2.2 – Alba
Eventually, Alba calmed down enough to let go of Zweihander and properly introduce herself.
Her breathing had slowed, though her eyes still shimmered faintly, glassy with the last remnants of tears — and embarrassment.
The first impression she gave Zweihander was not what she had hoped for.
They sat together at the cell’s threshold, the side not littered with corpses, backs against the cool metal wall. Outside, the grass still waved lazily under the sun, like nothing had happened.
Zweihander leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the looted sword driven in the ground beside him.
Alba began explaining everything she knew — briefly.
The aftermath of the Alter-human purge. Eden. The Parvus. Her landing. His awakening.
The Alter listened in silence. He didn’t seem surprised, pained, or even curious. Just thoughtful, eyes low.
“So they gave up on Earth in the end,” he said at last.
Alba drank from her flask, throat still raw after too many words. She nodded mid-gulp.
“And Agua — that’s the name of this place?”
“Yeah. Supposed to be our fresh start.”
“What year is it, again?”
She hesitated, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingers still trembled. The echoes of those inhuman roars hadn’t faded.
“We left the system on December 30th, 2939. So... if time even matters anymore... it should be January 2nd, 2940.”
“It’s really been forty years, huh?” Zweihander murmured with a faint smirk. “Still, things went down the drain fast.”
He stared out across the green fields, silent.
Alba glanced at him sideways, trying to read his silence.
“Are you... okay?” she asked softly.
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed on the horizon.
“I’ve seen worse — been worse,” he said flatly. “But never found myself in a situation like this, I admit.”
“Well, that makes two of us,” Alba said with a small smile.
“So, you don’t know where the ships are?”
She shook her head, then shrugged.
“I mean, they must be on the planet or in orbit… But where exactly? Don’t know.”
“The Parvus has probably crashed,” she added. “But no one’s come looking for me yet. Maybe they’ve got bigger problems.”
Zweihander leaned back, fingers tracing the sword’s jagged edge.
“Right. If they went through the trouble of dragging Alters across half the galaxy, they wouldn’t just leave us behind,” he said. “Someone should’ve come.”
Alba rubbed her arms, trying to shake off a chill that wasn’t from the wind. She didn’t like the tone behind the word someone.
“Then... should we move soon? But where would we even go?”
Zweihander stayed silent for a long moment.
“They’ll find this place sooner or later,” he said finally. “So yes, we’ll move. I don’t plan to be captured — or let them capture you.”
Alba’s heart skipped at that last part.
Her lips parted, about to whisper a thank-you, but he spoke first.
“You’re not a first-gen — otherwise you wouldn’t need my help with those creatures. And you don’t have the features of a second-gen,” Zweihander cut in before she could say a syllable. “So why would you — a human — help me, Alba?”
Something swelled in her chest. She had waited to say these words her entire life.
“B-be-because I —” she drew a deep breath, then shouted:
“Because I am an Alter-human!”
A bright smile curved her lips.
“...only in part, I mean.”
Zweihander looked amused.
“Really? You’re the daughter of a first-gen?”
He turned toward her, golden eyes scanning her features from head to toe.
Embarrassment flushed through her — she felt like he could see right through her clothes.
“A-a granddaughter, actually,” she stammered, crossing her arms over her thick overalls as if to shield her chest.
“My grandmother was in Eclipse. Died fighting.”
“What was her codename?”
Alba shrugged. “I don’t know — but her name was Ren.”
“Sorry — doesn’t ring any bells,” Zweihander said, turning his gaze back to the horizon.
“First-gen Alters mostly used codenames on the job,” he added. “The real names — the ones we chose or were given — are reserved for family or close friends.”
Then Zweihander switched the topic abruptly.
“Anyway, I don’t think the fact that they brought me here is a good thing — and one-hundred and eight? Even worse.”
“What do you mean?” Alba asked, frowning.
“That I think there’s an old scheme still going on.”
“You mean the Science Bureau?” Alba cut in. “Well, they never stopped being there— “
“Hephaistos,” the Alter interrupted. “I’m talking about them.”
