
"We were going to reclaim the world. But there weren’t five of us, were there? There were six."
Patriarch Hennessey closed his eyes, exhaling a long, trembling breath.
"Do not speak his name, Helion."
"I don’t have to," Helion replied bitterly.
"He was our brightest. Our spell-weaver. He wanted to save humanity so desperately that he started listening to the whispers in the red fog. He thought he could control the Miasma. He thought he could use the dark to fight the dark."
Helion walked over to the desk, slamming his fist down lightly, though the impact still cracked the mahogany wood.
"Now, the boy who used to share our rations and watch our backs is the High Pontiff of the Church of the Eternal Eclipse," Helion stated, the painful truth hanging in the air like a guillotine.
"He slaughters our people. He orchestrates the Beast Waves. He betrayed humanity because he believed the only way to survive the apocalypse was to become a monster."
Lady Seraphina looked down, her elegant hands trembling slightly. Lady Logcheville placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"I am not a cynical man," Helion said, his golden eyes filled with a fierce, desperate resolve.
"I believe in Strike Team Zero. I believe they will build this Tower. But we must watch over them. We cannot let the pressure of this war break them. We cannot let history repeat itself."
The Four High Lords raised their glasses, their eyes hardening with absolute dedication.
"For humanity," Patriarch Hennessey swore.
"For the children," Lady Logcheville added.
CLINK.
---
The morning sun filtered brightly through the massive skylights of the Rank One Apex Villa.
The aftermath of last night’s massive celebration was evident. Empty plates, scattered gear, and half-finished blueprints littered the grand living room.
Most of the squad had departed early in the morning to visit their respective families, eager to share the news of their official Strike Team status.
Only five people remained in the villa.
Aegon sat cross-legged on the floor, meticulously polishing the dark metal of his Blood Fire spear. He hadn’t gone home; his devotion to the team kept him anchored to the base.
Sitting on the sofa nearby was Natalie. The timid Archer was currently giggling softly, holding a piece of dried mana-fruit above her head.
Flutter. Flutter.
Astraxion, the newly named baby Astral-Dragon, hovered clumsily in the air. Its tiny starlight wings beat rapidly as it tried to reach the fruit.
The little creature let out a soft, musical chirp, its shimmering emerald leaves rustling happily as it finally snagged the treat from Natalie’s fingers and landed in her lap to eat it.
"He is unbelievable," Natalie whispered, gently petting Astraxion’s leafy head.
"I still can’t believe you two managed to hatch a Mythical-tier World Tree Spirit."
Estella, who was leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee, smirked proudly.
"He takes after his mother. Obviously."
Draven sat in the armchair opposite Aegon, his dark eyes tracking the holographic interface of the Vanguard mission board.
He was relaxed. The atmosphere in the villa was warm, peaceful, and profoundly domestic.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The sudden shrill ring of a Vanguard communicator broke the morning peace.
Bram Stonehelm paused. He tapped his earpiece, answering the call.
"Mom?" Bram asked, his booming voice surprisingly gentle.
"Yeah, I’m still at the Villa. What’s wrong? You sound out of breath."
The room went quiet. Draven lowered his holographic screen. Aegon stopped polishing his spear. Astraxion paused its chewing.
With her enhanced sensory hearing, Natalie Tokks could easily pick up the frantic, muffled voice of Bram’s mother.
"Bram, sweetie, I’m so sorry to bother you when you’re with your friends," his mother’s voice trembled with panic.
"But it’s an absolute disaster down here! The Central Plaza is holding the Harvest Festival tonight, and they just doubled our pastry order! Over two thousand tarts and sweet-breads by sunset! And both of our delivery boys called in sick! Your father is about to pull his hair out!"
Bram sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Okay, okay. Tell Dad to breathe. I’m coming," Bram said, sounding like an exasperated but loving son.
He cut the comms. The giant boy took a deep breath, his face turning bright red with embarrassment. He looked at the floor, avoiding their eyes.
"Everything alright, Bram?" Aegon asked carefully.
"Just a family issue," Bram muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
He was feeling slightly ashamed at his condition. He was surrounded by the elites of the Academy. Each and every one of them belonged to a strong House. Compared to them, he came from the humble beginnings.
His parents own a Bakery Shop. His identity was that of a son of a Baker. A bit of an Inferiority Complex one can say. Every human has one if you learn about yourself.
"A minor... labor shortage at my parents’ bakery in the civilian sector. I’ll handle it. I’ll see you guys tonight."
Bram turned to leave.
CLACK.
Aegon slammed the haft of his spear against the floor, standing up.
"Oh come on, Bram!" Aegon stated, his golden eyes completely serious.
"Listening to your voice it definitely felt like you will need a lot of hands. I will come with you. These two hands are stronger than they look!"
Bram stopped, looking over his shoulder in shock.
"Captain, it’s just baking. You don’t need to-"
"I was getting bored reading these mission logs anyway," Draven interrupted smoothly. He stood up from the armchair.
"Besides, I hear your parents make the best pastries in Bastion Seven. Let’s say if we help you out today, let us have some pastries back home for Dinner! What do you say?"
Estella set her coffee mug down with a sharp clink. She smirked, crossing her arms. "Hoho! Of course! I have mastered the most difficult magic of wielding the stars. How hard could kneading some dough be?"
Hearing her Draven was reminded of the mess she always makes after using the Kitchen.
’I commend her confidence, but her talent for cooking should just be kept hidden. It’s like the Cooking chases her, but she is faster.’
"You thought something rude, didn’t you?" Estella said as she punched Draven in the stomach.
Natalie Tokks stood up, giggling softly as Astraxion climbed onto Draven’s shoulder, letting out a hungry, squeaky chirp.
"We’re just like a family, Bram," Natalie said softly, offering the giant boy a warm, reassuring smile.
"There’s nothing to be ashamed to ask help from your friends. And... I would love to see you make some pastries as well. Can you teach me too?"
Hearing Natalie, Bram felt something. Was it Pride? Was it Relief? Was it something else? But he couldn’t just teach a Noble lady to cook, can he?
"I-I cannot let you dirty your hands in such a lowly place. And it is not easy to make a bread as-"
Natalie cut him off and said, "Are you trying to say that I do not have the talent to bake some bread and pastries?"
Natalie gave him a look. And that look was enough to convince him. He swallowed his words and left the argument in the ditches.
Bram nodded. A massive, genuine smile broke across his face.
"Ok alright! You guys are just impossible." Bram said, his voice booming with happiness.
"Let’s go bake some bread."
