The Canopy's mess hall was quieter than usual, the hum of the ship's stabilizers blending into the soft clatter of utensils against plates. Outside, the storm still raged, rain tapping against the reinforced windows in an uneven rhythm. The dim lighting cast long shadows over the metallic surfaces, giving the room a stillness that felt almost unnatural after the chaos of the deck.

  Scar sat across from Lyric at a small table near the window, a plate of charcoal-grilled steak in front of him. The pomegranate glaze glistened under the low light, pooling along the edges like blood against blackened steel. Across from him, Lyric twirled her fork between her fingers before stabbing a piece of meat with an almost absentminded ease.

  He chewed thoughtfully, letting the smoky, primal taste settle before the sharp tang of pomegranate cut through—unexpected, yet fitting. It was like the two flavors weren’t meant to mix, yet somehow, they worked together. He glanced up at Lyric, who was watching him with an unreadable expression.

  "Is Earth food not to your liking, or just lost in thought again?" she teased.

  Scar set his fork down, rolling his shoulder slightly. "Trying to figure it out."

  Lyric arched a brow. "Figure what out?"

  He gestured toward the plate. "You said this meal meant something to you."

  She leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. The storm outside flickered against her profile, catching in the pale streaks of her hair. “It’s not just the meal,” she said, resting her elbow on the table. “It’s what it represents.”

  Scar waited, learning she was the kind to explain things in her own time.

  She smirked, but there was something softer in it this time. “My name—Lyric Pyrrhus—it’s not just something I was given. It’s something I chose.”

  Scar tilted his head slightly. “Why?”

  Lyric tapped her fork against the edge of her plate. A slow, deliberate rhythm. “Names are more than just words. They tell a story—who you are, who you want to be, and sometimes, who you refuse to be.” She gestured toward her steak. “This? This is Pyrrhus.”

  Scar’s gaze flicked to the blackened meat, the seared edges cracking like scorched earth after battle, the glaze a deep red—rich, sharp, almost bleeding.

  “The fire, the smoke, the raw power—that’s Pyrrhus.” Something lingered underneath Lyric’s voice. “A name that carries weight, history."

  Lyric continued. "You said those where you're from still tell old stories—of Pyrrhus, the warrior-king, the conqueror who won battles but lost everything. A name burned into history, but always at a price.”

  Her fingers brushed the rim of her plate. "It’s strength—but it’s never clean. Never without cost. That’s why I chose it."

  Scar’s grip tightened slightly around his knife. He understood burdens.

  She picked up a piece of steak with her fingers this time, turning it over as if studying it. “But the glaze? That’s Lyric.” She popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly before swallowing. “Sharp. Expressive—artistic. Something that stands out against the dark.”

  Scar’s gaze lingered, not just on her words, but the way she moved—deliberate, controlled, like every gesture meant something. The way the low light caught in her eyes, turning them darker, the flicker of a smirk that never fully left her lips.

  Scar watched her carefully, the way she measured her words. There was no arrogance in her tone, no false significance to what she was saying—just understanding, like she’d lived with the meaning long enough that it had become part of her.

  "So you’re saying your name is a contradiction?" he asked.

  Lyric’s lips quirked upward. “A balance.” She speared another piece of steak. “The way I see it, you need both. Strength alone is just violence. And beauty without strength?” She popped the bite into her mouth, chewing before shrugging. “Just decoration.”

  Scar considered that, turning the thought around in his mind the same way he had the flavor on his tongue.

  Lyric nudged his plate slightly with her finger, just enough to break his focus. Her knuckles grazed his wrist—light, fleeting—but enough to pull him back into the moment.

  She smirked. “You’re thinking real hard again.”

  Scar picked up his fork, rolling it between his fingers. “Like you said earlier—I do that sometimes.”

  Lyric laughed softly, shaking her head. “Since we’re already making a meal out of metaphors, let’s talk about dessert.”

  Scar arched a brow as she leaned forward, dragging her plate aside to make room for the next course—a sleek, dark plate carrying two servings of dark chocolate ganache with chili, its glossy surface unmarred, a perfect contrast of smooth indulgence with an undercurrent of danger.

