Heavy black clouds hung over the skies of Alexandria. The people's faces were a mirror of the somber heavens, and for a moment, it seemed as if the entire kingdom had been swallowed by endless night. Amidst this solemn vigil, the royal knights' second-in-command, Zelenia Triantafylli, regarded the mourners with her uncovered eye. Each in the procession held a white flower, its petals shimmering faintly in the gloom, threads of light weaving a path through shadow. Yet all knew there would be no hope at trail's end.

The castle air was thick with the heady scent of flowers and a chorus of sorrowful voices. In the cold throne room, the people of Alexandria gathered before a coffin that held Queen Sphene Alexandros XIV, now in eternal repose—a ruler who had loved her people dearly, and been dearly loved in return. This was her royal funeral, and the kingdom had only just begun to grieve.

"Whatever shall we do without Her Majesty?" muttered a broad-shouldered man clad in iron armor, his voice uncharacteristically frail. Zelenia let out a long sigh, holding down her chestnut hair against the tugging of the damp wind.

"We safeguard the people she so dearly loved. Such is our duty. You must remember that, Lord Captain," Zelenia reminded him quietly.

"You're right, of course. Even so... I..."

Otis Velona, lord captain of the royal knights of Alexandria, faltered as the words died in his throat. Zelenia, meanwhile, remained silent. As she watched the tearful mourners clinging to one another, her thoughts drifted to the late queen.

She recalled her appointment as Princess Sphene's personal guardian. The young girl had been overjoyed, saying it felt as though she'd gained an older sister. I vowed to shield her from all harm that day.

Then there was Sphene's coronation, a hasty affair carried out before she had time to mourn her parents. Zelenia had held the trembling child, offering what little comfort she could. I swore anew to keep Her Majesty safe, even should it cost my life.

Each remembrance was a fresh assault on her spirit. Yet the knight held fast, her bearing as steady as ever. She could not weep—not yet. Not while the truth was still unclear.

Whether her doubts were born of denial, or of instincts honed through years on the battlefield, even she could not say. But recent oddities had lingered and coalesced into a question Zelenia could no longer ignore:

Was Sphene truly dead?

The first seeds of doubt were sown several days before the funeral. Zelenia and Otis were on their way to the queen's chamber, reviewing their upcoming report as they walked. The queen needed to be briefed on the destruction wrought by the Storm Surge, as well as the progress of rescue and reconstruction efforts. Braced for a sober meeting, the two knights arrived at the entrance to Her Majesty's chambers—only to find someone already there.

Tuphut, the queen's Milalla tutor, was thumbing through his teaching materials listlessly. When questioned, he explained that he, too, had come to visit Queen Sphene, only to be turned away by her physician, Thundran.

With no other recourse, the trio waited until Thundran emerged. Otis stepped forward at once, demanding an explanation. The physician lowered her gaze. Then, in a soft, halting tone, she delivered the news none had been prepared to hear. The queen had passed away.

"What? But...how...?" Otis murmured, stunned.

"I am sorry, but none can see her now," said Thundran. "I must ask you to leave─and pray speak not of this until a royal proclamation is made."

"Why? They couldn't have..." began Tuphut, before Thundran gave him a pointed look and swiftly strode away. Otis sank to his knees, the clatter of his armor against the cold stone floor echoing in the corridor. Zelenia stood frozen, unable to find a single word of comfort—for him, or for herself. But through the haze of shock, a fragile strand of reason held fast. Enough to grant her the presence of mind to be puzzled by the sudden turn in the queen's health.

Since the waning days of the Storm Surge, the kingdom of Alexandria had seen a marked rise in those whose aether skewed toward lightning. Many knights, their limbs wracked by creeping paralysis, had been forced into early retirement. Over time, the condition would strip away their ability to eat, to speak, to even breathe, until finally death claimed them. But it was always a slow progression. Zelenia had not once heard of an afflicted soul succumbing overnight.

Sphene, too, had grown frailer with time. Though she could no longer rise from bed, she had still woken with the sun and slept with the stars. Speech had been increasingly difficult, but the queen's eyes had remained sharp. Clear and vibrant just the other day. To be told she had passed so suddenly...it beggared belief.

As she pondered the impossibility, Zelenia felt another pang of unease. A stray remark, half-unheard in grief, now surfaced with sudden clarity. She cast about the hall, but the tutor was gone—vanished from the queen's chamber door.

Six years had come and gone since the royal funeral. Over that time, Alexandria had survived its many hardships thanks to the increasingly influential Preservation, a technological development institute. The royal knights were busier than ever, and Zelenia was no exception, caught up in the relentless demands of her daily duties. Yet the doubts she had buried for years had returned to the forefront of her mind.

Following Sphene's passing, Tuphut had dedicated himself to Preservation's work. Zelenia made formal requests for an audience many times, all of which were seemingly ignored. But when a rumor reached her that the erstwhile tutor was visiting Alexandria, she seized the opportunity to catch him at the railway station.

"You will ignore me no longer, Tuphut. I have but one question, and I have waited years to ask it."

The Milalla, who had only just hopped down from his carriage, whirled about with wide eyes. "Zelenia!? What...what are you doing here?"

The knight stepped closer and continued in a steel whisper. "When we learned of the queen's death, you said, 'They couldn't have...' Who did you mean by 'they'?"

