They were only held on the Condor for about six hours. In that time, what remained of the Cyclonian forces had been captured or fled back to Cyclonian territory, and the Sky Knight Council had taken back control of Terra Atmosia. When the Storm Hawks informed them of who they held captive aboard their ship, the Council had demanded that they be turned over to them immediately.

By the time Aerrow and Piper unlocked the door and stepped into the room, flanked by four Atmosian guards, they had long since managed to free themselves from the ropes. The Storm Hawks shot them exasperated looks but said nothing. They were probably counting themselves lucky that they hadn't tried to escape the room or overpower them when they came in. She and Dark Ace had discussed both options, but he was as pessimistic about their chances of succeeding as she had been when she first considered escape.

The guards, equipped with proper restraints, shackled their hands in front of them and led them out of The Condor, which had been set down in a large, walled-off courtyard behind the administrative building. So, they weren't going to be paraded past throngs of celebrating Atmosians? Fine by her. The Storm Hawks trailed after them, their presence having been requested as well.

They were taken to the meeting hall of the Sky Knight Council first. The room was empty save for the Council itself. The Chairman of the Council stared at them for a moment as if he still couldn't quite believe that they were there.

Then he cleared his throat and cut right to the chase.

"In light of the destruction of Terra Cyclonia, your own capture, and the significant losses suffered by your troops, we demand the unconditional surrender of the Cyclonian Empire."

"No."

A murmur rippled through the other Councilmembers as they began furiously talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. Beside her, Dark Ace shifted uncomfortably, and from somewhere behind her she could hear the blond Storm Hawk ask his friends, "Can she do that?"

"Stubborn child!" the Chairman admonished her. "If you do not surrender, we will have no choice but to pursue the total devastation of every remaining Cyclonian terra. You have fifteen minutes to confer with your general, and then I will ask you again."

She glared at the man as he spoke. Stubborn child? She was an empress! How dare the old buzzard speak to her with such disrespect!

"Master?" Dark Ace said quietly, getting her attention. He nodded off to the side, and she followed him to where they could speak without any of the others blatantly eavesdropping.

"Save your breath, Dark Ace. I'm not surrendering."

"They'll destroy everything. Is that what you want?"

"They'll destroy everything, anyway, if I agree to this."

"Not necessarily."

"No? Let's test that theory, shall we?" Looking back to the Council, she raised her voice so they could hear her, "I have conditions!"

"Denied," came the Chairman's swift response. "Twelve minutes."

She turned back to Dark Ace, hands clenching into fists until she forced them to relax. "You see? Why not agree?"

"Why do you think? Because they want to act on their own terms, not yours. They don't want to give you any power. Master, Atmosia is soft. If you surrender, they'll likely be merciful."

"I'm surprised at you. I never thought I'd live to see the day when you, of all people, would advocate for surrender."

"If I saw any other option, I wouldn't. Unless you've suddenly come up with a plan to salvage the situation?"

She hadn't.

"My grandmother would never have agreed to this."

"Your grandmother was never put in this position."

"But if she had been, she never would have agreed to it."

"What she would or would not have done doesn't matter. Those terras are yours. Those people are yours. Will you condemn them just because you think that's what she would have done?"

"If I do this, they won't be mine anymore. I'm sure the Council will see to that."

"After the past six weeks? You're right, they're not going to let bygones be bygones. So, that's it, then? If you can't have them, no one can? Has this all been in service of your ego and not Cyclonia?"

"You overstep," she warned him darkly.

"I'm trying to help you think through the consequences your decision will have on the Cyclonian people, since you aren't thinking clearly on your own."

"I didn't know you cared."

"I don't. But I thought you did, at least a little."

Mulling over the conversation, she realized he was right. Damn him. Surrender was the only way to secure some semblance of a future for what remained of her empire. It was her responsibility, and she didn't want to see it destroyed.

How could it have come to this? How had the life's work of generations of her family come crashing down in a single afternoon? "We were winning," she said, her voice quavering slightly.

"I know."

She drew in a stuttering breath, blinking hard as her eyes began to sting. She wished she had her cloak. The hood would be useful right now.

"Are you going to cry?" he asked brusquely.

"No!" she said, anger flaring anew at his contemptuous tone. The tears that had been threatening to fall disappeared as she glared at him. He really was forgetting himself, and she wasn't going to tolerate it! But he continued before she could say anything else.

"Good. Crying is for the weak. And you're not weak." He punctuated his words with a smirk, and she realized that he had deliberately provoked her. In that moment, her anger evaporated, and she was glad to have him there with her. He knew her better than anyone, knew how to stop her from humiliating herself for a second time that day. Because breaking down into tears in front of the Storm Hawks and the Sky Knight Council? That would have been utterly mortifying.

