In a world scarred by the ruins of the Machina, destiny is written not only in steel but in the bonds, we choose to protect.
Armada, a young solder bound to her Aegis suit, stands at the threshold between collapse and renewal. she must learn that survival is not only about strength; it is about connection, balance, and legacy.
Together with Frien, Freya, and Flint, Armada faces battles that test more than their weapons. Each clash against the Machina reveals deeper truths: that every gift carries a flaw, every inheritance a burden, and every bond a chance to break or heal.
Armada × Drive is a science fantasy saga of mythic resonance and psychological depth, where cosmic skies and mechanical ruins frame a story of rebellion, loyalty, and the fragile light that binds us all.
In a world scarred by the ruins of the Machina, destiny is written not only in steel but in the bonds, we choose to protect.
Armada, a young solder bound to her Aegis suit, stands at the threshold between collapse and renewal. she must learn that survival is not only about strength; it is about connection, balance, and legacy.
Together with Frien, Freya, and Flint, Armada faces battles that test more than their weapons. Each clash against the Machina reveals deeper truths: that every gift carries a flaw, every inheritance a burden, and every bond a chance to break or heal.
Armada × Drive is a science fantasy saga of mythic resonance and psychological depth, where cosmic skies and mechanical ruins frame a story of rebellion, loyalty, and the fragile light that binds us all.
Under the Stars – 1 Year Ago
High on the plateau just outside the Todori Badlands, Ami and Gilliard sat beneath a sea of stars. The wind was dry and cool, brushing their skin like a whisper. The earth beneath them still held the day’s heat, radiating warmth through the fabric of their suits.
Around them, the world was Silent. Just the distant hum of the camp’s generators and the occasional crackle of cooling metal.
Ami always insisted on staying up the night before missions. Gilliard never cared for it-he saw it as a distraction, one that left him drinking too much coffee and sleeping too little. But she always seemed calmer afterward. Was it him, or the ritual?
He picked up a few pebbles and flung them toward the edge of the cliff. Ami leaned back on her elbows, eyes tracing the constellations.
“Can I ask you something?” she said, her voice a whisper.
“Of course.”
“Do you believe in fate? Or destiny?”
Gilliard didn’t answer right away. He hummed, watching the trees sway-like his thoughts, drifting back and forth.
Fate was terrifying-a path carved in stone, no choices, only destination. At least he could blame the universe.
Destiny felt softer, more forgiving. The end might be the same, but he chose the path. That meant responsibility. That meant owning the outcome.
Neither felt safe. And every failure would still be his alone.
“You’re taking too long,” she teased, nudging his boot with hers.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I just know I’m here.”
She furrowed her brow. That was all?
“Lame, I know,” he added, scratching the back of his head.
“What about you?”
Her expression softened. “I hope it’s destiny. I want to believe I’m free… but still part of something bigger. That you and I are together because it was meant to be. But I want to choose it too.”
“I might believe that,” he said, reaching for her hand. Her hands melted into his, gripping tight for warmth.
“If we go down,” she whispered, “and we’re recycled… I hope we find each other again.”
A long silence.
Overhead, a pair of comets streaked across the sky-brief and brilliant.
“I wish that too,” he said.
Her eyes reflected the shimmer of distant stars.
A chill crept in. She leaned against him, and he let her.
“Let’s go back to camp,” he said.
“Classic Gilly,” she laughed, nudging him. “Leaving before things start getting good.”
As they walked back to camp, Gilliard glanced at the sky one last time.
If destiny was real… maybe it would be kind.
But kindness felt like a story he no longer believed.
Dawn at the Basin
Gilliard watched the sunrise bleed across the rocks-rust and ochre streaking the cliffs like old wounds. The wind carried dust and silence. No birds. No insects. Even the Machina hadn’t stirred yet.
Above, clouds gathered thick and low, prophesying a storm yet to break. He traced the slopes Like scripture, searching for signs. A fragment broke away from the rock. He picked it up, turning it in his fingers, examining the sharp edges.
Behind him, Ami approached, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Angela’s calling for us.”
