The Military Academy of Dracaena buzzed with anticipation. Rows of cadets, dressed in their formal uniforms, stood in disciplined lines across the sunlit courtyard. Their silver buttons gleamed, and the crisp black fabric of their coats reflected the academy's long tradition of prestige. Today marked the end of their training and the beginning of something far greater—war.
Caius Rest stood among them, his hands hanging at his sides, fists flexing unconsciously. His commission awaited him on the platform—a scroll representing his orders. He barely paid attention to the speeches, his mind occupied with thoughts of his personal creation—the Death Knight.
For him, it wasn't the commission that mattered. It was the Death Knight.
The Death Knight wasn't just a machine. It was his creation, built through months of sweat and study. Every plate of armor, every line of its magical arrays, had been meticulously crafted by his own hands. Standing at six meters, towering over the standard KPAs, it symbolized everything he hoped to achieve, and everything he feared falling short of.
"Lieutenant Caius Rest," the headmaster's voice rang out, pulling him back into the present.
Caius blinked, realizing his name had been called. He straightened his coat and stepped forward, feeling the eyes of his peers and superiors on him. His father, Lord Adrian Rest, stood near the front row, expression stern and unreadable. Always judging, always cold.
As Caius approached the platform, the scroll was handed to him with formal ceremony. He bowed his head respectfully, though his heart raced. This wasn't just a ceremonial gesture—it was the culmination of his education, his journey through the academy, and the beginning of his real test.
After the ceremony, the cadets were dismissed, and the courtyard erupted into conversation as graduates congratulated one another and reunited with family members. Caius lingered near the edge of the crowd, trying to avoid the inevitable confrontation with his father. His hand brushed the cool metal of his sword, a constant reminder of the traditions he felt shackled to.
"Caius."
The voice, deep and unmistakable, cut through the din of the crowd. Caius turned slowly, his back straightening as Lord Adrian Rest approached. Dressed in the dark, regal colors of House Rest, his father was an imposing figure. A noble in every sense of the word—tall, commanding, with an air of absolute authority.
"Father," Caius greeted him with a nod.
Lord Adrian's eyes flicked over the scroll in Caius's hand before settling on his son. "So, you've graduated," he said, his tone devoid of any warmth.
Caius nodded, though the weight of his father's expectations pressed down on him. "Yes, the commission has come through. I've been assigned to the 299th KPA Assault Squad, at the Northern Front."
Lord Adrian's lips tightened—a faint sign of approval, though Caius could never be sure. "It's a good position, one befitting of a Rest." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "I've ensured it."
Caius clenched his jaw. He had expected this—his father pulling strings behind the scenes, leveraging what he could of House Rest's political capital to secure him a prominent role. While the rest of his peers would be sent into battle without such luxuries, Caius would be leading a KPA squad, not because of his accomplishments, but because of his family name.
"And the Death Knight?" Lord Adrian asked, shifting the conversation. "Will it serve you well on the front?"
Caius straightened. "It's ready. I built it myself. The array system is more efficient than anything in the field right now. Its mana usage has been optimized, and it can run for hours without needing recalibration. It'll perform."
His father gave a curt nod, though Caius could see the faintest glimmer of skepticism in his eyes. "Good. But remember, a machine—no matter how well built—won't save you. Your ability to command and cast spells will."
The words stung, but Caius forced himself to remain composed. "I understand."
Lord Adrian didn't reply. Instead, he glanced toward the academy gates, where military transport vehicles were lining up to take the newly commissioned officers to their posts. "War is upon us, Caius. You'll prove yourself in the field. Or you won't."
The unspoken threat hung in the air. Or you won't. House Rest had no place for failure, and the war would tolerate it even less.
Without another word, Lord Adrian turned and strode away, leaving Caius alone with his thoughts.
Hours later, Caius found himself standing in the hangar, surrounded by the looming shapes of Knight Power Armors. His squad's KPAs were being loaded onto the transport vehicles, ready for the long journey to the front. He approached the largest of them all—his.
The Death Knight stood taller and broader than the others, its dark, imposing armor gleaming under the hangar lights. The emblem of the Polish White-tailed Eagle was engraved proudly on its chest plate, a mark of House Rest and the Commonwealth it served. But to Caius, it was more than just a war machine. It was his creation, his answer to the legacy he had to uphold, and the insecurities he had to overcome.
As he ran his hand along the cold metal of the armor, he could feel the magic pulsing beneath its surface. The array magic he had woven into the very structure of the KPA hummed with power, waiting to be unleashed. Every rune, every plate, every bolt had been placed with purpose. It was more than just technology—it was his answer to his father's doubt, to the war ahead, to his place in the world.
"Lieutenant Rest," came a voice behind him.
Caius turned to see Sergeant Linik, a gruff and hardened veteran, approaching. Linik's face was always serious, with a weathered look that matched the battlefield experience his rank implied.
"We're ready for transport, sir. Your orders?" Linik asked, his tone respectful yet distant.
"Make sure the KPAs are secured, Sergeant," Caius said firmly. He still remembered that training trip when one of his friend's KPAs had toppled off the back of a transport truck due to poor strapping. He wasn't about to let that happen on his watch. "I want them strapped down properly before we move out."
Linik nodded, his expression unreadable as he turned and walked back toward the others.
Caius's thoughts shifted to the Basilisk, his new base of operations—an Eagle-class air-carrier. It was fitted with ten KPA docking bays, had a crew of 30 people, and an additional 10 mechanics. Caius had been given command over the carrier, but its day-to-day operations were handled by Lieutenant Harrow, a no-nonsense officer who had been running the Basilisk since its maiden voyage. Caius knew Harrow would keep everything running smoothly, but the responsibility still weighed heavily on him. It wasn't just about piloting a KPA anymore—he had people relying on him.
Caius watched Linik go, his mind racing. The academy was behind him. The war was ahead. And he was no longer just a noble—he was a commander, the pilot of the Death Knight, and the future of House Rest rested not in the halls of the nobility, but on the battlefield.
Tomorrow, war would begin.