This story is best read while listening to "Highway to the Danger Zone" by Kenny Loggins.

"Don't pass out, now!"

The unmistakable affected German accent of Klavier Gavin crackled through the earpiece within Apollo's flight helmet. Apollo would've protested there was no way in cold hell G-LOC would make him pass out at a time like this, but he was too busy for quips; his body was being buffeted by G-forces as his F-16's nose pitched upwards. Little more than a second had passed before the jet fighter finished its vertical loop, Apollo's aircraft back at its starting point thanks to a successful Kulbit maneuver… and the enemy plane that had been on his tail just moments dangerously overshot him. The end result: Apollo earned a great view of the underside of the hostile JF-17 Thunder's fuselage. Pulling the throttle backwards with his left hand, he induced his warbird to stall.

He wasted no time in depressing the trigger of his flight stick, ready to line up his shot. Lining the aiming reticle that had just appeared in his HUD corresponding to his guns, time around him felt like it slowed down to a crawl. He could see only the enemy aircraft as if nothing else existed in his world. It was as if time itself had stopped, or at the very least, set in frame-by-frame slow motion.

His sights where were he wanted them to be.

He pulled the trigger past depress, and the world started to move once more. A cacophony not unlike a concrete drill's roared louder than the deafening sound of his mount's jet engines, and the rounds fired from the M20A1 Vulcan cannon exited the gun port near the left side of the canopy and met their target true. The 20mm ammunition mercilessly shredded metal, but the hail of gunfire soon ended - Apollo had only fired a short, controlled burst, before leveling his Fighting Falcon with the horizon and increasing speed to regain control.

Flicking a switch on his throttle, he changed his comm radio from the UHF frequency he and all friendlies were using for a VHF channel he knew Khura'inese pilots used for emergency transmissions and had set before even taking to the skies.

"This is Warba'ad One, TAC Name 'Clarion'. Enemy Thunder pilot, your aircraft is too damaged to continue combat operation. We will not engage if you wish to leave this airspace peacefully. Don't waste your life here...go back to your family. This war won't last much longer."

It was true - this decisive attack Warba'ad Squadron launched with the intent of liberating the Khura'inese capital would decide whether the Revolution would be successful or go down in angry flames.

Support for the revolution was at an all-time high, once the corrupt dealings and oppressive practices of the current monarch, Queen Ga'ran, were brought into the light. Martial law went into effect immediately, even if many of those very soldiers tasked with enforcing it were sympathetic to the Revolution; of course, should they stand against the regime, their lives were forfeit. This did not frighten many of those very same valorous countrymen, but the threat of their families and loved ones coming to harm sure did.

The Royal Khura'in Air Force pilot, who had clearly gotten Apollo's message and was gliding away from the combat zone in his smoking craft, was clearly one of those people: "Fight for us, or pay the price."

Warba'ad Squadron would have none of that. They were good enough to take on enemy pilots and disable their Tejas, Thunders, and Gripens without killing them, even when massively outnumbered. Being that good was the reason people called them "aces", after all.

(RKAF pilots not getting enough flight hours in training helped, too.)

"I think that's the last of 'em, Clarion!" Apollo's perpetual wingman, Clay Terran - "Spaceman" - whooped excitedly as his F-14 Tomcat positioned itself in formation at Apollo's right.

"Nice shooting indeed, Herr Forehead," an Eurofighter Typhoon fell in on Apollo's left wing. "You're putting that freaky eyesight of yours to good use. Maybe we should change your call sign to Eagle Eyes, ja?"

"What is it, Rocker? Maybe a little jealous?" Apollo ribbed, deciding to take a little revenge for before as he adjusted course towards the capital's airspace.

"Nein," Rocker answered. "When you're both a rock star and a fighter pilot, there's nothing else to desire. You look for 'cool' in the dictionary, and you see my photograph."

