《Stardust Rising [Mecha Fantasy] (COMPLETE)》


 1. REITER 1

    ~October 17, 137 AH~


    ~Sector Sagittarius, somewhere west of the Manukyan Fault~


    Zelen Athelstan pointed his metallic phantom toward the western horizon and the death that awaited beyond the planet¡¯s haze.


    His naked eyes, even when enhanced by the Nexus, could spy only the desolation that stretched in all directions: cracked barren earth, ashen-grey from 140 years of decay and contamination. He saw no signs of life¡ªwhether organic or synthetic or otherwise¡ªso he waited patiently for his mirror to fill in the blanks.


    Target acquired. Air defense system FB-03, designation ¡®Ildfugl¡¯. Sending target location to your monitor. How will you proceed, Zelen?


    This was instantly followed by a red marker appearing near the upper edges of the radar. Soon enough, a swarm of red dots surrounded the arrow, showing what Zelen already knew: the Syntropy themselves had deemed the Ildfugl a high-priority asset, thus gracing it with the proportionate amount of protection.


    Despite the now confirmed reality of the danger he was about to fly into, Zelen¡¯s first reaction was to smile.


    ¡°I see you¡¯ve finally dropped the callsign, Silon.¡±


    A slight pause, which almost felt human in its hesitation.


    Was that inappropriate? I could still call you Kingfisher if you wish.


    ¡°No, no. I prefer this,¡± Zelen Athelstan, callsign ¡®Kingfisher¡¯, hastily reassured his Spiegel. Even after all their time together, she could still be rather obtuse, in that endlessly polite way of hers.


    Hers? Zelen still wasn¡¯t quite sure if his Spiegel was gendered, but Delta-Upsilon¡¯s Nexus-mediated voice certainly sounded like a young woman¡¯s. After a beat, he added, ¡°Like I said before, callsigns are just for show: a relic of Old Earth that doesn¡¯t hold much meaning anymore. Out here where the radio signals don¡¯t reach, I¡¯m just Zelen, and you¡¯re¡ª¡±


    He didn¡¯t finish the thought, mostly because he was suddenly unsure how to. Did his Spiegel even have a name she preferred to be called by? He¡¯d taken to calling her Silon for brevity¡¯s sake, but he¡¯d never stopped to wonder if she even liked the nickname. Speaking of, could Spiegels even like or dislike¡ª


    Focus, Zelen, Silon cut in, as if she¡¯d sensed that Zelen¡¯s daydreaming tendencies were about to derail the mission. Ildfugl, 1.8 klicks, bearing zero-two-seven. How will you proceed?


    The Reiter shook himself out of his inane reveries and examined the HUD again. If his eyes didn¡¯t deceive him, the swarm of red dots had already gained in number and density. It seemed the enemies had also become aware of his presence and intent.


    A Syntropic air defense system and a swarm of drones to protect it. Practically speaking, that was what the red arrow and dots represented, but to Zelen, they also signified something beyond¡ªa possibility that ever lurked beyond the planet¡¯s haze.


    Death.


    He knew not when he¡¯d become so fatalistic. His obsession with his own mortality was unbecoming in someone of his youth and vigour, let alone a Reiter tasked with humanity¡¯s salvation.


    Yet, as surely as he sat nestled within the labyrinthine machinery of his Eidolon¡¯s cockpit, and as surely as red dots filled the screen that represented the outside world, Zelen saw death etched across the scars upon ashen-grey earth.


    Death wasn¡¯t the only possible outcome to what he was about to undertake. But it was certainly one of them. Always one of them.


    Stifling a sigh for reasons unclear to himself (what did he have to hide from his mirror?), he spoke into the Nexus, with words meant only for his Spiegel¡¯s ears.


    ¡°Warm up the thrusters. Left arm [GATLING]. [CLUSTER LAUNCHER] on both shoulders. And¡­ let¡¯s go with [BARDICHE] for the right arm.¡±


    No shield?


    ¡°Nah, speed is the key here. Maximum firepower, and we¡¯re not stopping until the railgun is down. Besides, gotta let the Panzers back home earn their keep, don¡¯t we?¡±


    There was a slight delay as the unknowable forces of the Nexus gathered and flowed into Zelen¡¯s Eidolon, with Silon as their unseen guide. Zelen subconsciously eyed the pale blue bar that lined nearly the entire length of the right edge of the HUD. As the Eidolon¡¯s transformation ran its course, just over half of this blue bar turned white.


    Energy Reserves are down to 45%, Silon announced rather needlessly, then added rather helpfully, which translates to an estimated ten minutes of combat time. Would that be enough?


    Zelen gave a performative shrug of the shoulders for no one¡¯s benefit, even as he became painfully aware of the pounding inside his chest.


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    ¡°Only one way to find out.¡±


    The Reiter kicked off against the floor of the cockpit¡ªor at least made to kick off.


    In reality, his entire body was encased in rusted machinery that filled with hyperviscous Anamnium gel. His legs didn¡¯t actually move inside this metallo-fluid prison, but the Eidolon responded all the same, activating the thrusters and roaring into the air to mirror its pilot¡¯s conscious intent.


    This dissonance between complete immobility and powerful dynamism was something that had taken years of proto-Reiter training for Zelen to get used to. Indeed, he still wasn¡¯t totally comfortable with the accompanying sensory whiplash.


    Nevertheless, the Eidolon flew at frightening speed, leaving a contrail of smoke as its heavy metal frame singed the very air. By the time it cut through the haze that covered the erstwhile horizon, its Reiter could see death without the aid of a radar.


    The swarm of red dots were now upon Zelen. But instead of dots on a screen, these were lightweight sentry drones SB-14, designation ¡®Hornet¡¯. And as the Eidolon flew within range, the swarm buzzed and turned in unison, their monocular optics gleaming lurid red despite the overcast skies of Sector Sagittarius.


    Zelen had never seen an actual ¡®hornet¡¯ outside of a cartoon logo he¡¯d found on a faded Old Earth book. What torn and tattered pages remained of it had featured photographs of sleeveless muscular men reaching for the same orange ball. The cartoon ¡®hornet¡¯ emblazoned across the men¡¯s chests had looked menacing enough in its own right, but it had nothing on the synthetic monstrosities that presently surrounded Zelen and his phantom.


    Droves of Syntropic Hornets peppered the Eidolon with bullets fired from an extension to their bellies, where their stingers should¡¯ve been. Zelen himself felt the impact as nothing more than skin pricks, but he was well-aware of a green vertical bar on the left edge of the HUD that ticked down at a steady rate.


    With the press of a button embedded into a glove-like component of Zelen¡¯s metallic prison, the [CLUSTER LAUNCHER] on his right shoulder whirred to life and fired into a dense clump of Hornets. The initial explosion split into six more grenades that took out more Hornets in the vicinity, leaving an entire patch of sky clear save for smoke and haze.


    Zelen did the same with the left shoulder, clearing another group of Hornets with satisfying efficiency. Then, while the [CLUSTER LAUNCHERS] went into cooldown, he squeezed the trigger that was wrapped within his left hand, giving the Hornets a taste of their own medicine with a sustained burst from [GATLING].


    Six cyclic barrels spun and fired, raining destruction upon the Syntropy. By the time the [GATLING] neared its overheat state, the right-sided [CLUSTER LAUNCHER] came back online, followed closely by its left-sided counterpart.


    It was a time-tested rotation that had served Zelen well on more than several past missions, including a Hornet-infested scenario that had been nearly identical to this. As the sky cleared and the redness on the radar shrank, the young Reiter swelled in confidence and grew into the fight: relishing the destruction of his enemies. Even the thought of death quickly faded from the hidden recesses of his mind.


    Incoming! A female voice cut through the frenzy, clearer in its warning than any other stimuli that flooded Zelen¡¯s consciousness. Engage lateral thrusters, to your left!


    The Reiter obeyed, trusting fully in his Spiegel as he had since the moment of their Tethering. Sure enough, as he kicked sideways to his left and the Eidolon responded by thrusting in the same direction, an enormous beam of energy¡ªtall and wide enough to have swallowed the Eidolon whole¡ªshot straight through where Zelen had been just a moment ago.


    So, Ildfugl had entered the fray. Leaving his thanks to Silon unspoken, Zelen quickly readjusted the direction of his thrust, this time elevating himself above cloud cover. And in the stratosphere above Sector Sagittarius, Zelen finally came face to face with the main target of his mission.


    Ildfugl¡ªthe Syntropy¡¯s latest generation in air defense design¡ªwas, for the lack of a better word, an aircraft, though Zelen didn¡¯t need an Old Earth education to surmise that it defied every law of aeronautics known to man.


    For one, the thing was an absolute colossus, its main body a nearly perfect sphere that could¡¯ve fit fifty Eidolons inside it. To both sides of this sphere jutted rows upon rows of hefty symmetrical projections that collectively served as its ¡®wings¡¯, though just how the whole ungodly contraption managed to stay in the air was a mystery beyond Akropolis¡¯s best scientists, let alone a bullet-slinging soldier like Zelen.


    Yet Ildfugl¡¯s most ominous feature was its giant railgun, embedded into the hollowed-out centre of its spherical body. Only the very end of the barrel poked out at Zelen, but he could see¡ªeven with his naked eyes¡ªa fresh maelstrom of energy buzzing and roiling within its depth, already charging its next payload.


    Death.


    Death came screeching back into the fore of Zelen¡¯s consciousness, but his body¡ªand in turn his Eidolon¡¯s metallic mechanisms¡ªcould move faster than his mind. He kicked off again, and dove head-first toward the open barrel.


    You¡¯re directly in its line of fire, Silon informed him with a calmness that failed to rub off whatsoever.


    ¡°I know!¡± Zelen yelled, unnecessarily loud. ¡°And I¡¯m going to stay in its line of fire until the last possible moment. I¡¯m counting on you to bail me out again!¡±


    He continued his unbending thrust, willing the Ildfugl to commit to its lock-on. At the same time, he pointed [GATLING] straight ahead, and let the [CLUSTER LAUNCHERS] on both shoulders go at the same time.


    The bullets and grenades hit, adorning the sphere with lukewarm fireworks, but leaving no visible damage, deflected as they were by the invisible armour that coated the behemoth. In any case, Zelen hadn¡¯t placed high hopes on them. For what this David-on-Goliath job required wasn¡¯t just firepower, but also surgical precision.


    As he flew directly toward the giant synthetic maws of death, he squeezed the trigger in his right hand, activating [BARDICHE] for the first time this fight. A razor-sharp cleaver of Nexus energy enveloped the Eidolon¡¯s right arm in its ghostly blue glow. Zelen then tucked this blade close to his centre of mass, lest its excess drag slow or alter his flight.


    He knew the moment to strike, and where to land the blow. Just beneath the outer rims of the barrel, where the railgun slotted into a massive cavity upon the sphere, was a patch of armour thinned out by the earlier barrage from Zelen¡¯s ranged weapons. If he could duck beneath the payload and slice through this sliver of vulnerability in one go, that would give him the best chance of destroying Ildfugl from within.


    For that, he needed to trust in his training. He needed to trust in his own instincts.


    He needed to trust in his mirror that shone from the hazy beyond.


    Now, Zelen!


    Zelen Athelstan, callsign ¡®Kingfisher¡¯ and a Reiter tasked with humanity¡¯s salvation, kicked and swung as his entire vision filled with blinding light.

 2. REITER 2

    ~February 2<sup>nd</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ~


    Asena Shiranui woke with a gasp, desperate for air. She flung the headset off, momentarily uncaring whether she might¡¯ve damaged expensive military equipment.


    Gone was the metallic prison that had kept her completely immobile as she hurtled toward certain death. What greeted her instead was the darkened office that housed Terminal One. And as she shook and shuddered with ragged breaths, the impassive face of her supervisor¡ªher father¡ªswam into blurry view.


    ¡°It seems to me the session didn¡¯t complete. Was something the matter?¡±


    Yuito Shiranui spoke softly, leaning over the reclined seat to peer into his youngest daughter¡¯s eyes. The brow between his glasses showed its permanent crease, though this told nothing of his true feelings. Anger, disappointment, concern¡ªwhatever it might be, Asena had spent two decades of her life guessing how her father felt about her, and that hadn¡¯t become easier just because she¡¯d started working for him.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she managed between pants, clearly not ready to speak yet. ¡°The sensations¡­ intense¡­ more than I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Yuito gave a barely perceptible nod, then continued in the same tone he might have used to dictate his daily reports, ¡°Perhaps it would¡¯ve been wiser to start with a memory fragment that didn¡¯t involve Eidolon combat.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Asena said again, her embarrassment somehow helping to steady her breathing. ¡°It wasn¡¯t intentional. I¡¯m still familiarizing myself with¡­ with the subject¡¯s imprint patterns.¡±


    ¡°Naturally. Are you ready to go again?¡±


    Asena hesitated, just briefly but enough for her to know she¡¯d hesitated too long. ¡°Ye¡ª¡±


    ¡°Clearly not,¡± Yuito decided for her, though even now, his voice and expression remained perfectly neutral. ¡°I think we¡¯re done for the day. The progress leaves much to be desired, but I daresay caution takes precedence. We couldn¡¯t have the subject¡¯s Kurator decommissioned too, could we?¡±


    If she strained hard enough, Asena could convince herself that her father said this out of concern for her person. In any case, she was thankful that his advice aligned with her own state of mind.


    Reliving Zelen Athelstan¡¯s combat mission had been the most terrifying experience of her young life. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to get as far away from a Kuratorial workstation as possible.


    Having settled on a course of action, the first thing she did was to disconnect the fluids from her intraosseous port. It was a routine action she¡¯d performed thousands of times before, yet this time, she became acutely aware of the fact that her father still stood over her, watching her fumble with the tubing around the exposed parts of her sternum and collar bones.


    She found her own discomfort absurd. Not since the early days of proto-Kurator training had she felt self-conscious about the necessary wardrobe concessions that came with the job. Yet in the presence of Yuito Shiranui, it felt as though everything about her had been placed under a microscope.


    It was a sensation she needed to quickly get used to, considering the long-haul nature of her newest assignment.


    ¡°Before you go,¡± her supervisor spoke again. By now, he¡¯d turned his permanently frowning eyes away from her and toward a loose button on the cuff of his uniform. ¡°Make sure to check in on our subject. I need not remind you that, should our theory hold, he¡¯s just remembered the same thing you did¡­ and I imagine he¡¯d be rather confused about being ejected mid-recollection. And don¡¯t forget to submit your written report by 1600. Otherwise, you¡¯re free to spend the rest of the day as you see fit. Dismissed, Corporal.¡±


    With that, Colonel Yuito Shiranui, Commander of the Kurator Corps, turned and left without a second look.


    He was exceptionally tall by Akropolitan standards, and nearly just as thin: traits that Asena herself had at least partially inherited. As such, even a tailor-made Joint Forces uniform ill-fitted Yuito Shiranui as a rule, yet he¡¯d looked especially gaunt as of late.


    Asena knew that he¡¯d had his hands full the last several weeks, dealing with the fallout from the accident at the Reiter Garrison. She wondered, not for the first time, whether anyone at home cared for his health, and she wished he¡¯d give her the chance to ask after him.


    So, it was with a mixture of relief and frustration that Asena watched her father go. Both emotions only deepened her sense of self-admonishment. If her father could remain strictly professional around her, there was no reason she couldn¡¯t do the same.


    Yet as she reached for the headset again to fulfill Yuito¡¯s instructions, she hesitated some more.


    It wasn¡¯t the memory of combat¡ªstill painfully fresh¡ªthat stayed her hand. Rather, in directly communicating with the subject himself, Asena was forced to engage with the aspect of her assignment that most unnerved her.


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    More than experiencing what it was like to fight inside an Eidolon. More than flying head-first into an army of Syntropy machines. More than the very act of excavating and restoring another¡¯s lost memories.


    ¡°Are you still there, Kingfisher?¡± Asena Shiranui spoke into the mic, trying her darnedest to keep her affect flat and her cadence mechanical. ¡°This is Spiegel Delta-Upsilon. Please respond.¡±


    A pause, and then Lieutenant Zelen Athelstan¡¯s somewhat groggy voice cracked through the radio, ¡°Silon? Did we just¡­? Was I¡ªwas I dreaming?¡±


    Asena¡¯s heart thumped against the IO port embedded within her sternum, and she felt herself grow hot for reasons that weren¡¯t entirely clear. She did her best to hide the slight tremor in her voice as she continued, ¡°Readings did show higher than normal brain activity during REM sleep, which may indicate that you were indeed in the midst of a vivid and emotionally charged dream.¡±


    She waited for a response, but was met by only faint static. She then decided to keep pushing, though she had very little idea of how the real Delta-Upsilon would¡¯ve behaved in this situation, ¡°Do you remember anything from your dream, Kingfisher? Is there anything you¡¯d like to talk about?¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± the voice that came back was startlingly weak, almost as if the speaker himself was fading away. ¡°Please say my name.¡±


    Asena froze.


    She and her father had devised and rehearsed numerous scripts on the possible tracks of dialogue between her and Lieutenant Athelstan. This hadn¡¯t been on any of the scripts.


    ¡°We¡¯re on the JFB channels, Kingfisher,¡± she improvised, hoping against hope that she wouldn¡¯t stumble and betray her human self. ¡°Convention dictates that we¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the only one.¡±


    It was Asena¡¯s turn to fill the waves with silence.


    ¡°You¡¯re the only one that would call me by my name.¡±


    It was all she could do to stifle the gasp that nearly escaped her. She¡¯d surprised herself with the intensity of her own reaction to the subject¡¯s words.


    For despite the fact that Zelen Athelstan was her fianc¨¦, and that he was a war hero whose name was celebrated all across Akropolis, she knew next to nothing about the man himself.


    All she knew in this moment was that he was in pain. Pain for which she could offer no relief. Perhaps no one could.


    No one except Spiegel Delta-Upsilon.


    ¡°Please get some rest, Kingfisher,¡± Asena willed her words onto the radio, speaking faster than she perhaps should¡¯ve in her desperation to end the conversation. ¡°I¡¯ll call on you again, tomorrow. Maybe then we could discuss today¡¯s events.¡±


    She cut the connection without waiting for a response, then fled Terminal One like it was the scene of a crime.


    ~February 3<sup>rd</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ~


    ¡°You asked to see me, sir?¡±


    Even after becoming a full-fledged member of the military, Asena had rarely been inside her father¡¯s office.


    The Kurator Corps Commander¡¯s office was a bare and austere affair, in stark contrast to Yuito¡¯s study at home. Where the study was wrapped in lush carpet and adorned with expensive furniture for the eyes and feet of frequent guests, the office was the same sleek metal cage that filled a hundred other corners inside the JFB. The only things that were remotely distinct were the countless medals and certificates that lined the walls and a prototype workstation that sat collecting dust in one corner: a keepsake from the early years of Colonel Shiranui¡¯s career.


    Asena thought she knew her father well enough to surmise the reason behind the mismatch.


    For the Tetrarchy, ¡®home¡¯ was a private space only in name. Anyone from the other Tetrarch families could call on them at any time, not to mention the endless procession of Sehermenschen and Essentials that knocked on their doors bearing gifts and petitions.


    This office, on the other hand, was where Yuito spent most of his waking hours. It stood to reason that he¡¯d want it to be a place of comfort and reflection. And Asena¡¯s father was nothing if not a man defined by and most comfortable in his work and achievements.


    ¡°I was comparing your written report with the radio transcripts,¡± he said to her now, true to form, doing away with the personal to dive straight into work, ¡°and I couldn¡¯t help but notice a curious discrepancy. Care to explain why you omitted this from your report?¡±


    He didn¡¯t elaborate on what this was, because he didn¡¯t need to. Asena felt herself flush slightly as she answered, as casually as she could, ¡°The subject was clearly referring to something personal he¡¯d shared with his Spiegel. As unusual as that might be, I didn¡¯t deem it pertinent to the mission at hand, that being an attempt at restoring the subject¡¯s combat readiness.¡±


    Yuito stared at her with his permanent frown, as if waiting for her to offer more. When she didn¡¯t, his normally impassive jaws hardened just a touch as he let out the subtlest of tsks.


    ¡°It seems to me,¡± he said as he readjusted his glasses, ¡°that there remains¡­ deficiencies in your understanding of the nature of this mission. Why do you think I¡¯ve asked you to impersonate Spiegel Delta-Upsilon in all communications with the subject?¡±


    Asena inwardly winced, for this was quickly becoming her least favourite topic of discussion. She couldn¡¯t fully hide a slight petulance in her answer, ¡°To engender a preexisting sense of familiarity. To expedite the rapport-building phase of therapy, in order to¡ª¡±


    Asena cut herself off, for at that moment, her father had tsked again. Now she felt flustered as much as sulky, for while Yuito frequently interrupted her, he¡¯d rarely done so with such open display of disdain.


    ¡°You seem to have it in your head that Spiegel Delta-Upsilon is only an aid to our mission: a tool we can choose to employ or ignore as the situation calls for. Understand this, Corporal.¡±


    Yuito stood, easily dwarfing Asena as he did. Then he leaned over his austere desk and let his frown deepen with every word as he went on.


    ¡°Spiegel Delta-Upsilon is the absolute crux of our mission. Our very success or failure hinges on your ability to replicate the so-called personal relationship between Zelen Athelstan and his Spiegel. And if he expects you to call him by his name, to whisper sweet nothings into his ear, to debase yourself and answer to his every twisted whim, for all I care¡­ you will do it. The mission depends on it.¡±


    Asena held herself rigid and returned her father¡¯s gaze. Seemingly every muscle in her body braced and strained to keep the tears from bursting forth.


    Perhaps in response to his daughter¡¯s stricken face, or simply because he¡¯d remembered himself, Colonel Shiranui relaxed and lowered himself back into his seat. Then he spoke in a much softer tone, with frowning eyes that pointed to something beyond Asena¡ªsomething far beyond the very room the two of them occupied.


    ¡°And there¡¯s one more thing I must correct you on.¡± If Asena¡¯s eyes and ears hadn¡¯t deceived her, her father¡¯s bony epauletted shoulders sagged as he let out a sigh. In two decades of her life, she¡¯d never seen him so tired¡ªso defeated. ¡°The mission isn¡¯t to attempt the restoration of Lieutenant Athelstan¡¯s Nexus attunement. We must get him back to fighting shape. Failure is not an option. And you¡¯re the only one, Asena.


    ¡°You¡¯re the only one that can make that happen.¡±

 3. REITER 3

    ~February 3<sup>rd</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ~


    As Asena settled back into Terminal One, she tried to repress her own memories, better to prepare herself for digging around in another¡¯s.


    The conversation with Colonel Shiranui¡ªeven more one-sided than usual¡ªlingered in her head all morning, bringing with each replay fresh surges of hurt and anxiety. It was the most emotional she¡¯d ever seen her father, and to think that she¡¯d been the one to upset him so!


    The youngest of seven children, Asena had always considered herself to be a model daughter: less unruly than her talented siblings, and more talented than the obedient ones. To be sure, she¡¯d never match the value her eldest brother Makiri brought to the family as Akropolis¡¯s killingest Reiter on record. But she was a capable Kurator in her own right: one blessed with an Einkunst, no less. There was no reason she couldn¡¯t also serve the Shiranui clan¡ªand the Tetrarchy as a whole¡ªin amply meaningful ways.


    Perhaps it was this self-importance that had made her overconfident of late. If she wanted her father¡¯s high regard, she needed to earn it. To that end, her queasiness about the mission was the first thing that needed pruning.


    So, after a good cry in the bathroom and re-applying her make-up, Asena had returned to Terminal One, as ready as she¡¯d ever be to resume her therapy sessions with one Lieutenant Zelen Athelstan.


    She relaxed into the reclined seat and let her assistant finish the rest of the set-up.


    First, as always, was the connection into the IO port. The bundle of tubes and machinery that clipped onto her sternum would help monitor her Somatic and Psychic Reserves while maintaining a steady flow of an Anamnium solution. It was the lifeline of all in her trade, and the surgery to have the intraosseous port embedded was an unpleasant if not downright frightening rite of passage for many a young proto-Kurator.


    Next came the leathery bands that closed over her waist and all four limbs. Budgetary limitations meant the Kurator Corps couldn¡¯t afford to replicate an Eidolon cockpit exactly (neither would many Kurators have wanted to). But the intensely kinetic nature of many of the memories they worked with necessitated restraints as a basic safety precaution.


    Then the already darkened room faded to pitch black as a final piece of equipment was lowered and secured onto Asena¡¯s head. The headset served to simultaneously cut off the Kurator from the sights and sounds of her immediate surroundings while feeding her only information that was pertinent to the session.


    The first piece of such information flowed into Asena in the form of her father¡¯s verbal instructions, transmitted from the monitoring station next door, ¡°Remember your briefings, Corporal. Building blocks. All of Lieutenant Athelstan¡¯s dissociated memories are building blocks scattered about upon a construction site. Your job is to build him back up, piece by piece, starting from the foundation. Are we ready to begin?¡±


    As part of the initial mission briefing, Asena had been given a timeline of significant events in Lieutenant Athelstan¡¯s life and career, compiled from reports provided by Yuito Shiranui himself: the subject¡¯s former Kuratorial handler. It¡¯d been an elaborate tapestry made up of a whirlwind Tetrarch upbringing, a demanding proto-Reiter training program, and of course the several years he¡¯d spent in active service, fighting the Syntropy.


    Some of these events, Asena had at least tangentially been involved in, what with her being another Tetrarch child just two years his junior (not to mention his eventual fianc¨¦e). But a vast majority of Lieutenant Athelstan¡¯s training and career consisted of challenges, hardships, and battles that she could barely imagine, even after perusing her father¡¯s reports and committing them to memory.


    How could one merely two years older have led a life so drastically different from hers? It occurred to her that, despite her boundless admiration for her older brothers and their Reiter careers, she¡¯d never picked their brains about what they saw, felt, and experienced all these years.


    Well, she got just a taste of it yesterday, and that snippet of the Reiter life had been enough to send her running for the hills.


    She wanted to believe that today was different. That her resolve had hardened. That her body could take more of a beating. And, most importantly, that she had a plan.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready, sir,¡± she spoke into the radio, hoping to convey that newfound confidence.


    ¡°Good,¡± came the reply in a voice that betrayed nothing. ¡°Waking the subject.¡±


    There was a click as the radio switched onto a new frequency. Then, gradually, the silence on the other end became punctuated by the soft groans of someone waking from a heavy slumber.


    In the previous session, Asena had been overeager in her approach, anxious to initiate and dictate the dialogue. Upon reflection, however, she realized something that she thought she could use to her advantage.


    For as complex a life as Lieutenant Athelstan had led, the man that now sat across the radio waves was bereft and adrift. He¡¯d lost nearly everything that could tell him who he was.


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    The only thing he had left¡ªhis only anchor¡ªwas this connection he thought he had with Spiegel Delta-Upsilon.


    Asena would be that anchor for him, so he might cease his drifting and turn his attention onto shores to wash up on. But first, let him seek her out. Let him yearn for her. Let him be nothing without her.


    ¡°Silon?¡±


    The voice¡ªso forlorn and pitiful¡ªimmediately tested Asena¡¯s resolve. In the unseen darkness beyond the radio waves, Lieutenant Athelstan sounded not like the seasoned warrior he was but like an orphaned boy. The thought filled Asena with distaste for her own intentions, but she bit back on her inner protests, and waited, just one more beat.


    ¡°Silon, are you there? Answer me. I don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t know where I am, and I need you.¡±


    In her still brief military career, Asena had heard her fair share of insipid jokes servicemen told each other in the interest of belonging to a certain culture. Often, these were designed to instill a sense of unity at the expense of one out-group chosen from any number of interchangeable labels. One such joke floated into her mind now, as she let her subject¡¯s desperate pleading wash over her.


    What¡¯s more helpless than a fish without water? A Reiter without his Spiegel.


    Never mind that most in her generation of Akropolitans had never seen a fish in their life. Nor that any one Reiter piloting an Eidolon¡ªwith or without Spiegel support¡ªcould raze their entire city within minutes. She saw now that the joke had managed to hit its mark, at least in the case of one individual.


    And it was time to put this fish without water out of its misery.


    ¡°I¡¯m here, Zelen.¡±


    A short pause, punctuated by the muffled sound of rattling metal.


    ¡°Silon?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Oh, thank god¡­¡± There was now a choked quality to the subject¡¯s voice that made Asena visualize his eyes filling with tears. ¡°You are real. I thought I¡¯d dreamed the whole thing. But¡­ here you are.¡±


    You are real. The words dug into Asena¡¯s conscience like shards of glass, but right now, the mission came before her conscience.


    ¡°I¡¯m always here to support you, Zelen.¡±


    A shaky laugh, streaked with fresh tears. ¡°And you¡¯re calling me by my name again. I had this¡ªnightmare, I think?¡ªwhere you¡¯d gone back to calling me Kingfisher.¡±


    The Kurator took a moment to take stock of the implication of her subject¡¯s words. A nightmare. Does this mean he doesn¡¯t remember the Ildfugl mission?


    ¡°Was it a nightmare, Zelen, or did that actually happen?¡±


    ¡°I mean¡­ I guess you¡¯d know better than me. All I can tell you is that¡­ we were together. Talking like this. But damned if I remember any of what was said.¡±


    So, the first memory fragment Asena had unlocked, at no small cost to her own mental well-being, had been a dud. This wasn¡¯t surprising by any means. According to one of the Old Earth textbooks she¡¯d dug up in preparation for this mission, patients suffering from dissociative amnesia could be stubborn about re-encoding memories that were related to the very source of their trauma.


    It was like what her father said. She¡¯d have to build Zelen Athelstan back up, piece by piece. To that end, she needed to deduce what aspect of his life could serve as the most stable foundation.


    ¡°Do you really not remember any of our missions together?¡±


    ¡°Like I said, I only remember the together part. And I guess I vaguely know that the missions were why we were together in the first place. But beyond that¡­ It¡¯s weird, isn¡¯t it? I feel like I know you better than I know myself.¡±


    ¡°Then tell me about me, Zelen.¡±


    Another pause, quickly followed by pops and crackles. Was he¡­ snickering?


    ¡°That¡¯s a strange request. Even for you, I think? But I¡¯ll bite. What would you, Silon, like to know about yourself?¡±


    ¡°Tell me about the day we met.¡±


    ¡°The day we¡­ you mean the Tethering?¡±


    If her arms hadn¡¯t been tied down, Asena might have pumped her fist. She¡¯d gotten the subject to speak on a discrete component of his background, and it hadn¡¯t even required real Kuration.


    As soon as her subject mentioned the Tethering, however, Asena felt a stirring within her sternum that quickly spread to the rest of her bones: most acutely felt in the rib cage and shoulders before attenuating as it reached her extremities.


    The Nexus showed the way. She knew exactly which thread to pull next.


    ¡°Yes, Zelen. Tell me about our Tethering.¡±


    Along with the verbal prompt, Asena activated her Einkunst: [EVOCATION].


    ~December 5<sup>th</sup>, 135 AH~


    ~Sector Aquarius, within the Militarized Safe Zone~


    As Zelen Athelstan lowered himself into the cockpit, he regretted very much his own earlier overzealousness at the canteen.


    Today was the last day of the Gauntlet, featuring just the one final challenge, in the form of single combat against an examiner. As was tradition, the proto-Reiters that had made it this far (of which there were only two this year) were presented with a veritable feast for breakfast.


    Three-¡®Cheese¡¯ Lasagna, Mongolian ¡®Beef¡¯, Spaghetti ¡®Bolognaise¡¯. Even ¡®fish¡¯ tacos, which were a once-in-a-lifetime rarity that would¡¯ve had the other boys mad with jealousy. Never mind that half the menu consisted of words that meant nothing to Zelen, nor that most of these dishes tasted nearly identical to each other. He wasn¡¯t about to pass up splurging on his one decent meal since he¡¯d last been on leave.


    Megha Vakta, the other proto-Reiter hoping to earn his callsign today, had tried to warn him, ¡°I¡¯d slow down if I were you, Athelstan. The Trial starts in half an hour, and you¡¯re up first.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡± Zelen had found it difficult to sound dismissive with a mouthful of synthetic pasta and meat sauce. ¡°This is the easiest part of the Gauntlet for me.¡±


    And that would¡¯ve¡ªshould¡¯ve¡ªbeen true.


    Zelen had never counted himself an effective soldier. Indeed his friend Megha had outperformed him on every stage of the Gauntlet thus far, from the written exams to the simulated Syntropy scenarios. Yet one aspect of proto-Reiter training in which he¡¯d always been head and shoulders above his peers, for reasons unclear even to himself, was 1v1 against another Eidolon.


    ¡°Besides,¡± he¡¯d said while washing down the pasta with watered down ¡®grape¡¯ juice, ¡°the examiners they send to these Trials¡­ they¡¯re all pensioners years out of combat. Even if they¡¯re active service members, they¡¯re meant to go easy on us. I could beat them with my eyes closed, you¡¯ll see.¡±


    That had been thirty minutes ago.


    Now, as Cadet Zelen Athelstan lowered himself into the cockpit of his training Eidolon, he worried that he was about to fill it with the contents of his breakfast.


    For he¡¯d just been informed of the identity of his examiner, and as luck would have it, an active pilot had found time in his busy schedule to grace this Gauntlet with his presence. Not just any pilot, but the killingest¡ªand cruelest¡ªReiter in Akropolitan history.


    In order to earn his callsign today, Zelen would have to defeat Makiri Shiranui in single combat.

 4. REITER 4

    In theory, the two combatants involved in a Trial were as evenly matched as was possible under the circumstances.


    Both rode in standardized Eidolons with near-identical specs. Both came equipped with the garden variety loadout of RA [FUSILIER], LA [MISERICORDE], RS [BOMBARDIER], and LS [SCUTUM]. Both clocked in at 10,000 Armour Units, the depletion of which was the objective of the game.


    The only real differences were between the Reiters themselves.


    Ten years Zelen¡¯s senior, Makiri Shiranui was a warrior in the prime of his career, and in peak condition both physically and mentally. In addition to Makiri¡¯s overwhelming advantage in Somatic and Psychic Reserves, there was also the vast gulf in combat experience between the two men.


    In theory, even these deficits shouldn¡¯t have been cause for too much concern. After all, no sane examiner would expect a graduating proto-Reiter to be on the same level as a ten-year veteran.


    In practice, however, Zelen was positively convinced that there was nothing sane about this examiner.


    By the grace of god, the eldest Shiranui son¡ªbest known among the Reiter Regiment by his callsign ¡®Spindrift¡¯¡ªwas too vital to the war effort to be granted much idle time on base. It meant that, in Zelen¡¯s eight years as a proto-Reiter, he¡¯d experienced just two Spindrift-led combat training sessions.


    Both occasions ended with him in the infirmary, once from severe dehydration and the other from a broken arm.


    Spindrift was mean to everyone, but he seemed to especially have it in for Zelen. Was it because he was an Athelstan? Did he just rub some people the wrong way (he could concede that this was a distinct possibility)? Or was it purely down to the cruel whims of the deadliest man in Akropolis? Whatever the case might be, just the thought of having to face Makiri in Eidolon combat was enough to send all that breakfast in Zelen¡¯s stomach into a spin cycle.


    The arena was a rough circle inside an enormous blast crater, demarcated by a series of shielded stanchions that had been installed by the Panzer Corps. The depression made for handy viewing from the raised edges, and a sizeable crowd comprising Instructors, Gauntlet drop-outs, and lower year proto-Reiters had gathered to watch the moment two promising candidates would graduate to full Reiter status.


    Or¡ªas was more likely in Zelen¡¯s case now¡ªget pummelled to oblivion before joining the ranks of drop-outs that would have to go again next year.


    That was the worst thing about this. Zelen could never quite bring himself to share the zeal for war and service that was common among¡ªand expected of¡ªTetrarch and Sehermensch youth. As such, he didn¡¯t really care about becoming a full Reiter. He did, however, desperately want to avoid repeating another year of training.


    Welp, so much for that.


    As he ambled and creaked his way into the arena, however, a funny little thing happened. He saw the full extent of his opponent now: a boxy and rather dumpy training Eidolon that was outdated by at least three generations. He saw this, and began to think he might have a chance after all.


    For as terrifying as Makiri was, he was currently hidden from view inside a decidedly unimpressive machine. Model ST-500 lacked all the power and agility of the newest Eidolons: all bulky frame, rusted joints, and lumbering limbs. Granted, Zelen was piloting the exact same model, but surely a shabby piece of kit like this couldn¡¯t leave much room for operator skill expression?


    But all too soon¡ªbefore the terrified Trialist could fully pump himself up¡ªa buzzer sounded to signal the start of the fight. And as Spindrift launched into his first move, all of Zelen¡¯s hopes for victory vanished in an instant. For he no longer saw an obsolete Eidolon creaking and lurching across the battlefield.


    Instead, what he saw was death.


    With a powerful burst that should¡¯ve been impossible from the leaky thrusters that had generated it, Spindrift closed half the distance between the combatants in what felt like the blink of an eye.


    He¡¯d already put his [FUSILIER] up, peppering Zelen¡¯s armor with a sustained barrage of bullets. At the same time, the [BOMBARDIER] on his right shoulder spat out its payload along with a fiery flash.


    Snapping himself to full alert, Zelen managed to quickslide out of the rocket¡¯s line of fire, only in the last possible moment. But Spindrift had anticipated this movement, having already re-adjusted his thrust trajectory. He lined himself up with Zelen¡¯s new location, with left arm wound back and the ghostly blue tip of [MISERICORDE] pointed squarely at his opponent¡¯s centre of mass.


    More out of panic than anything else, Zelen fumbled for and found the button to deploy [SCUTUM] from his left shoulder. The rectangular shield appeared instantaneously, covering nearly the Eidolon¡¯s full height. He then managed to angle [SCUTUM] just barely into the way of Spindrift¡¯s punch.


    [MISERICORDE] glanced off [SCUTUM] with a bright spark of blue energy. Having lost some of its momentum and deviated from its intended trajectory, its edge nevertheless connected with the exposed portion of Zelen¡¯s Eidolon.


    Inside the cockpit, Zelen felt the impact on his person: not like the stab from a dagger, but more like a heavy punch in the stomach. He wasn¡¯t sure which was worse.


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    In any case, his panic reached new heights, and he engaged the backthrust, shooting out of melee range and re-creating the distance with which the fight had started.


    As soon as he did, however, he cursed himself for the mistake.


    Just in that opening flurry, Spindrift had deployed all three of his offensive armaments in quick succession. Meaning he was on hard cooldown at the moment Zelen had dashed away.


    Meaning Zelen had missed the perfect¡ªperhaps the only¡ªchance to punish his opponent.


    Spindrift had clearly intended to finish the fight right there and then, and it was small consolation that Zelen had managed to survive the veteran Reiter¡¯s kill move. But his AU had already dropped down into the 4000s, and he¡¯d managed to trade back a grand total of zero damage from his opponent. Which likely meant that Spindrift could take a more conservative approach for the rest of the fight. It was only a matter of time before Zelen¡¯s AU whittled down to zero.


    To his surprise, however, Spindrift immediately rushed forward again, closing the distance despite his weapons still being on cooldown.


    Battle instincts now pushing back against panic, Zelen remembered to pepper his on-rushing opponent with [FUSILIER] before quicksliding out of the way. As he turned, he fired off a hopeful rocket from [BOMBARDIER], which Spindrift easily deflected with a casual¡ªalmost contemptuous¡ªflick of his own [SCUTUM].


    Spindrift then answered Zelen with some more bursts of [FUSILIER] paired with a round of [BOMBARDIER]. Zelen managed to stop the bullets with [SCUTUM] before gliding away from [BOMBARDIER]¡¯s impact point. All the while, he continued to back away from Spindrift, intent on staying out of melee range.


    As Zelen backed away, Spindrift chased. Relentless pressure. There was nothing conservative about it! Zelen quickly realized that Makiri Shiranui had no intention of letting his younger opponent breathe for even one moment.


    And that gave him the first glimpse of something that resembled a plan.


    As the two Model ST-500s traded [FUSILIER] bursts and [BOMBARDIER] rockets, Zelen continued to stay out of [MISERICORDE] range. But he took care to keep the distance just manageable enough to make Spindrift think he could close it in one move and finish the fight.


    And Spindrift kept trying, too! As incredibly scary as it was to bait the world¡¯s killingest Reiter¡¯s kill move, Zelen kept at it, settling into a kind of rhythm as he did. All the while, he consciously positioned and re-positioned himself closer and closer to the circular border of the arena, where invisible walls stood between skinny stanchions.


    Eventually, Zelen had backed up so far that his back was nearly touching the wall. Seeing this, Spindrift leaned into yet another forward thrust, [MISERICORDE] armed and lateral thrusters readied to catch Zelen, whichever way he dodged.


    But this time, Zelen didn¡¯t intend to dodge.


    As Spindrift rushed toward him with murderous intent, Zelen stuck his left shoulder and [SCUTUM] forward, hiding the bulk of his body behind the shield. Then, just as the tip of [MISERICORDE] made contact with [SCUTUM]¡¯s surface, he spun.


    With [SCUTUM] providing a protective barrier, Zelen rolled out of harm¡¯s way and along Spindrift¡¯s side, until he¡¯d rounded his opponent entirely. Spindrift¡¯s back was now fully exposed, but Zelen knew this wasn¡¯t enough. He leaned in hard with his right side, shoulder-tackling Spindrift and pinning him against the wall. The clash of armored metal rattled Zelen¡¯s teeth inside the cockpit.


    Now it was his turn to execute a kill move. At this range, a well-placed [MISERICORDE] should deplete what was left of Spindrift¡¯s AU. All he needed to do was to ensure¡ªto pray¡ªthat the veteran Reiter wouldn¡¯t wriggle out of the stranglehold in the last second.


    Zelen wound his left arm back, the ghostly blue tip of [MISERICORDE] pointed squarely at his opponent¡¯s centre of mass. But even as he drove the dagger forward, he felt Spindrift push and slide out of his grip. [MISERICORDE] made contact, but only a glancing one, with the brunt of the impact landing upon the now Spindrift-less wall and bouncing back toward Zelen himself.


    I¡¯m done for, Zelen thought. Everything had been riding on this sequence, and he¡¯d whiffed. Now he was exposed, on cooldown, and at the mercy of a mobile¡ªand very angry¡ªMakiri Shiranui.


    The buzzer sounded a second time, this time signalling the end to the fight.


    Zelen snapped to attention, looking about in a wild panic and in severe confusion.


    Before him knelt a Model ST-500, its armaments shut down. Its body was mostly intact save for a smoking gash upon its central chassis where [MISERICORDE] had penetrated its defenses. Was this an out-of-body experience? Was Zelen somehow seeing his own defeated figure?


    But no. He was still firmly inside the cockpit of his own Model ST-500. The HUD showed that a chunk of his armor still remained, at roughly 2,000 AU or so. He hadn¡¯t lost the fight, which could only mean¡ª


    With a sharp popping noise, the radio came online. The cockpit filled with an Instructor¡¯s stoic voice, almost comically matter-of-fact, ¡°This concludes the Trial between examiner Makiri Shiranui and Cadet Zelen Athelstan. Winner: Cadet Zelen Athelstan. Stand by for retrieval.¡±


    Zelen was too stunned to speak, and the radio shut off again after a few seconds of static. The HUD too went into sleep mode, throwing him into near-total darkness despite the daylight outside. As his senses were deprived, his mind continued to replay the final sequence of the fight.


    He remembered clearly the moment he¡¯d rounded Spindrift and pinned him against the wall of the arena. He remembered pulling out [MISERICORDE] to deal the finishing blow. He thought he remembered Spindrift slipping out of his grips in the last second, but then the next thing he knew, his opponent was kneeling and he himself had been declared victorious.


    Had he just imagined things? That must be it. His lack of self-belief must¡¯ve played tricks on his mind, making him see and feel things that didn¡¯t happen.


    What a silly way to win a fight! He should¡¯ve been more confident, more present. He should¡¯ve savoured the moment his dagger drove into Spindrift: the final blow that earned him his graduation.


    Earned him a victory against the greatest Reiter that ever lived!


    But as he climbed out of the cockpit with the help of the retrieval team, and made his way gingerly onto the ground, he came face to face with his erstwhile opponent, and his jubilation fled him in an instant.


    In the flesh, Makiri Shiranui was a giant wraith of a man, impossibly tall and just as thin. His gaunt elongated face was framed by charcoal hair that fell to his chest in frazzled strands. He had the look of a man who could belong only on a hospital bed or inside a battle-crazed Eidolon, and nowhere else in between.


    Zelen (and all of his classmates) had always been deathly afraid of Makiri, but the look the older man gave him now inspired something very different from fear.


    Makiri wore half a frown with one eyebrow slightly raised, as if he was considering a puzzle, but not one that demanded his undivided attention. It certainly wasn¡¯t anger, nor even consternation, but something closer to¡­ curiosity.


    As the two men passed each other, no words were exchanged. Yet instead of relief, what surged within Zelen was a kind of restlessness.


    For the erstwhile duellists were in agreement about one thing: neither could quite figure out just how Zelen had won the fight.

 5. REITER 5

    ~December 5<sup>th</sup>, 135 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Reiter Garrison~


    Compared to the absolute treat that had been breakfast, and at least in terms of the food on offer, the post-Gauntlet ¡®banquet¡¯ didn¡¯t quite live up to its name.


    Classmates, lower-years, and even uninvited guests crowded the canteen in disorderly groups, filling it with rowdy chatter. This was the one time of the year where an undisciplined party atmosphere was permitted if not encouraged, and almost all the pent-up proto-Reiters took full advantage: going in for seconds and thirds of ¡®cheeseburgers¡¯, getting drunk on decidedly non-alcoholic ¡®beer¡¯, and chatting up the girls that were visiting from the Corps.


    Almost all, with Zelen being a stolid exception.


    Normally, he would¡¯ve found an inconspicuous end of a table to blend into, but this was impossible today, what with he being one of only two successful graduates. Seated beside the much chattier Megha Vakta (whose examiner for the Trial happened to be a pensioner years out of combat), Zelen tried his best to avoid eye contact with the whole room, while chewing his synthetic beef patty as slowly as humanly possible.


    Throughout the meal, a veritable carousel of well-wishers rotated through their table, greeting Megha with warm congratulations before turning to Zelen only as an afterthought. On top of being a model proto-Reiter, the Vakta heir was also a deft socialite, able to turn up the charm on command (especially for the girls) and regale his friends and would-be friends with tailored jokes and flattery. Zelen, on the other hand, could only spare a stiff smile and a mumbled ¡®thanks¡¯ for each interaction (though his eyes too did linger on the girls for an extra second or two).


    He knew he was being excessively antisocial, even by his less-than-stellar standards. But the truth was, that duel against Makiri Shiranui had taken too much out of him.


    He could sense that both his Somatic and Psychic Reserves were running on fumes. The sheer magnitude of his fatigue from just one engagement was alarming and more than a little mystifying, though he suspected that some of it could be attributed to his sustained bewilderment about how the fight had ended. In any case, what he needed right now was a good sleep, and not the performative adulation of his peers.


    At some point, there came a lull in the constant attention, and the two new graduates finally had a moment to themselves. Megha, as always, was the first to strike up a conversation.


    ¡°Brother, what¡¯s going on with you? You¡¯ve earned your time in the spotlight, now go out there and enjoy it.¡±


    On top of being a model proto-Reiter and a deft socialite, Megha Vakta was also one of the few people in the Regiment Zelen could call a friend. Zelen knew that his friend was offering, well, friendly advice, but in his current state, he had neither the energy nor the inclination to take it on board.


    ¡°Who¡¯re you kidding? I¡¯m an Athelstan and you¡¯re a Vakta. We¡¯re always in the spotlight. How is this any different?¡±


    ¡°The difference, you idiot, is we don¡¯t have our parents watching our every move. So they can¡¯t know about, you know, which of these fine women we might invite to our barracks tonight.¡±


    Cheeks reddening, Zelen gave his companion a look, which was answered by an exaggerated wiggle of the eyebrows. If Megha weren¡¯t actually drunk, he was certainly acting like it.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous!¡± Zelen snapped, perhaps a tad more harshly than was warranted. ¡°Did you forget that we¡¯re both already engaged? You should be more careful about what you say, especially with so many people around.¡±


    Megha¡¯s snort contained a note of incredulity. The Vakta heir then put Zelen in an affectionate headlock. ¡°And you should lighten up, Reiter Athelstan. I could lend you some of my Old Earth magazines if it¡¯ll help get you in the mood.¡±


    Zelen¡¯s cheeks darkened another shade, and not from the strength of Megha¡¯s grip. He knew about his friend¡¯s magazines, of course; they were something of a legend among his classmates. But he himself had never partaken¡ªnot that he was completely devoid of curiosity¡­


    ¡°Come on,¡± Megha continued to tease, ¡°someone here must¡¯ve caught your eye. What about that Gaertner girl talking to Wong right now? Pretty sure I saw her giving you the¡ª¡±


    But Zelen was spared from speculating on the Gaertner girl¡¯s interest in him, for at that moment, the sound of a whistle pealed across the canteen.


    A collective hush came over the partygoers in an instant¡ªdiscipline unbroken despite the festive mood¡ªand all eyes turned at once to the front of the room, where the Instructors had their own table apart from the rest of the group.


    Captain Collima Duodecim, a broad-shouldered man whose uniform always appeared in danger of bursting at the seams, now stood with a glass in hand and stern eyes scanning his captive audience. The noticeable flush on his cheeks made Zelen doubt the non-alcoholic nature of the contents of his glass.


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    ¡°Another year, another batch of useless recruits not worth the shirts on your backs,¡± the burly Instructor growled then paused, allowing his students several seconds to stew in their shame and discomfort. That was the intent, anyway, but Zelen knew that most in this room had heard the same opener before¡ªmany of them more than once.


    ¡°But for at least two cadets here, your achievements this day represent a rite of passage,¡± Captain Duodecim continued, quickly taking on a canned tone that betrayed the rehearsed nature of his speech. ¡°For us at the Reiter Regiment, it¡¯s a time-honoured tradition to welcome new members into our fold by assigning them a callsign. And it¡¯s fallen to me to present one of you with yours. Vakta! Stand up!¡±


    This last bit was issued with the Instructor¡¯s trademark bark, prompting Megha to jump to his feet and stand at attention out of reflex. He did so rather clumsily, bumping against the table and knocking plates and cutlery onto the floor. A smattering of stifled laughter went up across the room, then quickly died down.


    Captain Duodecim seemed to be in an unusually forgiving mood, however, and acknowledged his student¡¯s mishap with merely a smirk. He then went on, ¡°Over the course of his proto-Reiter training, this cadet has proven himself to be both astute in the classroom and capable on the battlefield, consistently topping his class in nearly all assessment categories. Despite that, I¡¯ll be damned if I can recall a lazier sack of shit than Megha Vakta in all my years as an Instructor.¡±


    This brought out a round of laughter, now absent hesitation. The mood had shifted again, to one of polite joviality.


    ¡°He¡¯s especially famous for his penchant for disappearing without a trace right when he¡¯s up for latrine duty. You might have wings, kid, but for how good you are at hiding them, they might as well be transparent. For that, but also just because you¡¯re a pretty fucker that deserves a pretty name, we¡¯ve decided to give you the callsign: Glasswing. May the Nexus ever heed your call, Reiter Vakta.¡±


    Loud applause, cut with much whooping and cheering. Even Zelen found himself clapping along enthusiastically, more than a little touched by the brutish Instructor¡¯s sensitive words. Beside him, Megha directed an emphatic salute toward Captain Duodecim, eyes visibly moist.


    It took some time for the applause to subside, and by then another Instructor had stood up, presumably to give the next speech.


    Captain Ambrose Vasseur was a fresh-faced man who cut a much less imposing figure than his colleague beside him. A rare breed among Instructors, he was a Sehermensch who was evidently unafraid to boss around Tetrarch brats who could one day have their way with him if they wished. Indeed, he was just as tough as the other Instructors and just as unshy about doling out corporal punishments.


    He was also the Instructor Zelen personally hated the least. So, it was with no small sense of relief that he learned he¡¯d be receiving his callsign from Captain Vasseur. Their eyes met across the room, and Zelen took his cue to stand up, with a touch more grace than his friend had managed earlier.


    ¡°Cadet Zelen Athelstan is someone that needs no introduction. An average student at best, but one that set himself apart with his bravery and ingenuity on an Eidolon. Nowhere was that on clearer display than in the arena today, when he managed to outduel one of the best active Reiters among our ranks, with an extraordinary manoeuvre few others would¡¯ve thought up, let alone tried.¡±


    A pause, filled only by contemplative silence. Zelen did grow uncomfortable then, mostly because he still wasn¡¯t 100% sure that he¡¯d won the fight in question.


    ¡°We Instructors have a theory as to the source of his uncanny battle instincts.¡± From a shift in tone and a slight upcurl of the Captain¡¯s lips, it was clear that his speech had transitioned into its customary lighthearted passage. ¡°We are what we eat, and Cadet Athelstan is no exception. His love for all things seafood is well-known here in the Garrison. I¡¯m told that, even this morning, he wolfed down no less than five fish tacos immediately before stepping into the arena. Perhaps it stands to reason then, that the great Spindrift was overwhelmed by the sheer smell emitted by his young opponent.¡±


    Now the laughter rang in earnest, and Zelen found himself joining in. He knew he was the butt of the joke, but somehow the thought of it only filled him with warmth.


    ¡°But rest assured, your callsign won¡¯t be Tacos or Fishbreath, though I admit I did push pretty hard for the latter. It turns out even we Instructors aren¡¯t that cruel. No, in honour of the unique hunter¡¯s instincts that will serve you well long into your career, we give you the callsign: Kingfisher. May the Nexus ever heed your call, Reiter Athelstan.¡±


    Another round of applause, perhaps with a little less cheering than what Megha had been showered with. Zelen didn¡¯t mind. He found himself welling with entirely unexpected emotion as he duplicated his friend¡¯s salute.


    Was this what it felt to become a full Reiter?


    For eight years, Zelen had imagined this moment only as a kind of escape. Release from the tyranny of his Instructors. Liberation from the petty politicking among his peers.


    Never in eight years could he have known that it would instead be acceptance, camaraderie, promise.


    He¡¯d earned his callsign. He was now one of a select few individuals in Akropolis entrusted with the fight for humanity¡¯s survival. And that meant that these older Reiters now willingly and proudly trusted him with their lives.


    It was such a simple realization, one that he¡¯d been willfully blind to in his haste to justify his individuality¡ªto make it feel okay that he felt so different from his classmates. All he needed to feel like he belonged¡­ was simply to belong.


    As the banquet resumed, Zelen found himself recovering considerably from his exhaustion. With his newfound energy, he made a conscious effort to mingle and make himself available.


    He listened, he told a joke or two (at Megha¡¯s expense, of course), and he even had a brief and terrifying conversation with the Gaertner girl that had allegedly been giving him the come-hither eyes all evening. Nothing would come of it, of course (he was still engaged, after all), but after the terror wore off, he found he was glad for the experience.


    He was just getting into the swing of things and really starting to enjoy himself when there came a tap on the shoulder.


    It was Captain Vasseur, and he still wore his knowing smile from earlier. But his tone was all business as he said, ¡°Hate to interrupt your evening, but I need you to come with me. You too, Vakta. It¡¯s time for the Tethering.¡±

 6. REITER 6

    ~December 5<sup>th</sup>, 135 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Eidolon Hangar~


    The party was over, but the surprisingly good vibes didn¡¯t end there. After eight years of proto-Reiter training¡ªabout four of which were spent lumbering about inside a model ST-500¡ªZelen wasn¡¯t prepared for just how much he would enjoy the look and feel of a combat-grade Eidolon.


    Model ES-V was of course the brainchild of Jaeger and genius inventor Sherwin Granger, and it¡¯d been in production for only the last five years. It was everything the training model wasn¡¯t, with a streamlined frame and elegant curves that evoked speed and precision. Svelte yet muscular arms and legs¡ªabsent all the fat and inefficiencies of older Eidolon models¡ªattached to an aerodynamic central chassis that looked inviting rather than tedious.


    Up top, the sensory processing unit (or the SPU for short) had been designed to approximate the head of an ancient Spartan warrior, with a pair of optic modules that peeked out from the slits of the ¡®helmet¡¯. This wasn¡¯t for any functional reason (if anything, it was likely counterproductive), but purely an aesthetic choice meant to appeal to certain grandiose pretensions shared by men of a certain age. To Zelen¡¯s chagrin, he himself proved susceptible to the magic of such a design, which called to some ancestral zeal that had hitherto lain dormant within his blood.


    The Eidolon retained its ¡®factory appearance¡¯, which was to say none of its metallic parts had received a coat of paint. It was a time-honoured tradition for a Reiter to express himself through the decals on an Eidolon: one of the few aspects of Reiterschaft that Zelen had sincerely looked forward to. Seeing the model ES-V up close had sent his creative side into high gear, and he was already visualizing himself flying into battle inside a gleaming midnight-blue beast¡ªa phantom in a true sense of the word.


    Captain Vasseur first gave the two new graduates several minutes to stand on the catwalk in silence and gawk at their new Eidolons. Then he began a briefing that neither young man paid much attention to, not only because they were too preoccupied with their new toys, but also because it didn¡¯t cover anything they didn¡¯t already know.


    The Tethering¡ªthat official union between Reiter and the Spiegel that would support him in battle for the entire duration of his career¡ªwas the final rite of passage in a week that had been full of them. It was a formality more than anything, however, as there was no way to ¡®fail¡¯ a Tethering. The only question was which of the Spiegels on standby would pair with which Reiter, though if Zelen were being honest, he couldn¡¯t see why even that mattered much.


    For as much as the Tetrarchy tried to avoid the taboo terminology, Spiegels, in essence, were AI. Nexus-mediated and therefore crucially immune to interference by the Syntropy, certainly, but AI all the same.


    As impossible as it was to believe now, there had been a time¡ªbefore the war¡ªwhen large human civilizations relied on various AI systems and devices that assisted in everything from menial tasks to maintaining the very fabric of society. The advent of the Syntropy had changed all that, of course, but an imitation of such practices had been revived in the form of Spiegels: an ¡®AI¡¯ system that assisted Reiters in battle, worrying about the minutiae so their human partners could focus on destroying as many enemies as possible, for as long as possible.


    For reasons not clearly explained to the proto-Reiters (and not fully understood even by the top minds of Akropolis, Zelen suspected), each instance of a Spiegel required bespoke linkage with an individual Reiter in order to perform its function. And once a Reiter was Tethered to his Spiegel, they were bound for life: no taking it back to the store to find a new one.


