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BLADE Tower – 2056 A.D.
Steady rain blanketed New Los Angeles. The city below felt distant, quiet, blurred behind a veil of water.
Ironic , Elma thought, considering the return of a certain lone hero.
She stood with arms folded beneath the overhang of BLADE Tower, her figure still and sharp against the gray wash of sky, crystalline lavender hair swaying faintly in the wind. The melancholy around her wasn’t loud—it clung in silence, heavy with unspoken weight.
Nagi approached without a word, coming to stand beside her. He followed her gaze out over the city, his presence calm but not passive.
“Elma,” he said gently, a note of concern softening his voice. “You’ve been a bit too quiet lately. All things considered.”
She didn’t turn.
“He’s back,” she murmured.
Nagi nodded. “As we’ve seen. So far so good with medical.”
“Good.” Elma replied, clipped and flat.
The rain deepened, or maybe it just felt that way. A low, constant rhythm against glass and metal, echoing between them.
Her violet eyes—bright and strange, soul-piercing in a way that never quite belonged to this world—began to drift.
Somewhere distant. Somewhere old.
Nagi glanced at her from the side, and for a long moment, he truly looked.
Not at the commanding officer. Not at the BLADE soldier.
But at the being he had found once, long ago.
In another rainstorm. In another life.
And for the first time since the establishment of the Earth United Government Forces…
He remembered.
---
Earth — 2024 A.D.
Rain blanketed the heart of the metropolis, heavy and relentless.
Twenty-seven-year-old Kentaro Nagi moved through it in uniform, patrolling as dusk crept in.
Another routine sweep. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Standard protocol—then maybe he could finally get out of the rain and go home.
Or so it seemed.
Something caught his eye.
A narrow alleyway he passed often.
But tonight, something was different.
A figure. Slumped in the shadows.
That wasn’t there before.
Cautious, Nagi drew his firearm and advanced slowly.
Closer now—he could see: a body, collapsed against the wall. Covered head to toe, motionless. Cloaked, concealed.
Except for one detail.
Eyes.
Bright violet. Soul-piercing.
Strange. Alien.
Nagi hesitated… then slowly lowered his weapon.
“You look like hell,” he muttered. Not afraid of her—
But afraid for her.
She didn’t speak.
Didn’t flinch.
Only her eyes moved—steady, burning, unblinking.
---
BLADE Tower – 2056 A.D.
“You were there.” Elma’s voice barely rose above the rain. “You were the first.”
Nagi nodded, his gaze still distant. “You didn’t even flinch when I aimed my gun...”
A pause.
“You wanted to die.”
Silence stretched.
Then—
“Maybe I did.”
---
Earth – 2048 A.D.
Twenty-five-year-old Alois Bernholt leaned against the wall of the command center like he owned the place.
Pilot. German Air Force.
Sharp-eyed, arms crossed. Arrogance threaded through every relaxed joint of his frame. Not a care in the world—or so it looked.
Brigadier General Kentaro Nagi entered with a woman in tow.
“Elma,” he said, “this is Alois Bernholt—pilot, formerly of the German Air Force.”
Al barely shifted. “And she is?”
“Elma,” Nagi repeated. “Colonel. Earth United Government Forces. Off-world consultant.”
The words landed like stones.
Al straightened only slightly, offering a handshake.
Rigid. Professional. Measured.
She took it with equal coolness.
No words. Just a long, assessing silence.
Al studied her with the flat wariness of someone familiar with danger—and maybe, just maybe, a flicker of curiosity beneath it.
Elma met his gaze, head tilted ever so slightly. Unreadable.
Calculating.
Unfamiliar with small talk.
He was loud without saying a word.
“Play nice, Al,” Nagi muttered, half-smirking as he walked away.
The silence stretched, awkward but not uncomfortable.
Two walls of steel testing for cracks.
Finally, Al spoke.
“You don’t look like you need anyone.”
“I don’t,” Elma replied, clipped.
A brief pause.
Then Al smirked—a flash of something almost like admiration. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right trouble.”
