Chapter 10 / Yellow

July 25th, 15.003 La Paz, Ashveil Desert, Umbra [Vampire Continent]

He stood alone in the kitchen, devastated by the bad timing.

The yellow shade crept across the floor, slanting in from the window near the balcony. Outside, the lamp posts of La Paz had all begun to pulse in sync — steady, warm, and unfamiliar.

Yellow.

He closed his eyes for a second. “She’ll be on duty,” he muttered to himself. “Yellow means security breach… or something like that.”

La Paz operated on a protocol system built into the very bones of the Citadel. Color-coded alarms — fast and easy to understand — designed to communicate to every corner of the city in seconds. Each light source, public and private, was linked to the central lab grid, courtesy of Tech’s architecture: crystals, wires, encrypted channels, and redundancies no one else could fully decipher.

The colors were simple: Blue: Internal alert — cadet-level disturbance, often training related. Pink: Medical alert — the citizens are called to the medical facilities. Yellow: Breach in security — unidentified movement, systems triggered without confirmation. Red: External threat or confirmed attack. White Stroboscopic: Catastrophic — full emergency, last resort protocol. Green: All clear — meant to be used after any of the other protocols were solved. 

Until now, none of the protocols were triggered, not once.

It had been theoretical. A test line. A level Ailin herself created during the early drafts of the Citadel’s founding with Tech’s help. And tonight, it painted every street, corridor, and window with its strange, humming glow.

Maybe they’re just testing the protocols… he thought. His fingers hovered near the sill, where the light pulsed faintly against his skin. I can’t sense anything unusual.

And for Elon, that meant something. Magic left traces — echoes, currents, even absence. If a real threat was stirring, he would’ve felt it by now. At least that’s what he told himself.

Still, protocol was protocol.

He grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door, not because he needed it — it was more of a reflex. The alarm hadn’t shut off yet. It vibrated softly under the quiet, like a heartbeat stretching across the Citadel.

He stepped out into the corridor. Others were emerging too, blinking into the yellow-tinged air. No panic, not yet. Just a hum of unease moving under the surface.

Risha’s probably already at the square, Elon thought as he moved toward the east side of the Civil Quarter.

The kid had been at Lola’s place when it started — daughter of Lucius, one of the three Triad leaders who governed the Civil Wing. If there was a place to be safe, that was it. And if Elon knew anything about Risha, it was that he’d follow protocol perfectly… and still ask five questions while doing it.

The yellow glow was everywhere now. Streetlamps pulsed in perfect rhythm. The usual warmth of the Civil Quarter — kids playing, food stalls, evening chatter — had gone quiet.

Elon crossed the last alley before the open square and paused.

Civilians were already gathered, moving with calm but organized tension. The Triad's influence was visible — stewards in uniform with grey ties giving directions, young soldiers guiding families away from the perimeter. No one screamed. No one ran. The system worked.

His eyes scanned the crowd — not for threats, but for a smaller, louder force of chaos.

And there, near the edge of the raised garden stones, stood a group of six: messy crazy hairs, shoes half-on, jackets clearly thrown on in a rush. The squad. As Risha called themselves.  

Risha was standing on the ledge like he was about to give a speech, arms waving dramatically while Cloud circled him like a knight's horse. Lola leaned against the railing nearby, silver and red hair tied up in tiny buns, with a chunk of hair falling over, too short to stay in position, with a lollipop. Zevran was seated next to Nima, quiet as ever. Haru and Reno were arguing about whether or not you could survive a fall from the roof of the school building. It wasn't a discussion, Reno was just interested in jumping and Haru was begging him not to.

Elon approached with a sigh so soft it might’ve been mistaken for wind.

“Where’s mom??” Risha spotted him instantly. “Weren’t you with her???”

A few heads turned.

“She’s on duty,” Elon replied, hands in his pockets.

Lola narrowed her eyes, curious. “… are Risha’s parents together?”

Without hesitation, Risha and Reno answered at the same time: “It’s complicated.”

Nima huffed a small laugh.

Elon blinked. Even Reno figured that out?

He didn’t comment — just crossed his arms and scanned the perimeter again, alert without looking worried.

“Should we be scared?” Nima asked softly.