Apollo sighed into his breath mask. He didn't need another reminder this diva of a pilot from Blade International was a little too popular on terra firma, mainly because Rocker would not let them forget. Rock stars easily became the heartthrob of young ladies (and some young men) everywhere. But a rock star who's also a fighter pilot? That's less heartthrob, more like human catnip. At least if the droves of rabid fans who flock against the chain link fences surrounding the air bases they've been stationed in together are anything to go by.

Apollo couldn't help but wonder sometimes if Rocker's popularity as an artist depended almost entirely on his day job behind the controls of a fighter plane. Klavier would of course argue otherwise; he had said as much once as some boring courtroom drama droned on a dingy, all-too-tiny TV - 'I could be prosecuting as my day job, and I'd still be the darling of the music world, mein freund'.

(Apollo found that very unlikely. A fighter pilot topping the charts? Sure. But a prosecutor? Get real.)

"Cool? Yeah, sure, whatever you say. You're the guy who requisitioned a Typhoon because he's just that much of a damn europhile," Apollo bantered, but Klavier just snickered in return.

"Oh, I just know a fine bird when I see one, and this fräulein here is an unmistakeable beauty," Apollo could hear the (playful) smug over the radio. "Also, it costs about eight times more than your Viper."

Apollo visibly recoiled in his seat, as if struck by an invisible blade. "...Low blow, Rocker. Low blow..."

Why did the mercs over at Blade Internation always seem to have carte blanche when it comes to operational budget?!

Still, Apollo would not trade his F-16C Fighting Falcon for any other bird in the sky. Besides, with all the customization he's done over the last couple years, the outdated gas guzzler could give any top-of-the-line fighter a run for its money.

"Are they always like this...?" A tranquil, serene voice belonging to the pilot of the Dassault Mirage covering Apollo's tail filled the airwaves.

"Only when the glimmerous fop there isn't driving me crazy," a female voice belonging to their AWACS operator answered.

"Oh, I drive you cra-zy? Good to know," Rocker countered, and Ema Skye groaned hard before audibly slumping onto what Apollo assumed had to be the operator console in front of her. She sat in the canopy of the Airborne Warning and Control System airplane attached to Warba'ad Squadron, a Boeing E-3 Sentry codenamed "Science Bus". The large craft resembled a commercial airliner, with the exception of the large, flat, circular radar radome affixed atop it.

Clay let out a low whistle. "Walked straight into that one."

Ema let out a defeated sigh. "This is Science Bus, please focus on your mission."

"You're right, fräulein. I have to come back alive, otherwise I can't ask you out to dinner, ja?"

Ema responded with an indignant gasp, followed by some very, very loud munching. Uh-oh. She got the Snackoos out. Within his mind, Apollo could see Klavier's smug grin as clear as day.

"Regardless of what you wish to do after this final battle," the gentle voice spoke once more, "it'd do you good to get your head out of the clouds."

"But Saint," Klavier replied, "it's our job to rip through the clouds, isn't it? I need to have my head here so I can do that."

Apollo now imagined Nahyuta's face adored with that tranquil, subtle expression that somehow screams disappointment, so very his.

"A Dragon never yields," Apollo recited, "but when it comes to Rocker here...it's best to let go and move on."

Finally, radio silence, if only for a few precious seconds.

"...Clarion, that...was awful. Just awful," Clay eventually broke the non-mandatory quiet.

"Oh, I know. But hey, now Saint's gotta know how we felt about him repeating those words over and over again when he was the one shooting at us."

When he had met Nahyuta again after so many years, they'd been fighting for opposing factions in the battlefield. Wright Security had been employed by the rebels, who persuaded Apollo's boss to take the contract after proving a truly staggering amount of flagrant human right violations in the Kingdom of Khura'in. Nahyuta, for his part, was the poster boy for the Royal Khura'in Air Force.

Their encounters had been exhilarating dances with danger; neither of them could get a definite advantage over the other, and neither of them could've brought themselves to pull trigger on the other even if they did.

