The Trash Guide Awakens: The Youngest General's Hidden Wife

The final sentence remained suspended in the middle of the audience hall like a burning ember, casting an eerie crimson glow across the faces of everyone present.

The translation hovered motionless in the heavy air. Rhaevia stared at the blood-red characters, her mind rapidly piecing together the fragmented truths she had uncovered since her awakening on the dead world.

She thought of the ancient Sovereign who had commanded entire swarms in eras past. She recalled the forgotten lifetimes, the endless cycle of rebirth, and the persistent phantom of the True King who had pursued her across the centuries.

Then her eyes moved toward the Sentinel recognized by the ancient planet’s core. She looked at Raevor, whose imposing silhouette stood unyielding at her side.

Raevor was already looking back at her. Neither of them spoke, yet the subtle pulse of their shared resonance hummed beneath the silence of the room.

The High Pontiff slowly raised the crystalline tablet, its surface still shimmering with residual energy.

”The prophecy predates the founding of the current Empire,” the old man stated, his melodious voice filling the quiet chamber. ”It has been preserved within the highest vaults of the Church across uncounted generations.”

Rhaevia’s eyes narrowed into sharp azure slits as she focused her gaze on the religious leader.

”If you hold the original text, then translate the entirety of it right now,” she commanded flatly.

The Pontiff hesitated for a moment, his fingers tightening slightly against the smooth edges of the dark artifact.

”There are corrupted sections that remain beyond our current linguistic translation,” he admitted smoothly.

Rhaevia let out a cold, humorless breath that echoed through the hall.

”How convenient for your custody request,” she murmured.

The Pontiff’s serene mask tightened as a flicker of irritation crossed his features.

”The surviving passages explicitly describe a Sovereign Guide who returns to the galaxy after uncounted cycles of death and rebirth,” he insisted.

Rhaevia felt her inner Guide core pulse in a sudden, rhythmic response to his words.

”Returns?” She repeated, her voice dropping an octave.

The Pontiff rotated the tablet slightly, displaying another row of ancient geometric runes across its dark face.

”According to the sacred texts, the Sovereign does not merely awaken once,” he explained. ”She vanishes, the galactic cycle ends in ruin, and eventually her soul manifests again.”

A cold knot tightened in the pit of Rhaevia’s stomach.

Uncounted cycles.

The weight of her past lives suddenly felt immense, pressing down upon her shoulders like a physical burden.

She remembered the blood-soaked battlefields of the ancient wars, the celestial palaces that had crumbled into space dust, and the rise and fall of civilizations long forgotten by modern history.

She remembered leading humanity’s final stand on Earth as a dying general and the persistent shadow of the True King waiting for her across time.

She had already suspected that her transmigrations were not random accidents. Now, the ancient artifact in the Pontiff’s hands appeared to confirm her worst fears.

”The script also speaks directly of a Sentinel counterpart,” the High Pontiff continued, unaware of her internal turmoil.

He swept his hand across the crystalline surface, causing a second line of shimmering symbols to project into the air.

”A single warrior who is destined to stand beside the Sovereign when her true power breaks its final seal,” he declared.

Rhaevia’s gaze immediately shifted back toward Raevor.

The major general remained still, his posture rigid and his dark eyes fixed on the floating translation.

The Pontiff clearly noticed the silent exchange between the young officer and the Sovereign Guide.

”The ancient records define him as the Sovereign’s ultimate anchor,” the old man added, his voice carrying a heavy, dogmatic weight.

Raevor’s expression hardened into pure granite, his jaw clenching as he took a half-step forward.

”I am no one’s predetermined property,” the general stated, his low voice carrying a dangerous, lethal edge.

The Pontiff frowned, adjusting his silver robes.

”I did not use the word ’property,’ Major General Veyr,” he replied smoothly.

”You implied that my choices and my loyalty are merely the result of a written script,” Raevor countered, his Sentinel aura sharpening until the air around his boots visibly distorted.

He stared directly into the Pontiff’s eyes without a trace of fear or deference.

”I do not allow a piece of floating glass or an ancient ghost to decide who I am,” Raevor said flatly.

Rhaevia looked at the side of his face, feeling something warm and steady settle in her chest.

She understood his pride, recognizing the fierce independence of a soldier who refused to be weaponized by fate. She turned her head back toward the Church officials, her own presence expanding to match his.

”Neither do I,” Rhaevia declared softly.

The Pontiff’s eyebrows drew together in deep frustration as he gestured toward the glowing characters.

”Child, you cannot simply dismiss what is written,” he argued. ”The prophecy clearly describes--”

”It describes possibilities written by people who died thousands of years ago,” Rhaevia interrupted ruthlessly.

Her eyes flashed with brilliant azure light, the crimson sparks deep within her irises burning like miniature stars.

”It does not own my soul, and it certainly does not dictate my future,” she said, her voice growing firmer with every word.

The emperor watched silently from his raised golden throne, his sharp eyes tracking every breath in the room.

Rhaevia took another step toward the High Pontiff, the pressure of her 3S Guide aura making the white-robed priests behind him flinch.