“No,” Elon said. “If something were happening, I’d feel it.”

They trusted that — or at least, trusted him. The kids settled in a little closer, watching the yellow lights pulse above.

♥︎

On the other side of the Citadel, the yellow alarm cast its same glow — but here, it hit uniforms instead of rooftops. The broad concrete field that connected the Command Tower main sector to the Academy’s North Wing was already filling with boots.

Cadets formed ranks, shoulders straight, eyes darting. The more experienced troops held formation calmly, watching for movement, listening for orders.

Ryn stood near the front, her posture crisp, her uniform… not so much. Calm. Focused. Her fingers brushed the back of her ear, where the white nano-tattoo shimmered faintly against her skin.

It activated the moment Sukira left the Civil Quarter.

The corridor was nearly empty. Sukira moved fast, steps sharp and steady, skirt brushing against her legs with every stride. The yellow light gave her pale skin an unnatural hue, but she didn’t slow down.

How did this work again… two taps for the Security team channel?

She tapped the edge of the nano-tattoo — once, twice. It buzzed for an instant, and then–

“Commander Sukira here,” she said under her breath. “Opening Security channel. Ryn, confirm. I’m heading to the Tower now to be filled in. You stay with the troops. Hold position. Wait for orders.”

The response came instantly, cool and clipped: “Yes.”

Then another voice broke in — delighted.

“This is so coooool.”

Sukira’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you on my channel?”

“I asked Tech so many times, he just gave up. Emotional fatigue, you know, I’m very good at it”, Jeda’s voice crackled, smug as sin.

A sigh. Then Axis chimed in, voice dry. “I apologize, Commander. I’m afraid resistance was… inefficient.”

The nano-tattoos were still in testing — third generation now. Fingertip-sized, pale as skin, placed just behind the ear, almost on the neck. They weren’t permanent yet; Sami and Tech were still refining the material and the feedback interface. But so far, this version worked well.

Each tattoo could hold access to multiple communication channels, opened through coded taps.

For example:

➤ One or two short taps: tactical or security groups.

➤ One long press: command-level network — high officers, tower leaders, commanders of each wing.

Coding was done from the main program, in charge of Sami. A faint vibration behind the ear would signal an incoming call. You answered using the same tap code.

And best of all — they synced to vocal cord vibration, not volume. So even Ryn’s whispers came through like thunder. And Jeda’s thunder came through like a polite message.

Miracles of modern science.

“We’re waiting at the Command Tower entrance,” Jeda added. “Bring your serious face. Or don’t. Actually, don’t.”

Sukira rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smirk tugging at her lips. She moved faster.

The base of the Command Tower loomed like a polished dagger under the yellow light. Carved from white concrete and laced with elven crystal veins, the Tower usually hummed with quiet authority. Tonight, it buzzed.

Sukira’s flats echoed up the wide entry steps. She passed the glowing perimeter wards without breaking stride — they rippled, recognizing her signature.

Ailin was half-uniform, half-pajama — coat unbuttoned, shirt pulled halfway over soft flannel pants. Her long hair was twisted up in a tight, messy knot that still somehow made her look like she ran the place.

Dominique stood barefoot in a silk sleep clack set, her fingers laced with silver rings — ready to convert into her signature fighting gloves if needed.

Axis wore his full uniform, every strap perfect, every button sealed. Immaculate, as always.

Jeda? Joggers. Combat boots. No shirt. Open jacket flapping around him like a cape. Cigarette in one hand. Sword strapped to his hip like a challenge.

Sukira walked into the circle like she owned it — posture straight, face unreadable. She didn’t say anything but somehow knew that the way she was looking was going to be… troublesome. 

Jeda nearly choked. “Wow. Gorgeus. You look like you’re coming from a date—wait.” He stepped back dramatically, one hand flying to his chest. “You and Sunshine?? Finally?? For the Blessings— I think my heart’s going to stop.”

Sukira turned to him so slowly it was a threat in itself. “Focus.”

“I am focused. I’m focusing on the emotional damage I’m taking,” he said, laughing like it was all a joke. “I–I just need a second.”

The others ignored him, as usual.

But Sukira didn’t miss it. Behind the smirk, behind the way he swept his coat like a cape and struck a mock-dramatic pose — was that flicker of something real. Not hurt, exactly. Not jealousy, not really. But the quiet look of someone asking: Am I finally being replaced?