However, Nahyuta was yet another victim of the regime, forced to comply under duress. The collateral held against him - his mother, and his sister, who had been raised by the Queen as her own daughter, grooming her as a future successor (with much cruelty).

Dhurke, Apollo's foster and Nahyuta's birth father, leader of the Defiant Dragons and decorated fighter pilot of his own, gave his life in a desperate attempt to save his wife and daughter. It worked. Rayfa and Amara were now safe with the rebels, and with that, Nahyuta was free to desert the regime.

Dhurke's death, however, left a huge scar on the Defiant Dragon's rebellion. He had been the symbol of the movement until then; alongside the wounds that would never heal in the hearts of his loved ones, his passing dealt a huge blow to the rebels' morale.

But a wounded dragon just bites down harder. The fires of liberation could not be extinguished that easily. The rebel's struggles could not be allowed to become an unsung war.

Nahyuta came up with an idea - to create a new symbol the Defiant Dragons could rally behind: the 1st Special Tactical Fighter Squadron, Warba'ad; a formation of four aircraft there to take Dhurke's place in the shattered skies.

While Apollo was quick to agree to the idea, he never imagined Nahyuta would push for Apollo to take the role of flight lead. He'd have thought that Nahyuta, being Dhurke's son, would be the one to take leadership, but the long-braided man argued that Apollo had been critical to rebel operations while Nahyuta was a relative newcomer. Thus, Warba'ad Squadron was born, with Apollo, "Clarion", as One, and Nahyuta, call sign "Saint", as Two.

Clay, "Spaceman", joined them shortly afterwards, taking a leave of absence from his training as astronaut. Clay had always dreamed of going into space, but when he heard his best friend and wingman was involved in something big, he immediately came rushing.

Apollo had always been thankful to have a friend like him, and he honestly didn't know what he'd do if something were to happen to him.

The fourth and final member of Warba'ad squadron was Klavier. His call sign, "Rocker", was self-explanatory. He'd flown together with "Herr Forehead", as Klavier tended to call Apollo, during joint assaults launched by Wright Security and Blade International, the latter being a large-scale PMC Klavier was part of. While Wright Security was a much smaller mercenary organization, the leaders of both outfits were old buddies, so they tended to cooperate often.

Apollo didn't learn until later that Klavier was the brother of his former flight instructor. Considering said flight instructor had turned traitor and tried to shove a missile or seven up Apollo's tailpipe, he was relieved Rocker was nothing like his brother, and even helped Apollo and his boss take him down.

Apollo wouldn't readily admit it, but he was glad Klavier was here, too. Despite his devil-may-care attitude, Klavier's skill was the real deal and he had a strong sense of justice Apollo could always count on. Bringing an AWACS with him, with someone as reliable as Ema to serve as their support, was just the cherry on top.

"Warba'ad Squadron," Ema broke Apollo from his reverie. "You're almost at airspace KR9. We got bogeys moving in to intercept."

"How many?"

"Uhh...wow. About...twenty-four or so."

"That's gotta be the Aerial Queen's Guard - the Spiders," Apollo deduced out loud. "They're going all out. Okay, Warba'ad Squadron, Fence-In!"

"Be advised!" Ema shouted. "We've got more unidentified aircraft flying in and...wait, this is...IFF registers them as friendlies!"

Friendlies? Who could the be? Apollo could only think of a few people. His musings were soon answered.

"You wouldn't think we'd miss this brawl for anything in the world, did you?" A spirited female voice all-too-familiar to Apollo spoke into his ear.

"Psych!" Apollo called out to Athena Cykes, a young woman who had become a pilot little more than a year ago. Despite her inexperience, she was a reliable airwoman with a knack for reading the tide of battle and predicting her target's moves, as if she got in their heads. He only knew of one other pilot like that.

"Clarion-dono, I hope this little chick won't be a burden to you," Ah. There he is. Simon Blackquill, TAC Name "Samurai", his moniker alluding to his peculiar affinity for Japanese culture. While certainly eccentric, his ability to feint and manipulate his opponents into doing what he wanted was second to none.

