Interspatial pathway
En route to Agartha
"Look who it is," came a hushed whisper from the colonnade.
"It's him… the traitor's son."
"Why is he here? Why would the Academy allow him in?"
The murmurs swelled like a tide, brushing against the edges of Rex's awareness. He kept walking, his boots clicking softly against the stone tiles of the Ascendant Academy's central promenade. The spires of Astralium glistened with morning light, aether currents drifting lazily between crystalline towers, but none of that beauty softened the tension in the air.
It was only his second day.
His guardians had been insistent—a Pendragon belongs here, they had said. This was tradition. Legacy. Duty. And so Rex had left Albion, his home and birthright, and returned to Agartha, the capital of the Divine Federation.
But his arrival hadn't been quiet. Rumors had outrun him like wildfire through dry fields. Whispers of betrayal, of shame. Everyone seemed to know who he was—and more importantly, who his father had been.
Rex could have quashed the gossip if he wanted. As a Prince of Albion, his influence stretched farther than most students could fathom. But he didn't. Let them speak. Let them look. He had no interest in silencing voices. He would let his actions speak for him.
I'll prove I'm not my father.
The courtyard opened up before him like a stage, silver leaves rustling in the breeze above mana-lit walkways. His posture remained rigid, focused. Until a voice rang out behind him—sharp, familiar, and laced with crude warmth.
"Hey, bastard! Where the hell have you been hiding?"
Before Rex could turn, an arm looped around his neck and yanked him into a tight, almost aggressive embrace.
"You—" he began, struggling slightly.
"Eight years, and you forget my name already?" the voice teased with a mocking lilt.
Rex wrenched himself free, scowling—but not with anger. His eyes met the tall, grinning form of Leonard Haravok.
Leon.
Taller now. Broader in the shoulders. His face had sharpened with age, but there was something strikingly familiar in it—echoes of Jonathan Haravok, the Hero of Albion. Leon wore that legacy across his features like sunlight piercing a storm.
Rex's breath caught for a moment.
"I haven't forgotten your name," he said, quietly. His gaze flicked around—the courtyard had gone nearly silent, students pausing mid-step to observe this unexpected reunion. Their whispers no longer veiled.
"It's good to see you," he added, voice more measured now.
But even as he spoke, a knot of guilt twisted in his chest. For all the warmth in Leon's smile, Rex couldn't ignore the shadow it cast—his father had been the one responsible for Jonathan Haravok's death.
And now, face to face with the son of a legend… Rex wondered if that shadow would ever lift.
"Hey, you had lunch yet?" Leon asked casually, hands tucked into his pockets as he strolled forward.
"Not really," Rex replied, his voice low.
"Then come on. Let's grab some grub." Leon continued walking, but stopped after a few steps when he realized Rex wasn't following. He turned, one brow raised, his expression puzzled."What's up with you?"
Rex hesitated. The words came out quieter than he intended, barely audible over the soft hum of the courtyard's mana fountains."I… shouldn't be around you."
Leon sighed. He glanced around, his sharp gaze sweeping across the onlookers whose curiosity clung to the edges of the moment. A single look from him—a flicker of narrowed eyes and commanding presence—and the crowd scattered like startled birds.
"Look, Rex," Leon said, voice calm but firm, "I don't really care about your feelings." He gave a small shrug. "I'm selfish like that. I'm not gonna play the noble friend or the tragic victim. So I'm only saying this once—are we brothers, yes or no?"
Rex blinked, caught off-guard by the bluntness. Leon still wore a faint, crooked smile, but there was weight behind his words, like a blade wrapped in silk. This wasn't just banter—it was a turning point. A test of something deeper.
Rex remembered. The warmth of the Haravok estate. Julia's gentle laugh. Jonathan's quiet strength. Leon's unshakeable energy that once lit every corner of his boyhood. Those years had shaped him more than anything Albion could offer. More than his blood ever had.
"Yes," Rex said at last, his voice steady. "We are."
Leon's smile widened, softer now."Good."
"Rex! Rex!"
His eyes snapped open.
The dream faded like fog under sunlight, and the humming of the Interspatial conduit returned in full. The faint blue light of the transit chamber pulsed in rhythm with the movement of their vessel.
Meri stood over him, arms crossed, expression unreadable as always.
They had just left the Euripython System, slipping into the Interspatial pathway. The battle in the Alpha Quadrant was already beginning to feel like a half-remembered nightmare. He, Leon, and Lance had barely made it back in time to join Meri's convoy. Effie had already prepped their departure. Leon had chosen to stay behind. Rex had chosen to leave. And now, with every light-year between them, guilt bloomed like frost behind his ribs.
"Thinking about Leon?" Meri asked.
Rex nodded, slowly. "I shouldn't have left him alone."
"He's not alone." Meri said.
"You know what I mean." Rex said. Meri stepped closer, her voice quieter now, gentler.
"Leon can take care of himself. You, on the other hand, have a trial to survive. And it won't wait for you to resolve your regrets." She paused. "Things are moving fast, Rex. And they're about to spin out of everyone's control. Including yours."
Rex looked past her, out into the shimmering corridor of Interspace, where stars blurred into streaks and possibilities twisted like threads of fate. But no matter how far they traveled, one truth chased after him: He had left his brother behind.
"Do you think Sector Zero will interfere with the trial?" Rex asked, his voice low, the shadows of doubt creeping into his tone.
