The crescent Moon hung like a blade, its pale reflection slicing through the void.

  Suspended in the endless dark, Luna watched in silence—its empire thriving beneath the cold light of a distant sun.

  A voice carried through the shadows, steady and unshaken, mirroring Luna’s eternal ascent—hidden behind veils of power and secrecy.

  "For the honor of my title, the Crescent Quill, I, Nerae, hereby declare that I shall secure the exclusive for the Academy's newsletter!"

  She strode forward, her path clear.

  The Lunar Intelligence Directorate (LID)—headquarters of the Imperial Defense Force's intelligence division—was her first destination. If there were answers, they would be buried there.

  Her mind whirred, piecing together scattered whispers and fleeting gossip from the Academy halls.

  "I can’t help but wonder... has the LID uncovered more about the Children of the Hollow?"

  That name eclipsed all others.

  The Children of Hollow Crescent—a ghostly insurgency whose reputation sliced through history like the crescent arc of a scythe.

  Their name carried weight, whispered in hushed tones, laced with fear and defiance.

  They were called terrorists. Revolutionaries. Shadows in waiting.

  Nerae frowned, gripping the straps of her bag tighter.

  The Children seek to bring chaos to the Empire.

  Her pace quickened, the metallic clang of her boots echoing through the corridor.

  The Academy's history classes spoke of them as messengers of destruction, devoted to one goal—the downfall of Luna’s rule, beginning at Shackleton Crater itself.

  "The Children will set fire to the imperial shackles forged in the South Pole."

  But Nerae wasn't satisfied with what they taught.

  The stories never asked why.

  Was it revenge? Justice?

  Or something far darker?

  "The Children's purpose... to share the Hollow with the void."

  The thought sent a tingle down her spine.

  She needed the truth to be set free.

  Pulling her coat closer, Nerae hummed softly—a habit of comfort. A tune her big sister used to sing.

  A song not found in any textbook.

  A nursery rhyme.

  One that spoke of the Hollow.

  Her voice, barely above a whisper, wove through the silence.

  “Children of the Hollow. Children of the Hollow.

  Where did you go?”

  The melody drifted like a specter through the empty corridor.

  “Children of the Hollow.

  Through the winding valleys,

  Children, where did you go?”

  She swallowed, the taste of old fears lingering.

  “Children of the Hollow.

  Did you go where the moonlight glows?”

  The shadows seemed to stretch, drawn by something unseen.

  “Hidden in the shadows,

  Beneath the drip of tear,

  Wept from willow’s sway,

  Whispered starlight, dancing till the day.”

  The void swallowed the sound.

  "Children of the Hollow. Children of the Hollow.

  What do you see?"

  The song clung to the air, unanswered.

  "Blood that drifts like rivers,

  Flowing wild and free."

  The air stood still, expectant.

  "Guardians of secrets,

  Where the echoes stay,

  Singing songs of wonder,

  As the world fades away."

  Her voice caught, barely breathing the last line.

  “Children of Hollow Crescent… don’t come this way.”

  Silence swallowed the echoes.

  Nerae exhaled, steadying her nerves.

  The past wasn’t just history. It was waiting.

  And she was about to unveil its deepest secret.

  ☉☉☉

  "Earth. So small. So fragile."

  Hard to believe that tiny blue speck once held the entirety of human ambition.

  Nerae's steps slowed slightly, momentarily outpaced by her reflections.

  Ahead, the Lunar Intelligence Directorate (LID) loomed—a monolithic silhouette, its surface glittering like a distant stars against the void. A fortress untouched by the turmoil of those left peering skyward from Luna's intricate web.

  It was a place where secrets were guarded, information was currency, and intrusions were impossibilities.

  Every approach was meticulously monitored.

  No one entered unnoticed.

  Drones hovered, unseen. Their silent patrols never faltered, their sensors drinking in every motion.

  Quantum displacement mapping scanned the very air. If you moved, the system knew. If you breathed wrong, it adjusted.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Neural signatures were logged before a person even arrived. The moment you stepped too close, you were already identified.

  The AI saw all.

  It read micro-expressions. It heard lies before they were spoken.

  No alarms. No guards. Just cold, calculating precision.

  No one broke in. No one walked out unseen.

  No one—except Nerae.

  She never slowed. Never hesitated.

  The drones never saw her. The sensors didn’t register her footsteps. As she passed, the automated gate blinked green, recognizing an identity that wasn’t hers.

  To any observer, she was just another authorized officer, going about her duties. But she wasn’t.

  And by the time she was done, neither was their security system.

