ㅤㅤNight on Moon-02 was not as complex as the stars clinging to its sky. It was cold, measured, and pulsing beneath artificial light.
Metal-clad buildings reflected beams of light moving like massive nerve pathways, while the air carried the scent of ozone and heated oil, a smell that signaled everything here preferred machines over prayers.
In the long corridor of a facility that resembled a technocratic fortress more than a palace, someone's footsteps echoed with precision. The man was tall, nearly two meters, his figure casting long shadows across the walls as he walked.
His hair was white like stardust; his eyes, when reflecting holographic lights dancing in the air, looked like glass containing fire.
When he stopped before a sealed door, his voice sliced through the corridor's silence with the same cold, blade-like tone.
"Miss A," he said, his voice vocal and layered with thin sarcasm. "Have you ever grown tired of being the bearer of bad news, or has that become your hobby?"
The door opened, revealing a young woman in neat work attire, Miss A. Her face showed no fear, only long-trained vigilance. She knew that showing excessive emotion before this man would only let him enjoy the performance. And Nemesis, as everyone knew, greatly enjoyed theater.
"What would you like to convey, sir?" her voice was steady, but a faint tremor lingered, one small mistake and she might end up being electrocuted alive.
Nemesis smirked, a thin smile colder than metal. "Display the map of Moon-03."
Miss A merely nodded, her thumb briefly dancing across the interface at her waist. In the air, the system responded; lines of light ignited and shifted into a large projected map.
The map of Moon-03 hung before them, moderate in size, greenish-gray, appearing simple compared to the metallic network surrounding it. Red dots glowed at several locations; small and shining.
Nemesis stepped closer, staring at the map with a dismissive gaze. He did not speak of the purpose of those dots, there was no need. There was something more satisfying to him in letting others guess while feeling tension slowly build. He enjoyed undefined fear; fear that crept in when the human mind tried to fill empty spaces.
"You know," he said, his voice rolling like metal cables, "a map is nothing but paper without hands willing to carry it. Those marks… they are only waiting to be activated. Who do you think will ignite them, Miss A?"
Miss A held her breath, then answered flatly, "Isn't it obvious that it would be you yourself? Are you planning to blow something up again this time?"
"Ah." Nemesis released a sharp, quiet laugh. "A boring guess. Let me create a cool surprise. Let me provide a little entertainment for those lower beings."
Miss A replied in a whisper almost too soft to hear. "Don't make them too uneasy if it isn't necessary. There are limits, sir."
Nemesis turned, his pale eyes sweeping briefly toward her. A flash of something appeared, not anger, not warmth, only a craving for control. "Limits, Miss A," he repeated, "are words for the weak. If we don't sow a little fear, they will forget how it feels to know their place."
"And I will take whatever I want. Without exception."
He turned away from the map, walking back into the corridor. His long strides quickly swallowed the shadows, disappearing into the neon-lit network. Miss A closed the interface, staring at the map for a moment longer before finally lowering her head. A burden showed faintly on her face, hinting that sometimes she grew tired of dealing with her master's nature.
Outside that room, Moon-02 continued to pulse, without emotion. Machines growled. Lights swept across the streets. And in the place where humans crafted plans, a map hung like a heart waiting to be driven forward.
.
.
.
When the first dawn bloomed over the kingdom of Ryuuga, the tone of morning felt different from the cold corridors of technology. In Keito's small chamber, sunlight slipped through curtain gaps, carving golden streaks across the furniture. He woke early, his body moving quickly as if he had tasks to finish before anyone else realized he was awake.
Cold water splashed, but Keito had little time. A quick bath; he did not enjoy the ritual as some nobles did. One rinse, a swift scrub of soap, then he pulled out clothes that were neat but simple. His shoulder-length damp hair was combed quickly, leaving slight disarray behind.
Once dressed, he took leftover bread from the tray and a small piece of cheese, then slipped into the kitchen. The servants were still busy preparing grand meals.
Several tables were messy, pots still steaming. Keito knew the rules, stealing food was considered impolite, but this morning he did not want to wait. He took the small breakfast without much interaction, chewing while walking outside.
The morning air felt fresh as he headed toward the training camp. The pathway to the field was dotted with dew. In the distance, training towers stood tall, and among them were two figures who always became Keito's focus, Raito and Haruki.
His father and brother were sparring; the head of the family displayed broader, calmer movements, while Haruki ignited small flames in his palm, shaping them like the form of his fox tail. Keito paused briefly to watch, there was always something calming in seeing fire move with confidence.
He stepped into the arena, his footsteps making sound. Haruki noticed him and raised an eyebrow slightly but did not stop moving. Raito glanced briefly, then gave a small signal. "Keito?" his voice was calm. Hidden pride lingered there, along with caution.
Keito handed a dagger to Haruki. "Dagger duel?" he challenged shortly.
Haruki checked the dagger and smiled faintly. "You know I won't hold back, little brother."
They faced each other. Haruki's fire flickered like tongues that could burn leaves; Keito steadied his hesitation with controlled breathing. He knew he lost in physical strength. However, Keito had something else, stamina.
The fight began.
Haruki dashed forward like the wind. His movements were fast and sharp, each strike carrying real heat. Keito blocked, twisted his body, and tried to use Haruki's momentum. Several times he bent incoming attacks with proper positioning, forcing his brother to step back.
Haruki's flames bounced; the air around them spun violently. Once, Haruki unleashed a sequence of strikes that nearly forced Keito backward, but Keito endured with deep breaths, rooting his feet like tree roots. He kept moving, kept holding on, and slowly, stamina paid off.
Time passed, and sweat dripped from both young princes. Haruki began showing signs of exhaustion after several heavy attacks; Keito, who defended more often, still found his breathing rhythm.
When Haruki made a wide closing movement, Keito spotted an opening and used that push to retaliate with a single dagger strike, but just as he was about to feel proud, he was immediately slammed to the ground and a dagger pressed against his neck. "Checkmate, careless." Haruki said.
Raito stepped out from the observer's post, looking at his two sons. Pride was visible on his face, though he masked it beneath the firmness of a family head. He stepped closer and offered a hand to help Keito stand.
A brief touch filled with meaning. "Good," he said. "Keep training that. Your strength might decide things one day. You too, well done, Haruki." His voice was heavy.
Keito lowered his head slightly, holding back a small smile. He knew his position was complicated; he knew the world viewed him differently. Yet that morning, with the air still biting cold, he felt something: that there was space for him within the word "endure."
Stay alive.