Chapter 23

  The art of receiving

  The end of the month arrived—and with it, the day of the debate.

  Today, Senator Solana Mayer would face off against Jaje Neima in a confrontation broadcast across every television channel. After the events at the laboratory, Aaronn had played the recording for his team and for Niel, the senator’s deputy. Niel had judged it insufficient to discredit Neima. They needed tangible, irrefutable proof—evidence no one could dismiss as falsified.

  That was the objective of Aaronn and Lunamilla’s mission today.

  Though Senator Neima governed the northeastern city of Ombrea, the domina shipment was scheduled for delivery to Ornéa.

  Niel had assumed such cargo could only remain in trusted hands—and the people closest to Neima were currently in Ornéa for the elections.

  Aaronn and Lunamilla crouched atop the roof of a convenience store not far from the entrance to Neima’s laboratory.

  “Are we sure the delivery’s happening today?” Lunamilla asked, uncertainty threading her voice.

  “It’s delivery day from Eile?n,” Aaronn replied. “Niel confirmed it himself. Everything will go smoothly.”

  “R-right.”

  Her expression betrayed her nerves. She was taking this mission a little too much to heart for Aaronn’s liking.

  “Relax,” he said gently. “You wanted to come. Stay calm.”

  “I am!” she shot back. “Well… almost. It’s just the pressure of waiting. The debate’s about to start. If Solana wins, her chances of becoming Chief Senator increase—and the resistance benefits.”

  “I hope so…”

  A small flying cargo truck descended toward the laboratory entrance. The delivery driver stepped out and rang the bell.

  “There’s Eile?n’s golden emblem on the truck,” Aaronn murmured. “This might be it.”

  The driver soon returned to his vehicle after obtaining a signature from the man who had opened the door. The man was young, dressed in a black suit, long dark hair tied in a ponytail.

  “You know him?” Lunamilla asked.

  “Yes. Ruand Dame—Neima’s head of security. I was supposed to replace him at the Senate chamber today.”

  Aaronn could afford it. After the debate, there would be little use maintaining his position. Once it ended, it would be nearly impossible to leverage evidence against Neima under Eile?n’s protection. Their best move was to expose everything live during the debate—to sway the voters directly.

  Several crates were stacked by the entrance. Ruand and newly arrived guards carried them inside.

  “Got the camera?” Aaronn asked.

  “Yes, it’s in my pouch. If there’s amarite in those crates… do we take it too?”

  “No,” he answered firmly. “We don’t steal.”

  Lunamilla still didn’t understand how he intended to recover the amarite they needed.

  She handed him a navy cloak before slipping one over her own shoulders.

  “They’re heading to the basement,” Aaronn said, tracking their presence. “Taking the elevator down.”

  “There must be another room,” she replied, removing a compact live-stream camera from her pouch.

  The device could broadcast in real time. Once they uncovered the shipment’s contents, they would signal Niel, who would stream the footage—after a short delay—into the debate hall.

  “Good. Film the building clearly. We’re going to the roof.”

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  Suddenly, darkness fell.

  “What—? What’s happening?”

  He looked up. A massive landform drifted slowly westward overhead.

  “Don’t panic,” Lunamilla said with a soft laugh. “It’s Eile?n. It passes above Ornéa once a month. In about an hour, it’ll have crossed the city.”

  “Oh… That’s impressive.”

  Now he understood the delivery schedule. Streetlamps flickered to life below.

  “We’ll move more discreetly this way.”

  His flying board materialized before them. He stepped onto it and extended his hand. Lunamilla hesitated, cheeks warming, but accepted his help.

  “Hold on. It might get rough,” he warned, pulling her into his arms.

  She nestled against him. It was the second time he’d held her—but this time she felt his warmth, caught his scent, let it seep into her senses.

  A blue flame burst from the rear of the board, launching them forward. They skimmed low along the ground, darting through alleyways. After circling the laboratory, their trajectory curved upward along its wall. They landed on the roof; the board dematerialized.

  “Follow me.”

  They ran to the stairwell door. Lights flickered on automatically. Down they went—flight after flight—until a pass-locked door blocked their way.

  “How do we get through?” Lunamilla asked.

  “Leave it to me. I’ve seen Neima’s pass enough times this month.”

  He mimed holding a card; the senator’s pass gradually materialized between his fingers. He swiped it across the reader. A green light flashed. The lock clicked open.

  “Quick.”

  Another staircase awaited them. They descended for a full minute before reaching a large door.