"Time's up," the Chairman announced.

Dark Ace raised his eyebrows at her in silent question. What was she going to do?

She shook her head and, with a sigh, turned and returned to her place in front of the Chairman. Dark Ace stuck close to her side.

"The Council awaits your official response, Master Cyclonis," the Chairman said formally.

Drawing herself up to her full height, she stared down the Chairman as she spoke the hardest sentence she had ever, and would ever, speak, "The Cyclonian Empire offers its unconditional surrender."

Much of the tension drained out of the Councilmembers at her words. The Chairman didn't smile, but when he spoke, his tone was much less harsh. "A wise decision. The Free Atmos accepts Cyclonia's surrender. I will have the document drawn up."

The Storm Hawks were quiet. She had fully expected them to start cheering and being obnoxious by now. She looked to Dark Ace, who had a murderous glare fixed on the squadron as if daring them to start celebrating now. Shockingly, despite Dark Ace not being a threat to them currently, they had taken the hint.

"Onto the second order of business," the Chairman began, drawing everyone's attention back to him. "As part of your surrender, the two of you will remain in Atmosian custody while awaiting trial for war crimes committed against Atmos and her people."

He paused as if he expected them to protest. When they said nothing, he continued. "The signing of the articles of surrender will be conducted here tomorrow at noon before the assembled Sky Knight squadrons. A copy will be delivered to you in the morning for your perusal ahead of the proceedings," he told her. She nodded. "Until tomorrow, then," he finished, dismissing them.

As the guards escorted them out of the hall, the Chairman said, "Storm Hawks, step forward."

The guards led them toward the rear of the building. She expected them to take them to wherever they kept their cells, but instead, they brought them up some stairs. At the top was a long hallway that stretched the length of the building. Two guards split off and took Dark Ace in one direction while the other two took her in the opposite, stopping at the last door on the right. They opened the door to reveal a nicely appointed room. This section of the building was obviously meant to accommodate visiting dignitaries.

It was furnished with a queen bed, armchair, dresser, and a desk and was, predictably, all in shades of white and sky blue. Along one of the outside walls was a large window that overlooked the back courtyard.

One of the guards, a slender, brown-haired man who couldn't be more than twenty, saw her looking and spoke up, "Don't even think about it. It's rigged to sound an alarm if you try to open it. Or break the glass."

"I would expect nothing less," she answered with a shrug.

"Two guards will be posted just outside the door at all times. If you try to leave, we're authorized to use whatever force necessary to stop you," he said in a menacing tone that suggested that the guards had a looser interpretation of the word 'necessary' than the Sky Knight Council may have intended.

"Ohhhh, scary," she smirked. She was in no mood to have some second-rate guard try to intimidate her. "Did you practice that line in the mirror earlier, so you'd get it just right?"

Bristling, the guard took a step toward her, only to have the other guard, a blond man who was older and burlier than the first, hold out an arm to bar his path. "You're really gonna let yourself be baited by a teenager?"

The first guard harrumphed and stepped back. "I'd watch my mouth if I were you," he warned her. "You're only being put up here because the cells are full of your Talons. But I'm sure less nice arrangements can be made if you're going to be trouble."

"Go wait out in the hall," the second guard told the first. "I'll finish up in here."

"Fine," the first guard said. "Enjoy this while it lasts, Cyclonis. You'll get what's coming to you soon enough," he said as a parting shot before leaving.

The second guard stepped forward and unlocked her handcuffs, hooking them onto his belt. "Someone will be by later to drop off some clothes for you to change into so that yours can be cleaned before the meeting tomorrow. There's a pen and some paper in the desk drawer. If you need anything, write it down. If it's reasonable, you'll get it."

"Did no one tell you that the good guard, bad guard routine is only useful for interrogations?"

He gave a short laugh. "That's not what this is. He just…he's originally from Terra Gale."

"Ah. I couldn't tell."

"Yeah, he was just a kid when his family moved to Atmosia. Lost the accent since then. Still, he took the news of its destruction badly, so maybe try not to antagonize him. Try not to antagonize anyone. I doubt I need to tell you how unpopular you are around these parts. A lot of people are only going to need the slightest excuse to make things very unpleasant for you."

"Duly noted."

She didn't intend for that to come across as dismissive, but it must have because he shook his head. "Alright, I know when my advice is going in one ear and out the other. I was just trying to help."

"Why?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

He shrugged. "I have three kids of my own. The oldest is just a year or two younger than you, and he's a little hellion," he said with exasperated fondness. "If any of them ever landed themselves into real trouble, I'd hope that they'd be treated with at least a little kindness and understanding, no matter what they did. I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't try to do the same."

