The training hall for the specialist selection within the rank of the Knights and Knight-aspirants, those who might be selected to pilot the new Subjugator-class, all ten of them, was currently gathering into one group, going through their latest tests. Lucca stood with his arms behind his back, his posture straight, uniform immaculate, his presence constantly weighing down on the candidates, using his magic to keep them under pressure as part of their training. They started with fifty of them and by now... only ten remained. And today, he wasn't alone, as another man was accompanying him. Kiva leaned against the railing close by, looking more relaxed but no less focused. A decade ago, neither of them could have imagined standing here together again, at least, not like this, evaluating the minds of the next generation.

"..." Lucca gave Kiva a glance, asking without speaking, “You remember what we’re looking for?”

"Of course," Kiva nodded his head, just barely, “I will go easy on them at first.”

The reason Kiva was here now was simple: it was his new order after re-enlisting. Although his experience differed from Lucca's, it was on par with his, being his brother, and, in this regard, he was even better suited to test the minds of the selected few. Looking over the young men and women, he activated his spell, already etched under their tables, immediately plunging all ten of them into an illusion that he could regulate. As long as they remained seated...

As for what was really happening to them, it varied from person to person, as the spell was originally used to draw out all the hidden information from Pascal's enemies, playing with their minds. It drilled into their thoughts and preyed on their fears, not only amplifying them but also materializing them right before their eyes. It didn't take long, only a few minutes, until one of them suddenly pushed his chair back, unable to take it anymore, gasping for air, sweating from whatever he was seeing.

“Mark him as standard Knight material. That was too quick.” Kiva said calmly, while Lucca had already marked it in his notebook, “I am going to raise the intensity....”

In the end, more of them moved, breaking the illusion and freeing them, causing another two to be ejected from the program, not reaching the minute threshold Lucca had set in his mind for the group. But there was one candidate who had sat through the whole fifteen minutes of the spell, someone who was young, barely sixteen. He was sweating, his lips trembling, but he just pressed them together, keeping his eye open, his arms holding the desk's edges as he took labored breaths, inhaling through his nose, exhaling through his mouth... He was taut and stressed, but he was keeping it together.

"Can you tell what he is seeing?" Lucca asked quietly, watching as Kiva slowly shook his head and gradually dispelled the magic, letting the boy regain his senses.

"No..." Kiva’s brows rose as he answered, “But did you see the breath timing he had? The kid is good... He could keep his mind anchored in reality and tell it that this is nothing but an illusion, no matter what he was seeing.”

"His physical evaluation was only so-so," Lucca hummed as he looked over the group, “As for background, he has nothing special, his father works the train station... Well, his body can be trained, and I like his mind... We will put him on the priority list.”

"Haaah..." Kiva exhaled slowly, shaking his head, “Never thought I’d be using this spell to train people... It was usually to punish those who Ma... Khm. Pascal deemed an eyesore or an opponent.”

“You aren’t using it for punishment this time,” Lucca said, glancing at Kiva, whose eyes were looking into the distant past for a moment, “You’re helping make the people who can survive their future battles. There is a difference, so don't mull on the past too much.”

"I know," He muttered, "I just... I don't think I have dealt with my own past yet. You look like... You did."

"Yes," Lucca nodded immediately, "The last time I used the new mech prototype, the Prydwen, I had a chance to release all that was bottled up. When you get your own... I think you will understand what I mean."

"Maybe." He muttered, finally blinking, and looked at the remaining candidates. "I do hope you are right... It would be nice to finally move on, for real."

...

....

.....

The Eagle’s Nest had arrived at the Pride right after the day the Camelot had left. Rashira stood in the belly of it, waiting for the ramp to lower and step down, meeting with her sister after the winter.

"Excited?" A voice asked, as Brasked walked up next to her, "Our new General here will be your sister, yes?"

"Mhm." Rashira nodded, glancing at the group's Ace, "She was always good at strategizing and coordinating."

"So I heard," He shrugged, "I am more of a free-flowing person myself!"

"You mean, free flying?"

"That too!" Brask laughed, making Rashira shrug as the guy was both annoying yet... good. Be it in battle or in training, the maneuvers he could pull off would make the other pilots, including her, black out. Not that she would try copying him, as Brask was a fighter pilot, while she found it much more appealing to fly the dive bombers. "I wonder what the sky will be around here. Didn't have much to do at the Third Pass this winter."

"I think you will eat your words," Rashira warned him, but Brask just shrugged, feeling the airship shudder as it docked in and the ramps began lowering before them.

"Maybe..." He muttered, squinting against the bright light, "Maybe."

“It's good to see you again,” Seltana said after she met with her sister on the top of the Pride's walls, watching her walk down, feeling warmth in her chest.

“Lieutenant Rashira of the 1st Eagle Dive Squadron, reporting for duty.” Rashira saluted, forming a smile as Seltana returned it before the two briefly hugged. "How are things?"

"Hectic," Seltana shrugged as they began walking, "And not because of the monsters, but because we are getting overcrowded. I'm not speaking of the Vasas; they are well-behaved and follow orders to the letter, but simply, the army that is gathering here is massive, and the Pride is already at full capacity."

"I don't even know where our planes will be..." Rashira added, looking over the wall for the first time, laying eyes on the Vasas and their tamed monsters, which was such a weird and creepy sight to behold.

"With winter over, we will establish a temporary runway before the mountains," Seltana explained. "I heard that the boring machines are also coming today or tomorrow, and we will try and drill into the mountain from this side to create some covered stations for repairs, housing, and whatnot."

"That will be... interesting."

"And haphazard," Seltana added, stopping, leaning against the wall, watching the melting snow around the plains, flowing into the rivers, making them look like they were rampaging. "But we have little to no time."

