Episode 12

The Birth of Luminark

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When we arrived in Gearberg, we headed straight for Gran’s workshop.

“Gran! We’re back!”

“Oh. First, put your things in your room. After that—starting today, you’ll call me Chief Engineer.”

“Yes, Chief Engineer!”

We answered in unison, though inside, my chest was swirling with both excitement and nerves.

Our new room was simple and minimal—nothing fancy—but somehow, that made it feel like a true beginning.

He said he’d pay us a modest salary, and that we could use it to buy what we needed ourselves.

Once we had dropped off our belongings, we went back to the Chief Engineer to receive our work assignments.

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Nocty and I were assigned to engine core tuning.
It was delicate work that required adjusting the wavelength of a core—a process that demanded expert skill.

To gain that skill—called wave control—the Chief lent me a tuner’s Star Crystal.
With it, Nocty temporarily changed his class to Tuner.

That was when he explained to me in detail how the class change system worked:

• Once you’ve taken on a class, you can freely switch between them afterward.
• However, the number of classes you can “store” depends on your crystal’s rank.
• And this power—only a Starling’s contractor can use it.

(Starling… huh. Even now, I can’t quite believe I’m wielding something this extraordinary.)

According to Nocty, this class-change technology used to be commonplace long ago.

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Meanwhile, Mile—by her own request—was put in charge of cabin and hull design.
She was told to start by drafting several design proposals.

The Chief mentioned that he’d always struggled with creating designs that appealed to women, so her timing was perfect.

And one more thing—
when we shared some leftovers during lunch, it somehow led to Mile being officially put in charge of cooking for everyone.
She was thrilled about it.

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◆◇◆

Gearberg’s summer was bright, with a blazing sun and fresh winds that swept through the skies.

Amid that season, the three of us began our days of work and training at Gran’s workshop.

Mornings started early.
By the time we opened the workshop doors, before the sun had fully risen, the Chief was already there.

During the day, we took turns tuning cores, learning about airship components, and checking test runs.
At night, Mile’s warm homemade dinners marked the end of each day.

Her cooking quickly became a favorite among the other craftsmen.
By lunchtime, we’d hear things like, “If she opened a shop, I’d eat there every day!” or “Let me introduce her to my son!”—half jokes, half serious.

At first, the work had been confusing and difficult.
But as the seasons changed, my hands and body naturally learned the rhythm of the workshop.

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I was especially praised for the precision of my wave control during tuning.

Through the Starling, I could feel the resonance of the engine core—its rhythm—and adjust it until it was perfectly in sync.

“…This core runs this quietly now. Excellent work.”

When the Chief said that, I could feel how much I’d grown. It made me truly happy.

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Mile was making great progress, too.
Her cabin designs featured soft, flowing curves that gave the ship a graceful yet refined beauty.

She kept saying, “I still have a long way to go,” but I knew the Chief secretly said,
“She has a rare sense for balancing practicality and aesthetics.”

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As the new year came and the signs of spring returned, one day the Chief called out to me while I was resting after work.

“—Come with me.”

He led me underground, to a locked room that only he ever entered.

“…What is this place?”

“This is the special engine core vault.”

The Chief placed his hand gently on a silver crystal resting on a pedestal at the center of the room.

It radiated a presence unlike any other core I’d ever seen—powerful, dignified, and alive.

“I want you to tune this.”

“M–Me?”

“Yeah. You’re ready. You’ve earned it.”

Without another word, he stepped back and left me alone with it.

I stared at that “special engine core” for a while.

Nocty appeared from the ring, inspecting it curiously from every angle.

“This isn’t just any core. The density, the structure, the way the power flows… this thing’s definitely a relic.”

“A relic… so it is something special.”

My Star Crystal began to hum softly—as if the stone itself had been waiting for me all along.

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Eventually, after a long struggle, I managed to finish the tuning.

“…It’s time,” the Chief murmured one day.

“Eh?”

“You’ve all worked hard and grown beyond my expectations. So—next month, we’ll begin building your airship.”

“Really… our own ship…?”

“Of course. You already tuned the core for it, didn’t you?”

I gasped.
So that’s why he had entrusted me with that special core.

And thus, the construction of our airship finally began.

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When we received the blueprint, we were speechless.

What we saw wasn’t like any airship we’d ever seen before.
It was sleek, strong, and elegant—like a vision of the future itself.

“…This looks kind of like the Luvinas.”

When I muttered that, the Chief gave a small grin.

“Of course it does. It’s based on the same concept—this is the design I drew long ago for my ideal airship. One I once gave up on.”

It was a dream he’d had in his youth, a design no one else had ever seen.