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment. She could tell that he believed what he said. Compassion? In his line of work? What a liability. She felt compelled to give some advice of her own. "You should be careful doing that. Someone could take advantage."

"That's an awfully cynical take," he smiled. "Not that I don't appreciate the concern, but I said I try to be understanding, not stupid. I know when someone is trying to pull the wool over my eyes, and I'm not afraid to teach them the error of their ways when they do. Three kids, remember?"

With a wink, he started for the door. "You be good," he told her, chuckling when she sneered at his words. Once the door closed behind him, she began to search the room. She wasn't entirely sure what she was hoping to find. It wasn't exactly logical to think that she'd stumble upon something that would allow her to escape from the heart of Atmosia. But it was worth a shot.

Unfortunately, and unsurprisingly, the room had been stripped down to the essentials. There were no decorations that could double as bludgeons unless she wanted to try to use the desk chair. She may be able to take out one guard by surprise using that, but what about the second? Beating someone unconscious with a chair was far from subtle, after all. It would draw attention. And she couldn't really take it with her to escape. She needed something stealthier, and more portable. There were no clothes hangers in the small closet that could aid in strangling someone. There was an attached bathroom that was stocked with toiletries, but no razor blades. The desk had stationary and a pen and nothing else. No scissors. No stapler. No paperclips. Not that a paperclip would be helpful, even if she had access to one. The key to the cuff had been far too complex to replicate with a paperclip. There would be no picking that lock.

Having come up empty-handed, she sat at the desk and compiled a short list of items to request. With that done, there wasn't much else to do. Still feeling unwell, she decided to lie down but found herself unable to get to sleep. Still, she kept her eyes closed and had finally managed to get to that twilight state between sleep and wakefulness when the older guard reentered the room carrying a small bundle of clothes.

"You don't knock?" she asked, a bit peevishly, as she sat up.

"For all intents and purposes, this is a jail cell, kiddo," he said, unfazed by her tone. "No. We don't knock."

"Don't call me that," she said, more than a little peeved this time.

He shrugged, still infuriatingly unaffected by her ire. He set the bundle of clothes down on the desk and picked up her list.

"Let's see what we can and can't get you here," he said as he began reading off the list. "Daily newspaper? Not a problem. Radio? So long as you mean shortwave and not a transmitter."

"Of course I mean a shortwave radio," she said, feeling like she was speaking to Snipe. Did he really think that she'd be stupid enough to request a way to communicate with the outside world? She must have sounded like she was speaking to Snipe, too, because he fixed her with a hard stare.

"I can just as easily deny all of these requests. Is that what you want?"

She shook her head.

"Then dial back the attitude."

She inclined her head in understanding, and he turned his attention back to the list. "A copy of inter-terran laws of war. I would have hoped you'd be familiar with those already but given how many of them Cyclonia has broken over the years, I am not surprised you need a refresher."

He looked up at her, gauging her reaction. She slowly counted to ten in her head and kept her mouth shut. His lips twitched in amusement, and, with a satisfied nod, he looked back to the list. "And a copy of Atmosian domestic law. Approved. And lastly…what is kohl?"

She gestured to her eyes by way of explanation, and he guffawed. "Makeup? Are you serious?"

"Well, I assume the Council wants me to look presentable for tomorrow's proceedings. That is why they're having my clothes cleaned, isn't it?"

"You can't look presentable without it?"

"No."

He looked skeptical, and she muttered, "It makes me look older."

"Come again?"

She repeated herself, speaking louder and enunciating more clearly.

He shook his head, and she rushed to elaborate before he could deny the request outright, "People take me more seriously when I look older."

He mulled over her words silently for a moment.

"I don't think anyone in that room tomorrow is going to have a hard time taking you seriously. But I'll think about it."

"You'll think about it?"

"I'll think about it. The people of Atmosia wouldn't be thrilled to know their tax dollars were going towards eyeliner for Cyclonia's dictator."

"Monarch."

"Excuse me?"

"Cyclonia is an absolute monarchy, not a dictatorship."

He stared at her silently for a moment, before saying, "The point still stands."

"If you're that concerned with government spending, take it out of the reparations the Council is sure to demand tomorrow," she said flippantly.

He clicked his tongue but otherwise didn't chastise her. "Is this everything?"

"Could I also get some aspirin?"

"I can't give you that. You'll need to be checked out by medical."

She sighed. Red tape over a couple of aspirin? How typical.

"I'll have a medic sent up. In the meantime, get changed," he said, taking her list with him as he left the room again.

