In the year Bai Sha neared graduation from Tianshu Military Academy, the school's administrative office was thrown into a frenzy, its staff teetering on the edge of despair as they orchestrated the annual graduation ball. The event, a cherished tradition, marked the transition of fourth-year cadets from students to officers, their futures sealed with provisional ranks, roles, and unit assignments after a year-long military internship. The ball was both a celebration and a rite of passage, where cadets, dressed in resplendent uniforms, partnered with a chosen companion—be it a classmate or an outsider—to dance beneath the academy's starlit dome. For many, the choice of partner was laden with meaning, as legend held that pairs who danced together often walked hand-in-hand into marriage, making the ball a stage for confessions and courtships.
This year, however, the preparations were anything but routine, the stakes elevated by two unprecedented factors. First, Bai Sha Ronin, Crown Prince of the Aresian Empire, was among the graduates. Despite recent turmoil within the Ronin family—scandals and sacrifices that had rocked the imperial court—Bai Sha's position as heir remained unshakable, her status a beacon of continuity. Her graduation was no mere ceremony; it was a galactic event, drawing the Empire's elite like moths to a flame. Ronin kin, from distant cousins to revered elders, would descend upon Tianshu, their presence a parade of silks and scepters. With them came representatives of the Empire's great houses, their entourages swelling the guest list. Though Tianshu was accustomed to noble cadets, the influx of dignitaries, each with their own agendas, strained the academy's resources, transforming the ball into a diplomatic tightrope.
Second, a contingent of Federation exchange students, fresh from their own war-torn triumphs, would join the festivities. These students—heroes of the Federation's civil war—had deferred lucrative military commissions to complete their education, choosing to spend three months at Tianshu as a gesture of goodwill between the newly allied powers. Their time was fleeting, barely a semester, and the ball doubled as their farewell, a symbol of the Empire-Federation bond. Media crews, tasked with documenting this historic camaraderie, would roam the event, their cameras adding yet another layer of scrutiny. The guest list ballooned, the logistics nightmarish, demanding a ball that was elegant yet modern, gracious yet precise—a balance as delicate as a mecha's thruster array.
The academy's planners toiled, their offices a whirlwind of holo-screens and harried voices, but Bai Sha, insulated by her rank, was spared their burdens. Her sole task was deceptively simple: choose a dance partner. Yet, a week before the ball, her private inbox overflowed with declarations of ardor and formal invitations, some delivered directly to Youdu Star's imperial palace. In her absence, Emperor Cecil, her uncle, had assumed the unenviable role of gatekeeper, sifting through the deluge with a scowl. With ruthless precision, he fed most into a shredder, preserving only a handful—letters of impeccable decorum, from senders of unimpeachable lineage. These he forwarded to Bai Sha, who, upon receiving them, slumped into a chair, her expression one of weary resignation.
"Too many invitations, Uncle," she sighed, rubbing her temples. "I'd planned to go with Jingyi, but she changed her mind at the last minute, pairing with Ya Ning instead. Now Zhou Yue and Zhou Ying both want me as their partner. What's wrong with those twins? Couldn't they talk it out? I'm one person, not a hologram to split in two!"
Cecil, recalling the Zhou brothers, raised an eyebrow. "Both invited you? And they know about each other?"
Bai Sha nodded, her shoulders sagging.
"They couldn't agree, so they've dumped the decision on you," Cecil said, his voice cool. "Choosing one risks alienating the other."
"Exactly," Bai Sha said, nodding vigorously.
"The solution is simple," Cecil declared. "Choose neither. It's fair."
Bai Sha's nod grew fervent, relief washing over her. The thought of navigating the twins' rivalry was a nightmare she'd rather avoid forever. "But if not them, who?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
Cecil, after a moment's deliberation, laid three invitations before her, each distinct in hue and design. Bai Sha's gaze drifted to them, her curiosity piqued despite her fatigue.