"Is it that bad? We weren't told much..." Rashira asked, stopping next to her, watching the same scenery.

"Yes, but don't spread it." Her sister nodded, "I saw that... dragon, as they call it. Not even our late father's gauntlets could do anything about it, I think."

"Good thing we don't need it then, hm?"

"I'm glad you see it that way!" Seltana chuckled, shaking her head, tucking her long hair behind her ears, "Yeah. We won't need any fancy artifacts. We will do it our way... Just be careful when you fly... The winds here are sometimes unpredictable."

"Don't worry," Rashira reached out, holding her shoulder, gently squeezing it, "Believe it or not... flying is not as hard as I thought it would be."

...

....

.....

In a nice, modest home near the Sovereign's Square, Pion sat with his feet up, savoring a cup of tea while Matilda kneaded dough beside him. The previously luxurious countess, who usually held a half-empty wine bottle in her hands by noon, was now dressed in simple clothes, an apron, her hair tied up in a bun, while the house smelled of bread and sweet-smelling spices. Everything was... warm, comforting, and more satisfying than Matilda had ever dared to dream about.

"Dad, is this... right?" Henrik, their son, asked as he stood by the mirror, adjusting the straps on his soon-to-be Knight training gear. He’d grown taller than both of them now, and although he wasn't as big as his father, he didn't need to be... He had enlisted to be a Knight, instead of the ground troops like Pion. More than that, he had already completed the main course, and the last thing that remained was to take control of his own machine and be officially knighted.

“You’ll wear out the straps before you even get to pilot the damned thing,” Pion called, sipping tea, chuckling, exchanging a proud look with Matilda, "Change back to your normal clothes, it's still two days away!"

"Daaaaad..." Henrik moaned, rolling his eyes, not stopping fiddling with his sleeves. “I just want to be ready.”

“You are,” Matilda said, brushing flour from her hands and pulling her son into a kiss on the cheek. “You’ve been ready for years!”

"Mooom! Mom! Stop! Mom!" Henrik’s blush was instant, dramatic, as usual, "Aaaah! You are going to ruin my uniform!"

"Nah," Pion chuckled, watching the now flour-covered face of his teenage son, "You will ruin it yourself if you can't keep it in your room!"

"It's easier to keep yours clean," he murmured, going for a wet towel to wash himself, "You even have people to do it for you..."

"Complain, complain, complain," Pion stood up and rested a firm hand on his son’s shoulders, standing with him before the mirror. “You’ll do well, even if you are in your rebellious phase... because you’re an Avalonian. We always do well. But don't worry about your clothes when you’ll be fighting against monsters. All that will ever matter is that you survive. Do you understand me, son?"

"Yes... Father." Henrik swallowed, nodding his head, looking into Pion's eyes through the mirror.

"Good..." Pion squeezed his shoulders, "That will be the most crucial part. Follow your orders and do your best, then everything will work out."

"Mhm." He nodded, smiling at him, then at his mother, "Have trust in the Sovereign... hm?"

"Yes." Both of his parents nodded, "Trust in the Sovereign."

...

....

......

Feeling a sneeze coming then going, as if someone was mentioning me behind my back, I scratched my nose as I sat across from my parents in their own room, within their wing of the palace. Because of why I had come, I couldn't help but gaze at them, my eyes going soft, maybe even a bit... misty. I never really realized how much time had actually passed... Still, Dad looked fit, strong, and annoyingly youthful for his age… I hope I will be like him... This was true for Mom, too, but... Neither of them was young anymore. Well... I can't just sit and stay silent, so I took a long breath, opening my mouth.

“Dad,” I began, “you’re not coming to the front this time.”

"What?" His eyes narrowed. “Leon. I was the first Knight, and I fought battles before we even made you... I fought on horseback and in your machine... I even battled the Guardian's minions. You think I can’t handle one more—”

“It’s not one more.” I cut him off as gently as possible. “This one is different. Even the Guardian is a kitten compared to what we’re facing!”

"Exactly!" He snorted, "This could be a final battle!"

"And I don't want it to be your final battle!" I shot back, and then Dad opened his mouth to argue again, but Mom placed a firm, grounding hand on his knee, squeezing it.

“Kalash,” she said strongly, “listen to him.”

"But..." He gritted his teeth, looking between us before somewhat deflating, “I’m not useless. I’m not fragile... I can still fight...”

“You’re neither, Dad,” I said at once, “But you’re important in another way now.” I explained, looking at them sincerely, “If something happens to me… or Arthur… or Galahad… Lancelot... Percival will need you.” Hearing me say that, Dad finally froze a little, while my mom's grip on his leg loosened, “You two are the only ones old enough, wise enough, stubborn enough to guide him if... the worst comes to pass... And if the worst comes, you’ll raise him to lead Avalon.”

"I hate that you say this, and call us old in such a roundabout way," Mom squeezed Dad's hand now, while looking at me, “But I hate the fact more that I agree with you, Leon.”

“…Fine,” Dad finally said, sinking into his chair for a moment, unable to fight back, not against me or Mom. Then, just like a rubber ball, he shot back to attention, “But I won’t sit idle. I’ll train! I’ll train Percival too! And if the city needs defending—”

“Do that,” I agreed, smiling at him, “But you stay here, with Mom and most importantly, with Percy. Everyone will be at the Pride, and I need someone who I know can raise a child to be a great man, staying back... So I can be relaxed, knowing the future is still in good hands.”

"When did we raise you to be so full of yourself?" Mom chuckled, wiping her eyes.

"Tell me I'm wrong!" I giggled, standing up and sitting between them, hugging them both, hearing them whisper as they hugged me.

"No... You are not... You little devil..."