"Who are you calling a chick?!" Athena immediately protested. "I've very much left the nest already, thank you very much!"

So, Simon still gets under Athena's skin that easily. Some things never change.

Regardless of the banter, those two were very close. The reason Athena became a pilot in the first place was for Simon's sake – but that was a story for another day.

"If it were up to me, I'd replace your rabbit emblem on your tail with a wakaba marking, Psych-dono."

"Grr…!"

"Now, now, Mr. Samurai, don't tease my subordinate too hard. I need her to keep her head in the game," Apollo's boss radioed.

"Mr. Wr-I mean, Phoenix! You came!" Apollo practically yelled into his microphone.

"Oof! Easy there, Clarion. Yeah, I brought some help with me," Phoenix Wright, Ace Pilot and boss of Wright Security, said. His call sign was the same as his given name, "Phoenix", because seriously - with a name like Phoenix Wright, what else could you be other than an aircraft pilot?

Apollo sometimes wondered if Mr. Wright was related to the Wright Brothers and all: if he happened to be, he'd essentially be aviation royalty, wouldn't he? Not that it mattered – Phoenix had made his mark in history with a long and storied career filled with impossible missions, lineage or none.

"We'll launch a two-pronged attack and split their forces in half, Warba'ad One-" the voice this time belonged to "Rapier", Miles Edgeworth, president of Blade International "-there are no ground-to-air defenses to speak of. It's going to be pure air combat from here on out."

"Achtung!" Klavier exclaimed. "I have visual on bandits heading our way. Clarion, please confirm!"

Apollo stared intensely at the horizon that stretched on into infinity. Sure enough, he saw tiny, dark specs against the pure blue. He stared even harder.

"Those are...all Rafale Cs, except for one of them. Middle of formation. It's a...well, I never thought I'd see a Su-47 in a dogfight, but what do I know? Those forward-swept wings are unmistakable."

"...It's the Queen's personal fighter," Saint elaborated. "A plane that never went into production...such exclusivity, she said, was befitting the ruler of a kingdom."

"...And I suppose that she's addressed whatever problems prevented its mass production through customization, right?" Apollo said.

"That is correct."

Apollo shook his head. "Great. They never make it easy."

"Chin up, Clarion!" Clay chirped. "If it were easy, it wouldn't make a good story to tell the guys when we land!"

"Ja! Herr Spaceman is right, the conclusion needs to be climat-"

"INCOMING LONG-RANGE MISSILES! TAKE EVASIVE ACTION!" Ema hollered, interrupting Klavier's comment halfway.

"SPREAD OUT!" Apollo bellowed. The other three pilots did as told, but Apollo himself stood his ground as three missiles made their way straight for him.

The world around him slowed down once more as he jawed a little to left while he rolled, pulled downwards at his flight stick, and pulled the trigger.

The projectiles out for his blood met his vulcan fire in midair, exploding loudly. His F-16 darted through the smoke, not wasting any time.

"You crazy son of a gun, Clarion! Now you're just showing off!" Spaceman spiritedly yelled as his aircraft spun on its axis in a perfect Aileron Roll and the two missiles chasing him missed him and lost their target. "But hey, I got fancy tricks of my own, see?"

"Once you shake off those missiles, close the distance immediately! We have to make this a short-range dogfight!" Apollo commanded, pushing his throttle as far as it'd go and vectoring towards the enemy formation. The burst of speed from his afterburner glued his body to the pilot seat, the G-forces battering his body mercilessly.

"Clarion! These are the best pilots the RKAF has to offer! No pulling punches with these fellows – it's kill or be killed!" Nahyuta yelled as he turned sharply, evading his own share of pursuing armaments.

In the end, that's what the battlefield always boiled down to, wasn't it? "Understood! Spaceman, you and me gonna play defense! Lure as many pursuers as you can, but stay away from the middle of their formation!"

