Midarion had expected to be awake before dawn.
It was habit more than intention—his body trained by months of rising before bells, before light, before even the city itself seemed to stir. Normally, sleep came in fragments, shallow and easily broken, as if some part of him remained on watch even while resting.
This time, it did not.
When he opened his eyes, the room was already washed in pale morning light. The quiet was different too—deeper, fuller. His chest rose and fell without strain. His thoughts did not rush to assemble themselves.
For a moment, he simply lay there, surprised.
He felt… rested.
The memory came back slowly. Viktor's voice the previous night, casual but firm. The way he had leaned against the table in the mess hall, arms crossed, watching Midarion methodically finish cleaning a cup that was already clean.
"You're done for the day," Viktor had said.
"I still have—"
"That wasn't a suggestion."
Midarion had looked up, confused. "Acting Captain?"
"Go to sleep," Viktor had added. "Early. Immediately after dinner. That's an order."
Midarion had been prepared to argue—not emotionally, but logically. There were always unfinished tasks, always something that could be prepared ahead of time. He could not remember the last time he had gone to bed simply because it was time to rest.
But an order was an order.
And now, lying in the quiet of his quarters, he understood.
He sat up slowly, waiting for the familiar dull ache behind his eyes. It never came. His muscles felt loose, responsive. Even the old tightness in his shoulders had eased.
A small breath left him before he realized he'd exhaled.
By the time he dressed and stepped into the corridor, his mood felt… lighter. Not excited. Not careless. Just clear. As if a layer of fog had been lifted from the world.
The division wing was already active when he arrived. Analysts murmured over projection tables. Messengers moved with purpose but without urgency. Everything felt balanced on a fine edge—prepared, but not yet alarmed.
Viktor was there, of course. Coat buttoned properly this time, glasses in place, posture relaxed in a way that did not diminish authority.
He looked up when Midarion approached.
"You slept," Viktor said.
"Yes, Acting Captain."
Viktor's mouth curved slightly. "Good. I'd have been offended if you didn't."
Midarion inclined his head. "Thank you for the order."
That earned him a brief, assessing look. "Careful," Viktor replied. "You're going to ruin my reputation."
They had barely begun reviewing the morning reports when a shift rippled through the room.
Not noise. Not panic.
Attention.
One of the analysts straightened, fingers frozen above a glass-lit interface. "Commander Fritz."
Viktor turned immediately. "Report."
"Long-range detection flagged movement beyond the western perimeter. Low signature. Extremely well-concealed. We nearly missed it."
"How many?"
"Unclear. At least three. Possibly more."
The room grew quieter, the kind of silence that formed not from fear but from focus.
Viktor stepped closer, eyes narrowing behind his lenses. "Probability of coincidence?"
"Low."
"Intent?"
"Unknown."
Viktor nodded once. "Lucky catch," he said. "Good work."
He straightened and turned to the room. "Initiate readiness protocol. All divisions."
The order carried without being raised.
"Defense Division: reinforce outer positions. Quietly."
"Strike Division: standby, no movement without my word."
"Medical and Support: prepare triage and supply, but keep it out of sight."
He paused, then added, "No bells. No announcements."
The analysts moved at once, signals flowing outward like veins carrying blood.
Viktor turned to another senior officer. "You have command until I return."
"Yes, Acting Captain."
Then Viktor looked at Midarion.
"Come with me."
For half a second, Midarion thought he had misheard.
"Sir?"
"You heard me."
Midarion hesitated—not from fear, but disbelief. "Outside the Sanctuary?"
"Yes."
Midarion searched Viktor's face for correction. Found none.
"Change," Viktor added. "put your armor on. Leave the attendant's attire."
Midarion bowed. "Understood."
He moved quickly, but not hurriedly. When he returned, the weight of the armor settled over him like a memory rediscovered. The familiar fit. The reassuring pressure. He secured Berserker at his back, fingers lingering on the hilt longer than necessary.
He had not realized how much he had missed it.
When he stepped back into the division hall, a few heads turned. Not in surprise—but recognition.
Then he saw Viktor.
The acting captain wore almost no armor at all. A single reinforced pauldron on one shoulder. A fitted sleeve of plated fabric along one arm. Over it all, his lab blouse—creased, practical, unadorned.
Midarion blinked. "Sir…?"
Before Viktor could answer, his assistant spoke, tone mild, as if explaining weather. "Among the divisions, there's an old belief. Recruits wear full armor because they need protection. As you rise in rank, you rely less on it."
Midarion looked from the assistant back to Viktor. "Because the strong don't need armor?"
Viktor shrugged. "Something like that."
Midarion considered this, then shook his head. "I'd still wear mine."
That drew a few quiet chuckles.
"Even as a captain," Midarion added calmly. "Maybe especially then."
Viktor studied him, something thoughtful flickering behind the humor. "Good," he said. "Means you understand what armor is really for."
Artefacts were issued next—small, discreet communicators fitted behind the ear. Midarion tested his, listening as voices from the division filtered in, calm and precise.
Final confirmations came through.
Defense ready.
Strike standing by.
Medical prepared.
Viktor adjusted his glasses, then stepped toward the exit.
At the threshold, the division gathered—not in formation, but in presence.
Viktor spoke, voice even.
"I swear by tide returning and abyss unseen," he began.
The words were old. Heavy. They settled into the air like stone.
Midarion followed without hesitation.
"To stand against corruption and drowning dark.
To guard Astraelis in patience or fury.
To obey the Crown, the Imperion, and the Law beyond fear or favor.
I am the current that cannot be turned.
I am the depth that cannot be emptied."
Silence followed—not reverent, not theatrical. Ready.
Viktor pushed the doors open.
Cool air swept in.
Midarion stepped forward beside him, armor steady on his shoulders, mind clear, heart quiet.
Behind them, Hydros waited.
Ahead, the unknown did too.