  Lyric lifted one of the small spoons beside the dish. “This—this is my favorite.” She dipped the spoon into the ganache, cutting through the dark chocolate before lifting it to her lips. The moment she tasted it, she closed her eyes briefly, savoring the bite before exhaling with satisfaction.

  Across from him, Lyric was still watching. Not in expectation, but in quiet curiosity—like she was waiting for his reaction, or maybe just reading him the way she read everything else.

  Scar picked up his spoon, mirroring her movements. The velvety chocolate coated his tongue before the slow burn of chili crept in, a heat that didn’t overpower but lingered—just enough to remind him it was there.

  Lyric watched him carefully. "Smooth. Luxurious." She lifted her spoon again, letting the overhead light catch the dark sheen of the dessert. "Then, just when you think you’ve got it figured out…"

  The spice kicked in again, sharper this time. Scar exhaled slightly through his nose.

  Lyric grinned. "Danger."

  Scar set his spoon down, giving her a look. "That supposed to mean something too?"

  She twirled her spoon between her fingers, tilting her head. "Of course. That’s the best part."

  Scar gave a slight nod, glancing toward the window, where the rain still streaked against the glass.

  Lyric tapped the side of the dish lightly. “People always focus on the heat at the end, but they miss the point.” She leaned forward slightly, voice lowering. “The beauty comes first. The danger comes after.”

  She leaned in just enough that he caught the faintest trace of her scent—something sharp, something distinctly her.

  For a second, Scar didn’t move. Didn’t pull back, didn’t break the space between them.

  Then, finally, he spoke. “Sounds like you.”

  Lyric’s grin widened. “Damn right.”

  Scar’s gaze lingered for a second too long before he glanced back at the window. Lyric didn’t call him on it, but the shift in her smirk said she noticed anyway.

  Outside, the storm raged on, but inside, for a brief moment, there was warmth.

  ☉☉☉

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  The Canopy's war room starkly contrasted the mess hall—its holographic displays casting shifting blue hues against the reinforced steel walls. A tactical map, brightly lit, hovered above the central console, highlighting three critical locations: the Canopy's current position, the Lone Star Docks, and the projected course of the Phantom Stray—Black August—advancing toward the Alamo.

  Commander Gaia stood at the head of the table, firmly contemplating the situation at hand. She took in every detail, mentally assembling and reassembling strategies. Across from her, Scar and Lyric listened in silence as she laid out their situation.

  “We don’t have time for a full resupply,” Gaia stated. "If we push the timetable any further, we compromise our ability to intercept the Kaiju."

  Scar studied the map, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Lyric, standing beside him, pulled her jacket tighter, her eyes flickering between the tactical map and Scar.

  "We're going with you," Scar said at last. "I may not be the expert on Kaiju, but sending Lyric away now is a bad strategy."

  Gaia's sharp green eyes cut toward him. “This isn’t up for debate." Her tone was calm, but final. "I need you to remember why you're here. Your fight isn't here—focus on what's important to you."

  Scar shook his head. “I won't let you walk into a fight without your best fighter because of me.”

  Gaia's expression didn't waver. "You think this is the first time I’ve been outmatched? The first time I’ve walked into a fight knowing the odds were against me? If I backed down every time I was at a disadvantage, I wouldn’t be standing here now. I don’t need perfect conditions to win—I need the right people in the right place. And right now, that means you sticking to your mission."

  Scar met her gaze. "You’re right—I need to be in the right place. And that place is where I can make a difference. I’m not the kind of person who watches people fight for me and does nothing."

  Gaia didn’t blink. “We don’t have a choice.”

  “You always have a choice,” Scar countered. "You won't let me throw myself into a fight that you think isn't mine—so why should I let you prioritize my own?"

  Gaia tilted her head slightly, as if considering. Then she gave the barest shake of her head. "You’re thinking about this the wrong way. If we focus too much on what comes next, we lose the fight right in front of us. You want in? Fine. But bring a plan, not just determination."