  She was inside, unseen. And somewhere within these walls, the Empire was already reeling from something far bigger than they could contain.

  ☉☉☉

  Inside the cold, clinical core of the LID, screens flared to life, their glow casting sharp shadows over the tense faces gathered around them.

  Urgent reports streamed across the consoles, tactical data flickering too fast for the untrained eye.

  A storm had hit the Empire, and the damage was undeniable.

  "A Razor?"

  The words slashed through the low murmurs.

  At the center of the war room, intelligence officers stood rigid, their gazes fixed on grainy battlefield footage—a prototype Titan dancing through the chaos, carving through Lunar Titans.

  A senior officer, cold and methodical, watched in silence. His hands clasped behind his back, his sharp gaze dissecting every movement.

  A mercenary unit shouldn’t be capable of this.

  "How many units did we lose?"

  "Are these reports verified?"

  "A training model outmatched our newest Titans—how?"

  The war room was thick with disbelief, but beneath it, a deeper, quieter emotion burned—fear.

  This wasn’t just a defeat.

  It was humiliation.

  The senior officer’s voice cut through the surrounding chaos, his tone as sharp as the intelligence he commanded.

  "Contact House Valis. They will want to see this."

  A ripple of action followed—orders given, protocols engaged.

  The mysterious assault by the Razor wouldn’t just be investigated. It would be eradicated from Lunar memory.

  Down the hall, Nerae moved unnoticed, her steps silent as whispers. The weight of urgency pressed into the air—something had happened, and she intended to find out what.

  Her position at the Academy gave her limited access, but her real talent lay in slipping in unescorted.

  A quick change in hairstyle, a pair of glasses—suddenly, I’m just another forgettable Imperial worker bee.

  But the real key wasn’t the look.

  It was the voice.

  She could be anyone, sound like anyone—discarding a mask in an instant, slipping into the next identity without a trace.

  Here, she wasn’t a name or a face—just a shadow slipping between truths.

  An electric charge pulsed through the air, invisible yet tangible.

  Something significant had happened.

  She didn’t need to be told—she could feel it.

  The corridors buzzed with urgency, voices hushed but hurried, rippling in clipped exchanges. Speculation churned beneath the surface.

  Her sharp eyes scanned the war room displays. Glowing monitors. Strained expressions. Clipped conversations.

  One name surfaced above the chaos.

  "Razor."

  She couldn’t catch the full exchange, but the weight in their voices left no doubt—this was worth looking into.

  Her pulse quickened.

  She slipped further into the commotion, blending into the storm.

  And she would find the eye of it.

  The war room continued to pulse with frantic energy—rushed orders, scrambled responses, silent stares glued to the flickering footage of the Razor dismantling Lunar Titans with impossible precision.

  Nerae’s fingers ghosted over a nearby console as she siphoned key data, her presence unnoticed amidst the controlled chaos.

  A Titan pilot who defied Luna’s war machines.

  A Razor unit—a prototype—it wasn’t just the Titan. It was the pilot.

  Whoever they were, they weren’t normal.

  Nerae’s mind raced through possibilities.

  This could be the result of more human experiments?

  Somewhere in the fragmented data, she found her first real clue—audio transcripts recovered from the mercenary group's transmissions.

  She adjusted the frequency. Voices filtered through the static.

  "Unidentified enemy Titan... impossible mobility..."

  "Razor has engaged the enemy. Repeat—Razor has engaged the enemy."

  A pause. A new voice. One Nerae recognized all too well.

  "Lyric, have your squad back up the Razor."

  That was all she needed to hear.

  Nerae turned, her breath steady as she slipped the recovered data onto a small encrypted drive. She had hoped to get info on Hollow Crescent, but stumbled into something better.

  And now, it was time to move.

  Nerae slipped from the war room as effortlessly as she had entered, retracing her steps with the same effortless fluidity. Her presence dissolved into the background, unnoticed amid the flurry of officers and flashing data streams.

  A few minutes later, she reached the automated checkpoint. The scanner blinked green—confirmation. The system still recognized her as someone she wasn’t.

  The moment she crossed the threshold, she discarded the identity entirely—not out of necessity, but because Nerae refused to carry the look of an imperial worker bee any longer than she had to.

  As far as the LID was concerned, she had never been there. Just a ghost slipping through security, leaving nothing behind.

  She retrieved a small, inconspicuous comm device.

  The moment she activated it, a low chime confirmed a secured frequency.

  Sibyl's voice came through immediately. He was already expecting her.

  "You’ve gathered something worthwhile, Veil?"

  No pleasantries. Straight to the point.