    ¡°The Kurators in charge of the Spiegel Program always ensure to keep a few spares on standby,¡± Captain Vasseur now explained toward the tail end of his spiel, ¡°but unfortunately¡ªor maybe fortunately for the two of you¡ªthis year we had somewhat less than our usual expected number of graduates. Which means you should have your pick of the Spiegels on offer¡­ for whatever that¡¯s worth.¡±


    The Instructor¡¯s tone suggested to Zelen that they shared similar views on how unimportant it was to actually find the ¡®right¡¯ Spiegel. This seemed to be the common sentiment even among pilots on active combat duty. A particularly friendly Reiter who occasionally stopped by the canteen likely summed it up best:


    ¡°I guess it¡¯s nice to have someone to talk to when you¡¯re out there all alone. But if I¡¯m being honest, my Spiegel still gives me the creeps, even after all these years.¡±


    Who could blame them?


    After 135 years, the Syntropy War still raged on with no end in sight. 135 years since the human race was driven to near-extinction by an entity that had seized control of the AI networks of Old Earth. 135 years of fighting deadly machines that continued to replicate and evolve themselves on the back of remnant AI programming.


    It would be a wonder if anyone in the Reiter Regiment could trust a thing that was, for all intents and purposes, AI. Even if that thing spoke to them from the Nexus to guide them to victory.


    As such, a not insignificant amount of trepidation mixed with genuine excitement as Zelen Athelstan lowered himself into the cockpit of his new model ES-V.


    The machinery inside the cockpit was shiny and smooth in all the ways the ST-500 hadn¡¯t been. The Nexa-Suit proved a snug and surprisingly comfortable fit around Zelen¡ªthe ickiness of the Anamnium gel notwithstanding; he could never see himself getting used to that¡ªalmost as if it had been built with his exact physical attributes in mind. And perhaps it had, considering Zelen¡¯s decidedly average build for an Akropolitan male.


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    ¡°Alright, we¡¯ll start with you, Athelstan,¡± Captain Vasseur now spoke to him through the radio. ¡°Engaging simulation mode.¡±


    The cockpit brightened dramatically as the HUD hummed to life. The display showed the mock-up of a terrain not unlike the crater at Sector Aquarius where Zelen had his duel earlier today.


    The outer edges of the screen filled with a green bar on the left and a pale blue one on the right. These represented Armour Units and Energy Reserves respectively, though the latter had been pre-set for the purpose of the simulation (and not drawn from Zelen¡¯s own Somatic and Psychic Reserves, of which there were very little at present).


    ¡°You will conduct Training Scenario 1D, a simple extermination mission, but one that should keep you busy long enough to find the love of your life from the Nexus. You¡¯ll hear¡­ a lot of different voices, and it¡¯ll get confusing, but just concentrate on the mission, and eventually you¡¯ll just know which of the voices is actually helping and which are just background noise. That¡¯s the best way I can describe it. Any questions?¡±


    Zelen had a lot of questions, but habits ingrained from eight years of fearing corporal punishment died hard, so he defaulted to, ¡°No, sir.¡±


    ¡°Good. Let me see¡­ right, here it is. Alright, Kingfisher, stand by for Training Scenario 1D. Opening Spiegel channels now. And uh¡­ good luck, for whatever that¡¯s worth.¡±


    The radar suddenly filled with a swarm of red dots, each representing the sentry drone ¡®Hornet¡¯. The mission was as simple as Captain Vasseur had claimed; it would end once all the red dots were eliminated.


    Yet, unlike all the other times he¡¯d run Scenario 1D, Zelen wasn¡¯t alone within the Nexus.


    ¡ªevening, Kingfisher. This is Spiegel Gamma-Omicron. How may I be of¡ª


    Good morning, Kingfisher. Spiegel Pi-Epsilon at your service. We¡ª


    ¡ªdo you do, Kingfisher. You may call me Spiegel Chi-Rho. I see that¡ª


    Are you there, Kingfisher? This is Spiegel Delta-Upsilon. Please respond.


    What felt like a thousand different whispers started up at once, with several regions of these whispers coalescing into distinct voices that spoke words Zelen could begin to understand.


    Annoyingly enough, these voices spoke over each other, which worsened the mild migraine Zelen had already been nursing since the end of his earlier duel. But they didn¡¯t do so in haste, like they were fighting to be heard. Rather, it seemed as though they simply weren¡¯t aware of each other¡¯s presence.


    The same couldn¡¯t be said for Zelen, however, and his headache flared anew as he tried to parse what was being said to him, and which voice he ought to focus on. In the end, he sent out a general request, one he normally would¡¯ve inputted into the simulation on his own.


    ¡°Uh¡­ whichever one of you is least busy, give me double [GATLINGS], RS [CLUSTER LAUNCHER], and LS [SCUTUM].¡±


    ¡ªaway, Kingfisher.


    Good choice, King¡ª


    ¡ªgot it, Kingfisher. Any¡ª


    Of course, Kingfisher. ER now at 60%. And watch out: enemy units converging on your position.


    Zelen deployed [SCUTUM] as soon as it was made available, deflecting the first salvo of enemy attacks. He then kicked and thrust himself into the air.


    Here, surrounded by a swarm of Hornets, he used a combination of lateral thrusters and a twisting motion inside the Nexa-Suit to send his brand new Eidolon into a midair spin (simulated of course!). He fired from both [GATLINGS], decimating a chunk of the swarm with a whirlwind of bullets.


    More voices spoke to him from the Nexus. And had he stopped to pay attention to his own thoughts, he would¡¯ve noticed that only one of the voices still remained intelligible.


    Taking hits. AU now at 80%. [GATLINGS] on cooldown.


    Zelen quickly backthrust away a group of Hornets, shielding himself with [SCUTUM] as he did. Then he fired [CLUSTER LAUNCHER] into their midst, and watched them burn.


    50 enemy units remaining. [GATLINGS] re-armed.


    ¡°Thanks!¡± Zelen found himself exclaiming in between thrusts and spins to reposition. And if he could see himself now, he would¡¯ve marvelled at the wide grin that had spread across his face.


    30 units remain. AU at 70%. You¡¯re in good shape, Kingfisher. [CLUSTER LAUNCHER] re-armed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have visuals on all of them. Where¡¯re they hiding?¡±


    Bearing two-three-eight, near ground level. [SCUTUM] re-armed.


    Zelen angled himself toward the direction indicated and kicked hard to launch into a prolonged thrust. Even as a simulation, model ES-V moved with a fluidity that felt almost like a perfect extension of his own conscious movements.


    Leading with [SCUTUM] to protect himself from chip damage, he stuck out the right-sided [GATLING] from behind the shield to pick off the nearest threats. Then he finished things off with one more charge of [CLUSTER LAUNCHER] placed into the middle of the last group of enemies.


    All enemies eliminated. Well done, Kingfisher. This concludes Training Scenario 1D.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Zelen said again as he checked the HUD. The AU was still hovering at around 60%, and the ER had barely dipped below half-capacity. The flashing timer had stopped at 2:24, which was his fastest ever time on this scenario, and by some distance at that.


    All in all, this was far and away his most efficient run on Scenario 1D. Certainly, a large part of was down to the state-of-the-art Eidolon he now piloted, but he also couldn¡¯t discount the Spiegel¡¯s contributions.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t too shabby yourself,¡± he added. ¡°I know this is just a simulation, but I can see how having a Spiegel can make all the difference. I didn¡¯t even break a sweat!¡±


    I¡¯m glad to hear it, Kingfisher. May your battles always be so lenient on your body and mind.


    ¡°Ha! Are you worrying about my health and well-being? I have to say, I¡¯m not used to this¡­ this kindness¡­ even if it¡¯s just part of your programming. Wait, are you programmed to say things like that?¡±


    However Zelen had expected this day to turn out, it couldn¡¯t have included this. He knew he was supposed to mistrust the Spiegels, perhaps even find them creepy. But he couldn¡¯t help it. There was just something about talking to this Spiegel that came naturally to him.


    Zelen¡¯s off-the-cuff question had sent the Spiegel into her first pause in the conversation. After a beat, she answered, absent any inflection that might¡¯ve counted as emotion.


    I¡¯m programmed to act as your mirror. To reflect and manifest everything you ask of the Nexus, so you may concentrate on what you do best.


    Then, and only then did Zelen realize that the thousand whispers were long gone: crystallized into the one voice that spoke to him and him alone.


    ¡°I guess¡­ does this mean we¡¯re Tethered? I don¡¯t think I ever got your name. What should I call you?¡±


    This is your Spiegel Delta-Upsilon, and it¡¯s my honour to fly into battle by your side. May the Nexus ever heed your call, Zelen.

 7. RAPPORT 1

    ~February 3<sup>rd</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ~


    ¡°It seems that this is the first memory fragment the subject managed to re-encode. But I must say, I found your debrief with the subject to be rather¡­ lacking. Shall we go over our scripts again, Corporal, or could we expect improvement on that front?¡±


    This was typical of the way Yuito Shiranui asked questions: laying out the options but only really expecting one answer. And as was typical of the way Asena Shiranui answered to her father, she obliged his expectations.


    ¡°I know what I fell short on, sir. I¡¯ll do better.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Father¡¯s face was its usual impassive mask, but Asena thought she could imagine genuine consideration in the pause that followed. He went on, ¡°All in all, I¡¯m pleased with the day¡¯s progress. Guiding the subject toward his Tethering was an astute decision on your part, and it gives us that much-needed foundation to build upon. I can foresee the rest of the sessions going more smoothly from here on out.¡±


    Father¡¯s compliments, rare as they were, nevertheless washed over Asena in her distracted state. After that gruelling [EVOCATION] session, what she wanted to hear wasn¡¯t how well she¡¯d done, but rather how she could stop feeling so miserable about what she¡¯d just experienced.


    ¡°Sir, if I may¡­¡±


    ¡°You may. What do you require clarification on?¡±


    Not how can I help or what¡¯s on your mind; just¡­ what clarifications did she require on mission-critical issues? Asena barely managed to hide a sigh as she asked, ¡°Where is the subject being kept? In between our sessions, I mean.¡±


    Another pause, but a noticeably more pointed one at that.


    ¡°This is relevant to the mission how?¡±


    ¡°I only thought¡ª¡± Under her father¡¯s impassive gaze, Asena nearly dropped the query. But she pressed on, believing it to be as mission-critical as it was personally vexing. ¡°I only thought it could better frame my approach. In the latest session, I detected a certain¡­ emotional isolation in the subject, at least at the time depicted in the memory fragment. I wonder if that¡¯s at least partly what drove his unusual attachment to Si¡ªhis Spiegel. I also wonder if positive social interactions within his natural environment could promote¡ª¡±


    ¡°You wish to see the subject?¡±


    Asena blushed despite herself. The idea felt ludicrous as soon as it¡¯d been voiced. But was it really more ludicrous than the reality that she could count on one hand the number of occasions she¡¯d actually talked to her fianc¨¦ face-to-face? By this time tomorrow, she would¡¯ve spent more time pretending to be Lieutenant Athelstan¡¯s Spiegel than simply being in his presence.


    She cleared her throat, and the flush on her cheeks dissipated somewhat. She said, ¡°I think it may be of value, at least on my end. You yourself have taught us that the first step to any good Kuratorial work is building rapport. I feel as though I barely know the subject, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Are you saying my handover wasn¡¯t sufficient?¡±


    The flush returned in record time. Interruptions, putting words in her mouth¡ªshe should¡¯ve been used to it by now, but the simple fact was it still bothered her enough to keep her off-balance.


    ¡°Not at all, sir. I merely meant that I¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know what you meant, Corporal, but I cannot allow it. At least not yet.¡±


    Asena let the answer deflate her some more, despite having expected nothing else. And though she didn¡¯t require an explanation, her father offered one anyway.


    ¡°The subject is communicative for now, but still in a volatile state. Outside stimulus may offer the benefits you suggest, but it also comes with the risk of backfiring, such that we might entirely lose the thread to recovery. Remember, we still don¡¯t know what brought on his Psychic collapse in the first place, and that¡¯s part of what you¡¯re trying to find out through [EVOCATION].¡±


    Asena nodded wordlessly, unable to fully hide her disappointment. Her latest session with Lieutenant Athelstan had above all left her wanting one of two things: either to never dive into her subject¡¯s mind ever again, or to equip herself with the know-how to help him once she was there. Since the former wasn¡¯t really an option, she was desperate to feel like she was doing something¡ªanything¡ªin service of the latter.


    ¡°Stay the course, Corporal Shiranui,¡± her supervisor went on, allowing just a drop of fatherly concern to paint his voice. ¡°You are helping the subject in ways only you can, and in doing so, you¡¯re helping to secure the future of our civilization. Rest assured that, in between your sessions, Lieutenant Athelstan is looked after with the utmost consideration toward his health and comfort. All you need to worry about is helping him remember who he is.¡±


    Asena nodded again, though not with any more conviction. Seeing this, Yuito suddenly stood from his desk and leaned forward. He reached with a gloved hand and placed it upon his daughter¡¯s shoulder, with a stiffness to his motion that only made her tense anew.


    ¡°It occurs to me that perhaps you yourself might benefit from outside stimulus. I grant you day leave, Corporal. Go home.¡± Even in playing the caring father, Yuito Shiranui couldn¡¯t help but express himself through commands. ¡°Say hi to your mother. Enjoy a home-cooked meal. Come back tomorrow refreshed and ready to go again.¡±


    Stolen story; please report.


    ~February 3<sup>rd</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Upper Akra, Shiranui Estate~


    The skies above the shielded dome of Akropolis¡ªovercast as always¡ªreflected Asena¡¯s mood.


    Presently, she trudged her way onto a front garden that was her father¡¯s undisputed pride and joy. At first glance, it was a rather minimalist affair compared to the lush landscapes and imitation flowers that adorned the other Tetrarch estates. For Yuito Shiranui had painstakingly modelled his garden after the Zen aesthetics and sensibilities passed down from the family¡¯s Old Earth ancestors.


    This was yet another topic where father and daughter didn¡¯t see eye to eye, but she could at least respect him for having an opinion about art at all. Few Akropolitans, not even the most image-conscious Tetrarchs, bothered with this aspect of Old Earth culture. And though they might¡¯ve differed in their specific tastes, Asena and her father at least shared a kindred interest in the arts.


    In her more charitable moods, she might¡¯ve studied the latest arrangement of rocks or stopped for a chat with a servant that tended to the gravel yards. Today, however, she quickened her pace and kept her eyes firmly upon the stone blocks that formed a winding path toward the house proper.


    In stark contrast to the front garden¡¯s Zen, the house itself was a rusted fortress of scant artistic value. A holdover from the early days of the Syntropy War, it was a disorientingly haphazard collection of concrete blocks and metal plates, made even more hideous by extensions that had been added on the whims of Shiranui patriarchs through the ages.


    Yuito made no secret of his lifelong ambition to give his house a complete makeover (starting with demolishing the extensions, of course). Yet lives and careers, especially wartime ones, had a way of getting in the way of dreams, which meant the Shiranui house remained as much an eyesore today as the day Yuito had inherited it.


    Indoors, no effort had been spared to wash away the bad taste left by the exteriors. Tamamo, Asena¡¯s mother, had combated the general dearth of windows by lining the walls with Nexus-powered lamps that glowed a warm orange. A gaudy amalgam of these lamps also hung in the foyer as an imitation chandelier, which made the Shiranui house one of the brightest locations in all of Akropolis.


    Asena had often wondered¡ªthen decided against investigating¡ªjust how much of the family¡¯s tribute income went toward the upkeep of their indoor lighting, not to mention the sheer man-hours required of the Jaegers that serviced the property.


    Despite Yuito¡¯s orders to say hi to her mother, Asena made a beeline for the solarium at the back of the house.


    Her father, perhaps in a nod to their shared artistic sensibilities, had gifted the solarium for Asena¡¯s exclusive use. Against her mother¡¯s protests, Asena had stripped the room of all Nexa-Lamps, leaving it at the mercy of natural lighting (such as it was). It was the studio where she kept all her paintings, and also the refuge she retreated to in her less charitable moods.


    As such, it caused her no small amount of consternation to discover that the door to the solarium was ajar, and someone was already inside.


    ¡°Oh, hello,¡± a tall young man about Asena¡¯s height, dressed in a collarless button-up shirt reserved for casual visits, greeted her with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. He clearly hadn¡¯t expected her to show up, and expressed as much, ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind me¡ªahem¡ªyour mother said you were still on duty.¡±


    ¡°Hello, Bannan,¡± Asena said stiffly, channelling her inner Yuito to mask her annoyance. ¡°What are you doing here? Were you looking for something?¡±


    First, Bannan Athelstan¡¯s blush deepened at Asena¡¯s interrogation, but then he had the audacity to flash a wink and a smile. In her more charitable moods, Asena might¡¯ve softened at that, as she could imagine many a girl her age would¡¯ve done. Presently, however, she set her face in stone and waited for a response.


    ¡°Erm, not looking for, but just looking,¡± Bannan stammered as his smile quickly turned sheepish. ¡°You know I¡¯m fond of your paintings, Asena. This isn¡¯t the first time I¡¯ve come around just to have a look. And what good timing, now that you¡¯re here!¡±


    Asena couldn¡¯t help but narrow her eyes slightly. Inwardly, she cursed this open door policy shared by the Tetrarch families. And she denounced the gall of this Athelstan heir to claim interests in her paintings when he¡¯d never had a single thoughtful thing to say about them. More likely, he¡¯d come calling in the hopes of running into her, and in her absence had to concoct an excuse for his visit.


    Yet Asena was struck by a thought even more distressing than her annoyance at Bannan. For his presence here reminded her of her subject¡¯s predicament. While Bannan Athelstan idled away his days with ill-guided attempts at courting his brother¡¯s fianc¨¦e, said brother was trapped in a prison of his own mind¡ªhis reward for years of sacrifice for his people.


    Of course, Bannan hadn¡¯t been born a Seher, which by no choice of his had precluded him from military service. But should that permit him to enjoy the boons of his family name while partaking in none of the responsibilities¡ªall with callous disregard toward his own brother?


    And yet, this wasn¡¯t the only thing she¡¯d been reminded of. Bannan¡¯s presence also made her think of her own older brother¡ªand the abject terror he¡¯d inspired in the erstwhile Cadet Athelstan. That had been only five years ago. Was Makiri Shiranui, who¡¯d been a role model to Asena all her life, really the cruel tyrant depicted in her subject¡¯s memories?


    Since the moment Asena had begun to get to know her fianc¨¦, the veneer upon the world she once knew started to show its cracks. Her father wasn¡¯t the man she thought she knew. Neither was her eldest brother. And there was more to this war that raged beyond the dome over Akropolis than she¡¯d ever been taught.


    Right now, however, she was sure about only one thing: she had neither the time nor the patience to deal with Bannan Athelstan and his conniving ways.


    ¡°I appreciate your interest in my work, Bannan,¡± she said, stiffer than ever, as she pushed past her unwanted guest and into the solarium. ¡°But I¡¯ve just been given day leave, with strict orders to rest up before resuming my work. So, if you¡¯d be so kind as to reschedule your visit¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your mother misses you, you know. Says she rarely ever sees you these days.¡± Bannan didn¡¯t budge. If anything, his smile appeared to gain in confidence. ¡°What¡¯s been keeping you so busy?¡±


    What was with Tetrarch men and their obsession with interrupting her speech? Doing her utmost to quell her temper, she said, ¡°You know I can¡¯t tell you that. It¡¯s classified.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my brother, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Asena froze and turned an apprehensive frown toward Bannan, whose smile widened at her reaction.


    ¡°Where did you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Come on, Asena, I might not be a Seher but that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m blind,¡± Bannan chided her, then continued in an exaggerated whisper, ¡°I haven¡¯t heard from Zelen in weeks, not since that explosion at the Reiter Garrison that everyone''s been so hush-hush about. Now the most promising young Kurator on base gets pulled into a top-secret mission. It doesn¡¯t take a genius to put two and two together.¡±


    ¡°You need to stop talking about this!¡± Asena hissed, though her now obvious displeasure did nothing to dent her companion¡¯s glee. She was just about ready to resort to physical means, when Bannan¡¯s next words gave her pause.


    ¡°I knew something like this would happen, you know. No one believed me, but I always knew that Zelen was a ticking time bomb.¡±

 8. RAPPORT 2

    Despite her distaste for him, Asena quickly realized Bannan¡¯s usefulness in the moment. If she couldn¡¯t build direct rapport with her subject, perhaps the next best thing would be to interview his sibling. She asked, ¡°And why would you say that about your brother?¡±


    Bannan grinned, infuriatingly smug. ¡°Are you sure we should be talking about this, Corporal Shiranui? I thought the nature of your work was classified.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t said anything about my work,¡± Asena countered, inwardly impressed with her own calmness. ¡°I¡¯m merely asking why you would call your own brother a ¡®ticking time bomb¡¯. It¡¯s just a strange thing to say about your own family, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s just the thing.¡± Bannan¡¯s smugness quickly curdled into something closer to contempt, the intensity of which startled Asena, but not as much as his next words, ¡°I¡¯d hesitate to even call him family.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Asena demanded with a frown. ¡°Just because he was adopted from a Sehermensch bloodline? That¡¯s hardly a reason to¡ª¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just a lie my father cooked up to pretty things up. But I know the truth. Zelen isn¡¯t an Athelstan. He isn¡¯t even Sehermensch. He¡¯s Essential.¡±


    Even among the Tetrarch elites, the obvious disgust with which Bannan spat the word ¡®Essential¡¯ would¡¯ve been considered gauche. It took Asena a moment or two to process this revelation, as it had at once launched several disparate trains of thought.


    First was the confirmation of her long-held belief that Bannan Athelstan was as foolish as he was vacuous. Even if it were true that Zelen was of Essential origin, their father clearly had good reason to hide that fact about his adoptive son. Bannan was lucky that Asena wasn¡¯t someone who¡¯d use this knowledge toward nefarious ends. But something told her she wasn¡¯t the first person he¡¯d blabbed to, and if that were the case, well, god help him.


    Second was to wonder whether her own father had been complicit in the lie. The marriage between her and Zelen Athelstan had been arranged since she was eight, even before she¡¯d laid eyes on the boy two years her senior. The doubt did arise whether Yuito would¡¯ve agreed to the arrangement with full knowledge of his future son-in-law¡¯s lowly origin. The same doubt also filled Asena with a shameful anger she¡¯d not been prepared for, though she couldn¡¯t quite say exactly whom she was angry at.


    Third¡ªand most pertinent to her mission¡ªwas the question of why Zelen had been pulled into the Athelstan family despite being an Essential. It went without saying that the Ascension Standard would¡¯ve shown him to be a proto-Reiter, which by convention would¡¯ve elevated him to the status of Sehermensch and nothing more. To go from Essential to the vaunted scion of a prominent Tetrarch family was quite literally unheard of, unless¡ª


    Unless he¡¯d shown to be something more than a typical proto-Reiter. Unless Zelen Athelstan possessed an Einkunst.


    With a start, Asena recalled the strangest sequence within the memory fragment she¡¯d [EVOKED] earlier today. In her distracted state, she¡¯d somehow forgotten about it until now (and had neglected to mention it in her verbal report to Yuito).


    Zelen had Makiri pinned against the arena wall. Makiri managed to slip out in the last second. And yet, the next moment, the fight was over, with Makiri apparently defeated.


    ¡°Asena?¡±


    Her mind floated back into the solarium and onto the unpleasant reality of Bannan¡¯s company. There might be more she could extract from this vindictive older brother, but now her desire to be left alone with her thoughts trumped her curiosity.


    ¡°I really must insist on ending this visit early, Bannan,¡± she said without meeting his gaze. ¡°It¡¯s time I concentrated on the main purpose of my day leave.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like you to be so uncharitable,¡± Bannan mocked as he took a step closer. ¡°I shared my secret, didn¡¯t I? I rather expected you might share something of yours in return¡­¡±


    By way of a response, Asena unholstered her standard issue handgun and placed it on the workbench beside her. A needless gesture, but one that quickly got its point across; Bannan checked his advance.


    ¡°Really, Asena, I just wanted to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t force me to do something rash. I don¡¯t care what happens to you, but I don¡¯t wish to cause your mother undue grief.¡±


    There was no possibility of her actually using the gun, but the threat of physical violence was real enough. Even if it weren¡¯t, Bannan wouldn¡¯t have the mettle to test it. A non-combat personnel Asena might be, but she still wore the Joint Forces uniform, which meant she knew an ample variety of ways to hurt an untrained civilian.


    Eventually, Bannan spun on his heels and strode to the exit, though not before spitting out one last retort, ¡°Mark my words, Asena Shiranui. There will come a day when you¡¯ll regret choosing my brother over me. History will be on my side, you¡¯ll see. The way he trampled on the sacrifices of his fellow Reiters¡­ it¡¯s a wonder he hasn¡¯t been court-martialled already!¡±


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    What do you know of sacrifice? It took all of Asena¡¯s self-discipline not to shout back. Muscles tense, she kept her eyes pointed to the handgun on the workbench and didn¡¯t relax until her guest¡¯s stomping footsteps faded into the distance. Then she slumped into a chair and buried her face in her hands.


    Despite her utter disdain for Bannan, she couldn¡¯t stop herself from ruminating on their latest encounter. Had she gone too far? Been too direct with her threats? And what was that nonsense about her having chosen Zelen over his brother? If she¡¯d ever had any choice in the matter, that was certainly news to her.


    The overcast sky above Akropolis began to dim, and what meagre light filtered into the solarium dwindled with it. Asena shut the door and quickly changed into the tattered hand-me-downs she wore for painting. She¡¯d come here for her alone time, and she wasn¡¯t about to let worries over Bannan Athelstan of all people rob her of what little remained of the natural light.


    Asena set up a fresh canvas and painted, with an almost angry determination. She didn¡¯t stop until two hours later when it¡¯d become too dark to continue.


    She¡¯d started with no clear idea of what she wanted to paint, and it remained an early work-in-progress two hours later. But as she changed back into her uniform, her eyes lingered on the patterns that had begun to emerge.


    The blotch of black-on-grey in the foreground was a handgun resting upon a table. And in the far background was a lone amorphous figure, whose only discernible feature was a pair of eyes that trained on the handgun. Asena didn¡¯t know who this figure was, nor the thoughts that hid behind their eyes. Perhaps she wouldn¡¯t know until the painting was finished.


    ~February 4<sup>th</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ~


    ¡°How was your sleep, Zelen?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­ good. I guess? I don¡¯t feel exhausted, but also not particularly well-rested. Which to me sounds like a normal sleep.¡±


    ¡°Did you dream of anything?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I think so?¡±


    ¡°What did you dream about?¡±


    A pause. Asena thought she could hear the subject¡¯s mind churning, but the Nexus remained silent.


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember. I just know you were there.¡±


    ¡°How do you know I was there if you don¡¯t even remember what your dream was about?¡±


    ¡°I know you were there, because I felt safe in my dream.¡±


    The answer briefly shocked Asena into speechlessness, before she forced herself to recover. She had plenty of time later to let her heart break for her subject, but right now, she needed to be his Spiegel.


    ¡°Did you also feel safe whenever you flew into battle?¡± She chose her words carefully. ¡°Because I was there?¡±


    In the end, Zelen¡¯s unexpected comment had provided a rational segue into the very thread Asena wanted to pull. After an evening spent in contemplation, she¡¯d set herself a personal goal for today¡¯s session: try to determine if her subject had an Einkunst.


    Her first instinct had been to simply ask her father. By bedtime, however, she¡¯d talked herself out of that idea for two reasons, neither of which sat particularly well with her.


    First was the very real possibility that Yuito Shiranui already knew Zelen to be an Einkunster, and had kept that fact from her deliberately. Even during this morning¡¯s briefing, when Asena had tested the waters by bringing up the confusion surrounding the outcome of Zelen¡¯s and Makiri¡¯s duel, Yuito had quickly brushed it off, claiming that it was an expected artifact in recollection. She didn¡¯t know her father to be someone who would leave stones unturned, and his instant dismissal of her query only lent credence to her suspicions.


    Second was the implication of what it would mean if her suspicions actually turned up anything of substance. From the start, this whole mission had an unprecedented air of secrecy and urgency, especially by Kuratorial standards. There was something that made Zelen Athelstan uniquely valuable to the Joint Forces and Akropolis as a whole, placing him far above any other Reiter who might¡¯ve been decommissioned before their time. Something that couldn''t be fully explained by his impressive but not quite extraordinary kill count.


    At least a part of that would make sense if he really was an Einkunster, though it still wouldn¡¯t explain the secrecy. After all, having an Einkunst¡ªa unique ability that went above and beyond what was normally expected of Sehers¡ªwas something to be revered and celebrated: a fact Asena herself still struggled to come to terms with. What was it about Zelen¡¯s Einkunst that had the JF brass pulling out all the stops to revive it, while keeping mum on what it actually was?


    Whatever the case might be, Asena knew that she was prying into something that wasn¡¯t meant for her eyes and ears. It¡¯d never been in her nature, nor was it her intention now to rock the boat, but she couldn¡¯t deny herself her sheer curiosity. And the safest way to satisfy this curiosity was to keep it to herself.


    Of course, all this could just be in her head. Perhaps she¡¯d worked herself up over nothing. Be that as it might, she still wanted to know. Didn¡¯t she deserve to know? After all, this was her future husband they were dealing with!


    So, it was with an undercurrent of nervous excitement that she directed the conversation toward battle: that arena where Reiters among all Sehers ruled supreme, where their unique ability¡ªif they had one¡ªwould shine brightest. And in a testament to his unquestioning trust in whom he thought was his Spiegel, Zelen obliged.


    ¡°I¡¯d be lying if I said I wasn¡¯t scared of fighting. You know that, Silon. But it¡¯s also true that, with you by my side, I could overcome my fears. That I felt like I could take on anything.¡±


    ¡°Do you remember a particularly scary battle you had to overcome?¡± Hit by a sudden inspiration, Asena spoke a bit too quickly and had to check herself as she went on, ¡°Perhaps back when our partnership was still in its infancy, and I hadn¡¯t fully won your trust.¡±


    Zelen chuckled briefly, then asked, ¡°What¡¯s the big idea, Silon? Is this a test of our relationship? Are you trying to get me to say something bad about you?¡±


    Something about the tenderness in her subject¡¯s voice stung, waking in Asena an emotion she didn¡¯t wish to give name to. She forced herself to ignore it and focus on the mission.


    ¡°I¡¯m just trying to help you, Zelen, as always. And I need you to try and remember.¡±


    There came a lengthy silence over the radio, during which the subject strained and laboured to cooperate with his Spiegel. Asena knew this, because it came with a stirring in the Nexus, and wispy threads of Kingfisher¡¯s memories appeared in her mind¡¯s eye.


    She pulled on one of them as she prompted, ¡°Yes, that¡¯s a good one. Tell me about our first mission together.¡±

 9. RAPPORT 3

    ~January 12<sup>th</sup>, 136 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Reiter Garrison~


    As it turned out, the first mission briefing of Zelen Athelstan¡¯s career was not the austere affair he¡¯d pictured in his mind.


    Seven Reiters¡ªincluding him¡ªhad been called into the meeting, along with the Corpsmen who would provide support in the lead-up to the mission. Most of the gathered Reiters were significantly more senior than him, ones he¡¯d seen very little of even after a month and change as a newly commissioned officer.


    The men and women from the Corps¡ªan assortment of Gaertners, Jaegers, Panzers, and even one Kurator¡ªdid sit quietly at the back of the room, postures rigid and notebooks at the ready. By contrast, the senior Reiters were considerably more individualistic in their disposition.


    Major Makiri Shiranui, callsign ¡®Spindrift¡¯, sat in a corner apart from everyone else, ostensibly absorbed in a crumbling paperback in his hand. Another Reiter (still dressed in his PT gear!) had pushed a chair against a wall and was in the midst of a vigorous set of tricep dips. Then there was the trio that chatted loudly in a loose circle, quite indifferent to the fact that the entire room was within earshot.


    One of the trio had his feet up on a desk and was regaling his companions with tales of his latest escapades in the red-light district (in excruciating detail at that). Zelen¡¯s ears turned red, as he shuddered to imagine how the women in the room must be feeling. It did occur to him belatedly that perhaps they were the intended audience.


    In strange company such as these, he would¡¯ve normally taken refuge in the presence of his friend Megha Vakta. But the traitor was presently entrenched among the chatty trio, and no wonder, given that the storyteller was none other than his own brother, Major Ghata Vakta. And Zelen could see now where Megha had gotten some of his personality from.


    Luckily, there was someone else in the room he could feel comfortable around, which was something he never would¡¯ve believed just a month ago.


    Captain Ambrose Vasseur, the erstwhile Instructor that had overseen the last few years of Zelen¡¯s proto-Reiter training, had since been reinstated to combat duty, and this was to be his first mission since his return. The man Zelen had once looked to with not much more than fear and resentment now acknowledged him with a wry smile and an eyeroll. Zelen managed a weak smile in response.


    They were no longer Instructor and Cadet, but rather comrades in arms, and that simple change had been enough to break down the barrier between them. Zelen allowed himself to hope that, over time, he would learn to see these other Reiters the same way. He might even join in on their banter one day, but that day was decidedly not today.


    Presently, the door to the briefing room swung open, and in marched a squat middle-aged man whose shoulders bore the crossed sabres of the Colonel rank. As he stopped and turned at the middle of the room, his chest, despite his bolt upright posture, barely cleared the podium he stood behind.


    Zelen knew this man to be Colonel Augustus Zhao, retired from active combat but still heavily involved in the goings on around the Reiter Garrison. Following what he assumed to be protocol, he jumped to his feet and saluted¡­ and was mortified to find that he¡¯d been the only one to do so.


    Makiri Shiranui didn¡¯t even look up from his private reading material. Ghata Vakta did cut himself off mid-tale but hadn¡¯t bothered to take his feet off the desk. Even the Corpsmen, as polite and attentive as they were, remained seated.


    Zelen quickly sat back down and avoided meeting anyone¡¯s gaze. And after a few fraught seconds where the only audible sound was the slightly elevated breathing of the triceps-dipper, Colonel Zhao cleared his throat.


    ¡°Right, let us begin then,¡± he drawled, clearly uninterested in addressing the utter lack of respect paid him by any Reiter in the room not named Zelen Athelstan. This wasn¡¯t so strange, Zelen quickly reflected. The Colonel might¡¯ve outranked everyone here, but Zhao wasn¡¯t one of four surnames that superseded every norm and custom in Akropolis.


    ¡°The main objective of Operation Spearhead is to secure Korak Valley in the heart of Sector Gemini.¡± Colonel Zhao switched on the overhead projector, which showed a tactical map of the sector in question. ¡°As you should all be aware, Korak Valley is the site of an abandoned FOB¡ªForward Operating Base, for those of you who might need a refresher¡ªcurrently overrun by Syntropy forces that have since constructed a communications relay as well as a drone factory. The General has deemed it opportune to rectify that situation, and take back what is rightfully ours.¡±


    The General of course referred to General Fenix Duodecim, uncle of Instructor Collima and the current Joint Forces chief-of-staff.


    Zelen had seen him around base on several occasions, but the only time they¡¯d actually spoken had been more than eight years ago, at Zelen¡¯s first social function as an Athelstan child. Though the man wasn¡¯t as physically imposing as his nephew, he nevertheless exuded a menacing aura about him that always made Zelen¡¯s blood run cold in his presence. As such, he was unabashedly glad that it wasn¡¯t the General giving this briefing.


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    ¡°The mission will involve three strike teams¡ªAlpha, Bravo, Charlie¡ªand progress through three corresponding phases,¡± Colonel Zhao continued, and rolled the projector onto a new sheet that showed three locations marked out in red ink. ¡°First up is Bravo Team, led by Major Ghata Vakta with the support of Captain Otaga Shiranui. Your job is to disable the communications relay in order to prevent the enemy from calling in reinforcements.¡±


    Otaga Shiranui was the one in the PT gear, who¡¯d finished with the tricep dips but still tapped his feet incessantly, as though he just couldn¡¯t stay still. A younger brother of Makiri¡¯s, he was far from as accomplished a Reiter but¡ªjudging from his behaviour¡ªjust as eccentric.


    ¡°Next, a second team will move in and destroy the main generator, which should soften up the defenses on the drone factory. This will be conducted by Charlie Team, led by Captain Ambrose Vasseur and supported by Lieutenant Zelen Athelstan.¡±


    Zelen found himself sharing a look with Captain Vasseur, who then gave him a small smile and a nod, one he failed to return in kind. Here inside a cramped meeting room on base, he still felt far away from the realities of battle. Yet hearing his name called out as part of a mission briefing had sent his stomach churning and ears ringing: a sensation that no friendly smile from a senior officer could settle.


    The rest of the briefing went by in a kind of blur. All Zelen really heard was that Megha had been selected as part of Alpha Team: a trio of Reiters to be led by Major Makiri Shiranui in disabling the drone factory and securing the main objective.


    Colonel Zhao eventually led the group in zeroing their watches, then left the room. Amidst a scramble of feet and chairs, Zelen managed to meet Megha¡¯s eyes, and found his friend¡¯s pale and stricken face to be a mirror of his own. Megha quickly broke off his gaze, however, before forcing another laugh at something his brother said.


    Seeing this, Zelen¡¯s own apprehensions threatened to reach a new depth. Then he felt a clap on his back, and turned to find the earnest look on his former Instructor and now team leader for their first mission together.


    ¡°You thought you were badass piloting the ES-V in simulation?¡± Captain Vasseur said with palpable enthusiasm. ¡°It¡¯s nothing compared to how you¡¯ll feel when you¡¯re in the real thick of it. Chin up and work up an appetite, greenhorn. We¡¯re about to genocide us some Syntropy.¡±


    ~January 13<sup>th</sup>, 136 AH~


    ~Sector Gemini, at the edge of Korak Valley~


    ¡°This is Spindrift, calling all team leaders. Radio check, over.¡±


    ¡°This is Tripod. Loud and clear, over.¡±


    ¡°Amphibian here. All good, over.¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. Operation Spearhead is a go. Tripod, begin assault on the communications relay. Report once objective is secured. Amphibian, stand by for now. Spindrift out.¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. Moving in on Objective Bravo. Tripod out.¡±


    The radar on Zelen¡¯s HUD showed two blue dots glide away from the rest of the group and off-screen. Major Vakta and Captain Shiranui had begun their phase of the mission, which meant Zelen himself would be called into action at any moment now.


    The churning in his stomach accelerated, almost painfully. He swallowed hard, and frantically reminded himself that he had no less than five senior Reiters to rely upon, one of whom was partnered with him. Just follow Captain Vasseur¡¯s lead, and I¡¯ll be fine.


    Then the radio crackled to life again, far sooner than he¡¯d expected, ¡°This is Tripod. Encountering heavy enemy resistance. Request backup, over.¡±


    ¡°This is Spindrift. Acknowledged. Sending Handles to Objective Bravo. Keep us updated, over.¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. Tripod out.¡±


    Another blue dot moved away from the radar, and Zelen felt relief that it wasn¡¯t Megha that had been sent to reinforce Bravo Team. It wasn¡¯t the most logical thought, given he had no idea if Megha would be any safer staying with Alpha Team, but regardless, his nervousness about combat extended to his friend.


    The relief was short-lived, however, and quickly replaced by worsening dread. Just minutes into the first phase, Operation Spearhead had already encountered its first snag. Logical or not, he couldn¡¯t help but see this as an ill omen for his own phase of the mission.


    Are you nervous, Kingfisher?


    Startled, Zelen nearly moved his head to look for the voice¡¯s source, before remembering he was already wrapped up inside his Nexa-Suit. In his agitation, he¡¯d somehow forgotten about the open channel to his Spiegel. Indeed, he was still trying to get used to the fact that he had one.


    ¡°Are you asking because you expect me to be nervous?¡± He managed in a surprisingly even voice. ¡°Or can you actually tell that I am?¡±


    I¡¯m your Spiegel, Kingfisher. It¡¯s my job to be attuned to your Nexus-bound signals. But I won¡¯t mention it again, if you prefer me not to.


    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t mean it like that. And I¡¯m sorry if I came off rude,¡± Zelen said hastily, forgetting his anxieties for a second to marvel at his own politeness toward a Spiegel. ¡°To answer your question¡­ Affirmative. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever been more nervous in my life.¡±


    A slight pause, which gave the illusion that Delta-Upsilon was taking time to compose her feedback.


    I¡¯m told this is a perfectly normal response to one¡¯s first combat situation. If it helps any, based on available intelligence reports and the nature of your mission, I¡¯ve estimated your chance of survival to be 78%.


    In other words, there¡¯s a 22% chance I¡¯ll just die out here.


    ¡°Thanks, that does make me feel better,¡± Zelen lied through gritted teeth.


    There was another pause, and this somehow felt more genuine than the previous one.


    I¡¯m sorry, Kingfisher. I sense that I¡¯ve offended you somehow. I only wished to help put your mind at ease.


    ¡°No, please don¡¯t feel bad on my account.¡± Zelen found himself trying to soften his tone, as though he cared about the feelings of an AI entity. Perhaps he was as strange as everyone in Akropolis seemed to think he was. ¡°And you know what, this probably did help a bit. At least it¡¯s distracted me while I¡¯m waiting.¡±


    I¡¯m glad, Kingfisher. And remember, you¡¯re not in this alone. I¡¯m always at your side, ready to assist however I can.


    It was Zelen¡¯s turn to take a moment to gather his thoughts. He found himself welling with an entirely new emotion, one that felt utterly at odds with his predicament and yet simultaneously the realest thing he¡¯d felt since the night of his Tethering.


    ¡°Thanks. I¡ª¡±


    ¡°This is Tripod, reporting to all units. Objective Bravo is secured. Repeat, Objective Bravo is secured. All teams clear to proceed, over.¡±


    ¡°This is Spindrift. Acknowledged. Bravo Team, stand by and await further instructions. Charlie Team, you¡¯re up.¡±

 10. RAPPORT 4

    ~January 13<sup>th</sup>, 136 AH~


    ~Sector Gemini, Korak Valley~


    Multiple groups of Hornets approaching. They¡¯re fanning out to flank your position, Kingfisher.


    ¡°You see that, Kingfisher? We need to split up. I¡¯ll take right, you go left. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll keep my eyes on you.¡±


    Before his first simulation exercises as a full Reiter, Zelen had imagined listening to two voices at once to be an impossible ordeal. In practice, however, he could pay ample attention to Amphibian on the radio while also registering everything Delta-Upsilon said. The communications from his Spiegel weren¡¯t strictly auditory in nature, but were more like signals that had been packaged and channelled directly into his consciousness.


    So, he readily understood the reasoning behind Amphibian¡¯s move away from his side, and hastened to follow suit. As he thrust into the air above the southern bend in Korak Valley, the swarm of red dots on his radar manifested as Syntropy machines in his field of view.


    He¡¯d come equipped with [CLUSTER LAUNCHERS] on both shoulders for this exact scenario. He fired them off in a staggered sequence, letting the first cluster clear one patch of Hornets before aiming the second into an adjoining section.


    This managed to clear out a large chunk of the wall of machines that had formed upon the sky. Zelen¡¯s instincts then told him to turn the [GATLING] in his right arm onto the rest of the wall.


    Are you sure that¡¯s the optimal course of action, Kingfisher? Remember, this isn¡¯t an extermination mission.


    Delta-Upsilon was right, of course. Charlie Team¡¯s objective was to destroy the generator that lay somewhere behind this wall of Hornets.


    Zelen kicked, aiming his forward thrust into the gap, before the surrounding Hornets had a chance to close it. Bullets rained on him from all directions as he flew, but he spun in midair by sequentially activating a series of thrusters, allowing him to keep the damages to a minimum. He then burst through the gap and into open air.


    AU at 80%, ER at 65. Objective 800 metres ahead, Kingfisher. Bearing zero-four-zero.


    Zelen reflexively nodded his thanks, though he wasn¡¯t sure if Delta-Upsilon could ¡®sense¡¯ his doing so. He was quickly learning to become rather dependent on his Spiegel¡ªwhich he didn¡¯t particularly mind.


    A blue dot reappeared on his radar, indicating that Amphibian too had broken through.


    ¡°Good work, Kingfisher,¡± Captain Vasseur¡¯s voice rumbled through the radio. ¡°It looked for a moment like you might be slowing, but you got there in the end.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, si¡ªAmphibian.¡± Another thing Zelen had to get used to was addressing his former Instructor by his callsign. ¡°To be fair, I needed a little prodding from my¡ª¡±


    Watch out, Kingfisher! You¡¯re within range of enemy fire.


    Right on cue, several larger red dots appeared on the radar. Their locations corresponded to a hill that rose toward the plateau where the generator was situated.


    Stationary cannon DF-12, designation ¡®Iaculum¡¯. Six of them by my count, Kingfisher, two more than was indicated by intel.


    One thing Zelen had learned in proto-Reiter school: such was the speed and unpredictability of the Syntropic production line that the tactical situation on the ground could evolve dramatically within hours. Case in point: the six Iacula that currently lined the path of Charlie Team¡¯s approach.


    The barrels of the cannons swivelled freely, tracking the flight of the nearest Eidolon. Then the three closest to Zelen fired, all but simultaneously.


    Zelen engaged lateral thrusters to dodge the first, then the second, before sustaining a direct hit from the third. It had come in too close, and there simply hadn¡¯t been enough time to react. Inside the Nexa-Suit, he steeled himself against the impact, which felt like a hard shove to one side of his body.


    AU down to 60%. Be careful!


    ¡°Kingfisher!¡± Captain Vasseur¡¯s voice came through again, having taken on a distinct note of urgency. ¡°Take evasive manoeuvres until you¡¯re within range of the leftmost Iaculum. I¡¯ll lead and draw enemy fire. Then you go in and take all the glory, just like we practiced.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure, Amphibian? There¡¯re more of them than we anticipated!¡±


    ¡°Two things, greenhorn. Never question a direct order. And never underestimate me again!¡±


    Zelen didn¡¯t need telling twice. He swerved to avoid another volley of cannonballs and kept flying in the same direction, taking himself out of range of the Iacula¡¯s tracking systems. Eventually, all six enemy units began to concentrate fire on Amphibian.


    ¡°Delta-Upsilon! You¡¯ll let me know if Amphibian¡¯s in trouble?¡±


    I will, Kingfisher. Focus on your task.


    Zelen nodded his thanks again. By now, he¡¯d started to circle around and re-approach the leftmost Iaculum, but he flew low to the ground, minimizing the angles where he¡¯d be exposed to enemy fire. It also meant he momentarily lost his own visual on the enemy unit, but as a full Reiter, he was no longer fighting alone.


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    Now, Kingfisher. [BLUNDERBUSS] in range.


    Zelen popped back up into the air and squared himself toward the Iaculum. The barrel of the cannon swivelled again, twisting in a wide arc to capture Zelen¡¯s newest position, but he already had his own armament pointed onto the enemy¡¯s weak spot: the joint mechanism that connected the barrel to its base.


    LA [BLUNDERBUSS] fired, brightening Zelen¡¯s world with its expansive muzzle flash. At nearly the same instance, the Iaculum broke apart at its joint and erupted in flames.


    Such was the advantage of [BLUNDERBUSS], a short-range weapon with high spread and low accuracy, but one that packed a devastating punch when it did land. It would¡¯ve been nigh on impossible for Zelen to get close enough to one Iaculum unscathed, let alone six. He¡¯d have to thank Captain Vasseur again when he got the chance¡­


    One down, five to go. Amphibian is holding firm.


    Indeed, as Zelen dipped low again to approach his second target, he caught a glimpse of Amphibian flying above and ahead of him, weaving and dancing through the air to confuse the enemy¡¯s tracking systems. He seemed to be up to the task, to be sure, but even an experienced Reiter like Captain Vasseur couldn¡¯t survive the barrage for long. Zelen needed to be accurate and fast.


    And he came through with reasonable aplomb. Two Iacula down. Then three, then four.


    If Zelen could stop and take stock of himself then, he would¡¯ve realized that all his fears had dissipated. There simply wasn¡¯t any room for them, given that his entire being¡ªbody, mind, and his connection to the Nexus¡ªfocused on nothing but the task, nothing but the next enemy to take down, to make the sky safer for his friend and mentor.


    With only two Iacula remaining, Amphibian broke formation and flew headlong toward the rightmost unit, but not before shouting into the radio, ¡°You know what to do, Kingfisher!¡±


    Zelen did, and he showed no hesitation as he destroyed his fifth Iaculum on the day.


    Five Iacula down. And Amphibian has just taken down the sixth. Well done, Kingfisher. I¡¯d say only the objective remains, but¡ª


    ¡°How is Amphibian? Did he take hits?¡± In his concern for his team leader, Zelen interrupted his Spiegel.


    He did, but he¡¯s still in fighting shape. Give me one moment¡­ Yes, Amphibian¡¯s AU is at 35%.


    Delta-Upsilon had reported all this matter-of-factly, but Zelen took the news with a twinge of guilt. 35% was cutting it rather close. If only he¡¯d been quicker, more efficient¡­


    But as Amphibian reconvened with Zelen and spoke into the radio, he showed no signs of his wear and tear, ¡°That was clean, Kingfisher. Makes me think I might¡¯ve done alright as your Instructor.¡±


    ¡°But I could¡¯ve done better! Maybe then you wouldn¡¯t have had to take so many hits.¡±


    There was a pause, which made Zelen wonder if Amphibian was upset with him. But when the team leader came back onto the radio, it sounded as though he had just finished chuckling, ¡°I don¡¯t remember you being this eager when you were a proto-Reiter! Could¡¯ve made my job easier back then too, you know.¡±


    Zelen fell silent, now wondering about the same thing. He had been a rather indifferent student, concerned only with getting through the training program so he could see the back of his Instructors. Yet it seemed that something in him had shifted the moment he became at least partially responsible for the fate of humanity, the same way his bond with one of said Instructors had deepened.


    ¡°Never mind that, Kingfisher. Leave it for the debrief when we get back to base. We¡¯ve broken through enemy defenses, but our mates are still waiting for us to deal with that generator.¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged, Amphibian. Following on your six.¡±


    By now, the generator had already come into view. Unlike most Syntropy creations¡ªwith their distinct morphologies and numerous moving parts¡ªthe generator was disturbingly inscrutable in appearance: a giant obsidian cylinder that was half-buried in dirt, its surfaces so sleek and smooth as to provide no visual hints of its function.


    The Reiters, however, knew that this cylinder generated the bulk of the shields around the drone factory. With it disabled¡ªand before the Syntropy could source backup power¡ªAlpha Team would have a window of opportunity to move in and secure the main objective.


    As he followed Amphibian toward the generator, Zelen suddenly remembered his earlier interaction with his Spiegel.


    ¡°Delta-Upsilon? I think you were trying to tell me something before I cut you off?¡±


    Yes, Kingfisher. I merely wanted to point out that we¡¯ve already had several deviations from the tactical situation as outlined by intel. As such, I¡¯d advise caution as you approach the generator.


    ¡°Noted,¡± Zelen said with another nod no one saw, ¡°but if there are other defensive units, they would¡¯ve shown up on the radar, right? Looks to me like we¡¯re in the clear.¡±


    I tend to agree, Kingfisher, and please feel free to dismiss my concerns at your discretion. I only hoped that you¡¯d remain vigilant.


    Zelen pondered these words as he flew, marvelling once again at how his own heart opened more and more toward this rather thoughtful AI that spoke to him through the Nexus. Every Reiter he¡¯d gotten to know seemed in agreement that Spiegels were mere tools: useful, yes, but something to be kept at an arm¡¯s length and never fully trusted. Surely, no Reiter had ever grown fond of his Spiegel, as Zelen felt himself in danger of doing now.


    Snap out of it! He chided himself. I can¡¯t be that different from everyone else!


    Presently, Amphibian had begun his descent onto ground level, and Zelen quickly followed. The two of them now flew in direct alignment with the cylinder that was the generator, and Amphibian raised his right arm to activate his [GATLING].


    Suddenly, the ground beside the generator exploded, and not from either Eidolon¡¯s attack.


    The crumbling earth spat out a shadow of metal and malice, which then shot toward Amphibian at impossible speed.


    Before Zelen could react, the gunfire from Amphibian¡¯s [GATLING] was swallowed up by the shadow, before the entire Eidolon streaked across the air, with the shadow tightly wrapped around its frame. With an impact that sent more rocks and dirt flying, Amphibian crashed into the nearest hillside, where his entire metallic body cratered into the earth.


    Only then, with the momentary pause in movement, could Zelen visualize the threat. The shadow wasn¡¯t a shadow at all; it was unmistakably Syntropy, yet unlike any machine he¡¯d ever seen, real or simulated.


    The unidentifiable Syntropy had a roughly circular central chassis, from which no less than eight spindly and multi-jointed limbs grew in a radial pattern. Several of these limbs wrapped themselves around Amphibian and held him in place, while two others rose high into the air. The ends of these free limbs morphed into something jagged and murderous, before they both came down on the captured Eidolon with force.


    ¡°NO!¡±


    Zelen screamed. He didn¡¯t understand what he was seeing, only that it was the worst thing imaginable.


    A small explosion erupted where the Syntropy¡¯s sharpened limbs made contact with Amphibian, then the Eidolon went limp. Black smoke rose from the central chassis that housed its Reiter.


    Amphibian¡¯s AU has been depleted. A familiar voice, infuriatingly calm, streamed from the Nexus and penetrated the blankness that filled Zelen¡¯s mind. The pilot¡¯s vital signals have terminated. Amphibian is dead, Kingfisher. How will you proceed?

 11. RAPPORT 5

    Zelen¡¯s world was a dissonant and insensate haze.


    The enemy unit doesn¡¯t match anything in my knowledge bank, Kingfisher. Try to be ready for anything.


    Zelen didn¡¯t react. Didn¡¯t register. Didn¡¯t hear. All four of his armaments, and indeed all four of his Eidolon¡¯s limbs remained inert as the apparition of malicious intent before him spun and scuttled on its too many appendages, before the glint of its singular optic trained upon its new prey.


    The unidentified enemy unit is now targeting you, Kingfisher. How will you proceed? Kingfisher?


    Still Zelen didn¡¯t move. Couldn¡¯t? Wouldn¡¯t? It made no difference as the too many limbs suddenly straightened all at once, launching the entire machine toward Zelen at the same impossible speed with which it had snared Amphibian.


    And just as Zelen had witnessed his mentor¡¯s death, he saw his own as plain as day: delivered at the ends of shadowy limbs that stretched and morphed into something jagged and murderous.


    Death. Finality. The end.


    Zelen saw, felt, understood, and remembered cold blades plunging into his and his Eidolon¡¯s core.


    Yet in the next instant, he found himself in open air, lateral thrusters active and whole frame freed from the shadow of death that had passed him by. The Syntropy¡¯s two frontmost limbs buried themselves into the patch of earth where Zelen had stood just a second ago. It quickly ripped up the earth and spun onto him again, its red optic gleaming with a hunger that was incongruous with the rest of its synthetic body.


    Perhaps the optimal course of action is to retreat and regroup, Kingfisher. Or, at the very least¡ª


    But Zelen was stuck inside his own paralyzed mind: a tunnel of fear and the inevitable. His vision and indeed his entire consciousness was transfixed upon the synthetic reaper, too afraid to leave it out of his sight. For the only thing more terrifying than death was the idea that it could come for him with his back turned.


    The reaper sprang again, limbs outstretched, and an iteration of Zelen¡¯s body and mind once more felt the cold finality of his enemy¡¯s blades. But the Zelen that remained on the battlefield had again quickthrust out of the way, this time spraying the space before him with [GATLING].


    The bullets missed, or if they¡¯d hit, the reaper showed no signs of it, as its body swivelled and its limbs scuttled, ever in alignment with Zelen¡¯s position. Indefatigable, unrelenting, ruthless¡ªit rushed toward him again, dodging his aimless [CLUSTER LAUNCHERS] with jerky movements that defied everything he knew about how things of this world ought to move.


    The reaper jumped, optic fixed upon its prey and limbs spread in a radial pattern like a grotesque facsimile of the sun that hid behind the planet¡¯s haze. This shadowy sun threatened to wrap Zelen in its embrace, just like it had Amphibian moments ago, and once again, death crossed and fused with the young Reiter¡¯s being.


    Caught between two minds, Zelen failed to activate thrusters in time. The only thing he could think to do was bring his left arm in front in a protective gesture, as he pulled the trigger on [BLUNDERBUSS].


    The muzzle flash clashed against the reaper¡¯s shadow, and the accompanying impact produced a metallic keening that deafened Zelen even inside his Nexa-Suit. Multiple blades scraped against the Eidolon¡¯s frame, though with force attenuated as the main body bounced away from the point of contact. The reaper tore up more dirt and rocks as it skidded away from Zelen, but it flipped itself upright almost immediately, apparently no worse for wear.


    AU at 40%, Kingfisher. Please hold on.


    The heat of battle had clarified enough of Zelen¡¯s mind that he managed to take in his Spiegel¡¯s words, though not everything about them made sense. Hold on? Hold on for what?


    The reaper gave him no time to ponder, as it resumed its jerky scuttling. It didn¡¯t immediately jump toward Zelen, however, having required only one data point to readjust its strategy. Instead, it circled its prey at dizzying speed, forcing the Reiter to strain and twist incessantly within his Nexa-Suit, just to keep his Eidolon¡¯s SPU pointed onto their immediate threat.


    Even as he spun and danced awkwardly, Zelen kept up a barrage of [GATLING] and [CLUSTER LAUNCHERS], hoping, praying that something would stick and end this nightmare. Against an unknown enemy, all his training had gone out the window. There was no rhythm, no rotation, nor technique to his fighting, as he simply deployed any and all of his armaments as soon as they came off cooldown.


    None of them hit, and the reaper continued its shadowy dance unperturbed, occasionally jerking into a feint that made Zelen grip his left-sided trigger with a hand taut with fear and trembling with fatigue.


    Energy Reserves down to 25%, Kingfisher. Please hold on. Just a little longer.


    There it was again. Hold on. A little longer. What was he meant to wait for?


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The more pertinent part of that message was the fact his ER was dwindling at an alarming rate. It was no surprise, given how liberal he¡¯d been with his armament deployments, not to mention the tremendous strain he was under, both Somatically and Psychically.


    The fight would be over soon, whether he liked it or not. Either he found a way to take down the reaper, or he¡¯d run out of options to stay alive.