Picking up the clothes, she headed for the bathroom. There, she took a shower, washing away the grime from the final battle. Once clean and dressed, she watched herself in the mirror as she dragged a comb through her damp hair. The outfit she had been given to wear was a PT uniform: a pair of drawstring pants, sans drawstring, a short-sleeved tee-shirt, and a zippered sweat jacket with a hood, all in a dark heather grey.

Dressed so casually, with her eye makeup washed away and her hair wet and not yet styled, she hardly looked like herself. Not the self she wanted to project to the world, at least. Few people had ever seen her like this. Her grandmother. The Dark Ace. The occasional member of the royal guard, the few times citadel security was tripped particularly late or early in the day. Never strangers.

Neatly folding her clothes, she carried them out into the main room and set them on the desk, then went and sat in the armchair, staring out the window. The sun was setting, turning the horizon a riot of brilliant oranges and pinks. They never got sunsets like this back on Cyclonia, with its perpetually red sky.

She swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat as it finally hit her that Terra Cyclonia was gone, sunk into the Wastelands half a world away from where it should still be standing. Drawing her knees up, she hugged them to her chest and rested her forehead on them.

How could she have let this happen?

She was the worst Master Cyclonis in history. That was her legacy. That's how history would remember her, as the Master who destroyed Cyclonia. She should have fought harder. She should have fought smarter. She should have at least had the decency to fight to the death. She could have gone out in a blaze of glory instead of suffering the indignity of being held at the mercy of these people. If she had thought fast enough, she could have taken Atmosia down with her. That would have been something. Instead, she had been a coward, trying to run off to the Farside. She couldn't even do that right.

And so, she was here, playing out useless little 'What If?' scenarios in her head and feeling sorry for herself.

"Pathetic," she muttered.

She heard the door open, and the second guard cleared his throat before announcing, "Medical's here."

She looked up, taking a moment to compose her features before unfolding herself from the chair and turning to meet the no-nonsense gaze of a middle-aged woman. She had a medic's messenger bag slung over her shoulder and a clipboard in her hands.

"Come sit here," the woman said, motioning to the desk chair and watching her as she did so. She jotted something down on her clipboard.

"So, what did you need to see me for?"

"I don't. I just asked for some aspirin, and he told me I needed to be checked first," she said, nodding to the guard who stood watching them with an inscrutable look on his face.

"What do you need it for?"

"Headache."

"How long have you had the headache?"

"Since the battle that led to my being here."

"Any head trauma associated with that fight?"

"Some."

The medic nodded and rattled off a list of symptoms for her to confirm or deny, then followed that up with a physical exam, some silly little balance test, and a series of questions she assumed were meant to assess cognitive function, taking notes all the while.

Finally, the medic confirmed what she and Dark Ace had already assumed. "You appear to have a concussion."

"I suspected I had a mild one."

"Moderate, actually. We'll monitor you for the next couple of days to make sure symptoms don't worsen. Have you ever had an allergic reaction to any medications?"

"No."

The medic opened her bag and retrieved a medicine bottle, shaking two pills out onto the desk, "Not aspirin, it's a bad idea to take that with a concussion, but these should help." She pulled a bottle of water out of her bag and handing it to her. She took the pills, downing all the water with them.

"And that's why we let the medics manage the medication dispensing," the guard said. "Why didn't you say anything when we brought you in? I would have gotten her up here sooner."

She shrugged, "I was a little preoccupied with everything that's been going on today. And it's not that big a deal."

"Not a big deal," the medic mused with an incredulous shake of her head. "Kids these days think they're invincible, eh Captain?"

"That they do. Thanks for your help, Lory. See you back here tomorrow morning for a recheck?"

"Sure thing."

She watched the medic leave and then turned her attention back to the guard. "Captain?"

He smiled. "You didn't think they'd leave the security surrounding you and the Dark Ace to a bunch of unsupervised grunts, did you?"

"No, but I didn't expect the person in charge to take such a hands-on role, either."

"I find it beneficial. I like to get to know my people and to stay apprised of everything happening under my jurisdiction, and the best way to do that is by getting involved."

"I'm not your people."

"Ah, but you are. I suppose a formal introduction is overdue. I'm Captain Swift, Deputy Warden of Custody of The Stockade. All non-civilian prisoners and guards on Atmosia are my people."

"You'll forgive me if I skip the pleasantries."

"You mean you aren't delighted to make my acquaintance?"

"The circumstances are less than ideal."

"They usually are. Anyway, it's getting late. I'll have a dinner tray sent up, and then I'm heading out for the night. Don't give my men any trouble, or those items you requested are off the table. Sleep tight."

Once he was gone, she retook her seat by the window and stared out at the dark sky. She suspected she wasn't going to succeed in getting much sleep that night.