He startled, breaking away from his thoughts. Her smile warmed him in the cool morning. He exhaled, relaxed his shoulders, unclenched his jaw.
“I’ll be right there. Just admiring the view.”
“Just say you’re nervous, Gilly.”
“Don’t call me that,” he chuckled. “Besides, I’m not nervous… just anxious.”
“We’ve got this,” she smirked. “Besides, it’s not like-”
“Damn it, Ami! I told you to bring him here!” Angela’s voice rang from the camp.
“Oops,” Ami laughed, already running. “I’ll beat you there!”
Gilliard followed, slower, still wondering.
Did she ever think about the mission-or was it all just fun to her?
She always kept him grounded.
But he was supposed to lead.
Lately, all he did was follow orders and hope they stuck.
At the bottom of the slope, the others waited.
Angela bit her lip in anticipation, pacing the edge of camp.
Vincent worked through his breathing exercises, eyes closed, counting off each inhale.
Denny had his headphones on, bobbing his head to the music.
Gilliard paused at the edge of the basin, the wind brushing past him again.
The storm hadn’t broken yet.
But it would.
Suiting Up
In the tent, they put on their Compression shirts first, cold against their skin. Gilliard shuddered.
“I hate the in-between season,” he muttered. “Cold in the mornings, hot by midday.”
“I told you not to shower beforehand.”
“It clears my head.”
Ami fastened his breastplate and pauldrons, fingers practiced. It was something she insisted on doing to strengthen their bond.
“Is it straight?” Gilliard asked, adjusting the chest plate.
“Not sure. My eyes are crooked,” Ami replied, smirking as she held up her fingers to measure. “Looks good to me.”
He stepped back, then forward again, adjusting hers with quiet precision. Always double-checking.
They attached the spinal unit-metal triangles pressing into the skin with a hiss-and clipped on the spinal crown, its power module humming faintly as it synchronized.
Gilliard winced, then rolled his shoulders. Ami didn’t flinch
She grabbed her sword and fastened it to her waist. Gilliard checked his own, inspecting the polish, the edge, the balance.
“Let’s get out there before we miss breakfast,” Gilliard muttered.
Outside, he moved through the squad-tightening straps, syncing modules, checking seals. Ami chatted nearby, laughter rising between the suits like steam. Angela stood apart, arms crossed, foot tapping.
He understood. Her impatience mirrored his own. It rose from his gut like heat. This wasn’t standard scout work. It was risk layered on risk. But if they pulled it off, it would shine Servicers in a better light. They’d be seen as more than backup. They’d be useful.
A part of him wanted to back out. The terrain, the target, the odds-it was all too much.
But he couldn’t afford hesitation. Not now.
“All right, everybody looks great,” Gilliard called. “Let’s move out.”
Into the Badlands
They traversed the sun-bleached slopes toward the Basin. Dust clung to their boots. The air tasted like rust and ozone-dry, metallic, ancient.
Cliffs loomed like judges, their faces carved by centuries of wind and silence.
In the open stretches, ancient paintings covered the rocks. Depictions of the Asura as godlike beings, hovering above the people with radiant crowns and halos of light. Pillars rose from the dust, etched with glyphs worn smoothly by time. Some shimmered faintly in the haze, others had faded into ghostly outlines.
Ami slowed, brushing her fingers across a spiral glyph. Its edges cracked, its center still intact. It was the only one that looked recent, untouched by erosion.
“Humans sure were obsessed, weren’t they?” she murmured. “Always trying to make sense of things. Even the things that didn’t want to be understood.”
Gilliard didn’t answer. His eyes were already scanning the ridges, tracing shadows, measuring silence.
The spiral pulsed faintly in the dust. Vincent and Denny moved along the walls, scanning for any changes.
“Hurry it up,” Angela called from above the cliff. Gilliard was already far ahead.
They lingered on the glyph. He lingered on the threat.
Zafira
At the mouth of the caverns, Zafira stacked stones on a cairn-each one placed with deliberate care, like a ritual remembered from another life. She didn’t rush. Her movements were slow, reverent. The stones weren’t just markers. They were memories. She oversaw each one as if it held a name.
