Kastori Restorations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 4) (6 page)

Crystil. Of course.

He and his sister went into a small room in the middle of a wall in the plant. His sister grabbed all of the devices she had stored in her boot out, placing about four different pieces on a table in front of her. The first piece provided no information, seemingly damaged beyond repair.

But the second one proved promising. It showed how the tanks on Nubia had worked, collecting magical energy emitted by the planet, converting it into fuel for their various machines, and then recycling it once it finished.

“Replace the planet with our Kastori, and it’s the same idea,” Crystil said. “Maybe not as powerful, but we don’t need to run an entire planet’s worth of civilization. We just need to power some weapons.”

“Bigger weapons,” Celeste said, looking outside. “Crystil, guns and rifles aren’t going to do it. We need to rebuild our aerial fleet.”

Crystil grimaced, and even as someone who had never worked as an engineer, Cyrus knew building those kinds of ships couldn’t just happen in a couple of days.
I think.

“How many ships?”

“As many as we can build as quickly as we can,” Celeste said. “We already know what Typhos can do when he created Calypsius and the Caliphae. Now that he’s alone on Anatolus and resting within the peak, he’s going to have more time to create things. If he gets to Tapuya before we do… I don’t want to imagine what kind of monsters he can create.”

“I get it,” Crystil said, assuming her commander’s stance. “I will order our team to do what needs to be done.”

“Use the Kastori,” Emperor Orthran said. All eyes, including Cyrus’, turned to him. “This talks about how we can embed their magic into our weapons. But that doesn’t mean they can’t also help build our weapons. It will make the process go by much quicker if we use magic to weld materials together and build weapons than relying on our slower-paced technology.”

Cyrus smirked and pointed with a chuckle at his Pops.

“I see now where Celeste gets her intelligence. And where I get my good looks.”

Celeste let out a loud burst of laughter. Crystil blushed, refusing to comment. His father simply shook his head and was left speechless.

“But seriously, that’s a good idea. I can—”

“No, I’ll go get the Kastori,” Crystil said. “I’m overseeing the production here. If I want the Kastori’s help, I should go and get them. Cyrus. It’s OK.”

“I’m counting on it, Crystil.”

“You mean Celeste is counting on it,” Crystil said with a laugh, meant to tease but instead leaving Cyrus feeling a bit demeaned. “I’ll be back.”

She left the room, jogging back to the palace.

“She does know one of us could have teleported, right?” Cyrus asked, less with humor and more with annoyance.

“It’s the difference of saving like twenty minutes, son,” Emperor Orthran said. “Cyrus, it’s OK.”

It’s…

“OK,” Cyrus said, preferring to let the issue go. “Celeste. I’m ready for Vostoka whenever you are.”

His sister looked surprised, having expected Cyrus to rest some.
I’m just saying this more to get out of here than I am ready to go. I should… I should just go take it easy.

“Actually, no,” he said. “Sorry. Stressed. Go in the morning?”

Celeste nodded, and Cyrus used the chance to take his leave. He walked out of the warehouse, took a seat on the grass, and took a deep breath.

You’ll still be the Emperor someday. Calm down. Celeste has the most power. She’s the one who fights Typhos. She should be in charge. She should be.

It’s just drastically different than the previous twenty or so years. No choice but to get used to it.

9

The Kastori, as expected, came without complaint to the warehouse with Crystil. They did not have the strength to teleport, but they all followed her and kept pace. The sun had just begun its descent below the horizon when Crystil reached the front of the warehouse. Emperor Orthran stood talking with a serious face to a fellow soldier she immediately recognized from two years back, Garrus, a broad-shouldered man with short black hair and scars on his face from his time in slavery.

Crystil approached slowly, waiting for an opening to speak to the Emperor. He waved her over as soon as he saw her, and Garrus gave her a broad smile. He quickly embraced Crystil as the two exchanged pleasantries.

“Garrus arrived just a few minutes ago,” the emperor said. “He says all surviving humans in the area—a few thousand—are prepared to do whatever it takes to serve the mission.”

“Excellent,” Crystil said, although, in the back of her mind, she felt that if humanity had dropped to just a few thousand, they had suffered far worse than she had imagined. “I brought with me about two dozen Kastori, former slaves of Typhos whom he abandoned. I trust all of them, Garrus, and so should you.”

“If you command it, that works for me!” Garrus said, punctuated with a sharp, deep laugh.

Crystil smiled but did some mental calculations quickly. She had no idea how many ships the Kastori could help build, but if they went by human speed alone, they could build one every three days. Of course, that assumed people worked the entire day and night, with someone manning every station at all times, and no mistakes happened.
Add the Kastori, and it probably still comes out to one every three days. Really hope we have the time to build. Really hope Typhos doesn’t recover quickly.

“We need to build as many fighters as we can for as long as Typhos lives. Cyrus and Celeste have a plan to bring him down, but he’s going to throw some ugly beasts our way, and we need to be ready. Garrus, I want you to help oversee the construction of these ships. I want us to work at a pace of one every three days. Can you make that happen?”

Garrus’ eyes belied his beliefs. Crystil knew he thought it couldn’t happen. So she turned to the Emperor.

“I just want to make sure, Emperor Orthran, if you approve. I know you said I’m in charge of the operation, but these are your people, and I just want to make sure I have permission—”

“Permission?” the Emperor said with a warm smile. “Crystil, it is I who should be asking permission from you. Yes, you have permission. Garrus, I have faith you can pull this off.”

He’s not going to refuse the Emperor. Not that he would refuse me, either.

“Yes, Emperor. Yes, Crystil.”

