The clan representatives who witnessed Bai Sha's interrogation of Qiu Zha were at a loss for words, their faces a kaleidoscope of awe, unease, and bewilderment. The dialogue between the Crown Prince and the Nexus operative had been a deluge of revelations, each one threatening to upend the fragile foundations of human civilization. The God's Tomb, the Lone Light, consciousness transfer—secrets that could reshape the galaxy had been laid bare, leaving the onlookers reeling. Yet it was Bai Sha's method that struck them most: a bloodless dissection of Qiu Zha's psyche, executed with a precision that felt almost inhuman.
"She has a rare acuity," murmured a Han clan elder, his brow furrowed in thought. "She knows how to wield a person's heart as a weapon. Her approach is forceful, yet she neutralizes resistance with uncanny finesse. The balance she strikes… it's too mature for her age."
"It's not just psychology—it's an information war," added a Military Intelligence officer, his tone tinged with curiosity. "Her confidence stems from her knowledge. Qiu Zha believed she was omniscient, even omnipotent. That's why he crumbled."
The officer's words hung in the air, unspoken questions swirling. How did Bai Sha know more than Qiu Zha? Their exchange had been cryptic, laden with references that baffled the observers. Qiu Zha's descent from arrogance to despair was fueled by Bai Sha's command of truths he couldn't fathom, truths that seemed to predate his own allegiance to the Nexus.
As Bai Sha emerged from the interrogation chamber, the officer approached, his expression a mix of gratitude and intrigue. Thanks to her, a thorny problem had been resolved.
"His psychological defenses are on the verge of collapse," Bai Sha said, her voice calm and measured. "Apply a little more pressure, and he'll spill everything."
Her strategy had been ruthless yet elegant. She'd dismantled Qiu Zha's identity, denying his significance to the Nexus, his ideology, and the worth of his years of service. By framing him as a deluded pawn—laboring for a lie—she'd planted seeds of regret. That regret had coaxed him into cooperating, only for Bai Sha to betray his trust, seizing the intelligence she needed and leaving him powerless. Now, the initiative lay with the Empire.
The Military Intelligence team saw Qiu Zha's lingering value; they could extract more. But Bai Sha's genius lay in making him feel worthless. If he clung to survival, he'd bend to their will. If he gave up, their arsenal of untested methods—neural probes, psychoactive drugs—awaited.
"Thank you for stepping in, Your Highness," the officer said, a smile masking his probing intent. "May I ask about your sources? After this, Military Intelligence feels… outpaced."
A polite request for her intelligence channels, veiled as humility.
"My sources are my own," Bai Sha replied, her tone ambiguous. Without another word, she turned and left, her silhouette vanishing down the corridor.
The interrogation briefing concluded, and the focus shifted to the God's Tomb and the Lone Light. Emperor Cecil Ronin, seated at the head of the war room, his presence a quiet storm, issued directives with surgical precision. "The starphage worm's ability to neutralize the virus is our immediate priority. Medical trials begin at once to develop a perfect countermeasure."
The urgency was palpable—countless military academy students, struck by the Nergal virus, lay comatose in hospitals, their lives hanging by a thread.
"The God's Tomb exploration must be planned, but not rushed," said Wei Li, the Emperor's chief advisor, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. His gentle features belied a glint of steel in his eyes. "We have its coordinates and know it's saturated with the virus. Even if we overcome that hurdle, traps likely await. We need experts in relic archaeology. I'll oversee their recruitment."
"I request to join the Tomb expedition," Bai Sha interjected, her voice firm. "I'm resistant to the virus."
Cecil's gaze flicked to her, sharp and unyielding. "Personnel decisions are deferred. Next agenda: locating the Lone Light."
