Kaisin Grez's coughing fit persisted, a ragged symphony that drew amused glances. He waved hastily, and his black-clad Xizhou entourage formed a human wall, shielding him from Baisha's view.
Baisha stifled a laugh.
Sino, catching the commotion, frowned. "What's the Grez crew up to?"
"Who knows," Baisha said, setting her empty cup on the table. "He doesn't strike me as the sharpest blade."
Sino bit back a retort. Agreeing risked painting all beast-kind as fools, and Kaisin, for all his bluster, hailed from a leading clan. He let it slide.
The hall's orchestral strains faded, giving way to a stately piano melody, its notes gliding like poised dancers. The cadets adjusted their steps, their movements now formal and restrained.
"Odd," Baisha remarked, watching her usually ferocious classmates waltz with grace. "You'd think military cadets would stumble at dancing, but they're all naturals."
"Not me," Cen said, tossing peanuts into her mouth. "My whole family's hopeless at it."
Their banter was interrupted by a boy in Dongluo's deep green uniform approaching. Unlike the austere Tianquan or rigid Xizhou cadets, Dongluo students exuded a breezy charm, their eyes bright with easy smiles. This boy, with refined features and a lithe frame, was trailed by a glowing swan construct, its white wings gently fanning. The swan glanced at Baisha, then shyly tucked its black beak into its snowy neck.
"H-Hello," the boy stammered, his eyes shimmering as he faced Baisha. "May I… have this dance?"
Baisha froze, his nervousness contagious.
Sino raised a brow, sizing him up. The boy, undaunted, said, "I know you're Sino Uss. I've watched you both, and you don't seem… romantically involved. So, I thought I'd ask her."
Cen whispered to Baisha, "A dance is harmless, Your Highness. Just don't make promises. His swan construct? Feather-kind prize fidelity. They're not just loyal—they might die of grief if their partner does!"
Baisha's eyes widened. The Empire valued lifelong devotion, but dying for a lost love? That was mythic.
She opened her mouth to decline when the crowd hushed, a palpable shift from clamor to silence. All eyes turned to a figure gliding through the parted throng—an "angel" bathed in light. Clad in silver-white, his golden curls cascaded, diamond ear clips glinting. He bowed, fist to back, and extended a hand to Baisha, his divine face alight with a warm smile.
Dance with me, Your Highness?
Murmurs rippled. "Who's that?" "The Emperor's guard, maybe?" "Stunning…"
Baisha, ignoring the Dongluo boy's crestfallen look, took the "angel's" hand. "My honor," she said, then to the boy, "Sorry, I'm spoken for."
Guided by her partner, she joined the dancers, the music swelling anew. Their steps were flawless—Uriel, after all, had been her frequent dance partner on Youdu Star.
"Uriel," Baisha murmured, "you too?"
"I'm your guard, Your Highness," Uriel said, smiling primly. "With rival clans and starbugs on Greenstar, I must ensure your safety."
His hand clasped hers tightly, no gap spared. Protocol demanded he shadow her, but this felt… personal.
"You and Uncle with the surprise attacks," Baisha said, amused. "Thanks for the save, though. Perfect timing."
"You must learn to refuse, Your Highness," Uriel said, spinning her gracefully. "More will come, their eyes full of hope."
"It's just a dance," Baisha said. "He was earnest—the first to ask so sincerely. I think that deserves respect."
Uriel's smile faltered. "Did I misjudge? Are you truly taken with that wild swan?"
Baisha sighed, hands up. "Fine, no interest in him. Happy?"
Uriel's angelic features softened, his smile heart-stopping. As the dance ended, he bent, kissing her forehead lightly. "Enjoy the exercise, Your Highness."
Dizzy from the spin, Baisha watched him vanish, a strange feeling stirring. Odd.
She chalked it up to Uriel being off his game.
How many couples the dance sparked, Baisha couldn't say. By morning, the cadets shed their finery for combat gear, piling into mechs. Their metal shells gleamed with menace, their gazes sharp with rivalry. This was the cadets' true face.
Mech pilots carried only their mechs and weapons, foraging for food and water. Mechsmiths received standard repair kits—too many gadgets otherwise, so only mech-mounted tools were allowed for fairness. When instructors distributed kits, one paused at Baisha. She raised a hand. "Teacher, I'll take one!"
"You're a pilot here," the mechsmith instructor said, walking off. "No toolbox for you."
Baisha pouted.
The airship's hatch opened, and Baisha leapt, wind whipping her mech's frame. Below, a dark teal marsh sprawled. "What luck—straight into the swamp?" Cen yelled. "The instructors planned this!"
Baisha ignited her engines, slowing her descent, and scanned the terrain. A sandy islet jutted nearby. Wielding her lance, she fired at the water just before landing, the blast's recoil propelling her to the islet with a splash.
The shot stirred the marsh. Red-eyed creatures emerged—plunder crocs, starbug-crocodile hybrids with massive jaws, sharp teeth, fin-like limbs, and green scales.
"So many!" Cen drew Rainbow Rain, firing ice bolts at the water below. Her mech danced across fragile ice, evading snapping crocs that shattered the frozen surface. Sino landed, hurling a chain-blade past Cen's head, cleaving a lunging croc in two. Cen returned the favor, firing an ice bolt to freeze Sino's landing spot. Her timing was impeccable—too early, and crocs would break the ice; too late, and Sino's mech would be stuck.
Together, they leapt across the marsh, slaying crocs and reaching shore. Others weren't so lucky. Holos, a classmate, plunged into the lake like a torpedo. He vaulted off two crocs' heads, his snake-chain whip lashing out to repel attackers. But the water offered no more stepping stones, and he waded toward shore, only to find the chest-deep water was a quagmire.
"Ha! Lucky day!" Holos crowed, then froze as his mech sank into the mud.
Crimson-eyed crocs surged. Holos whipped his chain, fending them off, but each move sank him deeper. He gritted his teeth, ready to burn his engines, when he spotted Cen and Sino on shore.
Sino grinned at Holos's muddy plight, unmoved. Holos shouted, "Can't you pull me out? We're same-school!"
"Call me Daddy, and I'll fish you out," Cen teased.
"Dream on!" Holos snapped, nearly losing his chain to a croc's jaws.
"Let's leave him," Sino said. "Sinclair's landing nearby; he'll link up soon. We need to reach Yu Yan and bag more crocs."
Plunder crocs, B-grade, yielded modest points but swarmed in groups—tricky but score-friendly. Cen nodded, glancing at Holos. With a tsk, she fired three ice bolts around him, freezing the water at his waist. The ice locked him in place, halting his sinking.
"For school spirit, that's all you get. Good luck," Cen said.
Holos gaped, a fish trapped in ice. "You're worse than ignoring me!"
Cen and Sino darted across islets, joining Baisha. She was stripping a tree with her mech, carving the bark into strips with a blade and weaving them into a rope.
Cen stared. "Your Highness, crafting with a mech?"
Baisha pointed to a struggling mechsmith in the water, his mech bearing another academy's badge. She tied the rope around her waist, handing the end to Cen. "Hold tight. If I get stuck, yank me back."
Cen nodded, puzzled. The mechsmith, spotting Baisha's approach, teared up with gratitude. "Tha—" His thanks died as Baisha, light as a dragonfly, spun midair, snatched his toolbox with her lance, and soared back.
The mechsmith's jaw dropped. Give me back my emotions!
On shore, Baisha untied the rope, inspected the toolbox, and slung it onto her back. "Stingy instructors, denying me a kit. Had to grab my own."
Sino and Cen were speechless.