01-02-2345, Celestial Era – 12:34
Timer Countdown: T-04:00
"I guess this recording'll make a great clip. Three… two… one… and rolling."
The lifeless voice echoed softly through the cabin. A pair of grey eyes slowly opened, focusing on the giant display in front of him.
The screen showed an endless expanse of black — the universe — with countless stars glittering like shards of glass scattered across the void.
"Damn that instructor…" he muttered under his breath. "I took the perfect shot last time, and he still said it wasn't 'artistic enough'. A C-grade, really? Well, this time… I'll get that A."
The man — Revan Corvis — let out a long sigh. His hands rested on the dual control sticks before him, surrounded by rows of indicator lights, sensors, and softly glowing buttons.
With practiced precision, his right hand pulled one lever while the left pushed the other. Slowly, a turquoise planet slid into the center of the frame — surrounded by three natural satellites and a fleet of orbital stations glittering like silver dots.
After twenty-three hours of adjustments, focus checks, and patience, the perfect shot was finally in front of him.
"Alright… focus, focus…"
He pressed the large blue button labeled [CAPTURE] and took a deep breath.A soft click echoed. The image appeared, processed, and saved instantly.
Revan leaned back in his seat, sweat clinging to his white shirt. The cockpit lights dimmed, replaced by the blinking of a small console indicator.
[Incoming Transmission]
"Juliet-1, identify yourself and state your purpose," came a deep, metallic voice.
"Serial number X00G-X1R. National ID code: Raven. Mission purpose: Photography assignment for Astral Foundation Academy. Clearance code 330-RV1."
His tone was calm, almost casual.
A moment later, two massive figures appeared on his screen — humanoid mechs, each about eighteen meters tall. Their bodies were coated in dark-blue alloy, sleek and intimidating, each holding a long-barreled weapon in its right hand.
Revan tilted his head, eyes sparkling.
"Wait a second… those are Brust Rifles, made by Boronikhav Weaponry. BWR-32R model, if I'm not mistaken. Output's a megawatt per shot — ten rounds per cell. But—hold on, that's military-grade!?"
"Your identity has been confirmed," the voice replied flatly. "Please cooperate. This sector is under active patrol."
Revan smirked slightly. "Byranos Weapon Systems, AG-14 model, huh? Thought those old things were scrapped after that corruption scandal."
He chuckled. "So this is the 'failed project' they covered up."
"You seem to know quite a bit about classified units," the voice remarked.
"I read too much news," he said simply.
Outside, the two mechs ignited their thrusters, soaring diagonally with perfect formation. Revan adjusted his controls to follow.
"Standard flight mode, huh? Controls are a bit heavy…" he murmured.
He maneuvered carefully, eyes locked on the display — until something enormous filled the view.
A massive white vessel with golden accents hovered in the void, majestic and radiant. Its hull shimmered like sunlight on water, wings extending outward like a celestial bird ready to soar.
"No way… that's the new Astral Gear Carrier, AGC-001 Photon!" he gasped.
[Incoming Transmission]
"Correct, Codename Raven. Your background has been verified. Proceed to main hangar for landing."
"Understood. Initiating maneuver 11E3."
His tone shifted — cool, professional.
The massive hangar doors opened ahead, glowing faintly. Revan pressed down the right pedal, guiding his craft into the corridor of light.
[Transmission Log]"Manoeuver 11E3 complete. Hangar seal sequence initiated. Over.""Confirmed. Over."
As the hangar doors sealed shut behind him, the echoes faded into silence.
Revan reclined in his seat, watching the console power down."Great… what's the issue this time?" he muttered.
He unstrapped himself, pressed a button above, and the cockpit canopy slid open with a hiss. Light flooded in, revealing his weary face. He floated upward, spinning lazily in zero gravity.
Then, a voice rang out — cold, commanding.
"Revan Corvis, your report has been graded an A. The instructor's favoritism will be dealt with in a disciplinary session. Now tell me — why are you here?"
Revan turned toward the source. Behind a glass panel stood a tall man — golden-haired, blue-eyed, dressed in a crisp white uniform that radiated authority.
"And you are?" Revan asked, still drifting.
