We Go Where We Are Needed
The chapel was silent. Fifteen figures, heads bowed and hands clasped in prayer, knelt before the altar of the Five-Who-Are-One, the gleaming visage of the Star Child captured in stained glass watching over them as they prayed.
Grandmaster Horatio had finished his prayers; now simply enjoying the peaceful air of this private place alongside his subordinates, the men and women who had devoted their lives, as he had, to mastery of the Art of War-and one of the Glimmering Federation's most powerful tools in that grim trade.
His thoughts drifted to memory-nearly a century ago, eleven of the men and woman alongside him had strode with him at the forefront of the first counterstrike against the Protectorate of Neon; his Knights striding forth with claw and glaive and missiles against the poor sods who had fought against the righteous servants of the Star Child in Brotar.
That had been the first time the Order of the Blazing Sun had been needed-it was not a glorious war. It was necessary, perhaps even Righteous, but it was not glorious-he felt that was appropriate, for the first-blooding of their Partners to be for such a somber war. To have the firey heights of combat tempered by the knowledge that those first kills were against men and women who could never truly contest them. That would mark every future Pilot of their machines, so long as their Spirits existed-that was good. It would, he hoped, keep those who came after them grounded, at least a little. They were Warriors, that was unquestionable-but they should never forget what it is that warriors do, even for a cause as just as that of the Star Child and its distant glimmering Hope.
Three of those who had strode beneath Brotar's stars were gone now. Left to live a quieter, more peaceful life, replaced by young Pilots yet unblooded; for the War against Neon had yet to require the Order's services again.
And now it never would.
Because Neon was gone. Fallen, torn asunder, by the machinations of the Great Enemy seemingly overnight.
The whole of the Federation was in a tizzy, preparations being undertaken for military action on a grand scale, deployments of nearly every SAG within the Federation to planets all across subsector Amratur.
Trying to save as many as they could.
And the Order of the Blazing Sun would be at the Federation's forefront, with blade and claw and missile-pod, to fight the war they had been meant to wage-a war against monsters.
Horatio's hand went to his breast, where a simple medal was pinned-a gift from his father, passed down from his long-dead grandfather, one of the 527 who had been rescued from Luteus' Prism, who had guarded the original STC that had birthed their mighty steeds.
His ancestors had fought Monsters, and would have lost, if not for the Grace of the Star Child, and the mercy and wisdom of Its followers.
So would he; so would his Knights.
They would bring Salvation to those that the Accursed Four sought to damn.
A tiny shift drew his attention. It seemed Frederika had finished with her prayers at last.
He let his Knights maintain the peace and silence for another few precious moments, then he stood, picking up his helmet as he rose, his Knights rising alongside him.
He looked over them. They looked back at him, uniforms crisp, black trimmed with silver and white and brilliant yellow, helmets under one arm.
Satisfied, he nodded.
"We go where we are needed." The Grandmaster rumbled.
"We do what must be done." Fourteen voices chorused back.
With that, the Order of the Blazing Sun marched out of their chapel; headed for their hangars, and their Partner-Steeds.
There was glorious work to be done.