Around her, Bastion and Scorpio Machina stood like silent sentinels. The Bastions tucked their heads low, motionless. The Scorpios’ claws twitched in the dust. Their bodies shimmered faintly, heat rising from their cores. One rotated its head toward the squad’s approach, then back to Zafira, as if awaiting permission.
“Hmm… might need another stack,” she murmured. “This could blow over. What do you think?”
The Machina chirped in agreement-soft, melodic, almost amused.
Her silver hair shimmered in the sun. She wore no armor, no mask. Just a long coat dusted with ash and a copper band around her wrist. Gilliard stared, transfixed. She wasn’t just a target-she was a relic. A myth walking.
He felt it in his chest: the weight of her presence. Like gravity had shifted. Like something old had awakened.
She placed the final stone and stood, brushing her hands together. The cairn was small, but precise. A spiral etched into the topmost rock caught the light-an echo of the glyph Ami had touched earlier.
Gilliard blinked, snapped back to focus. He leaned toward Ami.
“That Bastion will absorb Angela’s shots. Take it first.”
She nodded, already shifting position.
He signaled for the squad to scatter and pulled Vincent and Denny close.
“I need you two to take out the Scorpios before she syncs. Fast and clean.”
Vincent nodded, jaw tight. Denny hesitated, eyes flicking toward the cairn.
“She’s not syncing,” he whispered. “She’s praying.”
Gilliard didn’t respond. He couldn’t afford to.
So much was riding on their success.
And yet, something in him wanted to wait.
Just to see what Zafira was going to do next.
Goddess of the Storm
Vincent and Denny dropped low, pikes in hand. Vincent struck true-his weapon pierced a Machina core in a burst of light. Denny missed. His pike glanced off the plating, and the recoil flung him backward, skidding across the dust.
“Birdy, come!” Zafira shouted into her wrist comm.
Ami and Gilliard dropped in next. The fallen Machina’s pincer lifted from the dust and flew to Zafira’s hand. She caught it midair, twisting it into a shield. Angela’s shot struck with a clang of metal-deflected.
Ami sprinted past the Scorpios, blade flashing, taking out the Bastion. Angela finally had a clear line-she opened fire, targeting joints and limbs with surgical precision. Gilliard charged, swinging with reckless force, trying to break through the Machina arm. But Zafira hurled a downed unit at him. He stumbled, barely catching himself.
Ami aimed at her back. Zafira pivoted.
She wrapped the pincer around Ami’s sword and, with a sudden kick to the stomach, sent her staggering. Breath knocked from her lungs, Ami wheezed, clutching her blade. All she could think of was Gilliard-fighting alone.
Vincent and Denny battled the remaining Machina, weaving between claws and dodging tail strikes. Sparks flew. Their suits hummed with strain and momentum.
Dust thickened.
Ami lunged again. Zafira dropped the pincer, sidestepped the blade, and caught Ami’s arm mid-swing. She yanked her forward, locked her in a headlock, and drove her knee into Ami’s thigh-then hip-swaying to avoid Gilliard’s approach.
Denny saw an opening. He charged from behind, ramming his spear into Zafira’s side.
It pierced through-catching Ami too.
They both screamed.
Zafira snarled, eyes flashing. She reached toward the remaining Machina. Lightning veined up her legs, surging into her core.
She unleashed a blast-compressed air and energy erupting outward.
The squad flew back, skidding across the dust. Gilliard hit hard, vision swimming. Vincent rolled, coughing. Angela shielded her eyes from the shock wave.
The cairn cracked. The spiral etched into its topmost stone shattered.
Angela saw her chance. She fired at the rocks above. The cliff side groaned-then cracked. Boulders tumbled down, burying Zafira in a cloud of dust.
Silence.
Gilliard blinked through the haze. The cairn was gone. Ami lay nearby, clutching her side. Vincent crawled toward Denny, who was struggling to move.
Angela lowered her rifle, breath ragged.
They had made it through the storm.
Now they would have to tread the raging waters.
Flooding
The squad gasped for breath, coughing, blinking through the haze. Dust swirled around them, thick as smoke.
“Do you think it stopped her?” Denny whispered, voice barely audible.