Meri didn't answer right away. The light from the Interspatial corridor cast pale reflections across her face, silver and blue weaving like ghosts over her features.
"Most likely," she said at last. "But if I were you, I'd be more concerned with the Judiciary."
"What's that supposed to mean? You think the court won't be impartial?" Rex turned his gaze toward her, frowning. Meri's lips curled into a faint, bitter smile.
"You still believe Justice is blind, don't you?" she said, her voice calm but edged with weariness. "But the truth is… she sees just fine. She just chooses who's worth looking at. Justice isn't some divine force in our world. She's self-serving. And she always bows to power." Rex scoffed softly, the words clashing with everything he'd once believed.
"Power? That's the furthest thing from justice." He said. Meri's gaze lingered on the pulsing starlight ahead, her expression unreadable.
"I used to say the same," she said quietly. "I fought for a version of justice that made sense—balanced, fair, righteous. But the world taught me a different lesson. One I didn't want to learn." She turned to look at him directly now, her eyes colder than before.
"You should start preparing for that same lesson. Because when the verdict comes, it won't be about truth… it'll be about influence. Who stands behind you? Who wants you silenced? And whether your survival benefits the system—or threatens it."
Rex said nothing, the silence between them thickening like frost. The stars outside continued to stream past them, but inside the vessel, the weight of Meri's words settled like a gavel on his soul.
"What happened to you?" Rex asked, his voice low with disbelief. "The Meri I knew back at the Academy was all about fairness… about justice."
He remembered her clearly—bright-eyed, sharp-tongued, and unshakably principled. She had been a firebrand, never afraid to speak out against injustice, even when it cost her favor with teachers or peers. But the woman standing before him now bore the weight of too many battles. This Meri had transformed into a calculating commander of a mercenary conglomerate, an economic force whose influence rivaled noble houses. She had built an empire of her own—one untethered to her family name or legacy.
"I found out the hard way what justice really is," Meri replied, her tone even but heavy, like iron wrapped in silk. "You should prepare yourself, Rex—no matter how the trial ends."
She turned on her heel and walked away, her footsteps echoing against the smooth floor of the interspatial chamber, leaving Rex alone with the gravity of her words.
He stood in silence, thoughts spiraling. From everything she'd just implied, the trial wasn't about truth—it was about politics. About leverage. About who held power within the Divine Federation's golden veneer. And those who ruled from the summit of that celestial bureaucracy—those who remembered what his father had done—would not allow an acquittal. Not without consequence. Not without blood.
The so-called justice system, Rex now understood, was just another battlefield. He'd always known the Federation bore cracks beneath its polished surface. The contradictions were blatant. It preached Divine Peace, enshrining harmony and balance, and yet, its history was carved with conquest. War campaigns under the banner of unification. Whole star systems absorbed in the name of order. Justice was only a word the Federation used when it needed to cleanse its image with sanctified lies.
That was why Rex had joined the Yaegerists. Why he'd fought in the shadows. Because he believed in justice without masks, in accountability that didn't bow to titles or bloodlines. He had spent years hunting the rot that festered behind the Federation's divine rhetoric. And now, he was caught in its machinery. With his father's life hanging in the balance. With truth shackled to the whims of power. And for the first time in a long while, Rex felt that righteous anger stirring again—not because justice had failed, but because it had been replaced.
Now, he had to decide what he must do to ensure—The thought never finished. A sudden flicker tore through the air in front of him, space itself rippling like water disturbed by a stone. Rex stood up, eyes narrowing as a shape began to take form within the distortion. And then his breath caught.
His father.
Alexander Pendragon materialized before him, tall and regal as ever, clad in ceremonial robes adorned with the sigil of House Pendragon—though his form shimmered, translucent, like light refracted through crystal. Rex stumbled backward, heart lurching in his chest.
"Father—what—how are you here?" he gasped, stepping forward.
But as he moved to embrace him, his arms passed through the figure as though through mist. Cold air met his skin. The image of his father remained still, eyes solemn, voice steady.
"Arexander," Alexander said, using his full name in that clipped, commanding tone Rex hadn't heard in years. "If you're seeing this… it means the time has come."
"What?" Rex whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. "This can't be real. You're still imprisoned—"
"I am," Alexander interrupted gently. "This is merely an enchantment—a spectral message. It was crafted by Julia Haravok. She created it in secret, knowing a moment like this would come."
"Julia…" Rex muttered, stunned.
"There isn't much time," Alexander continued, his voice growing more urgent. "What's about to happen will shake the cosmos to its core. I won't be there to witness it… But you will. And that's why I must act now. I won't allow you to throw yourself into the trial to save me. Greater paths are awaiting you—paths I once turned away from. But you… You can walk them."
The air around the projection shimmered brighter, the enchantment growing more unstable. Alexander's form began to flicker at the edges.
"To set you on that path, I must tell you the truth. About the Uprising. About my role in it. About why I accepted imprisonment. It all begins with your mother—how I met her, what we discovered, and the choices we made. I've infused the memory into this spell." His gaze softened—just for a moment. A rare, unguarded warmth. "Please, take care of yourself, my son."
"Father…" Rex reached for him again, but this time the figure dissolved, breaking apart into countless particles of light. The motes swirled through the air before converging, spiraling directly into Rex's forehead, striking his Ethereal Gland with a radiant surge. He barely had time to react before the world tilted—his knees buckled as consciousness was yanked from him. The chamber spun into a blur, and then—
Darkness.
And within it, a memory not his own began to unfold.