The air of planet Akyra felt thick and dead. A cold breeze carried clouds of ash through the gaping spaces between the blackened stumps that had once been a prospering forest. Only a few splintered stones and glass shards remained of the Capitol, the pride of Star Warriors and Galaxy Soldier Army alike, that had once risen high above the trees. Bright, shining, hopeful.

'What do we have left now?,' thought Galacta Knight, a senior Galaxy Soldier and one of the last Star Warriors. Sir Falspar, a young mechanic, brushed past her; following her gaze, he seemed to guess her thoughts.

"The city might have represented us," he muttered as he followed Galacta's gaze, "but we are still here, aren't we?"

The warrior shook her head and remained silent as she started walking again. The rest of her patrol looked at each other. A warrior with a battle axe glared at Sir Falspar before they followed their leader.

"Star Warrior business," he muttered and shouldered his way past the shorter soldier. The group proceeded in silence. Though alert, it was painfully obvious that none of them could look away from the destruction of their home.

A sudden screech ripped through the air, then a large shadow swept over them.

"Demon beast," hissed Galacta. They dove for the sparse cover of a burnt tree and drew their weapons, tense with the anticipation of battle. There was a moment of silence, then the sound of claws scarping against bare rock. Galacta was on her feet in an instant, barely stopping to signal for her men to follow before she unfolded her feathered wings and ascended from the ground.

Sir Nonsurat, the warrior with the axe, was the first to run after her, then Sir Falspar and finally the last member of their group, Sir Jecra. They were slower than Galacta - down on the ground they had to be careful to dodge rocks jutting from the ground as well as holes hidden under the ash and dead twigs. Slowly, the ruins of the Capitol made way for more close standing tree trunks, then those thinned away, too. Whether the forest had naturally grown lighter here or if the battles hadn't even left burnt remains was uncertain. At the edge of a huge crater, the three finally caught up with the winged warrior. Galacta was hovering in the air, about a meter above the ground, staring down into the pit.

A demon beast that resembled a giant crow used its huge, indigo beak to stab at the ground repeatedly, all the while screeching with anger.

"What-?," Jecra started and stopped when he saw the lithe, blue-haired figure dodging the attacks. It swung a rusty excuse for a sword and slashed the crow's eye with one especially fierce hit. The demon howled and flapped its wings, knocking the stranger back and against the rocky wall of the crater. Rubble fell and buried him.

Falspar, Jecra and Nonsurat tensed, ready to jump down and help, but Galacta Knight held up one hand to stop them. Her shoulders were tense, but the gesture was still firm enough to make the group obey. Her eyes remained on the pile that hid the stranger's body. The look in their magenta depths was unreadable.

Down below, the crow demon believed itself victorious and let out a high-pitched yowl of triumph. It bent down, using its beak to nudge aside the rubble and finish off what remained of its opponent. But once it got close, the rusty sword was thrust up and into the sensitive skin right over the creature's beak. It staggered backwards with an ear-splitting screech and when the stranger targeted its wings, the demon decided it had had enough and ascended from the ground. Within seconds, the only thing that proved the creature had been real was the thin spray of black blood on the fighter and a single, large feather slowly sinking to the ground of the ravine.

Galacta Knight had seen enough. She jumped down, wings spread to slow her fall. Precise and graceful as always, she landed in front of the stranger. A man, either young or at just short, she analysed; terribly thin, what little she saw of his skin ghostly pale, his blue hair greasy and unkempt. A pair of yellow eyes stared at her distrustingly behind a visor and he lifted his sword, uncertain. A rustle sounded and his eyes darted to the three other Galaxy Soldiers who had arrived after the brief struggle of climbing down safely. He took a step back, his whole frame tense. Deliberately slow, Galacta sheathed her lance. Behind her, her men, though more hesitant, did the same.

The air seemed to crackle with unresolved tension still.

"What do you want?," the man spat finally - his sword was still risen, though it was easily identified as a defensive stance.