  Scar and Gaia locked eyes, neither willing to back down. The tactical map flickered, new movement indicators lighting up near the Kaiju’s projected path.

  Then, Lyric exhaled a short laugh, shaking her head. “You two are real pieces of work.”

  Gaia shot her a look, but Lyric only smirked. “She’s thinking with logic. You’re thinking with instinct. But the truth? It’s somewhere in between.” She flicked a finger toward the map. “We can’t just abandon the fight. But we also can’t charge in blind.”

  Gaia folded her arms, tilting her head slightly. "I see you’ve been paying attention. Shame you only remember my words when they work against me."

  Lyric swiped through the holographic display, her fingers skimming the glowing red text that detailed Black August’s capabilities.

  “Plasma Shear Cannons—nasty, but nothing new. Kinetic Impact Fists—big, but predictable. Deployable Drone Swarms—annoying, but easy targets.”

  Scar read them over once, then again, catching glances of Gaia. “Lyric, I don't think you're being very convincing right now.”

  Lyric leaned against the table, unimpressed. “Don't worry about the Commander. She trusts my judgment.”

  Gaia gave a slow, expectant nod. “You seem confident. Let’s see if it’s justified. Walk me through your angle before I decide whether to humor it.”

  Lyric tapped the Plasma Shear Cannons. “Shear Cannons don’t instantly carve through armor—it’s a sustained beam. Meaning?” She flicked a glance at Scar.

  “Meaning our mobility keeps us from getting sliced apart.”

  She moved on without a hint of praise. “Next—Kinetic Impact Fists.” She shrugged. “Scary? Absolutely. But only if they hit you.”

  Gaia’s expression was flat. “You're being too dismissive of the danger.”

  Lyric tilted her head. "The report shows a long wind-up time. That coupled with its predictable movements, gives our faster Titans an advantage." She gestured toward Scar again. “If what you showed back at Bermuda wasn't a fluke, you should be fine."

  Scar nodded slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

  “Which brings us to drone swarms.” Lyric spun her finger in a lazy circle above the highlighted entry. “Now, drones are a pain. They’re fast, they’re small," she tapped the table. "But they're not independent thinkers. They operate on a pattern. Once you crack that?" She snapped her fingers. “They’re target practice.”

  Gaia’s brow furrowed. “Confidence is one thing. Clarity is another. You haven't gotten to the worst of it yet. ”

  Scar raised a brow. “Oh?”

  Lyric shrugged. Her eyes kept moving, searching for the real problem buried in the specs.

  The lazy amusement in Lyric’s stance evaporated. Her fingers stilled mid-scroll. The easy rhythm of her analysis halted as she read the line again—then a third time.

  Scar caught her reaction, "Lyric, what is it?"

  Gaia, watching closely, sighed. “Black August is a Phantom-Class unit.” She stepped forward, tapping the display, shifting the specs to a highlighted section. “Stealth-oriented. Near-zero heat signature, meaning thermal imaging is useless. Radar? Disrupted. Sixth Sense tracking? Interference. Signal-based detection? Scrambled.”

  Her gaze flicked between them. “It doesn’t just avoid sensors—it exists in a state that makes it nearly impossible to pinpoint.”

  Scar’s brows furrowed. "I'm following."

  Gaia tapped the next entry, and a new set of readings appeared. “Only direct visual confirmation has worked so far. No long-range targeting, no automated locks. If you can’t see it with your own eyes, it might as well be a ghost.”

  Lyric’s fingers curled slightly against the table. “That’s not all.”

  Gaia nodded grimly. “No. Black August emits an unstable electromagnetic field—localized EMP surges strong enough to fry anything unshielded. If you’re not running sixth-tech, you’re dead in the water.”

  Scar remained unfazed. "That explains it. The Shear Cannon felt weaker than I expected—it’s not built for a direct fight. It’s meant to finish off immobilized targets, carving them up piece by piece." He glanced at Lyric, then Gaia. “Still, we’re not out of options. It’s not invincible—just hard to hit. We still have the Titans.”