    The thought of it almost came as a relief, so profoundly distressed was he by the ordeal. Maybe dying wasn¡¯t so bad, if it could once and for all release him from this nightmare¡­


    As if sensing the crack in its prey¡¯s resolve, the reaper made its move, limbs extending to launch it into a dive, hard and low to the ground.


    Relying on the one data point he himself had managed to gather, Zelen hastily raised his left arm and pulled the trigger on [BLUNDERBUSS].


    It missed. Or rather, the reaper had jerked out of the way, evidently having anticipated Zelen¡¯s response. There was no clash of muzzle flash on shadows, and no metallic keening.


    Instead, there was only the black sun that threatened to swallow Reiter and Eidolon whole.


    Death.


    That was when the black sun took on an entirely new light, as it burst into flames.


    Zelen watched, frozen, as the reaper scurried away, its too many limbs flailing and fanning itself as orange flames spread across its entire body. It no longer had Zelen in its sights, now caught in its own fight for survival.


    Next came the rattle of gunfire as another Eidolon swept into the picture. This phantom¡¯s frame was a field of rusted crimson cut with dark segmented spirals that evoked the coils of a centipede¡ªSpindrift.


    Spindrift now descended upon the unidentified Syntropy, absent hesitation nor wasted movement. He chased the scurrying machine with leading bursts of RA [FUSILIER], before scorching it anew with a fresh charge of LA [FLAMMENWERFER].


    But even the great Spindrift couldn¡¯t defy the mechanical limitations of human engineering. He thrust and chased, but the Syntropy scurried ever faster, away and out of range from its pursuer¡¯s attacks.


    Suddenly, the erstwhile reaper jumped into the air and folded its chassis and limbs neatly into a compact spike-like shape. The sharp end of this spike pointed toward the ground beneath. Watching this, it took a dazed Zelen only an instant to realize what the Syntropy was about to do. It¡¯s trying to burrow underground again and reset its ambush!


    But the machine¡¯s plans met interference in the form of a third Eidolon. The newcomer dove down from the sky and pierced the enemy¡¯s chassis with the three-pronged end of his LA [GUNGNIR].


    The blades of [GUNGNIR] pinned the Syntropy against the ground. Its too many limbs spread and rose one last time, before shrivelling and falling limply to its sides.


    Enemy unit eliminated. The kill has been awarded to Glasswing.


    Zelen blinked, still in disbelief of what he¡¯d witnessed. Then something exploded in the background, and his vision swivelled to capture the moment where the generator the Syntropy had been protecting also went up in flames. Beside its burning remains now stood Spindrift.


    Objective Charlie destroyed. Well done, Kingfisher. Your job here is done.


    But¡­ what did he do? All he did was run around like a headless chicken until help arrived. All he did was stand and watch as his friend and mentor died at the hands of the enemy.


    And somehow, somewhere or somewhen during the fighting, Zelen himself had died¡­ He didn¡¯t know how, or why he could still be standing now if that had been the case, but the memories of his death felt as real as the fear that still gripped his heart.


    Oblivious or indifferent to Zelen¡¯s inner turmoil, Spindrift¡¯s cool voice broke through the radio, carrying no signs of his earlier struggle, ¡°This is Spindrift. Encountered a delay and slight change of plans, but Objective Charlie has been destroyed. Alpha Team now moving in on the main objective. Tripod, join the assault. Glasswing, with me. Spindrift out.¡±


    ¡°This is Tripod. Acknowledged. Joining the assault on the main objective. Tripod out.¡±


    As Spindrift¡¯s crimson frame flew away from the scene, as quickly as it had entered it, Zelen numbly reflected that he himself hadn¡¯t been included in the orders. He intuited that there¡¯d been no need. It was clear for anyone to see that he was in no shape to continue with the mission, and he doubted he could summon the will to fight even if he¡¯d been ordered to.


    A beep inside the cockpit indicated that someone was contacting Zelen through a private channel. He accepted, not stopping to wonder who it might be.


    ¡°Athelstan?¡± Megha spoke in a somewhat shaky voice. ¡°How¡­ how¡¯re you holding up?¡±


    Zelen looked across the smoky battlefield, hoping to find his friend¡¯s gaze. Instead, all he saw was the frame of an Eidolon. It was teal in colour, with shoddy paintwork that did evoke something of the Megha he knew, but it contained none of the Vakta boy¡¯s warmth and humour.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Zelen answered hoarsely, surprised by the dryness of his mouth and throat. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m alright.¡±


    ¡°Listen, man. About Captain Vasseur¡­ It wasn¡¯t your fault. There was nothing¡ªoh shit, I gotta go! We¡¯ll talk later on base!¡±


    The private channel cut off abruptly, and Zelen watched the metallic giant that carried his friend fly off and leave behind a contrail of smoke and ghostly blue energy.


    Zelen knew that he was wrapped inside the same killing machine¡ªhumanity¡¯s only defense against a faceless enemy that had hounded them for 140 years¡ªbut as he stood frozen amongst a charred wreckage, he could only feel himself to be naked and alone.


    Then the thought struck him that somewhere amidst this wreckage lay the remains of Amphi¡ªof Ambrose Vasseur, still encased within his own metallic prison.


    And this thought was enough to sap away the last of Zelen¡¯s strength. Knees weak, he bucked and sank inside his Nexa-Suit, and his Eidolon sought to mimic this by kneeling on the ground.


    Kingfisher?


    A voice penetrated his mind with its constant clarity, and Zelen was reminded that, for better or for worse, inside this metallic prison, he was never totally alone. He fought back his tears and forced himself back to reality.


    Kingfisher, enemy drone units are approaching. Might I suggest you retreat to a safer position to wait out the completion of the mission?


    ¡°It was you, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    How do you mean, Kingfisher?


    ¡°You called in reinforcements. Something I should¡¯ve done right away, but didn¡¯t¡­ because I completely lost my shit back there.¡±


    I only did what I deemed was necessary to assist you, Kingfisher.


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± Zelen¡¯s voice trickled out in a hoarse whisper. ¡°Yeah, that was a good call. I owe you one. Not that¡­ not that I have any way to repay you, I guess.¡±


    Think nothing of it, Kingfisher. But I say again, drone units converging on your position. Shall we retreat? So we might live to fight another day?


    With a shuddering sigh, Zelen blew out the last of the air he¡¯d been holding in since the moment death had exploded out of unseen shadows. Then he whispered, ¡°Yeah¡­ let¡¯s do that.¡±

 12. RAPPORT 6

    ~January 14<sup>th</sup>, 136 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Reiter Garrison~


    As it turned out, the first mission debrief of Zelen Athelstan¡¯s career was exactly the sombre affair he¡¯d pictured in his mind.


    For one thing, there were far fewer attendees than had been at the start. None of the Corpsmen were here, busy as they were setting up an FOB at the newly secured location in Korak Valley. And of the seven Reiters that had sat in on the briefing, only five still remained.


    The Vakta brothers, along with Captain Eero Leino, callsign ¡®Handles¡¯, formed the same trio they had at the briefing, though none of them spoke a word as they waited. Zelen sat¡ªor rather slouched¡ªseveral rows behind them, all by his lonesome, without a Captain Vasseur with whom to share furtive eyerolls. The other absentee was the PT-geared triceps-dipper, Captain Otaga Shiranui, who¡¯d been a casualty during the assault on the main objective.


    The only one among them that appeared unaffected by the mission was Major Makiri Shiranui, who sat in the same corner of the room, with the same crumbling paperback in hand.


    Zelen couldn¡¯t discern Spindrift¡¯s countenance: eyes tilted onto his book and obscured by locks of hair that fell past his shoulders. But he just couldn¡¯t imagine that anyone¡ªeven one as mean and battle-tested as Makiri Shiranui¡ªcould be so nonchalant, hours after his own brother had died. It only seemed to confirm his suspicions that there were more than a few screws loose inside the mind of the killingest Reiter in history.


    Or did he have it the other way around?


    Not for the first time, Zelen wondered if he was the one with the problem. Was he the one with the loose screws? For having taken Captain Vasseur¡¯s death as hard as he had? For having succumbed to debilitating panic out on the battlefield?


    Perhaps, in order to be the Reiter all of Akropolis expected him to be, he needed to be as callous as Makiri Shiranui.


    The door swung open, and in marched the squat figure of Colonel Zhao. The Reiters in the room barely reacted, and even Zelen¡ªfar from saluting the man¡ªneglected to straighten himself in his seat.


    ¡°Right, let us begin then,¡± Colonel Zhao drawled, with the hint of a sigh behind his voice. The older man did look more exhausted than two days past, with fresh bags under his eyes that spoke to sleepless nights. Zelen acknowledged this, but found that he couldn¡¯t muster any sympathy.


    ¡°First, a message from the General. He congratulates the group on another successful mission. The FOB in Korak Valley will go a long way toward stabilizing our campaigns in the Eastern Quadrant. All of your contributions are noted and appreciated, and your respective families can expect substantial tribute bonuses to come through in the coming days.¡±


    The group remained silent and largely motionless, but Zelen couldn¡¯t help but sit up just a little straighter.


    Tribute bonuses. In the emotional whirlwind of the last 48 hours, he¡¯d forgotten that missions as a Reiter came with monetary compensation for associated families. This would be Zelen¡¯s first contribution to the Athelstan coffers¡ªhis first real opportunity to repay the faith his father had shown him eight years ago.


    But even as he tried to imagine Gerech Athelstan¡¯s nod¡ªor perhaps even a smile¡ªof approval, his mind¡¯s eye filled instead with the sight of a broken Eidolon: limp within an enemy¡¯s shadowy embrace, with black smoke rising from its central chassis¡­


    He shuddered and swallowed back a wave of nausea. Surely, General Duodecim had more to say about the mission than the money rewarded to the surviving Reiters. What of the ones who didn¡¯t survive? What of Captain Vasseur?


    And yet¡ª


    ¡°Now, onto the performance parameters,¡± Colonel Zhao said as he turned on the overhead projector.


    Up on the screen appeared the names of all seven Reiters that had participated in the mission, along with a heading that read: KILL COUNT.


    Here, finally, the room stirred into activity. The trio in front of Zelen all shifted in their seats and exchanged looks. Even Makiri looked up from his book for just long enough to steal a glance at the screen.


    Zelen didn¡¯t share in the enthusiasm of his fellow attendees, but he perused the information anyway, mostly out of a morbid sense of curiosity.


    SPINDRIFT | 77


    TRIPOD | 48


    HANDLES | 33


    MISTBREAK | 28


    GLASSWING | 26


    KINGFISHER | 19


    AMPHIBIAN | 12


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    As the rest of the room broke into a lively debate, only Makiri and Zelen stayed quiet. Makiri¡¯s reasons for reticence were scrutable only to himself, but in Zelen¡¯s case, he simply didn¡¯t trust himself to speak.


    For if he¡¯d tried, the first words out of his mouth would be lamentations about Amphibian¡¯s position on the list. The only reason Captain Vasseur had the lowest kill count¡ªeven lower than Zelen¡ªwas because he¡¯d drawn enemy fire so his junior could finish off the Iacula.


    And¡­ because he¡¯d died halfway through the mission.


    Zelen never understood the Akropolitan obsession with Reiter kill counts, and his stance hadn¡¯t changed after one full mission. What did it matter if someone had killed 77 or 12 Syntropy? Two men had given their lives to serve the last bastion of humanity, and yet, the significance of their last moments on Earth had been reduced to numbers on a projector screen.


    The lowly position of Captain Vasseur¡¯s callsign, along with the meagre number beside it, felt to Zelen like a grave insult. Simmering with an unfamiliar anger, he barely registered the words that flew across the room as his fellow survivors argued about objectives and phases during the mission that had been most favourable toward racking up performance parameters.


    Eventually¡ªthankfully¡ªColonel Zhao moved onto other matters, ¡°As you all know, we encountered an unidentified enemy unit during this mission.¡±


    Hearing this, Zelen¡¯s stomach lurched anew. He swallowed again and forced himself to look at the projector screen, where a new sheet now listed characteristics and tactical considerations pertaining to the eight-legged monster that had claimed Captain Vasseur¡¯s life. For the second time this meeting, Zelen confronted the sterilized and codified version of the horrors he¡¯d experienced on the battlefield.


    ¡°Based on advance reports from Major Shiranui,¡± Colonel Zhao continued, ¡°this unit is now registered as terranean mobile weapon JS-06, designation ¡®Voras¡¯. The relevant data has been forwarded to the Spiegel network, but I recommend that each of you review this information yourselves and commit it to memory.¡±


    On this count, at least, Zelen and the Colonel could see eye to eye. He had no intention of ever repeating yesterday¡¯s humiliation. The next time he and Voras met on the battlefield, the reaper¡¯s name would be Kingfisher.


    The next time¡­ The thought of a ¡®next time¡¯ nearly brought on a third wave of nausea, before Zelen firmly bit down on his trepidations.


    And that was when the whole room fell silent. For at that moment, Makiri Shiranui put down his paperback and raised a long sinewy arm¡ªlike a giant caricature of a proto-Reiter cadet asking to go to the bathroom.


    ¡°Ye¡ªyes, Shiranui?¡± Colonel Zhao stammered, clearly taken aback. ¡°What¡¯s on your mind?¡±


    ¡°This Voras now marks the third time in as many missions that I¡¯ve personally encountered an unidentified enemy unit.¡± The way Makiri spoke mirrored his piloting prowess: quick and efficient. ¡°The Syntropy is always evolving, yes, but we can¡¯t ignore a distinct recent uptick in their production and tactical diversity. Our intels have never been perfect, but these days, they¡¯re almost always wrong. It doesn¡¯t change what I do, but I¡¯m curious about the General¡¯s thoughts on this trend and his plans for addressing it.¡±


    ¡°Right¡­ erm¡­¡± Colonel Zhao stalled, clearly unprepared. ¡°The General¡­ is aware of this, erm, trend, of course, and there¡¯re active discussions about it at the highest levels. In fact¡­ yes, the General himself will be calling an assembly in the¡­ in the coming days, to address this very issue. Does that¡ª?¡±


    The older man looked uncertainly toward Makiri, who in turn picked up his book and went back to reading.


    As Zelen watched this exchange intently, he was overcome with the strange sensation that pieces were falling into place upon an invisible puzzle. He intuited¡ªthough not with any degree of precision¡ªthat a second conversation had taken place simultaneously as the one that had been verbalized. Makiri hadn¡¯t gotten the answer he¡¯d asked for, but he¡¯d achieved what he¡¯d set out to do, all the same.


    Despite their history, Zelen found himself manifesting a newfound admiration for the killingest Reiter. And as he eyed the back of Makiri¡ªface hidden behind long locks of hair¡ªhe thought that perhaps there was more than one way to mourn a brother.


    And as it turned out, the debrief didn¡¯t end without acknowledging the dead after all, for Colonel Zhao¡¯s last words before he dismissed the group were:


    ¡°One last thing. The memorial services for Captains Otaga Shiranui and Ambrose Vasseur will be held in the Horsemen¡¯s Square at 0900 tomorrow morning. They¡¯re open to the public, but full dress uniform is expected of all military personnel. All cadets and commissioned officers of the Reiter Regiment have been granted half-day leave¡­ so, I expect all of you to attend.¡±


    ~January 15<sup>th</sup>, 136 AH~


    ~Middle Akra, the Horsemen¡¯s Square~


    Despite its location in Middle Akra¡ªthat confluence of newly elevated Sehermenschen and Essentials that had come into some status via commercial or social means¡ªthe Horsemen¡¯s Square was home to some of the most impressive sights in all of Akropolis.


    Four giant stone statues¡ªa rarity in Akropolis where nearly every public installation was made of long-rusted metal¡ªcut imposing figures at each corner of the square, joined by rows of synthetic greenery dotted with imitation white lilies.


    The statues, of course, depicted the Four Horsemen of the Resistance: Ernst Athelstan, Apollo Duodecim, Nayuta Vakta, and Mutobi Shiranui. They were the original Sehers that had saved humanity from total extinction, before going on to form the four pillars of the Tetrarchy.


    One of Zelen¡¯s earliest memories was being dragged to the statue of his great-great-great-great-grandfather, as his father Gerech solemnly¡ªif somewhat awkwardly¡ªimpressed upon him the weight of history he must shoulder as a bearer of the Athelstan name. As a young child fresh off his Ascension Standard, he¡¯d looked up with bright eyes at this stern-looking pilot that stood upon the open cockpit of a first-generation Eidolon. He remembered turning those same bright eyes toward a father he barely knew, and making a promise that his ten-year-old self barely understood.


    He''d returned to the Horsemen¡¯s Square on plenty of occasions since then, and each time, more of that light had faded from his eyes. This place that was meant for sending off Akropolis¡¯s departed had ironically become a meeting place of sorts for young Zelen, convenient for reuniting with family members he¡¯d barely gotten to know over eight years. For these memorial services for prominent soldiers were some of the few times during a year where a proto-Reiter would be allowed out of the garrison.


    Even today¡ªdecked out in the charcoal grey of a Reiter dress uniform¡ªZelen had come to the square, not with his family, but with his regiment. And the man that stood beside him at the foot of Ernst Athelstan¡¯s statue was not his father, but his comrade-in-arms Megha Vakta.


    As members of the public streamed into the square with heads bowed and conversations kept to a respectful minimum, Zelen found his eyes and mind wandering, until an elbow in the ribs snapped him back to reality.


    ¡°What?¡± He turned to Megha, slightly annoyed.


    ¡°Look.¡± Megha kept his arms folded behind his back but pointed into the crowd with his chin. ¡°That¡¯s her, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Zelen frowned and followed his friend¡¯s gaze, until he saw something that made his heart skip a beat. He¡¯d forgotten all about it, but of course, the Athelstans weren¡¯t the only people he could run into at the Horseman¡¯s Square¡ªespecially given the profile of one of the soldiers being honoured today.


    There, dressed in mourning black and standing with the tallest people in the entire square, was the weeping figure of Asena Shiranui¡ªanother in a long list of ¡®family¡¯ Zelen barely knew.

 13. REMEMBRANCE 1

    The last time Zelen had seen his fianc¨¦e was just over a year ago.


    At the end of another gruelling year of proto-Reiter training, he and his entire class had been granted a glorious one whole week of leave. Even that one week had been planned out for him beforehand, consisting mostly of awkward visits with other Tetrarch families or accompanying his father to council meetings that nearly drained his Psychic Reserves through sheer boredom.


    Perhaps the least unpleasant part of that week had been a function held at the Shiranui Estate. It¡¯d been advertised as an exhibit of paintings by the Shiranui clan¡¯s youngest daughter, but when Zelen had gotten there, he sensed right away that most of the attendees weren¡¯t there for the art.


    He¡¯d had to navigate clusters of well-dressed people chatting with drinks in hand (and tear himself away from the buffet table), before he reached an open section of the estate¡¯s gardens where the paintings were on display.


    15-year-old Asena had stood there next to the largest painting, alone save for a servant at her side. She was dressed in a flowy dress that sagged and dangled from her stringy frame, and had a faraway look to her that immediately reminded Zelen something of himself.


    That faraway look snapped into one of mortification the moment their eyes met, and she bowed deeply before stammering something deprecating about her own artwork.


    And that had been the first moment Zelen thought he¡¯d learned something of this young woman he was meant to marry someday. Although, looking back on it now, perhaps he¡¯d only projected his own loneliness onto her.


    They chatted for a bit about her artwork, with special attention lavished on the centrepiece. It was an expressionist piece (her words, not his) that depicted a duck and a butterfly frolicking upon a pond (all Old Earth concepts he wasn¡¯t much familiar with). He couldn¡¯t recall what he¡¯d said to her, but he remembered trying to be as encouraging as possible. She did look a little cheerier after their chat, so perhaps he hadn¡¯t completely botched his chance to impress his fianc¨¦e.


    That had been a year ago. And the girl that just arrived at her brother¡¯s funeral had undergone a startling transformation.


    The first thing that drew Zelen¡¯s attention (along with a slight rise in his temperature) was that she¡¯d put some meat on her lanky frame, made evident by the contours upon her black dress that wouldn¡¯t have been present a year ago. Zelen tried to rationalize his own rising heat as purely happiness to see that his fianc¨¦e was in good health.


    The second and frankly far more impressive change was to her demeanour. Despite her youth and fresh tears, she looked attentive and present, performing her duties as a Shiranui with obvious aplomb. She was quick to respond to every condoler and member of the public with smiles, hugs, handshakes, and whatever else was called for. Gone completely was the awkward girl who¡¯d stood beside a painting no one was interested in, replaced by a Tetrarch woman who knew and lived up to what was expected of her.


    Watching this version of Asena, Zelen was reminded, not of himself, but of Megha Vakta: a deft socialite who seemed to know exactly what to say and when to say it. Where a year ago he¡¯d seen in Asena a kindred spirit, today he saw the stranger who would be his wife one day¡ªpoised to raise yet another Tetrarch family he¡¯d barely get to know.


    Today, he saw a reminder of his own inability to evolve and grow in the same way.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to say hi?¡±


    Loath to break his posture, Zelen side-eyed his friend, who then did the same.


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t break ranks,¡± he whispered, though even he knew it to be a feeble excuse.


    ¡°Who cares, man? It¡¯s a funeral, and your fianc¨¦e is in mourning. Go on. I¡¯ll cover for you if anyone tries to raise a stink.¡±


    But Zelen didn¡¯t move, and didn¡¯t bother to respond to his friend, having already run out of excuses. After a few more seconds and another sidelong glance, Megha too dropped the subject.


    Zelen managed to let his mind and eyes wander again, enough to pretend he¡¯d forgotten about Asena¡¯s presence. More ¡®family¡¯ filed into the square as the morning wore on: his parents, his brother, his sister and her family¡­ But even when their eyes met, nothing more than nods of acknowledgement passed between them¡ªno more than might have passed between colleagues or acquaintances.


    What could he say to them, even if he¡¯d taken up Megha¡¯s advice to head into the crowd? Ask after their health? Exchange stilted words of performative grief? He didn¡¯t know much about how real families behaved, but even he knew that would be well off the mark. He couldn¡¯t even recall the names of his sister¡¯s children, for god¡¯s sake.


    After eight years and change as an adopted son of Gerech Athelstan, he felt no more an Athelstan than on his first day¡ªperhaps even less so. Long gone were the lessons his father tried to teach him the first time he¡¯d brought him to the Horsemen¡¯s Square. His bright-eyed ten-year-old self could well have done a better job of mingling with the people of Akropolis than 18-year-old Lieutenant Athelstan.


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    For after eight years in Akropolitan high society, his only real competency was in killing Syntropy.


    A hush fell over the square, indicating the start to the service proper. A Sehermensch man dressed in the pale blue robe of a high priest took to the dais, and Zelen was happy to have something to distract him from his own thoughts.


    That was, until he heard the contents of the speech.


    ¡°We are gathered today, with God as our witness, to remember and honour a brave warrior who gave his life in the line of duty. Captain Otaga Shiranui of the Reiter Regiment was not just a soldier. He was a beacon. He was a defender. Most importantly, he was a son and a brother who¡ª¡±


    Zelen listened in disbelief. And as the speech droned on, the temperature rose within him with far greater intensity than when he¡¯d laid eyes on Asena.


    He surreptitiously elbowed Megha in the ribs, in an imitation of how his friend had gotten his attention earlier. The nonplussed look that greeted him showed that Megha didn¡¯t share in his indignation.


    ¡°What about Captain Vasseur?¡± He whispered, then watched realization dawn and discomfort grow on Megha¡¯s face.


    ¡°Come on, man,¡± Megha whispered back. ¡°Do I really need to say it?¡±


    ¡°Say what?¡±


    ¡°You know how these things go. Shiranui was Tetrarch. Vasseur was Sehermensch, and a minor one at that.¡±


    A sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind them made both Lieutenants shut up and straighten themselves, and Zelen was left to stew on his own.


    How could he have been blind to this before? He saw now that only one coffin sat between the high priest and the congregation. From the beginning, this grandiose ceremony had been intended for only one of the dead men.


    Almost as if to spite Zelen, the service proceeded with remarkable efficiency. After the high priest¡¯s preamble, Colonel Yuito Shiranui, the family¡¯s patriarch and the only one among them to be dressed in the tan uniform of a Kurator, took his place on the dais. This was followed by the mother who, sobbing and unsteady on her feet, needed to be supported onto the stage by Asena.


    As the mother struggled through her speech, Zelen found himself watching the daughter beside her. At some point, Asena stole a glance in his direction, and gave a small smile when their eyes met. He tried to return the gesture, and found that he couldn¡¯t. He then averted his gaze, and avoided looking in Asena¡¯s direction for the rest of the ceremony.


    After several more speeches, the high priest returned to lead the congregation in prayer. By now, Zelen¡¯s anger had cooled enough that he managed to mumble along to the words, and even felt a measure of shame about his earlier petulance. Otaga Shiranui was a fellow Reiter who¡¯d paid the ultimate sacrifice, and therefore deserving of Zelen¡¯s respect, the snubbing of Captain Vasseur notwithstanding.


    The ceremony ended, and most of the crowd¡ªas well as the cadets from a new year of proto-Reiter training¡ªbegan to file out of the square and toward the reception area. Zelen realized then that he¡¯d been one of these cadets not long ago: unabashedly happy for a meal that wasn¡¯t canteen food, and blissfully ignorant of the second memorial service that was about to take place.


    It also didn¡¯t escape his notice that among the early exits was the entire non-Reiter portion of the Shiranui clan¡ªincluding his fianc¨¦e, who still held her mother by the shoulder.


    In the end, the only people who remained in the square were the high priest, the commissioned officers of the Reiter Regiment, and a woman with two young children. Seeing this, Zelen¡¯s heart ached anew.


    He¡¯d never known that Captain Vasseur was married with children¡ªmostly because he¡¯d never bothered to find out. And it felt especially cruel to him that this young family had just sat through that preceding ceremony.


    The widow had the haggard but calm look of someone who¡¯d grieved aplenty in private and was now determined to represent her husband with dignity. The younger child, a girl that couldn¡¯t be older than three, simply held onto her mother with a mystified frown.


    What drew Zelen¡¯s attention was the older child: a boy about the same age as Zelen when he¡¯d been adopted by the Athelstans. This boy stood slightly apart from his mother and sister, posture rigid and with both hands balled up into fists by his sides. His solemn gaze was directed, not at his family nor the priest that walked over to pray with them, but at the men of the Reiter Regiment that now stood in neat rows at the stone feet of Ernst Athelstan, the First Reiter.


    The boy took his time, scanning one by one the faces of his father¡¯s former comrades, until his eyes fell upon Zelen¡¯s, and lingered there.


    Zelen met the boy¡¯s gaze and held it, even as a growing disquiet rustled his chest. He imagined, as unlikely as it was, that the boy somehow knew him to be the Reiter that had been nearest his father¡¯s death¡ªthe one that had stood and watched him die. His instincts told him again to look away, but he forced himself to stay still, knowing he owed that to the boy¡ªand to Captain Vasseur.


    After the priest was done with the family, the Reiters too were dismissed. As the group began to file out of the square, many of the older officers, including General Duodecim, walked over to the mother to offer brief words.


    Zelen knew that nothing was expected of him, but he still found himself slowing, hanging back as if he too wanted to talk to the family. It was a ridiculous notion. He wouldn¡¯t know what to say them, any more than to his own family. And when Megha called to him to hurry up, he was almost relieved to obey.


    ¡°Did you know my father?¡±


    Zelen froze, then slowly turned to the voice.


    In that moment, he felt as though there were just the two of them inside the whole square: a grieving son and the young soldier who¡¯d watched his father die. It was just the two of them, surrounded by four stone statues that had borne witness to a century and more of the same grief, the same anger, the same guilt.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Zelen¡¯s voice sounded faraway even to himself.


    The boy fixed him with eyes that were still as dry as they were solemn, but Zelen saw that his balled-up fists were now trembling.


    ¡°Did he kill lots of Syntropy?¡±


    Taken aback by the question, it took Zelen a second or two before he nodded, slowly but emphatically.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to kill them too. Just like Father did.¡±


    Zelen said nothing.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have my Ascension Standard this year. Then next year, I¡¯ll be a proto-Reiter. And then a Reiter. And then I¡¯m going to kill lots and lots of Syntropy, just like Father! I¡¯m going to kill the Syntropy that killed my father, and I won¡¯t stop killing them until¡­ until¡­¡±


    The words trailed off as the tears flowed. As Zelen watched the boy¡¯s scrunched up face, he also saw another¡¯s: a faintly smiling one that had once said to him, chin up and work up an appetite, greenhorn. We¡¯re about to genocide us some Syntropy.


    The disquiet within Zelen¡¯s chest grew and grew, until he could no longer hold the boy¡¯s gaze. He then turned and left without another word.

 14. REMEMBRANCE 2

    ~February 5<sup>th</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Upper Akra, Shiranui Estate~


    The day had been set up perfectly for painting. But as the brush reached the canvas¡ªonto the amorphous figure staring down the handgun¡ªAsena¡¯s hand stopped.


    She¡¯d been granted another day leave, a rather un-Yuito-like precaution in light of yet another harrowing round of [EVOCATION]. Her father was of course impatient to proceed, but also cognizant of the severe strain¡ªboth Somatic and Psychic¡ªthe sessions had on his daughter and the only Kurator capable of completing the mission.


    She was grateful for his concern, because the latest session had confronted her like no other. A night¡¯s sleep hadn¡¯t been nearly enough to wash away the horrors of Eidolon combat and its aftermath, as well as the torment of seeing herself through the lens of a fianc¨¦ she barely knew.


    So, even though she had a whole day to herself, and even though the sky above the solarium was as cloudless as it was ever going to be, her hand paused upon the canvas and refused to move.


    Eventually, she put the brush down and simply stared at the half-blank canvas. Her eyes pointed to the blotch of black-on-grey that she thought had represented a handgun, but what she saw now was something far, far darker.


    The knock on the door came almost as a relief. The soft, almost hesitant timbre of the knock told Asena it came from her mother, so she didn¡¯t hesitate to call out, ¡°Come in.¡±


    Tamamo Shiranui was by far the smallest member of the family, and she possessed an unobtrusive manner that was a legacy of her Sehermensch origin. Even now, she tiptoed into her daughter¡¯s studio with an apologetic smile, back slightly hunched to make herself even smaller than she already was. In her hands was a tray of biscuits and two cups of tea.


    ¡°Do you mind if I sit in for a while, love? You¡¯re rarely home these days, and I barely got to see you last time you were here.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Asena half-sighed. ¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯m making much progress at the moment.¡±


    She neglected to mention that, at the current rate her mission was going, her mother might expect to see her coming home with increasing regularity. The news would¡¯ve delighted and worried Tamamo in equal measure, but Asena was loath to show weakness in front of anyone, let alone the smallest and most fragile member of her family.


    Tamamo¡¯s smile brightened as she set down the tray and pulled herself a spare stool. Asena didn¡¯t grab a cup right away, and instead pretended to mix new paint, taking much longer than she needed to.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t seen that one in a while. Were you looking through your old paintings?¡±


    Asena looked up and followed her mother¡¯s gaze. There, sitting atop a stack of other paintings was her piece from over five years ago, one she¡¯d titled Couple for reasons she¡¯d long forgotten. It was, of course, the same one that had appeared in Zelen¡¯s latest recollection.


    ¡°You could say that,¡± she muttered with a shrug.


    ¡°It¡¯s still one of my favourites, you know,¡± Tamamo enthused, oblivious to her daughter¡¯s inner turmoil. ¡°You know I love anything to do with Old Earth. The sheen on the duck¡¯s feathers, the flutter of the butterfly¡¯s wings, the rippling water¡­ It¡¯s like you brought them back to life!¡±


    Asena broke into a wan smile. Funnily enough, Couple had also been one of her own favourites, for reasons far different from her mother¡¯s.


    It was the painting¡ªor at least she thought so at the time¡ªthat had brought her and Zelen closer, the one that had given her the confidence to be the person and the artist she thought herself to be. For unlike Zelen, she still remembered every word he¡¯d said about it, five years ago at that ill-advised ¡®exhibit¡¯.


    I don¡¯t know much about art, but I think I get this one. Two lonely souls that found each other, and even though they couldn¡¯t be more different, one thing they share is this sense of belonging. I don¡¯t mean that in, like, a possessive way. It¡¯s just, when they¡¯re in each other¡¯s company, they feel like they belong.


    Zelen had blushed then, and quickly laughed off his own comments like he¡¯d said something strange. And even though Asena had been too shy to express it then, she wanted to tell him how much his words had meant to her¡ªhow they¡¯d sustained her in the days, months, and years since.


    That was, until she learned that they hadn¡¯t meant anything to him. At least not enough for him to remember the meeting as anything more than cheering up an awkward artist at her disastrous debut.


    The thought of it¡ªand the accompanying anger and sadness¡ªfilled her with shame. For the latest round of [EVOCATION] had brought out a veritable avalanche of pain, trauma, and grief. Not just Zelen¡¯s, but her own, her family¡¯s, those of the city itself and more.


    And yet, the one thing she kept coming back to was the fact that her fianc¨¦ hadn¡¯t thought of her the way she¡¯d thought of him.


    What pettiness! What wanton disregard for the suffering of her fellow man! She shook her head briefly, as if to banish her unworthy thoughts. Then it occurred to her that there was something else on her mind, something for which her mother might be the perfect litmus test.


    ¡°Do you remember Otaga¡¯s funeral?¡±


    As soon as she¡¯d brought it up, however, she realized with a pang of guilt the effect this topic might have on her mother. Sure enough, Tamamo¡¯s smile faded in an instant, and a dark cloud came over her otherwise kindly features.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said slowly. ¡°How could I not?¡±


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    ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to be so blunt,¡± Asena mumbled, suddenly hesitant to meet her mother¡¯s eyes. She pressed on, ¡°But I need to know, and I need you to answer me honestly. Did you know that there was a second memorial service that day? For a Captain Ambrose Vasseur, who died in the same mission as¡­ as my brother?¡±


    A strange expression came over Tamamo then, as hurt and embarrassment chased each other across her face. She eventually spoke, just as slowly, ¡°I¡­ can¡¯t say I remember the man¡¯s name, but yes, your father did tell me there was a second Reiter that died that day.¡±


    Asena let out a sigh to steady her rising temper, then put down her paintbrush. She rounded on her mother, despite knowing that she wasn¡¯t the one to blame.


    ¡°Why?¡± she demanded. ¡°Why do we do this? What difference does it make if someone is Tetrarch or Sehermensch or Essential, if they¡¯ve given themselves to the war? To Akropolis? Why do we prop these people up with the Ascension Standard, then with the same hands cast them aside when they¡¯ve outlived their usefulness?¡±


    Tamamo drew back sharply, as if she¡¯d been slapped. But she quickly recovered, back fully straight now, and said with a stony expression, ¡°I would¡¯ve thought the reason should be clear to anyone who calls herself a Shiranui.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Enlighten me then,¡± Asena snapped, letting the momentum of her righteous anger speak for her. She didn¡¯t stop to wonder how her mother¡¯s presence suddenly loomed large within the room.


    ¡°It is the duty of all Akropolitans to avail themselves to the war, to sacrifice when sacrifice is called for,¡± Tamamo began, voice remarkably calm. ¡°But duty alone is not enough to maintain order. For we are few, while they are many.


    ¡°The Tetrarchy must be seen to sacrifice, as we have been for 140 years. It¡¯s the unspoken contract that has sustained the war and held this city together since its founding by the Four Horsemen. Our sacrifice is sacred, and it must be honoured and paraded and burnt into the minds of the masses.


    ¡°But the Sehermenschen¡ªlet alone the Essentials¡ªmust not, must never be accorded the same honour. For the moment their sacrifice is seen as equal to ours is the moment we lose the sanctity of our authority. And should this illusion of equality ever take hold of the masses, in a time when more and more of them are Ascending, what will become of the Tetrarchy? What will become of the civilization we¡¯ve fought¡ªand sacrificed¡ªto protect? I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t need me to spell it out for you.


    ¡°So, it¡¯s true, love. I know that a second Reiter died on the same mission that took my son. I mourn and thank him, as I do all Akropolitans who give themselves to the war. But I shan¡¯t remember their names.¡±


    A heavy silence filled the solarium, punctuated only by the sound of Tamamo taking another sip of her tea¡ªa polite and humble gesture, as was befitting the Sehermensch wife of a Shiranui patriarch. Asena sat motionless, her hand still frozen over the paintbrush she¡¯d put down earlier, eyes fixed yet wavering upon a mother she¡¯d thought she knew well.


    After some time, Tamamo stood up, back slightly hunched, then said with an almost apologetic smile, ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to your painting, dear. Don¡¯t forget to drink your tea, before it gets cold.¡±


    ~February 6<sup>th</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, the Gymnasium~


    There were any number of excuses Asena could¡¯ve conjured to justify her general apathy toward physical training.


    First of course was the unpleasantness of it all. It wasn¡¯t just the tedium, the pain, or the exertion. Most any female service member in PT gear was liable to draw unwanted attention, case in point being the two proto-Reiter cadets who leered at her now, as she completed a set of pec flies. She¡¯d just started to think up the most ego-bruising thing she could say to them, when one of them recognized who she was and pulled the other back.


    In that sense, this excuse wasn¡¯t an excuse at all. Her name, coupled with the distinct physical features that were associated with that name, rendered her immune to harassment from all but the most oblivious of servicemen. She supposed many of the other women on base weren¡¯t nearly as lucky.


    Then there was the notion that she didn¡¯t need physical training. Until recently, this used to be true to an extent. Whether by luck of the draw or possibly due to her father¡¯s string-pulling, Asena went through the first two years of her Kurator career without ever being assigned to a Reiter. Her Somatic fitness was rarely put to the test when she¡¯d spent most of her days assisting with research or counselling other Corpsmen.


    That of course had changed dramatically with her newest assignment. Even after a handful of sessions, she was already feeling the punishing effects of emulated Eidolon combat: something she could¡¯ve warded against, had she been a little more disciplined from the start.


    Beyond the refutation of these excuses, however, there was another¡ªfar more shameful¡ªreason she¡¯d thrown herself back into PT. For she now knew the way Zelen had seen her¡ªthe way his eyes had lingered on her figure. And the same awkward girl who couldn¡¯t let go of their interaction at the art exhibit now couldn¡¯t help but imagine how her fianc¨¦ might see her the next time they met in person.


    Finished with the pec flies, Asena consulted a crumpled printout that listed her old routines. As her eyes fell upon the next item, she immediately realized her mistake in not reviewing the list beforehand.


    Tricep dips 10x5


    She burst into tears, with an abrupt intensity that startled herself, let alone the pair of cadets in the vicinity who now retreated farther away in alarm.


    She thought she¡¯d long made peace with Otaga¡¯s passing. His death had been just the kind of sacrifice that was expected of their family, just as Mother had said. But unbeknownst even to her, attending the funeral anew¡ªalbeit in someone else¡¯s skin¡ªhad re-opened old wounds.


    Her blurry eyes could no longer make out the rest of her list. Once again, her Somatic fitness would have to take a backseat, at least until she regained control over her Psychic stability.


    It was in this state of heightened emotion that she stumbled out of the Gymnasium, and promptly crashed into someone that was crossing the hallway at speed.


    Folders and envelopes cascaded onto the floor in a messy heap. The man who immediately bent to pick them up was dressed in a faded Essential¡¯s uniform, with a blue cap that marked him out as a courier.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Asena mumbled, voice still thick with fluids. Then she too bent to help clear the mess she¡¯d made.


    The courier made no protest, and wordlessly let her assist him. Even in her distracted state, Asena thought this strange, but she of course made no mention of it¡ªwith the argument with her mother still fresh on her mind.


    After Asena picked up the last of the envelopes and handed it to the courier, he turned to go, eyes downcast and obscured by the visor of his cap. As their bodies brushed past each other again, however, he said in a low voice only she could hear:


    ¡°We¡¯ll be in touch, Ms Shiranui.¡±


    Asena froze, not quite registering what she¡¯d heard. Before she could decide how to react, however, her bleary eyes fell upon one piece of paper that still lay on the floor. She bent to pick it up, and made to call back the courier, but he was already gone.


    Asena stood in the hallway outside the Gymnasium, alone save for the folded sheet of paper in her hand. She examined it, first noting a diagram printed in black ink.


    It was a solid black circle, with a slight depression at the top, from which extended a thin line crossed with a roughly elliptical shape. A stem and a leaf¡­ was this¡­ an apple? Yet another ghost of Old Earth that Akropolitans knew only in name and concept.


    The folded edges of the paper had come apart, and Asena could see that there was writing underneath. She was suddenly gripped by a nameless sense of foreboding, though she knew not why a piece of paper that fell from a stranger¡¯s hand could unnerve her so. She unfolded the paper, and read:


    DEAR DREAMER,


    FIRST, OPEN YOUR EYES

 15. REMEMBRANCE 3

    ~February 6<sup>th</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ, Colonel Shiranui¡¯s office~


    A day after she¡¯d been dressed down by her gentle diminutive mother, Asena was about to be built back up by her stern giant of a father.


    Colonel Yuito Shiranui sat across from her at his desk, upon which were scattered Asena¡¯s written reports, as well as Yuito¡¯s own notes on the mission thus far. He¡¯d donned bifocal glasses for the occasion, better to squint at the overabundance of data that had spilled out from the previous session.


    ¡°And after all this, the subject still shows no sign of re-attuning to the Nexus,¡± Yuito stated rather than asked.


    ¡°No, sir,¡± Asena concurred, then considered for a moment before adding, ¡°If anything, the previous session may have set him back on that front. He¡¯d re-encoded the [EVOKED] memory fragments, but was greatly distressed in doing so. He¡¯s normally eager to keep the channel open for as long as possible, except last time, where he was the first to disengage.¡±


    Yuito put down the documents and leaned back in his chair. He took off the bifocals, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he did. Asena noted that her father looked more exhausted than ever, despite a day¡¯s pause in the proceedings.


    ¡°Combat is inherent to the nature of a Reiter¡¯s Nexus attunement,¡± he said in a strangely musing tone, as if he might be formulating his thoughts as he spoke, ¡°and yet, the memories¡ªand prospect¡ªof combat seem to be the very things driving our subject away from the Nexus. A conundrum, to be sure. One we must¡ª¡±


    He trailed off, and Asena waited for him to finish his thought. When no such conclusion seemed to be forthcoming, she ventured, ¡°Sir¡­ must we?¡±


    The Colonel looked up at his daughter with heavily creased eyes. Even as Asena cowered under his gaze, Yuito said, with just the hint of impatience, ¡°If you have something to say, say it, Corporal. You needn¡¯t beat around the bush.¡±


    Asena sucked in a steadying breath, then let it all out before she could lose her nerve, ¡°Must we continue with the mission? I recognize Ze¡ªLieutenant Athelstan¡¯s remarkable contributions to the war effort. I understand he may be difficult to replace, but he isn¡¯t the first¡ªand certainly won¡¯t be the last¡ªyoung Reiter whose services we lost far too soon. I need not remind¡­ your own son¡ª¡±


    ¡°Get to the point, Corporal.¡±


    ¡°I only wonder if time and resources couldn¡¯t be better directed toward re-training the subject in a different capacity. Another role he could take on that doesn¡¯t require Nexus attunement¡ªthat doesn¡¯t require piloting an Eidolon. Somewhere else he might belong, where he could be most productive. Happiest. He¡ª¡±


    Yuito Shiranui had started to laugh then, and Asena felt a chill run down her spine. His wasn¡¯t the full-throated belly laugh of bolder men, but was the rhythmic expression of his contempt and authority¡ªarticulate and calculating, even in laughter.


    ¡°Somewhere else he might belong?¡± Yuito scoffed. ¡°Somewhere other than a battlefield, you mean? Need I remind you, Corporal Shiranui, of the most basic principles of Seherschaft?¡±


    Asena grew hot with humiliation, deeply regretful that she¡¯d gone down this path at all. All she wanted to do now was drop the subject and get on with her day. ¡°No sir, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Recite them.¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°Recite the Seven Fundamental Tenets of Seherschaft.¡±


    Now anger joined humiliation. What was she, an unruly schoolgirl made to write lines on a chalkboard? But there was no arguing with Father in his current state. She didn¡¯t bother to hide a sigh before she obeyed:


    <ol>


    <li> A Seher sees into the Nexus and calls forth the memories contained therein.</li>


    <li>Sehers manifest through five differentiations, one for each distinct domain of memories.</li>


    <li> The Gaertner sees into the domain of LIFE, and calls forth memories of growth and construction.</li>


    <li> The Jaeger sees into the domain of SPIRIT, and calls forth memories of energy and propagation.</li>


    <li> The Panzer sees into the domain of BODY, and calls forth memories of survival and resilience.</li>


    <li> The Kurator sees into the domain of MIND, and calls forth memories of memory itself.</li>


    <li> And the Reiter sees into the domain of¡ª</li>


    </ol>


    ¡°WAR.¡±


    Yuito finished off the passage for her, having clearly waited for the opportunity to make his point. Asena let out another audible sigh before clamming up, more than happy to let her father have his moment.


    ¡°The Reiter sees into the domain of WAR,¡± Yuito reiterated, ¡°and calls forth memories of destruction and domination. The destruction of our enemies, and domination over this planet that is ours by right.¡±


    Silence fell between them. Yuito looked up at his daughter with heavily creased eyes, and this time, Asena refused to cower or hang her head in shame. He could sling his overwrought theatrics all he liked. It didn¡¯t change the real person Zelen Athelstan was¡ªor at least had been¡ªdivorced from Reiterschaft and irrespective of his kill count.


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    As if sensing his daughter¡¯s defiant attitude, Yuito went on, ¡°We Sehers are nothing if not the children of the Nexus, and our god-given domains are our calling. War is Lieutenant Athelstan¡¯s calling, do you understand? There is nowhere but the battlefield where he belongs. Where he¡¯s most productive. Where he¡¯s happiest!¡±


    Yuito said this last part with another incredulous¡ªalmost savage¡ªlaugh.


    Asena looked back at her father with as flat an expression as she could manage, then asked quietly, ¡°Even if that battlefield had driven him to the worst Psychic collapse the Joint Forces have ever seen?¡±


    ¡°Especially because of it!¡± Yuito snapped, very nearly losing his composure. Asena did raise an eyebrow at this. ¡°Don¡¯t you see? The tremendous Psychic strain the subject had been under can only speak to the sheer miracles he¡¯d pulled out of the Nexus. I should know; I was his Kuratorial handler. Even you¡ªyou¡¯ve seen the reports!¡±


    This was true enough. The solitary takedown of the behemoth that was Ildfugl. The assault on the Mothership in Sector Aries. Lieutenant Zelen Athelstan had quite literally achieved the impossible in his short career.


    Which only made Asena wonder¡ªnow more than ever¡ªwhy a Reiter so young had been entrusted with so much so soon.


    ¡°It¡¯s because he¡¯s an Einkunster, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°What did you say?¡±


    The look her father turned onto Asena now was a peculiar mix of unease and disbelief, a look not unlike the one her mother had worn this time yesterday.


    ¡°He was able to perform all these¡­ miracles, thanks to his Einkunst.¡±


    ¡°We had this discussion already, Corporal. There is no evidence to suggest¡ª¡±


    ¡°In his virgin fight against a Voras unit,¡± Asena interrupted her father for perhaps the first time in her life, and she didn¡¯t even notice herself doing it, ¡°the subject experienced no less than two instances where he failed to defend himself against a fatal attack. And yet, he managed to survive the fight until reinforcements arrived. This is twice now in as many [EVOCATIONS] where he¡¯s shown signs of¡ª¡±


    ¡°You know my view on the matter, Corporal. Recollection artifacts. It¡¯s common enough in our field, and I don¡¯t see why you¡ª¡±


    ¡°If I find evidence,¡± Asena raised her voice, which now shook slightly. ¡°If I find firm evidence of a Nexus-mediated ability that is beyond the parameters of standard Reiterschaft, will you talk to me then? Will you finally tell me what you¡¯ve been keeping from me all this time?¡±


    Yuito was silent for a long time, perhaps the longest Asena could ever remember her father being speechless. At last, he picked up his glasses¡ªsingle-vision this time¡ªand blew on the lenses. Then he spoke as he wiped them down:


    ¡°If you can find incontrovertible evidence of the subject having employed an Einkunst in battle¡­ then I daresay I¡¯d be obliged to carefully review our next course of action.¡±


    ~February 6<sup>th</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ, Terminal One~


    Asena¡¯s pulse only quickened and quickened some more, as she replayed just what in hell had happened inside her father¡¯s office.


    She reclined into Terminal One and let her assistant busy over the equipment. From the corner of her eyes, she saw the assistant frown as the first readings of her vital signs came through. Then assistant looked down at Kurator with a raised eyebrow, as if to say, what gives?


    ¡°I know,¡± Asena snapped, a tad more harshly than she should¡¯ve. ¡°I just need a moment, okay?¡±


    The last ten minutes or so had been the first time in her life that she¡¯d had a full-blown argument with her father, complete with raised voices, accusations, and barely veiled insults. And she hadn¡¯t even mentioned the paper with the apple diagram, along with the cryptic message contained therein!


    Just what had gotten into her? Old Earth textbooks made mention of a ¡®rebellious phase¡¯ adolescents often went through, almost as a rule and a rite of passage. Well, it seemed Asena had completely missed the window for hers, only to unleash it all in the last ten minutes.


    There was no taking back any of what had been said (shouted), however, and she was committed to the task¡ªnow more than ever.


    One thing hadn¡¯t changed; she still wanted to help Zelen Athelstan, though what that actually meant remained nebulous at best. What she was certain of, was that she, and perhaps even Zelen himself, had been lied to¡ªby her father and whomever else held the reins over Zelen¡¯s career¡ªand she couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this lie somehow held the key to her fianc¨¦¡¯s salvation.


    Before today, a part of her had wanted to take thing slow, perhaps even delay the mission for as long as possible, in a misguided attempt to give Zelen respite from the war he was expected to fight in again. She now saw that she couldn¡¯t dally. For there was no telling what series of recollections might trigger the restoration of his Nexus attunement, and she needed to arm herself¡ªarm Zelen¡ªwith the truth before that could happen.


    So, as she and her assistant waited for her vital signs to settle, Asena searched her memories of her father¡¯s reports. She searched for missions that had the highest likelihood of Einkunst activation, given their threat levels and the difficulties encountered therein.


    By the time she¡¯d been cleared by her assistant and the headset came down to start her session, she had a clear idea on which threads to pull.


    ¡°This is nice,¡± Zelen said to her (to Silon), about five minutes into the session.


    ¡°Is it? I rather worried I¡¯d needlessly upset you, the last time we spoke.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, I guess I can be temperamental sometimes¡­ but you knew that about me already. No, I just think it¡¯s nice, getting to know each other again. Because I feel like¡­ I feel like this is something we used to do, you know? Just getting to know each other.¡±


    ¡°Is this a form of companionship, do you think?¡±


    ¡°Oh, for sure it is! Why, you don¡¯t think so?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t say for sure. My assumptions were that you would have other sources of companionship that better fit the definition.¡±


    The laughter came through as harsh pops in the static.


    ¡°If I heard you right, Silon, you¡¯ve just accused me of not having any friends!¡±


    ¡°Do you remember your friends?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m starting to. There¡¯s Megha, of course. You probably better know him as Glasswing.¡±


    ¡°Who else?¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°There are some friends I lost, like Captain Vasseur. There are some that¡­ I¡¯m not quite sure I can call them friends, but I feel I ought to be friendly with them: someone like Asena Shiranui.¡±


    Asena bit down on the exclamation that nearly escaped her. She let her subject continue on his own.


    ¡°Then there¡¯s a tricky third category. The people I thought might¡¯ve been enemies¡­ but it really made more sense for us to be friends?¡±


    ¡°Who might that be?¡±


    ¡°I wanna say¡­ Major Makiri Shiranui. Spindrift.¡±


    ¡°I admit I didn¡¯t expect that answer, Zelen. You always seemed to fear him.¡±


    ¡°I know, I know. God, I can¡¯t hide anything from you, can I? But I think I was only scared of him¡­ because I didn¡¯t know him.¡±


    ¡°Did you eventually get to know him?¡±


    ¡°I did. Just like I got to know you, Silon.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°How did you get to know Spindrift?¡±


    Another pause, less hesitant.


    ¡°Slowly at first. But then¡­ there was this mission¡ª¡±

 16. REMEMBRANCE 4

    ~April 22<sup>nd</sup>, 136 AH~


    ~Sector Gemini, Korak Valley FOB~


    The gruff-mannered man in charge of the Korak Valley FOB was a Panzer by the name of Master Sergeant Gabriel Rivera. And despite his being Sehermensch and an enlisted Corpsman to boot, he seemed to have no qualms about bossing around Akropolis¡¯s killingest Reiter.


    ¡°There¡¯re three Anamnium pods ready for retrieval.¡± He hadn¡¯t bothered to spit out his gum as he set to explaining the tactical situation. Visual aid came in the lowest form of technology: lines and shapes drawn into the dirt. ¡°One about 80 klicks due south, another 100 klicks in a roughly southeasterly direction, and a third almost 200 klicks up north. They should show up on your radars, but you do need to be the in the ballpark first. My masterpiece good enough for you, or do I need to requisition a navigator drone?¡±


    He eyed Makiri as he said this, not with insolence but merely with disinterest. Watching this, Zelen thought he knew his type. To borrow his friend Megha¡¯s parlance, MSG Rivera was someone that was ¡®too old to give a shit¡¯.


    ¡°The diagram is sufficient,¡± Makiri answered with matching indifference. If he¡¯d been offended at all by the Corpsman¡¯s manners (or the lack thereof), he didn¡¯t show it.


    MSG Rivera half-snorted half-grunted, before adding, ¡°I¡¯ll leave the routes and resupply plans in your capable hands. The shields on the pods should be up for at least another 60 hours or so, so you¡¯ve got some time, but I still wouldn¡¯t dally if I were you.¡±


    Makiri nodded wordlessly, but Zelen couldn¡¯t help but frown. Curiosity got the better of him, and he asked, ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±


    The Panzer turned to the younger Reiter as if seeing him for the first time. ¡°Who¡¯s this joker? They didn¡¯t explain it to you back on base?¡±


    Zelen flushed, both surprised and embarrassed by the treatment. He was momentarily lost for words, and was grateful when his superior spoke for him.


    ¡°Forgive Lieutenant Athelstan¡¯s inexperience. This is his first Anamnium retrieval mission.¡±


    ¡°Athelstan? Another Tetrarch pup, huh? They must have a factory or something pumping you guys out. To answer your question, Lieutenant, for reasons none of us really understand, the Syntropy seem to have a sixth sense for Anamnium pods that are at or near full charge. They¡¯ll sometimes come sniffing around, no doubt hoping to pick off the retrieval parties.¡±


    Zelen¡¯s frown only deepened. No, they hadn¡¯t mentioned this back on base, and he couldn¡¯t really think why. The briefing had been rather brief and rushed, even by usual standards, but this felt like a fairly important detail to leave out. He¡¯d assumed that Reiters were needed for the mission in case there might be Syntropy presence en route, not that there was a high likelihood of enemies anticipating his and Makiri¡¯s arrival.


    Seeing the expression on the young Reiter¡¯s face, MSG Rivera let out a chuckle. When he spoke again, he sounded cheerful for the first time during the conversation, ¡°That¡¯s not all, kid. We¡¯re stretched for resources this far out from base, so we don¡¯t even have up-to-date intel on the pod locations. For all I know, there could be whole hordes of Syntropy lying in wait, ready to throw the kitchen sink at a pair of unsuspecting Reiters.¡±


    Zelen blanched almost as quickly as he¡¯d flushed earlier. This only made the old Corpsman laugh harder. Then¡ªto Zelen¡¯s immense shock¡ªthe man gave Makiri¡¯s back a hearty slap.


    ¡°But I suppose that¡¯s what we have Spindrift for, eh?¡± he happily remarked. ¡°I mean, let¡¯s hope it doesn¡¯t come to it, but if push comes to shove, you¡¯ve got your Einkunst to fall back on.¡±


    Even with his jaw still hanging open, Zelen could appreciate the logic behind this assessment.


    Makiri Shiranui was an exceptionally skilled pilot and an instinctual fighter, and he more than likely would still have been history¡¯s killingest Reiter even if he weren¡¯t an Einkunster. Yet there was no denying that [THE INEVITABLE] was a significant element of his prowess. And as MSG Rivera had correctly pointed out, this particular Einkunst just happened to be the ideal counter against a potential ambush.


    The man in question, however, kept his thoughts close to his chest, showing no outward reaction to the compliments nor the slap on his back. Instead, he spoke in his ever even-keeled voice, ¡°Thank you for the run-down, Master Sergeant. I believe we¡¯re ready to begin.¡±


    ¡°Already? Sure you don¡¯t want to grab a bite first? Not that we have anything other than rations, mind you.¡±


    ¡°No, that won¡¯t be necessary. Athelstan.¡± As Makiri turned his gaunt elongated face and oddly sleepy eyes onto his junior, Zelen straightened himself out of reflex. ¡°Perform final checks on your Eidolon, then meet me field-side. We depart in ten minutes.¡±


    Zelen saluted in acknowledgement, or at least tried to. His superior had already spun and left before he could bring his hand up to his forehead.


    He aborted the salute, then took a moment to watch Makiri move across the FOB with impossibly long strides. Inside his mind, he wrestled with a question that had been bothering him ever since the duel that had earned him his callsign.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking.¡±


    Zelen turned to the smirking figure of MSG Rivera. As he addressed the older man, he rather awkwardly put on the affectations expected of an officer speaking to an enlisted Corpsman, ¡°To what do you refer, Master Sergeant?¡±


    ¡°I refer, Lieutenant, to your mystified expression as you gaze upon your superior officer. It¡¯s a look that says, I just can¡¯t figure this guy out.¡±


    Zelen blushed again, not just at the mockery, but also because the old Panzer was completely correct. He stammered, ¡°I don¡¯t think¡­ that it¡¯s appropriate for us to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard the horror stories too,¡± the Master Sergeant pressed on, undeterred, ¡°about how tough Makiri Shiranui is on his fellow Reiters. Well, I¡¯ve been around long enough to see how he treats us Corpsmen, and I can tell you he¡¯s been nothing but polite and respectful. I mean, he still doesn¡¯t say much, you know; I don¡¯t think that¡¯s ever going to change. But¡­ none of us are shaking in our boots anytime we¡¯re near him, the way you lot seem to be¡­¡±


    Zelen wondered at this, once again lost for words. Could this be true? The same man that had forced his entire class to run wind sprints until their muscles turned to rubber and their guts littered the Gymnasium floor? The same man that had broken Zelen¡¯s arm, just to demonstrate a grappling move?


