Before San left, Bunny still couldn’t resist asking one last question.
"Why are you afraid of wearing the shock collar?"
His footsteps stopped; then he turned his head and gave her a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
"Miss Bunny, I’m not afraid."
He simply hated it.
"Wait. What’s that in your hand? Why did you take my handkerchief? Put it back!"
San casually slipped the item into his pocket, his voice lazy and light.
"What do you mean, what for? I’m going to use it to take care of a certain biological necessity."
Bunny’s face immediately turned green.
"You shameless pervert!"
The Guide’s furious insults continued echoing behind him, but San couldn’t have cared less.
At least he had gotten his hug today. It wasn’t as though he’d left empty-handed.
Humming a cheerful tune, he was on his way to the training area for some extra practice when he rounded the corridor.
A figure with hair so vividly green it practically glowed came into view.
Astin looked San up and down, taking in the smug, thoroughly satisfied expression on his face.
His sharply sculpted features remained completely emotionless. Only his eyes betrayed a faint trace of contempt.
His hair was neither long nor short, slicked straight back without a single strand out of place, exposing his broad forehead and prominent brow ridge.
It was a hairstyle that demanded exceptional features. Most people couldn’t pull it off.
Astin’s appearance was sharp and striking, carrying an almost aggressive intensity. The eyebrow piercing above his right brow only amplified his untamed, rebellious aura.
There was something ruggedly handsome about him.
"Jealous much?"
San beat him to it, raising an eyebrow with unmistakable smugness.
Both their instability levels were dangerously high, but San had been the one to receive soothing first.
Astin’s response was as vicious as ever.
"Jealous of what? Should I copy you and start begging to be a Guide’s lapdog?"
He paused, his expression hardening.
"Guess the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree. You learned that pathetic lapdog behavior from your father."
Astin’s stern eyes narrowed as he offered his half-brother a rather malicious remark.
"Why don’t you take a look at how your father ended up?"
Astin had an intense prejudice against Guides. The deeper reasons behind it were complicated and weren’t worth getting into here.
San’s smug smile vanished instantly.
"You’re talking as if your father was some saint. That shameless—"
He never got to finish because Astin’s fist slammed straight into his face.
San’s teeth nearly rattled loose from the impact. As expected, the two immediately started fighting again.
On the terrace, Rain and Arden heard the commotion but didn’t bother reacting. They were used to it by now.
"Those two have been fighting for years. Don’t they ever get tired of it?"
Rain looked toward the whale playing in the pool below. It was his spirit form.
"People only get tired of things they love." He paused. "If they hate something, that can last forever."
And hatred, in the end, lasted far longer than love.
***
Central Federal Republic — Imperial Administration
Nearly every structure on Central Terra rose from the crimson wasteland in the shape of colossal meteorites, their silhouettes blending seamlessly into the barren landscape.
Behind an entire wall coated in light-absorbing rare metal lay a crystalline floor equipped with its own constant-temperature system.
Faint blue energy conduits were embedded beneath the surface, winding along the patterns of the floor and pulsing quietly like the veins of some enormous living organism.
The office itself was circular and open, its transparent design allowing the space to feel almost weightless. On an L-shaped white desk sat a glass vase holding a cluster of blooming geraniums.
As a product of genetic engineering, the flowers survived entirely on an extraordinarily expensive regenerative solution.
"Marshal, this is the latest roster of sentinels scheduled for deployment to Earth. Please review it."
An adjutant in a military uniform presented the liquid-crystal tablet with both hands.
The man standing before the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the faint violet glow surrounding Terra’s atmosphere, slowly turned around.
He was exceptionally tall.
His pure-black military uniform was immaculate, not a single crease disturbing its perfect lines. Golden decorative wheat stalks and chains crossed his left chest, while meteor-gold buttons were fastened neatly all the way to the top.
His shoulder insignia bore the sun emblem representing the highest authority within the military.
With a long coat draped over his shoulders, he casually removed his gloves and accepted the roster.
What immediately caught the adjutant’s eye were his slender, almost gaunt fingers.
Each one was long and unnaturally thin, their pallor carrying the damp, sickly whiteness of skin that had spent years untouched by sunlight.
Across the dozens of sentry towers scattered throughout Earth’s eastern, western, northern, and southern regions, casualties were a regular occurrence.
And a considerable number of those deaths were suicides.
The rate of depression among sentinels had reached an astonishing eighty percent.
Under the brutal conditions of the apocalypse and the prolonged isolation of their emotional worlds, suicide had become almost commonplace.
The Terra government had tried every possible method to improve the sentinels’ living conditions. Their material standard of living was already considerably higher than that of ordinary civilians in the same regions.
Yet none of those measures had produced satisfactory results.
The artificial gestation facilities could simultaneously replicate and cultivate a hundred embryos, but fewer than one percent might awaken as sentinels.
And that was before even considering the exceptionally talented, high-ranking ones.
Asking the children of the powerful elite families to serve in Earth’s frontier towers?
They might as well ask for the moon.
Sentry towers with Guides stationed alongside them had dramatically lower suicide rates.
The problem was that among a hundred embryos, fewer than 0.01 percent awakened as Guides.
There were simply far too many sentinels and far too few Guides.
No matter how they divided them, there would never be enough to go around.
The man known as Marshal Alion slowly scrolled through the roster, examining each name with meticulous attention.
The military cap sat low over his head, its brim casting his features into deep shadow.
From the adjutant’s position, his face remained hidden.
The only thing visible was the cascade of silver hair flowing from beneath the cap, smooth and luminous like liquid moonlight.
His features were obscured, leaving only the high bridge of his nose and the hard line of his jaw visible beneath the shadows.
"Three dead in less than a month?"
His voice was slightly hoarse, yet carried an unmistakable weight of authority.
The adjutant knew exactly which tower he meant.
West One.
Personnel there were replaced constantly, and almost every new deployment roster contained another batch of replacements for that tower.
He lowered his head.
"Marshal, West One contains one of the three most important energy stations in the region. Nuclear power generation naturally attracts a large number of alien creatures..."
"Enough."
The man’s curt command carried a trace of restrained fury.
Cold sweat immediately broke across the adjutant’s forehead.
"Other sentinels are guarding critical energy stations as well. So why can those mad dogs in East Three keep holding the line for so long?"
He casually tossed the liquid-crystal tablet onto the desk.
"Some people are simply too useless to have been born. Their ranks are so low that sending them there would only waste resources."
His slender fingers tapped lightly against the simulated-metal desktop.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Notify the gestation facility. From now on, any sentinel embryo that awakens below Rank D is to be destroyed and processed into nutrient material."
"Yes, Marshal!"
At that moment, a staff member dressed in a white work uniform entered carrying steaming coffee and breakfast.
"Marshal, your breakfast. Please enjoy."
Alion tilted his chin slightly. Even then, the shadows beneath his cap concealed his eyes.
"A clone?"