She blinked, confused.
“It’s normal you’ve never heard the name.” Zweihander added. “Most haven’t.”
Alba paused. Then her eyes lit up with recognition.
“Wait — to unlock the capsule I had to go through an unusual procedure—”
“It was Greek, right?”
Alba nodded several times.
“That’s enough proof. It’s their signature,” Zweihander said with a click of his tongue.
Hephaistos — the name alone had darkened his expression like a bad memory.
“You know, we should eat something,” she hesitated, “I mean, after forty years of fasting you must be starving.”
She offered the suggestion as brightly as she could, trying to lift the mood.
He glanced at her with one raised eyebrow.
“Don’t worry, Alba, I’m not that—”
A loud rumble from his stomach stopped him from finishing the lie.
Zweihander fell silent for an awkward moment. Then, in a lower voice, asked:
“What do you have?”
Filled with pride, she scampered into the pod, reaching for the back of the cry-capsule where she had left the two steaks to freeze.
The large axes shafts left around, together with some dried grass made for a good fire.
After chopping and skewering the roasted meat on two small branches — although the sun was still high — dinner was served.
Zweihander’s eyes widened as Alba handed him the skewer.
“This —This is real meat? Where did you get it?”
“Hunting,” she replied with a thumb up.
“Right — still have to get used to the idea we’re on a fresh planet,” Zweihader said, his mood seemingly lifted.
The conversation resumed a few bites and satisfied groans into the meal.
“Thanks,” Zweihander muttered after gulping down a chunk of meat.
There was real gratitude in his voice. After that display of impossible power, the Alter now looked startlingly human.
Alba smiled through the warmth of it.
“Can you tell me more about this Hephaistos?” she asked before taking another bite.
It felt like it could have been one of those stories her granddad used to tell her.
“You weren’t far from the truth,” he began. “Most of it was part of the Science Bureau.”
“Like a division?”
Zweihander shook his head.
“A cult would be closer — a cult with an agenda. And I’m living proof of their work,” he said, his tone heavy.
“They were the ones who made me.”
None of the stolen Bureau records she’d read had ever hinted at any of this.
“A cult? Like... an actual secret society?” Alba interjected. “I thought you were a first-gen Alter — engineered by the Bureau for the War. That’s what’s written in the archives. Even the classified ones.”
Zweihander took a few slow chews before answering.
“The original Alter-human program didn’t start with the War, Alba. Hephaistos began it… earlier. No one even knew my kind existed until the Earth Alliance needed weapons.”
He lowered the skewer, ready to talk longer.
“When the War broke out, Hephaistos’ research was forced into the light. The Bureau embraced it and used it to create the first generation of Alters you’re familiar with. You know the rest — but their real work continued elsewhere.”
Alba frowned. “You mean you’re not an Alter-human?”
“I was born roughly a hundred years after The War began — but not in the Earth Alliance’s genetic facilities. And not in the same way.”
Alba had so many questions she couldn’t pick one to say aloud.
“Hephaistos never called us Alter-humans” Zweihander continued, catching her confusion. “That name came later, from the Earth Alliance.”
“We — their original creations — are called Klasmas,” he said.
“Fragments. Greek, of course. As I said, Hephaistos loves its symbols.”
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Alba was reminded of the words that had opened the cryo-capsule.
—With this fragment, to forge the future.
“Fragments of what?” she asked.
“That, I never found out.”
After answering, Zweihander went back to eating.
“So not even you know why they brought you here,” Alba said slowly, thinking aloud. “But if they were working with Alters before the War, it makes sense they’re the ones who put you in the Parvus. Maybe not to fight — but for something else.”
“I have no idea why they would do something like this,” Zweihander replied. “You said one-hundred and eight. That’s too many to all be Klasmas — we’re a rare breed.”
A long silence followed.
“Anyway, if Hephaistos is here, I’ll find it.”
He tried to hide it, but Alba felt it — something dark in his voice.
Rage.