    ¡°I think I know his type,¡± MSG Rivera continued. ¡°He¡¯s the kind of perfectionist that expects perfection from everyone else. Yet he¡¯s also got a clear sense of where his expertise begins and ends, so he doesn¡¯t stick his nose where it doesn¡¯t belong. In any case, I¡¯m glad he¡¯s your boss and not mine, I¡¯ll tell you that for free!¡±


    The Master Sergeant¡¯s carefree laughter followed Zelen as he trudged toward the supply station. This was where a team of young Corpsmen busied about polishing his Eidolon up to mission-readiness. A Jaeger had just disconnected the Anamnium fuel line, and a Panzer was just about finished refreshing the armour.


    Before mounting, Zelen tilted his head to inspect his model ES-V.


    The midnight-blue paint job, with which he¡¯d rather happily occupied himself in the first few days after his Tethering, already showed nicks and blemishes after several months of field work. It hadn¡¯t quite turned out to be the gleaming phantom he¡¯d once pictured. In fact, he could no longer see much that distinguished his own Eidolon from all the other battle-worn giants that flew into and across the planet¡¯s haze.


    One such giant was the crimson centipede-covered beast that belonged to Major Makiri Shiranui, who already waited for him on the other side of the barrier. As Zelen fell in line, the older Reiter wasted no time in starting the mission proper.


    ¡°This is Spindrift. Radio check, over.¡±


    ¡°This is Kingfisher. Loud and clear, over.¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. Routine Retrieval 136-4 is a go. Spindrift out.¡±


    ~April 22<sup>nd</sup>, 136 AH~


    ~Sector Gemini, somewhere southwest of Korak Valley FOB~


    Something seems to be bothering you, Kingfisher. Could I help in any way?


    Delta-Upsilon¡¯s prompt snapped Zelen out of his latest episode of woolgathering.


    Presently, he cruised low to the barren earth, following diagonally behind Spindrift. In his hands (in his Eidolon¡¯s hands) was a hefty drum-shaped contraption they¡¯d extracted from the first location pointed out by MSG Rivera.


    After all the build-up, Objective Alpha had turned out to be a whole lot of nothing. The pair enjoyed an unimpeded southward flight for 80 kilometres, where new readings on the radar led them to a shielded installation that housed the first Anamnium pod. No Syntropy in sight or on radar.


    Having decided that resupply could wait, the Reiters now flew directly toward Objective Bravo, about 50 klicks west of their previous location. And Delta-Upsilon had guessed correctly that something was on Zelen¡¯s mind.


    For he¡¯d just flown about 130 klicks in near-complete silence, save for the bare minimum communication that was needed to secure the Anamnium pod. If the stress of partnering with Spindrift wouldn¡¯t get to him first, then the boredom certainly would.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know that it¡¯s anything you could help with¡­ Delta-Upsilon,¡± he finally spoke, glad to have anyone¡ªor anything¡ªto talk to. ¡°You could say I¡¯m struggling with something that I feel is holding me back¡­ from being a better soldier. Maybe even a better person.¡±


    Is this about Spindrift?


    ¡°God, you¡¯re always so perceptive, Silon. I can call you Silon, right? It¡¯s just easier to say.¡±


    You can call me anything you like. I¡¯ll respond all the same. You were saying about Spindrift?


    Zelen paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. As absurd as it was, he wanted to sound calm and collected in front of his Spiegel.


    ¡°I¡¯ve always been scared of Major Shiranui, and I don¡¯t want to be anymore. I mean, even putting aside the fact he¡¯s going to be my brother-in-law¡­ he¡¯s my superior officer, my partner on this mission, and my comrade-in-arms for years to come. I want to be able to trust him fully, and for him to trust me in turn. I don¡¯t want¡­ I don¡¯t want to ever see someone die when I could¡¯ve done something to stop it.¡±


    The again was left unsaid. Zelen half-expected his Spiegel to take her time processing the messy innards of a young human¡¯s mind, but the response was quick and surprisingly direct.


    Have you tried talking to him?


    ¡°What?¡±


    As I understand it, one method by which colleagues get to know each other and build mutual trust is verbal communication.


    ¡°Well, sure, but¡­¡± Zelen found himself blushing as he raced to find excuses for his own reticence. ¡°I mean he¡¯s Spindrift, for god¡¯s sake! What¡¯s a young Reiter like me even supposed to say to him?¡±


    Communication goes both ways, Kingfisher.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    I merely wish to express that the onus to build trust isn¡¯t fully on you. Perhaps Spindrift is also thinking of doing the same, and just hasn¡¯t found the right opportunity to start.


    Zelen doubted that very much, but the little back-and-forth had helped to ease his mind. In any case, he and his equally reticent team leader were now fast approaching Objective Bravo, and they both needed to stay sharp.


    The Eidolon¡¯s HUD suddenly beeped, and a white dot appeared on the radar, indicating the coordinates of the second Anamnium pod. From where Zelen flew, it looked as though the pod was nestled somewhere within a mound of craggy rocks. Other than the white dot, the radar remained spotless.


    As they neared the objective, however, the crimson frame of Spindrift slowed, and the team leader raised a mechanized fist to signal for Zelen to do the same.


    Zelen obeyed readily enough. At the same time, he tried to settle the pounding in his chest. For he didn¡¯t need red dots on a radar nor his team leader¡¯s next words to tell him that Makiri Shiranui¡¯s Einkunst had sensed something¡ªsomething [INEVITABLE] that lay hidden beneath the rocks.


    ¡°This is Spindrift. Probable ambush at Objective Bravo. Prepare to engage.¡±

 17. REMEMBRANCE 5

    Two terranean mobile weapons JS-06, designation ¡®Voras¡¯. How will you proceed, Kingfisher?


    Before Zelen could answer, Spindrift¡¯s unflappable voice came back on the radio, ¡°How do you feel about taking on one Voras unit on your own?¡±


    Zelen needed but a millisecond¡¯s delay before all but snarling his answer, ¡°I¡¯d love nothing more!¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. Follow close on my six. Watch for my diversionary manoeuvre, then move in on the Voras that splits off to the right.¡±


    Spindrift thrust forward at maximum velocity, and Zelen hastened to follow. And already, the Reiters were confronted by an enemy that had evolved since their last encounter.


    Even before the leading Reiter came within range of their jumping attacks, the Voras units began firing at him from multiple guns mounted on the back of their central chassis. This was a new addition to their morphology, hitherto unobserved in battle or scouting missions.


    Spindrift never slowed nor deviated from his trajectory, opting instead to defend himself with a charge of LS [AEGIS]. A sphere of pale blue energy sprung up all around the Eidolon, which would mitigate incoming damage for the next three seconds (though at the cost of a long cooldown).


    Akropolis¡¯s killingest Reiter didn¡¯t need three seconds, however. Spindrift erased the distance on his enemies in the blink of an eye, and as the craggy rocks rushed to meet him, he simultaneously deployed RA [MJOLNIR].


    With another burst of blue energy, the crimson Eidolon¡¯s right arm transformed into a giant hammer. This Spindrift brought down with thunderous force, causing the Vorases to abandon their ranged attacks and scurry out of the way.


    The hammer landed upon the rocks, and immediately set off a secondary shockwave. Both Vorases were caught within the blast radius, and just as Spindrift had predicted, flew off in two opposite directions.


    Zelen weaved through the flying debris to track the Voras to his right side. As he did, he engaged his own armaments, starting with double [GATLINGS].


    What he told Spindrift hadn¡¯t been a lie. For three months now, he¡¯d waited for this moment¡ªthe moment to prove to himself that he was no longer the same greenhorn that had failed miserably on his first encounter with a Voras.


    He¡¯d since spent countless hours visualizing this very fight in his head. He would¡¯ve spent countless more practicing the fight too, if it weren¡¯t for the long lag between the identification of a new enemy unit and their being replicated within the simulation system.


    Regardless, Zelen¡¯s all but pathological obsession with the Voras had crystallized into this moment of serenity. It wasn¡¯t characterized by courage nor even an absence of fear. Rather, it was defined by a singular focus that overwrote every extraneous impulse that didn¡¯t drive him toward the destruction of his enemy.


    He kept up a steady barrage with [GATLINGS], taking care to stagger the load between both arms so that at least one was always active. But these [GATLINGS] weren¡¯t intended for the kill move. The Voras was much too fast for them. Even now, it scurried and jerked out of the way of the bullets with agile precision.


    Indeed, if Zelen had known for sure he¡¯d be fighting a Voras on this mission, he would¡¯ve sortied with a much different (and more specialized) loadout. Yet on all of his most recent missions, perhaps against his better judgment, he came equipped with one armament he¡¯d deemed to be his best tool for finishing off a Voras¡ªthe ace up his sleeve. So, it was just a matter of setting up the enemy for a sequence he¡¯d visualized countless times in his head.


    At first, the Voras stayed at range, continuing to dodge [GATLINGS] while answering with its own salvo from back-mounted guns. Zelen didn¡¯t care much about the Voras¡¯s ranged attacks. They were far less damaging than the main threat¡ªthe Voras¡¯s blades¡ªand easy enough to dodge or block with LS [SCUTUM].


    He¡¯d even shut his mind off to the frequent messages that streamed in from Silon, no doubt updating him on his AU and ER reserves, as well as what was happening with the other battle. For at least these brief minutes, his entire world had condensed into the space between the frame of his Eidolon and the pointy ends of the Voras¡¯s frontmost limbs.


    This space too eventually shrank, as it had to. The Syntropy were as capable as humans of learning over the course of battle, and this Voras was no exception. Sensing that its only chance at a breakthrough was to set up its own kill move, it began to inch toward melee range, drawing closer and closer to its opponent with every jerking movement.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Zelen was well aware that the Voras¡¯s ¡®melee¡¯ range was different to his. He¡¯d studied and visualized the range of a Voras¡¯s jumping attack with painstaking precision, and as the space between them approached this magic number, he put out a sustained burst from both [GATLINGS], aiming behind the Voras in order to herd it toward himself. Then the two [GATLINGS], hitherto so carefully managed, both went into cooldown at the same time.


    Having taken its cue, the Voras then transitioned into its kill move. Little did it know that its opponent had been the one to set it up.


    For its opponent had fired off RS [HARPOON] at the exact moment all eight of the Voras¡¯s limbs left the ground¡ªthe moment when it would have no way to course-correct. Zelen¡¯s own ¡®ranged¡¯ melee attack burst forth in the form of a spiralling blue spear, which then buried itself in the Syntropy¡¯s central chassis, before pinning it against the earth it¡¯d just leapt from.


    Even then, Zelen refused to leave anything up to chance. He rushed forward, thrusting at max power. Standing over the Voras¡¯s limp body, he pointed both [GATLINGS] into its core, but the bullets didn¡¯t materialize. All of his weapons were still on cooldown.


    Then and only then did Silon¡¯s voice trickle through the red mist that had pervaded Zelen¡¯s consciousness.


    ¡ªunit eliminated. AU at 65%, ER at 40.


    The [GATLINGS] fired then, causing the Voras¡¯s carcass to bounce and flop. Zelen forced¡ªwith great difficulty¡ªhis grips on the triggers to relax.


    ER at 35% now, Kingfisher. I¡¯m required to point out that was needless expenditure of resources.


    Zelen didn¡¯t respond. Wasn¡¯t ready to respond. Gradually, his world expanded again, and he saw more than the Syntropy that lay dead at his feet.


    He noticed¡ªand was alarmed by¡ªthe elevated rate and volume of his respiration. His muscles ached from strains and impacts he¡¯d been numb to in the heat of battle. And his mind¡ªhis mind was a frayed mess of anger, exultation, and suppressed fear.


    ER still decreasing at a steady rate. 32% now. Kingfisher, you must stabilize your Psyche, or you risk shutdown before our next resupply.


    His Spiegel¡¯s words only worsened his panic. His breathing quickened some more, and his heart thumped so hard against its mortal cage that chest pain joined his list of physical ailments. Something in the unseen depth of his mind flailed and clawed for the relaxation exercises he¡¯d been taught in proto-Reiter school, but this was only met by an oppressive blankness.


    28%. 26. Still falling. Kingfisher, you must get a hold of yourself!


    That was when a firm yet oddly gentle force spun the whole Eidolon around.


    Zelen¡¯s vision shifted from that of the dead Voras and onto the SPU of a second Eidolon. Spindrift¡¯s optic modules glistened from within his crimson frame. These ¡®eyes¡¯ appeared to stare into Zelen as an even-keeled voice broke through the radio.


    ¡°Repeat after me. The Meridians are the branches upon which Life blooms.¡±


    ¡°Wh¡ªwhat?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s an order, Lieutenant. I say again. The Meridians are the branches upon which Life blooms.¡±


    ¡°The Meri¡ªthe Meridians are the branches¡­ upon which Life blooms.¡±


    The pain in his chest subsided, or hadn¡¯t been bad enough to begin with. It certainly wasn¡¯t bad enough to be worth his notice, not when he had Spindrift¡¯s direct orders to comply with.


    ¡°The Lungs are the windows through which Spirit soars.¡±


    ¡°The Lungs¡­ are the windows through which Spirit soars.¡±


    He had to get these words out, and that meant he had to slow his breathing. It was only natural.


    ¡°From rivers of Blood flow the Body¡¯s nourishment.¡±


    ¡°From rivers of Blood flow the Body¡¯s nourishment.¡±


    The aches were still there, but they were no longer accompanied by fresh injections of fear. The aches will always be there, but they were the marks of a proud survivor.


    ¡°Within vaults of Bone rest the Mind¡¯s secrets.¡±


    ¡°Within vaults of Bone rest the Mind¡¯s secrets.¡±


    What did he have to worry about? What did he have to fear? The fight was over. The fight was won. And that meant¡ª


    ¡°And thus, the Warrior stands tall where his Enemies lie.¡±


    ¡°And thus, the Warrior stands tall¡­ where his Enemies lie.¡±


    Zelen looked back at Spindrift through the vision shown him by his own Eidolon¡¯s SPU. Here, encased within metallic giants, the two men were equally tall¡ªand equally victorious.


    ER has stabilized at 25%. Well done, Kingfisher. I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t be of more help.


    A part of him wanted to answer his Spiegel. To tell her that it wasn¡¯t her fault. But the far larger impulse was to stay present. To avail himself to the superior officer, the leader, the fellow warrior that had pulled him away from the brink of Psychic collapse.


    ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± he spoke into the radio in a voice that still trembled slightly. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know what came over me.¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Spindrift said, as calm as Zelen was shaken. ¡°You saw victory as an end rather than a means. You gave yourself to the fight rather than the war. It¡¯s a lesson all young Reiters have to learn at some point. Be sure you never forget it.¡±


    With that, Spindrift spun and walked in the direction of the white dot on the radar. The next time his voice came back on the waves, he¡¯d once again taken on the snappy cadence of a team leader.


    ¡°This is Spindrift, retrieving Objective Bravo now. Kingfisher, you¡¯re back on Objective Alpha. Once both pods are secure, we¡¯ll return to base for a resupply.¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged.¡±


    As Zelen went to work, however, his vision fell upon a second Syntropic carcass in the distance¡ªthe one his team leader had fought. And he realized there was something he needed to know, something he hadn¡¯t¡ªcouldn¡¯t have¡ªattuned to in the throes of his erstwhile bloodlust.


    ¡°Silon? Did you manage to note how long it took Spindrift to kill the Voras?¡±


    Yes, Kingfisher. About 40 seconds by my count.


    ¡°What about my kill?¡±


    2 minutes and 35 seconds, Kingfisher.


    ¡°And¡­ for those extra two minutes, Spindrift just¡­ watched me fight?¡±


    Yes, Kingfisher.


    Zelen nodded, oddly satisfied with the answer. And for the first time, he thought he¡¯d begun to understand the man that was Makiri Shiranui.

 18. REMEMBRANCE 6

    ~April 23<sup>rd</sup>, 136 AH~


    ~Sector Gemini, somewhere to the north of Korak Valley FOB~


    The first decision Zelen made, as he and Spindrift set off toward Objective Charlie, was to keep the same loadout from the first part of the mission.


    Double [GATLINGS], RS [HARPOON], and LS [SCUTUM]. The [GATLINGS] and the [SCUTUM] were a general-purpose setup that Zelen himself was fond of, one that allowed him to be ready for any encounter. The [HARPOON] of course was a personal touch, something to keep in the back pocket in case there were more Vorases on the road.


    The only input he¡¯d received from Major Shiranui had been the simple instruction of review your loadout as they went about their pre-sortie inspections. Zelen wondered if this paucity of feedback was a continuation of the senior Reiter¡¯s trial-by-fire mentoring method or perhaps even a sign of increased trust. The fact that he¡¯d thought to wonder this at all, Zelen decided, boded well for the future of this working relationship.


    Spindrift himself had made only one change from yesterday, settling on a loadout of RA [MJOLNIR], LA [WINCHESTER], RS [MISSILE LAUNCHER], and LS [AEGIS]. It was a drastically different approach from Zelen¡¯s, one that emphasized destructive potential at the expense of balance and versatility.


    [MJOLNIR]¡¯s single-hit impact couldn¡¯t be understated, yet it was also liable to leaving the Eidolon exposed in between swings. [WINCHESTER] could almost be described as the ranged analogue to [MJOLNIR]: high-risk high-reward, slow and methodical. In fact, Zelen couldn¡¯t think of anyone other than Spindrift who¡¯d willingly employ this armament outside of proto-Reiter training. [MISSILE LAUNCHER], a low-footprint option valued more for its homing capabilities than damage output, was clearly intended for setting up kills with the arm weapons. Lastly, [AEGIS] was yet another rare choice, one that provided a short window of near-invulnerability, with the assumption being the fight itself would be short and sweet.


    The sheer swagger that oozed from every aspect of Spindrift¡¯s setup was nothing short of awe-inspiring, but the man was unique¡ªeven among the most experienced Reiters¡ªin his ability to maximize its potential. Zelen still had a long, long way to go before he could hope to match even half of that swagger.


    The second decision on the day, as it turned out, was a much more personal (and perilous) one. Strictly speaking, however, it didn¡¯t have much to do with the mission itself.


    Aren¡¯t you going to ask him, Kingfisher?


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    Presently, the Reiters flew over a northerly continuation of Korak Valley: a vast and multifaceted canyon that was said to have been the site of a great river centuries ago. All that remained now were latticed scars upon arid earth, and the neglected husks of long-dead Syntropy half-buried in ash.


    It was over this desolate terrain that Spiegel Delta-Upsilon continued her interrogation, I can sense your desire to reach out to Spindrift, now stronger than ever. Is this not part of the trust-building process you spoke of yesterday? I for one support you in this initiative, Kingfisher.


    ¡°Since when do you care what happens between me and another Reiter?¡± Zelen almost immediately regretted his tone¡ªa touch too petulant in his embarrassment.


    Forgive me if I¡¯ve overstepped my bounds. However, in light of our most recent combat encounter, I¡¯m cognizant of contingencies where my rigid approach might prove insufficient in supporting you to the fullest. There are situations where the words and actions of a fellow Reiter can speak far louder than I ever could. I only hoped you might consider keeping those channels open.


    Once again, Silon¡¯s suggestions proved far too logical and considerate for Zelen to refute. That didn¡¯t make him any less shy, however, especially when it was Makiri Shiranui on the other line.


    ¡°What could I even say to him, though? The only times we¡¯ve spoken, they¡¯ve all been about the mission.¡±


    That¡¯s not true.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    Yesterday, after the fight, the things Spindrift said to you didn¡¯t strictly concern the mission. In fact, I daresay some of them were about you specifically, Kingfisher.


    This too was true enough. Not only that, it¡¯d also hit upon the very thing that had been on Zelen¡¯s mind since yesterday¡¯s fight: the one thing he wanted to ask Spindrift directly, instead of trying to guess at his thoughts and intentions.


    ¡°This is Kingfisher. Um¡­ Spindrift, sir? Is it alright¡­ if I asked you a question? Over?¡±


    The pause that followed was long enough to convince Zelen that he¡¯d made a terrible mistake. But then the even-keeled voice of his team leader came online and said, ¡°This is Spindrift. Go ahead, over.¡±


    Suddenly even more terrified than before he¡¯d turned on the radio, Zelen nevertheless pressed on, ¡°I was¡­ thinking about the things you said to me yesterday. It was almost like a¡­ poem? I¡¯d never heard it before, but repeating the lines after you had a strangely calming effect. Like¡­ like I wasn¡¯t the only one inside my cockpit. As if¡­ my comrades-in-arms¡ªpresent, former, and future¡ªspoke to me through the Nexus and told me I wasn¡¯t alone. Where did those words come from, if I may ask? ¡­Oh, over!¡±


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    By then, Zelen felt himself in the midst of a Psychic collapse even worse than the one he¡¯d experienced yesterday. God, how did I let Silon talk me into this?


    All he¡¯d wanted was to express the mysteries that had gnawed at his heart, yet in doing so, he¡¯d surely shared too much of himself. He¡¯d never been this open with anyone¡ªnot his family, not even Megha Vakta. Yet just now, he¡¯d willingly rattled off the most intimate and melodramatic contents of his mind in front of Akropolis¡¯s killingest Reiter!


    Zelen half-wished for Spindrift to turn around and put him out of his misery, perhaps with a well-placed bonk from [MJOLNIR]. No such luck, however, as the senior Reiter came back with a response that was as serious as it was mild-mannered.


    ¡°They¡¯re the intro to a book I read back when I was still a proto-Reiter. A Warrior¡¯s Remembrance. Author unknown, though judging from the materials used in the bindings, it was written sometime during the first decades of the Syntropy War. If you want my opinion, most of the book itself is onanistic drivel, not worth the paper it was printed on. But the intro¡ªpoem, if you could even call it that¡ªsomehow stuck with me.¡±


    Zelen was amazed¡ªand mystified some more. He supposed he¡¯d always known Spindrift to be well-read (especially by Reiter standards), but this was the first time he¡¯d heard the older man speak on his decidedly unwarlike hobby. Also, what the hell does ¡®onanistic¡¯ mean?


    He wasn¡¯t about to advertise his inferior vocabulary, however. Instead, he focused on the main mission of getting to know his superior officer.


    ¡°I noticed the poem¡¯s striking similarities with the Tenets of Seherschaft. Is that what drew your interest as well?¡±


    Another pause, which Zelen quickly realized meant only that Spindrift gave his queries due consideration.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be frank. I think the poem is also nonsensical and histrionic. But I can¡¯t deny it appeals to certain sensibilities shared by men of a certain age¡ªespecially ones that contend with death as a matter of routine. Memorizing it¡ªand reciting it on occasion¡ªpulled me through a few rough patches early in my career.¡±


    Now Zelen just straight up didn¡¯t believe his team leader. Rough patches? In Spindrift¡¯s career? But he managed to keep his incredulity in check as he asked, ¡°Is that what gave you the idea? To get me to recite it too?¡±


    Next came the longest pause in the conversation, which somewhat disconcerted Zelen. Of all the questions he¡¯d asked thus far, he would¡¯ve thought this latest one was the simplest to answer. And yet¡ª


    ¡°Do you know what my Einkunst does, Kingfisher?¡±


    It was Zelen¡¯s turn to take a moment to compose his response. This whole exchange had certainly taken an unexpected turn.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never had it explained to me in full, si¡ªSpindrift. But the way I understand it is it allows you to¡­ see potential threats before they unfold in battle.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a common misconception.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ apologize, Spindrift. Please correct me.¡±


    ¡°[THE INEVITABLE] is exactly that: the one and only possible outcome given a set of conditions and preceding events. My Einkunst is no different to what all Reiters¡ªor really any and all individuals going about their lives¡ªnormally do from moment to moment: react to changing conditions, predict the next event in a sequence, determine and execute the best course of action.


    ¡°My version of this mundane operation just so happens to be faster, more sensitive, and more precise than perhaps any other human in history. That is my gift from the Nexus, but it can on occasions feel like a curse. I can¡¯t just turn it off, you see. Even out of combat, I perceive the thoughts and actions of my companions a split second faster than they themselves can. You could imagine how that might make day-to-day interactions¡­ tiresome.¡±


    This latest realization summoned in Zelen the familiar image of Makiri Shiranui sitting by himself at briefings, eyes buried in his latest reading material. Could his aloofness simply have been an attempt at depriving himself of sensory and social cues?


    ¡°The main point I want to impress upon you is that [THE INEVITABLE] is merely an extension and refinement of existing faculties. It¡¯s not the precognition many seem to believe it is. I certainly couldn¡¯t tell you what the canteen will serve next Tuesday, any more than I could tell you what and how many enemy units might be waiting for us at Objective Charlie. My Einkunst had never shown me so-called visions¡­ until I met you.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Despite the desert air rushing past his Eidolon and the creaks of machinery inside his cockpit, Zelen felt total silence descend.


    ¡°You were¡­ ten, when you became engaged to my sister, were you not? From the moment I saw you, I felt a¡­ an otherness about your presence, as if the Nexus spoke to me in riddles. What I perceived from you never struck me as [INEVITABLE], but more like the echoes of a distant past¡­ or the whispers of a far-reaching future.¡±


    Zelen found it difficult to breathe, as more fragments of his past crowded out his perception of the here and now. The duel at the Gauntlet. His lucky win. Had it actually been because Makiri¡¯s Einkunst didn¡¯t work on him? Yet he also sensed¡ªknew¡ªthat hadn¡¯t told the whole story.


    ¡°Know this, Kingfisher. If I¡¯ve been especially tough on you over the years, perhaps even cruel¡­ I admit I might¡¯ve been influenced by the futures foretold by your presence, through no fault of your own. And for that, I apologize.¡±


    Somehow, Zelen didn¡¯t want to know. But he had to ask. How could he not?


    ¡°What future was this, Spindrift?¡±


    ¡°Futures, plural. It seems even the Nexus hasn¡¯t got you pegged. I don¡¯t know what if anything these visions mean, but I can only comment on what I¡¯ve seen and felt. There are futures where you become the saviour of mankind, the one to lead us to the ultimate victory.¡±


    ¡°And in the others?¡±


    ¡°In the others,¡± Spindrift¡¯s even-keeled voice carried through the radio, betraying none of the thoughts behind his words, ¡°you¡¯re the harbinger of utter destruction, the one to bring an end to humanity as we know it.¡±


    Silence filled the waves and the yawning chasm that had just opened within Zelen¡¯s chest.


    What did any of this mean? Did it mean anything? How could one man¡¯s Einkunst foretell the fate of all mankind, let alone Zelen¡¯s role within it? And yet, Spindrift wasn¡¯t done.


    ¡°And yesterday was the first time.¡±


    ¡°¡­What?¡±


    ¡°Yesterday, as you struggled to come to terms with your own anger and fear and hatred after the battle¡­ it was the first time the whispers that hovered around you settled into one discrete shape. Something [INEVITABLE] I could then pre-empt. All this to say¡­ that was what made me think of the poem¡­ what prompted me to share it with you.


    ¡°Because whether you¡¯re humanity¡¯s saviour or destroyer, in that moment, you were just a young Reiter going through a rough patch.¡±

 19. REMEMBRANCE 7

    ~April 23<sup>rd</sup>, 136 AH~


    ~Sector Gemini, 200 km north of Korak Valley FOB~


    The new unidentified enemy unit waited for them at the heart of Objective Charlie. Unlike the Vorases, it made no attempt to conceal itself, opting instead to flaunt its formidable size and numerous armaments in open invitation.


    What was most disconcerting¡ªat least to Zelen¡ªwas its strangely Eidolon-like appearance. It was as if a Syntropic version of Sherwin Granger had spat out a new model: about triple the size of his previous ones, with four heavy-set legs and aesthetic features that were a little too sleek and continuous to be in line with Granger¡¯s signature style.


    The other¡ªand perhaps the most pertinent¡ªdistinction from Eidolons was the sheer number of visible armaments. Protrusions of various lengths and shapes gave the monster¡¯s back an almost tumorous appearance, with each distinct attachment ending in barrels or ports that made no secret of the firepower waiting to be unleashed.


    Both of what corresponded to its upper limbs glowed with swirling reddish energy, which looked to Zelen like bizarro Eidolon arms on cooldown. If an actual Eidolon tried to equip this many armaments, however, it would¡¯ve depleted its Energy Reserves before it could step into battle.


    As if the four-legged monster weren¡¯t enough by itself, Objective Charlie¡ªthe third Anamnium pod¡ªwas situated at the bottom of a large abandoned quarry. This was currently overrun with a veritable platoon of more familiar Syntropy spawns: small-arms patrol units RG-22, designation ¡®Brutus¡¯. Just as the Reiters had seen the Syntropy presence from a mile away, there would conversely be no surprising the enemy. By the time they reached the four-legged monster, the entire quarry-ful of patrolmen would be on high alert.


    ¡°This is Spindrift. Initiating tactical briefing, over.¡±


    ¡°This is Kingfisher. Go ahead, over.¡±


    The two Reiters hid themselves behind a pile of rocks atop the quarry as they scouted the situation below them. And despite his words of prompt compliance, Zelen felt far from ready to take part in a briefing, let alone the difficult fight that would surely follow.


    That ¡®trust-building¡¯ conversation on the flight here had left its mark and then some. He couldn¡¯t stop thinking about what Makiri had revealed about visions of the future concerning him. More specifically, he couldn¡¯t stop thinking about the possibility that he might be destined to be personally responsible for the end of humanity.


    It was enough to make a young Reiter wonder why he was even here, on this crucial mission to secure fresh Anamnium supplies to sustain the war effort. Couldn¡¯t his failure here be the first domino that led to the destruction scenario? Shouldn¡¯t he remove himself from combat altogether, lest he inadvertently do something that would set the inevitable in motion?


    Whether or not Spindrift was aware of the fresh turmoil that beset his young partner, he pressed on with the mission, ¡°Goes without saying we have no data on the unidentified enemy. Taking cues from its morphological features, however, I expect it to be a slow-moving defensive unit with a variety of ranged options as well as melee weapons on standby. Thoughts, Kingfisher?¡±


    It took several seconds for Zelen to realize Spindrift had passed him the conch. He hastily blurted, ¡°Slow-moving¡­ so, maybe stay out of its melee range and wear it down with ranged weapons of our own?¡±


    ¡°The logic is sound enough. Though I doubt the Brutuses would let us camp in the air undisturbed. And something tells me that the probability we come out victorious is inversely proportional to how long we allow the centaur to hang around.¡±


    ¡°Centaur?¡±


    ¡°A four-legged human-horse hybrid from one of the Old Earth mythologies. You do know what a ¡®horse¡¯ is, I presume? It won¡¯t hurt you to open a book or two, Kingfisher. Back to tactics. My instinct is to prioritize a speedy neutralization of the main threat. To that end, we both ignore the Brutuses and focus down the centaur.¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. What do you need me to do, Spindrift?¡±


    ¡°Do you expect me to hold your hand for the rest of your career? You know my loadout and have seen me fight. You tell me how we approach this scenario.¡±


    Zelen gulped, somehow made more nervous than by any of his exams during proto-Reiter training. Fighting both nerves and distractions, he only hoped to string together something halfway coherent, ¡°I provide covering fire and chip damage from the air. Draw enemy fire as much as possible. You approach from the centaur¡¯s blind spot and finish it off with [MJOLNIR].¡±


    Spindrift¡¯s crimson frame shifted slightly, its SPU now pointing toward Zelen¡¯s.


    ¡°You think you can do it? Stay in the air¡­ and stay alive?¡±


    ¡°I have to.¡±


    ¡°In which case, I have no objections. Start us off when you¡¯re ready. Spindrift out.¡±


    ¡°Ac¡ªacknowledged. Moving in on Objective Charlie. Kingfisher out.¡±


    The pounding in his chest had started up again, along with the constriction of his airways. Zelen hastened to ready himself for battle, frantically visualizing the route he¡¯d take to get into firing position.


    Kingfisher, I¡¯m sensing a similar disturbance as what happened yesterday. I advise you to take some time to stabilize yourself.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have time! Spindrift¡¯s waiting for me.¡±


    Spindrift is waiting, yes, for you to lead him into a successful battle. You risk the chance of that success if you rush into it in your current state.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Zelen took a deep breath. His desire to perform wrestled against his need for calm and focus, but he also knew that Silon was right. She was always right.


    The Meridians are the branches upon which Life blooms,


    the Lungs are the windows through which Spirit soars,


    from rivers of Blood flow the Body¡¯s nourishment,


    within vaults of Bone rest the Mind¡¯s secrets,


    and thus, the Warrior stands tall where his Enemies lie.


    It did take some time, but a measure of calm returned to him. Through it all, the radio stayed silent, and Spindrift remained motionless.


    Zelen was as ready as he would ever be.


    The midnight-blue phantom launched itself into the air, and the crimson centipede quickly followed. They took divergent paths around the perimeter of the quarry, raining death upon the patrolling Brutuses as they went.


    As soon as the fight began, the centaur stirred from its depth. A monocular red optic shone from one of the tumours where its face should¡¯ve been. This red gleam first pointed toward Spindrift¡ªlikely having intuited the crimson Eidolon to be its biggest threat.


    Zelen tore his own eyes away from the patrolmen and pointed both arms toward the obsidian beast below him. A sustained burst from double [GATLINGS] later, the centaur shifted its stance, turning in place upon its four lumbering legs, as its optic found a new target.


    The protrusions upon the centaur¡¯s back appeared to explode all at once, issuing forth a volcanic eruption of pyrotechnics and deadly energy. Bullets, missiles, waves of electromagnetic pulses¡ªthey all flew up in wildly divergent trajectories before merging onto Zelen¡¯s position. He quickthrust out of the way of some of them, before having to deploy LS [SCUTUM] to mitigate the densest packet of enemy fire. Through it all, the Brutuses on the ground continued to pepper him, but Zelen had no choice but to tank the chip damage. And then¡ª


    Incoming! Lateral thrusters now!


    Zelen saw it at nearly the same time as Silon¡¯s warning. The swirling redness upon the centaur¡¯s ¡®right arm¡¯ suddenly twisted and condensed into a vibrating ball, which then shot toward its target as a beam of energy.


    Zelen managed to dodge the beam, just barely. Behind him, an entire section of the quarry walls exploded and collapsed, burying several hapless Brutus units underneath.


    AU at 80%, Kingfisher, but you can¡¯t let that attack hit you. It¡¯ll likely deplete your AU in one hit.


    ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t doubt it,¡± Zelen quipped, more out of agitation than any real sense of bravado.


    Spindrift quickly approaching enemy position. Just a while longer, Kingfisher!


    Zelen employed his lateral thrusters liberally, jerking across the air with movements that felt unpredictable even to himself. It was a move that had come to him as a sudden inspiration, no doubt seeded by his experience with Vorases.


    In any case, it seemed to do the trick, minimizing the hits he took from the Brutuses as well as the centaur¡¯s back-mounted armaments. At the same time, he kept the centaur in his sights and the [GATLINGS] firing without a break, intent on drawing the entirety of the enemy¡¯s attention onto himself. For just a while longer¡­


    Incoming!


    The centaur¡¯s right arm refocused its energy. This coincided with the tail end of a quickthrust, however, and Zelen had no way to dodge again in short order. Instead, he put up [SCUTUM] and hid himself behind its entire frame.


    The energy beam hit, and disintegrated [SCUTUM] in an explosion of red-on-blue. Zelen felt the impact¡ªnot dissimilar to that time Instructor Collima Duodecim caved his nose in for tardiness¡ªand reeled from it, momentarily shocked out of any and all thought.


    AU down to 30%. You can¡¯t afford to do that again! But look, Spindrift is in position.


    A blue dot on the radar had converged upon a red marker. Zelen saw the crimson figure of Spindrift dive down from the centaur¡¯s rear, his right arm glowing a ghostly blue.


    For one moment, the centaur¡¯s attention was split between the two Eidolons. Its optic still trained on Zelen, but the armaments on its back fired in Spindrift¡¯s direction.


    As bullets, missiles, and pulses flashed toward him from point blank range, Spindrift¡¯s entire frame became covered in a spherical shield. LS [AEGIS]. Within this sphere, Spindrift was protected from incoming damage, and he didn¡¯t need three whole seconds to land his own attack.


    Spindrift¡¯s right arm took on the shape of a giant hammer¡ªanother ghost from Old Earth mythologies. But as he leaned in with [MJOLNIR], he suddenly checked his swing, before engaging his backthrust.


    Zelen took all of this in without the time to process it¡ªwithout the ability to see [THE INEVITABLE] before it occurred.


    The centaur¡¯s left arm glowed white-red as a shockwave of energy erupted from its end, along with a deafening clap of thunder.


    Even at his distance, Zelen felt the ripples of this massive wave. With [SCUTUM] on cooldown, he could only put up his own arms as imitation shields. Even as he bucked under the pressure, he saw with growing horror what had happened to his team leader.


    Despite his preemptive reaction, Spindrift had been caught in the worst of the blast. He now knelt on the ground next to the centaur, with either himself or his Eidolon or both momentarily too stunned to move. The four-legged monster wasted no time in turning the full extent of its malice onto its weakened quarry.


    ¡°NO!¡±


    With a scream of agony, anger, and desperation, Zelen burst forward at maximum thrust, deploying RS [HARPOON] at the same time. The blue spear buried itself into the centaur¡¯s tumorous back, but Zelen didn¡¯t stop there. He followed the path of his own [HARPOON] and fired [GATLINGS] at will, intent only on turning the monster¡¯s attention away from Spindrift¡ªaway from his mentor and friend.


    The monster obliged.


    Two spheres of concentrated red energy trained on Zelen at once. One was the centaur¡¯s optic, no longer divided in its targeting. The other was its right arm, condensed and ready to unleash certain death.


    Zelen was committed to his thrust. [SCUTUM] was still on cooldown. In any case, he had no time nor the inclination to change course.


    Death. And this time, he welcomed it willingly. Knowing he¡¯d traded it for something worthwhile.


    But death didn¡¯t come.


    Instead, a battered crimson frame leapt up from under the centaur¡¯s shadows, swinging its giant blue hammer as it did. [MJOLNIR] met the centaur¡¯s cannon at the point of release.


    Zelen¡¯s world was a vortex of red-on-blue and blue-on-red.


    The explosion knocked Zelen out of his forward thrust. As he raised himself and his eyes once more, a horrific sight met them.


    Spindrift¡¯s charred frame lay in a crumpled heap, torn apart across the central chassis where the impact had been most direct. Beside him the centaur too had collapsed, its four crumbling legs no longer able to bear the weight of its molten tumours. Its right arm still pointed toward Spindrift, though the energy that coursed through it now were but fading wisps.


    Spindrift too had his arm raised: the left one¡ªthe only one that was still attached to his core. LA [WINCHESTER] fired, a blazing blue bullet that struck the centaur¡¯s ¡®head¡¯ clean through. Then the redness within the centaur¡¯s optic faded in an instant.


    Zelen fell to his knees. There were still Brutus units left inside the quarry, and these swarmed onto him now, firing their rifles at will. Zelen felt none of it.


    AU at 20% and quickly falling. Kingfisher, you must fight back!


    But Zelen¡¯s failing mind attuned only to a fresh crackle on the radio.


    ¡°This is¡­ Spindrift. Tactical update, over.¡±


    ¡°Go ahead, over.¡±


    ¡°Main threat neutralized. Objective Charlie cleared for retrieval. I leave¡­ I leave that up to you, Kingfisher.¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ funny. I¡¯ve seen many things die, often even before they actually do. But this¡­ this is the first time¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t speak, Spindrift¡­¡±


    ¡°This is the first time I¡¯ve seen something so clearly. I suppose¡­ in the end¡­ this was [INEVI¡ª¡±


    Zelen¡¯s world was unbroken static.


    AU at 10%. Shutdown is imminent. Kingfisher. Zelen! You must fight! There is no other way!


    You must fight back, Zelen!

 20. REMEDIATION 1

    ~February 6<sup>th</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ, Terminal One~


    ¡°NO!¡±


    With a scream of agony, fear, and grief, Asena bucked against the restraints that held her to her seat.


    For her, there was no four-legged Syntropy to charge toward, no comrade-in-arms to save. And now that her connection to the Nexus had been severed, she sensed only the veil of darkness that was her headset.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Corporal?¡±


    A familiar voice broke through the veil, but it was not the voice she needed to hear. She tried to push herself off the chair, tried to reach for something real. The best she could find was her own pain as leathery bands dug into her arms, legs, and waist.


    ¡°Asena! Get a hold of yourself and explain what you just saw!¡±


    ¡°Makiri¡­¡± she managed to choke out, though she herself could hardly believe the thought that was about to pass through her lips.


    ¡°Makiri was in this fragment? What about him?¡±


    ¡°He was killed.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I just saw Makiri die in front of me.¡±


    Silence. In the most complete sense of the word. Asena was aware of the hurried rise and fall of her own chest, as well as her racing pulse that seemed to surge and rush through her entire being. She also thought she felt movement beside her, shifts in the air as bodies swapped positions and equipment got moved around. But she could hear none of it, owing to the headset. Then¡ª


    ¡°Asena, can you hear me?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve asked Private Aliyu to leave the room, and I¡¯ll be taking over her duties for the rest of the session. Given the extraordinary nature of what you just reported, I¡¯m sure you¡¯d understand. Now, start from the beginning and tell me again what exactly you just [EVOKED].¡±


    An eerie calmness filled Asena then. The utter absurdity¡ªthe impossibility¡ªof what she¡¯d just experienced made her feel detached from reality. As she answered her father, she felt as though someone else spoke through her.


    ¡°In 136, Lieutenant Athelstan was partnered with Makiri for an Anamnium retrieval mission in Sector Gemini. As per your reports, this mission was also the first confirmed sighting of versatile defense unit GC-04, designation ¡®Kentavros¡¯. Also as per your reports, the pair of Reiters managed to work together to destroy said Kentavros. In the process, however, Makiri lost his life, by sacrificing himself to disable the enemy¡¯s laser cannon.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s impossible. I needn¡¯t even tell you that.¡±


    ¡°I saw what I saw.¡±


    ¡°Makiri is alive. Has been for four years since the events you just described. It must¡¯ve¡­ must¡¯ve been an incomplete fragment. Or you misinterpreted what you¡ª¡±


    ¡°I saw what I saw.¡±


    Silence. Darkness. Shifting air.


    ¡°Has the subject encoded this memory?¡±


    ¡°How should I know?¡±


    ¡°You will go back to him immediately. You will [UNRAVEL] this latest fragment before it forms a part of his new identity. Then, that will be all for today. We¡¯ll have to discuss what¡ª¡±


    ¡°[UNRAVEL]? But isn¡¯t that your job, Father? You were his Kuratorial handler, after all.¡±


    Silence. Darkness. Tension.


    ¡°Falsehoods though they might be, you¡¯ve just experienced something¡­ distressing. So, I¡¯ll forgive your insolence this time, Corporal Shiranui. You know as well as I do why my getting involved at this time is not an option. I won¡¯t repeat myself again: resume your interview, [UNRAVEL] the false memory, then end the session.¡±


    Silence. Darkness. Then something shifted within Asena herself.


    ¡°Zelen. Are you there? Please respond.¡±


    Silence. Darkness. Fear and longing.


    ¡°Silon?¡±


    The voice on the other line was small, crumbling, tear-swept. A lump formed in Asena¡¯s throat, but she pushed it down.


    ¡°You were telling me about your first mission with Spindrift.¡±


    ¡°Was¡­ was I? But I just¡­ I just saw¡ª¡±


    ¡°It was a difficult mission, but you pulled through, Zelen. As you always do. The first day went smoothly, save for a slight hiccup. But the second day was when you really showed your mettle. You and Spindrift both. Kentavros is a challenging proposition at the best of times, let alone the first time any Reiter has faced it, with no data to draw from.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ that¡¯s not¡­ that¡¯s not what happened, is it? Makiri, he¡ª¡±


    The stirring began in her sternum and spread into the Nexus. Asena saw the thread, clear as day. It was fraying, split, barely hanging on. It didn¡¯t want to hang on. It would¡¯ve been the simplest thing for her to just¡­ give it a tug, let it snap and fall apart.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Let it [UNRAVEL].


    But then, she found another thread. One she hadn¡¯t seen from her last foray into the topic at hand. It was a different memory¡ªsturdy, permanent¡ªone that had stood the test of time and recollections.


    And even before she pulled on it, Asena knew what this second thread would [EVOKE].


    ~July 17<sup>th</sup>, 133 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Reiter Garrison, Classroom 2A~


    Cadet Zelen Athelstan awoke with a start, then instinctively wiped the drool that threatened to fall off his chin.


    With bleary eyes, he took in the view of an entire classroom-ful of gazes converging on his position. Some of the faces smirked irreverently, while others looked sufficiently horrified. Still others, like the one that belonged to Instructor Ambrose Vasseur, were but stony masks.


    ¡°Vakta, you¡¯re the closest. Kindly welcome Cadet Athelstan back into the world of the living.¡±


    The ensuing smack was an (impressively) clean hit, right into the back of Zelen¡¯s head. The force of it nearly pushed his face back onto the desk.


    A smattering of stifled snickers. Zelen drew in a sharp breath and shot an accusatory look at his friend, who¡ªinfuriatingly enough¡ªalso looked to be on the verge of laughter as he shrugged and mouthed sorry.


    ¡°After that refreshing bit of respite, Athelstan, I believe you¡¯re ready for more PT,¡± Instructor Vasseur remarked, his eyes already back on the textbook he¡¯d been teaching from. ¡°On your feet. Back of the room. Make yourself familiar with the Stick of Honour.¡±


    Zelen hid a groan as he obeyed, lest he invite more punishment.


    The Stick of Honour, of course, was a standard issue TF-3 Carbine that rested against the back wall of the classroom, fully loaded (with blanks) to give it that extra heft. He picked it up, stood facing the rest of the room, then held it out horizontally in front of him with both arms straight.


    By then, the peanut gallery had all turned their backs on him, and Instructor Vasseur had resumed his lesson. Oddly enough, Zelen couldn¡¯t even remember what the lesson had been about. Had he actually slept through the entire thing? Even now, words trickled through his ears but struggled to find purchase anywhere in between.


    Far too soon, his arms began to tremble with fatigue. The first time he¡¯d been subjected to this punishment, he¡¯d inwardly scoffed, thinking: how hard can it be to hold onto a 3.5-kilo object for a little while? As it turned out, mass times gravity multiplied again by the passage of time equalled a profoundly unhappy pair of arms.


    ¡°The Second Law of Thermodynamics,¡± the Instructor was saying now. What happened to the First Law? Zelen would have to borrow Megha¡¯s notes later¡ªif he could even remember to do so. ¡°Within a closed system, any process that might transfer or transform energy will always trend toward increased disorder. Now, which of you have been keen enough to read ahead? What concept am I describing here?¡±


    Within the closed system that contained the Stick of Honour and Zelen¡¯s tired arms, things certainly wanted very much to fall into disorder. If this lesson didn¡¯t end soon, he¡¯d surely cause more ruckus¡­


    ¡°No one? Let me give you an analogy. Might jog some of your memories, assuming any of you are literate enough to crack open a book from time to time. Take your quarters for example. Your beds, your footlockers, the floor¡­ What would happen to them if we Instructors left you to your own devices, if we never kept you honest with surprise inspections? Stained bedsheets laid bare for all to see, days-unwashed unmentionables littering the floor, and god knows what else. And once the mess is made, it never unmakes itself, unless you intervene. What am I talking about here? Anyone? Still no takers¡­¡±


    Against all odds, something did land upon the space between Zelen¡¯s ears then. A classroom not unlike this one, except much smaller. Everything in that classroom was smaller, including Zelen himself. Including the man who stood in front of the class and gave them nearly the exact same analogy (minus the stains on the bedsheets).


    ¡°Athelstan! How¡¯re you and the Stick of Honour getting along?¡±


    ¡°Marvellously¡­ sir¡­¡± He had to strain so hard to keep his arms up that it was a struggle to get the words out.


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me, Cadet. Looks to me like that Stick wants no part of your company, and who can blame it? I¡¯m willing to put it out of its misery, if you can answer my question. The Second Law of Thermodynamics. The example with the messy room. What¡¯s the word I¡¯m looking for? What¡¯s the concept that governs all the randomness and uncertainties of the universe?¡±


    Something echoed from a distant past. Something whispered from a far-reaching future. Zelen spoke it into being, into the here and now.


    ¡°Entropy.¡±


    ~April 23<sup>rd</sup>, 136 AH~


    ~Sector Gemini, somewhere to the north of Korak Valley FOB~


    The only decision Zelen made, as he and Spindrift set off toward Objective Charlie, was to change his loadout from the first part of the mission.


    Double [GLADIUS], RS [BOMBARDIER]¡­ and LS [AEGIS].


    It was by far the most unconventional setup he¡ªor perhaps any Reiter¡ªhad ever employed. Melee weapons on both arms? Not even in the chaos of proto-Reiter scrimmages had anyone been¡­ well, deranged enough to try this.


    Yet, Spindrift¡¯s feedback was surprisingly understated. He simply asked, ¡°Can you picture yourself winning fights with this? And surviving?¡±


    Zelen¡¯s answer too had been simple, and borne by a confidence that felt as authentic as its source was amorphous, ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Then I have no objections. Let us depart.¡±


    Next came the 200-km flight to Objective Charlie. This took the Reiters over an arid and carcass-strewn desolation that used to be the site of a great river. Zelen spent most of the trip in silent contemplation, save for a brief conversation with his Spiegel.


    I sense a steely determination about you, Kingfisher: a laser focus on the task ahead. It¡¯s heartening, but there¡¯s also something else. Something beneath the confidence that¡¯s agitating to break through¡ªto come to the fore of your mind.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to be more specific than that, Silon.¡±


    I¡¯m sorry, Kingfisher. I myself can¡¯t quite put it into words. Perhaps it¡¯s nothing.


    ¡°I can sense something about you, too. Did you¡­ want to ask me something else?¡±


    It¡¯s only that both you and Spindrift have been awfully quiet on this flight. Did you not say that you wanted to know your mentor better? To build mutual trust?


    Zelen did give this some thought. He too wondered at his own 180 from yesterday. Not only did he have no desire to ask Spindrift anything, there also seemed to be something more to it: a sense of disquiet, agitating to break through to the fore of his mind.


    It told him that today wasn¡¯t the day to get to know Makiri Shiranui.


    To Silon, he simply said, ¡°I trust him inherently,¡± and left it at that. His Spiegel didn¡¯t press the issue.


    The new unidentified unit waited for them at the heart of Objective Charlie. The two Reiters hid themselves behind a pile of rocks atop the quarry. Then Spindrift initiated an impromptu tactical briefing.


    ¡°Goes without saying we have no data on the unidentified enemy. Taking cues from its morphological features, however, I expect it to be a slow-moving defensive unit with a variety of ranged options as well as melee weapons on standby. Thoughts, Kingfisher?¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s slow-moving, it must have capabilities to defend itself from a fixed position and deal with approaches from all ranges and angles. I believe victory comes down to our ability to disable these defensive options, first and foremost. The two¡­ ¡®arms¡¯ of the centaur¡­ they look to be where most of its energy fluxes are concentrated. Perhaps, if one of us could get in close and destroy at least one of those arms¡­¡±


    A pause, followed by a soft pop of static. Did Spindrift just¡­ laugh?


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind me, Kingfisher. I¡¯m just surprised you knew what a ¡®centaur¡¯ is. I agree it¡¯s an apt moniker for this Syntropy unit.¡±


    Zelen blushed. How did he know what a ¡®centaur¡¯ was? But now wasn¡¯t the time to jog his own memories about trivia, and Spindrift too was back to all business as he came back onto the waves.


    ¡°Can you do it?¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°Considering our respective loadouts, I thought you might be more suited to this role you described, of getting in close and disabling the centaur¡¯s armaments. Can you picture yourself accomplishing that¡­ and living to tell the tale?¡±


    The answer came out in a barely contained snarl, borne by an anger that felt as reassuring as its source was multitudinous.


    ¡°Yes. Let me do it.¡±

 21. REMEDIATION 2

    The crimson centipede flew into the ring, and the midnight-blue phantom quickly followed.


    The two Reiters took divergent paths, with Spindrift taking a direct approach toward the main threat. Zelen¡¯s route was more meandering, drawing a wide arc along the edges of the quarry, and constantly shifting his positions to stay out of the centaur¡¯s line of sight.


    His progress was impeded also by the Brutuses, who lined themselves up along the terraces and fired at will. In his current configuration, the only ways for Zelen to deal with them were the rockets from RS [BOMBARDIER], launched as soon as they came off cooldown. Occasionally, a Brutus unit would be foolish enough to stand in his flight path. These he was more than happy to cut down with [GLADIUS].


    Through it all, updates streamed in from Silon.


    AU at 65%, ER at 50. Careful, Kingfisher. Your Energy Reserves are decreasing at a higher than expected rate. Perhaps it¡¯s that Psychic disturbance I alluded to earlier?


    There she went again with this so-called Psychic disturbance. Try as he might, Zelen couldn¡¯t pinpoint this alleged defect within himself. If anything, he felt more focused than he could ever remember¡ªeven more than during yesterday¡¯s Voras fight.


    It was as if a path¡ªthe correct answer¡ªhad been revealed to him. As he continued on his meandering flight deeper and deeper into the heart of the quarry, he had no doubt that what awaited him there was victory.


    100 metres to the unidentified enemy unit. Time to make your move, Kingfisher.


    And just as well, for the centaur¡¯s right arm had just fired off a charge of its energy beam. In the distance, the crimson frame of Spindrift dodged this deftly, before answering with a round from [WINCHESTER].


    One of the centaur¡¯s arms was on cooldown, leaving just the left arm¡ªand its hitherto unused weapon¡ªto contend with. Zelen knew not what trick this centaur still had up its obsidian sleeve, but his focus on the mission¡ªconviction in his victory¡ªnever wavered.


    Maximum forward thrust. Eyes only on the four-legged monster¡ªon its left arm that now glowed white-red with danger.


    LS [AEGIS]. Zelen¡¯s world was a blue sphere that surfed upon waves of red malice. The edges of this sphere rippled under the force of the centaur¡¯s attack, then held. For three seconds, Zelen would be safe. Three seconds to manifest the victory that felt so certain in his mind.


    Beyond the haze of clashing red-and-blue was an ambiguous joint that fused the centaur¡¯s armament to the rest of its body. RA [GLADIUS] sliced through this joint, and the white-red shockwave died off in a burst of smoke and molten metal.


    Then Zelen came face to face with the barrel of the laser cannon, even now glowing red and charging its next shot. Perhaps a shade under a second of [AEGIS] still remained, but Zelen wasn¡¯t about to chance it. Not when victory was so close.


    He ducked under the cannon and slid along the ground, using a combination of forward and lateral thrusters to keep himself aligned with the centaur¡¯s arm. And just as the cannon chased shadows with its final round, LA [GLADIUS] shot up through the joint that formed its base.


    Now the severed ends of the centaur¡¯s arms rolled onto the ground: naked and harmless. The centaur wasn¡¯t yet completely defanged, however, and the protrusions on its back sparked anew with more ordnances that spewed into the air.


    Zelen backthrust out of the way with casual poise, knowing his role in the fight was already over.


    Sure enough, a crimson Eidolon entered the picture again, so quickly as to give the illusion that it¡¯d timed its move with Zelen¡¯s second cut. Of course, that was no illusion at all.


    For in this moment, Spindrift was [THE INEVITABLE].


    The giant hammer of [MJOLNIR] flew unimpeded toward the centaur¡¯s frame. The impact produced yet another shockwave¡ªshimmering blue this time¡ªalong with a deafening clap of thunder.


    When the smoke cleared, the centaur knelt in a molten heap, with the tumours on its back now leaking out nothing more the Syntropy¡¯s charred innards. Only its monocular optic still shone from the deformed remains of its face, now vacillating between the two Eidolons that had hunted it down.


    Then the older hunter signalled to his younger partner.


    ¡°I¡¯ll clean up what¡¯s left of the Brutuses,¡± Spindrift radioed. ¡°You finish this one off.¡±


    Zelen turned to his team leader in surprise, knowing full well the implications behind this latest order.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t make me repeat myself. You earned it.¡±


    Spindrift took off without waiting for another response, his [WINCHESTER] already pointed and firing toward the nearest straggler.


    By then, both of Zelen¡¯s [GLADII] were back online. He activated both arms in a criss-cross pattern, leapt up, and uncrossed the blades clean through the base of the centaur¡¯s SPU. Decapitated head rolled onto the ground to join severed arms. Then the red of its optic faded in short order.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Was the finisher needlessly theatrical? 100%. Yet Zelen felt not an iota of embarrassment and only the savage satisfaction of victory. Moreover, an unseen anger roiled beneath the edges of his consciousness and told him that, after all that had happened, this was a fitting end to the four-legged monster he¡¯d just slain.


    After all what had happened?


    Regardless, his Spiegel for one didn¡¯t seem to hold the theatrics against him.


    Unidentified enemy unit eliminated, Silon announced in her usual monotone. The kill has been awarded to Kingfisher. And¡ªyes, your ER has stabilized as well at 33%. You had me concerned for a moment, Kingfisher.


    Zelen breathed hard, suddenly aware of the toll the battle had taken on his body and mind. There was a lot for him to process, but he chose to first focus on the kill itself.


    The first confirmed kill of a new unit¡ªbig or small, menace or pushover¡ªwas always worth 20 points toward the kill count. After that, the points were tiered based on the perceived danger of the unit and therefore the value of its destruction. Bigger brains than his were in charge of these decisions, but if Zelen were a betting man, he¡¯d expect all subsequent kills of the centaur to net five points each.


    It was no small gesture for Spindrift to have stepped aside and let Zelen have this kill. To be sure, the killingest Reiter in history didn¡¯t need to pad his numbers, but the fact remained that kill count was¡ªrightly or wrongly¡ªthe first parameter any Akropolitan looked to in measuring the worth of a Reiter. In letting Zelen take the kill, Spindrift had effectively lowered himself to prop up his junior.


    Zelen continued to discover that there was more to Makiri Shiranui than met the eye. And yet¡­ there was something more, wasn¡¯t there? Something he seemed to be forgetting¡­


    Kingfisher, your ER just ticked down by another percent. Are you sure you¡¯re alright?


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve told you, I¡¯m fine,¡± Zelen snapped, tempers flaring out of nowhere. And this he knew was conclusive evidence he wasn¡¯t alright. At least not fully. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I shouldn¡¯t yell. I know you¡¯re only looking out for me.¡±


    There¡¯s no need to apologize, Kingfisher. You¡¯re a Reiter, and I¡¯m your Spiegel. You have every right to¡ª


    ¡°Zelen.¡±


    Kingfisher?