"Roger!"

The game was afoot.

Apollo's HUD pitch ladder plummeted wildly as he took a sharp, high-G dive while being pursued by three enemy Rafale Cs. He was almost like a rag-doll in his seat, but he refused to black out. This was the final battle, and he wouldn't allow himself to fall here, no; he had to live and see it through to the end, if not for his sake, for Dhurke's.

He caught a glimpse of an Eurofighter Typhoon coming in from above, its unmistakably gaudy violet paint job a sharp contrast against the sky.

"Fox Two!" Klavier yelled, and an ASRAAM short-range missile launched from underneath the Typhoon's wing, colliding with a Rafale C and igniting its victim in a wild-hot fireball. Apollo kept swooping down, and Klavier fired his guns at the spot where Apollo had just been. The bullets penetrated through the glass canopy of another pursuing aircraft, shattering crystal and mincing the pilot into a bloody mess that splattered all over the cockpit as the hail of rounds thankfully ended his life before he knew what was happening.

The final pursuer was not as lucky. At his speed, he wouldn't have enough time to change course; all he could do was shield his face with his arms and scream in terror as his fighter impacted against the plane Klavier's guns had left without a pilot, and the resulting explosion extinguished his existence before assorted shrapnel from the aerial collision could.

"Warba'ad Four, splash three bandits!" Ema announced.

"Herr Forehead! Kindly return the favor!"

It didn't even take a moment for Apollo to notice the hostile on Klavier's tail. "Gladly!" One Immelmann Turn later, he had the bandit in his sights. The beeping in the cockpit and the red reticle told him he had a lock-on. Gotcha!

"Fox Two!" One of his Sidewinder missiles flew from the tip of his wings and barreled towards the Spider Squadron aircraft. It hit right on its tail with a an explosion, before lighting up the fuel tank and going up in flames in an even louder spectacle.

"Warba'ad One, target destroyed!" Ema confirmed.

"Spaceman, how are things on your end?" Apollo radioed.

"Saint's delivered the last rites for any bogeys dumb enough to chase after me, so everything good her-oof! Spoke too soon! More bandits on me!"

"Spaceman, they're in my radar-guided missile sights," declared the steely-cool baritone belonging to Mr. Edgeworth. "Prepare yourself for evasive action. Rapier, Fox Three."

"Rapier, splash two bandits!" the operator in AWACS Science Bus informed.

"Rapier, sir! Pursuers are down! Thank you, sir!" Clay acknowledged perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "Apollo, did you see that?! The Worthy Knight himself just cleared my six!"

Before Apollo could answer his friend, Edgeworth let out a grunt-yell that sounded as annoyed as it was pained. "Ngoooooh..."

"W-What's wrong?" Clay stammered. Phoenix, on his end, simply chuckled.

"That nickname was coined by one very old, windy mainteinance crew lady who wouldn't leave Rapier here alone when we were younger. It brings back bad memories, is all I'm saying."

"Sound's rou-BREAK!" Clay interrupted himself as missiles flew towards him, and he desperately evaded the oncoming attack.

"Clarion-dono!" Blackquill's transmitted as two F-15J Eagle Kai came into Apollo's view, one a stealth-black affair with a white, circular oriental-esque emblem patterned after a feather plastered on its tail and its wings. The other Eagle was Athena's, its stock-gray paintjob a testament to how recently her mount had come out of the production line. Her emblem was the pink silhouette of a rabbit jumping over the moon.

"Samurai!" Apollo replied. "You guys made it!" They zoomed past each other, shooting at trailing bandits within their crossed paths.

"Warba'ad One, splash two bandits! Steelguard Two, hostile destroyed!" Ema announced.

"Hey, leave some for me!" Athena protested.

"Not the time, nugget!" Samurai answered, his Eagle entering a sharp, high-G turn. "Clarion-dono, we'll take care of the stragglers over here; Phoenix is currently engaging the Spider Queen! Go help him out!"