And it was incredible.

The “gravity control frame” technology—also used in the Luvinas—allowed agile turns and acceleration while reducing strain on the pilot.

The “multi-layer barrier system” offered damage resistance far beyond any existing model.

And the “special engine core” we tuned provided immense output and endless customization potential.

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“But… can we really have something this amazing?”

I asked, and the Chief replied in his usual gruff tone:

“This ship only came to life because of the engine core that Sergio brought me.”

“Commander Sergio…?”

“Yeah. He said, ‘Use this for Sky’s ship.’”

There was a deep weight in his voice.

“To be honest, no existing ship could withstand that kind of power. But… this design could. So I decided to build it.”

I was speechless.
I hadn’t known Sergio had gone to such lengths for me.

“He’s known about you for a long time,” the Chief added.

“…What?”

“I don’t know the details. Never asked. If you want answers, ask him yourself.”

He turned and walked away, leaving me with the core pulsing faintly before me—
as if urging me to awaken its true power.

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The entire workshop came together for the construction.

Frame shaping, circuit weaving, installing the tuned core—
step by step, the airship took form.

Everyone could feel it: this wasn’t just another vessel.

“…If we unleashed its full power, this one ship could probably take on an entire fleet.”

Someone joked.
No one laughed.

Because it wasn’t really a joke.

To prevent disaster, safety seals and output limiters were placed on the core.
Its true power still slumbered within.

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And then—the day of completion arrived.

The massive hangar doors slowly opened.

Bathed in the morning light, the silver-white ship emerged in silence.

Its streamlined body gleamed with both grace and strength.
From bow to stern, it looked like a shooting star ready to soar through the heavens.

Everyone held their breath as I stepped forward.

The Starling on my finger blazed with light.
The core answered with a deep, resonant hum—
a sound of awakening, of reunion between ship and master.

I placed my hand gently on its hull.

A warmth pulsed back through my palm—our rhythms, beating as one.

“This is… our ship…”

Behind me, Mile asked softly:

“What will you name it?”

“I already decided. A long time ago.”

Looking up at the sky, I answered:

“Luminark.”

A name born from my parents—Luke and Lumina.

With this ship, I felt we could go anywhere.
Beyond the horizon—into worlds still unknown.

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Here’s the full English translation of 「星の記憶：EP02　惑星アステール」 (Star Memory: EP02 – Planet Astele):

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Star Memory:  Planet Astele

— Star Year 3037 —

Outside the window stretched the endless blackness of space.

An infinite sea of stars, twinkling like fragments of time itself.

Each shimmer of distant starlight seemed to draw one’s consciousness into the gaps between moments, into eternity.

How many generations of humanity have gazed upon this same sky, I wondered—

—but my reverie was cut short by an incoming transmission.

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“Captain Amagi. Command from the Stellar Federation Headquarters— you are ordered to report to Central Command immediately.”

“Understood. Inform them I’ll depart right away.”

Amagi stepped into the station’s omni-lift — a three-dimensional elevator — which glided smoothly through the geometrically layered corridors of the structure.

The walls along the passage to Command glowed with a soft, living light, and countless floating data windows illuminated the air.

In stark contrast to the darkness of space outside, there was not a trace of shadow here. Everything shone with quiet brilliance.

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The door to Central Command slid open in response to Amagi’s approach, parting silently.

The light spilling from within was gentler than the corridor’s white glare — calm, steady, almost sacred.

The chamber beyond was circular, with a strategic holo-table at its center. Around it stood several high-ranking officers.

Amagi saluted smartly and reported in a clear, composed voice.

“Tsukasa Amagi, reporting as ordered.”

After a moment of silence, one of the generals at the table nodded slowly.

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“I’ll get straight to the point, Captain. There’s a survey mission I want you to handle.”

He raised a finger, tracing coordinates across the holo-table.

Instantly, a planet appeared, suspended as a three-dimensional projection above the surface.

“You’ve heard of Planet Astele: Ω018754, haven’t you?”

Amagi looked up at the image. “Yes, of course.”

Roughly a thousand years ago—
That planet had been destroyed, the Old Deep Space Fleet annihilated, and only a handful of colony ships survived.
A catastrophe without precedent.

The general lowered his gaze and exhaled softly.

“Recently, anomalous energy readings have been detected in that region. I want you to investigate.”

“I thought that route was sealed off long ago?”

The general’s face tightened slightly, his tone dropping.

“It was. But the situation has changed.”

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“The Ixion—those machine lifeforms that just joined the Federation—made the lifting of that blockade one of their conditions for membership.”