  It didn't bother Nerae, she smirked, tapping the encrypted drive against her palm.

  "Nothing on Cronus, but there was something on Earth that has the IDF in an uproar."

  "Good, then you're already aware of Gaia and the mystery pilot."

  She murmured, almost with quiet appreciation, "Why am I not surprised?"

  A brief silence.

  Then, Sibyl spoke again, voice calm but edged with the decision.

  "Find the pilot. Investigate further. If this ‘Razor’ is truly an anomaly, I want to know why."

  She frowned slightly, shifting her weight. "You really think this pilot is that important?"

  "Veil," Sibyl said smoothly, "we don’t waste resources. You know what that means."

  She did know.

  He saw something.

  Sibyl only gave her direct orders when the stakes demanded it.

  And this? This was more than just an anomaly in his mind.

  "I assume Cipher already knows."

  "He does."

  Of course.

  "And let me guess, he's still annoying?"

  "He's coping, Sibyl corrected. "I will have him send you the info, and the latest intel on Cronus."

  Nerae sighed, rolling her shoulders. "Fine. I’ll track down the pilot. But when I find them, what’s the play?"

  Sibyl’s next words sent a quiet thrill through her.

  "Observe. Test. And if necessary—recruit."

  A slow grin spread across her lips.

  "Understood. I’ll be in touch."

  She ended the transmission, disposing of the device in a nearby trash bin.

  Her next move was clear.

  The Razor pilot was out there.

  And now, Veil was on the hunt.

  ☉☉☉

  The chamber doors sealed with a quiet finality, the sound swallowed by the grand expanse of House Valis' council hall.

  Twelve figures stood gathered—each a high-ranking noble from the Valis bloodline, dressed in dark imperial tunics lined with silver trim. Their expressions were a mixture of restrained fury, simmering pride, and quiet calculation.

  At the center, seated at the highest chair, was High Marshal Adrastus Valis, the supreme commander of the Imperial Defense Force. His status and authority were only second to the Emperors in the Empire.

  His gaze was cold. His silence heavier than the air.

  Before him, the footage played in looping, flckering detail—the Razor unit, an outdated prototype, cutting through IDF Titans with movements too fast, too precise.

  A disgrace.

  A stain on House Valis' honor—one they could not ignore.

  "Enough."

  The footage cut to black, but the tension in the room did not fade.

  Adrastus leaned forward, fingers interlocked, his icy stare cutting through the assembled nobles.

  "Explain this."

  A murmur passed between them, uncertain, hesitant—until Lord Varkos Valis stepped forward.

  "An aberration, High Marshal. A fluke. These were not our elite forces but a collection of roughians with no noble background. Mere commoners that were lucky enough to serve alongside our forces." His voice was edged with frustration. "We—"

  "Silence!" Adrastus' voice was stern, lurking like a storm. "I did not ask for excuses."

  "We are Valis. Our forces, noble or not, do not lose to mercenaries and relics."

  A tense silence followed.

  Then, another voice—Lady Velyss Valis, sharp and refined, her expression untouched by doubt.

  "We must consider the implications, High Marshal. If one pilot can do this, what of the rest of our enemies? What of Mars? The Belt?"

  A ripple of agreement moved through the chamber.

  "The Emperor has neglected the Belt for too long." One of the younger nobles scoffed. "Even those still on Earth dare to challenge us now."

  A few nodded, but another voice cut in—a veteran general of the Valis legions.

  "House Praetor will no doubt be watching closely." His tone was cautious. "They have been waiting for an excuse to challenge our command over the IDF. This Razor pilot may have given them the leverage they need."

  The words sparked a brief flicker of unease among some of the nobles. House Praetor—the empire’s enforcers, responsible for Luna’s internal security and military police—were their chief rivals. They lacked Valis' military prestige, but they had the Emperor’s trust.

  If House Praetor saw this as weakness, they would use it.

  Adrastus' fingers drummed against the armrest. "House Praetor cannot even handle a few Children scurrying through the cracks of our empire. They will not lecture us on warfare."

  The matter was closed.

  "Then what course of action do you propose, High Marshal?" Lord Varkos pressed, watching Adrastus carefully.

  The High Marshal of House Valis rose from his seat, his silhouette stark against the grand banners of Luna’s military supremacy.

  "The pilot of the Razor will answer for his disrespect."

  His voice carried absolute certainty.

  "I want him brought before me. Alive."

  A finality settled over the chamber, an unspoken decree woven into the air.

  One pilot. One Razor. One disgrace that would be erased from history.

  And House Valis would ensure it.