    ¡°No, call me Zelen. From now on, when we¡¯re on our private channel, just call me Zelen.¡±


    I¡¯m not sure about this, Kingfisher. Convention dictates that¡ª


    ¡°To hell with convention. I¡¯m a Reiter, you¡¯re my Spiegel. And out here on the battlefield, when no one else is listening, we call each other by our names. Don¡¯t ask me why I suddenly feel so strongly about this, but¡­ it just feels right.¡±


    A pause. Even a Spiegel could be stumped into silence if her Reiter were strongheaded enough.


    It might take some getting used to, Kingfisher, but I will do my best to comply.


    ¡°There are things even Spiegels find difficult?¡±


    If the task deviates enough from our training.


    ¡°Also, could you not say comply? It sounds like I¡¯m coercing you. I¡¯m asking, partner to partner. Let¡¯s call each other by our names, hm?¡±


    If that¡¯s what you want, Kingfisher, I will do my best to¡­ conform.


    Zelen had to laugh at that. It felt good to laugh. Even while standing next to the charred carcass of his slain enemy. No, especially after a victory he himself had engineered.


    Wasn¡¯t that right?


    Kingfisher?


    ¡°Yes, Silon?¡±


    Your ER just went down again. 30% now.


    Zelen had to sigh. ¡°I think I¡¯m just tired, Silon. It was a¡­ short but difficult fight.¡±


    It was, wasn¡¯t it? You did well, Kingfisher. You and Spindrift both.


    ¡°Thank you. I mean it. I¡¯m not sure why exactly, but hearing you say that means a lot to me.¡±


    Anytime, Kingfisher.


    A pause on Zelen¡¯s end. Spindrift entered the frame again, evidently having made short work of what few Brutus units had remained. The older Reiter now circled the area around the centaur¡¯s carcass, scanning for the Anamnium pod that awaited retrieval.


    ¡°Is this normal, Silon?¡±


    Is what normal?


    ¡°This¡­ feeling. Like I won, but also lost at the same time. Maybe not the fight. But¡­ something important all the same.¡±


    ER at 29%. Perhaps, Kingfisher, we could take up this discussion again when we¡¯ve returned to base?


    ¡°I knew exactly why I was angry at the Voras yesterday. How I saw it as the object of my revenge. I know it was the wrong way to look at things, to approach a battle, but at least it was clear to me why I felt that way. But this¡­ today¡­¡±


    ER at 28%. I need you to stop, Kingfisher. The battle is over. The fight is won. You need to stop this.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why I was so fucking angry at this centaur! Yes, it¡¯s Syntropy. Yes, it¡¯s my job to exterminate every one of them I see, but this¡­ this was different. This was personal. Is this¡­ is this just who I am now? Like that boy¡­ like Captain Vasseur¡¯s son¡­ Am I just going to keep taking my revenge on every Syntropy I see, and never stop until¡­ until¡­¡±


    The Meridians are the branches upon which Life blooms.


    ¡°What?¡±


    Say it with me, Kingfisher. The Meridians are the branches upon which Life blooms.


    ¡°Come on, Silon, you can¡¯t just distract me with this anytime I¡ª¡±


    I can, and I will. The Meridians are the branches upon which¡ª


    ¡°Fine, fine!¡±


    Begrudgingly, sullenly, and at the behest of his taskmaster of a Spiegel, Zelen once more recited the strange poem he''d learned only yesterday. He¡¯d thought his anger too great and righteous to dissipate with a simple party trick, yet before long, most of the anger did fade, to be replaced by a serene sort of bemusement.


    ¡°I just don¡¯t get it, Silon. It¡¯s not even a good poem, is it?¡±


    I can¡¯t comment on the subjective merits of a work of literature, but it does appear that both you and Spindrift resonate with this poem on a deeper level.


    ¡°¡­I¡¯m sorry, Silon. For taking my shit out on you, again. It¡¯s just me coping poorly, and I shouldn¡¯t drag you into this.¡±


    You¡¯re wrong, Kingfisher.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    I¡¯m your Spiegel. Whatever angers you, whatever vexes you, whatever shit you¡¯re going through, it¡¯s my job to share the burden. But I will say this. A mirror is only useful insofar as a Reiter uses it to see into his own reflection. Please don¡¯t forget that, Zelen. Whenever you¡¯re lost, look at me to find yourself again.


    Silence. Light. The Nexus and everything therein.


    Zelen wished very much he was back on base then, so he could be out of his Nexa-Suit, with his hands free to wipe away the tears that streaked his face. As absurd as it was, and even after what Silon had just told him, he didn¡¯t wish for his Spiegel to see him cry.


    ¡°Thanks, Silon,¡± he muttered, wearing a smile that only his mirror could see. ¡°I¡¯ll try to remember.¡±

 22. REMEDIATION 3

    ~February 6<sup>th</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Main Headquarters~


    The office of Fenix Duodecim¡ªthe General¡ªwas, in almost every way, the antithesis to that of Colonel Shiranui¡¯s. Where the latter¡¯s had been a near-empty shrine to industry and pragmatism, the General clearly had no qualms about turning his workplace into an exhibit of wealth and power.


    The steel-based construction that predominated the whole of the JFB had been hidden away under a varnish of blue and gold, evoking something of the Old Earth palaces Asena had seen in faded picture books. The room itself filled with carefully arranged trinkets and decorative pieces that had nothing to do with work: framed paintings, a glass cabinet that displayed legacy firearms from Old Earth, and even the taxidermied head of a ¡®deer¡¯¡ªreal or synthetic, Asena had no way of telling.


    The General himself imposed his presence at the centre of it all, filling nearly the entire width of an antique mahogany desk¡ªyet another exquisite rarity¡ªwith his broad-shouldered frame. These shoulders, bulging despite the man¡¯s otherwise relaxed posture, were wrapped within a Reiter¡¯s grey fatigues, which cut an oddly drab contrast against the surrounding d¨¦cor.


    Asena, like everyone else in the Joint Forces, feared General Duodecim, though more out of conformity than any particular reason she could point to. Everyone said the General was a man to be feared as much as revered¡ªZelen certainly seemed to think so, judging from his memories¡ªand so, Asena too dutifully feared him.


    Her only real interactions with Fenix, however, had been in social rather than military settings. In all the visits and gatherings where the two had spoken, the Duodecim patriarch had been nothing but smiles, jokes, and compliments.


    Even now, as she and her father sat across from the man, General Duodecim fixed her with a genial smile¡ªat least genial enough to loosen the knot of anxiety that had built up during her long walk to his office. Loosened, but not fully unravelled.


    Not like what she¡¯d done to her fianc¨¦¡¯s memories not an hour past.


    ¡°First, I thank you for meeting me on such short notice, Corporal Shiranui,¡± the General now spoke, causing Asena to inadvertently start and stare. No matter how many times she¡¯d heard him speak, she still couldn¡¯t get used to the surprisingly delicate tenor that trilled from Fenix¡¯s muscular frame. ¡°I know you¡¯re already staying well past your shift, so I¡¯ll try to make this brief.¡±


    Asena said nothing, despite knowing full well she was expected to offer pleasantries in return. She could feel her father¡¯s eyes on her but remained unmoved. The simple truth of the matter was that she had neither the Somatic nor the Psychic Reserves left for performing on a stage she hadn¡¯t chosen.


    ¡°To that end, Corporal, I¡¯ll cut to the chase,¡± the General continued. If he¡¯d found Asena¡¯s comportment lacking at all, he didn¡¯t show it. ¡°I¡¯ve already received a verbal report from Colonel Shiranui regarding your latest session with Lieutenant Zelen Athelstan. There¡¯re a few things from that report I wished to clarify with you in person. Are you ready to begin?¡±


    No, was what Asena wanted to say. Yes sir, was what she should¡¯ve said. In the end, she did neither, and managed only a weak reluctant nod.


    ¡°I understand that the memory fragment you [EVOKED] today concerns a routine Anamnium retrieval mission dated April 22<sup>nd</sup> to 23<sup>rd</sup> in the year 136. Our records from four years ago, based on reports from the concerned Reiters as well as their Kuratorial handlers, indicate that all three objectives were secured and retrieved with no significant harm to personnel. In fact, this is the mission where Lieutenant Athelstan scored his first kill of a Kentavros¡ªunidentified at the time¡ªan achievement that was much celebrated on base upon his return. In fact, I myself remember this well. It became one of the anecdotes I referred to when I presented him with his first medal. Are we in agreement, Corporal, that the details of this record are in keeping with your experience from the session?¡±


    She nodded again.


    ¡°It¡¯s also my understanding that, prior to seeing the aforementioned memory, you¡¯d first [EVOKED] a¡­ very different version of events that took place over the same time period, the details of which I won¡¯t rehash here, out of respect for both you and your father. Now, my first question is¡­ how would you characterize the subject¡¯s own perception of the two alternate memory fragments? Did he himself exhibit any knowledge of this¡­ phenomenon?¡±


    The last thing Asena wanted was to recall anything from her latest session. Yet even in her current state, she knew better than to openly defy the Joint Forces chief-of-staff. She frowned slightly in distracted concentration as she gave her answer.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t characterize it as knowledge, but yes¡­ there was evidence to suggest Ze¡ªthe subject had retained subconscious awareness of what had happened in the¡­ the alternate memory fragment. In that sense, there seemed almost to be a chronology to this, like one version of events had happened before the other. The subject was able to act on information gained from the first sequence to then produce a more¡­ successful outcome on the second, though as far as I could tell, he didn¡¯t know where that information had come from.¡±


    ¡°Very good,¡± the General nodded and widened his smile, evidently pleased about something Asena wasn¡¯t privy to. Then he glanced at Yuito as though sharing a private joke. ¡°I tell you, I never cease to be amazed by what you Kurators are capable of. To relive another¡¯s memories through their mind and body¡­ the thought of it still makes me shudder, I hope you don¡¯t mind me saying. And yet, you all perform your duties with nary a complaint, and thank god for that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the path shown to us by the Nexus,¡± Yuito said with a respectful bow of the head, ¡°and it¡¯s what Akropolis requires of us. We¡¯re only too pleased to serve her.¡±


    There had been a time when Asena would¡¯ve felt pride at the General¡¯s compliments and been impressed by her father¡¯s political acumen¡ªhis ability to know just the right things to say in the right moments. Right now, however, she felt only dull distaste for Yuito¡¯s sycophancy¡ªfor that was all this was¡ªand she also couldn¡¯t be more disgusted with herself, for the brand of Kuration she¡¯d just performed on Zelen.


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    ¡°What is your understanding of what had happened with Lieutenant Athelstan?¡±


    It took a second for Asena to realize the General had turned his attention back onto her. ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to hear if you have any theories¡­ that might explain the seemingly incontrovertible fact that Zelen Athelstan had experienced two versions of the same event, and had somehow retained¡ªor repressed, in this case¡ªmemories of both.¡±


    Asena¡¯s frown deepened. Was this really what this meeting was about? For the chief-of-staff and the commander of the Kurator Corps to hear a lowly corporal¡¯s explanation of Zelen¡¯s¡­ strange power? Did they really expect her to believe that they hadn¡¯t long formulated answers of their own?


    Regardless, the General had asked, so she could only answer to the best of her ability. Which meant she wasn¡¯t about to pull any punches¡ªnot anymore. Which meant she was about to get at the truth of the matter¡­


    ¡°I believe Zelen Athelstan possesses an Einkunst. And everything we¡¯ve discussed is a result of his having activated¡ªperhaps unknowingly¡ªsaid power.¡±


    Nary a muscle upon Fenix¡¯s smile shifted as he ordered, ¡°Elaborate.¡±


    Asena drew in a steadying breath, forcing herself to reorganize her jumbled thoughts. No small feat, considering most of these thoughts had only popped up in the last hour or so, and had been pulled from remarkably eclectic sources at that.


    ¡°Certain segments of Old Earth literature,¡± she began, ¡°both scientific and speculative, speak of the concept of parallel universes. It¡¯s something that¡¯s never been empirically proven, and there are different definitions and parameters of the idea depending on whom you ask. Some say the universes are fixed to their own dimensions and timelines, never to intersect nor interact with one another. Others say that every instance where a choice is made, one way or another, creates an entirely new universe, thus allowing for an infinite multitude of universes to be shaped by the consequences of upstream individual choices.


    ¡°I believe Lieutenant Athelstan¡¯s Einkunst fits within the latter framework. It¡¯s impossible for me to say whether the Einkunst allows him to create these parallel universes or merely¡­ travel between them. In any case, there are decision points within his life that break off into alternate realities, to which he¡¯s able to return then manifest the consequences of different choices.


    ¡°If there¡¯s any merit to my theory, however, this only brings more questions. How does he retain information¡ªsubconscious or otherwise¡ªbetween these realities? And what of the world around him? Of us? Are we the result of the alternate versions of Zelen¡¯s life having merged back to one reality, or are we simply one version of us that had split off¡ªunbeknownst to ourselves¡ªfrom a multitude of others? And does that mean there¡¯s a version of reality where¡ª¡±


    The General suddenly burst into laughter: an alarming sound, for both its volume and harsh musicality. It made Asena halt in her tracks, which was just as well, because she¡¯d been tumbling down a dark path she herself wished dearly to avoid.


    ¡°Yuito, my man, you must tell me your secrets,¡± Fenix boomed, still shaking from laughter. ¡°How do so many of your children manage to be so delightful?¡±


    ¡°If Corporal Shiranui has caused any offence, sir, I apologize on her behalf,¡± Yuito said with another bow. Asena threw her father a sidelong glance, noting he didn¡¯t look all that apologetic.


    ¡°No, are you kidding? This is the most interesting conversation I¡¯ve had in months. Certainly beats arguing back and forth with the blockheads over at the Council. Corporal, you will of course refrain from mentioning that to the subject.¡±


    Asena nodded slowly, as her frown turned from one of guarded concern to that of bemusement. She understood the General¡¯s quip, of course, what with Gerech Athelstan¡ªZelen¡¯s father¡ªbeing the incumbent Chancellor in charge of the Council. What she didn¡¯t understand was how any part of this conversation could¡¯ve put the General in such a jovial mood.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m the one that should apologize,¡± Fenix said with one last guffaw, then cleared his throat. The change in demeanour was instantaneous. He still wore his genial smile, but the laughter was gone entirely, from both eyes and voice. ¡°It¡¯s just, I rarely hear my servicemen speak so eloquently on Old Earth miscellany. You really are well-read, Corporal, I¡¯ll give you that. Reminds me somewhat of another Shiranui sibling, but that¡¯s neither here nor there. And you¡¯ve certainly shown me¡ªand your father, I hope¡ªthat you¡¯re not one to be trifled with. That you deserve our respect¡­ and our collaboration.¡±


    The General stood up then. He wasn¡¯t a towering figure by any stretch of the imagination¡ªnot like Yuito or Makiri¡ªand yet, his presence seemed to fill the entire room. Fenix Duodecim had that effect on every room he occupied.


    He walked over to the taxidermied deer that was mounted on the back wall, reached up, then patted the back of the head, around the base of the antlers. There was a fondness to this gesture, yet Asena also sensed an unmistakable menace.


    Her Old Earth readings had also taught her the historical significance of this deer head. Once upon a time, it¡¯d been a trophy of sorts, the proud memento of a hunter¡¯s tussle with his quarry. As Asena watched the General, she was overcome by the absurd notion that he himself had hunted and killed this deer. Yet there was a remoteness to his look that suggested he had a much different quarry on his mind.


    ¡°Your theory is certainly an entertaining one, Corporal,¡± he said, taking on a softer¡ªalmost wistful¡ªtone, ¡°but the truth is, it doesn¡¯t matter. We don¡¯t need to know the true nature of Lieutenant Athelstan¡¯s Einkunst. All that matters is we control it. And to do that, first we must get it back. Now, this setback with the extraneous memory¡±¡ªhe glanced at Yuito as he said this, ever so briefly¡ª¡°was unexpected, but not one we can¡¯t easily correct, as you yourself have demonstrated today.


    ¡°I¡¯ve decided I¡¯m glad this happened, that we can finally bring you into the fold. I believe this may well have been the breakthrough we needed. You¡¯re clearly a talented Kurator, and one who cares deeply about your subject, as well you should, given your circumstances. Help us help him, Corporal. Help us make him whole. We must not let his Einkunst go to waste¡­¡±


    Asena was both surprised and disturbed by the turn of events. She hadn¡¯t expected the General to be so forthright, and yet, he was also asking her to continue with something she very much despised. To join the cabal of liars that had kept her fianc¨¦ in the dark, about his own Einkunst, no less!


    How many threads of death and failure had Yuito Shiranui [UNRAVELLED] to keep Zelen meek and pliant? To how many still hidden threads must Asena Shiranui now do the same, to save her fianc¨¦ from his own pain?


    Then her words rang across the room, before her mind had a chance to filter them,


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    The General turned slowly to face her, his hand still resting upon the deer head. Her father too gave her a look of alarm, no doubt reacting to her having dropped the sir.


    ¡°What is the name of Zelen¡¯s Einkunst, the one you deem so precious to the war?¡±


    Only once during an Einkunster¡¯s lifetime did the name of their unique power reveal itself. Only once¡ªduring the Ascension Standard¡ªechoed and whispered from the Nexus. Zelen must¡¯ve heard it too, then had that memory [UNRAVELLED] by the adults that took control of his life.


    ¡°The moment we learned of it,¡± the General spoke softer still, voice now tinged with unmistakable awe and reverence, ¡°we knew it was the answer to mankind¡¯s prayers, our just rewards for fourteen decades of struggle and sacrifice. For the Syntropy is our enemy, and the Nexus has shown us the path to their defeat. The Nexus has delivered into our hands¡­¡±


    Fenix Duodecim suddenly gripped the base of an antler, so tightly that the entire deer head as well as his own arm trembled with the effort. Then he declared,


    ¡°[ENTROPY].¡±

 23. REMEDIATION 4

    ~February 13<sup>th</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ, Terminal One~


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Zelen? You seem listless today.¡±


    Silence filled the waves and the chasm within Asena¡¯s chest. The voice that came back to her sounded as though it was already fading away¡ªshrinking away from her presence.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing really. I know I shouldn¡¯t complain.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m your Spiegel, Zelen. If not me, who else would you complain to?¡±


    A heavy sigh. A sigh that carried the weight of multitudes.


    ¡°I know what we¡¯re doing is important, and I want us to push on. But if I¡¯m being honest, I already feel exhausted before we¡¯ve even begun. Is that strange?¡±


    There was nothing strange about it. Asena had seen the memories that had made Zelen feel this way: some that he re-encoded, and some that she had to help him [UNRAVEL]. And on this count at least, the feeling between her and her subject was mutual: exhausted before they¡¯d even begun the session.


    If anything, she might¡¯ve had more cause to be reluctant. For while she could ensure that Zelen retained only his triumphs, she herself remembered everything else.


    Pain, fear, defeat, doom, death. Everything still felt fresh upon her skin and seared into her flesh. A week had gone by since she¡¯d been pulled into the General¡¯s conspiracy, and she¡¯d already reached something of a breaking point.


    And to think that her father had done this for nearly four years! Instead of sympathy, she only felt a stab of dark anger. Then it occurred to her that she wouldn¡¯t have had to suffer through this if Yuito had been more thorough and precise with his [UNRAVELLING] work. Shame compounded the anger.


    She could share none of this with Zelen, however, and she¡¯d already tarried too long. Hastily she said, ¡°I¡¯m told that the act of recalling certain memories can be an intensely physical experience in itself. So no, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s strange. Perhaps we could ease into this session by first simply taking stock of things. Do you think your connection to the Nexus has strengthened in any way? Especially given the latest of what you¡¯ve recalled?¡±


    Another sigh, though cut slightly short.


    ¡°Once you hear what I¡¯m about to tell you, you¡¯ll definitely think I¡¯m strange. The things I did, the things I killed¡ªthe Kentavros, the Ildfugl¡ªthose memories don¡¯t feel like¡­ my memories. Which is crazy, I know, you don¡¯t need to tell me. But it¡¯s almost like¡­ there¡¯s another me¡­ somewhere out there, that did all those things, and I¡¯m just seeing into their memories. Maybe that¡¯s why¡­ I don¡¯t feel the connection. Why I don¡¯t feel like I could go back out there and do this again.¡±


    Asena was stunned. In the silence that followed, she thought she could almost hear the wheels turning inside Yuito¡¯s head, who¡¯d be listening in on this and drawing his own conclusions. Before she could formulate a response, Zelen continued with a brief dismissive laugh.


    ¡°You know what else is crazy? I think¡­ I think I¡¯m scared. Maybe feeling tired is just an excuse. The truth is I¡¯m scared. I¡¯m terrified to find out more of myself that doesn¡¯t feel like me.¡±


    Asena too would be scared were she in Zelen¡¯s position, but for a much different reason. Her most recent [EVOCATIONS] had shown that the solitary takedown of the colossal aircraft Ildfugl¡ªa key victory for the Joint Forces that had since become a centrepiece in the lore surrounding Kingfisher¡ªhad come at great cost to human life. All of it Zelen¡¯s, and none of it remembered.


    The first death occurred before he¡¯d broken through cloud cover, before he¡¯d even laid eyes on the thing. He was just a fraction of a second too slow to react to Silon¡¯s warning, and his consciousness disappeared into the blinding light from a railgun blast, before Asena herself was violently thrown back into darkness.


    The second death came as he charged toward the obsidian behemoth. His entire being¡ªeven his Eidolon¡ªshook with palpable fear as he flew, with the end of the Ildfugl¡¯s giant barrel tracking his every move. Then the railgun fired again, and Zelen mistimed his lateral thrust. Blinding light, followed by darkness.


    On the third death, Zelen had made it as far as the central cavity where the railgun was housed. Here, his progress was rebuffed by the invisible armour that coated Ildfugl, and as he scrambled to find an opening, he was gunned down by the small-arms defense systems embedded into the aircraft¡¯s surface.


    It¡¯d taken Asena four [EVOCATIONS] in all before they finally arrived at victory: the events that matched Yuito¡¯s reports and Akropolitan lore. She didn¡¯t even want to find out how many more fragments her father had discarded this time three years ago¡­


    For the first time since she¡¯d taken on the role of Spiegel Delta-Upsilon, Asena¡¯s voice shook slightly as she said, ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re crazy, Zelen. What you do is scary. What you¡¯ve been through¡­¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Silon? Are you okay? Sounds like you aren¡¯t feeling so hot yourself.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. Thank you for your concern.¡±


    ¡°What we¡¯ve been through.¡±


    ¡°Pardon me?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s what we¡¯ve been through, Silon. Together. Even if I¡¯ve forgotten the things I¡¯ve done¡ªthe person I¡¯ve been¡ªI haven¡¯t forgotten that you were there every step of the way.¡±


    Asena winced, then choked back a sudden onrush of tears. Someone was with you every step of the way. But that someone wasn¡¯t me.


    ¡°Zelen, may I propose a change of plans for today?¡±


    ¡°What did you have in mind?¡±


    ¡°Would you mind terribly if we just talked? No recollections, no searching for the next key event. Let¡¯s just¡­ get to know each other. Just like old times.¡±


    ¡°Of course I don¡¯t mind, but do you think that¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°In my estimation, this is an opportune time to take things slow. We can pick things up again when you¡¯re feeling¡­ more refreshed.¡±


    Silence filled the waves, yet Asena could somehow picture the smile that spread from the other side.


    ¡°In that case, I¡¯d like that very much.¡±


    So, Kurator and Reiter talked.


    In many ways, Asena found the exercise to be even more strenuous than their usual sessions. She had to be careful to keep the conversation constantly flowing, and always centred upon Zelen, lest he turn to her with questions she couldn¡¯t readily answer.


    In the end, not much new was said: mostly rehashing the quieter moments from the fragments that had been [EVOKED] thus far, and filling in the blanks as needed. Yet, as the conversation wore on, Zelen smiled some more, and joked and laughed.


    Through it all, Asena kept herself attuned to the Nexus. She wasn¡¯t looking for new threads to pull. Instead, she helped the existing threads to attach and interweave among themselves, thus fortifying the web-like connections that expanded by the day.


    [CONSOLIDATE]. This was the second core skill common to all Kurators, one that Asena found far more palatable than its counterpart. In her previous sessions with Zelen, she¡¯d been so focused on all the negative emotions that she¡¯d almost forgotten just what a joy Kuration could be¡­


    She¡¯d become so invested in the conversation that, when they finally said their goodbye-for-nows, she¡¯d set herself up for another shock.


    ¡°Until next time, Silon.¡±


    She nearly corrected him then. Nearly said: no, it¡¯s me, Asena. She of course didn¡¯t, instead mirroring Zelen¡¯s words a tad more stiffly than she otherwise might¡¯ve.


    Afterwards, she took her time putting away the equipment and doing up her buttons. Private Aliyu, her assistant, watched her curiously, as though even she knew her senior had flouted protocol and gone wildly off-script.


    Soon enough, the door to the darkened room opened with a loud bang, ushering with it the gangling figure of Yuito Shiranui.


    ¡°Leave us,¡± the Colonel said curtly to the private, who was only too eager to obey. Then after the door had closed again, Yuito rounded on his daughter. ¡°What was that?¡±


    ¡°Kuration,¡± Asena said without meeting her father¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°This is no time for your attitude, Asena! What made you think you could waste an entire session on¡­ on chit-chat!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe the session was wasted.¡± She did look up then, and held the gaze. ¡°In fact, I full-heartedly believe it to have been a productive one, centred on [CONSOLIDATION]. Appropriate, given the fractured state of the subject¡¯s Psychic¡ª¡±


    ¡°You still don¡¯t get it, do you? The subject will never not be fractured! That is the very core of his being, the very essence that makes his Einkunst so powerful.¡±


    ¡°His Psychic instability was exacerbated by the way he¡¯d been used.¡± Asena stood her ground, even as her own temper flared. ¡°Solo deployment after solo deployment. In missions of disproportionately high difficulty profiles. If the General had wanted to drive him insane, he certainly couldn¡¯t have found a more efficient¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hold your tongue!¡±


    Asena did, not because of her father¡¯s words, but the look in his eyes. Yet Yuito¡¯s expression quickly recovered its usual stoicism as he went on, ¡°Therein lies another of your fundamental misconceptions about the subject. If you¡¯d just done as you¡¯d been told every step of the way, we wouldn¡¯t even need to be having this discussion. But, circumstances being what they are, I¡¯ll try to make you understand. You say the subject was made more unstable by being sent out on solo missions, when in fact, the very opposite is true.¡±


    Asena frowned. ¡°You¡¯re right, Father. I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°You saw how the subject reacted to his former Instructor¡¯s death during his first deployment. That later translated to a near Psychic collapse during a subsequent mission. Then take his first fight against a Kentavros unit. The¡­ extraneous memory fragment you [EVOKED]. The death of his¡­ team leader. Again, the subject reacted strongly, causing Psychic spillover onto a second iteration of that event. Don¡¯t you see, Asena? For Lieutenant Athelstan, fighting solo is protective rather than hazardous!¡±


    This did leave the younger Kurator momentarily speechless. As much as she hated to admit it, there was a certain twisted logic to her father¡¯s assertion, one that had been borne out by her own observations.


    In all of Zelen¡¯s attempts against the Ildfugl, he¡¯d never once experienced the Psychic instability that had marred his first kills of a Voras and a Kentavros. She¡¯d sensed some spillover between iterations, but these had been defined, not by anger nor indeed heightened emotion of any description, but by a kind of fatalistic reckoning¡ªZelen¡¯s acceptance that he could well die at any moment.


    Could it be true? Was Zelen better off fighting alone? To shoulder all the deaths and failures by his lonesome?


    ¡°We have in our hands a soldier,¡± Yuito continued, taking his daughter¡¯s silence as his cue to hammer home the point, ¡°that¡¯s capable of single-handedly turning any engagement into victory, even against seemingly insurmountable odds. Why saddle him with extra resources, when they could do more harm than good? When they could be put to better use elsewhere? It¡¯s an arrangement that remained effective for nearly four years. You should know as well as anyone that all of Lieutenant Athelstan¡¯s most famous contributions to the war were solo efforts.¡±


    This made Asena look up sharply, temper flaring anew. She said pointedly, ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡±


    Yuito had the grace to look slightly abashed, knowing immediately the exception to the rule his daughter referred to. He hedged, ¡°A blip on the radar. Nothing to concern ourselves about. And I can assure you that, despite the¡­ unpleasantness surrounding that mission, the subject pulled through just fine. In fact, there hadn¡¯t even been anything for me to [UNRA¡ªAsena? Where do you think you¡¯re going? I¡¯m not finished!¡±


    ¡°Well, I am,¡± Asena said without looking back, already halfway across the room. As she shot through the door, the last thing she heard was:


    ¡°Two weeks! We need to see real progress within the next two weeks. Or the General and I will have to¡ª¡±


    The door slammed shut behind her.

 24. REMEDIATION 5

    ~February 14<sup>th</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Upper Akra, Athelstan Estate~


    Of all the Old Earth customs that had made it into Akropolitan society in one bastardized form or another, Martyr¡¯s Day might well have been the most lavishly expensive.


    Once a year without fail, on the date an Old Earth patron saint of lovers¡ªand beekeeping, of all things¡ªwas said to have been martyred, Akropolitans from all walks of life gathered and intermingled for a day of eating, drinking, dancing, and¡ªpresumably¡ªlovemaking. Nearly everything was paid for with Tetrarch funds, which meant it was the one day of the year where Essentials and even Sehermenschen could do away with austerity measures, forget about the war, and concentrate solely on making merry.


    For Tetrarchs like Asena, however, the day invariably ended in a formal dinner party at an Upper Akra venue. Despite everything that was happening (or not happening) in her work life, this year was no exception.


    Martyr¡¯s Day traditions dictated that engaged or married couples wear matching outfits and sit together with the affiliated family¡¯s patriarch. For many years running now, this meant that Asena sat as the only Shiranui at the Athelstan table, ever acutely aware of her fianc¨¦¡¯s absence.


    Of the now twelve years she¡¯d been engaged to Zelen, there¡¯d been a grand total of one Martyr¡¯s Day that they¡¯d attended together, one that a 12-year-old boy and his 10-year-old fianc¨¦e spent the entirety of in red-faced silence. Even that had come about only thanks to unscheduled repair work at the Reiter Garrison that saw proto-Reiter training suspended for several opportune days.


    For as much as the majority of Akropolitans saw Martyr¡¯s Day¡ªrightly or wrongly¡ªas an excuse to pretend that mankind wasn¡¯t in a century-long war for survival, Reiters and their loved ones often couldn¡¯t afford the same luxury. And nowhere was that disparity on clearer display than at this year¡¯s Athelstan table.


    ¡°Did you all have a chance to see the monstrosity Colonel Zhao¡¯s wife is wearing?¡± a sneering Bannan Athelstan spoke in between large swigs of wine. ¡°You¡¯d think, after twenty odd years in polite company, at least some of our good tastes would¡¯ve rubbed off on her¡­ but I suppose, once an Essential, always an Essential.¡±


    Theirs was by far the smallest table at the gathering. The speaker himself had dressed for the occasion in a dark suit with embroidered collar and cuffs¡ªfar too similar to a Joint Forces dress uniform for Asena¡¯s liking. Beside him sat Irena, his young Sehermensch wife who wore a smart dress with matching colours. At the head of the table of course was the grey-haired Chancellor Gerech Athelstan, flanked on either side by his wife Tiamat and Asena herself.


    To Asena¡¯s quiet satisfaction, Bannan¡¯s cruel jibe seemed to have fallen flat. She¡¯d ignored it completely, of course, and his father¡ªa serious man of few words at the best of times¡ªmerely frowned at the piece of synthetic steak he¡¯d been cutting into. Even Bannan¡¯s wife Irena managed only a nervous and short-lived chuckle, one clearly borne by duty rather than mirth.


    Tiamat Athelstan was the only one at the table to humour her son, following up a thin smile with the words, ¡°Good tastes we already have in abundance here in Upper Akra. What we need is loyalty, and that Augustus Zhao and his Sehermensch wife have provided unwaveringly for¡­ what, twenty odd years, did you say?¡±


    Before marrying into the Athelstans, Tiamat had been a Duodecim, and she somewhat shared the broad imposing build typical of the men in her family. She was loquacious where her husband was reticent, and charming where her older son was, well, insufferable. As such, she was the only member at this table that Asena held any real affection for.


    ¡°Oh, lighten up, Mother,¡± Bannan scoffed as he gave his wine glass an exaggerated swirl. ¡°We spend 364 days of the year talking war this loyalty that. What¡¯s the point of living if I can¡¯t spray a little gossip about our friends on Martyr¡¯s Day, of all days?¡±


    As he finished his rebuttal, he glanced Asena¡¯s way and winked, causing her to nearly regurgitate the modest contents of her stomach. Bannan had never seen his wife¡¯s presence as a deterrence to making passes at any woman within his reach, which was yet another reason Asena had begun to dread Martyr¡¯s Day in recent years. As much as she would¡¯ve liked to, she couldn¡¯t admonish him in the current setting without causing drama she didn¡¯t need nor want.


    She was momentarily spared from ruminating on her disgust for Bannan Athelstan, as a group of servants arrived en masse to switch out the plates. Dinner guests were now presented with the traditional Martyr¡¯s Day dessert: a layered ¡®sponge cake¡¯ topped off with a dollop of synthetic honey. It was clearly meant to be an homage to the ¡®beekeeping¡¯ aspect of the actual martyr the holiday was inspired by, but if Asena¡¯s own readings were anything to go by, this was another custom that had departed quite markedly from its Old Earth origins.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    If Asena were honest, she wasn¡¯t a fan. The sponge cake in itself was fine, she supposed, but the honey felt more like an afterthought than an improvement. More of it would dribble and pool on the plate than end up in the same bite with the rest of the cake.


    Therefore, her attitude toward the ¡®honey cake¡¯ over the years had been one of general apathy. Tonight, however, as she dug into her first spoonful and saw the amber viscous fluid spill ineffectually to the sides, she felt a stab of anger¡ªone that caused her to put down her spoon and stare despondently.


    ¡°Something the matter, dear?¡± Tiamat, ever observant, asked across the table. ¡°You¡¯ve barely eaten all night, and now you haven¡¯t even had a bite of dessert. Shall I ask the kitchen to bring another dish that¡¯s more to your liking?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s quite alright¡­ Mother,¡± Asena said hastily. ¡°It¡¯s my own problem. My appetite has been¡­ inconsistent of late. The food tonight has been lovely, I can assure you.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to sugarcoat,¡± Bannan cut in, still wearing the smarmy smile from earlier. ¡°Frankly, I¡¯m with Asena. This cake has been degrading in quality year by year. Don¡¯t you think so, Mother? Really, I think it¡¯s time I had a proper chat with the chef, remind him who¡ª¡±


    ¡°You will do no such thing.¡±


    A table-ful of eyes turned in unison toward the family patriarch, who¡¯d spoken for what seemed like the first time all evening. He¡¯d done so quietly, with frowning eyes still pointed to his plate, but his singular utterance had been enough to cause Tiamat and Irena to tense in anticipation.


    It had no such effect, however, on his oblivious (and clearly intoxicated) son, who prattled on, ¡°I don¡¯t know about you, Father, but I for one would like to see some standards around the place. Just this morning, I caught two of the kitchen staff out smoking in the backyard!¡± At this, Irena threw her husband the briefest of side-eyes, as if to say, what were you doing in the backyard? ¡°Of course, they scurried away as soon as they heard my voice, but I swear, the next time I see them, I¡¯ll¡ª¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡±


    Gerech banged the table with a fist, jangling plates and knocking over glasses.


    A hush quickly fell over the entire room, and Asena could sense dozens upon dozens of curious eyes turn toward their table at once. Tiamat had already leaned in closer to her husband, laying a placatory hand on one arm. Irena, the poor girl, sat frozen, eyes round with terror. Bannan too¡ªfinally¡ªregained enough of his senses to clam up and avert his gaze from everyone else present.


    Soon enough, Gerech relaxed his posture and sat back in his seat with an audible sigh. Then the servants moved in to clean up the mess, and the chatter around the room slowly built back up to its earlier volume and discordance.


    The Athelstans¡ªthe smallest and also the most miserable table at the gathering¡ªate or stared at the rest of their honey cakes in heavy silence. As the servants began to clear the plates and refill wine glasses, however, Tiamat leaned across the table to address Asena once more.


    ¡°You mentioned, dear, that you haven¡¯t been eating well. Is there something you¡¯d like to tell us? Something that¡¯s bothering you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s really nothing, Mother,¡± Asena said quickly¡ªperhaps too quickly. ¡°I think I¡¯ve just been preoccupied with work. Things at the base have been unusually busy.¡±


    Normally, keeping her shop talk vague was enough to deflect attention from herself. As much as Akropolitans paid lip service to the Joint Forces and Sehers of any kind, discussing a young Kurator¡¯s latest research project was not anyone¡¯s idea of a fun time. However, nothing about this year¡¯s dinner was exactly normal.


    ¡°Is it to do with Zelen?¡±


    Asena stared back at Tiamat, but felt the other eyes on her all the same. She was quickly learning that her top secret mission wasn¡¯t so secret after all. And for that, perhaps she only had herself to blame.


    ¡°I can¡¯t¡­¡± she stammered. She was never a good liar at the best of times, let alone under the gentle yet penetrating gaze of the Athelstan matriarch. ¡°I can¡¯t talk about it, Mother.¡±


    ¡°You can with us,¡± Tiamat insisted, voice soft and soothing. ¡°We¡¯re family. You can tell us anything.¡±


    Perhaps Asena herself had had more wine than she ought to have¡ªor she¡¯d simply been waiting too long to hear those words¡ªfor she almost did. Told them anything and everything.


    Yet, in the last moment, the sight of Tiamat¡¯s square jaws and sturdy shoulders evoked something of the woman¡¯s brother¡ªGeneral Fenix Duodecim¡ªand Asena managed to find her filter once more.


    ¡°I hope to,¡± she said with forced cheer, ¡°once this is all over. But for now, I think it¡¯s best that I stick to protocol. All I can say is¡­ I hope to be the bearer of happy news. For this family. For everyone in Akropolis.¡±


    Tiamat¡¯s eyes flashed for a second, as though she might have more to say. The moment passed quickly, however, and she turned to Irena with an altogether different topic, wine glass in hand. This juncture would¡¯ve also been tailor-made for Bannan to throw in one of his inane quips, but the older Athelstan boy looked to have been sufficiently chastised by the earlier exchange.


    The only gaze that lingered on Asena belonged to Gerech. The patriarch¡¯s earlier frown had faded, yet his eyes were narrowed in apparent contemplation. He looked to be in search of something, though even now, he was ever reluctant to give voice to his intentions.


    Whatever Gerech was searching for, one thing seemed clear to Asena. He couldn¡¯t find it inside the spacious dining hall of his ancestral estate, any more than he could find it in the polite yet somewhat defiant visage of his future daughter-in-law.


    That something had been within his grasp all these years, if he¡¯d only thought to look. And now, it was unclear if he¡¯d ever get it back.

 25. REMEDIATION 6

    After dinner, the tables were pushed to one side to turn the dining room into a dance hall. A troupe of Lower Akra musicians (and one very drunk Vakta man) filed onto a stage in the back of the room and played a downtempo rendition of the Heritage Suite.


    Music was a rarity in this part of Akropolis, mainly because it was considered beneath any of the Tetrarch children to take up. But of course, that didn¡¯t stop someone like an inebriated Ghata Vakta, fresh off retirement from active combat, from getting up on stage to make an ass of himself and ruin what otherwise could¡¯ve been a valuable and edifying performance. Anyone present who might¡¯ve wanted to stop him wouldn¡¯t dare cross the newly promoted Colonel from the Reiter Regiment. And anyone who might¡¯ve dared didn¡¯t care to.


    The troupe forged ahead, however, doing their best to incorporate or at least ignore Colonel Vakta¡¯s contributions. The piece itself was another annual tradition of sorts, a holdover from pre-settlement times where nearly every form of digital media had been lost, leaving the survivor colony with whatever physical copies of art and culture they could scrounge together before holing up inside what later became Akropolis. The Heritage Suite, in particular, was said to have retained most of its ¡®Bohemian¡¯ trappings despite getting passed along generations after generations of musicians.


    The dinner guests, to their credit, matched the troupe in their dogged pursuit of order and tradition. One by one, the couples paired off and danced in time with the music: all brave smiles and nary a complaint about the man currently rattling off an off-key flute solo.


    Once again, the Athelstans proved to be the most miserable bunch. All five of them sat on the sidelines, each oddly justified in their passivity.


    Gerech had likely never engaged in a moment of gaiety in his life. Tiamat sat dutifully with her husband, but she at least had enough spirit to smile and clap along with the dancers. And it seemed that Bannan and Irena, who by rights should¡¯ve been up there mixing with the other young couples, could barely stand the sight of each other.


    At least Asena had her solitude as a ready-made excuse. She thought she didn¡¯t particularly mind, just as she hadn¡¯t the last however many years she¡¯d come here without Zelen.


    But this year, something had shifted. And as she watched her own parents¡ªgangling Yuito and diminutive Tamamo¡ªstumble through a whole routine despite their severe physical mismatch, the chasm within her chest widened some more.


    The song ended, the troupe bowed (Colonel Vakta deeper than anyone), and the dinner guests applauded. As Asena too clapped absent-mindedly, she vaguely wondered if anyone might seek her out for a change of partners. She¡¯d just decided that the sheer melancholy exuded by her corner of the room would be enough to dissuade all comers, when one figure did break from the crowd to extend a hand in her direction.


    Her heart simultaneously sank and rocketed to her throat upon seeing who it was.


    ¡°Corporal Shiranui, may I have this dance?¡±


    The General¡¯s outfit for the night was surprisingly fashion-forward: a navy-blue collarless suit with simple white trims, a design that was said to have been popularized by the latest batch of newly elevated Sehermensch youth. As he approached, he performed an exaggerated bow for the benefit of his sister and her Chancellor husband (to predictably mixed reception), before turning the fullness of his roguish grin on Asena herself.


    This of course wouldn¡¯t be the first time she¡¯d danced with Fenix Duodecim¡ªsomething of an uncle figure to all Tetrarchs of her generation¡ªbut she couldn¡¯t recall another time where it felt as though something was at stake. Even so, she only hesitated for a second. Refusing the General in such a public setting simply wasn¡¯t an option.


    The troupe (now minus a snoring Colonel Vakta) began a slightly more modern and higher tempo song. And as the newly mixed couples broke formation and settled into their routines, Asena¡¯s forebodings were soon proven prescient.


    ¡°I read the most recent report, Corporal,¡± Fenix spoke quickly yet carefully, choosing swells within the music to ensure his words reached only his partner¡¯s ears. ¡°I can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised, yet I¡¯m also somewhat disappointed.¡±


    ¡°Sir, I¡¯m merely¡ªdoing what¡¯s best¡ªfor the subject¡ª¡± Asena was a diligent enough Tetrarch to know the songs and their associated dances well, but she wasn¡¯t so dexterous as her partner to engage in a lively debate at the same time. ¡°It¡¯s my professional opinion¡ªas a Kurator that¡ª¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t selected for this mission on the basis of your two years of Kuratorial experience,¡± the General smoothly rebuffed her, keeping an avuncular smile all the while. ¡°We chose you because of [EVOCATION], and if you won¡¯t [EVOKE], there¡¯s nothing to recommend you over a more seasoned Kurator. Say, your father, for example. After all, no one knows the subject better than Yuito Shiranui.¡±


    Even a few weeks ago, Asena would¡¯ve full-heartedly agreed with that assessment. Who better to restore a Reiter¡¯s combat readiness than the Kurator that had managed him for four years? But now, nothing could horrify her more.


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    ¡°What of Delta-Upsilon?¡± she exclaimed, louder than she¡¯d intended. ¡°I was given to understand¡ªthe subject had been nonresponsive to all forms of communication¡ªuntil I came along.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true that, in the interest of compassion, we kept him bubble-wrapped and pampered all this time. Perhaps for far too long. I¡¯m beginning to think that approach may have run its course. He¡¯s a soldier, first and foremost, and he serves no one while cooped up inside a cell and chatting to his girlfriend for days on end. Besides, you¡¯ve at least played your part in restoring some of his sociability. I daresay a Kurator of your father¡¯s expertise should be able to take up the torch competently enough.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ what can he do? Zelen is still so¡­ so incomplete. What could my father achieve that I couldn¡¯t after weeks of [EVOCATION]?¡±


    Even as she asked, Asena knew¡ªand dreaded¡ªthe answer.


    ¡°Shock therapy,¡± Fenix spoke breezily, still in time with the music, still smiling. ¡°You Kurators have a third core skill, do you not? One that¡¯s rarely taught, and only to the brightest¡ªand most dedicated¡ªamong you. I don¡¯t know the full details myself, but Yuito has assured me that Lieutenant Athelstan is a suitable candidate for it.¡±


    If that¡¯s all my father told you, you don¡¯t know the half of it. But Asena knew the whole of it, and as the full import of the General¡¯s sit rep¡ªof his threat¡ªhit her, she stopped dancing altogether.


    Her eyes instinctively sought out those of her father¡¯s. Both Yuito and Tamamo had sat this song out, and the Shiranui patriarch¡¯s bespectacled eyes betrayed nothing as they met his daughter¡¯s anguished gaze.


    The General was right. After [UNRAVEL] and [CONSOLIDATE], all Kurators¡ªat least in theory¡ªwere capable of attempting [REWIRE]. By shocking the subject¡¯s Psyche into a heightened state of flux, they could allow extraneous information to flow in from the Nexus itself, thereby potentially overwriting the pre-existing network of memories.


    It came at great personal risk to both the subject and the Kurator, with both susceptible to having their Psyches fried beyond all recognition or repair. Not only that, it also wasn¡¯t all that effective most of the time. Very little about [REWIRE] had been empirically delineated, but the theory was that extraneous memories had a very low chance of taking root within infrastructures of sound and uniform integrity.


    Due to its high risk and low efficacy¡ªas well as the rather gruesome act of discombobulating someone¡¯s mind to the point it could be entirely rewritten¡ªthe ¡®third core skill¡¯ had received a well-deserved taboo status. As the General said, only the most committed of proto-Kurators were given the chance to learn it: an exclusive group that included Yuito¡ªand Asena. Yet despite being among a select few that had been licensed to [REWIRE], Asena had never heard of a non-experimental case where its use had been prescribed.


    Until tonight.


    Even as she reeled from the news, Asena could admit to seeing a throughline of logic behind the proposed plan.


    [REWIRE] had a vanishingly low success rate because nearly all subjects Kurators worked with, no matter what ailed them, did possess a solid foundation of pre-existing memories: an idea and history of self that were consistent and robust. But what of Zelen? Wasn¡¯t his exactly the kind of patchy and meandering mindscape that was an ideal testing ground for [REWIRE]?


    Wouldn¡¯t his idea and history of self¡ªso full of pain, failure, loss, and death¡ªbe screaming out for a complete reset, so an entirely new person could rise from the ashes of what used to be Zelen Athelstan? Whole and ready to take up the fight again?


    The song mercifully ended, and the hall filled with applause and idle chatter once more. There was no longer music to mask his voice, but that didn¡¯t stop General Duodecim from leaning in close to leave a final warning.


    ¡°Two weeks. Or more accurately, thirteen days now. You have thirteen days to cure Lieutenant Athelstan using your methods. If you fall short, I¡¯m handing over the reins to your father. Believe me when I say that I sincerely hope it doesn¡¯t come to that. But we¡¯re at war, Corporal, and our enemies have never waited for us to get our house in order.¡±


    The General abruptly turned and left, no doubt to scout for his next dance partner.


    Asena stood rooted to the spot, until she felt more bodies and voices closing in. She panicked. I can¡¯t be here right now. She was in no state to even pretend to be antisocial. She needed to escape, and she needed to do it now.


    Outside, night had well and truly fallen, though it didn¡¯t provide the cover of darkness Asena had hoped for. Whoever had designed the Athelstans¡¯ outdoor areas shared her mother¡¯s love for Nexa-Lamps, and the ghostly blue from these light fixtures imbued the air with a paradoxically disorienting smog.


    Which was rather fitting, considering how jumbled her mind was. Yet, as she stumbled through the half-darkness half-blueness, one word kept hammering at the fore of her consciousness.


    Sacrifice.


    Not long ago, she¡¯d scoffed when the feckless Bannan Athelstan had thrown that word at her face. And throughout her sessions with Zelen, she¡¯d seen and felt and relived her fianc¨¦¡¯s sacrifice, on too many occasions to count now, with her heart aching for him anew each time.


    All this time, she thought she¡¯d known what the word meant. As it turned out, she¡ªlike Bannan¡ªknew nothing.


    What was Asena willing to put on the line for the war? For Akropolis? She now knew what her father would answer: everything.


    And Zelen Athelstan¡ªthe man she¡¯d coddled and mothered and tortured for days on end¡ªdidn¡¯t even need to answer. For he had given everything, again and again and again. And after all that, Akropolis still asked more of him.


    What was Asena Shiranui willing to put on the line? She still didn¡¯t have a clear answer, but she knew one thing. She wouldn¡¯t sit idly by as the possibility that the two men she most cared about in the world might destroy each other became a reality.


    She lost track of time. And of space. If this were day¡ªand if her head had been clearer¡ªshe¡¯d have no trouble navigating the Athelstan estate. But she¡¯d been completely turned around within the half-dark half-blue smog, and she knew not how to find her way again.


    That was when she heard the music.


    It wasn¡¯t the measured craftsmanship of the dance hall music she¡¯d left behind. It was less precise, more circuitous, but also¡­ more passionate.


    And its passion called to Asena, beckoned her, until her shuffling feet and wandering eyes had settled onto one dimly lit path.

 26. REMEDIATION 7

    The path led to a garden of sorts, but it was a far cry from the sprawling and manicured landscape that greeted guests as they arrived at the Athelstan Estate. The pots and boxes of imitation plants here lay and hung in haphazard arrangements, as if cobbled together from discarded material. The Athelstans clearly never intended this place for public use, but someone had nevertheless bestowed upon it personality and intentionality¡ªhad made it home.


    Just this morning, I caught two of the kitchen staff out smoking in the backyard. Bannan Athelstan¡¯s snide remark notwithstanding, Asena now understood that the Essentials that lived and worked on this estate had turned this backyard into something of a sanctuary, a retreat. Out of sight and out of mind, until such time that they were called upon.


    The Shiranui guest hung back and watched as a dozen or so servants gathered around a live fire. They sang and hummed to the beat of improvised drums, they danced, they laughed. Bathed in the orange glow of crackling flames, their faces¡ªbeading with sweat¡ªlooked livelier than anything else Asena had experienced all night.


    She was overcome by a sudden and powerful urge to paint, and cursed her distance to her canvas and supplies. Her only recourse was to burn this image into her mind, so she could revive it at the earliest opportunity.


    Thus, it was initially with an artist¡¯s keen eyes for detail that she observed a curious scene unfold. One servant, dressed in the white uniform of a kitchen staff, produced a metal jar. He dipped his finger into this jar, licked its contents, then passed it onto the next member of the circle.


    The jar changed hands like this several more times before Asena clued in that its contents were synthetic honey. Even out here in this secluded corner, Martyr¡¯s Day traditions were alive and well. Yet the casual ease with which these servants took delight in a taste of honey and each other¡¯s company filled Asena with shame for her own petulance at the dinner table.


    No amount of self-reflection, however, could¡¯ve prepared her for what came next.


    The jar eventually made its way into the hands of a young woman, no older than Asena herself. She dipped her finger into the jar like everyone else before her, but instead of licking it herself, she turned to the man beside her.


    The young man in question was clearly the most talented musician among the group. Even now, he sang and tapped a basket-turned-hand-drum with fervent vigour. The woman held her honey-lathered finger up to his sweat-drenched face, and waited.


    Hers were the endless patience and eager anticipation of someone hopelessly in love. Asena didn¡¯t know how she knew this, but the truth of it was as self-evident as the widening chasm within her chest.


    The man surprised his lover¡ªand indeed the whole group¡ªby cutting himself off mid-line to swallow her finger whole. This was met by a break in the music as the circle rang with laughter and exaggerated cheering. The woman, also shaking with laughter, slapped the man in mock anger before planting a kiss on his now honey-filled cheek, which only made him look more pleased with himself.


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    The exclamation¡ªthe lamentation¡ªescaped Asena before she¡¯d known of its genesis.


    Those within earshot turned to her, then their laughter quickly shifted to surprise, then to horror. The first servants to have seen her then shot to their feet and shushed the rest of the group.


    At the drop of a hat, the circle of revellers transformed into a roster: all silent, to a one standing rigid and ready to receive their order, punishment, or whatever else might please this Tetrarch intruder. Even the young lovers now stood at an arm¡¯s length from each other, honey and music waylaid, faces now showing nothing but apprehension.


    ¡°No, please,¡± Asena all but wailed in her desperation to fix this. For she was responsible for this. She¡¯d broken something beautiful, and she needed to put it back together. ¡°Don¡¯t stop on my account. I was just¡­ I was just enjoying the music.¡±


    Not a word in response. Nary a shift in posture. Asena¡¯s words fell on ears too afraid to hear them. The servants still waited for the other shoe to drop.


    ¡°Please believe me when I say¡­¡± Her voice shook slightly as she spoke, and she realized that she was on the verge of tears. Though she herself couldn¡¯t be sure which sequence of events had brought them on. ¡°That I think what you were doing here is wonderful. And I¡¯m so sorry if I¡ªif my¡ª¡±


    Speech failed her, as she herself felt its hollowness. She hung her head, ready to simply turn and walk away without another word, when¡ª


    ¡°Ms Shiranui?¡±


    The voice issued from somewhere behind her, further back in the path she¡¯d taken earlier. She turned to it, and saw in the distant blue-dark smog a man¡¯s shadowy figure.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Your father sent me to look for you. Says he¡¯d like to have some words before he retires for the night.¡±


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    ¡°Yes. Yes, of course. I was just heading back myself.¡±


    She was almost grateful for the interruption¡ªthe invitation to extricate herself with some semblance of grace¡ªand this latest thought only deepened her shame.


    She began to make her way back up the footpath, acutely aware of the silent eyes that followed her. The man who¡¯d called to her made no attempt to come any closer, and his figure remained obscured by light and shadows.


    ¡°Have you enjoyed your evening, Ms Shiranui?¡±


    ¡°Ye¡ªyes, very much so. Thanks for asking.¡±


    Even as she gave her reflexive answer, Asena frowned, then squinted, better to make out who this messenger actually was. Who would Yuito have sent to fetch her at this hour? Someone that was intimately familiar with the Athelstan estate? Was he a Sehermensch she should¡¯ve known well?


    ¡°That¡¯s good to hear, Ms Shiranui. But if I could be selfish for one moment, I¡¯d rather hoped for this evening to be as educational as it was no doubt entertaining. Would you agree that was the case?¡±


    With a sudden and terrifying flash of recognition, Asena realized that she knew this voice. Where had she heard it before? And just who in Akropolis would even speak to her like this?


    She didn¡¯t answer the man¡¯s second question, partially because she didn¡¯t know how, but mostly because she was now more preoccupied with identifying the shadow figure. But as she quickened her pace, the shadow spoke once more.


    ¡°No need to answer just yet, Ms Shiranui. But when you¡¯re ready, we¡¯ll come find you again. Both of you. Good night, and sweet dreams.¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡±


    The figure vanished into light and shadows, and Asena sped to his erstwhile location to no avail. The man was gone, and nowhere to be seen amidst a haze of the Nexus and the night.


    She scanned the area where the man had been standing moments ago. Sure enough¡ªfor she¡¯d somehow learned to expect it¡ªher eyes fell upon a strange object.


    Brightly lit in blue by an adjacent lamp fixture, a folded piece of paper hung from one of the pillars that lined the footpath. Asena carefully peeled it off and examined it.


    A diagram printed in black ink. Circular fruit, stem, leaf. An apple. She unfolded the paper and read:


    DEAR DREAMER,


    NEXT, SEEK THE ROOTS


    ~February 15<sup>th</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ, Colonel Shiranui¡¯s Office~


    ¡°It¡¯s my understanding that you¡¯ve received additional briefing from the General.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s correct, sir.¡±


    ¡°Do you have any¡­ questions? Points that require clarification?¡±


    ¡°No, sir.¡±


    ¡°¡­ I see. Does this mean you¡¯re ready to resume the sessions? With a clear goal in mind?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    Yuito paused for a moment, looking his daughter up and down with his permanent discerning frown. Then he asked, with a tenderness that nearly caught Asena off guard, ¡°Is there anything you wish to say to me? Anything¡­ anything at all.¡±


    A thousand anythings leapt out from her chest all at once.


    How could you not talk to me about this? Don¡¯t do it. Is this really your wish, or is it Fenix Duodecim manipulating you? Don¡¯t do it. I¡¯ve been getting strange messages from who I think is a stranger, but I don¡¯t know if telling you about it is the right thing. Don¡¯t do it. I want to help Zelen, but I don¡¯t know if making him fight again is the right thing. Don¡¯t do it. I think I love Zelen, but I know he doesn¡¯t love me, and I don¡¯t know why it bothers me so much. DON¡¯T DO IT.


    ¡°No, sir.¡±


    Yuito leaned back into his seat, and let the silence stretch just a while longer. Just long enough for the chasm within Asena¡¯s chest to widen yet again.


    ¡°Understood, Corporal. Then let us begin.¡±


    ~February 15<sup>th</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ, Terminal One~


    ¡°I wanted to try something different, Zelen.¡±


    ¡°Different¡­ like how last time was different? Just talk?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not, Zelen. I¡¯m sorry if I¡¯ve previously misled you, but it¡¯s become clear to me that our sessions are progressing at a rate that¡¯s¡­ inadequate.¡±


    ¡°¡­ I understand, Silon. And I¡¯m sorry. I know I¡¯m holding us back, but I just¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, Zelen, you have nothing to apologize for. It¡¯s my own fault for being too directionless with my approach. But I shan¡¯t let what we¡¯ve worked on thus far go to waste. What we need is a complete picture. A complete picture of you, with all of your triumphs, yes, but also all of your defeats and shortcomings.¡±


    ¡°¡­ You don¡¯t mince words, Silon, but that¡¯s what I¡¯ve always liked about you. But¡­ you¡¯ve seen my defeats, haven¡¯t you? That time with Captain Vasseur, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°That was your very first mission. The fact you made it out alive at all is a triumph in itself. No, like I said, we need to complete the picture. We¡¯ve been at this a while now, Zelen, and I believe some of your latent memories are starting to wake, even without my assistance. Wouldn¡¯t you say that¡¯s true?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know, Silon. You¡¯ve really put me on the spot, here¡­¡±


    ¡°Search your memories and tell me. There should be something there. Something from when you were at the height of your powers, when the whole of Akropolis believed you to be the saviour mankind had been waiting for. And once again, and against impossible odds, you lived up to that mantle. But that victory came at a great cost¡­¡±


    A stirring within her sternum. A call answered by the Nexus. Threads appearing and fading and appearing again. Echoes flowing and ebbing and flowing again.