"You don't have to tell me twice! Thanks for the assist!" Apollo rolled his aircraft upside-down, the distant surface seemingly overhead from his perspective. Pulling down on his flight stick, he half-looped towards the ground, and a moment later his aircraft was once again upright. His trajectory was now opposite to the direction he was heading when he begun the maneuver - losing altitude, gaining speed and changing direction; the Split S was as simple to perform as it was essential.

He immediately vectored towards where Phoenix, Spaceman and Saint were entangled with a single forward-swept wing fighter.

The unpleasant voice of a certain sky witch somehow made its way to Apollo's radio.

"Fools! You can't hope to take me down! My Berkut's thrust vectoring owns the sky!"

"Clarion! That thing can turn on a dime!" Clay agitatedly yelled as he banked his F-14, gunfire nearly grazing its airframe. "Its maneuverability is crazy! I can't shake her off!"

"Thrust vectoring? Two can play that game!" Phoenix's F-22 Raptor swooped towards Ga'ran's aircraft, matching her twists, turns and swings in a spectacular exhibition of mettle. Even then, neither monarch nor airman gained a significant advantage over the other.

"Incoming transmission from our ground forces!" Ema reported. "It's Datz's unit! They managed to capture the television tower and are rerouting broadcast transmission signals! Her Benevolence is going live now."

"Right on!" whooped Klavier. "That's our boys for you!"

"Ema...put it through, secondary frequency," Apollo ordered. A second later, Ema uttered "Roger," and switched to an audio-only relay of the telecast.

A girl's voice, too deep for her age but perfectly befitting her maturity, well beyond her years, spoke: "My good people of the Kingdom of Khura'in..."

A hostile fighter, avoiding pursuit by Apollo's comrades, positioned itself on his tail.

"...these are trying times indeed. This civil war sparked from the lies and deceit of the Ga'ran regime, an administration I refuse to continue being part of now that I know the truth."

Apollo pushed his throttle and his Falcon accelerated in an attempt to put some distance between himself and his pursuer.

Rayfa Padma Khura'in's address continued. "I do not yet know much about politics. I did not have a speech prepared - but I want my words to reach you not as heir to the throne, or as Priestess, but as a fellow citizen of our beloved homeland."

Apollo's F-16 left smoky-white contrails in its wake as it streaked through clouds.

"I know you have suffered because of the conspiracies of the Ga'ran regime - but that ends today. Our brave heroes are fighting to regain Khura'in's future. So I ask of you...please remain strong just a little longer! The day of liberation is here!"

The purusing Rafale was still on his tail, just as Apollo knew he would.

Rayfa took a deep breath. "...Many of us have lost loved ones; our families, torn asunder. But we will not let their sacrifices be in vain. Together, we will rebuild Khura'in; make it brighter and kinder than ever before, under the guidance of the Holy Mother!"

The pursuing bandit closed the distance between him and Apollo.

"One last thing, to our guardians, fighting for our sake in the skies above. Warba'ad Squadron!"

Apollo couldn't see her, but he knew she had to be thrusting her left hand forward, fingers splayed, as she was wont to do whenever she delivered an ultimatum or tried to appear more confident than she really was.

The girl who would be Queen, heart and voice overflowing with emotion, gave her final declaration. "May Lady Kee'ra herself give wind to your wings!"

That's what Apollo had wanted to hear. That girl had come a long way, and he was proud.

He gave the tiniest of smiles under his oxygen mask before pulling his flight stick towards him and killing his thrust. His nose, which had been level with the ground below just a moment before, now pointed upwards.

His F-16 stalled, the air resistance battering the underside of his fuselage, shaking its airframe like an earthquake.

His pursuer would've never imagined his quarry would've tried to gain the advantage with Pugachev's Cobra, of all things. As the Rafale darted past its target, the tables had turned – Apollo was now the one on their tail. Regaining control and leveling his aircraft once more, he was in perfect gun range, and his rotary vulcan buzzed as it fired. Spinning wildly, uncontrollably, Apollo's target careened towards the ground and crashed explosively against a rocky mountain, but not before the Rafale's canopy had been shot upwards and the ejection seat rocketed the pilot to relative safety before opening a parachute.