He’d tease her to death about it — that was the contract. But the humor, tonight, had an edge to it.

Ailin didn’t even blink. “We can gossip about personal lives after we find out whether we’re being attacked or not.”

Sukira sighed, stepping into formation. “Brief me.”

Ailin’s face was backlit by the yellow glow spilling through the crystal arches. “The system triggered yellow at 23:16. Full spread. Civil Quarter, Command perimeter, North barracks, all at once.”

Sukira folded her arms. “Triggered how?”

“That’s the problem,” Ailin replied. “There’s no data trace of an actual breach. No magical interference. No structural disruption. No abnormal access through the wards.”

“So…” Dominique tilted her head. “A false alarm?”

“Possibly.” Ailin’s eyes didn’t lift from the data. “Or a system error. Or something we’re not picking up. But the system didn’t fail — it did what it was designed to do. It just… responded to nothing.”

Jeda let out a slow whistle. “An error in Tech’s system?” He looked absolutely delighted. “Can I be the one to tell him?”

“Please, be my guest,” Dominique muttered, rubbing her eyes. “I finally convinced Eloise to stay over and this happens?”

There was a beat of silence.

She froze. “I didn’t mean—”

“Domi,” Axis said dryly, not even glancing up from his comm. “Just tell the Triad it’s a precautionary protocol run. They can start sending people back to bed. Then you should do the same.”

Dominique flushed but nodded. “On it.”

Sukira looked back at Ailin. “You’re sure it wasn’t a glitch?”

Ailin hesitated. “I’m sure it shouldn’t have happened.”

The group began to disband. Dominique headed to send the Triad their update. Axis remained behind, already filing an incident report on his tablet before Ailin even finished speaking. Ailin gave green light ---> making the alarm go quiet and to move on to ‘retreat’ protocol. 

Sukira turned, flats already echoing toward the south corridor. “I’m going with you. I want Tech to say it to my face.” She looked at Jeda who was already settled to go to the Research wing. 

Jeda fell into step beside her, cigarette gone, replaced by the faint hum of his sword tapping against the floor. “Finally, something fun.”

She reached up to her nano-tattoo, tapping twice. “Ryn. Update. We’re treating this as a false alarm for now, but I want to be sure. Stay on guard with a reduced group. The rest can return to their rooms.”

The response came after a soft vibration. “Yes.”

Jeda gave her a sidelong look. “What sort of weird communication do you two have?”

“I trust my second,” Sukira said without looking at him.

Jeda grinned. “That girl is terrifying in the quietest way.”

“She definitely is.”

They reached the corridor that sloped down toward the Research Wing. The air changed here — cooler, sharper, threaded with the scent of oil, disinfectant and burned cables.

“Just don’t touch anything,” Jeda warned, nudging her elbow. “The genius gets twitchy. And sometimes he electrifies things just for fun.”

Sukira gave him a flat look. “Why would I touch anything in a lab?”

Jeda raised both hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, you look like you touch things you shouldn’t.”

Sukira snorted. Jeda was dying to get the chance to ask about it. 

The lab doors slid open with a hiss. Light poured out in soft blue streaks from underfloor strips and scattered crystals mounted along the ceiling. Machines buzzed low. Dozens of screens floated above the central table, flashing diagnostics, energy maps, and blinking data lines. Cadets running while discussing data. 

“I told you it wasn’t a field distortion,” Sami snapped, arms crossed as she paced in front of Tech’s console.

“It couldn’t be a breach either,” Tech replied, not even looking at her. “The outer wards didn’t register anything. There was no data anomaly. No foreign magic signature. No blood trace. No pressure spike. It’s clean.”

Sami threw her hands up. “Then how do you explain the full-city trigger? The signal pulse didn’t come from outside. It came from here. From inside the system.”

Jeda stepped in before the doors could seal again, giving the room a quick once-over. “Ah, I see. Lab fight number seven thousand, welcome back to the warzone.”

Sukira followed him in, voice calm but firm. “So it wasn’t a glitch?”

Tech finally looked up. Red eyes framed by darker circles. He looked like he hadn’t slept in  days. “Of course It wasn’t a glitch, don’t be stupid.”

