Chapter Text
The air in Herta Space Station’s Data Wing always smelled faintly of ozone and overheated circuitry. You had long since grown used to the sterile hum of machinery, the buzz of magnetic lifts outside the lab, and the soft whirr of terminals processing endless amounts of Stellaron data. You didn’t mind the silence—it let you focus.
Eyes scanning a rapidly shifting waveform, you tapped your stylus against the tablet.
“Strange… frequency variance at Node 3. That shouldn’t be possible without—”
A high-pitched siren cut you off, and the emergency lights bathed the room in a pulsing red glow. You blinked against the sudden contrast as Asta’s voice crackled over the comm system.
“Attention all personnel—this is not a drill. Antimatter Legion units have breached outer defenses. Initiating emergency lockdown protocol. Repeat: Antimatter Legion forces are aboard the station.”
You stared at the blinking warning on your console, heart skipping a beat. That… escalated.
Quickly gathering your datapad and slinging your research kit over your shoulder, you bolted toward the hallway. You were a scholar, not a fighter—but you weren’t about to let years of data go down with the station.
You didn’t make it far before a group of voices rounded the corner—March 7th leading the charge, bow already drawn. Behind her came Dan Heng, staff at the ready. They looked fresh from a warp jump and already prepared for battle.
“March 7th, Dan Heng?” you called, pausing beside the nearest support beam. “Asta called in the Nameless?”
March beamed despite the chaos, waving mid-run. “Yup! Fastest delivery service in the galaxy! Are you the researcher she mentioned?”
You nodded. “I know the station layout. I can guide you to the Master Control Zone.”
Dan Heng offered a quick nod of acknowledgement. “We could use the support.”
With that, the three of you sprinted down the corridor, emergency lights strobing overhead.
The station shook intermittently, distant explosions rattling the floors. As you led the way, shouting out directions and warning of unstable floor panels, a sudden burst of static overtook the nearby intercom—and for a moment, everything felt too quiet.
Then you saw him.
Lying collapsed at the center of the hallway was a boy—unfamiliar, unconscious, and strangely out of place. He wore a black, slightly tattered jacket with gold trim, layered over a grey shirt that looked like it had seen one too many battles. His pants were dusty, reinforced for travel, and a small tear on one sleeve revealed a faint glow underneath—not from tech, but from something else entirely. His silver hair was messy, as if he’d just fallen out of the sky.
His breathing was shallow, but steady. And from beneath his chest, just barely visible through the fabric, pulsed a subtle, eerie light—like a heartbeat stitched into the universe itself.
You skidded to a halt beside him, scanning the corridor. No enemies in sight. Yet.
“Who is he?” March asked, kneeling cautiously.
“No ID,” you murmured, checking his pulse. “He doesn’t look like station staff.”
“Dan Heng?” March looked over. “Is he… breathing?”
Dan Heng crouched beside the body, eyes narrowing. “He’s alive. Stable, but barely. We shouldn’t leave him.”
March tapped her fingers anxiously against her knee. “You think he needs CPR?”
You blinked. “You’re not serious.”
“I’m not doing it!” March held up her hands. “He could bite!”
“I’m also not doing it,” you said flatly. “That’s your job, Dan Heng.”
Dan Heng gave them both a long, flat look. And then—silently, resigned—he leaned forward.
You didn’t breathe. March covered her mouth.
Just as Dan Heng’s face hovered barely inches from the stranger’s—
“GHA—!”
The boy’s eyes snapped open, glowing faintly, and he jerked upright with a sharp gasp. Dan Heng reeled back just in time to avoid an accidental nose bump. March yelped and shoved Dan Heng back with both hands, half-panicked and half laughing.
“Whoa!!” she exclaimed. “He lives! CPR dodged!”
Dan Heng stood, brushing himself off, expression unchanged but definitely not amused. “I’ll check the rear corridor and watch for more hostiles. You three—head to the Master Control Zone.”