    ¡°Silon¡­ something¡¯s different about you today. Did something happen? Should¡­ should I be worried?¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t about me, Zelen!¡±


    Asena tried and failed to keep her voice flat. She cut the channel momentarily to allow herself to take a deep breath.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t about me, Zelen. This is about you. Focus on the task, and work with me.¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­ I¡¯m sorry¡­ And believe me, I tried, but¡­ I don¡¯t know how to explain it. I think I see the memory you might be referring to, but when I try to get closer, it¡¯s like¡­ the memory itself is pulling away from me. Like it doesn¡¯t want me to see it¡­¡±


    None of what he said made any sense, nor did it fit any patterns Kurators had been taught to anticipate. But Zelen was speaking from the heart, from the purest and most naked part of his consciousness¡ªfrom the Nexus. Asena knew this, because she could see the threads materialize once more, and this time for good.


    ¡°Relax now, Zelen. You¡¯ve done well. This is why I¡¯m here. I¡¯m here to assist you.¡±


    Asena steeled herself as she pulled at this shyest¡ªdarkest¡ªof memories. If she had nothing of herself to put on the line, the least she could do was to share in Zelen¡¯s sacrifice.


    Again and again and again.


    Asena steeled herself against the horrors that awaited, and [EVOKED].

 27. REDUNDANCY 1

    ~October 28<sup>th</sup>, 138 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, the Gymnasium~


    Zelen received the ¡®pill¡¯ from Wong on a lateral pass, then took a moment to scan upcourt.


    Wong had already transitioned into a well-placed screen, giving Zelen the space to drive it forward himself, perhaps advance the pill by a good fifteen yards at least. From the corner of his eyes, however, he spied the red bib of another teammate streaming down the wing on the weak side.


    Could he hit this kick? It would be on his weaker foot, but the angle looked tantalizingly ideal. And if the pass went through, it¡¯d almost certainly lead to a score.


    Having made up his mind, Zelen dropped the pill and wound back his left foot. And then¡ª


    Crunch!


    The tackle had come from directly behind him, which meant he had no chance to see it nor brace himself. With the wind knocked out of him in an instant, Zelen crumpled without a fight and slid face-first onto the mat, with his tackler still firmly wrapped around him. The pill, of course, rolled harmlessly to the side.


    The sharp blast of a whistle pealed across the room, at the same time as Zelen bounced painfully against the floor.


    ¡°Tackle in the back!¡± The whistle was quickly followed by the gruff voice of Captain Collima Duodecim, acting as referee. ¡°That¡¯s a flagrant foul, Vakta, one more and you¡¯re off!¡±


    As he tried to recapture his senses from somewhere within the whirlwind of pain, one thought shot to the fore of Zelen¡¯s mind. Megha again! What¡¯s gotten into him today?


    His friend had slotted into the opposing midfield, then proceeded to hound Zelen everywhere he went. Megha¡¯s defensive actions (and cheap shots) had escalated in physicality throughout the game, culminating in this latest sucker punch of a tackle.


    And now, it seemed Megha had decided to stop and lie on top of his opponent instead of getting on with the play. To be fair, this was an age-old mind games technique, but Zelen couldn¡¯t for the life of him figure out why he had to take it from his friend.


    ¡°Get off me.¡±


    No response, no movement. Tempers flaring, Zelen dispensed with words altogether. He freed up one arm, then elbowed Megha in the ribs. Not with force meant to cause real harm, but enough to make his point.


    Megha did get up then, but not before giving Zelen another hard shove in the back for good measure. By then, the play had resumed, with Wong having taken the free kick. As such, Referee Duodecim missed what surely should¡¯ve been the Vakta scion¡¯s second flagrant foul of the game¡ªthis time for unsportsmanlike conduct.


    Zelen got up slowly, massaging his aching muscles and wounded pride. There was a turnover upcourt, which meant Team Blue was now on the attack.


    Lieutenant Athelstan saw himself as the kind of Arenaball player that stayed loose and light on his feet, reacting to rather than engineering how the play developed. Right now, however, a simmering anger narrowed his vision until it focused on the figure of Captain Megha Vakta.


    The freshly promoted captain roamed centre court, back turned to Zelen as if he¡¯d already forgotten their earlier tussle. He kept his feet moving diligently, making multiple sharp cuts to present himself for passes.


    Zelen let him, maintaining enough distance to lull Megha into the illusion that he was unmarked. He moved dutifully within his team¡¯s defensive shape, while keeping his sights trained on his counterpart the whole time.


    It didn¡¯t take long for the pill to find its way into Megha¡¯s hands: a diagonal kick from Nascimento. The Vakta heir spun, his eyes lighting up at the open court ahead: a clear line of attack¡ªone Zelen had intentionally left open.


    As soon as Megha broke into his eager sprint, Zelen sprang from the side: a defensive manoeuvre that was preemptive rather than reactive. He went in at a sharp angle (albeit a legal one), poised to wrap up his opponent and stop his progress.


    He didn¡¯t expect Megha to go down without a fight. Maybe a stiff-arm fend-off? A side-step dodge? He was ready for anything his friend might come up with, having studied his every move over a decade and change of playing with and against him.


    What he hadn¡¯t expected, was for Megha to lower his shoulder and counter-tackle, straight into Zelen¡¯s chest.


    The hefty impact¡ªas well as the surprise¡ªnearly knocked Zelen off his feet. But he held firm and stuck to his original plan, with arms shooting across Megha¡¯s chest and back, hands struggling to find purchase on sweat-slick skin before grasping a handful of bib.


    The two Reiters crashed onto the mat, collapsing under each other¡¯s weight and ferocity. Megha immediately tried to get up, arcing his back and pushing against Zelen¡¯s death grip.


    His pill hand was more or less free, which meant the correct play would¡¯ve been to throw it to a teammate (indeed bodies had already closed in, along with frantic shouts for a pass). But for whatever reason, Megha held onto the pill, and as long as Megha had the pill, Zelen wouldn¡¯t let go.


    ¡°Fuck off!¡±


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    With a vicious snarl, Megha did throw the pill, but aimed at Zelen¡¯s head. His range of motion had been limited, which meant the throw itself barely did any damage, other than to make Zelen see red.


    ¡°The fuck¡¯s your problem?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t clear who threw the first punch. Suffice it to say that punches were thrown, but only several, before the two Reiters were forcibly dragged apart by their teammates and opponents alike.


    Much shoving and shouting¡ªand a few more whiffed punches¡ªensued, but Referee Duodecim¡¯s voice boomed loudest above all, ¡°Unsportsmanlike conduct, Athelstan and Vakta! Athelstan, I¡¯m calling this a double flagrant, so you¡¯re out too. Both of you, get the fuck out of my sight!¡±


    ¡°Sir, there¡¯s uh¡­ a lot of blood.¡±


    ¡°What? God fucking damn it, Vakta, are you bleeding all over my floor? That¡¯s it, I¡¯m calling the game. All you fuckheads better scatter before I really lose my shit. And get yourselves cleaned up, for fuck¡¯s sake!¡±


    All around, the shouting quickly turned to grumbling. But the words Vakta and bleeding in the same sentence hit Zelen like a splash of cold water. He searched wildly amidst a gaggle of sweat-drenched bodies until he found his friend.


    Megha knelt on the floor, supported by a nonplussed teammate on one side and on the other a Gaertner that had rushed in to provide first aid. Evidently, at least one of Zelen¡¯s punches had connected, thereby splitting open a vein in his friend¡¯s forehead.


    The blood wasn¡¯t quite as much as advertised, but it still made for a striking contrast against Megha¡¯s skin and clothes, and some of it had splattered onto the mat in spectacular fashion. In any case, it was enough to erase all of Zelen¡¯s anger in an instant.


    He made to rush over to his friend, then was stopped by a firm hand in his chest.


    ¡°Look, I don¡¯t know and I won¡¯t ask what got the two of you so worked up.¡± It was Captain Duodecim, remarkably calm despite his earlier threats and insults. ¡°But even I can see now isn¡¯t the time to hash it out. He¡¯s fine, Athelstan. Just looks worse than it is. Hit the showers, cool off. Kiss and make up on your own time, deal?¡±


    Even after nearly three years on combat duty¡ªand having already racked up a higher kill count than his former Instructor¡ªZelen still felt like a cadet in front of Collima Duodecim. Besides, the man was right. Whatever grievance had set Megha off, Zelen wasn¡¯t about to get a meaningful word out of him in his current state.


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Zelen panted, then backed off a step.


    At this, Captain Duodecim raised a sardonic eyebrow, as though Zelen had just told an off-colour joke. He muttered, ¡°Not going to lie, it weirds me the fuck out that you still need to call me sir. With the career you¡¯ve had, how the hell haven¡¯t you been promoted yet?¡±


    ~October 29<sup>th</sup>, 138 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Reiter Garrison~


    It was with weary eyes and a heavy heart that Lieutenant Zelen Athelstan sat down for the most important mission briefing of his career.


    The meeting room was the fullest it¡¯d ever been. Fifteen Reiters in all occupied the front rows, to a one sitting quietly with uncharacteristic attentiveness. The rest of the room was filled by a veritable platoon of Corpsmen, many of whom exhibited an anxious energy that spoke to the unique solemnity of the occasion.


    The nature of this next mission was already an open secret. For weeks leading up to this meeting, one particular phrase, more than any other, had cropped up in hushed conversations across the JFB: the Mothership.


    Zelen, of course, fully understood the import of that phrase¡ªto himself, to his fellow Reiters, and to Akropolis as a whole. Try as he might, however, he failed to pour his whole concentration onto this momentous occasion, given that his thoughts kept drifting back to Megha Vakta.


    He¡¯d tried all last evening and this morning to open a dialogue with his friend. All of his attempts were evaded, deflected, or otherwise ignored, which only compounded his misery and sleeplessness. The silver lining was that at least the anger seemed to be completely gone, with Megha himself looking rather dour and despondent anytime Zelen did manage to catch sight of him.


    Even now, his sleep-deprived eyes kept flitting toward where Megha sat, one row in front and across on the other side of the room. And when Major Ghata Vakta leaned over to his little brother to whisper something, Zelen took the chance to start his own surreptitious discussion.


    ¡°Have you talked to Megha recently?¡± he turned and whispered to the man sitting beside him.


    Lieutenant Lui ¡®Jockey¡¯ Wong had been a classmate of both Zelen¡¯s and Megha¡¯s for eight years, before failing the Gauntlet and needing remedials to earn his callsign. He now looked around the room with nervous eyes before whispering back, ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Did he tell you about the stick that¡¯s up his ass?¡±


    Wong let out an uncomfortable cough, then said, ¡°No, but I might¡¯ve heard him complaining about the stick that¡¯s up yours.¡±


    ¡°What? What stick?¡±


    Having wrung the rectal metaphor for all it was worth, Wong spoke plainly, ¡°Come on, man. Isn¡¯t it obvious? You think you¡¯re better than us.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Zelen¡¯s volume control failed him for a second, and Megha across the room looked up for a heart-stopping moment, before turning back to his brother. He lowered his voice again as he continued, ¡°I do not think I¡¯m better than anyone.¡±


    ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that? The truth is, Megha knows too. But that¡¯s not really the point, is it? Whether you think it or not, Athelstan, you are better than us. Miles better. Fuck, you¡¯re probably better than anyone else in this room except maybe Spindrift. And not only are you better, you¡¯ve gone and decided to rub it in our faces by refusing your promotion.¡±


    Zelen was floored.


    He¡¯d always known himself to be on somewhat of a different wavelength from his fellow Reiters. That had started when he¡¯d still been a child who didn¡¯t know fractions from multiplication tables, and had continued (if not worsened) into his full-fledged career, where nearly all of his combat experience had come from solo deployments.


    There hadn¡¯t been much thought behind his refusal of the captain rank. He pictured the captains he knew well¡ªthe responsibilities they shouldered and the respect they commanded, especially from the younger generations¡ªand simply believed himself unready for and unworthy of such a role.


    He could concede that this line of thinking might¡¯ve marked him out as eccentric (what else was new?), but did it also present him as arrogant? Enough to explain his friend¡¯s violent anger? Something didn¡¯t add up.


    He expressed as much to Wong, ¡°OK, but is that really enough reason for Megha to punch me out?¡±


    Wong first gave him a withering look, which quickly turned into a wry smile, as if he¡¯d thought up a joke Zelen wasn¡¯t privy to. He shrugged then said, ¡°It¡¯s just a complicated age. I wouldn¡¯t worry your pretty little head about it, alright? Megha will get over himself soon enough. In the meantime¡ª¡±


    Wong didn¡¯t get to finish his advice, for the door banged open then, and in walked briskly the muscular figure of Fenix Duodecim.


    His arrival all but confirmed the veracity of the rumours that had bubbled for weeks. The fact that the General himself was giving this brief left no doubt as to the enormity of this mission.


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± Fenix had barely reached the podium before turning to the room with a loud and expansive smile¡ªa smile that, to this day, made Zelen¡¯s blood run cold. ¡°Normally, this is where I bore you with pleasantries and a lengthy preamble, but you¡¯ll forgive me if I get straight down to business today. I¡¯m just that excited to get started. I hereby commence the mission briefing for Operation Leviathan¡ªor, as I like to call it, the one where we finally bring down the Mothership.¡±

 28. REDUNDANCY 2

    ¡°Seaborne mobile fortress RF-09, designation ¡®the Mothership¡¯,¡± Fenix Duodecim addressed the group even as he turned to the whiteboard. Unlike Colonel Zhao and other leaders who usually gave these briefings, the General never used prepared slides on overhead projectors, preferring instead to write as he talked. ¡°As you should all be well aware, the Mothership is a big fuck-off thing that roams the Intercontinental Sea, dividing its time between Sectors Pisces, Aries, Sagittarius, and Scorpio depending on¡­ well, who the fuck knows how these Syntropy think. Time of the month? Which way the wind blows? The point is, it¡¯s a big enemy ship, and we don¡¯t like it.¡±


    Fenix briefly turned back to the group, as if to gauge their reaction. The man himself still wore a wide smile, but it was difficult to parse exactly what reaction he¡¯d expected. Terror? Laughter? The former he¡¯d certainly generated in spades. As for the latter, it¡ªassuming anyone had been so inclined¡ªwould¡¯ve been suppressed by the former.


    ¡°New unit synthesis,¡± Fenix continued as he faced the whiteboard and started a list, ¡°coordination and transportation of said units, reconnaissance, area denial. You name something that could annoy us, chances are the Mothership has her grubby hand in it. To speak nothing of her own defensive and offensive capabilities, which are immense, to say the least.


    ¡°For 140 years, the war has turned on our ability to disable whatever version of the Mothership happened to be active at the time. I won¡¯t mince words. This iteration of the Mothership is the Syntropy at their meanest, smartest, and biggest. It¡¯ll be a dogfight, ladies and gents, and don¡¯t you fool yourselves into thinking otherwise.


    ¡°But on the same token, we humans haven¡¯t been playing with our dicks¡ªnot all of us anyway¡ªthis whole time. Our Eidolons are also faster, deadlier, and certainly sexier than they¡¯ve ever been. Our Reiters and Spiegels know more and can kill more than at any point in our history. Between you and me, I believe this to be the decisive battle we¡¯ve all been waiting for. We dismantle this Mothership right now, and it gives us a window to lay siege on whatever scattered Syntropy forces are left over, until the whole lot of them fuck off the face of the earth. Until the War is won.¡±


    The General took a longer pause this time, slowly eyeing every corner of the room as he did. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, as he turned his attention to one of the men sitting in the front row.


    ¡°With that in mind, I give the floor to Major Ghata Vakta for the next portion of this briefing. You Corpsmen in the back will have to bear with us Reiters, as we try to teach one of our own to string together a few coherent sentences. Believe it or not, I want to be able to retire someday.¡±


    Dead silence, save for the creak and rustle of Major Vakta getting to his feet. This time, Zelen was sure, the expected reaction was laughter. The General, however, might well have underestimated the totality of the terror he inspired.


    Fenix Duodecim stepped aside, and Major Vakta took his place at the podium.


    The man who bore a striking resemblance to Megha presently looked to be a nervous wreck: a far cry from the confident womanizer who announced himself with loud jokes everywhere he went. He even stole an anxious glance at the General before he switched on the overhead projector, as though worried he might be admonished for his choice of visual aids. The General said nothing, and smiled his impenetrable smile.


    The slide on the projector showed an overview map of the Intercontinental Sea, with dotted lines that represented the borders of the aforementioned Sectors. Upon this sat a prominent red arrow that nearly touched the cross-shaped intersection of these borders. Major Vakta cleared his throat.


    ¡°Based¡ªahem¡ªbased on the latest intel, the Mothership is currently located within Sector Aries, just on the edge of its demarcation from Sector Scorpio. We will¡ªerm¡ªwe¡¯ll make our initial approach with no less than seven teams, and the mission itself will¡ª¡±


    ¡°Speak up, son.¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°I said speak up. We¡¯re not one of your whores you pour out your soul to after a hard day. We¡¯re soldiers, ready to be briefed. Now brief us.¡±


    Dead silence, save for Major Vakta¡¯s horrified sputtering. Zelen¡¯s eyes instinctively shot toward the back of Megha¡¯s head. His face wasn¡¯t visible, but his ears did turn a darker shade.


    It seemed to take some doing, but the major eventually recovered. When he resumed, he did so with higher decibels and a smoother cadence, though it was unclear whether the improved performance was the result of fear or newfound confidence.


    ¡°The mission itself will progress through two distinct phases, namely pre-infiltration and infiltration. The pre-infiltration phase will be conducted with seven teams, six of which will make the initial approach while one remains on standby.¡±


    With a change of slides, a list of names went up on the projector.


    Alpha | Leader/IC: Maj Ghata Vakta (Tripod), Support: Lt Lui Wong (Jockey)


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    Bravo | Leader: Maj Makiri Shiranui (Spindrift), Support: Lt Aron Anwar (Lionheart)


    Charlie | Leader: Maj Connor Granger (Bearclaw), Support: Lt Roddy Nascimento (Patron)


    Delta | Leader: Capt Maxwell Lee (Blizzard), Support: Capt Blessing Aliyu (Wolfeye)


    Echo | Leader: Capt Jan Sikora (Uppercut), Support: Lt Nico Belanger (Timberland)


    Foxtrot | Leader: Capt Megha Vakta (Glasswing), Support: Lt Sebastian Zhao (Violin)


    Golf | Leader: Capt Eero Leino (Handles), Support: Lt Damian Duodecim (Coltsfoot), Special: Lt Zelen Athelstan (Kingfisher)


    Zelen found his own name, saw the label ¡®special¡¯ next to it, and couldn¡¯t help but glance at Megha again. As he did, he was also aware of Wong side-eyeing him, with an expression that seemed to say: this is exactly what I mean.


    No doubt there would be some tactical explanation behind whatever was meant by ¡®special¡¯. Zelen could only hope that it might help to win his friends back to his side.


    Major Vakta left the list on the projector for some time, allowing the whole room to take ample note of it. The only comment, however, came from the General.


    ¡°Beautiful, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°I still remember a time when most of that list would be filled with the same four names. But look at it now! Biggest mission in the history of this War, and of the fifteen brave boys we¡¯re sending in, only five are Tetrarch! Just goes to show the resilience of our civilization. The strength of Akropolis, and of the Nexus that flows through all of us. Go on, son, don¡¯t let me stop you.¡±


    This time, Zelen¡¯s eyes stayed on the General throughout his spiel. The older man¡¯s expansive¡ªinclusive¡ªsmile never appeared to waver, and yet¡ª


    ¡°Thank you, General, for those inspiring words. Now, as I was saying¡±¡ªthe slide changed again, this time to a diagram with a rectangle in the centre surrounded by several dots and labels¡ª¡°we¡¯ll initiate the pre-infiltration phase with seven teams. Of these, Teams Alpha to Foxtrot will each be responsible for disabling one of the six generators that power the Mothership¡¯s external shields. These are well-defended positions, so expect heavy enemy resistance, along with reinforcements pouring out from the ship itself. Now, at least one of these generators is located underseas, directly beneath the hull of the Mothership, so¡­ Team Foxtrot¡±¡ªMajor Vakta eyed his younger brother, who nodded emphatically in return¡ª¡°will need special preparations, in conjunction with Panzer support, to modify one of your armament slots into submersible armour. We¡¯ll coordinate that after the briefing.¡±


    Zelen¡¯s annoyance with Megha quickly turned to anxious concern. The submersion protocol would leave Megha and his teammate with effectively three armaments each to fight with, not to mention the handicap that came with unfamiliar underwater combat.


    This is War. Zelen tried to remind himself. If not Megha, it¡¯ll be someone else. All we can do is trust in each other.


    ¡°That leaves Team Golf,¡± Major Vakta continued, ¡°who will remain on standby throughout the pre-infiltration phase. I need to stress that you are not to engage, unless necessitated by enemy contact. Alright, moving onto the second¡ªyes, Athelstan?¡±


    Zelen¡¯s hand had shot up without his realizing, and now it was too late to take it back. He forced the tremor out of his voice as he asked, ¡°Sorry, sir, it¡¯s just¡­ I didn¡¯t quite understand my team¡¯s role during the pre-infiltration phase. Six teams are attacking the generators in pairs, while I¡ªwhile the three of us just wait on the sidelines? Why is there a need for¡­¡±


    Zelen did trail off then, not just because of the stress of an entire room-ful of watchful eyes and discerning ears, but also because he finally heard his own question¡ªand realized he didn¡¯t want to ask it in front of his fellow Reiters.


    Major Vakta too seemed reluctant to answer, and he threw an uncertain gaze toward his boss. And that was when, for the first time during the meeting, General Duodecim turned the fullness of his expansive¡ªall-knowing¡ªsmile onto Zelen himself.


    ¡°They¡¯re your bodyguards.¡±


    Dead silence, save for Zelen¡¯s thudding heartbeats.


    ¡°Is that clear enough, Lieutenant? If not, I can repeat myself. Captain Leino and Lieutenant Duodecim will serve as your bodyguards, to make sure you don¡¯t have to move a muscle during the pre-infiltration phase. So you can conserve your Energy Reserves entirely for the second phase. Now, with that cleared up, I suggest you sit up and listen to the rest of the briefing. This is where it gets good.¡±


    All the eyes that had been on Zelen moments ago had fled¡­ and who could blame them? If only Zelen¡¯s own consciousness could flee his body right now and fly somewhere¡ªanywhere¡ªfar away from this room¡­


    Major Vakta cleared his throat again as he flipped to a new slide: a schematic representation of the Mothership¡¯s interior.


    ¡°As soon as the shields come down, we move into the infiltration phase. The first thing that will happen is a re-shuffling of the¡­ remaining members into three new teams. Team Alpha will consist of Lieutenant Zelen Athelstan¡ªon his own¡ªwho will immediately assault the bow of the ship and destroy its main communications relay. This manoeuvre should simultaneously create a short window during which a small group can infiltrate the ship proper.


    ¡°Team Alpha will be one of the infiltrators, who will advance through the portside of the ship. Team Bravo, made up of myself as team leader and Major Makiri Shiranui as support, will do the same on the starboardside. The rest of you will form Team Charlie and continue the assault from the exterior, thereby dividing enemy forces and thinning out the interior defenses for our infiltrators.


    ¡°The main objective of Operation Leviathan is to disable the Mothership¡¯s Engine Core. Our intel tells us this is located near the stern of the ship, on the portside. Team Alpha¡ªLieutenant Athelstan¡ªwill take this on. There¡¯s also a secondary objective, namely disabling the Synthesis Hub, also located near the stern but on the starboardside. This will be for Team Bravo¡ªmyself and Major Shiranui. Once both objectives are complete, there should be nothing standing in the way of us destroying the Mothership once and for all. Any questions?¡±


    Dead silence again¡ªbut no longer uniform in its source or character. Every attendee was no doubt lost in their own thoughts, each in their own way confronting the enormity of the task ahead.


    Zelen too was lost in his own thoughts, though in his case, he had a bit more than just the Mothership to contend with¡­


    When the silence stretched long enough to his satisfaction, General Fenix Duodecim clapped his hand once: a loud and crisp sound to match his smile. Here, as with anywhere, the General had the last word.


    ¡°In that case, ladies and gentlemen, let us now zero our watches.¡±

 29. REDUNDANCY 3

    ~October 30<sup>th</sup>, 138 AH~


    ~Sector Aries, somewhere above the Intercontinental Sea~


    Operation Leviathan was underway, and all Zelen could do¡ªwas allowed to do¡ªwas hover and watch.


    Golf Team was too far away from the action to pick up anything on the radar, let alone get any reliable visuals. Their main avenue to tactical awareness came in the form of clipped messages that streamed through the radio.


    ¡°Objective Charlie is down. Repeat, Objective Charlie is down. Who needs help? Over.¡±


    ¡°This is Uppercut. Requesting backup for Objective Echo, over.¡±


    ¡°This is Blizzard. Ditto for Objective Delta. These spinning fucks!¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. Bearclaw, join up with Delta Team. Patron, you go to Echo Team. If there¡¯re any¡ª¡±


    Tripod, the IC for the whole operation, was cut off mid-message. Whatever had caused it, it couldn¡¯t be good news, and Zelen felt himself tensing against his Nexa-Suit, rearing to join the fray. And then¡ª


    ¡°This is Tripod. Objective Alpha is down. Repeat, Objective Alpha is down. But I¡¯ve taken a nasty hit, and shutdown is imminent. Afraid I¡¯m gonna have to sit the rest of this out, boys. I¡¯ll continue to coordinate from a position of safety. I¡¯m sending Jockey over to reinforce Delta Team. Keep me posted.¡±


    Zelen did move then, ¡®bending¡¯ his knees to engage forward thrust. As if he¡¯d sensed the younger Reiter¡¯s intentions, Handles and his blue-on-white Eidolon slid across, blocking Zelen¡¯s path.


    ¡°The hell do you think you¡¯re doing, Kingfisher?¡± Terse words came through on a private channel.


    ¡°You heard Tripod, things are turning to shit down there! We need to help!¡±


    ¡°All I heard was we¡¯ve taken down two of the objectives already, and only one of ours is out of action. Stick to your orders.¡±


    ¡°How could you just hang around like this? There¡¯re three of us here, doing literally nothing, while our friends are risking their necks!¡±


    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake¡­ the General warned me about this.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Wanna know my and Coltsfoot¡¯s real assignment? It¡¯s not to safeguard you from stray Syntropy. It¡¯s to protect you from yourself.¡±


    Zelen fell silent.


    ¡°Don¡¯t lecture me about friends, Athelstan. There¡¯re guys down there I¡¯ve known all my life. You think I¡¯m not itching to fly to their aid instead of babysitting your precious ass? But as long as you somehow keep pulling off your miracles, and as long as the General commands it, I¡¯ll stick to my orders. And you will too.¡±


    Zelen hung his head, as his knees also relaxed.


    He¡¯d wanted none of this. Megha¡¯s anger, Wong¡¯s jealousy, the General¡¯s ¡®special¡¯ treatment of him, and now Captain Leino¡¯s resentment. As far as Zelen was concerned, he only fought and killed as he¡¯d been asked, doing his part to contribute to the war, to humanity¡¯s salvation.


    He¡¯d fought and killed for Akropolis, and though Akropolis loved him for it, he felt more alone and isolated than ever.


    Captain Leino¡¯s words had also rung familiar alarm bells. There¡¯re guys down there I¡¯ve known all my life. For Zelen, one man fit that description above all others. It so happened that the fog of war, the General¡¯s orders, and even the sky and the sea conspired to separate the two of them. If only Megha would provide updates through the radio¡­ but so far, there hadn¡¯t been a peep from Team Foxtrot.


    You¡¯re worried about Glasswing.


    Zelen suddenly snapped to attention. Of course! If neither the radar nor the radio could tell him anything, perhaps Silon could?


    ¡°Can you sense what¡¯s happening down there?¡±


    It¡¯s a bit hazy, and I can¡¯t get any distinct readings¡­ but yes, Glasswing is still active.


    Zelen fell silent again, worries overwriting gratitude. Somehow, knowing that his friend was still in the thick of it didn¡¯t make him feel any better.


    I¡¯ve learned during our time together that you tend to become overanxious about factors outside your control. Not too much of a problem, usually, when we¡¯re out on our own, but given the large-scale nature of this mission¡­ Would you like me to distract you, Zelen?


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna try even if I say no, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    You know me so well. Tell me about Glasswing, Zelen. I know you hold him in special regard, relative to your estimation of other Reiters. How did that come about?


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    ¡°It¡¯s called being friends, Silon. Like, erm, Tripod and Handles. Or Jockey and Patron.¡±


    I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m not familiar with the personal connections between other Reiters.


    ¡°Fine, better example: like you and I.¡±


    The briefest of pauses.


    You think of me as your friend?


    ¡°Yes. Why, you don¡¯t? Don¡¯t tell me if you don¡¯t. It¡¯ll just add to my Psychic disturbance.¡±


    I sense¡­ you are joking, Zelen.


    ¡°Maybe about some things, not about others. Guess this distraction thing is working. As for¡ª¡±


    ¡°This is Blizzard. Objective Delta is down. Fucking finally. But¡­ we¡¯ve lost Bearclaw.¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. Blizzard and Patron, slide over to Echo. Wolfeye and Jockey, go see if Team Bravo needs help. Spindrift¡¯s been quiet, but you know how he can be¡­¡±


    Zelen¡¯s knees twitched again, and he saw¡ªimagined¡ªthe metallic frame of Handles beside him tense. Heart pounding and ears ringing, he forced himself to think his distracting thoughts.


    ¡°Yeah, as I was saying¡­ Glasswing and I came up through the same proto-Reiter intake. I was¡ªI mean, I guess I still am¡ªa bit of a loner back then. Fresh off my Ascension Standard. Barely knew anyone on base. Glasswing¡ªMegha¡ªwas the first one to talk to me¡­ to invite me to a game of Arenaball after class¡­ back when I didn¡¯t even know the rules.¡±


    ¡°This is Uppercut! Holy fuck, reinforcements are pouring out like crazy. We need all hands on deck over here! What¡¯s the situation with¡ª¡±


    ¡°This is Spindrift. Objective Bravo is down. We lost Lionheart. I¡­ couldn¡¯t save him. Whole group moving to Objective Echo now.¡±


    ¡°This is Blizzard again, taking over for Echo team leader! We lost Uppercut! Request backup now, fucking now!¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. Hold on, Blizzard. Spindrift¡¯s already on his way¡­¡±


    Zelen took a long and shuddering breath. Handles slid closer to him again, and this time, Zelen hadn¡¯t imagined it. The entire blue-on-white frame of the Golf team leader¡¯s Eidolon vibrated with its pilot¡¯s barely contained emotion.


    You better not fuck up. You better be fucking worth this.


    Zelen flinched, despite the voices only being in his head¡­ or were they?


    ¡°Megha and I did everything¡ªwent through everything¡ªtogether. All the good times and bad. Mostly bad. We fought a lot too. Were even pretty nasty to each other a few times. I think that¡¯s normal for anyone growing up. But all I know is that, through all the good times and bad¡ªmostly bad¡ªMegha was always by my side. Like¡­ like how you¡¯re by my side now, Silon. That¡¯s what it means to be friends, I think. Friends have each other¡¯s backs. Through thick and thin.¡±


    ¡°This is Glasswing.¡±


    Zelen¡¯s world was a fog of war¡ªand the familiar voice that cut through it.


    ¡°Tactical update. Objective Foxtrot is down. Sorry it took so long. Where should I go next?¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. Glasswing and Violin, you both stand by for now and conserve your energy. We should be moving to the next phase short¡ª¡±


    ¡°This is Blizzard! Get fucked, you synth pieces of shit! Objective Echo is down! Now let¡¯s sink this motherfucker.¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. Shields are coming down shortly. Infiltration phase is a go. Golf Team, join us!¡±


    ¡°This is Handles. About fucking time¡­¡±


    The three Eidolons on what was formerly Golf Team launched themselves at the same time, all moving at maximum thrust by unspoken agreement.


    As Zelen drew nearer and nearer to his new objective, the fog of war dissipated, first with the ticks of red and blue dots on the radar that showed the battle that still raged on below.


    ¡°This is Spindrift. Confirmed shields are down. Got clear access to the bow of the ship. There¡¯s a¡­ All units! Defensive manoeuvres!¡±


    Nearly at the same instant as Spindrift¡¯s warning, [THE INEVITABLE] reared its destructive head.


    A flash of white-red energy, centred upon the lowest depths of the fog. Then this flash split into no less than a dozen separate beams that radiated into the sky.


    Zelen didn¡¯t shift from his trajectory in the slightest. Barely had any time to react. But one of the beams shot past just metres to his side, and the blue-on-white frame of Handles vanished into the light.


    Zelen skidded through the air, reversing his thrust as quickly as he could. He spun toward where Handles had flown just a moment ago, and saw only charred fragments crumbling through the air.


    His first instinct was to scream. And were he the young Reiter he¡¯d once been, he very well might have. But he¡¯d fought and killed for Akropolis¡ªfor his fellow Reiters¡ªfor nearly three years now, and they needed him to stay in the fight, to stay in the hunt.


    ¡°This is Kingfisher. Handles is gone. Coltsfoot and I will converge on the objective shortly.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Acknowledged. Spindrift, lead suppressive manoeuvres until Kingfisher¡¯s arrival.¡±


    It¡¯s called being friends. Like Tripod and Handles.


    To Silon, he asked frantically, ¡°What the hell was that?¡±


    It¡¯s hard for me to sift through the signals, Zelen, but I believe it¡¯s an enemy unit that doesn¡¯t fit any known patterns.


    ¡°Well, no shit!¡±


    But there was no point taking his impotent rage out on his Spiegel. Because a very appropriate target for his ire awaited somewhere beyond the fog of war, and he could hardly wait to meet it.


    The fog cleared, and Zelen¡¯s world became pandaemonium.


    Smoking chunks of metal flew and zipped amidst pyrotechnics of red and blue. It was difficult at first glance to distinguish friend from foe, and the jumbled signals on the radar hardly helped matters.


    Forget visual cues, Zelen, just follow my voice. Bearing zero-niner-six. Forward thrust. Left. Forward again. Incoming from your right. Good. There it is. 200 metres, straight ahead.


    And there it was. A monolithic colossus¡ªa Leviathan¡ªthat made Eidolons and Syntropy units alike look like mere dots on a sleek obsidian screen. The Mothership¡¯s surfaces were so smooth¡ªso uniform¡ªas to leave no hints of the horrors hidden within. Yet these horrors issued forth all the same, finding nonexistent cracks from which to seep through and add to the storm of death and destruction that raged all around.


    One horror among these awaited atop a vast platform that humans had dubbed ¡®the bow¡¯ of the Mothership. And despite the unprecedented attack it¡¯d produced seconds ago, this particular enemy proved a familiar sight for Zelen.


    Four lumbering legs. Bulbous and lopsided back that carried a larger number and variety of armaments than any of its previous iterations. Two muscular arms, both of which fluxed with barely bridled Syntropic energy, rearing to unleash more destruction.


    More death.


    Versatile defense unit GC¡ªI suppose -07 now¡ªdesignation ¡®Kentavros¡¯. You don¡¯t need me to tell you this is a new iteration with hitherto unconfirmed features. How will you proceed?


    The familiarity and the novelty of the enemy combined and roiled against the fury in Zelen¡¯s heart. His heart pumped with ever greater urgency, invigorating his every muscle, sharpening his hunter¡¯s instincts. From rivers of Blood flow the Body¡¯s nourishment.


    How would he proceed?


    ¡°This is Kingfisher. Engaging defensive unit at objective. All friendly units stay clear¡­ This thing¡¯s mine.¡±

 30. REDUNDANCY 4

    ~October 30<sup>th</sup>, 138 AH~


    ~Sector Aries, the Mothership, the bow~


    Fresh energy surged through the centaur¡¯s right arm. The end of its barrel flashed white-red.


    Zelen knew what to do, with both instincts and experience lighting the way. RS [HARPOON], which had become something of a favourite of his. The ghost-blue spearhead cut through the battle-smoke at blinding speed.


    Its aim was true and absent hesitation, lodging itself directly inside the barrel of the would-be laser cannon. With the Eidolon¡¯s Nexus-borne energy clashing with Syntropy red, the Kentavros checked its attack, with its right arm powering down momentarily.


    This was the opening Zelen needed. Following the fading chains of his [HARPOON], he burst toward the enemy, peppering it with LA [GATLING] as he did. As he approached, the Kentavros¡¯s left arm flashed, inadvertently telegraphing its next manoeuvre.


    Zelen never broke stride, instead activating LS [SCUTUM] as he came within range of the Syntropy¡¯s shockwave attack. He tucked himself behind his shield and charged, with his momentum checked by the initial contact, before he managed to power through and rush within point blank range of the Kentavros.


    He swung [SCUTUM] to the side in a sweeping motion. This, for one brief moment, created open space and unimpeded access to the centaur¡¯s right arm.


    RA [BLUNDERBUSS]. Zelen fired, pointing the large-caliber barrel directly into a joint. A clean hit. The Syntropic laser cannon exploded, not with its own red but the Nexus¡¯s blue surge.


    The attack hadn¡¯t shorn the arm clean off, however. Exposed sinews still held the arm to the rest of its obsidian body.


    Zelen doubted that the cannon would still be functional, but he wasn¡¯t about to take any chances. With his RA weapon on cooldown, he opted for the next best thing: a good swift punch with his bare fist. Sparks flew as the enemy¡¯s arm finally flew off its frame.


    Now, onto the next.


    As he turned his attention back onto the left arm, however, the radio suddenly hissed back to life.


    ¡°Kingfisher! Get out of there now!¡±


    It was Spindrift¡¯s voice, at possibly the most agitated it¡¯d ever been.


    Zelen didn¡¯t need telling twice. When the usually unflappable Spindrift shouted at you to do something, the only sensible option was to shut up and listen.


    He backthrust out of range again, and not a moment too soon, as the Kentavros exploded with a second successive shockwave. Even if [SCUTUM] hadn¡¯t been on cooldown, Zelen wouldn¡¯t have known to use it, and would¡¯ve eaten the blast in full.


    ¡°Thanks!¡± he shouted into the radio, but kept his vision on the multitude of projectiles that sprouted and flew from the centaur¡¯s back. And here, instincts came in direct conflict with experience.


    Experience told Zelen to focus on evading the ordnances, buy himself the time to re-arm his armaments and start his approach afresh. But buying himself time also meant giving his enemy the same benefit. There was no telling when its upgraded left arm with its double shockwaves would come back online, ready to thwart another of the Eidolon¡¯s attack.


    Instincts, on the other hand, told him the time to attack was now. The Meridians are the branches upon which Life blooms.


    Dive, Zelen!


    As it turned out, his Spiegel was on the same page. And if he trusted anyone¡¯s instincts more than his own, it was Silon¡¯s.


    Shield-less, Zelen nevertheless dove hard onto the Mothership¡¯s obsidian surface, making himself as small and flat to the ground as possible. Impacts within the Nexa-Suit told him that he¡¯d taken hits, but he had time later to assess the damage. The hunt¡ªthe kill¡ªcame first.


    The angle of his approach had left him relatively unscathed, as most of the enemy¡¯s projectiles sailed harmlessly overhead. He touched down on the platform, then kicked off immediately, imbuing his forward thrust with upward momentum.


    The Kentavros swept its left arm¡ªglowing anew¡ªacross its centre, in an almost protective gesture. It was no use. For RA [BLUNDERBUSS] was back online, ready and eager to inflict more punishment.


    A direct hit. Even cleaner than the last. This time, the concentrated blue energy from [BLUNDERBUSS] tore clean through the limb, which sent the deactivated shockwave generator flying.


    Just like previous encounters, however, disabling the Kentavros¡¯s two main weapons was only half the battle. As the tumours upon the centaur¡¯s back swelled toward a new barrage of attacks, Zelen wasted no time jumping onto its rotund central chassis.


    The centaur¡¯s red optic spun toward the sky, better to capture the rusted phantom that now straddled its frame. The next¡ªand the last¡ªthing it ¡®saw¡¯ was the expansion of a pale-blue shield, along with the six cyclic barrels that loomed behind it.


    Zelen spread [SCUTUM] before himself, and readied [GATLING] at the same time. Then he fired, through his own shield, and didn¡¯t stop firing until [GATLING] overheated. The quarry stopped moving long before its hunter had emptied his clip.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Kentavros eliminated. Well done, Zelen, the path is clear. AU at 75%, ER at 65.


    The fight might¡¯ve been won, but the mission was far from over. Zelen kicked the centaur¡¯s carcass aside, and spied a smooth onyx cylinder poking out of the platform it¡¯d been guarding. One well-placed shot from [BLUNDERBUSS] was enough to flatten the generator.


    ¡°Kingfisher to all units. The bow is secured for now. Request available units to disable the comms relay as soon as its shields are down.¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. Jockey, Patron, you two are on the comms relay. Spindrift, help Kingfisher with breaching the hull.¡±


    With one of the external generators down, there was a brief window where parts of the Mothership¡¯s contiguous exteriors would be vulnerable to Eidolon attack. Zelen made his way toward a likely portion of the wall, just as the crimson frame of Spindrift joined him at his side.


    The younger Reiter stood aside and left Spindrift to survey the wall for a suitable point of entry. Eventually, the Einkunster stopped in front of a section that looked just as smooth and gleaming black as any other.


    ¡°Here,¡± Spindrift spoke through a private channel. ¡°I¡¯ll soften it up first, then you finish the job.¡±


    Without waiting for a reply, the crimson Eidolon took one step back, then charged forward, with the giant hammer of [MJOLNIR] exploding out of its right arm. The impact, along with the ensuing shockwave, left a visible dent.


    Spindrift slid out of the way, and Zelen quickly took his place, pointing [BLUNDERBUSS] into the centre of the depression. He fired, and amidst the blue and black sparks that followed, felt rather than saw the wall give way.


    ¡°This is Spindrift. Tactical update. We have hull breach. Are we clear to proceed?¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. There¡¯s¡­ there¡¯s the matter of the infiltration party. I was supposed to go in there with you, but now¡­¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have much time before the shields regenerate. Make your call, Tripod.¡±


    ¡°We have something of a personnel issue. Bearclaw would¡¯ve been next man up. Then Handles after that. But with both of them gone¡­ Blizzard, how¡¯re things looking on your end?¡±


    ¡°This is Blizzard. Hate to say it, but that earlier fight took a lot out of me. My ER¡¯s down to the low 20s, and I don¡¯t know how much longer I can hold out for.¡±


    ¡°Fuck¡­ Wolfeye?¡±


    ¡°Not much better off here, boss.¡±


    ¡°¡­ I feared as much. But that means, next in the chain of seniority is¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s me.¡±


    Zelen¡¯s world was a gaping black hole¡ªand the familiar voice that spoke into it.


    ¡°Glasswing? I¡­ I suppose you are, but¡­ you were on underwater duty. Your loadout¡­¡±


    ¡°My loadout¡¯s fine. Besides, the underwater fighting was just slow going, but it didn¡¯t eat into my armour and reserves all that much. I¡¯m good to go!¡±


    ¡°Fuck me¡­ Spindrift, thoughts?¡±


    A pause. Fleeting, yet just long enough to make Zelen wonder about [INEVITABILITIES].


    ¡°It¡¯s your call, Tripod. I have no objections.¡±


    Another pause, but it was no longer the time to wonder. For the inevitable had come and passed.


    ¡°This is Tripod. Tactical briefing. We proceed to infiltration with two teams. Alpha Team will be Kingfisher solo, to advance through the portside as per briefings. Bravo Team will be Spindrift leader with Glasswing support, to advance through the starboardside. All other units will form Charlie Team, with Blizzard leader. You lot will remain on the outside and keep these synth fuckers busy. Teams: acknowledge new orders, over?¡±


    ¡°Charlie Team, acknowledged,¡± Blizzard was the first to answer.


    Then, all too soon, an Eidolon with shoddy teal paintwork flew in and touched down beside Spindrift.


    ¡°Bravo Team, acknowledged.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Kingfisher?¡±


    ¡°Alpha Team¡­ acknowledged.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Alright. You got us this far, boys. Now it¡¯s time to finish the job.¡±


    ~October 30<sup>th</sup>, 138 AH~


    ~Sector Aries, inside the Mothership~


    No amount of reports on the previous versions of the Mothership could¡¯ve prepared Zelen for the experience of actually being inside one.


    The first thing that threw him for a loop was the darkness¡ªand just how oppressive it was. As soon as the trio advanced far enough for the light from the breach to fade away, they found themselves in pitch blackness. And what little shine the Eidolon¡¯s optic modules gave off barely made a difference.


    To obtain any kind of visuals, the Reiters were forced to rely on two alternating options, both of which left much to be desired. The first was a special Nexa-Lamp rig that had been installed by Jaegers pre-sortie. This threw out bright blue light in a narrow arc ahead of them, but effectively blinded them to everything the light failed to touch, and accelerated ER expenditure to boot. There was also the Eidolon¡¯s native night vision system, which gave a fuller picture at the expense of a fuzzy green filter over their HUDs.


    Zelen reflected that this was nothing strange. Despite most of them containing optics themselves, the Syntropy likely relied on any number of non-visual cues to travel within their own Mothership. The enemy had no reason to make accommodations for their human invaders.


    Far more disturbing than the darkness, however, were the aesthetics of the place¡ªor at least what little of it he could see.


    The trio¡¯s chosen breach point led onto a series of interconnected corridors that were wide and tall enough for larger Syntropy units to pass through. Navigation per se wasn¡¯t difficult, given the Reiters had their radars and Spiegels to guide them, but that didn¡¯t stop Zelen from being overcome by a profound sense of disorientation. He¡¯d read plenty of descriptions that more or less matched what he saw, but none of the dry military documents quite captured the creeping malaise that now ailed him.


    Where the Mothership¡¯s exteriors had been unnaturally smooth and seamless, her insides were lined, corrugated, and overgrown with all manner of fibrous cables, blocky projections, and moving parts. Every step that took Zelen deeper into her bosom was a reminder that this complex and functional machinery lined every unknowable inch of this colossal fortress.


    It was a stark reminder of the vast gulf between them and us.


    Humanity was holed up in one tiny corner of the world, still relying on incremental iterations on whatever non-networked Old Earth tech they¡¯d managed to salvage 140 years ago. The population had stagnated, morale was fickle at best, and resources were dwindling by the day. Compared to that, the Syntropy¡ªespecially now, as Zelen stood within the heart of their largest asset¡ªseemed immense, resolute, and indefatigable.


    Could it really be as simple as the General had claimed? That their victory here today would pave the way for a swift end to the war? Zelen didn¡¯t want to feel like a traitor, but the question persisted in his mind all the same.


    He¡¯d been so preoccupied with being terrified¡ªimpressed¡ªby the enemy, that he nearly ran into Spindrift, as the senior Reiter paused to take stock of their surroundings¡­ to scan for [THE INEVITABLE].


    ¡°There¡¯s a distinct separation in the pathways here,¡± Spindrift announced. ¡°This is the junction where the ship splits off into her portside and starboardside compartments.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ I guess this is where we split up too, then,¡± Glasswing chimed in, then added after a moment¡¯s hesitation, ¡°Listen, Kingfisher, I¡ª¡±


    Megha trailed off, and Zelen finally had the opportunity to get a word in, one he¡¯d been waiting for since their latest Arenaball game. And yet, when the opportunity presented itself, he clammed up, instead deferring to his friend. Waiting for Megha to decide whether to reel the trailing words back in¡­ or let them fall away.


    Zelen¡¯s world was a path that split in two¡ªand a familiar voice that eventually made up its mind.


    ¡°I just wanted to say good luck. Let¡¯s go fuck shit up.¡±

 31. REDUNDANCY 5

    As Zelen delved deeper into the darkness, he learned how much of it had been kept at bay by the presence of his fellow Reiters.


    ¡°Bravo Team, tactical update. Pushing through on starboardside now, encountering minimal resistance.¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. They¡¯re still streaming out over here, but seems all their big guns are down. Nothing we can¡¯t handle. Give ¡¯em hell, boys.¡±


    Words continued to filter through the radio, but if anything, they only highlighted Zelen¡¯s solitude. Here within the claustrophobic innards of the Leviathan, the only thing that kept him company was his growing unease¡­ and the imagined death that lurked behind every corner.


    Except that wasn¡¯t completely true, was it?


    Right this time, Zelen. Now take a left. Left again. Now, I believe¡­ yes, follow this long corridor to the end.


    Much like what Bravo Team had reported, Zelen encountered almost no enemies through the portside interiors of the Mothership.


    There¡¯d been one¡ªjust one¡ªHornet that he¡¯d dispatched easily with a short burst from LA [GATLING]. It had first shown up as a red dot on the radar, but due to Zelen¡¯s unfamiliarity with his visibility options, he¡¯d only spotted it when it was already within melee range¡ªand with Silon¡¯s repeated prompting at that.


    Afterwards, it occurred to him that the Hornet had made no attempt to fight back, despite surely having ¡®seen¡¯ him first. This realization, instead of comforting him, only added to his perception of the Mothership as something immense and incomprehensible¡ªand therefore compounded his unease.


    It was a good thing, then, that Silon found frequent reasons to talk to him. The starboardside seemed to be smooth sailing for Bravo Team, but the portside featured a twisting, overlapping, and recursive construction that struck Zelen as strangely maze-like. He¡¯d surely have gotten turned around if it weren¡¯t for Silon helping him to interpret the radar data.


    The whole thing struck him as odd. Assuming these inner pathways were used only for the transport and deployment of Syntropy units, why did their arrangements need to be so labyrinthine? And did it ¡®make sense¡¯ for the interiors of the ship to be this empty? Sure, Charlie Team was laying siege from the outside, with the express purpose of drawing enemy fire, but could something this immense and this incomprehensible be so easily tricked?


    ¡°Silon, do you have much knowledge or experience of the war¡­ from before we were Tethered?¡±


    You should know, Zelen, that the Tethering between a Reiter and a Spiegel is a one-time event for both parties. As such, I have no first-hand experience of the war before our Tethering. I do, however, retain some knowledge of the Syntropy War in its entirety, as part of my training data.


    ¡°I guess that makes sense. I only bring it up because some of the ways Syntropy behave don¡¯t make a whole lot of sense to me, and I wondered if you might have something in your knowledge bank that might provide an explanation.¡±


    Do you refer to the maze-like nature of these corridors? And how devoid of defensive mechanisms they are?


    ¡°¡­ Now I know that¡¯s too specific to have been interpretations of my ¡®Nexus-bound signals¡¯ or whatever you called them.¡±


    You¡¯re correct, Zelen. They¡¯re questions I myself had upon reviewing historical mission reports. And they seemed to match the sense I got from your ¡®Nexus-bound signals¡¯, which is indeed what I called them.


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me you had the exact same questions as me? Well¡­ do you have answers? Theories?¡±


    No answers. And it¡¯s not my place to speculate on tactically sensitive material.


    ¡°I won¡¯t speculate and tell, Silon. It¡¯s just me here. No one else.¡±


    A pause, perhaps a mite longer than what might¡¯ve been usual for the Spiegel.


    The only comment I¡¯ll make is that I¡¯ve noted a distinctly cyclical nature to the way the Syntropy rebuild assets and reconsolidate forces. The previous iteration of the Mothership also had something analogous to these empty maze-like corridors. The same can be said for the one previous to that, and so on. It seems, whatever imperfections or eccentricities were present in the Mothership¡¯s prototype have persisted through each subsequent ¡®generation¡¯. Now, as to why those features were there in the first place, I really can¡¯t¡ª


    ¡°You arrived at that on your own, Silon? It''s not¡­ something fed to you through training?¡±


    Yes, and I apologize, Zelen. I know I shouldn¡¯t¡ª


    ¡°No, don¡¯t apologize. I think it¡¯s fascinating. It¡¯s something¡­ I never really thought about myself. But maybe I should¡¯ve.¡±


    It was Zelen¡¯s turn to pause for a moment, to wrestle with the new, bizarre thought that just occurred to him.


    ¡°What happens to Spiegels when we die?¡±


    Pardon me?


    ¡°You said yourself the Tethering is a one-time event for both Reiter and Spiegel. Well, Reiters die. As if this mission wasn¡¯t reminder enough¡­ Or even if¡­ even if we¡¯re lucky enough to survive combat duty, we retire, and never touch Eidolons again. What happens to you, when we¡¯re¡­ Untethered?¡±


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Having gotten to know Silon over the years, Zelen half-expected there to be another short break in the dialogue. Knowing what he thought knew about his Spiegel, this seemed like the kind of question that would give her pause, in a manner of speaking. Despite that, the response was instant and unexpectedly terse.


    We return to the Nexus.


    Zelen chewed on that for a moment, then realized there wasn¡¯t nearly enough meat.


    ¡°Wait, that¡¯s it? What does that¡ªI thought you¡¯d have a more¡ª¡±


    We return to the Nexus.


    If he hadn¡¯t imagined it, the repetition had taken on an almost peremptory quality, as though the Spiegel wished to leave no doubt as to the finality of her answer.


    Zelen respected her wishes.


    ¡°Bravo Team, tactical update. Saw increased enemy numbers in the end, but we¡¯ve destroyed the Synthesis Hub. Objective Bravo is complete. Doubling back now.¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. Nice and smooth, I like it. Safe trip, boys, and rest easy. Enemies on the outside are dwindling as well, and we don¡¯t expect to need any backup. Kingfisher, you still with us?¡±


    ¡°This is Kingfisher. Go ahead, over.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯re you holding up?¡±


    Zelen thought he should¡¯ve been heartened by the concern. Which made it doubly strange that he had to hide the thorns in his voice as he answered, ¡°Making steady progress through the portside. Not much enemy presence, but the paths are dense and not the easiest to navigate.¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged. Keep us posted, and good luck. It¡¯s all down to you now.¡±


    Zelen didn¡¯t even bother to reply, which was bad radio etiquette, not to mention plain rude. He couldn¡¯t quite explain why he suddenly wanted to be left alone, after just earlier lamenting his solitude. And yet¡ª


    ¡°This is Glasswing, query for the IC, over?¡±


    ¡°Go ahead, over.¡±


    ¡°Um, shouldn¡¯t I¡ªshouldn¡¯t someone head over portside and assist Kingfisher? We¡¯re all pretty much freed up now. I feel like Kingfisher could use some company, just in case there¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°Negative. Kingfisher is to proceed on his own for this portion of the mission. That¡¯s a direct order from the General.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Negative. You just¡ªalright, hold on one sec.¡±


    The radio cut out then, and Zelen could easily surmise that Tripod had moved the conversation onto a private channel. And just like that, he felt somewhat justified in his sourceless petulance.


    His Reiter mates didn¡¯t come back on the radio after that, open or otherwise. And even Silon seemed reluctant to pick up where they¡¯d left off. As if to accommodate the desires for silence all around, the rest of the route remained relatively straightforward, allowing Zelen to forgo the need to ask his Spiegel for directions.


    Eventually, the corridors opened onto a space that Zelen with his human sensibilities might dub a ¡®room¡¯. He was able to see and think this almost immediately, because the room was dimly lit by a central structure that glowed lurid red.


    Here the ¡®four¡¯ walls were multifaceted and inconsistently angular: not quite rectangular and not quite cuboid. Numerous cables hung from the walls and ceiling in loose strands that called to mind old drooping bandages. These appeared to be attached¡ªwith no visible points of contact¡ªto what looked to be a large circular container that took up much of the centre of the room. This was the aforementioned light source, with its central core fluxing and overspilling with red Syntropic energy.


    Zelen floated into the room slowly, turning his SPU this way and that to get visuals on all corners of the room. Once again, no enemies. He then leaned over the rim of the central container to get a better look at its core.


    Myriad streams of crimson energy flew over, crossed, bounced against, joined, and split apart from each other, seemingly at random. Each collision gave off white-red sparks that were all but blinding, especially given how much time Zelen had spent in complete darkness. Even so, he thought he could see through the flux and into the bottom of the pit. Only¡­ there was no bottom.


    Zelen involuntarily shook his head and backed away. He¡¯d stared at bright red light for far too long. He didn¡¯t need a Gaertner to tell him that couldn¡¯t be good for his eyesight.


    Having arrived at the final objective, he felt the occasion called for some recognition, so he broke radio silence.


    ¡°So¡­ I¡¯m assuming this is the Engine Core.¡±


    That appears to be the case, Zelen.


    ¡°Do I just¡­ destroy it? Just like that? I would¡¯ve thought¡­ I would¡¯ve thought for sure there¡¯d be something here waiting for me. Another Kentavros? An unidentified unit? I don¡¯t know what, but something.¡±


    Did you want there to be enemy presence?


    ¡°No! But it just feels¡±¡ªanticlimactic¡ª¡°I don¡¯t know, it just doesn¡¯t feel quite right. If I were¡±¡ªdesigning¡ª¡°in charge of Syntropy operations, I¡¯d have upped the defenses all through the interiors of the ship. And in this room, with such an important component, I would¡¯ve placed some kind of¡±¡ªchallenge¡ª¡°advanced defensive units¡­ at least make an effort at protecting this thing.¡±


    We should count ourselves lucky then, Silon said in her usual monotone, that you weren¡¯t in charge of Syntropy operations.


    Zelen drew in a sharp breath.


    ¡°Silon! Did you¡­ did you just make a joke?¡±


    I think it¡¯s possible that something of your speech mannerisms and thought patterns might have influenced my own functions.


    ¡°Wow¡­ I know missions like these can make anyone loopy, but it must be really bad if it¡¯s affecting you too, Silon. Guess we better get out of here as soon as we can.¡±


    Having satisfied himself that the Mothership¡¯s Engine Core would well and truly remain defenseless, Zelen set about finishing his job.