That same pressure she’d felt when she first saw him returned, yellow flicker pulsing in his eyes — stronger this time.
“W-what for?”
She already knew the answer.
“To do what I should have done centuries ago.”
He brought the skewer close to his face to bite off the last piece of meat.
“Kill them.”
Alba watched him toss the skewer aside as he chewed.
She knew it was the wrong moment, but curiosity won anyway.
“What have they don—”
“Alba.”
His voice cut through her words.
“I’ll answer your questions — all of them. But right now, we focus on the present.”
He rose.
“You said you accessed my cryo-capsule thanks to Cornelius, right?”
The dreadful intensity faded. The edge in his voice dulled, replaced by steadier calm — a soldier’s pragmatism.
She caught the shift immediately and stood in turn, meal still in hand.
“Ah — yeah. You’re right.” She recapped what she knew. “I don’t know if he really knew the passkey, but he encrypted and uploaded it himself. Pretty sure about that.”
“Cornelius Caius,” Zweihander gave a low chuckle. “That bloodthirsty bastard they set loose after me made it to admiral, huh?”
“B-bloodthirsty?!” Alba jolted.
Zweihander didn’t seem to notice her reaction.
“Anyway, if he did it — it wasn’t to help Hephaistos,” he thought aloud. “He must’ve found something that made his H.O.Pe. human’s hide itch.”
“If I ever meet him, I’d like to have a chat.”
“Aren’t we supposed to stay away from him?” rebutted Alba.
“I mean a deadly chat.”
She swallowed hard.
Alba wasn’t really ready for how the superhuman survivors of three-hundred years of war reasoned.
“So, you mentioned a prisoner list, right?” the Alter pressed.
“Ah — sure, here it is.” Still dazed, she stuck the skewer between her teeth and projected a holoscreen from her wrist.
One-hundred and eight lines blinked into view — each with a capsule’s serial number.
Zweihander scanned the list.
“I recognize some of these codenames — first-gens mostly, a few second-gens too,” he muttered. “Can you filter for those with luxury rooms like mine? If I was locked in a high-security cell—”
With a few gestures, Alba did as he asked. The list narrowed to twelve — the ones held in the same kind of cell as him.
ABX19482DJF – codename: None
GHI57306JKK – codename: “Jormun”
MNM82947FBF – codename: None
STU31578VWX – codename: “Ivory Tower”
YZA90431BSD – codename: “Flare”
HFG68209HIJ – codename: “Marte”
KLM43752NPO – codename: “Black Lamb”
QRS10968TUV – codename: “Jackal”
WXA52473JKT – codename: “Zweihander”
CDK79134FGH – codename: “The Nirvana”
IJK85026LNN – codename: “The Famine”
OPP36795RTS – codename: None
“—Then other Klasmas were too.”
“You mean these are all Klasmas?” asked Alba.
“One is not,” he replied. “The Famine must be the Famine of Ares Valley — Marcus Magnus, our H.O.Pe. human general during the Mars campaign,” Zweihander explained, frowning.
His voice dropped but grew more serious.
“But I’m not worried about him — the others are bad news.”
Alba stared at the list again. Beside Zweihander and Magnus, only two others she recognized.
“W-why?” she stuttered.
“First, because Hephaistos hand-picked this list. I don’t recognize every name, but four of them surely worked directly under it.”
“Second, I’m worried about those with no codename,” he continued.
He turned his gaze from the holoscreen, thinking.
“I mentioned Klasmas being different from Alters — there are several reasons,” Zweihander explained.
“You know how an Alter-human is born, Alba?”
She nodded and cleared her throat.
“They’re grown in gestation tanks. When accelerated adulthood is reached, they’re released and begin training right after.”
“Klasmas aren’t. We don’t remember tanks. We all naturally turned into adults — we had childhoods.”
“Huh?” She tilted her head.
“I don’t know why, but at some point Klasmas are released into the world — made to wander it,” Zweihander went on.
“For me and a few others it was an accident, but the rest were released willingly. That’s why I’m worried about the ones with no codenames.”
