On the very first day that Uriel, the sacred and valorous "angel" of the Ares Empire, answered Baisha's summons, he wrought havoc upon Crystal Heaven, disabling a portion of Youdu Star's intricate defense network. When Cecil Ronin learned the full tale of Uriel's sudden "madness," he cast a sidelong glance at Baisha, his expression a blend of exasperation and wry amusement. With the cool authority of an emperor, he decreed that Baisha herself would bear the cost of repairing Crystal Heaven.
Baisha, ever quick to protest, attempted a defense. "Why me—"
"I can hardly hold Uriel accountable," Cecil cut in, his tone as unyielding as the obsidian floors of the palace. "He is, after all, an 'angel' of the empire, entitled to a measure of reverence. Besides, he has no coin to his name… but you do." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "He is your guardian now, Baisha. By custom, all his needs—food, attire, lodging, and more—fall under your care. To keep an 'angel' is, in theory, simpler than tending a living soul, but it hinges on the commands you give. His glory shall be yours to share, but his missteps? Those, too, are yours to mend."
Baisha fell silent, her gaze drifting to Uriel, who stood at her side. The young angel was a vision of quiet grace, his emerald eyes gentle and serene, as if he had stepped from the canvas of a master's painting. His beauty was undeniable, yet its potency was a blade—radiant, perilous, to be wielded with care.
Thus, Uriel took residence in Baisha's palace, and the grueling training regimen devised by Han Xiao began in earnest. Han Xiao, ever the idealist, bristled at the emperor's decision to excise nearly all artistic courses from Baisha's curriculum. To him, such studies were not mere ornamentation but vital conduits to the empire's cultural pulse, honing a royal heir's sensitivity to politics and societal needs. Yet Baisha, with her actions, proved herself a student of stark contrasts.
In mathematics, physics, and mechanics, her progress was nothing short of meteoric. Her instructors marveled, declaring her aptitude "a rarity in our lifetime." They praised her insatiable curiosity, her relentless passion, and her fearless pursuit of knowledge, undaunted by complexity or hardship. But when it came to Han Xiao's lessons in politics and economics, Baisha's performance was, at best, adequate. She met the minimum requirements, her assignments scraping by on the edge of passing, but the spark of genius her other mentors extolled seemed to vanish. Han Xiao, frustrated, wondered if they spoke of an entirely different person.
"Apply yourself fully, Your Highness," he urged one day, gathering his texts after a lackluster session. His expression was composed, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of disapproval. "I sense you're not truly invested in these studies. You could hasten this phase of your training—why do you linger?"
Baisha suppressed a sigh. Did he think her a fool? Even if she raced through the foundational courses, an endless gauntlet of advanced and mastery lessons awaited. Knowledge was boundless, and Han Xiao, the consummate scholar, set no ceiling on her goals. She was a donkey chasing a carrot dangled ever out of reach, condemned to toil without respite. Forcing a smile, she pointed to the faint shadows beneath her eyes. "I'm trying, truly. Look—I've got dark circles to prove it."
Youdu Star boasted the finest beauty machines and expert attendants, but Baisha had no time for such luxuries. Her days began at seven, a whirlwind of lectures and labs. Her foundation in mechanics was robust, and the empire's divergent research paths dazzled her, each new discovery a spark to her imagination. After eight in the evening, when she might have rested, she pored over mech design texts she'd wheedled from her uncle, sacrificing sleep to her obsession. Even the hardy constitution of an imperial citizen had its limits, and after two weeks of this relentless pace, Baisha felt a creeping fatigue, her eyes inching toward panda-like exhaustion.
Han Xiao paused, aware of her efforts in other fields. Yet he believed the Ares Empire, in its modern form, stood not solely on martial might but on the acumen of its rulers. The Ronin dynasty had produced statesmen as formidable as its warriors, and he sought to guide Baisha toward a different ideal: not a hero who led the charge, but a sovereign who mastered the art of delegation. Her spirit companion, a silver-throated long-tailed tit rather than the imperial blackbird, suggested a path where leadership, not brute strength, would define her reign. A balanced ruler, competent in all realms, would inspire greater loyalty among the people—or so Han Xiao reasoned.
Baisha, however, saw things differently.
"I only wish you'd trust in your potential," Han Xiao pressed. "Don't shy from these courses. You could be the perfect heir."
"Enough, Minister," Uriel interjected, his voice a quiet thunder. Unlike Han Xiao's lofty ideals, Uriel, ever at Baisha's side, saw her diligence and wished only for her rest. He could not bear to see Han Xiao add to her burdens. The golden-haired angel stood aloof, his presence like a morning star—radiant, untouchable, cold. "You are her steward, her servant. Your role is to advise, to serve her will, not to impose your own. Her desires are paramount."
Though an angel forged for battle, Uriel spoke with an unexpected grasp of imperial decorum, a relic of the Silver Age who wielded his authority with subtle menace. The faint pressure he exuded was enough to put Han Xiao on guard.