"I am Asterius Norrad, the founding leader of the Astral Foundation."
Revan blinked. "Oh. Well, sir… I just needed a good photo to keep my scholarship. Otherwise, I'm out of the program."
"The competition in the Astral Gear Division is fierce," Asterius said coolly. "You should be prepared to fail."
"I'm not from that division," Revan replied evenly. "Mechanical Engineering, Level Four. My pilot license is beginner class only."
The side door beside Asterius slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a group of men and women in black formal uniforms. Their presence carried the sharp weight of authority — the kind that made even the air feel heavy.
One of them stepped forward, his boots clicking against the metallic floor. "Welcome aboard the flagship, Photon, Revan Corvis," he said, his tone firm and official. "We need your full cooperation to prevent any… misunderstanding."
Revan floated lazily, one hand on the edge of the open cockpit. "First off," he said dryly, "can someone turn the gravity back on? Kinda hard to look serious when I'm spinning like laundry."
Asterius gave a faint nod. "Gravity field, level one."
A soft hum vibrated through the chamber, and Revan's boots gently touched the floor. He stumbled once, adjusting his balance, before straightening up. The white interior of the hangar gleamed around him — spotless, clinical, like the inside of a living machine.
The officer in black crossed his arms, his sharp crimson eyes fixed on Revan. "Now," he began, voice edged with suspicion, "where did you acquire that Astral Gear unit? Civilian pilots don't just fly in with high-tier mechs."
"I didn't buy or steal it," Revan said, shrugging. "I built it myself. It's my final project for mechanical engineering class."
The officer frowned. "That's not possible. Every Astral Gear component requires clearance from the Foundation's manufacturing vaults."
"Yeah," Revan said, tone casual, "and I made mine from scrap. Old modules, surplus cores, and a lot of duct tape."
Asterius's cold gaze didn't waver. "You expect us to believe that a student constructed a working combat-class Astral Gear from junk?"
Revan looked him dead in the eye. "Not just working — flight-ready and stable enough to orbit twice without blowing up. Want proof?"
The officer exhaled sharply through his nose, pulling a sleek tablet from his belt. "Let's verify that claim." His fingers danced across the screen. "Name of your channel?"
"Stardust Media. You'll find the build logs there. Q-Tube."
The officer paused, typed, and within seconds, the holographic display projected a list of videos. Titles like 'Astral Frame Alignment Test' and 'Salvage Reactor Rebuild' filled the feed, each with hundreds of thousands of views.
Asterius leaned closer to the screen. The thumbnails showed Revan — in that same sweat-stained shirt — welding, assembling, and testing parts in a cluttered hangar.
The officer's expression hardened. "You posted classified-level engineering data online?"
Revan scratched his cheek awkwardly. "Uh… well, it wasn't classified when I started. I just thought it'd be fun to stream the progress. Educational content, you know?"
Asterius closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This violates at least six Foundation regulations," he muttered.
"So… that means I get an A+?" Revan grinned.
"Revan Corvis," Asterius said slowly, his tone like ice, "do you have any idea what kind of storm you've just created?"
Revan shrugged. "Not really. I just wanted a good photo."
Silence filled the hangar. For a brief moment, even the hum of the engines felt distant.
Then, one of the black-uniformed officers whispered something into Asterius's ear. The founder's expression darkened.
He turned toward Revan. "You're coming with us. The Council of the Astral Foundation wishes to question you — immediately."
Revan blinked. "Question me? About what?"
"About why a machine that no student should be able to build… carries a core signature registered to a weapon prototype scrapped decades ago."
Revan froze. His easygoing expression faltered. "Wait… what are you talking about?"
Asterius's piercing blue eyes met his. "Your 'homemade' Astral Gear — the one you claim to have built from junk — bears the serial signature of Project Zero."
The room fell silent again, but this time, it wasn't the silence of confusion — it was tension.
Revan's heartbeat thudded in his ears. "Project… Zero?"
Asterius nodded once, grimly. "Yes. The very first astral gear developed by first generation of researcher.."
And standing in front of him, with sweat still glistening on his brow and a half-smile frozen on his lips, was the student who had unknowingly brought it back to life.