  “Stop,” Aaronn whispered. “You filming?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “They’re inside.”

  A mask formed over his face.

  “I’ll go in. Enter when I signal you. Understood?”

  She nodded.

  Aaronn pushed through the door into a vast chamber. The ceiling soared high above. His entrance echoed.

  Five guards near the exit instantly drew their weapons.

  “Who are you!?” Ruand shouted. “How did you get in?”

  They stood before a structure Aaronn had never seen there before.

  At the center of the chamber, colossal metallic rings revolved slowly around a radiant core. The construct floated in midair like a captive star.

  One guard reached for his communicator.

  Aaronn reacted instantly.

  He surged forward. Bullets whistled past him, missing as he closed the distance.

  Ruand threw a punch. Aaronn countered into his solar plexus. Ruand staggered and collapsed unconscious.

  Aaronn materialized a metal sphere and hurled it into another guard’s diaphragm. He fell.

  A spinning kick dropped the third.

  The remaining two riddled him with bullets—none effective. Terror bloomed across their faces as the rounds slipped from his body.

  “Who are you!?” one cried.

  “A man of virtue.”

  Aaronn wrenched the weapon from the guard’s grip, struck him unconscious, and hurled him into the last man standing.

  He retrieved Lunamilla, and together they approached the rings.

  “What is that?” Aaronn asked.

  “It looks like a fusion machine. But not quite.”

  Metallic walls interlocked around them. Glass niches lined the perimeter, displaying objects like museum pieces.

  He approached one.

  Domina combined with molten amarite. 1,100°C. Progressive integration attempt under high-temperature protection.

  Behind the glass lay half a domina—charred black.

  “I found the crates,” Lunamilla called.

  They sat beneath bright desk lamps, surrounded by research notes.

  “Locked,” she said. “We’ll need a bolt cutter.”

  Aaronn summoned a sword and shattered the padlock in a single motion. The blade vanished.

  Inside: multiple cases of raw amarite.

  They opened the rest—until they found one filled with roughly ten dominas.

  “Film everything,” Aaronn said. “Then we leave.”

  “You sure we don’t take the amarite?” she asked softly. “There’s at least fifty kilos. We’d recover what we lost.”

  He didn’t want to steal it—and fifty kilos still wouldn’t complete their mission.

  “Set the crates on the back desks,” a voice echoed from the entrance.

  They spun around.

  Five guards entered.

  “Who are you!?” demanded the foremost.

  Aaronn recognized Ruand’s voice—and the shadowed aura of ghost mercenaries.

  “Again…” he muttered. “I’ll handle them. Stay back.”

  A shadow dropped from the ceiling.

  In seconds, the guards were neutralized.

  Aaronn recognized the movements—his own.

  The ghost mercenary from before.

  The figure stiffened, seized by spasms—then regained composure.

  “Honestly, Aaronn… you’re making this difficult,” the mercenary said, turning.

  “A-Aaronn… that’s you,” Lunamilla whispered, eyes wide.

  “Who are you!?” Aaronn demanded.

  The mercenary ignored him, materialized a sword, shattered the crate locks, and withdrew large cylindrical capsules. A viscous blue liquid churned inside.

  There were dozens—far more than expected.

  “So many…” Lunamilla breathed. “More than we need. I don’t understand. Where did these come from?”

  “I don’t know…” Aaronn murmured, stepping closer.

  “I’m your ally,” the mercenary said. “I want to help you complete your mission.”

  “Why would we believe you? You attacked Senator Neima.”

  “I was helping you earn his trust. My power is… difficult to control.”

  “Then show yourself in person.”

  “The resistance must remain discreet. Perhaps if I give you the name of the one who sent me…”

  “Who?” Lunamilla demanded.

  “Anastasia Castus.”

  Anastasia Castus? Daughter of King Julius Castus?

  Aaronn glanced at Lunamilla—her face frozen.

  Impossible.

  “Anastasia is part of the resistance?” he asked.

  “O… yes,” Lunamilla answered faintly. “She’s my sister.”

  A satisfied smile flickered across the mercenary’s face—gone before Aaronn turned back.

  “I can’t stay,” the mercenary said. “Make your choice quickly, Aaronn.”

  He dissolved into air. The crates on the floor vanished with him.

  Despite the revelations, Aaronn remained unconvinced—but he accepted the offering.

  With a gesture, he summoned water and splashed it over the capsules.

  “We’re taking these,” he said. “Water stabilizes them.”