"To talk," Galacta Knight said smoothly, "May we ask your name?"

He glowered at her a moment longer, then lowered his weapon a bit: "Meta. I'm Meta."

"Are you a Star Warrior?," Sir Falspar blurted out and earned himself another glare from Nonsurat, as well as a nudge in the ribs from Jecra.

Meta's head whipped around and his eyes focused on the mechanic almost threateningly: "Who wants to know that?"

"Four representatives of the GSA, one of which is a Star Warrior herself," Jecra spoke up in an unfittingly light tone. Now the glares were aimed at him. His words seemed to have a positive effect though. Meta didn't exactly relax, but the look in his eyes softened somewhat. His gaze wandered back over to Galacta Knight and found the crest on her shield and armor.

"Akonu... Juncho, feruca serta Galacticus teriba?," he asked. Galacta nodded slowly, approval radiating from her in waves - a rare occurrence these days.

"P'lyren, serta Galacticus. Hotume feryn gomka serta?"

Meta dipped his head: "Cowey, arrunta serta uqe teriba kyn."

Nonsurat blinked and turned toward Jecra, who shrugged, then quickly nudged Falspar before the mechanic could speak out of bounds again.

"Without the old system, most Star Warriors grow up without an old family to guide them. I haven't talked to anyone able to speak the Old Tongue for almost five years. Aside from Sir Arthur, of course, and even he does not speak it fluently. Yours is...," Galacta hesitated and chose her next words carefully, "Impressive. I cannot place your accent, but it's clear you are born with it."

"I am aware," Meta said, voice suddenly stiff with something like sadness and something else none of them could quite identify, "I was born knowing it, but it never served any purpose - no one understood."

Galacta nodded, her voice warmer now: "It's a talent all Star Warriors have. We possess this language to ensure that we can work as a team even if we are from different parts of the galaxies and would not understand each other otherwise."

Meta nodded stiffly.

Silence descended over them. Though a lot less defensive now, Meta's eyes still flickered from warrior to warrior nervously. A rustle, then the sharp crack of charred wood breaking, prompted Sir Nonsurat to clear his throat and speak up: "We should not remain out here. The demon might come back with reinforcements. Not to mention the others might send out search parties if we aren't back in time," he hesitated, his age dulled eyes resting on Galacta Knight, "Meta may come with us, if he wishes to. Whether he joins our ranks or not is up to Sir Arthur though."

He turned around sharply and took the lead. Falspar followed quickly, his shorter legs forcing him to take two steps for each of the senior warrior's. Sir Jecra turned to follow them, then stopped and looked back, hesitant.

"Do you... want to come back with us then?," he asked and for the first time, he looked at him more closely - and noticed the cuts that littered Meta's thin, yet muscular arms. Some were from the crow's beak, some had presumably been caused by the fallen rocks and others looked like they were in various states of healing. "We could patch up your wounds, at least," he added.

Meta looked from Galacta to Jecra and back. The pink-haired warrior managed to look more expectant than anyone wearing a mask should be able to.

"I'd be glad to. You have my gratitude."

The destruction of the Capitol had forced the GSA to move their headquarters. Until they could find a permanent base, their flagship, the Shooting Star would have to do. The huge construction of steel and glass currently harbored all former citizens of the Capitol - all that survived. Which were not as many as there should have been.

Deep in the heart of the ship Sir Arthur had his office. Currently, the head of the GSA stood over a large map spread across his desk. His gloved hand brushed over the roughened paper, over the red and green and blue marked areas. Red, the parts Nightmare Enterprises had overrun already. Blue, the parts that remained neutral ground, though that usually meant Nightmare had planted his spies long since. And finally, green, those pitifully few, tiny specks, everything the GSA protected. Sir Arthur sighed and rubbed at his mask over his forehead.

"Six years," he muttered, "Six years and we have nothing to make up for the destruction of the Capitol. Nothing."