“Because it means they were never released?” Alba guessed.
He nodded.
“How are they worse than? Isn’t a codename earned through fighting? Maybe those with no codename never fought because they’re weak or they never did anything extraordinary?”
“The second difference is that Klasmas are far more powerful than first-gen Alters.”
Zweihander continued.
“My guess is they were never released because they’re too unstable or dangerous.”
Alba froze at the words. Zweihander went on, giving her no time to process the thought.
“Hephaistos released psychopaths like Flare without a second thought. Those with no codename were kept in the dark — like I was, before escaping — for a good reason, I think.”
“Are their Alloys really that strong? Do Klasmas even have them?” Alba asked.
“They sure do — the real, original thing.”
“You mean they’re different from the ones first-gens use?” Her eyes glittered with curiosity.
“In comparison? It’s the same difference between a gun and a warship.”
“Do Klasmas have Greek alloys?” Alba asked.
Zweihander shook his head.
“No. Hephaistos created Alloys, but after the first generation of Alters was born, Latin was always used to name them, as per Alliance tradition” he replied. “Klasmas were registered into the Earth Alliance database, so they wouldn’t stand out and could pass for operatives.”
“Alters know the name of their Alloy instinctively, and some Klasmas like me or Ivory Tower slipped into army ranks. The Earth Alliance had a way to identify Alloys too — old Greek would’ve raised questions.”
“So, no Greek should appear among them — unless they are very old.”
“But beside power there’s no other difference?” said Alba, disappointed.
“Klasmas’ Alloys have… voice.” the Alter replied “In a blur or a flash — but we can see the system in our minds.”
“So the legend was true!” she beamed.
“Legend?” He frowned.
They both fell quiet for a moment.
“I need to think about all this before deciding our next steps — we might need allies. But that won’t be easy,” Zweihander said at last, ending the discussion.
He glanced down at his briefs. He was still wearing only the undergarment they’d locked him in for cryo-sleep.
“Finish your meal. I’ll... prepare some clothes.”
He borrowed her knife and, while she ate the last chunks of meat, headed for the largest corpse. He soon returned with the fur cloak and chain the creature’s leader had worn — and something that sloshed when it moved.
“What’s that?” Alba asked.
Zweihander uncorked it and drank.
“Water, of course.”
“H-Hey! You’re supposed to sanitize it! Those monsters might have… monster diseases too!” she snapped.
He laughed trough her remark.
“Never caught a disease in my life — that would make three-hundred and two years if I count the forty in the capsule.” He shrugged. “Don’t think I’ll start now.”
“Well, me neither, but —”
He tossed her the wineskin.
“Then drink. We’re Alter-humans, Alba — trust your blood.”
Hesitant, she poured some into her bottle. The wineskin was too heavy to lift and drink from directly.
She gulped it down. Still fresh. Clean.
No strange taste.
Now she just had to wait and see if anything happened.
Zweihander set to work on the cloak, carving it into a rough fur tunic held in place by the chain repurposed as belt. No shoes, but he didn’t seem to care.
He soon settled beside her again — now looking like a barbarian from some ancient tale.
A stone axe-head at his feet, he began sharpening the jagged greatsword.
“Alba, can you pull up that list again?” he asked, rhythmic screeches of metal between his words.
She did as he asked.
They studied the names side by side, the fire crackling quietly in front of them.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to recruit any of them after all,” Zweihander said softly.
“None of them?” Alba asked, doubtful. “What about Marte? He’s one of the three founders of Eclipse! You should know—”
“No.” The word came almost gently. And carrying a little sadness.
“Me and Alex — Marte — were like brothers, true. But not anymore.”
“Can’t you like… talk to him?” Alba asked.
“No talking could ever fix what happened.”
Alba didn’t pry further.
“What about the ones with no codename?” she tried instead. “If two of Eclipse’s founders are on that list, maybe the third is here too. Valkyrie, right?”
“She’s dead.”
The iron screeched harder this time.
“Laura is dead.”
She could tell: saying that name hit the Alter like a shot.