Crystil turned to the Kastori and commanded them to follow Garrus into the warehouse. She noted how much more relaxed the Kastori looked. She could not begin to imagine what it was like working for the short-tempered, violent psychopath that was Typhos.

“Crystil,” Emperor Orthran said, and when Crystil turned to him, she was shocked to see the contrast. If the Kastori looked younger and fresher, then the years had aged the Emperor. “I have always appreciated your service to me. I know that you are our finest and our strongest. From this day until we defeat Typhos, I am in service to you.”

What?

“I am serious, Crystil. I am old, aged rapidly by what Typhos has done to me, and tired. Though I am not ill and not in any serious danger of dying, the end is closer than the beginning.”

“Sir,” Crystil said, aghast at the notion. “I… I…”

Crystil had no words in response to her leader. Leading Cyrus and Celeste on Anatolus against one monster was one thing. To lead all of humanity of Monda against the greatest evil in the universe, an evil that could spawn even more monsters… she honestly didn’t know if she could perform well in such a role. She was a soldier and a fighter, and she was incredibly useful in those positions. But as a commander, she had concerns from her performance guiding Cyrus and Celeste on
Omega One
that those skills were not as good as she had thought them to be. She had lost her temper, kept confidential secrets that didn’t need to be secrets, and had nearly pushed Cyrus away when they desperately needed him.

“Consider it an order, if it will make you assume the duty faster,” Emperor Orthran said. “And your first job, as commander of this entire operation, is to tell me what to do.”

“Sir?”

Is this even real anymore? Is Typhos controlling him or playing some trick? Is the Emperor really trusting me to do all of this?

“I know how to fly our fighters and am trained as a soldier, something my father made me do before I could claim the throne. He believed an emperor could not command his people if he did not properly understand how those people worked and have the respect of his military. I have never had to put those skills to use, but I am not going to sit by and watch people die. I will go in and fight.”

“Sir—”

“Crystil, just call me Caius for now. Tell me what to do.”

Well, I see where Cyrus gets his stubbornness from. This is insane. But if it inspires the people…

“Very well, sir. Caius, sir. Do you need any training to refresh your memory?”

“Training? No. But I wish to join others in rebuilding fighters. Anything I can do to help build, I will do. But not until tomorrow morning. I must say goodbye to my children before they go to Vostoka.”

“Of course, si—Caius, yes, Caius.”

The Emperor gave a warm smile and a short laugh as he bowed to Crystil. Crystil instinctively bowed back. He told her he didn’t have to, and she just blushed, still not comfortable with being superior to Emperor Orthran.
Or calling him by his first name. What is this?!?

Yet she could not help but have all the respect on Monda for the way he conducted himself. If the people had even considered slacking off, the sight of their leader welding materials together and carrying supplies across a warehouse would get them back in line.
I only hope I lead by example as well as you do, Emperor. When the day comes that we need to fight, I will be there with you in the sky. You can count on that.

Crystil followed Caius back into the warehouse. Inside, she saw Garrus laughing with the Kastori as he explained something. The sight warmed her.
Here I was, thinking all the other humans would react as I first did. I thought these would be like the magicologists. Turns out, there’s really only one magicologist left.

And all of us—humans, Kastori, royalty, soldiers—are going to beat him.

10

Cyrus couldn’t sleep at all.

He had trouble wrapping his head around the fact that his role was being reduced—
at least, in my head—
as time went by. When they left Monda, he felt like a clinger, not supporting Crystil and not making their relationships more diplomatic like Celeste did. When they fought Calypsius, he didn’t pilot the ship, nor did he uncover his identity as a Kastori. And when Typhos came, it was Crystil who had warded him off long enough for them to escape and it was Crystil who had shot Typhos after he had nearly killed his sister.

He gave up on rest when light gleamed through his window. He walked out to the main warehouse and listened to the shouting of people and the sound of ships coming together. He glanced left and saw his reflection on glass. Despite being twenty-five years old, he felt he looked like he was forty. His hair had gotten grayer, the lines on his eyes had become more defined, and his health had become worse. He stressed out more easily, recalling the memory of his sister’s mortal wound too easily and frequently. He snapped at inconsequential matters—
last night
—more often. He began to have more understanding of Crystil and her early days on
Omega One
and understood how easy it was to break.

I’m probably closer looking in age to Pops than I am to Celeste
, he thought to himself.

A loud clang came from somewhere far away, followed by numerous curses. Cyrus muttered a curse to himself too, wondering both how they could defeat Typhos and how they could build enough ships—
if there is a such thing
—to defeat whatever Typhos attacked with.

“Cyrus.”

The soft voice of his sister whirled him around. She brushed aside her hair, concern in her eyes. She looked like she hadn’t slept much either.

“You don’t look so good. Are you OK?”

“I’m—”

Just be honest. It’s your sister.

“I’ve been better,” he said. “I feel kind of periphery in this whole deal, you know? Like in every situation we run into, I feel like I’m not the one who plays the biggest role. That’s just—”

“Cyrus,” Celeste said, interrupting. Cyrus bit his lip. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have stopped you. Continue.”

It’s hard to be jealous when she’s like that.

“It’s just hard, because my whole life, most of the attention has been on me. People love paying attention to me, either because of my joking nature or because of who I was and who I would become someday. And now it’s like… Typhos didn’t just destroy most of this world and Anatolus. It’s like he also killed my identity.”

Celeste didn’t say anything, but Cyrus knew she was deep in thought, a sight that gave him the patience to wait for her to speak.

“First of all, Cyrus, you aren’t periphery in any of this. You’re the one who rescued Crystil and I that one night on Anatolus. You’re the one who led the charge to rescue me from prison. Maybe you don’t have the magic I do, but who cares? I can’t win this battle alone.”