Apollo hoped the poor bastard was conscious by the time he touched ground. That one time he had been forced to punch out, his left arm had been fractured in two places and he'd passed out from pain. At least he hadn't been one of those guys who shrunk an inch or two because of spinal compression fractures…

"Clarion!" Nahyuta calling out to him prevented Apollo's mind from wandering too much. "Spider Queen is pursuing me and I can't shake her off! Phoenix had to disengage!"

Apollo's gaze lingered for a split second on his radar screen. "Saint, let's do an 'I.T.' on her."

Nahyuta let out a strained affirmative before focusing on evading the gunfire from the Su-47 chasing after him.

The plan was simple enough: to intercept Ga'ran during her attack. To do that…

Apollo flew on a perpendicular flight path to the one Nahyuta assured him he'd follow, albeit at an altitude little higher than his wingman.

Her plane far outperformed either Nahyuta or Apollo's, but they had one advantage: Ga'ran's unbound aggression was plain for the world to see.

"Once I take you accursed mercenaries out...nothing will stand on the way of my rule! The Defiant Dragons will shatter once their precious Warba'ads are no more!" once again, she fired her guns...

"NOW!" Nahyuta shouted, and both pilots rolled their aircraft ninety degrees and broke hard inwards, the sharp turn towards each other.

The Cross Turn – alternatively known as the "Inwards Turnabout". A 180-degree turn in which two fighters can cover each other during their displacement and end in relatively the same position in regards to each other.

Ga'ran, too focused on her attack, simply kept her bead on her quarry, guns blazing. She never saw Apollo coming straight at her as Nahyuta banked to safety with a split S.

Apollo's world paused. He pulled the trigger…

"...and then, Ga'ran cursed us and everything we stood for as her plane went down in smoke!" Apollo finished his story, looking oddly pleased with himself. He smiled and crossed his arms in self-satisfaction as he focused his eyes on Nahyuta, whose countenance was unreadable. They were in a lobby in the High Court of Khura'in, lingering after a relatively simple theft case, in which Apollo had proven the innocence of his client without a shadow of doubt.

It was nice to have a case that wasn't murder, for a change.

"So you were dreaming of us being ace jet fighter pilots?" Nahyuta's eyelids, closed until then, fluttered open. His face was now adorned with that tranquil, subtle expression that somehow screams disappointment, so very his. "Apollo...did you fall asleep listening to that song?"

"Song? What song?" Apollo asked, but he already knew the answer.

"It's always on repeat when I go to your office. Always. So much so, I've heard Her Benevolence singing it to herself. It must have gotten stuck in her head during one of her numerous visits."

"Oh, you mean that? It's from one of my favorite movies. From the eighties."

"A movie about fighter pilots," Nahyuta stated.

"How did you know?" Apollo questioned, and his listener all but stared.

"Don't try acting like you don't know. I watched it with you the first time you did. You wouldn't stop going on and on about how you'd pilot a Tomcat someday for weeks afterwards..."

"Oh, yeah!" Apollo snapped his fingers as the memory flooded back. The details surrounding his first time watching the film had become murky in his mind after many, many repeat viewings. "Come to think of it, does Khu'rain actually have an Air Force? Maybe it's not too late to do that; I could enlist and learn how to pilo-"

"SATORHA!" Nahyuta loudly interrupted, and Apollo recoiled back. "Apollo...go home and get some rest. The workload's getting to you worse than I imagined. Please, this time, do not fall asleep on your desk, much less with catchy eighties' rock in the background. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have regent duties to attend." He spun on his heel, and before Apollo could get his bearings back, he was gone.

Apollo, now alone in the lobby, sheepishly scratched the back of his head.

"So that's a no on the volleyball?"