Elma’s eyes flickered—a small crack in the armor. “Or maybe I don’t want it.”
“Fair enough.”
A subtle tension lingered, electric and unresolved.
The silence held between them—two walls of steel still testing for cracks.
---
White Whale Briefing Room, 6 months before launch -2054 A.D.
Nagi stood at the head of the room, arms loosely crossed, eyes on Elma.
“She’s your new mechanic,” he said, handing over a tablet. “Name’s Lin Lee Koo. Mechanical prodigy. Engineering certs at age thirteen. Try not to scare her.”
Elma scanned the file. Her brow rose.
“She’s a child.” The words came blunt, disbelieving.
Nagi gave a faint smile—quiet and firm.
“So were you once. Maybe she’ll teach you something.”
Elma gave a dry look.
He continued, voice gentler now. “Someone gave you a chance. Now it’s your turn.”
A pause.
“She might look to you for more than orders.”
“I’m not a mother,” Elma quickly quipped.
Nagi chuckled. “Didn’t say you were. But maybe…” He looked at her meaningfully. “You’re someone worth looking up to.”
Nagi stepped out, leaving Elma to meet her new squad member alone.
The door hissed open.
Tiny footsteps approached before Elma even looked up. She turned—
—and blinked once.
A girl barely over thirteen stood before her. Goggles pushed up into a tangle of short black hair. Oversized military-issue jacket. A tablet clutched so tightly her knuckles were pale.
She was small, silent. But her presence was loud in its defiance.
“Lin Lee Koo, reporting for duty,” the girl said, voice rigid, rehearsed. “Ma’am.”
Elma said nothing at first. Just studied her — sharp, cool, unreadable. That usual weight in her gaze. Lin stiffened.
“You’re young.”
“Certified early,” Lin mumbled. “Top percentile in diagnostics, Skell propulsion, and pressure-torque integrity.” A pause. “I built my own recon drone. From scrap.”
Still, Elma said nothing, hands behind her back.
Lin shrank half an inch.
Then finally: “…What’s its max flight time?”
Lin blinked. “Four hours. Unless you push altitude, then three. But I’m working on it.”
A subtle shift in Elma’s posture. Barely there — the tilt of her head, a flicker in her eyes.
“Let me see the schematics later,” Elma said.
Lin blinked again. “You want to…?”
“I have time off-cycle.” A pause. “You’ll be with the Skell Maintenance Team eventually. Best you learn my standards early.”
Lin straightened, uncertain if that was praise or a threat. “Yes, ma’am.”
Elma watched her a moment longer. Something about this girl reminded her of…well, of herself, in a way she didn’t want to admit.
As Lin turned to leave, she hesitated—then looked back.
“You’re not as scary as they say,” she said quietly.
Elma arched a brow. “They say I’m scary?”
Lin flushed. “I mean—just a little. But…I think I get it.”
Elma didn’t respond.
But after Lin left, a faint breath escaped her. Almost a sigh.
Not quite a smile.
Not yet.
---
BLADE Tower – 2056 A.D.
Rain continued to blanket New Los Angeles.
Elma, finally voiced. “He shouldn’t have come back. Not like that.”
Nagi looked over, urging her to continue.
“Alive. Whole. He still believes. In something I don’t. In me. And I let him.”
Elma looked down. “What kind of leader does that make me?”
She answered her question, quietly.
“I don’t know anymore.”
She whispered. “I’m angry at myself. For making him carry it — that mantle. I forced it on him. A mistake. And now…all this guilt.”
Nagi walked closer, calm, resolute. “Then let it go. Let the water carry it away.”
Elma turned to look at him finally.
“ Mizu ni nagasu, ” he said.
He left with a quiet nod.
Elma remained, and closed her eyes. No smile, but her shoulders soften — slightly.
Maybe the rain wasn’t erasing anything. Maybe it was washing something clean.
---
Far below, Starfall Basin drank quietly.
The place where the Rook had opened her eyes from her Lifepod beneath the storm—
And where, against all odds, Elma had reached for someone again.