His fists clenched. He reached for the bottle full of golden liquid next to him and the tiny glass he had put over its top earlier. With steady hands, he filled the glass and downed the shot.

"Happy anniversary," he said bitterly, toasting to the off white walls of his room before he emptied the second glass. "Look at the mad old man," he muttered as he filled his third glass, "talking to himself on some ship on a planet long lost." With a sharp, cold chuckle he drank and set down the glass. It left a tiny wet ring on the paper of the map. He hesitated, stared at the bottle for a long time. Finally, he heaved another sigh and put it back in a cupboard. Then he marked the small spot with the word "Akyra" red.

Someone knocked on his door sharply. Arthur walked over to his workdesk, the one not currently occupied by the now whiskey stained map, and sat down heavily. For a minute or two, he looked at his reflection in the dull metal cup full of pens that stood way too close to the edge. When he was certain he didn't look nearly as defeated as he felt, he pressed the black button under the desktop and the door slid open quietly.

"Galacta Knight," he acknowledged the pink-haired warrior and stood when she dipped her head respectfully.

The winged warrior didn't waste any time and got right to the point: "Sir Arthur, we have encountered a Star Warrior on our patrol." She stepped aside and allowed Arthur to take a look at the somewhat torn figure behind her. With his perception slightly fogged by alcohol, Arthur took in the dark blue cape and hair, the scratched mask and glowing yellow eyes.

"Your name?," he asked, stern but friendly.

"Meta."

"-Knight," added Galacta quickly. Meta glanced at her and Arthur saw something like relief in his eyes.

"I am quite certain my soldiers searched the planet for any living creature repeatedly. How are you here, Meta Knight?"

The newly discovered Star Warrior met his eyes with surprising ease; not many withstood Arthur's gaze like that. Even less were able to keep their eyes so carefully free of emotion as Meta did. Or maybe it was just the alcohol, Sir Arthur couldn't be sure.

"I have been around for a while, a year or two perhaps. I was not sure if it was safe for me to show myself. Your warriors took me by surprise today."

His voice didn't betray any more emotions than his eyes, Arthur noted.

"Since you came back with them, I assume you wish to join our ranks?," he threw Galacta Knight a brief glance, "I do not suppose they forced you?"

The winged warrior let out a barely audible snort and ruffled her wings angrily, but left it up to Meta to answer. The man shook his head stiffly: "No. I came on my own free will once I was sure there truly was a Star Warrior among them and they were members of the GSA."

"You have been searching for us?," Arthur asked, genuinely surprised now. What fame the Galaxy Soldier Army had had once, which had been a lot, thanks to their alliance with the Star Warriors, had diminished after their terrible defeat on Akyra.

Meta Knight dipped his head the same way Galacta had earlier; if he was copying her or had learnt the gesture elsewhere they didn't know.

"Indeed. My family sent me to find you as soon as they were certain my knowledge of the Old Tongue was not a coincidence. To get proper training, as my father said."

"When the Star fell," Galacta Knight speculated and Meta Knight dipped his head in a tiny nod again.

"It was... late, I was already sixteen. Most get them earlier."

"Certainly. But only once the Star Warrior in question is ready."

Meta Knight avoided looking at them this time: "I suppose."

Sir Arthur cleared his throat: "I am quite grateful to have another Star Warrior among us. Galacta Knight, take him to the west wing. He can stay with the other apprentices. I'll order a Waddle Dee to bring him food and whatever supplies he needs, whether they are medical or anything else."

Galacta Knight nodded firmly and Meta quickly copied her motion. The two turned to leave; the winged warrior allowed the new apprentice to walk through the door before her. Just before her wing tips brushed past the door frame, Sir Arthur called out for her. She stopped, but didn't turn around this time.

"Yes?"

"Once you are done, come back here. I want a full report on your patrol and... I need to tell you something."

The tone of his voice sent a small quiver across her wings, but she forced her voice into polite firmness: "Of course, Sir."