"Please..." he begged. "The path you walk is fraught with thorns." But Zelenia's gaze was unwavering. Tuphut sighed in resignation.

"My homeland lacks the knowledge to build barriers to keep lightning aether at bay. I believed that by bringing back such technology, I could save my people. So I made a proposal. A means to at best delay the inevitable, perhaps─but I never imagined how they might twist my intentions. And now, I'm in no position to speak against them."

"Tuphut... What are you saying?"

The Milalla looked away and shook his head.

Zelenia knew all too well why one would covet such Alexandria's protective technology. In a world ravaged by lightning aether, the barriers meant life or death. Even before the Storm Surge, the kingdom had been shielded by such barriers—and since then, Preservation had strengthened them in response to the worsening environment. Little wonder Tuphut was unwilling to say more. Doubtless he feared upsetting his benefactors, who could withdraw their cooperation in retaliation. Ostensibly, the organization had ever worked only with the people's best interests at heart, and while Zelenia was loath to suspect them of wrongdoing, Tuphut's cryptic statements hinted at a darker truth. Yet this grim possibility was not wholly unwelcome, for if Preservation was indeed involved, then Zelenia was closer to an answer to the question which had long plagued her.

"Treno, my home, lies outside Alexandria's domain, yet the royal knights came to our rescue when disaster struck. For their selfless bravery I am eternally grateful, and that is precisely why I must implore you once more. Let it go, Zelenia."

With that parting plea, Tuphut left her and the station behind. Zelenia watched him go until his small form disappeared from sight. If her intuition was correct, she had no choice but to pursue Preservation. At the same time, she knew Tuphut was right. The organization would make for a dangerous foe, especially while they enjoyed the favor of the people. She could rely upon no one else, not even Otis. And so Zelenia, undaunted and unafraid, resolved to seek the truth—and her queen—alone.

For five years the knight had searched in secret. Clues were elusive and slippery, quietly erased while duty conveniently pulled her elsewhere, again and again. The cycle had become her life, but today promised to be different. Today, she stalked the castle's shadows. Once bustling with activity, it was now under Preservation's control, and not even the royal knights could freely wander its halls. Many of the hidden passages she had uncovered were flooded by the interminable rain, yet this one had been carefully maintained. At last she came to its end, and found herself inside the throne room.

The floral perfumes and doleful cries had long since faded. Stale metallic odors and the hum of electrope machinery now filled the chamber, punctuated by Zelenia's footsteps. An intricate web of cables converged on a coffin-shaped object in its center. Zelenia approached and peered inside─there lay Sphene, her youthful face unmarred by the passage of time.

"My queen..." Her trembling fingertips came to rest upon the enclosure. A storm of joy and fear and apprehension roiled within her. Through sheer force of will, Zelenia calmed this tempest and turned her attention towards the machine before her. These circuits... Could they be converting lightning-aspected aether to ice? Are they keeping her alive through cold-induced stasis?

"A means to at best to delay the inevitable," she whispered, struck by the epiphany. Zelenia could shut down the device, and bring Sphene back, but without a cure for levin sickness, her death would be assured.

Zelenia stiffened, acutely aware of her surroundings once more. How did you let yourself get cornered? Wheeling about, her hand drifting to the hilt of her sword by reflex, she was met with a Preservation engineer flanked by two autonomous sentries. The engineer she recognized as Thundran, Sphene's former physician. The trap is sprung. Just as she had grown weary of their endless game, so too had they. Was it you who left the breadcrumbs for me to follow, or your master?

"Ere we finish this, indulge me two questions. Was this Her Majesty's wish?" asked Zelenia.

"A strange thing to ask. The queen was in no condition to speak. What need was there to seek her consent?" Thundran replied.

The corner of Zelenia's mouth twitched as she bit back a snarl. Her words had always reached Sphene, and the queen had always answered, with her eyes if nothing else. But the time for argument had long since passed. With a long breath, Zelenia swallowed her fury.

"Then tell me...why keep her like this?" asked Zelenia. "You've abandoned your research into a cure. I doubt you even believe one will ever be found."

"To preserve her memories. So long as we have those, she can one day live eternal—or so he assures us. Originally, we intended to extract them along with her soul upon death, but the risk proved too great. This was the safer path—one that ensures her memories endure."

So long as our memories endure, we may live on. She knew the mantra well, but also knew it was never meant to justify reducing memory to sterile data. Though the puzzle was incomplete, the engineer's placid smile made it clear she did not intend to divulge more.

"I hope that was enlightening," said Thundran, as a sentry readied its weapon. Zelenia was a peerless warrior─a royal knight—and could have easily struck down her enemies. Yet the queen slept peacefully behind her, and the quarters were too confined. Remembering her vow, she stayed her hand as the sentry struck. Pain blossomed in her chest, and Zelenia fell.

Did I make the right choice? The machine keeping Sphene alive hummed rhythmically like a beating heart, providing no answers. There was nothing more she could do. Only...

"Look, Zelenia. Even the darkest clouds can't hide every star. You just have to find the gaps." So echoed Sphene's voice, a final memory rising from the depths—her queen's face lit with wonder as she spied a glimmer amidst the gloom. As her breathing slowed and her vision grew dim, Zelenia offered a silent prayer that she, too, might be guided by those faint motes of light.