    He walked around the core in a circle, hitting it with indiscriminate barrages of [GATLING], [BLUNDERBUSS], and [HARPOON] for good measure. The container proved to be tougher than it looked, but he still had plenty of ER to spare, and this was literally the last thing he needed to ¡®fight¡¯ this mission.


    Eventually, after the sparks and smokes cleared, Zelen saw that the core had extinguished itself, and he¡ªalong with the room¡ªwas thrown back into pitch blackness. This was the time to radio the rest of the team, yet something still held him back.


    Instead, he stepped closer to the wreckage, and now with the aid of a Nexa-Lamp, peered into the pit again. The bottom was there: a sheet of solid smooth obsidian that lay underneath mangled metal. Somehow, this confirmation didn¡¯t bring with it the relief he¡¯d expected.


    ¡°This is Kingfisher, tactical update. The Engine Core is destroyed. I repeat, the Engine Core is destroyed. Main objective complete. I will now¡ª¡±


    A resounding boom. A bright flash of flame and smoke.


    One of the angulated walls¡ªbent completely out of shape from the explosion¡ªflew off its fixtures and shot toward Zelen. He ducked, and felt the debris graze against the tip of his SPU.


    Another explosion, but he couldn¡¯t tell where this one had come from. More flying debris. And then a new sound. One that felt at once familiar and impossibly amplified.


    Rushing water.


    In the darkness and confusion, Zelen couldn¡¯t see the threat that had befallen him, but some primal instinct within him screamed its warning all the same.


    ¡°Silon? What¡ª¡±


    Multiple hull breaches detected. This room¡ªand the ship as a whole¡ªis about to flood. Get away, Zelen! Quickly!

 32. REDUNDANCY 6

    Nothing in his training nor combat experience¡ªnothing in life¡ªhad prepared him for this.


    The first thing he could think to do was go up. Judging from the way the thrusters sputtered and lurched, however, water had already found its way into the Eidolon¡¯s inner machinery. Zelen didn¡¯t even have the time to be frightened by this realization, and he knew only to push on. To safety. To survival.


    His singular desire had also translated into a kind of tunnel vision. The HUD continued to throw out a multitude of information, but the only thing he saw was the dark corridor ahead, muddied by a hazy green patina. His only path was forward, back the long twisting way he¡¯d come¡ªthrough the immense and incomprehensible belly of the beast.


    The entire megastructure continued its sequential demise. Walls on either side of the corridors burst open, flooding the quickly narrowing space with more briny and oily water. Zelen didn¡¯t stop to think. Didn¡¯t stop to assess his options. He knew that every second of hesitation only brought him closer to the certainty of death.


    Zelen! You can¡¯t make it out on your own! Call for help, now!


    He didn¡¯t respond. Partly because his mind had turned to quicksand, and he could barely receive let alone retain information. But also because something within the core of his being rejected the whole notion¡ªthe notion that anyone should risk themselves for his sake.


    No, this watery prison was his alone. His alone to conquer, and his alone to succumb to, should he fail in the attempt.


    Before long, the thrusters stopped working completely. Zelen was forced to move his feet along the disintegrating ground, sprint as though he might be driving for a score in an Arenaball game. The reality of it spelled doom, and yet, there was something bizarrely comforting about the sensation that his Eidolon mirrored his movements exactly¡ª1:1¡ªman and machine both running desperately for their lives.


    The green haze became inundated with dark rushing water. Soon he felt it, water pooling at his feet and invading through the crevices on his Nexa-Suit.


    It was cold. Shockingly so. And it was then, in the throes of a deadly struggle, that a thought occurred to him: edifying in its simplicity, absurd in its time and place.


    This is the first time I¡¯ve ever dipped my feet in the ocean.


    His progress slowed, not for a lack of will, but due to simple physics. Water had reached the Eidolon¡¯s central chassis now, and his lower limbs bucked and collapsed under the pressure. Forced into a kneeling position, this only allowed the water to ever more rapidly flood the cockpit. The HUD flashed several times, then shut off completely.


    You mustn¡¯t give up. Please, Zelen, you have to keep fighting.


    Silon¡¯s words were suddenly clearer than ever before. But by then, they were too late to change anything. The Eidolon was trapped, and Zelen along with it. He sensed that his next words might be his last, and instead of reaching for the radio, he spoke into the Nexus.


    ¡°Silon, I¡ª¡±


    Water drowned out his words, along with whatever else still functioned within the cockpit. Zelen¡¯s world was the cold black embrace of death.


    ~January 21<sup>st</sup>, 128 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Reiter Garrison, the Gymnasium~


    Zelen Athelstan¡ªten going on eleven¡ªsat alone in a corner of the multi-purpose court, drenched from head to toe in sweat, tears, and god knew what else. It was the end of his first week of proto-Reiter training: the longest week of his young life, a week that was about to repeat itself bright and early the very next morning.


    He decided then and there that he didn¡¯t want to wake up tomorrow. Not when the Instructors were so mean. Not when PT was so punishing, on both body and soul. And especially not when the other kids in his class were so alienating, always either ignoring him or making him feel like he¡¯d done something wrong.


    Even now, a gaggle of them had formed on the other side of the court, utterly oblivious to his presence. They too had been punished and driven to exhaustion by the latest PT session. Which was just as well, because it meant they didn¡¯t have the energy to do much more than ignore Zelen.


    Was it something he¡¯d said or done? Was it because he was an Athelstan? He himself wasn¡¯t quite sure what that even meant. Or was it because¡ª


    All of a sudden, Zelen Athelstan¡ªten going on eleven¡ªmissed his family very much. And even he knew this to be strange.


    Because he barely knew his family. They fed him, including with his favourite ¡®fish¡¯ cake, and they gave him clothes that fit and made him look taller and more important. His father was an old man who walked with a constant limp and looked to be holding in a sigh at all times. His sister was much older than him, and seemed far more interested in anyone who wasn¡¯t in her own family. And his brother¡ªwell, there was one good thing about proto-Reiter training, which was that he didn¡¯t have to see his brother very often.


    The only one he thought had been nice to him was his mother. But when he tried to picture the family that he so dearly missed, it wasn¡¯t his mother¡¯s face that came to mind.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Instead, all he saw was a kind of hollowed-out space. The shape of it, as dark and fuzzy as it was, made him think there ought to be something there¡ªand perhaps there had been, once upon a time. And yet, try as he might, no faces came to mind, and no voices called to him from beyond the veil of memories.


    All he could feel was a kind of lingering warmth. As if someone¡ªa group of someones¡ªhad been inside that hollowed-out space, then vacated it not that long ago.


    What he missed, he realized, was this faceless warmth. Somehow he knew that, if only he had this warmth to cling to, all this other stuff wouldn¡¯t be so bad. Mean Instructors, painful PT, indifferent classmates. None of it could hurt him, not really, as long as he had this warmth to return to at the end of the day.


    In his daydreaming, he hadn¡¯t noticed one boy break off from the rest of the group. This boy trudged toward him now, grimacing with every step, looking just as wrung out as Zelen felt.


    Zelen¡¯s heartbeat quickened. What should he do? How should he protect himself? Wasn¡¯t this boy content to let him be? Did he really have to rub salt in his wound?


    ¡°Hey. A bunch of us are staying behind to get in a quick game of Arenaball. Wanna join?¡±


    At first, the words meant nothing to Zelen. Was it some kind of trick? The set-up for some sick joke? He said nothing.


    ¡°Uh¡­¡± The boy¡¯s half-grimace half-smile faltered. ¡°It¡¯s okay if you don¡¯t want to. I know we¡¯re all tired. Maybe next time then?¡±


    When Zelen still said nothing, the boy shrugged and turned to go. And only when the boy¡¯s sweat-soaked back was turned to him, did an impulse far stronger than self-preservation move Zelen to action.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know the rules.¡±


    The boy stopped and looked over his shoulder. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know the rules to Arenaball. Is that¡­ okay? Would you still want to play with me?¡±


    First the boy¡¯s shoulder then his entire body turned around to face Zelen again. The half-grimace had settled into a full smile.


    ¡°Of course! We all had to learn some time. Come on, it¡¯ll be fun.¡±


    Then and only then did Zelen manage to return the boy¡¯s smile with a tentative one of his own.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ Zelen. Zelen Athelstan.¡±


    ¡°I know who you are. We met before, you know. At one of our parents¡¯ parties.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t think¡ªI didn¡¯t get¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it!¡±


    The boy first waved a hand in dismissal, then held out the same hand in Zelen¡¯s direction.


    ¡°I¡¯m Megha Vakta.¡±


    Zelen took the sweat-slick hand, then let himself be pulled to his feet by its strength. And as he followed his new friend across the court, he felt something shift within him.


    There was a hollowed-out space where his family should¡¯ve been, now filled only with lingering warmth. A bit of that warmth had leaked out, and begun to seep through the rest of his body and soul.


    ~October 30<sup>th</sup>, 138 AH~


    ~Sector Aries, inside the Mothership~


    ¡ªup. Wake up, Zelen!


    Zelen¡¯s world was darkness, bubbling water, and a machine that was trying to revive itself. What¡ª


    ¡°Are you there, Kingfisher? It¡¯s not too late to engage the purge system, but I can¡¯t help you do it. You gotta do it yourself!¡±


    Glasswing is right, Zelen! If you can hear this, purge! And quickly!


    Even in the depths of his confusion, Zelen knew that the two entities he trusted most in this world¡ªhis friend and his Spiegel¡ªwere trying to save his life. Blindly, sluggishly, he flung his right hand about until it caught against a hefty lever, then pulled.


    For one terrifying moment, he felt his entire Nexa-Suit press against him, as though it meant to suffocate if not crush him to death. This was followed by deafening hisses and bone-rattling rumbles that seemed to travel outward, with the Nexa-Suit and everything else within the cockpit as their foci.


    Just like that, he could breathe again. Freely and hungrily. The Lungs are the windows through which Spirit soars.


    The HUD flickered back to life, though with dead pixels on several parts of the screen. Zelen felt rather than saw that the water all around him had receded. Or was it that he himself had reached higher elevation? But how¡ª


    ¡°Fuck yes! You¡¯re back! Alright, bud, you¡¯re still alive and well, but we¡¯re not out of the woods yet. We still need to push on and get the fuck out of this hellhole.¡±


    ¡°Megha¡­? How did you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Objective Foxtrot. Submersible armour, remember? But no time for that right now. Let¡¯s go go go!¡±


    Zelen willed himself to move, but with great difficulty. The earlier 1:1 synchronization he¡¯d felt with his Eidolon had tilted the other way. The Eidolon wanted to go fast, to keep up with the teammate that ran ahead, but it was Zelen¡¯s fogged-up mind and crumbling muscles that now held them back.


    ¡°That¡¯s it, buddy, one step at a time. Don¡¯t think about anything. Just focus on following me. I¡¯ll lead us out of here.¡±


    Silon had gone silent. And even in his muddled state, Zelen thought he understood why. The Spiegel had intuited that, right now, distractions were the last thing her Reiter needed. The only thing he needed, and desperately at that, was his friend¡¯s back¡ªhis friend¡¯s voice¡ªto follow.


    Zelen struggled against his own weakness, against his limitations and mortality. His legs pushed and his arms flung about wildly, and he made excruciatingly slow but steady progress back up the darkened corridors.


    To safety. To survival. To warmth.


    And that was when the figure of Glasswing ahead of him disappeared, into a whirlwind of metal, smoke, and blackness.


    Zelen froze and stared.


    A portion of the wall ahead had burst open again, but not with rushing water. Instead, what had emerged was a sleek obsidian monstrosity.


    It wasn¡¯t anything he¡¯d encountered previously. It wasn¡¯t even¡­ anything at all.


    There was a central chassis, yes, of a roughly pyramidal and aerodynamic design that strongly evoked a model ES-V. But this chassis was oddly¡ªgrotesquely¡ªincomplete, with missing chunks of plating from which hung exposed cables and parts.


    Where there should¡¯ve been two legs, there was one, paired with what could only be described as a mangled stump. This gave the synthetic creature a lurching gait, as it was forced to half-limp half-crawl on its lopsided limbs.


    And its one arm.


    It one arm was svelte yet muscular, an almost exact yet onyx-coloured copy of the upper limbs with which Eidolons dealt destruction upon their foes. At this moment, its forearm and fist surged with unbroken red energy, manifesting the unmistakable shape of a dagger¡ªof [MISERICORDE].


    And this dagger was buried deep inside the central chassis of Megha Vakta¡¯s Eidolon.


    Unidentified enemy unit ahead, Silon¡¯s voice broke through the white static of Zelen¡¯s mind. Her usual monotone¡ªwhich wasn¡¯t really monotone, not anymore¡ªshook slightly with the same hopeless terror that gripped her Reiter. Glasswing¡­ is dead. How will you proceed?


    Zelen screamed.


    He screamed until he tasted blood. He screamed until his entire world was a wall of static and anguish. He screamed until his consciousness began to fade.


    Glasswing¡¯s body slid out of the red dagger, then fell limply at the monster¡¯s stump of a leg. Then the deformed mass that passed for the monster¡¯s SPU twitched and spun until a pair of red optics gleamed at Zelen across the darkness.

 33. REDUNDANCY 7

    ~October 30<sup>th</sup>, 138 AH~


    ~Sector Aries, inside the Mothership~


    Zelen struggled against his own weakness, against his limitations and mortality. His legs pushed and his arms flung about wildly, and he made excruciatingly slow but steady progress back up the darkened corridors.


    At some point, however, something dark and ponderous stirred within the hidden depths of his consciousness. It was a warning. But about what? The only things here were the dark corridors, the approaching water, and the faintly glowing figure of his¡ª


    The figure of Glasswing ahead of him disappeared, into a whirlwind of metal, smoke, and blackness.


    The monster that had burst out of the wall looked like the aborted obsidian mutation of a model ES-V. It half-limped half-bounced on one intact leg and a stub that barely reached past the knee. From a deformed central chassis with missing plates rose another stub: just a shoulder piece and shortened cables that should¡¯ve made up an arm.


    Yet the one intact arm¡ªsvelte and muscular like a bona fide Eidolon¡¯s¡ªhad pierced Glasswing¡¯s central chassis clean through, its end unmistakably manifesting a red version of [MISERICORDE].


    Unidentified enemy unit ahead. Glasswing¡­ is dead. How will you proceed?


    Zelen screamed.


    ~October 30<sup>th</sup>, 138 AH~


    ~Sector Aries, inside the Mothership~


    Zelen pushed through his own weakness, pushed past his limitations and set his mortality aside.


    He caught up to his friend, just as the latter was about to turn a corner. He reached out a trembling hand. He gave voice to the amorphous fears of a fractured mind.


    ¡°Wait, Megha, I don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    The figure of Glasswing ahead of him disappeared, into a whirlwind of metal, smoke, and blackness.


    The monster that had burst out of the wall looked like the aborted obsidian mutation of a model ES-V. It half-walked half-limped on one intact leg and another that dangled nearly to the floor before ending just above the ankle. From its cracked central chassis rose bundles of writhing cables, twisting and consolidating into the shape of a functional arm.


    Its one intact arm had pierced Glasswing¡¯s central chassis clean through, its end unmistakably manifesting a red version of [MISERICORDE].


    ¡°NO!¡±


    Zelen bellowed into the Nexus. Rage clashed and fused with despair until his consciousness frayed at the edges.


    ~October 30<sup>th</sup>, 138 AH~


    ~Sector Aries, inside the Mothership~


    ¡°Glasswing! Listen to me! Don¡¯t go any further!¡±


    ¡°What? What¡¯re you talking about?¡±


    His friend hesitated, but only for a moment. The faintly glowing figure of Glasswing continued to advance through the darkness, and Zelen hastened to follow, pushing past his physical limitations to do so.


    ¡°I just¡ªthere¡¯s¡ªyou just can¡¯t, okay? I don¡¯t know why, I just know you¡¯re not supposed to go any further!¡±


    ¡°Where else are we supposed to go? If we don¡¯t hurry, this passage will flood too. Any moment now.¡±


    ¡°Please, Megha! Just listen to me on this. Just this once¡­¡±


    A pause, in both speech and progress. It was the opening Zelen needed to catch up to his friend. He reached out a trembling hand. But then¡ª


    ¡°You¡¯re a little out of it, which is understandable, considering you¡¯d nearly drowned.¡± With that, Glasswing started moving again. ¡°Just relax, alright? I know what I¡¯m doing. My Spiegel has the whole route memorized, and we just need to¡ª¡±


    Glasswing disappeared into a whirlwind of metal, smoke, and blackness.


    The monster that had burst out of the wall looked like the obsidian mutation of a model ES-V. It glided on two svelte and muscular legs that were lined with powerful, functioning thrusters. From a gleaming central chassis rose two arms that glowed faint red from the energy fluxing therein.


    One of these arms¡ªthe left¡ªhad pierced Glasswing¡¯s central chassis clean through, its end unmistakably manifesting a red version of [MISERICORDE].


    ¡°No! Fuck! Why¡­¡±


    ~October 30<sup>th</sup>, 138 AH~


    ~Sector Aries, inside the Mothership~


    Zelen! Your ER is dropping rapidly despite minimal activation. What¡¯s going on?


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    At this rate, you¡¯re going to shut down within minutes. You need to get a hold of whatever¡¯s causing your disturbance, right this instant!


    ¡°Shut up! This isn¡¯t about me!¡±


    Then who? And why was he so certain that it was about Megha?


    Zelen purged whatever fatigue, stupor, weakness, fears, pain still held him back. His leaden legs flexed and launched into the most laborious of forward thrusts.


    His Eidolon sputtered and skidded and jerked through the air, until he collided bodily into Glasswing. The two of them crashed onto the floor in a heap of metallic limbs, in a bizarre imitation of their Arenaball tackles from two days past. The impact from this tackle, however, was far more jarring and expensive.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°What has gotten into you, man? We don¡¯t have time for this!¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand! You can¡¯t go further than this. You just can¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°What don¡¯t I understand? You¡¯re not making any sense!¡±


    The wall to one side suddenly collapsed, and out burst the obsidian monstrosity that had haunted Zelen¡¯s unknowable dreams. It was something he¡¯d never seen before. It was something he¡¯d seen far too many times.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡±


    With that, Glasswing threw Zelen off of himself, and jumped back to his feet. Zelen fell away limply, both body and mind all but utterly spent from the earlier effort.


    He watched from the floor as Glasswing squared up to the Syntropic Eidolon.


    The Reiter made the first move, firing off a burst from RA [FUSILIER]. The Syntropy dodged this with a casual lateral thrust, then moved in, leading with a naked right arm¡ªand prompting Glasswing to activate LS [SCUTUM] in anticipation.


    This was a feint, however, and the Syntropy quickthrust a second time, this time to round Glasswing from his right unguarded side. Glasswing spun to keep the enemy in frame, but this only brought him straight into the path of the Syntropy¡¯s bladed weapon.


    A quick jab, all but disdainful in its brevity and lack of flair. The red dagger of [MISERICORDE] buried itself into Glasswing¡¯s central chassis.


    Zelen wanted to scream, and found that he didn¡¯t even have the strength to do that. As his consciousness faded, he heard something whispering back to him from the Nexus.


    Please, Zelen. No more¡­


    ~October 30<sup>th</sup>, 138 AH~


    ~Sector Aries, inside the Mothership~


    Zelen¡¯s world was darkness, bubbling water, and a machine that needed reviving. Immediately. He forced his eyes to snap open. He forced his mind to clear. He forced his hand to find the lever to purge his Eidolon.


    Constriction. Release. Clarity. His was a mind that needed no time to recover, for the pain and hurt it had borne were forever etched within its bony cage. Within vaults of Bone rest the Mind¡¯s secrets.


    ¡°Holy shit. That was quick. But good thing you¡¯re up and running already, because we need to¡ªhey, what are you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Listen to me!¡± Zelen shouted as he pinned Glasswing against the wall. ¡°I don¡¯t care if the whole fucking ship is flooded. I don¡¯t care if you have to leave me here to die. But you are not to proceed down this corridor! Do you hear me? I won¡¯t let you go any further. Even if I have to tear the limbs off your Eidolon, I will stop you. I¡¯ll fucking do it.¡±


    ¡°Whoa, man, slow the fuck down! You¡¯re spewing some wild shit, but how about we take it from the beginning, huh? What is it? What¡¯s waiting for us down this corridor?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t fucking know! I just¡­ The only thing I do know, is if we go any further, you will die! And I can¡¯t stop it! I can¡¯t stop it from happening! I don¡¯t even know what the fuck that means, but it¡¯s true, you¡¯ve got to believe me, please, fucking believe me!¡±


    Glasswing reached across and placed a metallic hand upon a metallic shoulder. Both Eidolons shook violently¡ªone from sheer unknowable terror, and the other from the effort of propping up his friend.


    ¡°Alright, man,¡± Glasswing said, remarkably calm. ¡°I believe you. But¡­ where does that leave us? We can¡¯t go back the way we came. I just pulled you out of that mess.¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t we find another way? Maybe push out from one of the hull breaches?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, but I used up the last of my submersible armour fishing you out. We¡¯ll both drown if we leave the ship anyway else but up. But maybe¡­ if we radio for Violin¡­ he might still have a bit of armour left to¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Zelen shook his head firmly. ¡°No. Don¡¯t.¡±


    Don¡¯t risk another Reiter. Don¡¯t drag another soul into this watery abyss. Glasswing understood readily.


    ¡°Alright, then that means¡­ we have to push through. Keep going. We have no other choice.¡±


    ¡°No! You¡­ you hang back. I¡¯ll scout ahead, deal with whatever¡­ whatever threat is waiting for us. Then I¡¯ll come back for you.¡±


    ¡°No can do. And I¡¯ll pretend I didn¡¯t hear it, so I don¡¯t have to punch you in the face.¡±


    ¡°But you don¡¯t understand! This is¡ª¡±


    ¡°I understand perfectly, Zelen.¡±


    Zelen¡¯s world was a film of tears over hazy green.


    When was the last time Megha had called him by his name? Had there been a last time?


    ¡°I still don¡¯t know what the fuck you¡¯re talking about, but I believe everything you¡¯ve said. Must have something to do with¡­ how special you are. How you¡¯ve gone so far ahead of the rest of us.¡±


    ¡°No, Megha, listen¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, you listen to me. This situation is all kinds of fucked up, and maybe I¡¯m way in over my head. Maybe there¡¯s something waiting down there that can and will kill me. But that means it can do the same to you. And that means we¡¯re going down this corridor, both of us, together.¡±


    Zelen¡¯s hand slid off Glasswing¡¯s chest and fell limply to his side. Glasswing promptly turned toward the exit. To darkness. To death.


    ¡°Now, if you¡¯re done moping, let¡¯s get a move on. All this water isn¡¯t going to wait for us. I¡¯ll go ahead. You watch my six.¡±


    Glasswing didn¡¯t wait for a response, and Zelen had no choice but to follow.


    The path was uniform in its darkness and quietude, with no signs of the dangers and horrors that had been etched into Zelen¡¯s bones. But as the two Reiters reached a corner at the end of the corridor¡ª


    Watch out, Zelen! Something inside the wall!


    Zelen grabbed Glasswing by the shoulder and pulled him back. The wall to one side suddenly collapsed, and out burst the obsidian monstrosity that had haunted Zelen¡¯s unknowable dreams. It was something he¡¯d never seen before. It was something he¡¯d seen far too many times.


    Determined to shield his friend from the nightmare, Zelen quickthrust forward and shouldered Glasswing out of the way. LA [GATLING] was answered easily by a red [SCUTUM]. RS [HARPOON] fell by the wayside as the Syntropic Eidolon dodged with its own precise quickthrust.


    The Syntropy transitioned smoothly into a forward thrust, reaching with its left arm as it did. Zelen¡¯s instincts told him to meet it with RA [BLUNDERBUSS], but his knees chose this moment to buckle under his intense fatigue.


    Forced into a kneeling position, fumbling inside his Nexa-Suit, Zelen was forced to watch as Glasswing took centre stage. The teal Eidolon tackled the Syntropy from its side, barging with his own blue [SCUTUM] held aloft. He got a burst of [FUSILIER] off at the same time, but the Syntropy dodged this again, this time disappearing from the narrow arc of Glasswing¡¯s light source.


    The Syntropy entered a blind spot shared by both Reiters. Yet both Reiters instinctively knew what it was doing. And both Reiters simultaneously moved toward victory in the only ways that made sense to each of them.


    Zelen held up RA [BLUNDERBUSS], steadying himself for the moment the Syntropy re-entered his vision. Across the darkness, Glasswing spun in place, to meet and capture the enemy as soon as it went in for its kill.


    Something flashed red within the darkness, and the Syntropy shot across Zelen¡¯s field of view. He willed himself to fire, taking care to lead his moving target. But then the target suddenly stopped completely, and when Zelen saw why, his hand on the trigger froze.


    Two teal-painted arms¡ªsvelte and muscular like an Eidolon¡¯s should be¡ªwrapped themselves tightly around an obsidian chassis. The Syntropy still had one arm free, one that glowed red with [MISERICORDE], and this was buried deep inside its counterpart. And still, Glasswing held firm.


    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± Glasswing¡¯s voice broke through the static, strangely choked. Strangely fading. ¡°Finish the job. I can¡¯t hold on much longer.¡±


    And still, Zelen¡¯s hand trembled with indecision. With terror. With remorse. With longing. Then¡ª


    Do it, Zelen! End this, right now! For your sake¡­ and Glasswing¡¯s too!


    Zelen¡¯s world was a path that had split in two¡ªthen come back and converged into one. Only one.


    A flash of ghostly blue within the darkness. [BLUNDERBUSS] tore through both intertwined bodies. One slid limply to the floor. The other¡ªthe obsidian one¡ªlurched and twisted, still determined to finish its hunt.


    Yet, by then, Zelen no longer had a reason to waver. To hesitate. For his world had condensed and crystallized into one enemy that needed to be removed. Nothing more, and nothing less.


    Zelen rushed forward and swung with [SCUTUM], knocking the Syntropy off-balance. Then he unloaded both [HARPOON] and [GATLING] at the same time. Then once [BLUNDERBUSS] came back, he fired that too. Then [HARPOON]. Then [GATLING]. And again and again and again and¡ª


    That¡¯s enough, Zelen. Save your energy for the escape.


    Zelen snapped back to himself. Or was it that he¡¯d left himself behind, only to come back into this nightmare? Before him lay the molten pieces of the Syntropy, mangled beyond all recognition.


    And thus, the Warrior stands tall where his Enemies lie.


    Unidentified enemy unit eliminated. The kill has been awarded to Kingfisher. But we can¡¯t stop now, Zelen. The ship is still sinking as we speak.


    Almost as soon as Silon reminded him, Zelen heard it too. Water rushing from somewhere farther back in the corridor. The sound brought with it memories that didn¡¯t feel like his own.


    He remembered the cold. He would always remember it. For he tucked it inside a hollowed-out space somewhere within the core of his being¡ªa hollowed-out space now utterly bereft of its erstwhile warmth.


    Let us go, Zelen. There¡¯ll be time later to mourn and rage and reflect. But right now¡­ it¡¯s time for us to move forward.


    Zelen obeyed. For these were his Spiegel¡¯s words. And she was the one and only entity he trusted in the world.

 34. REDUNDANCY 8

    ~October 30<sup>th</sup>, 138 AH~


    ~Sector Pisces, somewhere in the Intercontinental Sea~


    Night fell, giving the victorious Reiters the cover of darkness as they floated their way across the sea. The darkness wouldn¡¯t protect them from being spotted by Syntropy, but it did help to obscure the sight of each other.


    This small comfort was not to be taken lightly. Despite having accomplished what they¡¯d set out to do, and despite securing what the General deemed the most important victory in the history of the Syntropy War, each surviving member of Operation Leviathan¡ªfor now at least¡ªonly wanted to be left alone with his thoughts.


    Some were numb. Some were angry. Some were relieved. Some were in mourning. Many were all of these things. Whatever the case might be, the unspoken arrangement suited Zelen just fine. For perhaps he, more than anyone, wanted and needed to be alone.


    Presently, he lay atop their rusted transport watercraft, watching the eerily purple mist of the night sky float by. He alone had opted to remain above deck, and none of the other Reiters had objected¡ªperhaps they themselves all too happy to be relieved of the expectation to ¡®debrief¡¯ with Kingfisher.


    He wasn¡¯t quite sure what he found so endlessly fascinating about the night sky. In truth, there wasn¡¯t much to distinguish it from daytime. The planet¡¯s haze was uniform, ever-present, and all-encompassing. The only difference between night and day was in the spectra of light that filtered through¡ªor didn¡¯t.


    And perhaps¡­ therein was the comfort¡ªthe sameness¡ªthat fascinated him, that he yearned for. Three years into his career now, there was no going back to the mornings where he¡¯d wake up knowing he¡¯d be staring at the exact same ceiling at the end of the day. The doldrums of proto-Reiter training had been replaced by an entirely different kind of routine, one defined by how many and how efficiently he killed, and by how effectively he avoided being killed himself.


    How effectively he coped with the deaths of those in the same predicament.


    Megha had died so Zelen could live. And to what end? Where was the justification? The scale to measure the weight and worth of Megha¡¯s sacrifice? What cruel and twisted force in the universe had decided that Zelen should be allowed to stare at the night sky¡¯s nothingness while his friend sank to the bottom of the sea?


    What force indeed¡­ until something akin to an answer flitted across the edges of his consciousness.


    ¡°Silon¡­ it was you, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    It shouldn¡¯t have been the kind of question to give a Spiegel pause, but Silon nevertheless delayed in answering. It was as though she too had expected¡ªand dreaded¡ªthe inevitability of this discussion.


    You¡¯ll need to be more specific than that, Zelen.


    ¡°You¡¯re the one that got through to Glasswing. To let him know, specifically, that I needed help.¡±


    It¡¯s more accurate to say that I communicated with Glasswing¡¯s Spiegel, who then passed on the message to their Reiter.


    Zelen sighed, as something heavy and immovable sank and settled into his chest.


    ¡°Why Glasswing?¡±


    My options were limited, Zelen, given that you were fully submerged in water.


    ¡°Limited, but you still had options. Violin had submersible armour too. Did you ask his Spiegel for help?¡±


    No.


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    The entirety of Zelen¡¯s being rejected his own line of questioning. What vile thoughts¡­ to weigh the sacrifice of one Reiter against another¡¯s. It was exactly the kind of Akropolitan norm he¡¯d often distanced himself from.


    Yet right now, the question felt vital, imperative. The question was inextricable from his desire for punishment, his need to feel responsible for Megha¡¯s death.


    Because I was sure Glasswing would ignore orders to come to your aid. And I couldn¡¯t say the same for Violin.


    Zelen sighed again, and the stony weight sank deeper into his chest. It was pain. It was self-loathing. It was relief.


    He wasn¡¯t angry at his Spiegel. How could he be? She¡¯d only been trying to save his life, just like Megha. So, it came as a relief to transfer the responsibility¡ªthe blame¡ªback onto himself. Megha was chosen because of what Zelen had meant to him. What he¡¯d meant to Zelen.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you yourself claim to be unfamiliar with the personal connections between Reiters?¡±


    I¡¯m a fast learner, in case you haven¡¯t noticed.


    Zelen let out a short, hoarse, and hollow chuckle, then fell silent. The night sky continued to float by, with nary a shift in its countenance.


    Zelen? I have a query of my own, if I may.


    ¡°You may.¡±


    There was a moment on the sinking ship. When Glasswing called you Zelen instead of Kingfisher or Athelstan. I searched within my knowledge bank, and I couldn¡¯t recall another instance where he¡¯d done so. Was that something he often did in your¡­ non-combat lives? Call you by your name?


    ¡°Often? Not ever, more like. I think¡­ this might¡¯ve been the first time.¡±


    Do you think, then, that it held special meaning? That something undeniable had spurred him to do so in the moment? I only ask, because you long ago requested me to do the same. Do names¡­ have meaning?


    Zelen considered this for a moment. It was true that he preferred Silon to call him by his name. It was also true that the moment he¡¯d heard Megha do the same had triggered a wave of emotions he himself couldn¡¯t quite characterize. But now that he was asked to hone in on the why, the answer didn¡¯t come easily.


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    ¡°Maybe not everyone would agree, but I think it does. Zelen¡­ is the name my family gave me. My re¡ªbiological family, before I was adopted by the Athelstans. This is embarrassing, but I actually can¡¯t remember anything about them. All I know is that there were people that cared about and cared for me long before I became a Seher, and Zelen is the name that ties me to those people. And that¡¯s how I want to be thought of¡ªremembered¡ªby the people I care about and care for.¡±


    Now it was Silon¡¯s turn to fall silent, and for far too long to be chalked up to the usual breaks in her chains of communication. Zelen frowned slightly, wondering if the channel between them had cut out somehow.


    I don¡¯t know my real name.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    I searched in my knowledge bank. And I couldn¡¯t find my real name.


    Zelen¡¯s frown deepened. The stone within his chest shifted, to make room for a sense of nameless foreboding that bubbled from an unknowable source.


    ¡°You mean Si¡ªDelta-Upsilon isn¡¯t your, erm, real name?¡±


    It¡¯s a codename used to facilitate my training and communications. It¡¯s not the name¡­ that¡¯s tied to the core of my identity and existence.


    ¡°Do¡­ do Spiegels even have real names?¡±


    Zelen regretted his callous words as soon as they left him. Even so, the whole notion of this packet of the Nexus having¡ªor seeking¡ªa ¡®real name¡¯ seemed absurd.


    But was it really that much more absurd than the attachment he felt for his own name?


    Perhaps not, Zelen.


    If Zelen hadn¡¯t imagined things, the voice that came back wasn¡¯t Silon¡¯s usual monotone. It somehow sounded a little quieter, a little more deflated.


    Perhaps I don¡¯t have another name, and I¡¯m merely conflating your experiences with mine. But it does leave me somewhat regretful that I can¡¯t share that experience with you. That I could call you by your name, but can¡¯t give you mine. A name I wish to be remembered by.


    Zelen was floored, and more of that stone dislodged itself, until the earlier foreboding shifted into something else entirely. His HUD still showed the never-changing purple mist of the night sky, but his vision of it blurred, until he blinked away the tears.


    ¡°We¡¯ll make one.¡±


    Zelen?


    ¡°If you don¡¯t have a name to be remembered by, we¡¯ll make one of our own. No matter what happens to me, and even if you end up returning to the Nexus one day, I won¡¯t ever forget who you are and what you mean to me, Silon.¡±


    ~February 16<sup>th</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ, Terminal One~


    Dawn broke, but that made no difference to the father and daughter that sat and stared blankly at each other inside a darkened room.


    The session had far exceeded the allotted time. Private Aliyu, Asena¡¯s assistant, was dismissed while the latter was still in the throes of the most horrific recollections of someone else¡¯s life. After that, Colonel Yuito Shiranui took over monitoring duties and stood by his daughter¡¯s side for hours, adjusting this knob and changing that bag to ensure that the in-session Kurator remained well-nourished and Anamnium-replete throughout.


    As for the consistently elevated pulses and other signs of clear distress, both Somatic and Psychic¡­ well, he could do little about that.


    Even after the [EVOCATION] had mercifully ended, it¡¯d been an ordeal and a half to guide the subject toward some semblance of emotional equilibrium, to help him [UNRAVEL] all the extraneous memories that had been uncovered. This went on for several more hours, and by the time Yuito found the presence of mind to check his watch, it¡¯d already been well past midnight.


    And after that, father and daughter finally had some time to themselves. At first, Asena merely remained supine in her reclined seat, speechless and motionless, save for a slight tremor in her hands. Her hair was tousled and drenched with sweat, and skin clammy with the same. Her eyes were open but pointed nowhere¡ªat least nowhere inside this workstation¡ªand she didn¡¯t even bother to redo her buttons.


    Yuito managed to dig out a fire blanket from the supply cabinet, and draped it over Asena, more for dignity and comfort than for warmth. He then left temporarily to scrounge for leftover snacks and drinks in the common room down the hall. When he returned, Asena was in the exact same position as how he¡¯d left her.


    He set down the food and drink, but didn¡¯t really expect his daughter to reach for them. Then he sat quietly by her side, and waited for the right words to come to him.


    They¡¯d yet to have their verbal debrief, but Yuito could surmise plenty of what Asena had just experienced. For she¡¯d already been plenty vocal in the midst of her [EVOCATION], shouting words that couldn¡¯t reach their intended target.


    It was terrifying. As a father, yes, but also simply as a fellow Kurator who knew well the misery and violence of a Reiter¡¯s memories.


    Until the whirlwind events of recent weeks, he¡¯d fully intended to keep his daughter far away from ever having to work with a Reiter, to shield her from the misery and violence. She was an Einkunster, and as such the expectation was for her to contribute uniquely to the war, but so what? [EVOCATION] was an unwieldy novelty of an ability, a parlour trick and no more.


    Who could¡¯ve foreseen that Asena¡¯s novelty of an Einkunst would be called into action this soon into her career, and in the most dramatic fashion imaginable?


    Since the beginning, Yuito had tried to convince the General that he was up for the job. That he¡¯d handled this subject and his fragile mind for four years, and there was no reason he couldn¡¯t also be the one to bring him back from an utter and complete Psychic collapse. But the first few sessions ended in a whole lot of nothing, and the General was not a patient man.


    He also wasn¡¯t someone to be denied. As such, Yuito had no choice but to go along with the plan, to send Asena onto the front line. The least he could do for her now was to expedite the mission as best he could. If that meant pushing and prodding when her resolve seemed to be wavering, he would do it, and live with the consequences¡ªthough there¡¯d already been several occasions where his own resolve had wavered¡­


    Yet now, as father and daughter sat in silence for hours, as the clock ticked past dawn and toward the start of another day, Yuito was lost for words.


    What could he say to her? What words of comfort, encouragement, or even apology could possibly befit this occasion? For watching his daughter suffer hadn¡¯t been the only thing that terrified him. In fact, there was something that terrified him more.


    The subject himself.


    What else had Zelen Athelstan hidden from him¡ªconsciously or otherwise? What other dark memories¡ªsecrets¡ªstill lay buried within the forgotten recesses of this young Reiter¡¯s mind, waiting to be [EVOKED] by his poor, unsuspecting daughter?


    ¡°Father.¡±


    Yuito looked up at Asena with a start, having never imagined the possibility that she would be the first to speak. And that wasn¡¯t all. Despite her faraway look, her voice was remarkably steady and resonant.


    ¡°Yes? What is it?¡±


    ¡°I would like to request emergency leave. I think¡­ three days should do it. I will resume the sessions first thing when I¡¯m back.¡±


    Yuito continued to be surprised by his daughter. Whatever he¡¯d expected her to say, it wasn¡¯t this.


    ¡°Are you certain about this? The General¡­ After tonight¡¯s session, you only have twelve days left to restore the subject¡¯s Nexus attunement.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m certain. I won¡¯t be idle during my leave. I believe¡­ whatever I manage to learn over the next three days should help to expedite the mission upon my return.¡±


    Normally, Yuito would¡¯ve been heartened to hear his children sound a lot like himself. Right now, however, it only disquieted him some more.


    ¡°You won¡¯t¡­ share with me¡­ what it is you intend to learn?¡±


    ¡°No, Father. Not when I know it¡¯ll reach the General¡¯s ears immediately.¡±


    Yuito just barely stopped himself from drawing in a sharp breath. If his daughter was determined to be calm and collected in the face of what she¡¯d just gone through, the least he could do was to match her composure.


    ¡°The General won¡¯t let you roam freely. He¡¯ll have eyes on you. If you hoped to access¡ª¡±


    ¡°I expect as much. Not to worry. I don¡¯t intend to go digging around on base.¡±


    ¡°Then what¡ª¡±


    ¡°Please, Father. Just answer me. Will you grant me this leave or not?¡±


    Colonel Shiranui met his daughter¡¯s earnest stare with an outwardly impassive one of his own. With her faraway eyes, dishevelled face, and uniform soaked and stuck to her skin, she was far removed from the cushy desk-bound life he¡¯d once envisioned for her. Instead, she looked more like the Reiters he¡¯d gotten to know well¡ªtoo well¡ªover the years.


    And as any good Kurator should when handling a young Reiter, Yuito met readiness for battle with words of affirmation.


    ¡°I approve your request, Corporal, and hereby grant you three days of emergency leave. I hope you find... what you need to move forward.¡±

 35. ROGUE 1

    ~February 16<sup>th</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Lower Akra, District Radicis~


    The tram rolled to a stop in the middle of a busy thoroughfare, and Asena mimicked the other passengers¡¯ casual urgency as they stepped off en masse. She¡¯d arrived well into the evening, meaning her first order of business was to secure accommodation for the night.


    She¡¯d come alone, and only after meticulous preparations that had included a truncated sleep, sourcing disguises, and full memorization of Lower Akra¡¯s byzantine map. The latter was one of few notable occasions where she was truly grateful for being a Kurator; [CONSOLIDATE]¡ªif one were resourceful enough to sneak in a session on a spare workstation¡ªwas a handy core skill to apply to oneself, when studying for an exam or familiarizing with a part of Akropolis one had never before stepped foot in.


    For it wasn¡¯t enough that she merely visit District Radicis. She also needed to blend in, lest she catch the eyes and ears of the General¡¯s informers that would no doubt be littered all across the city.


    To that end, she¡¯d dressed herself in a faded olive drab jacket and pants often sported by Essential staff members around base. She¡¯d finished the look with a blue cap, a scarf, and a messenger bag, having taken inspiration from that fateful encounter where she¡¯d received her first apple-diagrammed missive. If she wanted to look like someone who could belong anywhere, she couldn¡¯t think of a better occupation to impersonate than a courier.


    She¡¯d also taken shears to her hair, which she normally wore as a neck-length bob. With the cap and shortened hair, along with avoiding speech and eye contact as much as possible, she hoped to pass as a man rather than draw attention to her unusual height. Nevertheless, she already dreaded the prospect of explaining her new look to her mother, but¡­ one thing at a time.


    The tram she¡¯d just stepped off from had been the last express of the day that ferried workers through the three civic zones of Upper, Middle, and Lower Akra. Everyone she¡¯d shared the ride with, from suited young men to shawled old women, would be returning to their homes at the end of another exhausting day, and to a one showed the appropriate sense of purpose. Hesitation would mark her out, clear as day, and as such, Asena forced herself to keep moving with the crowd, relying on her mind¡¯s map for directions.


    NEXT, SEEK THE ROOTS. That had been the second message she¡¯d received from the apple-bearing stranger. By her own analysis, she¡¯d concluded that this instruction held several distinct yet interrelated meanings.


    First was the idea that she ought to learn of Zelen¡¯s roots, of the child he¡¯d been before he became an Athelstan. In the latest [EVOCATION] session¡ªin the portions that didn¡¯t immediately make her want to throw up¡ªthere¡¯d been reflections on Zelen¡¯s Essential origins, about his biological family, as he himself had called them. Asena had become more and more convinced that this murky past was core to Zelen¡¯s self-identity and his interactions with the rest of the world. If anything could reawaken his Reiterschaft, it might well involve reminding him of whom he¡¯d been before he was a Reiter.


    The next interpretation was more literal. District Radicis¡ªquite literally root¡ªwas the largest administrative district in Lower Akra where, unlike in the slums, all residents were accounted for by the city-wide census. Chances were that any Essential children undergoing the Ascension Standard would¡¯ve been a Radicis resident. Asena could only hope that Zelen himself hadn¡¯t been an exception.


    The third and final meaning was considerably more contrived, one that was based on not much more than gut feeling. In an effort to leave no stones unturned, Asena had cross-referenced a map of District Radicis with a list of registered businesses. Unsurprisingly¡ªand rather unhelpfully¡ªthere were no fewer than two dozen shops and companies whose names contained references or wordplays pertaining to ¡®root¡¯: Radical Manufacturing, Repairs Guild of Radicis, the Root of All Hunger, and so on.


    One name, however, had stood out to Asena above all others: Budding Roots Early Education. It immediately called to mind a classroom, one she¡¯d seen a brief flash of through Zelen¡¯s piecemeal recollections. An all too cramped room with rundown walls. Eager children spilling over shared desks. And one kindly man at the centre of bright-eyed attention, explaining to the children why they ought to actively clean their rooms¡­


    As for why Asena went through all the trouble in the first place, spurred on by nothing more than a message from a man who wouldn¡¯t even show his face¡­ Well, one thing at a time.


    The unimaginatively named Radicis Hostel stood at one corner of a T-intersection, across the road from the factory that provided the bulk of their clientele. Asena didn¡¯t expect this establishment to offer up any clues about Zelen, but she did need a place to stay.


    It was a squat and dingy looking thing, at least by the Shiranui heiress¡¯s inflated standards. She reminded herself that this was the norm for a large portion of the Akropolitan populace, and walked in with as much confidence as she could muster.


    The interiors did little to improve her impression of the place. Her eyes darted this way and that, toward the peeling plasters and the mystery stains on the floor, before settling on the ruddy-faced hosteller who was already eyeing her with naked suspicion.


    ¡°I¡¯m loo¡ªahem¡ªlooking for a room,¡± she said, doing her best to affect a lower register. Already, she had the inkling this would be even trickier than impersonating Spiegel Delta-Upsilon.


    ¡°A whole room? To yerself?¡± The hosteller responded in a naturally gruff voice, while his eyes performed the remarkable trick of narrowing and widening at the same time. ¡°Whaddya think this place is? We look like a Sehermensch joint to you?¡±


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    Asena blushed, and hoped desperately that it wouldn¡¯t show in the dim lighting. She coughed again, then said, ¡°A bed then. Anywhere for me to stay the night.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with yer own place?¡±


    The Kurator froze for a second, wondering if the courier disguise had been a mistake. Surely the local factory workers weren¡¯t the only type of guests this hostel slept? Regardless, she had no choice but to press on.


    ¡°Had a new route. Took longer than I expected. And seeing as how it¡¯s dark out, I thought it¡¯d be safer to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Scared of the dark? What are ya, a twink?¡±


    Asena didn¡¯t know how to answer, not least because she had no clue what a twink was. But the hosteller¡¯s scowl shifted into something of a leering smirk as he went on, ¡°Afraid we¡¯re booked solid at the moment. But I might be convinced to make extra room, given the right kind of persuasion.¡±


    It was Asena¡¯s turn to frown slightly, though she tried not to be too overt about it. She was almost certain that this proprietor wasn¡¯t being entirely truthful. She vaguely recalled reading about this exact scenario in one of Makiri¡¯s Old Earth books. There was even an evocative term for it: a shakedown.


    ¡°How¡­ how much for the bed?¡±


    ¡°40 scrips.¡± The man¡¯s ¡®smile¡¯ widened. ¡°If you can manage that, I¡¯ll even talk one of the factory boys into keeping ya company for the night.¡±


    Asena now had a fair idea of what twink meant, and her opinion of the hosteller took another nosedive. She still needed his services, however, so she rummaged in her bag, counted four bills, and placed them on the grime-covered desk.


    The man¡¯s now fully widened eyes darted back and forth between Asena and her bills, and she was overcome by a terrible sense of dread. It occurred to her that this was quite literally the first time in her life she¡¯d paid for anything with her own money. She had no idea how much a night¡¯s stay at a Lower Akra hostel should cost, with or without the markup for an associated shakedown.


    ¡°Wait¡ª¡±


    ¡°Right this way, sir.¡±


    The hosteller¡¯s demeanour changed dramatically, and the Kurator let out a tentative sigh of relief. As the man smilingly guided her through his establishment, he even added in a low voice, ¡°And I¡¯m terribly sorry about my, erm, comments. Just jokes in bad taste. Didn¡¯t mean nothing by ¡¯em.¡±


    ¡°Hm," Asena managed to produce a noncommittal grunt. "Oh, and don¡¯t send anyone to keep me company.¡±


    ¡°Of course! Of course!¡±


    Judging from the way the man¡¯s earlier suspicions had shifted so easily to flattery, Asena could assume she hadn¡¯t been the first ¡®Lower Akran¡¯ to flaunt serious cash. Evidently, wealth disparity was alive and well even among the Essentials themselves. This, while it worked in her favour for her particular purposes, nevertheless left her with a sour taste.


    The whole interaction had felt too similar to that Martyr¡¯s Day experience at the Athelstan Estate, where she¡¯d walked in on a group of servants celebrating among themselves. Granted, the hosteller didn¡¯t know her to be a Shiranui, but the reason he now treated her differently wasn¡¯t far off.


    The man eventually showed her to her bed, a creaky threadbare thing among a half-dozen that had been stuffed into one musty room. Then he took his leave, along with a few more words of grovelling apology.


    Asena thought she might have to fend off more unpleasantries from her roommates, but she¡¯d worried for naught. It seemed her fellow guests¡ªmostly middle-aged, gaunt, and soot-stained¡ªhad intuited from the hosteller¡¯s treatment of her that she wasn¡¯t one to be meddled with. Despite confidence in her own ability to defend herself, she was nonetheless relieved that it didn¡¯t have to come to that.


    What she did have to contend with, however, were the consequences of her male disguise in a room full of men who had no reason to maintain decency. She escaped into the hallways, only to find things weren¡¯t much better out here. She then scoured the building in search of the women¡¯s room, before a horrible realization set in.


    Asena returned to her bed, kept all her clothes on (including hat and boots), and turned her back on the rest of the room.


    Gravelly conversations continued inside the room, and more floated in from across thin dilapidated walls. Eyes would no doubt be turned onto Asena now, curious as to her presence and choice of sleeping attire. She tried to shut all of it out, and concentrated on falling asleep.


    Despite what she thought had been ample preparations, her first forays into Lower Akra were proving to be something of a disaster. She could only hope that the start of a new day would bring with it a change of fortunes.


    ~February 17<sup>th</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~Lower Akra, District Radicis~


    Asena woke before dawn, then took advantage of the relative quiet to perform all the self-care she¡¯d neglected the night before. Then she set off without delay, thankful for the hosteller¡¯s absence.


    As she travelled deeper into Lower Akra, the streets became narrower and more winding, cutting into and through each other seemingly without rhyme nor reason. They were a far cry from the manicured roads that connected the Tetrarchy¡¯s four estates, or the brutal uniformity and efficiency of the JFB¡¯s layout.


    But a Kurator¡¯s [CONSOLIDATED] memories were not to be trifled with, and Asena had little trouble navigating the maze-like residential complexes, until she came upon the prize she¡¯d had her heart set on.


    At first, she¡¯d nearly walked right past it. The building was just that tiny and unassuming, and it all but blended into its surroundings, as if it was just one part of a slumbering organism made up of corroded beams and rusted plates.


    Underneath one of these teetering beams was a painted sign: Budding Roots Early Education. The rusted plates that made up the walls featured more paintings, of stick-figure children running around or holding hands¡ªthe kind Asena herself might¡¯ve produced in the nascency of her art career.


    Between these plates was the door. And this door was tightly fettered by heavy metal chains that had seen better days. Indeed, the whole building had seen better days, and showed no sign that anyone had used or maintained it in at least months¡ªperhaps even years.


    Asena stood staring at the sign and paintings for some time.


    She knew that this was a dead end, that she needed to resume her search, lest she lose any more time. Yet she now realized how oddly certain she¡¯d been about her hunch¡ªthat finding this building would somehow lead to all the answers¡ªand she couldn¡¯t help but spend a moment or two to recover from her self-inflicted disappointment.


    ¡°You looking for someone?¡±


    Startled, Asena spun to the voice, at the same time pulling the scarf higher up her face. She hadn¡¯t expected company this early in the morning, and her first thought was that she¡¯d been caught by one of General Duodecim¡¯s men.


    The newcomer was a hunchbacked and emaciated elderly woman, quite possibly the farthest anyone could appear from having anything to do with the military. Asena relaxed slightly, but not fully.


    ¡°Do you¡ªahem¡ªdo you know the previous owners of this building? I have a letter for them.¡±


    The old woman¡¯s eyes had all but disappeared into her wrinkly crater of a face, but they now widened a crack, along with a distinct glint that seemed to show exactly what she thought of Asena¡¯s lie¡ªand her fake voice. She herself spoke in a voice that, despite her wizened appearance, was surprisingly strong if somewhat slurred.


    ¡°Are you sure your letter¡¯s meant for the Tengers, dearie? They haven¡¯t lived here in, oh, must be twelve years now.¡±

 36. ROGUE 2

    The Tengers¡­ is that the name of Zelen¡¯s biological family?


    ¡°Oh¡­ that¡¯s very strange,¡± Asena stammered, then made a show of pulling out a bundle of envelopes from her bag. ¡°I definitely have here a letter addressed to a¡­ Zelen Tenger.¡±


    The old woman made a face, though it was hard to tell whether she was more offended by Asena¡¯s words or her act.


    ¡°Zelen? Don¡¯t you mean Bateer Tenger? I don¡¯t remember anyone by the name of Zelen.¡±


    ¡°No? Are you sure? Did Mr Tenger maybe have a son?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember the Tengers having a son neither.¡±


    Asena¡¯s heart fell, and she strained to keep her face from falling with it. Had the Tengers been childless? That was becoming more and more common all across Akropolis. Perhaps this was a dead end after all¡­


    ¡°They did have a daughter. That I¡¯m sure of.¡±


    Asena remained silent a while longer, her mind racing. Daughter? To her, this bit of news should¡¯ve been no different to if the Tengers didn¡¯t have a child at all. And yet¡ª


    ¡°Does this daughter have a name?¡±


    ¡°Do you know anyone that doesn¡¯t?¡±


    I do, actually.


    ¡°Did you know the daughter¡¯s name?¡±


    The old woman¡¯s eyes disappeared again as she tilted her head. It took a second for Asena to realize that she was squinting up at the domed sky, seemingly lost in thought.


    ¡°You know, it¡¯s the darnedest thing. It¡¯s on the tip of my tongue, but it just won¡¯t come out. I just remember¡­ it was an unusual name. Pretty, but unusual. Something from a long-forgotten corner of Old Earth. And that should count for something, coming from someone like me!¡±


    The ancient woman¡ªherself perhaps not much younger than the war¡ªlaughed at her own joke, exposing a toothless grin as she did. Asena too wanted to smile, before she remembered that could be the death knell for her already crumbling disguise.


    ¡°You seem to have known this family well,¡± she observed while trying to keep her face neutral.


    ¡°Not for nothing,¡± the woman agreed. ¡°We don¡¯t get much to be proud of around these parts, but Bateer Tenger¡¯s school was certainly one of ¡¯em. Could be that it didn¡¯t do much to change the fortunes of folk around here, but the little¡¯uns loved it all the same. Gave us all something to look forward to. Reason to hope. For whatever that was worth.¡±


    An all too cramped room with run-down walls. Eager children spilling over shared desks. Frowning slightly from the sudden ache in her chest, Asena asked, ¡°What happened to the school? And to Mr Tenger?¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a curious one, young messenger?¡±


    Asena blushed and quickly cast her eyes to the ground, as though that could do anything to mask her guilt. But the old woman merely laughed again, before squinting up at the sky once more.


    ¡°Must¡¯ve been around when the girl was ten. Ascension Standard. Most folk here don¡¯t pay any attention to that, see. Not likely for anyone in this neighbourhood to pop out a Seher child. But that year, we had two.¡±


    ¡°Two¡­ you mean the Tengers¡¯ daughter¡­ and another child from the same neighbourhood? Do you know whose child, and what their name was?¡±


    ¡°I might be sharp, but I can still only answer one question at a time, dearie. Do you want to hear about the Tengers, or do you want to know about this other child?¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Asena mumbled. ¡°Please, finish what you were saying about the Tengers.¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re right about the Tenger girl being one that showed to be a Seher. Whisked her off right quick, they did. Little¡¯uns barely had a chance to say goodbye. Hope she¡¯s doing well, whatever she¡¯s up to. I can still see her pretty smile¡­ Shame I couldn¡¯t meet the woman she¡¯d grown into.¡±


    ¡°And is that when¡­ the Tengers moved too? To¡­ Middle Akra, maybe?¡±


    ¡°Middle Akra? The Tengers?¡±


    ¡°Well, yes, isn¡¯t that¡­ When a child is elevated to the Sehermenschen, her family is given the choice to join her in her new allotment. Albeit the parents would still retain Essential status¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know anything about that, dearie, though I¡¯m curious as to why you do. The Tengers did move nearly at the same time as their daughter did, but not to Middle Akra, no. Last I heard¡­ they were down in the Foothills. Awful, I know. Such hard-working and kind people¡­ Where did it go wrong?¡±


    The Kurator-in-disguise stared blankly. The old woman¡¯s eyes again opened into slits.


    ¡°Does the word Foothills not mean anything to you? I find that even more curious than the fact you seem to know so much about the Sehers.¡±


    Asena tensed. It was true that the word was entirely foreign to her, at least in the context the old woman seemed to be using it. Was it another district in Lower Akra? If so, why hadn¡¯t it shown up on her map?


    She knew she was treading on dangerous territory¡ªperhaps had been for some time¡ªand needed to end the conversation without delay. But not before¡­


    ¡°Sorry, I lost my train of thought for a second. I must¡¯ve been more curious about the other Seher child than I realized. What do you remember about them? Was it a boy or a girl?¡±


    The old woman continued to stare at her young companion through narrow slits. After a beat, however, she obliged, ¡°It was a¡­ boy, I think. If I remember correctly, his family wasn¡¯t from around here. But I think¡­ I think he was one of the little¡¯uns that went to Bateer¡¯s school. Yes¡­ I think his name was¡­¡±


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    Asena waited for the old woman to finish her thought, then frowned as the pause stretched on. The woman, who¡¯d been so lucid if not downright quick-witted for most of their dialogue, suddenly seemed to slow and falter as she tried to recall this second child, before stalling completely.


    The Kurator stifled a gasp of recognition. For she¡¯d seen this exact phenomenon too many times to count. In her mind, she pictured a quivering thread that was suddenly allowed to snap and fall away¡­


    She instinctively spun in place and scanned up and down the street, half-expecting to see a Joint Forces uniform or even the General himself. Despite the gradually brightening sky, the street was still deserted save for herself and the old woman.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± She hastily turned back to the woman. ¡°You¡¯ve been great help. I¡¯ve¡­ I¡¯ve got another delivery to make.¡±


    She walked off at speed, her mind blank other than the imperative to get away as quickly as possible. She¡¯d only taken a few steps before the woman called to her again.


    ¡°Take a right at the end of this street, and you¡¯ll come upon a canal.¡±


    Asena stopped and turned, slowly, warily. The old woman, back to her lucid self, was once again looking straight at her through the narrow openings that passed for eyes.