For a moment, nothing. Just the wind.
Then a bird drone swooped in, wings humming. It dropped a sword over the rubble-sleek, silver, humming with charge.
A pop. A burst of light.
Zafira exploded from the debris, catching the blade midair. Her coat billowed. Her eyes burned.
“Ami, stand back,” Gilliard said. She was bleeding, her stance shaky, one hand pressed to her ribs.
The squad regrouped, dust clinging to their suits. Angela reloaded. Vincent steadied Denny. Gilliard stepped forward.
Zafira tied her hair back, trembling, breath shallow. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”
She charged-sword trailing behind her like a comet. With a swift pivot, she brought the blade down in a powerful arc.
A bright blue shock-wave of compressed air erupted between them, slicing through the dust and pushing the squad back.
Angela stumbled, firing without aim. The bolt skidded across Zafira’s armor with a hiss. Not enough.
Denny lunged, javelin aimed for her chest. Zafira twisted her blade upside down, guiding the tip off course in a fluid deflection. Her right hand shot forward, gripping his wrist and yanking hard, pulling him off balance. As he stumbled, she pivoted, bringing the blade up to his neck.
Vincent roared, striking her thigh in manic fury. Gilliard came from behind, tackling her to the ground.
She writhed. Clawed. Convulsed-then stilled.
“Stop! It’s over!” Angela shouted.
Zafira grunted, breath ragged. Slowly, she stilled, clutching her leg. Her sword dropped beside her, humming faintly.
Angela dropped to her knees beside Denny, hands pressing against the wound.
“Denny?” Vincent whimpered, rushing over as Gilliard pinned Zafira down. “No, no. Please hold on.” He knelt beside him, one hand on his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers.
Angela rubbed his back. “Hey, hey. He’ll come back recycled. Let’s focus on getting home, okay?”
Vincent nodded, eyes still wet. He looked toward Zafira, hoping to see defeat.
But her demeanor had shifted-from bloodlust to stillness. As Gilliard sat her down, she didn’t resist. Her gaze drifted toward the broken cairn, half-buried in dust.
“There is no recycling,” she murmured.
Gilliard heard it. Tried to ignore it.
“Let’s get back to the scavenger camp,” he said. “We’ll wait for transport there.”
A wave of relief swept through the squad, softening the tension that had gripped them.
Angela cupped her hands over her face and exhaled.
The only one without breath was Denny.
The storm had passed.
Armada x Drive by Joseph Peel was an interesting read. It tells the story of four childhood friends: Armada, Freya, Frien, and Flint. Having reached adulthood they each work on adjusting to their new assigned positions. Armada and Freya have become soldiers who work in sync to fight back against the machina while Flint and Frien are scavengers who collect the broken bits of machinas left behind after a fight. As the war against the Machinas turns more perilous Frien decides to step up and transition to life as a soldier in the typically deadly Asura unit. Each of them faces their own struggles as they work to figure out who they are and who they want to be in a world ravaged by continuous warfare.
This book was pretty good in that it had an intriguing storyline that pit the young heroes against forces both internal and external. Each of the four narrators had a distinct identity and their own individual internal problems which definitely added to the story. The world was interesting and sounds like it would be an intriguing setting but it also lacks a lot of detail and depth. I say that because there is practically no backstory for the world included in the story. There doesn't even seem to be any minor details sprinkled throughout the text except for maybe one or two. It creates a situation where as the reader we have very little idea of what is going on. The narrators or heroes are fighting this war against the machina but we have more or less no idea why they are fighting, why there is a war and who exactly the machina actually are. The story was still good and I did enjoy reading it but I was also confused a lot because of the lack of context. I really would have liked to see even a little bit more detail and explanation about some of these things. It was good and has a lot of potential even taking that into consideration. I am giving it three out of five stars.
This book is science fiction so it would probably hold the most appeal for readers who prefer that genre but it could also hold appeal for people who enjoy action and adventure stories or coming of age stories as it contains elements of both of those. While there is violence the descriptions are not overly graphic and there is no mature or adult content to be worried about so it could be read and enjoyed by readers potentially as young as fourteen without any problems.