  Both their expressions darkened.

  "No, we don’t." Gaia tapped the display again, pulling up a new set of readings. "Black August is equipped with a Resonance Disruptor—low-frequency energy designed to destabilize Titan neural sync links." Her tone was level, matter-of-fact. "Get too close, and piloting won’t just be difficult—it’ll be impossible. Once it activates, your Titan won’t move. It’ll be dead weight."

  Lyric scoffed, arms crossed as she studied the data. “This thing wasn’t built for a straight fight, but it doesn’t have to be, and that's the problem. It shuts down anything that tries to engage it. If we go in head-on, we don’t even get the chance to put up a fight.”

  Gaia inhaled slowly, grounding herself before speaking. Her voice was steady, measured—but there was no mistaking the weight behind it. “If we don’t stop Black August, there won’t be anything left to fight for.”

  Gaia met their eyes, unwavering. “Right now, The Alamo isn’t just vulnerable—it’s exposed.”

  No Titans. No long-range support. A Kaiju that could scramble their systems before they even landed a hit.

  Scar forced back the doubt creeping in.

  He couldn’t afford hesitation—he had to find a way to make a difference, to stand by the people leading him to Star.

  Then, something stirred at the back of his mind.

  Nova’s voice echoed in his mind. “You’re forgetting something, Scar.”

  The moment the dragon spoke, the pressure in his chest eased, steading his foundation before he even realized he was slipping.

  Nova's voice was a welcome surprise. "The Resonance Disruptor interferes with neural sync links, destabilizing the connection between mind and machine. It’s effective against pilots. Against Titans. But against a dragon?"

  Scar blinked, realization hitting like a jolt of static.

  Dragon’s Resilience.

  The skill had always been there—woven into his body, his mind, his instincts. A passive shield against the chaos, a wall against the storm. Damage reduction. Enhanced recovery. But more than that, it was his mental fortitude, his resistance to mind-altering effects.

  And that included the Resonance Disruptor.

  Nova’s voice was resolute. "Your mind is anchored in ways theirs aren’t. The sync disruption? It won’t work on you—not like it does on others."

  Scar fought the agitation more than he welcomed the relief. He should have realized it sooner.

  Gaia and Lyric were still talking, breaking down strategies, working through options—but Scar was already moving forward. Mentally. Tactically. The tide of the fight had just shifted.

  Then, he spoke.“You’re wrong.”

  Gaia and Lyric both turned, their sharp gazes locking onto him.

  Scar met Gaia’s stare without hesitation. “You said we wouldn't get a chance to put up a fight.” He exhaled slowly. “But that’s not true.”

  Lyric tilted her head, intrigued. “Sounds like you have a miracle hidden up your sleeve, or is it just wishful thinking?”

  Scar rolled his shoulder, feeling the steady pulse of his own strength. “Neither.” He tapped his temple. "Black August won't be able to affect my link."

  Gaia narrowed her eyes. "Explain."

  "I have a skill that protects my mind from such attacks." Scar's voice wasn't arrogant.

  For a moment, neither Gaia nor Lyric spoke.

  Scar glanced at the tactical display, at the glowing red path marking Black August’s advance. The Phantom-Class Kaiju thought it had already won.

  “We still have one advantage,” Scar continued. His voice was steady. "Me."

  Gaia’s frown deepened, skepticism flickering behind her eyes, but Lyric? She studied him, lips curving slightly in something that wasn’t quite a smirk—but wasn’t quite doubt, either.

  "Alright," Gaia finally spoke, her tone measured. "You've got my attention. But how do we prove it?"

  For a long moment, silence hung between them. The hum of the Canopy’s systems thrummed in the background, the storm still raging outside.

  Then, Lyric—

  "We can test it out in the hangar. If we try to initiate an emergency shutdown from an outside source, Scar should be able to cancel it if what he says is true."

  Scar didn't hesitate. He met their gazes, the storm outside mirrored in his eyes—not of uncertainty, but of something far more dangerous.

  "Then let’s find out."