The room fell silent, a collective breath held. If the virus and Tomb were daunting but tangible, the Lone Light was a specter—elusive, almost mythical. Newer clans, unfamiliar with its legend, exchanged puzzled glances. The Sea Kind, who piloted the Lone Light, had severed ties with the galaxy before the Empire's founding, their technology rendering them untraceable. Their ancestral code forbade close contact with outsiders, and even their rare exchanges with the Imperial throne were shrouded in secrecy. Pinpointing their ship was a near-impossible task.
All eyes turned to Bai Sha. Her fragmented memories suggested she'd lived aboard the Lone Light. If she couldn't find it, who could?
"The Unbound City's anchor point is on the Lone Light," Cecil said, his gaze lingering on Bai Sha. "We must assume the ship is compromised—enslaved or sacrificed in the Nexus's war. By my authority, I unseal all records of Lone Light communications. Experts from all factions are to analyze them. However faint the hope, we need more leads."
The meeting dispersed, and Bai Sha followed Cecil back to Youdu Star. The journey was silent, the weight of their shared knowledge a barrier between them. Only when they disembarked did Bai Sha speak, her voice low but resolute. "Uncle, I need a private word. In your study. Just us."
Cecil nodded, leading her to the study—a sanctum of dark wood and holo-screens, its air thick with the scent of aged leather and faint ozone. Bai Sha closed the door, took a breath, and laid bare her truth: her identity, her encounters with the Nexus, the memories that might not be hers. Cecil listened, his brow furrowing deeper with each word, but he didn't interrupt, not until she finished, her head bowed as if awaiting judgment.
"What's with that condemned-prisoner look?" Cecil said, his tone gruff.
Bai Sha blinked. "That's all you've got to say?"
Cecil sighed, leaning back. "When I saw your mech prowess, I thought the Ronin genes had birthed a prodigy. Now I see the root. So, you're not just a young adult. Your 'past life' memories—how old were you?"
Bai Sha gave a number.
"Fine," Cecil said, sitting. "If we're roughly peers, this'll be easier."
Bai Sha stared, incredulous. She saw through his nonchalance—his mind was reeling. His niece, a former Beacon researcher? A living relic?
"No need to force yourself to accept this," she said, her tone earnest. "If 'uncle' feels wrong, we can stick to lord and subject. Call me Bai Sha, and I'll call you Majesty. As for the Crown Prince title, we can revisit it after we find the Lone Light and unravel the past."
"Why would I doubt your identity?" Cecil's eyes locked onto hers. "Your genes are undeniable, your psychic familiar unmistakable. The Nexus may have tampered with your memories, but your past life is gone. This life—your experiences here—aren't they real?"
Bai Sha faltered, caught off guard.
"I didn't think that," she murmured.
"Then stop doubting me, and stop doubting yourself," Cecil said, his gaze stern. "You call me Uncle. Clear?"
"…Okay," Bai Sha said, her tone half-hearted.
"That's a lousy attitude," Cecil snapped.
Bai Sha grinned. "Uncle, in moments like this, you're supposed to use warmth and love to guide me, make me feel family. Not growl threats. No wonder everyone's scared of you."
Cecil snorted. "I'm being plenty gentle. If Xipes were here, she'd smack you until you figured it out."
"No way," Bai Sha shot back. "She loved me most. You're talking about yourself."
Cecil froze, then rapped her head lightly. "You said you barely remember!"
"Useless fragments," Bai Sha said, rubbing her head. "Daily moments, nothing more. Nothing about finding the Lone Light—unless it comes to us." She paused, an idea sparking. "Could we trace the Unbound City's data to its physical anchor?"
"Good thought, low feasibility," Cecil said. "The City's data is too diffuse."
"I've been wondering why the Sea Kind shun contact," Bai Sha said, her mind drifting to hazy memories. "They're not so different from Feather or Beast Kinds—appearance, customs. Blending into the Empire should've been easy. They're insular, but not extreme. They accepted Xipes, a retired Crown Prince with a trail of legends and baggage. If they took her in…"
There was another reason for their isolation.