Her eyes lingered on the first, a striking piece of deep black parchment adorned with gilded filigree forming a beastly crest—a panther, its sleek form coiled in repose, forelegs crossed, its round eyes gleaming with crescent-like light. The emblem was both majestic and endearing, evoking memories of a tactile delight: the silken fur of a black panther psychic core, a sensation unmatched by any other. Bai Sha's fingers twitched, nostalgia tugging at her heart. In her youth, she'd petted that core shamelessly, but now, propriety restrained her. To indulge again would court embarrassment, a social blunder unfit for a crown prince. Worse, the core's owner might acquiesce out of deference to her rank, a concession she couldn't bear to impose.
"Is this from the Ji family?" she asked, her voice soft. "Ji Ya said she'd attend the ceremony."
Cecil's lips pressed into a thin line. "Open it."
Bai Sha unfolded the letter, her eyes catching the bold, angular script. The signature was not Ji Ya's but Ji Lun's. Her gaze brightened, a spark of interest flickering. Cecil, observing her, chuckled softly. "I knew you'd perk up for him. But think carefully, Sha. You're drawn to his core, but what's he drawn to?"
His words, succinct yet pointed, gave her pause. Bai Sha hesitated, setting the letter aside, her enthusiasm dimmed by doubt. She turned to the second invitation, its deep blue parchment reminiscent of a twilight sky, serene and enveloping. Etched upon it were ripples like river waves, cradling a single azure feather. "The Han family?" she murmured, her brow furrowing. She tore it open, scanning the contents. The sender was Han Xiao, her deputy minister, whose letter offered a novel rationale: aware of her partner dilemma, he volunteered to be her escort, sparing her scrutiny. Their relationship—crown prince and aide, bound by future political collaboration—was transparent, their dance unlikely to fuel gossip. His logic was sound, his offer tempting. Han Xiao was graceful, his dancing renowned, and his presence would be a shield against rumors.
The third invitation was an anomaly, devoid of crests or clan markers—a pristine sheet of white paper, speckled with gold, folded into an intricate rose. "I didn't open this one," Cecil said, his tone neutral. "It wasn't logged in the registry, but I have a guess who sent it."
Bai Sha smiled, unfolding the rose with care. A single line greeted her, penned in elegant script: "The moon is time's mirror, and you are the eternal morning star."
Cecil leaned over, squinting at the paper. "What's this riddle?"
"It's a love poem, Uncle," Bai Sha said, her voice tinged with amusement. "No wonder you've never dated."
Cecil's expression froze, his eyes narrowing at the paper as if it were a pest to be eradicated. "What's that look?" Bai Sha teased.
"Nothing," he said curtly.
"Really? Then I'll reply to the sender."
"You know who it is?" Cecil asked, his voice skeptical.
"I spent years in the Tomb," Bai Sha said, her tone softening. "Uriel visited me most often. I'd recognize his handwriting anywhere."
"You should," Cecil conceded, then frowned. "And you'd take him to the ball? He's a cyborg, Sha. I don't mean to disparage him—my rank hardly qualifies me to judge—but that's the issue. We age, even if slowly. He doesn't. Do you grasp what that means? If you're unsure, go back to the twins."
Bai Sha, unfazed, folded the rose with gentle precision. "Your worries aren't problems, Uncle," she said, her voice steady. "Look at his words: 'The moon is time's mirror.' We're past Earth's calendar, with no true moon, only an idea. Uriel and I, we've seen the real moon, in memories older than this era. Time turns history to dust, but what we deem constant endures. I trust him, and he trusts me. For now, that's enough."
Cecil's face paled, his breath catching as if on the verge of collapse. "Fine," he said, his voice strained. "I'll escort you. An emperor with his heir—it's fitting. I'll teach you, Sha: love isn't essential for a ruler."
Bai Sha laughed, the sound bright against the room's quiet. "We'll see, Uncle."
The week before the ball passed in a blur, Tianshu's campus alight with anticipation. Cadets polished their dress uniforms, their silver epaulets gleaming, while the academy's halls were draped in silks and starlight projectors, transforming the austere grounds into a celestial haven. Bai Sha, juggling final exams and imperial duties, found solace in her friends' banter. Zhou Yue and Zhou Ying, chagrined by her rejection, settled for attending together, their brotherly bond a shield against embarrassment. Jingyi and Ya Ning, radiant as a pair, teased Bai Sha relentlessly, while Han Xiao, ever composed, offered subtle nods of support.