“What about him?” you asked, glancing at the still-groggy stranger.
Dan Heng was already walking. “He’s conscious. And you two seem to have the situation… in hand.”
You exchanged a look with March.
The boy blinked up at you both, dazed, hair tousled, eyes wide. “…Where am I?”
“Come on,” March said brightly, grabbing his arm and hauling him to his feet. “We’ll explain on the way!”
You turned, picking up your pace. The station wasn’t going to protect itself.
The boy—whoever he was—barely had time to regain his balance before March 7th was tugging him along beside you, her free hand still gripping her bow.
“Alright, sleepyhead,” she chirped over her shoulder. “On your feet, and try not to get vaporized. We’ve got a job to do.”
“Wait—what?” the boy stammered, stumbling a little as he caught up. “Where… am I?”
“Herta Space Station,” you said, not looking back. Your voice was brisk, focused. “It’s under attack by the Antimatter Legion.”
He blinked at that. “Antimatter what?”
March nodded cheerfully. “Yup! Freaky void monsters. Not super cuddly.”
His eyes widened slightly. “And… who are you?”
“I’m March 7th,” she said, shooting him a wink. “Memory loss, huh? Classic. And the serious one up front—”
“Not interested in nicknames,” you interrupted. “Just keep up and don’t touch anything.”
He turned to you. “And you are?”
“A researcher,” you replied, rounding the corner and checking the map display on your tablet. “I analyze Stellaron energy. You’re currently alive because we didn’t let Dan Heng kiss you.”
There was a beat of silence. “…I’m sorry, what?”
“Not important,” March coughed, clearly suppressing a laugh. “Don’t worry about it.”
You reached a side chamber—the sealed doors read: Restricted – Artifact Storage. Asta must’ve rerouted emergency access, because they hissed open when you approached.
Inside, the room was dim and quiet, filled with crates and containment pods glowing with faint cosmic energy. March headed straight to the back, waving you forward.
“This is where they keep some of the backup weapons,” she explained. “Just in case of a total meltdown scenario like… well, this.”
She pried open a supply locker. Inside were a variety of basic weapons—staves, training sabers, even a couple of heavy blunt instruments for close-quarters combat.
“Take your pick!” she grinned. “Better safe than sliced.”
“I don’t fight,” you said, arms crossed. “I’m here to help you avoid unnecessary risk. I have no training.”
March frowned. “C’mon, even a little something—”
But before she could finish, the boy—still unnamed, still confused—walked over to a weapon rack and picked up a short, solid metal bat. He spun it once in his hand experimentally.
“This feels… right,” he said softly. “Weird.”
You and March both glanced at each other.
“You sure you’ve got no memories?” March asked, raising a brow.
He just shrugged, testing the weight of the bat with another practice swing. “Nothing in my head. But my arms seem to remember.”
You were about to say something else when the sound of distant, stomping footsteps echoed through the walls.
You turned toward the corridor just in time to see a group of Voidranger minions—twisted, armor-clad creatures crawling through the shattered emergency gate ahead. Their glowing eyes locked onto your group instantly.
March leapt forward, already summoning her ice bow mid-run. “Time for introductions after the murder bugs!”
Caelus stepped beside her, twirling the bat once.
You stayed back, clutching your tablet tightly, your breath caught in your throat.
The first beast lunged—and March struck fast, arrow freezing its limbs mid-air. A second came from the left.
Caelus reacted instinctively.
He ducked under the swipe of a clawed hand, stepped forward with frightening speed, and slammed the bat straight into the creature’s side. The impact rang out with a sharp crack. It stumbled back—then collapsed into glowing fragments.
You stared.
He shouldn’t have been able to move like that. Not without combat experience. Not with no memory of who he even was.
But Caelus moved like someone who had done this a thousand times. His grip was steady. His stance was solid. And the look in his eyes—still wide, still confused—held a strange kind of focus. Like muscle memory and instinct were the only things keeping him grounded.