"And Xipes," Bai Sha continued, "disappearing after losing her psychic familiar, without explanation—it's odd. Her report on the science ship disaster mentioned the virus, Salmer Greiz, but not Qiu Zha or the Tomb. The Tomb's coordinates were new to us. It's like she wanted the trail to end."
Bai Sha's eyes narrowed, and she grabbed Cecil's hand. "Uncle, the Lone Light's communication records—show me everything."
Startled but compliant, Cecil accessed the archives with his authority, pulling unredacted files. Most were routine exchanges, occurring every few decades or centuries. Imperial tech could estimate the Lone Light's star sector during transmissions, and later, signal analysis gauged its distance—though useless, as the ship constantly altered its course. Non-interference was their ancestral pact.
Bai Sha dove into the data, calculating the Lone Light's positions over time. The task was immense, so she wrote a program to assist, her fingers flying over the holo-interface. Cecil waited, patient, as hours ticked by.
Three hours later, she imported the results into a star chart. Dots and dashed lines sprawled across it, color-coded by year. She marked the God's Tomb's coordinates with a vivid red point.
They stared, silent.
The Lone Light's orbits shifted endlessly, but one pattern held: it always passed near the Tomb, as if circling a cosmic anchor.
"I think I know why the Sea Kind avoid us," Bai Sha said softly. "They're guardians, patrolling the Tomb, but they can't reveal its location. They fear an Emperor with the Ronin 'resonance'—our unique psychic gift—could be seduced by the Nexus, endangering the Aresians."
The Sea Kind dreaded a repeat of the Silver Empire's fall, when the Nexus enslaved humanity. The Ronin resonance was potent but perilous. Their hope was to keep the Ronins ignorant of the Tomb forever.
Xipes's silence likely served this purpose. Her acceptance by the Sea Kind was simple: without her psychic familiar, she lacked the resonance.
Her disappearance, too, stemmed from this.
Bai Sha and Cecil exchanged glances, the truth dawning. Their expressions mirrored their turmoil.
"What're you thinking?" Bai Sha asked.
Cecil smirked coldly. "I want to blow the Tomb and the Lone Light to dust."
Bai Sha sighed. "I'm wondering if this is fate. Blessings in disguise. If Xipes hadn't lost her familiar, she'd never have found love, boarded the Lone Light, or had me."
Cecil was quiet, then said, "It proves she wasn't broken then. The universe left her something good."
"Can we predict the Lone Light's position from these orbits?" Bai Sha asked, eyeing the chart.
"If the Nexus controls it, its path's unpredictable," Cecil said.
"My stasis pod," Bai Sha said suddenly. "I woke on Lanslow Star. Teacher Holman said he found me in a junkyard, but I must've come from a pod. It's probably gone by now…"
"We'll look," Cecil said. "Sea Kind tech stands out, even in scrap. Any lead matters, especially before war with the Federation."
Bai Sha frowned. "War's inevitable?"
"If we can't avoid it," Cecil said grimly.
Peace, hard-won, teetered on the brink.
Bai Sha returned to her palace, her mind heavy. Cecil had urged her to rest, suggesting she tinker with her mech to ease her worries. As she entered the grand hall, Ya Ning and Jingyi looked up, each cradling a cat, their fingers buried in fur as if to soothe their own anxieties. Their presence was covert, so they'd taken residence with her.
"Join us?" Jingyi said, lifting a cat's paw to wave.
Bai Sha hesitated, then sat, scooping up a purring feline. The cats, in their shedding season, left fur everywhere. A few, plagued by seasonal digestive issues, had diarrhea—an absurd problem for a starfaring era.
"Cats are angels when they're not sick," Jingyi said, eyeing her cat's rear warily. The cat flicked its fluffy tail, innocent. "But yesterday's mess made me consider a holographic pet."
Virtual pets—projected or robotic—existed, but Bai Sha found them soulless compared to the real thing.