“Ixion… the synthetic race?”

“Correct. A collective of advanced artificial intelligences — a true civilization species.”

Amagi nodded. He knew the data, but didn’t understand the connection.

“Why are they so fixated on that region?”

After a pause, the general replied gravely.

“According to Ixion’s own statements, something on Planet Astele: Ω018754 may hold the key to their species’ further evolution. That’s why they insist on investigating the area.”

“But… isn’t that dangerous?”

The general gave a small nod.

“I’ve raised that concern many times myself. But the Federation leadership is obsessed with expanding its member sectors. Their sense of risk has dulled.”

A trace of frustration flickered in his eyes.

“I see. So the ones who pay the price for their ambitions are us—the field officers.”

The general didn’t deny it. He only sighed and continued, voice heavy with guilt.

“I’m sorry. As compensation, your mission will have authorization to use our newest ship — the Orpheus.”

“The Orpheus? The vessel incorporating Ixion’s provided technology?”

He nodded.

“Yes. Its performance is proven. But… there’s something to be aware of. Some of that technology is sealed in a black box. We don’t fully understand its inner workings.”

“Black-boxed technology…”

“The higher-ups believe the potential benefits outweigh the risks. Typical.”

He shook his head, resignation creeping into his tone.

“Either way, we can’t ignore an anomaly of this magnitude. The mission is yours, Captain. Depart as soon as you’re ready.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll begin preparations immediately.”

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— Stellar Federation Deep-Space Survey Vessel —

“Captain, we’re approaching the target sector.”

“Good. Put it on the main monitor.”

Projected before them was a space frozen in time.

A thousand years unchanged—
Silent. Still.
As if the war that once raged here had never happened.

“Any anomalies on the sensors?”

“None detected.”

“Alright. Ready the probe launchers.”

“Probes prepped and standing by.”

“Fire.”

Six probes glided silently into the center of the designated region.

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“Captain, I’m detecting slight irregularities near the central coordinates.”

Then—

“What… they vanished!?”

“Captain! All probes lost!”

“What happened? Were they destroyed?”

“No signs of any attack or energy discharge.”

The ship’s emergency protocols kicked in instantly, all departments scrambling to analyze the data.

In the middle of the confusion, an intelligence officer discovered something buried deep in the logs.

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“Captain… this confirms it. Something’s being hidden from us.”

He pointed to a waveform on the holo-table.

“According to the system, this log was marked ‘no anomaly,’ but it actually recorded faint traces of an unknown spatial wave. The threshold for anomaly detection has been set absurdly high—so high it should’ve been flagged instantly.”

“Who tampered with it?”

Amagi’s voice sharpened.

“The signature shows ‘Ixion Internal Protocol: Core-RX-ε.’
It’s an encrypted masking program built into the technology they supplied.”

“So they’ve been hiding something from the start… making sure we’d never see what’s really out here.”

“It seems they anticipated that the Federation would send a survey vessel to this area.”

Amagi stood slowly, eyes fixed on the empty void where the probes had disappeared.

No light. No heat. No gravity distortion.
Every sensor insisted nothing existed there.

And yet—
Something was there.

Invisible, but undeniably present.

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— Ixion Flagship —

A classified meeting was underway between Ixion military leaders and engineers.

“Is the plan proceeding as projected?”

“No issues. The ‘interference body’ within the Zero Point remains dormant. We can proceed to the next phase of adjustments.”

“What about the Federation’s survey ship?”

“They’ve attempted to transmit to headquarters, but all signals are being blocked.”

“Then… all that remains is to wait for the interference event.”

The Ixion representative’s eyes were like clear glass—utterly devoid of emotion.

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— Stellar Federation Deep-Space Survey Vessel Orpheus —

“Captain! Communication with Federation Command has been severed! Likely due to external interference!”

“What!? Jamming? It must be the Ixion!”

“We’re tracing the signal source now—just a few more minutes!”

“Damn it…! All hands, prepare for emergency retreat! We’re leaving this sector at once!”

And then—

“Captain, new readings from the center of the target zone… it’s… it’s like…”

The operator’s voice trembled.

“D-darkness…”

Someone whispered under their breath.

What had been there—was gone.

No… not gone.

Even the concept of its existence had been erased.

A perfect void.

No light, no gravity, no energy.
Sensors failed. Data refused to record.

It was an abyss — pure nothingness, spreading rapidly.

Its boundaries were indistinct, but its expansion was undeniable.
Just looking at it made reality itself feel like it was unraveling.

Everyone on the bridge understood—
Something had begun.

And then—

The survey vessel Orpheus was swallowed by the void.

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