“But you don’t know what it was.”

“No,” he admitted. “Not yet. But I built in over a hundred traps and decoys after the Sami incident. Nothing tripped. Not even close. If someone got in, they ghosted through the system and left no trace.”

Sami folded her arms again, but this time with less fight. “Could be an intel leak again.”

“No,” Tech snapped, sharper than before. “I protected the system against you. Paranoid as hell. If it was someone like you, I’d know.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Romantic,” Jeda muttered.

“Shut up,” both Tech and Sami said in perfect sync.

Sukira cut back in. “So what do we call it? A phantom trigger?”

“I call it someone testing us,” Tech muttered. “Seeing what lights up without actually knocking.”

Sami’s head snapped toward him. “Exactly.” 

“I know I’m right, what’s your ‘exactly’ actually bringing to the table?” Tech barked as an animal who hasn't eaten in a while. 

“Easy, genius.” Her voice was sharper now — not arguing, but energized. “They didn’t want to get in. They wanted to know what would happen if they tried. What lights up. How fast we respond. Which channels go live. Where the weaknesses pulse.” She stepped closer to the table, pointing at one of the floating diagrams. “They were watching our reaction speed.”

Tech's eyes flicked to the data. “So you’re saying we… lit up on command.”

“I’m saying this is a theory. But it wouldn't hurt to be prepared if it happens again. We blinked when they clicked their fingers.”

A beat of silence.

“Okay… you are amazing.” Then he said, low and intrigued, “Then we need a counter-trigger.”

She smiled and nodded. “A false alarm that trips before the real one. A mimic. Something that lights up for them and tells us we’re being watched.”

“A shadow system.”

“A decoy heartbeat.”

They were already working. She moved to the other side of the lab table, pulling up code schematics. Tech followed without hesitation, fingers flying, bypassing four security layers like he’d been waiting for the excuse.

Jeda leaned on a column near the entrance, arms folded. “Oh, great. This weird smart people flirting is happening again.”

“...Again?” Sukira asked as she couldn’t take her eyes off of them — two minds snapping into sync like teeth in a gear. Something about it was beautiful and vaguely terrifying.

Jeda tilted his head toward her. “You see it too?”

She didn’t look away from the screens. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I do.”

The halls of the South Wing were working at full speed as it was 9am the next morning, but geniuses didn’t sleep and it was around 1.30am. The green lights had stopped flashing, but the echo of them clung to the walls, ghost-like.

Jeda walked beside her, hands in his pockets, boots striking lazy rhythm against the concrete.

“Alright,” he said. “So we have no breach, no enemy, no proof, and two maniacs trying to out-code each other into a fourth-dimensional firewall.”

Sukira exhaled, slow. “You forgot ‘no sleep’.”

“I was never planning on sleeping.”

They turned down the main curve of the Citadel’s interior — the corridor that looped from Research to Civil. The walk was long but familiar, the kind they’d made dozens of times before. Quiet, slightly charged.

“You think it’s Concordia?” she asked eventually. “They’ve been sniffing around the Ashveil borders for months.”

“Maybe,” Jeda said. “But they are looking for Calamities to make deals with, not us. Plus, Concordia doesn’t test systems. They kick doors down.”

“Elaris?”

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone in the Court wanted to show off. But they wouldn’t hide their magic trace. This was clean.”

Sukira ran a hand through her hair. “Someone smart, then. Or someone new.”

“Or someone already inside.”

They walked in silence after that.

By the time they reached the corridor that branched into the Civil Quarter rooms, the air felt heavier. Only the regular wall sconces remained — soft, warm, too gentle for the things running through their minds.

Jeda stopped at the fork, shifting his weight. “You want to join me?”

Sukira shook her head. “Not tonight.”

He didn’t tease. Not this time.

“Right,” he said quietly. Then after a pause: “He means a lot to you.”

She turned to look at him, in silence.

“You don’t have to explain,” he added. “I know. I’ve always known.”

Her lips parted “You mean a lot to me, too”. But she was already turning away. She walked off without waiting for a reply.

“Sleep well, Commander.” He said to himself, she was long gone. He stood there for a while, then turned down his own hall.

♥︎