Fur piled up, enough for two large balls, before Bai Sha paused, her stress eased. "I want to visit my classmates," she said quietly. "Some are still comatose."
Cen Yuehuai and Xino, hit hardest by the virus, lingered in limbo. Cen Haiyun, Yuehuai's sister, had told Bai Sha their conditions were unstable, with little hope until a cure was found.
"Go," Jingyi said, patting her shoulder. "You've avoided it long enough. Seeing them will help."
Bai Sha nodded.
The infected were housed in an isolation sanatorium—the same one Bai Sha had once occupied. Entry required rigorous checks and protective gear. She complied, donning a suit and oxygen mask, and stepped into the ward.
She visited Cen Yuehuai first.
Yuehuai lay still, eyes closed, her face pale but not gaunt. Yet her expression was troubled, brows knit—a stark contrast to her usual carefree demeanor. Bai Sha had never seen her so fragile, her optimism dimmed. Instinctively, she reached out, her gloved finger brushing Yuehuai's brow to smooth the tension.
The contact revealed chaos. Yuehuai's mental energy was a storm, laced with a sinister presence—like venom seeping from a dragon's fang, eroding the world's roots. Compared to Salmer Greiz's eerie stability, Yuehuai's mind was a battlefield.
Bai Sha recalled her clash with Salmer. His mental state had been unnaturally steady, bolstered by starphage worms. Could they truly devour the virus?
On impulse, Bai Sha's lips tightened, her fingertip glowing with gray light, forming a faint vortex. To consume the virus risked siphoning Yuehuai's mental energy, but Bai Sha was precise, patient.
Black wisps rose from Yuehuai's brow—the virus, fleeing detection. Bai Sha's vortex ensnared them, shredding the tendrils. Yuehuai's expression eased, her brow smoothing, while Bai Sha felt only a faint hunger, as if tasting an appetizer. The virus was a garnish; mental energy, the main course.
She watched Yuehuai's face, then the monitors. No change.
Bai Sha sighed, disappointed. Then, a faint voice, barely audible, rasped from the bed: "Your Highness… am I dreaming?"
Yuehuai's eyes fluttered open, weak but aware.
Bai Sha froze, her heart lurching. "Yuehuai?" she whispered, leaning closer, her mask fogging slightly. "You're awake. You're not dreaming."
Yuehuai's gaze was hazy, her breathing shallow. "Feels… like a dream. You're here…"
"Don't talk," Bai Sha said, her voice gentle but firm. She pressed a call button, summoning a medic. "You've been out for a while. Rest."
A medic rushed in, scanning Yuehuai's vitals. "She's stabilizing," he said, astonished. "Her mental fluctuations are calming. What did you do?"
"Nothing much," Bai Sha said, evasive. "Just… checked on her."
The medic frowned but didn't press, adjusting Yuehuai's IV. Bai Sha stepped back, her mind racing. The vortex had worked, purging some of the virus, but it wasn't a cure—just a reprieve. Yuehuai's awakening was a miracle, but others, like Xino, might not be so lucky.
She visited Xino next. His condition was graver, his face gaunt, his breathing labored. The virus's taint was thicker, a miasma in his mental field. Bai Sha tried the vortex again, but the black wisps were stubborn, resisting her pull. She stopped, unwilling to risk his fragile mind.
Back in the sanatorium's sterile corridor, she removed her mask, the air cool against her face. Yuehuai's voice echoed in her mind, a fragile thread of hope. The starphage worms, her own strange ability—there were answers, but they demanded sacrifice.
Her optic pinged: a message from Kaixin. Tomb team forming. Need your input on worm trials.
She typed back: On my way. Yuehuai's awake—virus partially cleared. We're close.
The palace awaited, its halls a stark contrast to the ward's antiseptic chill. Bai Sha's steps were steady, but her heart was heavy. The Nexus's shadow loomed, its plans unfurling like a predator's claws. Yuehuai's awakening was a victory, but the war was far from won.