Yet Han Xiao did not yield. Removing his glasses, he revealed sharp, unyielding features, his dark blue eyes meeting Uriel's without flinching. "And you, guardian, must understand that this era differs from the past. The title of 'steward' is no mere vassalage, blindly obedient to royal whims. It is my duty to counsel Her Highness, even if it displeases her—even if you are an 'angel.' You are her protector, nothing more. Do not presume to dictate my role."
The two young men locked eyes, their calm tones belying the undercurrent of tension, a clash of ideals as palpable as clashing steel.
Baisha, caught between them, raised a hand. "Enough, both of you. Stop this."
Turning to Han Xiao, she spoke with resolve. "I'm not neglecting your lessons. But everyone has strengths and weaknesses, and I'm no exception."
Han Xiao inclined his head, his composure restored. "Understood, Your Highness." He gathered his materials and departed with his usual grace.
"And you, Uriel," Baisha said, shifting her gaze to the angel. "Your views need updating. My vassals, including you, are individuals first, chosen for their unique qualities. I don't expect blind agreement—disagreement is natural. We communicate as equals."
Her words echoed Han Xiao's earlier point. In the empire's early days, a steward was little more than a royal aide, tending to personal affairs. Only later, under a visionary emperor, did the role evolve into a pillar of political power. Uriel, it seemed, was unaware of the modern steward's influence—a position so esteemed that even her imperious uncle spoke to Wei Li with measured respect. Baisha, following his example, treated her stewards with deference.
Noticing Uriel's faint bewilderment, Baisha smiled. "You really should explore the empire's culture," she said earnestly. "I'm safe here in the palace most days. You don't need to hover. Go out, wander, browse the starnet—live a little."
Uriel's brow dipped, his emerald eyes locking onto hers with a quiet intensity. "Do you wish me to stay away, Your Highness? …Very well, I will obey."
Baisha faltered, a pang of guilt twisting within her. His expression was neutral, yet she felt as if she'd wounded him. This was her angel, the one she'd summoned from Crystal Heaven, the first to answer her call. "No," she said quickly, her voice softening. "I don't mind you being near. I just think… you're awake now, after so long. You should experience life."
"Like Michael?" Uriel asked.
"Michael? Your fellow angel?"
"Yes," Uriel replied. "He relishes answering the royal summons. They say each time he leaves Crystal Heaven, the court fetes him as a guest of honor, plying him with rare wines until the cellars run dry—for he cannot grow drunk."
Baisha blinked, unsure whether Michael's indulgence was extravagance or mischief. "Well, that's one way to live."
Uriel hesitated, then said, "Yet Michael has never found true joy."
"Why not?" Baisha asked, intrigued.
"Michael sought to emulate human life," Uriel explained, his gaze distant. "But he failed. Our personalities stem from memories before we became 'angels.' Yet the moment we were transformed, our minds changed irrevocably. The 'angels' we are now have supplanted who we were. No matter how perfectly our bodies mimic human senses, no matter how we chase old passions or recreate familiar scenes, the selves we once were do not return."
They were machines, tools, embers of the Silver Age—not humans. "To pursue a human 'authentic experience' is not joy for us," Uriel continued, his voice steady yet tinged with melancholy. "It is closer to torment."
He met Baisha's eyes, his tone gentle. "Thus, even if the bond between lord and vassal has evolved, you need not concern yourself with my feelings. I am an 'angel,' here to fulfill your will. Use me as you see fit."
The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling like dust after a storm.
Baisha broke the quiet. "Anything I want, really?"
Uriel considered, a flicker of unease crossing his face. "Perhaps… not everything." As a biomechanical being with a semblance of dignity, some requests were beyond his capacity.
Baisha's shoulders slumped in mock disappointment. "Oh."
Uriel paused, caught off guard.
"I just ordered you some new clothes," she admitted, frowning. "I thought you might try them, but I worried it'd feel like forcing you to 'live' like a human. You biomechanical types are so complicated—one moment you claim you have no needs, the next you're rejecting humanity. Sounds like plenty of demands to me."
Uriel was speechless.
"Fine, I won't push you to embrace human life," Baisha said, adopting a coaxing tone. "Think of it as following my orders, nothing more. I'll have a starnet account set up for you. Browse, learn—consider it updating your knowledge base."
Anything to keep him from lingering, distracting her with his radiant presence.
That evening, as Baisha finished her lessons, Cecil Ronin joined her for dinner. With the emperor consumed by governance and Baisha buried in studies, their shared meals were a rare chance to connect.
"Where's your shadow tonight?" Cecil asked, his brow arching. "He's been glued to your side."
"I sent Uriel to study the starnet," Baisha replied, prodding her food. "And, Uncle, ease up on him. I'm covering Crystal Heaven's repairs, aren't I?"
"You think it's that simple?" Cecil snorted. "Your allowances for the next decade wouldn't cover it."
Baisha's grip on her utensils tightened, her face a mask of mock agony. "Don't rub salt in the wound…"
"I'll handle it," Cecil said, his tone softening. "Your funds are untouched. Stop moping."