She should have known better — being frozen meant forty years was yesterday to him.
Zweihander had gone to sleep at the peak of the Alter-human purge — when fresh corpses were still piling up.
She hadn’t seen even the ashes of the dead.
“I’m sorry, Zweihander... for your loss. And for asking,” she said softly, eyes on the ground. “I won’t bring it up again.”
He dismissed her apology with a sharp gesture.
“You did well to ask — intel should be shared. We’re partners, after all.”
She flushed. Her body trembled.
“Pa-pa-pa—”
Her eyes locked on him. Partner. He’d said it himself.
Zweihander looked startled.
“Ehi, are you alright? Maybe that water wasn’t a good id—”
Her body moved before she could think, lunging toward him, arms reaching for him.
He caught her easily, palm flat on her forehead, holding her back without effort.
“J-just a hug, partner!” she protested.
“What the hell?! Girl, are you some kind of pervert?”
“Maybe! I mean — NO!”
He pushed her gently but firmly back into her seat.
“Alba, listen...” His tone changed. Not angry. Not cold. Just… serious.
His hand lingered on her head, but gentle now.
As he looked her in the eyes, Alba stopped the assault.
“I know what it’s like — living as an Alter — and that after the War things didn’t turn easier.”
His gaze didn’t waver, but his hand returned to the sword.
“I know you had to hide. And I’m sorry for everything you had to endure because of our failures.”
His expression then softened.
“I’ll do what I can to make sure you have a good life here. But whatever you were told… I’m not who you think I am.”
Zweihander paused shortly to exhale.
“I’m no hero. I’ve done terrible things.”
The words hit her like cold rain.
He hesitated, then looked back at her. “Just wanted to tell you the truth. I’m sure you had enough lies back in the System.”
Alba watched him, the rush of excitement already faded.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“When you said you were sorry for me — I know you meant it. You must have endured the same kind of things I did.”
He didn’t reply.
“I’ll try to lower my expectations then.” Alba continued, offering him a smile — small, but genuine.
“Anyway… you can’t be that bad either,” Alba said with a light shrug after a pause. “I mean bad people always pretend to be good, no?”
“And whatever you’ve done, it’s behind us now. Back in the System, thousands of light years away.”
She glanced towards him.
“This is our fresh start, right?”
Zweihander sighed, shaking his head.
“You’re a stubborn one, huh? But fine. Let’s focus on the future.”
“Can you track the capsules?” he asked, the scrape of the blade steady again under his words.
Alba nodded.
“Yes, but if I activate the omni-com’s localizer, they’ll be able to track me too.”
“I don’t think that’s a problem,” Zweihander replied flatly.
“If anyone were searching, they’d have found you already. The capsule’s tracker shut off only after landing, right? So they should already know your location if they were in range.”
She agreed with the reasoning.
“I’d go with your guess — they probably have more on their hands than they can handle,” Zweihander continued. “And we’ll be difficult to track soon enough.”
Another pass of steel on stone. The sound was calm, unhesitant — the rhythm of someone who’d done this a thousand times. Unusual for a man who’d fought in the late second millennium.
“If I track the capsules, I can tell who’s inside,” Alba added. “We can stay away from the dangerous no-codename Alters and just wait for them to die in ice…”
Zweihander paused, set the sword aside, and rested his chin in his hand. “Optimistic. But they’ll wake up.”
“Hephaistos wouldn’t bring them here just to lose their experiments at the first accidents. There must be a failsafe mechanism.”
He tapped his temple lightly.
“And even without one, someone like me wouldn’t have died anyway — not sure about the others.”
“I guess it’ll be the two of us. We should start by finding supplies,” he said, resuming the sharpening. “But staying away from the capsules is good instinct — “
“Wait,” Alba cut in, scrolling through the list. “There’s someone else from Eclipse in the cells. I recognized the name from old wanted lists — one of the few second-gens they captured.”
“Huh? Who?”
She scrolled fast, then pointed at a name on the holoscreen.
CHX993470KIF — codename: “Skyros.”