More enemies approached. He turned to March with a wild grin. “Hey. This is kind of fun.”
She grinned back. “Now you’re talkin’!”
Behind them, you tightened your grip on your gear. The Master Control Zone wasn’t far. You just had to make it there before the next wave hit.
And behind you, the boy with no name was moving like someone born for battle.
The echoes of combat faded behind you, leaving only the low whir of ventilation and your own quickening footsteps. With March leading and Caelus swinging his bat like it was part of his arm, the three of you pushed forward, finally reaching the far corridor where a reinforced elevator chamber stood.
The sign above read: To Safe Zone – Level 2.
Salvation. Almost.
Except the elevator doors were dented inward, sparking faintly, and the panel next to it flashed a dull red. You swiped your access card, but the screen returned a dispassionate [ERROR: FUNCTIONALITY COMPROMISED].
“Of course,” you muttered. “Why would anything work during an invasion?”
March frowned, tapping the panel a few times. “Did someone punch this? Or did a Voidranger headbutt it?”
“Either way,” Caelus chimed in, “looks like we’re taking the scenic route.”
You crouched beside the control box, opening the panel and inspecting the wiring. Several lines were completely fried, others just loose.
You sighed. “I can fix this. I just need a minute.”
“I’ll cover you,” March said, spinning her bow. “Bat Boy, you got my flank.”
“I was born for this,” Caelus replied, dramatically leaning on his bat like it was a cane. “Which is impressive, considering I don’t remember being born.”
Just then, another set of footsteps echoed down the hall—measured, calm.
You all turned.
Dan Heng stepped out from a side corridor, staff in hand, barely winded. His sharp eyes flicked between the damaged elevator and the rest of you.
“You made it,” he said simply.
“Dan Heng!” March lit up. “You’re okay!”
He nodded once. “I saw you three on the monitors. Thought you might need help.”
“What about Arlan?” you asked, straightening up.
“Injured, but alive,” Dan Heng replied. “He’s in a secured sector with Asta. The upper floors are mostly clear.”
“So the safe zone’s still operational,” you muttered, fingers flying over the wiring inside the panel. “That’s good.”
Caelus leaned in beside you, peering into the mess of cables. “Need a third hand?”
You looked at him sideways. “You know how to fix elevators?”
He grinned. “Nope. But I’ve got great enthusiasm and very little regard for electrical safety.”
Dan Heng exhaled slowly. “Please don’t let him touch anything.”
You allowed yourself a very small smile.
With Dan Heng’s help steadying the outer power coupler and March passing you tools from the nearby emergency kit, you managed to reroute the main elevator circuit. Sparks flew once, twice—then the screen flickered green.
[REBOOT SUCCESSFUL – STANDBY]
The doors slid open with a low, sluggish hiss.
“I’m amazing,” you muttered.
“We’re all amazing,” March corrected, stepping inside first and striking a pose. “The Dream Team’s back online!”
Caelus followed, tapping the side of the elevator as he passed it. “No offense to this glorified metal coffin, but if it drops us halfway up, I’m suing the station.”
“You don’t even know your own name,” you said dryly, stepping in after him.
“Actually… I do,” the boy said, blinking like the thought had just hit him mid-banter. He tilted his head, like listening to something only he could hear. “It’s… Caelus.”
March turned around, eyes wide. “Wait—seriously?”
He scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. It just… popped in there. Weird, right?”
“Suspiciously convenient,” Dan Heng muttered as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the destination button.
“Or,” Caelus said with mock offense, “maybe I’m just a man of mystery with impeccable timing and a killer name reveal sense.”
You gave him a sidelong glance. “So, Caelus. That your first or last name?”
He shrugged. “Yes.”
The elevator rumbled to life, humming as it began its slow ascent toward the safe zone. You leaned against the wall, letting out a long breath—just one. Just enough to steady yourself.
Because this was far from over.
And now you had a name to remember.