Cecil's decision to escort her sparked whispers, but Bai Sha embraced it, knowing his presence would anchor her amid the ball's chaos. Uriel's letter, tucked in her quarters, was a quiet promise she held close, its poetry a reminder of their shared past. She hadn't replied, not yet, but his words lingered, a melody in her thoughts.
The night of the ball arrived, Youdu's twin suns setting in a blaze of crimson, the sky a canvas for Tianshu's dome. The hall, vast and vaulted, shimmered with holographic constellations, its floor a polished obsidian that reflected the stars above. Guests poured in—Ronin kin in gilded robes, clan lords with jeweled crests, Federation delegates in sleek tunics. Media drones hovered discreetly, capturing the mingling of empires, their lenses a silent witness to history.
Bai Sha entered on Cecil's arm, her gown a cascade of silver and midnight blue, its fabric shimmering like a nebula. Her crown, a delicate band of starstones, gleamed softly, marking her as heir. Cecil, resplendent in imperial black, exuded authority, his blue eyes scanning the crowd with practiced vigilance. The room hushed, then erupted in applause, the weight of her presence undeniable.
The ball began with formalities—speeches from the academy's commandant, toasts to the graduates, and a tribute to the Empire-Federation alliance. Zhou Yue, representing the exchange students, spoke briefly, his synesthesia lending his words a vivid cadence that drew smiles. Bai Sha, called to the dais, offered a few words of gratitude, her voice steady despite the eyes upon her. "We dance tonight not just for ourselves," she said, "but for those who fought for this peace. May our steps honor them."
The music swelled, a symphony of strings and synths, and the dance floor filled. Cecil led Bai Sha in the first waltz, his steps precise, their movements a study in grace. "You're better at this than I expected," she teased, her smile impish.
"Don't push it," he muttered, though his eyes softened.
As the dance ended, Cecil stepped back, yielding the floor. Bai Sha's friends approached, their laughter a welcome reprieve. Zhou Yue and Ying, dapper in Federation greys, bowed playfully, while Jingyi and Ya Ning, arm-in-arm, dragged her into a lively reel. Han Xiao, true to his word, claimed a dance, his elegance a perfect foil to her energy, their steps drawing admiring glances.
Amid the whirl, Bai Sha's gaze caught a figure at the hall's edge—Uriel, his silver hair catching the light, his cyborg frame clad in a tailored suit of charcoal and gold. His eyes, ageless and knowing, met hers, a silent question in their depths. She excused herself, weaving through the crowd, her heart quickening.
"You came," she said, stopping before him.
"I promised," Uriel replied, his voice low, resonant. He extended a hand, the rose's words unspoken between them. "May I?"
Bai Sha took his hand, her decision made in the Tomb's shadows, where his visits had been her lifeline. They joined the dance, their steps a quiet harmony, his touch cool yet grounding. The crowd watched, some curious, others awed, but Bai Sha saw only him—the one who'd seen her at her darkest, who'd written her as a morning star.
"You meant it," she said, her voice soft. "The poem."
"Every word," Uriel said, his gaze unwavering. "Time changes much, but not you."
They danced through the night, their bond a thread across eras, unmarred by the Empire's longevity or his eternity. Cecil, watching from afar, sighed but nodded, a reluctant acceptance. Zhou Yue and Ying, grinning, raised glasses in salute, while Jingyi whispered to Ya Ning, their smiles conspiratorial.
The ball stretched into dawn, Youdu's suns rising to gild the dome. Bai Sha, surrounded by friends and family, felt the galaxy's pulse align with her own. The Federation students, their farewell bittersweet, promised to return, their alliance a bridge across stars. Ji Lun, ever gallant, offered a bow, his panther core a shadow at his side, while Han Xiao's quiet nod spoke of loyalty unbroken.
As the music faded, Bai Sha stood with Uriel on a balcony, the capital star's lights a tapestry below. "What now?" she asked, echoing a question from years past.
"We shine," Uriel said, his hand brushing hers. "As stars do."
The galaxy, scarred but vibrant, stretched before them, its depths a canvas for their dreams. Bai Sha, crown prince, warrior, dreamer, stepped into her future, her heart alight with the promise of eternity.