Baisha's expression brightened instantly. "Thank you, Uncle."
Cecil's lips twitched, a faint smile breaking through. "Your mech is next. Your studies are progressing well—soon you'll be ready for the military academy. Tomorrow, we'll visit the Imperial Mech Design Institute on Tianxu Star. Share your ideas, talk with the designers."
Custom mechs required intimate knowledge of the pilot's abilities, habits, and preferences. The mech Cecil envisioned for Baisha wouldn't bankrupt the empire, but it would draw on the finest materials available. As for designers, Baisha could choose her own—any holder of the "Imperial Master Mech Designer" title could craft an entry-level mech with ease.
Baisha's eyes lit up. "Can I contribute to the design?"
Cecil raised an eyebrow. "If you trust your own work, go ahead."
"Uncle, who do you take me for?" Baisha huffed.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Cecil replied. "Some of those master designers are eccentrics. Meddle too much, and they might walk away."
"Designers respect reason," Baisha countered. She disliked unsolicited meddling in her own work but welcomed insights from experts.
Cecil shrugged. "Just be mindful."
That night, Baisha pored over every mech design text she could find, committing their intricacies to memory. By midnight, she collapsed into bed, her dreams filled with blueprints and humming reactors.
The next morning, she rose early and met Cecil at his palace. True to his word, he kept their outing discreet, assembling two squads of thirty guards. "We travel simply today," he told Baisha and Uriel, who stood at her side. "The institute knows we're coming, but not that the mech is for you."
Baisha nodded, having forgone her lotus-themed adornments, anticipating the need for anonymity. They boarded a sleek vessel typical of wealthy merchants, departing Youdu Star via a warp gate to land on Tianxu Star. Their ship slipped seamlessly into the planet's bustling traffic, unnoticed.
Tianxu Star surpassed Baisha's expectations. She had thought Youdu Star's classical white architecture defined the empire's aesthetic, but Tianxu Star was a vibrant metropolis, a mosaic of styles and cultures reminiscent of the Federation's capital, yet distinct in its transit systems, urban layout, and the sleek designs of its airborne vehicles.
The streets teemed with imperial citizens, each accompanied by their spirit companions. These ethereal beings wove naturally into social interactions, sparking casual banter. Within minutes of landing, Baisha overheard remarks like, "Your spirit looks lively today!" or "It's even cuter than before!"
"Chirp, chirp!" Little White Chirp perched on Baisha's shoulder, its black eyes reflecting the myriad hovercraft gliding along aerial tracks. Baisha extended her hand, letting the bird alight in her palm.
Half an hour later, a guard announced their arrival at the Imperial Mech Design Institute. As Baisha and Cecil disembarked, a small group awaited them on the landing pad.
"Your Majesty," the leader, a young man, bowed to Cecil, then turned to Baisha, bowing again. "Your Highness."
Baisha lacked a formal title, typically addressed as a royal kin, but Cecil had hinted to the institute that the mech was for his niece, the grand princess's daughter. They treated her with the deference due a "Little Highness."
Inside the institute, the leader assured them, "Our team is ready to craft a mech perfectly suited to Your Highness."
Cecil, ever the imperious emperor in public, offered no reaction, his face a mask of regal indifference. Baisha, sharing his features, radiated excitement, her enthusiasm a stark contrast to his reserve.
"Your Highness, we'll need to conduct some tests," the leader said, glancing cautiously at Cecil. "His Majesty may wait in the lounge."
Cecil nodded. "Be swift."
Baisha grinned. "Uncle, crafting a mech takes time."
"Then I'll wait," Cecil replied.
Baisha followed the young man to an internal elevator, Uriel trailing silently. As the doors closed, she noticed the man exhale in relief.
She chuckled. "Is my uncle that intimidating?"
The man startled, his badger-shaped spirit companion nearly tumbling from his shoulder. "No, no," he said with a wry smile. "But he is the emperor, Your Highness."
Baisha glanced at Uriel, who had tempered his lethal aura, appearing as a refined, strikingly handsome knight. The elevator reached the ninth floor, opening to a vast chamber filled with advanced instruments. The man gestured to a pod resembling a holographic simulator. "Please lie here for a baseline physical and mental strength assessment, followed by a neural and muscular scan. It'll take about ten minutes. Once we have the results, I'll introduce you to our master designers."
Baisha recalled Little White Chirp and settled into the pod. Ten minutes later, the machine hummed to a stop. She emerged to find the young man compiling data, his expression one of barely concealed awe.
"Is something wrong?" Baisha asked.
"No, nothing," he said firmly, his tone reverent. "I'll take you to the designers now."
The scan results baffled him—numbers so extraordinary he'd have suspected a malfunction if Baisha weren't royalty. He'd assumed her lack of a blackbird spirit implied average strength, but the data told a different story. His voice trembled with excitement. "You are truly Princess Xipesi's daughter. She was the empire's military commander, and you, Your Highness, will surely rival her as one of our greatest warriors!"