She left and the door slid shut, the small tremor enough to knock over the cup on his desk. Pens rolled across the floor. Arthur sighed and started to pick them up, but he couldn't help but feel a tiny spark of hope glow in his chest. Maybe this new Star Warrior was a sign. A sign that the destruction of the Capitol was not their end. He stood, pens and cup in hand, and his lavender eyes rested on the red mark that surrounded the tiny drawing of planet Akyra now. He certainly did hope it was.

"Just stay in this wing until someone fetches you, okay?"

Meta Knight nodded at Galacta Knight and the other warrior, now maskless, smiled warmly at him. As soon as they had left Sir Arthur's presence and the more crowded hallways, she had become a lot less formal. Friendly, even.

On her way out, Galacta had to dodge a tiny girl in an orange dress. She smiled softly at the girl and then she was gone. Meta Knight eyed the stranger warily. Her skin was dark, darker than Galacta's that was more olive than brown. Big, black eyes looked at him carefully, but not unfriendly. It took him a while to look away from the innocent, honest gaze and notice the large basket she was carrying.

"Waddle Dee?," he asked slowly. The girl nodded, smiled brightly and set her basket down on the floor. She bent her knees a little and left with light, gentle steps. After a minute or two, Meta moved to close the door. It slid closed, but he had to move it himself unlike the automatic one of Sir Arthur's office. No lock. He would just have to hope that everyone was occupied for now and would leave him some privacy for a while.

Next, he picked up the basket and set it down on the tiny wooden table right under the thin slit in the wall that served as a window. A thick layer of dust had settled on the glass and even when he brushed it aside, the room didn't get much brighter. He found a light switch next to the door though and sicklish, grey light seeped through the room.

Meta inspected his surroundings. Two bunk beds with three bunks each were built into the walls and each had a small dresser next to it. The beds were ready for new apprentices, with clean, grey linen sheets on the mattresses, thin, mint green pillows and neatly folded blankets in the same color at the foot of each bunk. No dust on those, Meta checked, and neither was there on the floor. Apparently, the rooms were kept clean and ready for recruits for the most part. Recruits that would never come.

Meta allowed his mouth to curve upwards the slightest bit under his mask before he forced the emotions back into hiding and went back to assessing what would be his quarters.

The room was small, a bit cramped even, but not unwelcoming. The only furniture aside from the beds and dressers were two chairs at the table he had put the Waddle Dee's basket on. He spotted a door next to one of the beds though and brief investigation revealed a tiny bathroom with a shower tucked in the corner, a toilet in the other and a sink with a mirror over it on the wall directly opposite of him.

Meta shut the door carefully. He glanced at the door, but no one was coming in to disturb him just yet. The basket sat half-forgotten on the table still. The man walked back over and opened it. He found basic toiletries like soap and a toothbrush, towels, a sandwich that had been wrapped in white paper, a First Aid Kit, some one-size-fits-all clothes he had no intention of wearing and even a pair of boots that were only one size too big for him. Interesting.

Steps neared the door and Meta tensed briefly, but they passed by without stopping. His gaze brushed across the room again and he checked all the bunks as well as the cupboards and under the table, but it didn't turn up anything suspicious. Still unhappy about the unlocked door, he grabbed a towel, soap and the other hygiene products and disappeared into the bathroom. This door did have a lock at least and Meta made sure to use it. The light in here didn't work, but Meta Knight didn't mind; he was used to darkness.

For a few seconds, he just waited, listening to his own breath and his heartbeat echoing in his ears, a lot steadier and calmer than he felt. Then he drew the rusty sword from its makeshift holster at his belt and loosened the black, smooth gem stuck in the handle, carefully hidden with a thick layer of soot and ash. A swift movement later, Meta's hand bled from a slash on his palm. Before he could second guess himself, he pressed the gem onto the torn flesh. White hot pain shot up his arm and his free hand clenched.

The gem opened to reveal a tiny computer, a communication device that was both tiny and effective. Meta forced his fist to open and typed in a single word.

'Successful.'