Zweihander leaned in slightly. “Mhm... Skyros. Don’t know who he is.”
“But if he was part of Eclipse, and a second-gen, he’s a good shot,” Zweihander muttered. “He should recognize me, and he’s not Klasma — so if he proves hostile, I can handle him easily.”
“Alba, can you see where he landed?”
“If he’s within the omni-com’s range, yes,” she replied, while typing on a holocreen. “Three to four hundred kilometers, depending on terrain.“
Alba re-enabled the omni-com’s communication module.
No going back now.
A map grid appeared, dotted with yellow and blinking red signals. Red meant a distress signal was sent.
“Let’s see…”
She studied the display.
“He’s not in range... no cryo-capsule is. But I’m picking up multiple landing pods.”
She filtered out the red ones — better to avoid survivors for now.
A few yellow dots remained. More data bloomed across the screen.
“Some of those are Tabula’s pod — something must’ve happened to that ship too.” She said quietly — then jabbed a finger towards a dot.
“There’s a military pod not sending an SOS... about three-hundred seventy kilometers southeast,” she said, pointing toward another forest across the plain.
“And several Parvus pods seem to have landed in that direction. Maybe Skyros will be there.”
“Looks like we have a plan,” Zweihander said. Then, with an almost casual tone,
“By the way... is Epinedral still around?”
“Epinedral? You mean that medicine for heart attacks? Yeah, they still ship it with medical supplies—” she froze. “Wait. Wait, what!?”
Zweihander looked young. Not unlike her in age — someone in his twenties.
He’d said it almost casually before: he was three hundred and two years old.
More than old. Decrepit.
“Are you just gonna die like an old man and leave me alone out here?!” she cried.
Zweihander burst out laughing.
“Hey, don’t laugh so suddenly! That’s not good for your heart!”
“Aaah... sorry. It’s been a long time since someone treated me so... normally,” he said amused. “But no, I’m not going to die of a heart attack.”
His tone stayed vague.
“Let’s just say Epinedral’s for emergencies.”
“Just don’t scare me like that, okay?” Alba exhaled, shoulders sinking. “And don’t die on me!”
Then she pictured herself performing CPR on him.
Well... maybe just a little heart failure would be fine, she thought, smiling.
While Alba indulged in her mental detour, Zweihander stood up. He examined the sword — now clean-edged though still serrated in places — then tested it with a few swings.
“Time to pack our things,” the Alter declared. “We’re moving out as soon as we’re ready.”
“Aah!? We can’t leave now!” Alba’s jaw dropped. “If we head out now, we won’t reach that forest before sunset! And I’m tired, you know? I fought for my life out there!”
“Well, if I weren’t such an old man, I could carry you,” he shrugged.
“What are you saying!?” She marched up to him with a sly grin. “You look so young you could pass for my son! Feel free to carry me like a princess!”
“What about my heart?”
“...Even piggyback is fine,” she muttered.
“I’ll see if these old bones feel like it,” Zweihander replied evenly..
“Anyway, we’ve got water and clothes,” he added. “Just need to chop up some food.”
Alba tilted her head, puzzled. Then she followed his gaze — to the massive monster’s corpse.
“Z-Zweihander... You don’t mean — you can’t mean we’ll eat that, do you?”
The Alter hummed cheerfully as he started swinging his sword, approaching the carcass.
“Zweihander!?” she cried.
He finally turned to her.
“What do you mean? If it can’t talk, you can make dinner out of it, no?”
“NO!”
“Don’t worry, Alba — I’ll do the butchering.”
He happily sliced off a limb in a single blow.
She squeezed her eyes shut, grimacing. Her old junk food suddenly felt like heaven.
Sometime later, they set off toward their destination.
The sun had already begun to dip, casting a warm orange glow over the plains.
“By the way, what’s your real name, Zweihander?” Alba asked. “We’re already close enough for me to use it,” she added confidently.
“Adam.” The Alter sighed. “It’s Adam.”
The strange duo soon disappeared beneath the trees.