”I have lived through too many lives and fought on too many dead worlds to let an ancient tablet decide where I belong,” she said coldly.

She glanced briefly at Raevor before looking back at the religious delegation.

”If Raevor stands beside me, it will be because he and I choose to stand together on our own terms,” she stated.

Raevor’s dark eyes met hers, a faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his lips breaking his stern expression.

”And if we choose to walk separate paths,” Raevor added quietly, ”it will be because we decided that as well.”

Rhaevia allowed a faint, sharp smile to touch her face.

”Exactly,” she agreed cleanly.

For the first time since entering the grand chamber, the High Pontiff appeared genuinely shaken. His serene, authoritative posture collapsed into visible uncertainty.

”You would truly dare to reject the divine prophecy of the Sovereign?” He asked, his voice losing its rhythmic melody.

”I reject anyone who thinks a piece of ancient history gives them authority over my life,” Rhaevia replied instantly.

Her Guide aura surged outward without warning, flooding the obsidian floor with a brilliant, rushing tide of azure energy. The sheer density of her mental power slammed into the hall, causing the stone walls to hum in physical resonance.

The crystalline tablet in the Pontiff’s hands began to vibrate violently, its dark casing humming under the sudden influx of her Sovereign signature. The glowing characters suspended in the air shattered into tiny fragments of light, swimming wildly across the space between them.

”What is happening to the relic?” One of the Church Guardians whispered, taking an anxious step back and reaching for his sidearm.

The tablet released a heavy, kinetic pulse of force that nearly knocked the Pontiff off his feet.

Rhaevia’s inner core answered the pulse instinctively, unlocking a deep layer of authority embedded within her soul.

The grand palace itself seemed to respond to her power. Ancient, hidden circuits embedded deep within the architectural structures began to glow through the polished stone.

One after another, long-dormant symbols illuminated along the towering pillars of the audience chamber. They burned in shifting shades of crimson, silver, and brilliant azure, casting a blinding light across the shocked faces of the imperial guards.

The High Pontiff stared down at the trembling artifact in his hands with wide, terrified eyes.

”This was not supposed to happen,” he breathed, his voice barely audible over the hum of the room. ”The text was sealed.”

Rhaevia closed the remaining distance between them, her presence dwarfing the religious leader.

”What wasn’t supposed to happen?” She demanded, her tone leaving no room for evasive answers.

A sharp, brittle sound echoed through the hall as a hairline crack opened across the center of the crystalline tablet. A thin line of volatile crimson energy traveled along the fracture, quickly followed by dozens of web-like splinters.

The original sentences floating above them dissolved, erased by the raw authority of her awakening core. In their place, brand-new symbols emerged from the depths of the breaking relic, rewriting the ancient record in real time.

Raevor moved instantly, shifting his weight to cover Rhaevia’s flank as his Sentinel senses warned him of an impending energy discharge.

Her mother, father, and three brothers tightened their physical formation behind her, their combined mental pressure creating a protective barrier around her frame. High above them, the Emperor rose from his throne, his golden robes rustling as he raised a hand.

”Everyone remain still!” The sovereign commanded, his voice echoing over the mounting structural vibration.

The entire audience chamber shook violently as a deep, low frequency traveled upward through the deep planetary foundations.

Inside Rhaevia’s chest, her Guide core suddenly burned with scorching, white-hot intensity.

The ancient system buried deep within her subconscious activated, its cold, mechanical voice ringing sharply inside her mind.

[PROPHECY STRUCTURE ALTERED BY SOVEREIGN AUTHORITY.]

Rhaevia’s eyes widened slightly as the internal notification registered.

The Pontiff stood frozen, staring up at the newly formed floating characters with a face utterly drained of color.

”No...” the old man whispered, his hands trembling so violently he nearly dropped the cracking tablet. ”This cannot be...”

”Read it,” Rhaevia demanded, her voice cutting through the localized tremor like a blade. ”What does it say?”

The Pontiff opened his mouth, but no sound escaped his throat.

Above them, the geometric alien language rapidly rearranged its glowing components, completing its automatic translation into standard interstellar script.

A single, terrifying sentence resolved itself in burning, blood-red light directly over Rhaevia’s head. Rhaevia’s blood ran cold the instant her eyes scanned the text.

[WHEN THE PAIR AWAKENS, THE SEALED ENEMY SHALL RETURN.]

The violent vibration in the chamber stopped instantly, leaving behind a suffocating silence.

Raevor’s grim expression darkened further as his eyes locked onto the new translation, his jaw tightening into a hard line. Rhaevia stared at the floating words, her heart hammering against her ribs as the true scope of the threat revealed itself.

The pair.

It was not referring to her alone, nor was it referring to an abstract legend. It meant her and Raevor, the Sovereign Guide and the Sentinel, who synchronized with her at an impossible one hundred percent.

Their combined awakening was not merely a political event or a personal triumph over their pasts. It was a cosmic key.

If their fully synchronized existence was the catalyst that would force the sealed enemy back into the galaxy, then their greatest threat had never been the Church, the Empire, or even the awakening True King.