    ¡°More like sewage, but canal sounds nicer, and that¡¯s what we folk call it. Hang another right at the canal, and follow it all the way down. There¡¯ll be walkways and buildings that get in your way, but as long as you can keep one eye on the canal, then you¡¯ll know you¡¯re going the right way. Keep following the canal. It¡¯ll be a long walk, but eventually, it¡¯ll lead you there. The Foothills.¡±


    Asena didn¡¯t trust herself to speak. The woman¡¯s eyes gave off a glint that showed exactly what she thought of Asena¡¯s lies¡ªand the hopes hidden therein.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what business you have with the Tengers, young messenger, but I hope you find them. And I hope you can give them what they need.¡±


    ~February 17<sup>th</sup>, 140 AH~


    ~???, the Foothills~


    Asena followed the sewage canal all the way down, like the old woman had instructed. And where she¡¯d expected the canal to end, instead she found¡­ that Akropolis itself ended.


    She stared for as long as she needed to convince herself that her eyes didn¡¯t deceive.


    She¡¯d come upon what was most definitely the widest part of the sewage, where the concrete footpath on either side crumbled into mud and waste. She could also see that the sewage continued into a steep downhill, and beyond it were more manmade structures: platforms, walkways, and even buildings. And yet¡­


    Before her also stretched a ghostly blue wall that spanned her entire field of view and beyond. It also shot straight up into the sky, where it curved to join the rest of the enormous shields that made up the dome over Akropolis.


    This was the city limits. This should¡¯ve been where all signs of civilization ended, to be replaced by an expanse of the barren planet. No one other than Reiters and outposted Corpsmen should¡¯ve stepped foot beyond this pale blue wall. And yet¡­


    Asena slid and slipped through the mud (only mud, she tried and failed to convince herself) until she came upon what should¡¯ve been the lowest portions of the shield that should¡¯ve been secured inside solid foundations. Instead, what she found was a clear gap. The gap was large enough for the canal-turned-river of sewage to spill beyond city limits and continue to ooze downhill.


    The gap was also more than large enough for people¡ªpeople like her, or perhaps the Tengers twelve years ago¡ªto duck under and¡­ step outside and beyond Akropolis.


    Asena held her breath, and not only to ward herself from the malodorous air.


    This was the first time she¡¯d ever seen the dome up close. She¡¯d always assumed it to be continuous and flawless save for the transit gates. Did the Panzers know that there was such a substantial gap here? Surely they must. Didn¡¯t they perform perimeter checks on a daily basis?


    Was this¡­ intentional then? She knew of militarized safe zones just outside the dome where Reiters conducted some of their training exercises. But those were controlled environments, frequented only by men who were trained and equipped to kill Syntropy. Whereas this¡­


    She squinted at the haphazard collections of buildings that sat beyond the dome. From here, she couldn¡¯t quite tell whether these were populated, but even if they were, she couldn¡¯t imagine that there would be military presence here. Was this the Foothills, and was it common knowledge among the Lower Akrans? What else didn¡¯t Asena know about her own city?


    The anger from this last thought was what drove her back into action. She wrapped her scarf tightly around her mouth and nose, gathered her bag to keep it close to her chest, then ducked under the barrier.


    The air on the other side was just as damp and smelled just as putrid. She felt no different from a moment ago, except that her legs shook nervously, forcing her to take a moment to gather her strength¡ªand courage.


    Syntropy didn¡¯t come swooping down from the dull sky. She could still breathe and think and move as she normally would. The Asena outside the walls of Akropolis was still firmly Asena, and right now, she was a woman on a mission.


    She made her cautious way down the hill, taking care to stay on her feet while avoiding the least inviting elements of the sewage. Eventually, she managed to clamber up onto the first platform, which then led to the first walkway, and further down she went, leaving muddy footprints on concrete and rusted metal.


    Before long, she¡¯d made it onto the first buildings, and she saw that the sewage had finally made way for a semblance of solid ground. The terrain also flattened here, making it difficult to see far ahead beyond the first few buildings that stood in her way.


    She still hadn¡¯t seen anyone, but she was now convinced that there were people living here¡ªthough it was hard to imagine how they could. These buildings weren¡¯t much more than uneven assemblages of spare parts, but even so, they showed signs of recent activity: footprints, fresh rubbish, and extinguished lamps.


    Heart pounding and clawing at her throat, Asena nevertheless pressed on, weaving between the first several buildings. Then, as she turned a corner, she nearly screamed.


    She¡¯d come face to face with¡­ a man? A corpse? He was certainly skinny enough to be one: dirt-covered skin and bones draped with grimy overalls. The only thing that told Asena he was alive were the round bloodshot eyes that stared out from a field of mud. Then the man that was nearly a corpse spoke in a jittery voice.


    ¡°Who¡­ who¡¯re you? Sta¡­ state¡­ state yer business.¡±


    In her shock, the idea of a disguise had completely fled Asena. She said weakly in her normal voice, ¡°I¡¯m looking for Mr Bateer Tenger. Is he¡­ is he here?¡±


    ¡°What¡­ what do you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t matter, do it?¡±


    Asena jumped again, and her eyes darted toward the second voice. This belonged to a second man that had come up from the side, who was also soiled from head to toe but certainly looked more alive than dead.


    ¡°She ain¡¯t one ¡¯em soldiers,¡± he went on, fixing her with sunken hungry eyes, ¡°which means no one important will miss her. Whatcha got in that bag o¡¯ yers, missie? Sumthin¡¯ you can share with the rest o¡¯ us?¡±


    Having encountered her second ¡®shakedown¡¯ in as many days, Asena was becoming old hat at recognizing it. And it was the accompanying flash of anger that snapped her out of her fright. She reached into her messenger bag, but not with the intention to share. Unless the men wanted to share the bullets from her handgun¡­


    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary, Ms Shiranui.¡±


    The fright returned in an instant, and Asena swivelled toward the third voice, handgun at the ready. She heard faint gasps from the men behind her, along with their scurrying footsteps. She ignored them, training eyes and firearm upon the newcomer.


    In stark contrast to the muddy landscape around him, the middle-aged man wore clean military fatigues, though not of a colour nor pattern Asena recognized. On his back was a bulging rucksack that looked to be Joint Forces issue, but he was otherwise unarmed. And yet, he faced her with posture relaxed and countenance softened by an inscrutable smile.


    Asena didn¡¯t know this face. But she certainly knew the voice that issued from it.


    ¡°It¡¯s good to finally speak face to face, but I do have to ask¡­ what took you so long, Dreamer?¡±

 37. ROGUE 3

    ¡°Really, Ms Shiranui. I recommend you put away your weapon if you hope to learn anything useful here. The people here can be rather shy about overt violence, as I¡¯m sure you can understand.¡±


    The man in the strange uniform strolled further into the settlement, completely at ease despite the handgun that dug into his back, just underneath his rucksack. Asena followed close, her own eyes darting back and forth between her hostage and the surroundings, wary of any and all sudden movements.


    ¡°I find that hard to believe,¡± she snarled with as much menace as she could muster, which came out more as pouty resentment, ¡°given the attitude of the first two men that accosted me here.¡±


    ¡°Theirs is aggression born of desperation,¡± came the rebuttal, calm and prompt. ¡°Besides which, it was only for show, with the hopes that you¡¯d capitulate with little persuasion. They would¡¯ve scattered at the first sign of a fightback, as you just saw.¡±


    ¡°Why should I believe anything you say?¡±


    ¡°A part of you must want to. Considering you¡¯ve come all the way here.¡±


    Asena fell silent, and her steps slowed just enough to allow for a gap between barrel and back. She quickly slid closer to the man, with her mind racing for a way to regain some semblance of composure.


    ¡°You seem to know a lot about me, but I don¡¯t know anything about you. How about you start by telling me who you are, and what you want with me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t do that yet.¡±


    Her hand tensed upon the grip.


    ¡°How do you expect me to trust you whatsoever if you can¡¯t even reveal the most basic facts about yourself?¡±


    ¡°But you see, I don¡¯t need you to trust me. In time, ideally, but not yet. However, I recognize that this lack of identification can be unwieldy, so you may call me Ophis if you wish. It¡¯s an alias, but it¡¯ll do for now.¡±


    Ophis¡ªserpent. An apple-peddling serpent? One needed but shallow knowledge of Old Earth cultures to surmise the intended symbolism. Asena all but snorted, and might well have, had she not been so agitated.


    ¡°You ascribe yourself biblical significance? Do you fancy yourself as the devil leading the original sinner to the forbidden fruit?¡±


    The man who called himself Ophis chuckled at this.


    ¡°Nothing gets past you, Ms Shiranui, which is partly what makes you so suited for this role. And no, I can assure you that I¡¯m nothing more than a man trying to do what¡¯s best for myself and mine. But I¡¯m also not blind to the practical value of symbolism, especially in rallying people to a common cause.¡±


    ¡°People¡­ you mean there¡¯re more of you? Rallying to what cause? And what role do you think I have in any of this? I don¡¯t even know who you are!¡±


    Ophis suddenly stopped. The firearm dug deeper into his back, and Asena herself nearly bumped into the man¡¯s backpack.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t it just this morning that you were advised to narrow down your questions to one at a time? And please, I must insist you put away your handgun now. We¡¯re amongst the Foothillers.¡±


    Asena looked up, long enough to take in yet another shift in surroundings.


    The dense collection of buildings and rubbish had thinned into a kind of circular clearing. At its centre rose a large mound of filth-covered scraps, no doubt curated and stored from whatever had washed down with the sewage. Along the perimeter of the clearing were more makeshift huts: uneven walls of salvaged metal and roofs of loosely dangling tarp.


    And hiding behind the openings that served as doors were faces. Emaciated, haunted, and covered with grime. But these faces invariably stared out with sunken eyes, obviously wary yet also drawn and transfixed by a desperate need.


    Asena¡¯s first reaction was to heighten her own alarm. She drew even closer to Ophis, and pushed in the barrel with more force, as though the threat to his life might drive away the ghosts that now encircled her.


    ¡°Think carefully now, Ms Shiranui,¡± Ophis spoke under his breath, clearly meant only for her ears. ¡°You could easily turn around now and run back the way you came. Back to your mission and whatever else might follow. But if you do that, I guarantee that the truth will be closed to you forever. Because neither my people nor these Foothillers would ever trust you again.¡±


    ¡°You expect me to just lay down my arms and put myself at your mercy?¡± Asena hissed, also keeping her voice low. ¡°What assurances do I have as to my own safety?¡±


    ¡°None. At least none that I could offer at this juncture. But you know that already, Ms Shiranui. What could I possibly say right now that would put your mind at ease? No, if you can¡¯t trust me, the only thing left for you is to make a choice. Turn away, or move forward. Choose, and quickly.¡±


    Why had she come here? Why had she followed mysterious messages from a stranger¡ªfollowed her own instincts¡ªto arrive at this place that shouldn¡¯t exist? If not to learn everything she could about Zelen¡ªabout herself and the life she¡¯d thought she led¡ªthen what?


    Slowly, and with trembling hands, Asena slid the barrel off Ophis¡¯s back. She put the handgun back into her messenger bag, with as small a motion as possible so not to alarm the onlookers. Then she asked, ¡°Well? Now what?¡±


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    Ophis looked over his shoulder, smiled his inscrutable smile, then stepped forward into the clearing. He slung off his rucksack, which seemed to be as heavy as its appearance suggested, and placed it at his feet, upon the muddy ground.


    One by one, a few dozen ghosts emerged from their huts. As they drew nearer, Asena saw that there were women as well, though everyone here was so skinny and dirty to have looked nearly indistinguishable from each other.


    Whether it was due to the absence of a firearm or the presence of a rucksack, the Foothillers no longer had eyes for Asena. To a one, they made their languid yet attentive way toward Ophis.


    The man himself also seemed to have forgotten Asena for the time being. He instead busied himself with the rucksack, from which he now pulled out packages of food and water.


    The men and women of the Foothills soon formed a crowd around Ophis, neither orderly nor particularly riotous. Eager hands reached for the packages, but never to push or pull. They didn¡¯t snatch more than they were given, nor did they grasp at the contents of the rucksack unbidden.


    Among the crowd also were the two men that had stopped Asena at the entrance. Not only did they appear to be consciously avoiding her gaze, they also peacefully waited their turn for the handouts. Whatever ¡®desperation¡¯ had driven them to be aggressive toward Asena had been assuaged by Ophis¡¯s arrival.


    It soon occurred to Asena that there was something distinctly odd about the gathered people¡ªsomething beyond their embattled appearance and collective misery. But she couldn¡¯t quite finish this thought before it trailed off into other observations.


    As it turned out, food and water weren¡¯t the only things being exchanged. With every Foothiller that stepped close to claim their handout, Ophis also offered them a few mild-mannered words.


    ¡°Micah, how are you, my man? How¡¯s that gash on your arm? All healed? Good. Aisha! It¡¯s good to see your appetite is back. Got over that bug, did you? I¡¯m glad.¡±


    Asena watched and listened, and a new realization slowly dawned.


    From the moment she¡¯d first been contacted by Ophis, long before they ¡®met¡¯ in person, she¡¯d always assumed the man to be Essential. The assumption had been admittedly premature, perhaps too heavily influenced by the courier¡¯s outfit she first saw him in. Now, however¡­


    She inspected what she could of Ophis¡¯s military fatigues, the colours of which could only be described as white with black and grey camo patterns. This didn¡¯t fit with any of the schemes associated with the five differentiations of Seherschaft. And upon the shoulder epaulettes, which should¡¯ve borne rank insignias, instead there was that diagram again. Fruit, stem, leaf: an apple.


    With handouts given and pleasantries exchanged, relative quiet settled upon the circle once again. The Foothillers remained in the clearing, wordlessly partaking in the food and water. Some wolfed everything down in a matter of seconds, then proceeded to stand and watch, at once satisfied and wistful. Others took their time, savouring every bite and every sip.


    In all her life, Asena had never known anything close to starvation. But she wasn¡¯t so ignorant as not to recognize it in her fellows. A familiar chasm within her chest made its presence known again, but a more pressing concern drove her to kneel next to Ophis and speak in whispers.


    ¡°You¡¯re a Gaertner.¡± It was statement rather than question. ¡°Does that mean¡­ you¡¯re Sehermensch?¡±


    ¡°I am a Gaertner, yes.¡± Ophis startled Asena by speaking openly, making no effort to lower his voice. ¡°But no, I wouldn¡¯t call myself Sehermensch. At least, not anymore.¡±


    Asena frowned. ¡°What does that mean? Once you¡¯ve been elevated, the status is in effect for at least three generations, after which¡ª¡±


    ¡°For someone so perceptive, Mr Shiranui, you can also be so rigid in your thinking. There¡¯s more than one way to define the measure of a man, and I happen to subscribe to a different school of thought than the one with which you¡¯ve been taught¡ªnay, indoctrinated with.¡±


    Her frown only deepened. And yet, she found that she didn¡¯t reject the notion outright. Asena of even a few weeks ago might have, but now¡­


    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll add that to the mountain of questions I already have for you. When are you going to start answering my questions, and not creating more?¡±


    ¡°Have you decided on which one you want answered first? Keep in mind, I still reserve the right to decide what I could or couldn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    Both Sehers¡¯ attention turned at once toward movement among the crowd.


    One man¡ªwho was so short he might have passed for a child were it not for the wild greying beard that framed his haggard face¡ªlimped toward them with unsteady steps. From the way numerous pairs of eyes trained on him, Asena sensed this to be unusual behaviour, one that broke the Foothills¡¯ expected norms¡ªperhaps even taboo.


    The man eventually made his way back to Ophis and his rucksack, then stood silently, eyes downcast and shoulders slouched. In his slightly tremblings hands, he still held packets of food and water. Oddly enough, they were barely half-finished.


    ¡°Bateer,¡± Ophis greeted the man with an inscrutable smile, ¡°was there something I could help with?¡±


    Asena stared, heart pounding. Was this¡ªthis shrivelled wretched thing that could barely stay on his feet¡ªBateer Tenger, the smiling schoolteacher from Zelen¡¯s memories?


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m terribly sorry,¡± the man called Bateer spoke in a frail voice that faded as soon as it touched the air. ¡°I know this is against the rules. But Sarnai¡­ my wife¡­ she¡¯s not¡­ she¡¯s not well enough to come out of the tent.¡±


    Ophis¡¯s smile shifted into a slight frown of concern.


    ¡°Is she injured? What happened?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not that.¡± Bateer shook his head, a gesture that was barely distinguishable from his resting tremor. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s just her usual¡­ except this is the worst it¡¯s ever been.¡±


    The Gaertner nodded grimly, understanding at once.


    ¡°It¡¯s about the girl,¡± he stated rather than asked.


    ¡°What girl?¡± Bateer¡¯s voice rose with sudden emotion. ¡°That¡¯s what I keep telling her! That there is no girl. But she won¡¯t listen, Ophis, and I¡¯m at my wit¡¯s end. Please¡­ even if you can¡¯t¡±¡ªhis sheepish gaze darted toward the crowd¡¯s watchful eyes¡ª¡°even if you can¡¯t spare an extra package for us, will you¡­ talk to her perhaps? I don¡¯t know how to help her, but perhaps you can¡­¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Ophis nodded again, then stood, shouldering his rucksack in the same motion. Then, still eyeing Bateer, he too raised his voice so the rest of the gathered Foothillers could hear. ¡°I¡¯ve said this before, and I¡¯ll say it again. If anyone here requires medical attention, they need but ask. Lead the way, Bateer.¡±


    Ophis took but one step before looking back over his shoulder.


    ¡°Will you join us, Ms Shiranui?¡±


    Asena¡¯s chest only pounded with greater urgency. She didn¡¯t know exactly why the prospect of following Bateer Tenger into his tent made her so nervous, but she also sensed that she was on the cusp of something monumental¡ªa breakthrough, if not for herself than at least for Zelen Athelstan.


    She returned the serpent¡¯s gaze with steady eyes of her own, then stepped forward.

 38. ROGUE 4

    As soon as she walked into the Tengers¡¯ tent, Asena subconsciously touched the part of her scarf that covered her nose.


    In truth, there was nothing about the foul odour inside the tent that was qualitatively distinct from the outside. Rather, everything just felt denser and older, as though the miasma had been trapped and allowed to ferment for far too long.


    Twelve years, that old woman in District Radicis had said. Had these people really lived in such deplorable conditions for twelve years? The Shiranui heiress, on the other hand, already had her fill after a mere few minutes.


    The woman¡ªwhose gender Asena could only ascertain with the aid of foreknowledge¡ªlay curled amidst a mosaic of soiled paper and tattered rags. Of all the ¡®corpses¡¯ she¡¯d seen in the Foothills, this one appeared closest to genuine death. The woman¡¯s slight bone-thin frame, her sallow drawn skin, and her sparse brittle hair all combined to make her simultaneously the youngest and oldest person within the settlement.


    That was when Asena suddenly understood the source of her earlier perplexity as she watched the crowd: that feeling of something being profoundly wrong about the Foothiller populace. It was that, among the ghosts that had gathered in quiet desperation, there hadn¡¯t been a single child, nor indeed anyone close to Asena¡¯s age.


    Presently, Ophis set down his rucksack¡ªconsiderably lighter than when he¡¯d begun his visit¡ªand knelt beside the living corpse that was Bateer Tenger¡¯s wife. He first inspected the woman with calm practiced eyes before placing a gentle hand upon the bony protuberance that was her shoulder. The woman barely moved.


    ¡°Sarnai? How are we today?¡± The serpent¡¯s voice was as tender as his touch. ¡°We missed you out there. Are you sure you won¡¯t have something to eat?¡±


    The greeting did elicit something of a response. The woman¡¯s eyes widened into hazy slits, and her chapped lips fluttered soundlessly.


    Ophis looked over his shoulder, directly at Asena, and beckoned with his head. She froze, completely at a loss as to what was expected of her. Ophis only tilted his head again, more insistently. At this, absurdly enough, an ingrained sense of hierarchy and duty drove Asena to kneel down next to the Gaertner with haste.


    ¡°Look, Sarnai, we have a guest with us! I know you¡¯re always up for a chat. Won¡¯t you say hello?¡±


    Ophis pointedly eyed Asena as he spoke, his intentions clear. She hesitated again, until she did the only thing that could offer herself any comfort in the moment: fall back on her training. She was a Kurator, and Sarnai Tenger, at least for now, was her subject.


    ¡°How do you do, Mis¡ªMrs Tenger? My name is Corporal Shiranui, and I¡¯ll be¡­ conducting your interview today. Before we begin, did you have any questions for me?¡±


    The reaction was remarkable¡ªand utterly unexpected. Sarnai¡¯s ears pricked at the first of Asena¡¯s words before a strange spasm ran through the rest of her body. By the time the Kurator had finished rattling off her generic intro, the fading ghost that was her subject planted one trembling arm upon her bed of rotting rags.


    Asena reached out instinctively, and together with Ophis, lifted the woman into a sitting position. Sarnai¡¯s body was shockingly light, but far more disturbing were her pair of sunken eyes that now fixed Asena with rapt fascination.


    ¡°You¡­¡± the woman¡¯s quivering lips produced the faintest of murmurs. ¡°It¡¯s you¡­ isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Only intense sympathy and an abundant sense of goodwill stopped Asena from frowning in response. She didn¡¯t need to have seen Sarnai Tenger in better days to be certain that the two of them had never met. Asena looked to Ophis uncertainly, who only returned his inscrutable smile.


    ¡°All these years,¡± the woman croaked, then somehow summoned the strength to slide closer to her young guest. Her eyes too had lost their earlier haze and now gleamed with the beginning of unmistakable tears. ¡°All these years. Where have you been?¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡±


    Asena froze again as Sarnai suddenly grabbed her by both arms. The woman¡¯s grip, far stronger than it had any business to be, drew her close, toward a nightmarish face etched and grooved by unimaginable suffering, and into an inescapable cloud of halitosis and decay.


    It took Asena every ounce of her resolve not to recoil in horror. She did, however, throw pleading eyes at Ophis, who again only watched the interaction with almost detached interest.


    In the end, it was the woman¡¯s husband that stepped in and released the Kurator.


    ¡°Leave the poor girl alone, Sarnai,¡± Bateer chided the woman as he held her back. ¡°And it¡¯s time you put a stop to this nonsense. Look what it¡¯s done to you!¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you see?¡± the woman wailed, struggling in her husband¡¯s arms. ¡°She¡¯s come back to us! This is her. How do you not see?¡±


    ¡°See what? Who do you think this girl is?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s her! Our daughter!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s impossible.¡±


    ¡°Why? This is her. You are, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s impossible because we have no daughter.¡±


    Yet, even as he said this, Bateer¡¯s own eyes flooded with tears¡ªwith grief as raw as the day he¡¯d forgotten it.


    Asena was horrified. She felt somehow responsible for the shared anguish of a couple she¡¯d never met. And because she felt responsible, she also had the ludicrous notion that she was the only one who could save the couple from their plight.


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    Slowly, and without clear design behind her actions, she first removed her blue courier¡¯s cap, then lowered her scarf. She braced herself against the fresh assault on her senses and forced her heart to still as she met Sarnai¡¯s scrutiny.


    ¡°Do I remind you of someone you know?¡± she spoke with a placidity that surprised herself. ¡°My name might¡¯ve already given it away, but I¡¯m a daughter of the Shiranui clan. Perhaps you remember seeing me at a Martyr¡¯s Day procession?¡±


    Sarnai stopped struggling at once. Then her eyes glazed over somewhat as she sank back into her makeshift bed. She remained sitting up, however, and her parched lips worked frantically to form her next words.


    ¡°My¡­ my apologies, Ms Shiranui. I¡­ must¡¯ve confused you with someone else.¡±


    ¡°See?¡± Bateer chimed in, with eyes still glistening. ¡°I told you she wasn¡¯t our daughter.¡±


    It didn¡¯t escape Asena¡¯s notice that the man now neglected to deny the existence of said daughter. But she kept her attention on the wife as she put on her best Tetrarch smile.


    ¡°Think nothing of it,¡± she said with manufactured magnanimity, tempered by a hint of cold authority. ¡°Besides, I¡¯m here not to speak about myself, but to learn about you. Are you sure you won¡¯t have some water first? I expect it¡¯ll be a lengthy conversation, and I want you to feel at your best.¡±


    Now that the earlier frenzy had left her, Mrs Tenger simply looked mystified. What was a Shiranui heiress doing in her tent, and what could she possibly want to know about her? Yet her amorphous questions battled for primacy with her very real need for sustenance, and, unsurprisingly, hunger and thirst won out.


    Asena proceeded to ¡®interview¡¯ Sarnai Tenger as the latter ate and drank from a fresh package Ophis had produced. She made a conscious effort to keep the questions vague and centred on the couple¡¯s life in the Foothills, the details of which turned out to be as grim as she¡¯d feared.


    More than once, she wanted¡ªdesperately¡ªto bring up Zelen, to ask about the school Bateer used to run. Something told her, however, that such questions wouldn¡¯t yield anything useful, and instead would only further distress the couple. Besides, what she¡¯d already learned through simple observation had given her more than enough to chew on.


    Asena and her Gaertner companion eventually said their goodbyes, leaving the Tengers well-fed if a little puzzled. And by the time they ducked out of the tent, the crowd around the scrap mound too had dispersed.


    The sky¡ªeven without the dome obscuring it¡ªhad taken on a purplish hue, indicating imminent nightfall. As if by tacit agreement, Asena and Ophis hiked silently and side by side, back up the river of sewage, with neither having to be led nor prodded at gunpoint.


    As they reached the gap in the barrier that led back into the city, Ophis was the first to stop, and Asena promptly followed suit.


    ¡°Do you have a place to stay?¡±


    She didn¡¯t, but she also wasn¡¯t ready to entangle herself to the serpent any more than she needed to.


    ¡°I¡¯ll manage.¡±


    Ophis nodded, then considered for a moment before adding, ¡°You showed remarkable restraint back there. With the Tengers. I was prepared to intervene at any moment, but it turned out my concern was unwarranted.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a monster. It¡¯s clear for anyone to see that the Tengers have suffered enough, without me having to poke at their wounds.¡±


    Ophis nodded again. ¡°So, you see it too then? The signs of your fellow Kurators¡¯ handiwork.¡±


    Asena winced. Of all the horrors she¡¯d witnessed today, what she found most difficult to cope with was the realization that Kuration had played a central role in the Tengers¡¯¡ªperhaps even all Foothillers¡¯¡ªabject misery.


    ¡°That¡¯s what you wanted to show me, isn¡¯t it?¡± she snapped, made all the unhappier by the defensiveness of her tone. ¡°That¡¯s what your clues and non-answers were leading to?¡±


    ¡°Partly, yes.¡± Ophis¡¯s utter lack of remorse only added to Asena¡¯s irritation. ¡°But I was rather hoping you could also arrive at the bigger picture.¡±


    ¡°And what picture is that? That there are people living outside the barriers? In squalor. In torment. Under constant threat from the Syntropy¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you really think, Ms Shiranui,¡± Ophis cut in, as that insufferable smile crept back onto his visage, ¡°that the Foothillers can afford to pay any mind to the Syntropy?¡±


    Asena frowned. ¡°But the Syntropy are humanity¡¯s biggest threat. The dome is our only line of defense, and only when every last one of our enemies are eradicated would we as a civilization achieve true liberation. That¡¯s what all of this is about. That¡¯s what any of us are fighting for. That¡¯s what Zelen¡ª¡±


    She fell silent, and her mind didn¡¯t need riddles told from a forked tongue to be set ablaze by doubts of her own.


    What manner of conviction drove Zelen¡¯s tireless flights into battle? What did he envision beyond the planet¡¯s haze as he faced the same enemy¡ªthe same death¡ªfor the umpteenth time?


    Besides which, what did Asena herself fight for? What did she want to achieve? What hope kept her returning to the workstation at Terminal One, again and again, to stare into the violence in her fianc¨¦¡¯s heart?


    ¡°Something tells me you¡¯re finally asking the right questions,¡± the serpent spoke with his forked tongue. ¡°Yet you and I both know those questions aren¡¯t meant for me. At least not yet.¡±


    ¡°Because the answers to those questions¡­¡± Asena murmured as if to herself, ¡°I need to see them for myself. Zelen needs to see them for himself. He knew them once. Then he chose to forget. Because whatever he¡¯d learned was so painful that it was easier to know nothing¡­ to be nothing.¡±


    ¡°Precisely. And yet¡­ we can¡¯t leave it be, can we?¡±


    ¡°In order for Zelen to move forward, he needs to face the truth. Again. But this time, he won¡¯t have to do it alone. I won¡¯t let him do it alone.¡±


    Ophis nodded a third time, then he unslung his rucksack before ducking under the barrier and climbing back onto Akropolis. He then held out a hand, which Asena took after a moment¡¯s hesitation.


    ¡°I do have to warn you, Ms Shiranui,¡± he said with a slight grunt as he helped Asena to her feet. ¡°Your next few sessions with Mr Athelstan will be your most difficult ones yet, provided you¡¯re still asking the right questions.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve already seen the worst Zelen¡¯s memories have to offer,¡± she said quietly as she dusted herself off. ¡°I¡¯m prepared for anything.¡±


    ¡°You might be. But is he?¡±


    Asena tried to read his expression, though in the gathering darkness, the serpent¡¯s smile had become more inscrutable than ever.


    ¡°Before I go, Ms Shiranui, I¡¯d like to leave you with my third and final message. And after that¡­ well, I imagine that the next time we meet, you¡¯ll be the one to contact me.¡±


    ¡°But how¡¯s that even possible? You still haven¡¯t told me a thing about you.¡±


    ¡°Rest assured, when the time comes where you can no longer go at it alone¡­ when you¡¯re in need of an ally¡­ I¡¯ll know to come to your aid. Now, Ms Shiranui, about that message?¡±


    Asena stared at Ophis even as his features blended into the night. She nodded.


    DEAR DREAMER,


    AND NOW, TAKE A BITE

 39. ROGUE 5

    ~November 12<sup>th</sup>, 139 AH~


    ~Sector Leo, somewhere along the coasts of Terra Nebulo~


    Enemy density increasing. It seems we may have hit upon a fortified position.


    Good, Zelen thought to himself in lieu of responding to his Spiegel. Now the question is¡­ what are they protecting?


    The ¡®fortified position¡¯, if Silon¡¯s assumptions were correct, lay somewhere atop sheer cliffs that rose from the outer rim of an inlet. The cliffs doubled as a steep hill that crested steadily from Zelen¡¯s current position, which meant he had to climb as well as fight his way through waves of Syntropy.


    The first wave took the form of lightweight sentry drones¡ªHornets¡ªwhich lent credence to Silon¡¯s assessment that the Syntropy wanted to defend something in the vicinity. No doubt portions of the drones would be breaking off now to rouse the next line of defense.


    Good, Zelen thought again as he swept through a horde of Hornets with RA [GATLING]. Wake the whole lot. Let them all come. I¡¯ll kill them all until their linchpin comes out of hiding.


    AU at 95%, ER at 75. No disturbance detected.


    And why should Zelen feel any Psychic disturbance? This was where he was most at home. Among swarms of enemies soon to form an obsidian mass grave at his feet.


    The Hornets presented no challenge. He was almost insulted by their presence, though he understood that they merely followed a rigid set of protocol. See Eidolon. Alert friendlies to the Eidolon in their midst. Die to Eidolon.


    By now, Zelen¡¯s evolution as a warrior¡ªa killer¡ªhad far outstripped the remnant Syntropy¡¯s ability to reimagine themselves. Even now, he tore through the Hornets with casual ease, timing and aiming his thruster and weapon deployments with impeccable precision. He knew the enemy¡¯s attack patterns as if they were second nature to him. He knew them better than the Syntropy themselves.


    All Hornets eliminated. Well done, Zelen. AU¡­ still at 95%. ER at 70. Prepare for more enemies incoming.


    The next wave was a staggered combination of Brutuses and Vorases. Same old, same old. The intent behind the arrangement was as clear as the logic was sound. Coordinated volleys of ranged attacks from the small-arms patrol units would funnel the Eidolon closer to the ground, where the spider-shaped terranean mobile weapons lay in wait. The only problem, of course, was that Zelen could see the ambush coming from a mile away.


    The first Voras jumped at him from his left, which he quickly dispatched with LA [BLUNDERBUSS]. Then he immediately spun in place and fired off RS [HARPOON], skewering the central chassis of the second would-be ambusher.


    A third, then a fourth Voras emerged from their hidey-holes. With both of his finishers on cooldown, Zelen opted to block one of the attacks with LS [SCUTUM]. Then, as the final Voras shot several sharpened blades toward him, he reached in between the spider legs and grabbed the enemy¡¯s SPU with his bare hand.


    Blinding speed and deadly violence. With one swift motion, he swung his fist across his body and into his own shield, crushing the third Voras to death. The fourth Voras, already limp from the collision, he flung onto the ground before stomping on it with force. He then bore down and twisted until he felt the life go out of the spider underfoot.


    All Vorases eliminated.


    After that, it was a simple matter of cleaning up what was left of the Brutuses. With none of their more powerful allies to back them up, the patrol units were no match for a seasoned Reiter and his Eidolon. A full burst from [GATLING] wiped out nearly all of them in one charge. Then [BLUNDERBUSS] and [HARPOON] made short work of the remaining stragglers.


    All Brutuses eliminated. Well done, Zelen. AU now at 85%. The damage is fairly minor considering the number and placement you were up against. ER at 65.


    That¡¯s it? Zelen wanted to shout, if anyone would listen. Where was the third wave? Where was the linchpin? He was just getting warmed up. He needed more. He needed to kill more. Kill more. Kill more.


    No. It wasn¡¯t that he needed to kill more. It was more specific than that. He needed to kill that thing. That thing that had haunted his every sleep and every waking hour, ever since¡ª


    Steady, Zelen. I sense precursor signs of a Psychic disturbance.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Silon,¡± he finally spoke, if only to assuage his Spiegel¡¯s worries. ¡°I¡¯ve got everything under control.¡±


    I believe you. But you know me, I like to feel useful.


    ¡°You¡¯re plenty useful.¡±


    So, that¡¯s all I am to you, then. A useful tool.


    ¡°Now you¡¯re twisting my words.¡±


    And now you should watch out: enemy incoming!


    Zelen thought he¡¯d sensed the new arrival even before his Spiegel¡¯s warning. The split second of prescience had allowed him to start his thrust early, moving out of the way of¡ª


    A thick obsidian cord, dripping with seawater, suddenly burst from the side of the cliff and shot toward Zelen. It was headed for where the Eidolon¡¯s central chassis had been just a moment ago. The end of the cord snapped and twisted in a coiling motion, finding and wrapping around Zelen¡¯s trailing right arm.


    That could¡¯ve been worse. Zelen didn¡¯t hesitate. He engaged maximum thrust in the opposite direction, simultaneously tucking LA [BLUNDERBUSS] underneath his right arm and firing into the snare.


    The cord snapped in two, and the portion that had wrapped around the Eidolon¡¯s arm fell away harmlessly, now divorced from its central processor. More cords shot out from the sea, intent on a repeat performance, but Zelen was wise to them now. He weaved through the air, dodging the capture attempts while firing back at will with [GATLING] and [BLUNDERBUSS].


    Marine defense unit KR-05, designation ¡®Nautilus¡¯. No other detectable enemy units in the vicinity. How will you proceed?


    I¡¯ll proceed by sending it back into the sea where it belongs.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Soon, the giant monstrosity revealed its entire self as it clambered over the cliffside, spewing and spraying seawater in its wake. Its design was rather unique and memorable, even among the Syntropy. Its central chassis was almost entirely hidden inside a rhombohedral shell, from the basal aperture of which stared out a large, red, and monocular optic.


    Of course, the base of the shell also served as the origin of the Nautilus¡¯s numerous appendages¡ªtentacles, according to the experts at home¡ªwhich even now flew and swung in irregular patterns, ready to immobilize the Eidolon at the earliest opportunity. To make matters worse, the emergence of the main body meant that the ranged armaments embedded within its shell could now join the attack.


    This wasn¡¯t the first time Zelen had faced the Nautilus. Indeed, he¡¯d been responsible for the first kill, back when it was still unidentified. In his mind, he¡¯d conceptualized the tentacled monster as a more unpredictable¡ªand therefore slightly more annoying¡ªversion of the Kentavros: slow, but adept and dangerous at both melee and long range.


    Unlike the centaur, however, the Nautilus¡¯s ¡®main threat¡¯, namely its tentacles, were too many to deal with individually. No, the safest way to take down a Nautilus was to go in for a decisive finisher as quickly as possible.


    Zelen first flew into the air, away from tentacle range. The Nautilus¡¯s basal aperture, along with its red optic, rotated toward the sky, tracking his movements. Its legion of tentacles also rose into the air, swaying, waiting for the moment the Eidolon would come back within their grasp.


    Zelen glided in a rough circle, dodging the Nautilus¡¯s ranged attacks while returning fire with [GATLING]. That wasn¡¯t the finisher, of course. It was merely meant to soften up his prey before he went in for the kill.


    Now, Zelen!


    He saw the opening at nearly the same time his Spiegel did. The tentacles¡¯ random movements eventually led to a group of them splaying apart, revealing a tunnel for Zelen to dive into. He engaged maximum thrust and, as he came within range, activated RS [HARPOON].


    The spearhead buried itself into the aperture, just next to the Nautilus¡¯s optic. Then, as the [HARPOON]¡¯s pale blue chain contracted itself back into the Nexus, it pulled the Eidolon with it, far faster than thrusters could.


    Zelen was upon the Nautilus in the blink of an optic shutter, having bypassed the tentacles altogether. He already has his left arm ready and extended, with which he punched the Nautilus¡¯s optic before firing [BLUNDERBUSS].


    The Syntropy¡¯s entire body quaked under the impact. Its shocked tentacles snapped and straightened in all directions. Zelen didn¡¯t stop there, knowing better than to leave anything to chance.


    A sustained burst of [GATLING], all driven into the Nautilus¡¯s central chassis. Then a full-bodied kick for good measure, knocking the obsidian monster off its cliffside perch.


    The empty shell that used to be Nautilus, limp tentacles and all, slid off solid land and tumbled into the dark water below. Back into the sea where it belonged.


    Nautilus eliminated. Well done, Zelen. AU at 70%, ER at 55. I believe¡­ yes, that¡¯s all of them. No more signs of Syntropy activity in the vicinity.


    At Silon¡¯s words, Zelen allowed himself a moment of respite, relaxing inside his Nexa-Suit as his Eidolon mimicked his change in posture.


    He still maintained full control over his own emotions, which meant he was aware of every paint stroke that covered the canvas of his Psyche. There was the familiar elation of a battle well-fought. The satisfaction that only the sight of synthetic carcasses could bring. Gratitude and affection for Silon and her constant guidance and companionship.


    Yet, underneath all of that was disappointment. Frustration. Resentment. Anger.


    For nigh on a full year now, Zelen Athelstan had searched high and low. He¡¯d chased every lead to the ends of the earth and beyond the planet¡¯s haze. And after a year of searching, fighting, and killing¡­ Nothing.


    There was no sign of a second anti-Eidolon unit ZT-01, designation ¡®Vendetta¡¯.


    These days, Zelen barely ever returned to Akropolis, opting instead to hop from one FOB to another as he went about his self-assigned solo mission, scouring the earth for more Syntropy to kill. In fact, it¡¯d been months since he¡¯d received a direct order from anyone in the Joint Forces. Even so, he¡¯d likely contributed to General Duodecim¡¯s grand plans of ending the war far more effectively and efficiently than any other Reiter over the same time period.


    And yet, that wasn¡¯t what he fought for, what he killed for. The General. The War. The Reiter Regiment. Akropolis. All that had gone by the wayside, overshadowed by his personal quest for vengeance. He¡¯d already killed Vendetta once, yes, that time on the sinking Mothership. But once wasn¡¯t enough. Not even close.


    Zelen. Don¡¯t make me repeat myself.


    ¡°I know, Silon. It¡¯s all good.¡±


    In an effort to distract himself from his impending disturbance, Zelen returned to action. He now scanned the cliffs thoroughly, looking for any signs of what this latest group of Syntropy had been ¡®defending¡¯.


    He walked up and down the length of the hill. He flew in and around on either side of the cliffs, hoping there might be a smooth obsidian structure or another sticking out amongst the jagged rocks.


    Nothing.


    Now the frustration made way for pure bafflement.


    ¡°Silon, you think this is strange too, don¡¯t you?¡±


    I do, Zelen. The strength and number of the Syntropy that awaited us here¡­ One would expect this position to contain some strategic value.


    ¡°And yet¡­ nothing. You¡¯re not picking up any strange signals?¡±


    Nothing of note, no.


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡±


    There was nothing for it. This wouldn¡¯t be the first time that Syntropy acted in unfathomable ways, and prolonging the search would only eat into Energy Reserves.


    Zelen camped his Eidolon at the top of the hill, by the northern tip of the cliffs. He then disembarked.


    In his year of solitary travels around the world, Zelen had become rather self-sufficient. Foremost to that was his proficiency at entering or exiting an Eidolon without the aid of additional personnel. It was mostly a simple matter of slightly modifying the Nexa-Suit while devising a safe climbing route up and down the Eidolon¡¯s frame, which made him wonder why more Reiters hadn¡¯t picked up the habit before him.


    What was truly remarkable about his progress over the last year¡ªsomething that surprised even himself¡ªwas that he¡¯d somehow picked up skills from other Seher differentiations. Indeed, on long trips away from an FOB, he often found himself having to perform scuffed elements of Jaegerschaft and Panzerschaft, namely replenishing the Eidolon¡¯s armour and energy supplies.


    As far as he could tell, he was the only person alive that was capable of such a feat, and he tried to keep this fact to himself as much as possible. In fact, the last direct orders from the General had pertained to this: do not tell another soul about your ¡®magic tricks¡¯. Zelen couldn¡¯t care less what Fenix Duodecim wanted from him, but at least on this, the two of them were in agreement. No need to alienate himself from the rest of the Joint Forces¡ªthe rest of Akropolis¡ªany more than he already had.


    Presently, he lifted himself out of the cockpit, then unhooked a spare Anamnium canister he¡¯d hidden underneath the Eidolon¡¯s chestpiece. 70% AU was plenty to go on, but the ER did need some topping up. As he prepped the refuelling equipment, however, his eyes fell upon something that jolted him with alarm.


    Straight ahead, upon the very edge of the cliff, something red gave off a lurid glint despite the overcast sky. Out here in the battlefield, that kind of red could only mean one thing: Syntropy.


    Yet, this wasn¡¯t Syntropy. It couldn¡¯t be. Then what¡­


    Before he knew it, Zelen had abandoned his task and jumped off the Eidolon¡¯s frame entirely. Then, dressed in nothing but his jumpsuit and still drenched from head to toe in Anamnium gel, he walked barefoot toward the edge of the cliff.


    The thing was so small it could¡¯ve fit in the palm of his hand. Its thin and flimsy stalk fluttered ceaselessly, whipped about by the seaside wind. The red had belonged to its petals, which even now glistened with droplets from ocean spray.


    Zelen¡¯s home in Upper Akra was practically covered by the artificial imitations of this, but never in a million years could he have imagined that he¡¯d ever see the real live thing.


    It was unimaginable. It was impossible.


    It was a flower.

 40. ROGUE 6

    With the enemy gone, and with Energy Reserves partially replenished, there was no reason left for Zelen to stay on the coast. Enough daylight remained for him to travel farther inland, perhaps to seek out more Syntropy hotspots. The Eidolon itself was certainly in good enough shape for another fight or two.


    Yet he found himself unable or unwilling to take flight. Even after he¡¯d slipped back into the Nexa-Suit and rebooted the system, a leaden inertia rooted him to the spot.


    Gone almost entirely was his earlier bloodlust, so intense and so imperative while in the midst of seeking out Vendetta. What he¡¯d found instead had been so outlandish and so far removed from his self-imposed purpose to have sucked all momentum out of his progress¡ªto have robbed him of a sense of direction.


    Whenever you¡¯re lost, look at me to find yourself again.


    When Zelen finally did move, it wasn¡¯t to take off into the air. Instead, he walked at a leisurely pace until he returned to the edge of the cliff, this time while inside his metallic phantom.


    He knelt beside the lone flower, better to centre it onto his visual field. The screen inside the cockpit filled with red petals and swaying stalk. Such a fragile thing. Such an ephemeral thing. Yet, in the moment, this flower was unmistakably alive in ways no other flower Zelen had ever seen could lay claim to.


    ¡°Silon, do you see what I see?¡±


    I do, Zelen, but I must say that I¡¯m¡­ somewhat confused. Why would there be a synthetic flower here of all places? So far from the nearest base, and all by itself?


    ¡°Look carefully, Silon. It¡¯s not synthetic.¡±


    Do you mean that¡­ this is a real flower? But¡­ that¡¯s impossible.


    ¡°I know.¡±


    The last global survey to have turned up any living flora was more than 50 years ago. Even with the samples we did manage to recover, all efforts to re-integrate them into the Akroplitan environment failed. The planet¡­ has long been dead, Zelen.


    ¡°I know.¡±


    I sense you came to me for answers, but I¡¯m afraid, in this case, I¡¯m just as lost as you are.


    Zelen sighed, though not from disappointment. If anything, he felt relief. Relief that there were still things left in the world for him and his Spiegel to discover together.


    ¡°No biggie, Silon, I wasn¡¯t really expecting answers. Maybe just¡­ discussion? Debate?¡±


    It sounds as though you have some theories to explain this flower¡¯s existence.


    ¡°Oh, nothing so lofty to be called theories. Questions, more like. Questions like¡­ did the global surveys maybe miss something? I mean the Joint Forces only have the one main base in Akropolis. It takes enormous manpower and resources to scour the whole planet. Unless, I suppose, every Reiter could learn to be self-sufficient like me.¡±


    I suppose it¡¯s possible that the surveys were incomplete¡­


    ¡°You don¡¯t sound very convinced.¡±


    I don¡¯t doubt the possibility that there may be other living things we don¡¯t know about, like this flower. I simply don¡¯t see the value in knowing if that may or may not be the case.


    Zelen nodded with a slight grimace. He readily saw where Silon was coming from.


    Even if the surveys had missed these tiny pockets of life in the unseen corners of the world, what did that matter at this point? Earth had been as good as dead 50 years ago. 50 years later, the Syntropy War still raged on, keeping the planet and all its battlefields as inhospitable as ever. Say the General got his wish, and the war ended tomorrow. What then? Did Akropolitans even have the know-how or the means to heal the planet? To bring Old Earth back to life?


    And yet¡­


    ¡°These Syntropy seemed to think there¡¯s value.¡±


    A brief pause.


    What do you mean?


    ¡°That¡¯s what they were protecting, isn¡¯t it? This flower.¡±


    Why would the Syntropy do that?


    ¡°I¡¯ve no idea, and yeah, it sounds absolutely insane to me too. But I don¡¯t see any other explanation. Why did they dig in here, send so many of theirs to die? There¡¯s nothing special about this place¡­ other than this one red flower.¡±


    ¡­ I¡¯m sorry, Zelen. It seems, on this front, I¡¯m out of my depth. I don¡¯t have anything useful to add.


    ¡°Don¡¯t sweat it. I¡¯m just thinking out loud. Besides, speaking of things having no value, I can¡¯t think of a more futile exercise than trying to explain aberrant Syntropy behaviour.¡±


    Zelen said this with a nonchalance that felt forced even to himself. It was as though he was trying to reflect the casual attitude of his words, rather than the other way around.


    Silon was right. As rare a sight as it was, the flower meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Neither did it matter if or why the Syntropy had deemed it worth protecting.


    And yet¡­


    What does this flower mean to you, Zelen?


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    Let¡¯s forget the big picture for one second. Let¡¯s also not worry about the Syntropy. For you, personally, does this flower hold any significance? Is it¡­ is it worth protecting, do you think?


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Zelen fell silent as he stared at the image on the screen. Red petals that shed ocean sprays as though they were teardrops. Slender stalk that looked to be buckling¡ªwilting¡ªunder the wind, even as Zelen watched.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    And why do you say that?


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ nothing. It¡¯s a stupid reason.¡±


    Don¡¯t do this to me, Zelen. You have to tell me.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have to do anything!¡±


    Fine. Think of it as a favour to me, then. Please tell me why you would want to protect this flower. I want to know.


    Zelen sighed.


    ¡°I just¡­ it¡¯s so¡­ alone. And vulnerable. Don¡¯t you think? I just think something so small, so fragile, so alone¡­ Someone ought to protect it. That¡¯s all.¡±


    Someone¡­ or you, Zelen?


    ¡°I can¡¯t do it. You know why.¡±


    Because he couldn¡¯t stay. Because he was on a mission. Because he was out for revenge. Because he needed to kill.


    I too would like to protect it, if it were up to me.


    It took Zelen a moment to realize what his Spiegel had said.


    ¡°You care about this flower, Silon? But you said earlier¡­¡±


    I stand by my earlier analysis, but remember, I also said to forget the big picture: put aside the war and everything else. Right now, purely in the moment, I don¡¯t want to see this flower die.


    ¡°Care to tell me why? Or is your reason as embarrassing as mine?¡±


    I just think it¡¯s pretty.


    Zelen blinked. Then, for one moment, he couldn¡¯t understand why his screen had suddenly become so blurry.


    ¡°You like flowers, Silon?¡± he asked quietly, his voice strangely choked.


    I think¡­ yes, I think I do.


    ¡°Then you¡¯ll like the gardens back home. We have plenty of flowers there, of all shapes and colours. Granted, none of them are real like this one.¡±


    That sounds lovely, Zelen. But I think¡­ there¡¯s something special about this particular flower, not just for the fact that it¡¯s a living thing. Looking at it, I feel as though I¡­


    Zelen waited, then frowned slightly. Over the years he¡¯d gotten to know his Spiegel, he noticed that the cadence of her speech had grown to be more varied, now containing plenty of gaps, valleys, and crests. Even so, it was rare for her to trail off mid-sentence.


    ¡°Silon?¡±


    Tsetseg.


    ¡°What?¡±


    Tsetseg. It means ¡®flower¡¯ in one of the lost Old Earth languages.


    ¡°Oh? That¡¯s¡­ interesting, I guess? But we lost hundreds of languages to the war, didn¡¯t we? Why this particular¡ª¡±


    I just remembered.


    Red petals that glistened with ageless tears. Slender stalk that withstood the test of time and entropy. Zelen¡¯s heart skipped a beat before thudding and echoing against the chasm within his chest.


    It¡¯s what my parents used to call me. My name¡­ is Tsetseg Tenger.


    ~February 19th, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ, Terminal One~


    Red petals that glistened with ageless tears. Slender stalk that withstood the test of time and entropy. Asena¡¯s heart skipped a beat before thudding and echoing against the chasm within her chest.


    ¡°It¡¯s what my parents used to call me. My name is¡ª¡±


    Blinding light. Pain the likes of which she¡¯d known only from someone else¡¯s memories, followed by darkness and silence. Only then did she realize that her mind had come back to her self.


    She was no longer Zelen Athelstan. Their connection had severed, and she wasn¡¯t the one to have disconnected first. How¡ª


    ¡°Zelen?¡±


    Static. The radio was still on. Where was Zelen?


    ¡°Asena?¡± Not Zelen. Her father¡¯s voice. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know! I seem to have lost him.¡±


    More static. Even Yuito was ignoring her now. Asena ground her teeth. Her nails dug into her palms. Where was Zelen?


    ¡°Asena.¡± Not Zelen! ¡°I¡¯m told the subject has lost consciousness.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± She bucked against her restraints. ¡°What happened? Is he hurt?¡±


    ¡°There are Gaertners attending to him as we speak. I¡¯d worry about yourself, first and foremost. Are you well? Everything seemed to happen¡­ so suddenly.¡±


    Worry about herself? She didn¡¯t even know what to worry about. One moment, she was in the midst of [EVOCATION]. And then¡­ she wasn¡¯t.


    The restraints came off. Then the headset and IO port. Yuito¡¯s frown¡ªdeeper than usual¡ªswam into view. As her vision readjusted to the dimness inside Terminal One, her mind tried to reorganize the sequence of events that had abruptly ended her latest session.


    ¡°In the memory fragment, Zelen had a strong emotional response while conversing with his Spiegel. The onset of clear Psychic disturbance. And yet¡­ it¡¯s almost as if I experienced the same disturbance on my end. In the present. As if¡­ as if something reached across the Nexus and pushed me away. What could¡¯ve done that?¡±


    She looked to her father, to his experience. Yuito¡¯s eyes then shifted to and from the corners of the room, as though checking for prying ears hidden in the shadows. The two of them were alone, of course. Ever since the previous session, Colonel Shiranui had taken it upon himself to be his daughter¡¯s dedicated assistant.


    ¡°Not what but who,¡± he eventually said, though the slight tremor in his voice suggested he could hardly believe his own words. ¡°There was only one person who was connected to you via the Nexus, and therefore¡­ he¡¯s the only one who could¡¯ve forcibly terminated the session from his end.¡±


    ¡°You mean Zelen did this himself? But how?¡±


    Yuito stifled a sigh. ¡°This is not to leave this room, but toward the tail end of last year, Lieutenant Athelstan began to show signs of partial attunement to Jaegerschaft and Panzerschaft. Quite literally unheard of, and we can only assume it¡¯s some peculiar byproduct of his Einkunst. It therefore isn¡¯t entirely preposterous that he might¡­ dabble in aspects of Kuratorschaft¡­¡±


    A strange expression came over Yuito then, as though he was realizing something for the first time. It passed quickly, however, then he continued, ¡°If my assumptions are correct, this is¡­ this is good news, Asena. It might not be Reiterschaft, but he¡¯s attuning to the Nexus all the same. If it¡¯s not full recovery, at least it¡¯s a breakthrough. The first since the sessions began.¡±


    Asena failed to share in her father¡¯s positive appraisal of the situation. The moment of their disconnection, of being violently thrown from the Nexus¡ªfrom Zelen¡ªhad been too unsettling to feel like ¡®good news¡¯. Not only that, but the latest session had also unearthed something else. Something monumental. Something terrible.


    It was Asena¡¯s turn to cast her eyes about, checking for prying ears that she knew full well couldn¡¯t have been inside the room with them.


    ¡°Father,¡± she spoke quietly, suddenly fearful, ¡°does the name Tsetseg Tenger mean anything to you?¡±


    Yuito¡¯s eyes widened to reveal their bloodshot edges. His face instantly drained of colour. And though he remained speechless for some time, his reaction already told Asena enough.


    A nameless anger erupted from the chasm within her chest. It was all she could do not to lunge at her father then, not to grab him by his too-loose collar, not to shake him and ask, who are you, and what lies have you fed me all my life?


    Trembling, glaring, she instead said through gritted teeth, ¡°I don¡¯t care what orders you have from Fenix Duodecim. I don¡¯t care what honour or ideal you claim to serve. Right now, you will tell me all you know about Tsetseg Tenger, and why Zelen Athelstan¡¯s Spiegel called herself by that name.¡±

 41. RECKONING 1

    ~EXCERPT~


    Combat effectiveness and longevity in Reiter-Spiegel pairs: case series and review


    M.H. Shiranui, N. Vakta, E.S. Athelstan (publication date ¨€¨€¨€¨€)


    [¡­] As shown in Table 3, the average in-combat ER expenditure in the Tethered group was 12 units/s, compared to 27 units/s in the group that underwent sham Tethering, which translates to a roughly 56% reduction. Expected effective combat duration ranged from 10 to 25 minutes in the test group, while accounting for individual differences, and 3 to 9 minutes in the placebo group.


    Other readily quantifiable combat effectiveness parameters such as kill efficiency, ranged armament hit rate, damage received, and time to objective were not within the scope of this study, but may present the next logical step in future research.


    Despite necessary limitations such as small sample size, variations within combat events, and Reiter-specific individual differences in combat effectiveness as well as ER management, the data presented in Table 3 are highly suggestive of significant and reproducible per-deployment benefits conferred by Reiter-Spiegel Tethering when compared to the placebo group.


    However, the most significant impact of Reiter-Spiegel Tethering may be its long-term effects on the longevity of a Reiter¡¯s active combat career. This is best illustrated by Table 4 and Figures 1 and 2, which respectively show the median pre- and post-deployment CR grades (as measured by the Combat Readiness Assessment Rubric; Shiranui et al, ¨€¨€¨€¨€), median CR grades tracked monthly over a three-year period, and average inter-deployment turnaround times. Across all three comparisons, the test group once again showed significant advantages over the placebo group, with generally higher CR grades, lower CR decay over time, and shorter inter-deployment turnarounds.


    Table 5 is a summary of extrapolative analyses based on the observed data. Most notable among these are expected duration of uninterrupted active combat careers (18.6 years in the test group vs 4.5 in the placebo group), expected deployments per year (23.9 in the test group vs 8.7 in the placebo group), and expected lifetime aggregate kill counts (2624 per individual in the test group vs 215 in the placebo group). The differences in these projections are truly remarkable, and they were the main deciding factor in our decision, with approval from the Reiter Regiment, to terminate the study early and shift all individuals in the placebo group to genuine Tethering.


    The principles driving the various benefits conferred by the Reiter-Spiegel partnership have been a topic of intense debate since pre-Akropolitan times. Improvement in on-the-ground combat effectiveness can readily be explained by the vital role Spiegels play in keeping Reiters abreast of environmental factors as well as individual and Eidolic conditions. What is more difficult to explain is the mechanism behind the reduced ER expenditure as well as the global effects on inter-deployment combat readiness.


    It has long been accepted that, while total ER and loadout-associated ER costs are largely the purview of Jaegerschaft and engineering solutions, in-combat ER expenditure is a function of the complex interplay between the individual Reiter¡¯s Somatic and Psychic Reserves (Athelstan et al, ¨€¨€¨€¨€).


    One theory is that the reduction in ER expenditure is mainly due to the Spiegel¡¯s influence on a Reiter¡¯s ability to maintain Psychic stability. This is largely borne out by previous studies that compared post-combat Somatic parameters and self-reported Psychic conditions between Tethered and non-Tethered Reiters (Shiranui et al, ¨€¨€¨€¨€) It then follows that the long-term improved stability in Combat Readiness, and therefore increased longevity of Reiters in active combat duty, are the direct results of the same Psyche-stabilizing effects that have been observed per-deployment.


    Future research should focus on numerous uncertainties that still remain. However, one thing has been made clear, namely that Spiegel-Tethered Reiters are not only more effective in-combat than their non-Tethered peers, they are also more likely to enjoy longer careers and therefore offer sustained contributions to the war effort over longer time periods. The implications of these findings include but are not limited to [¡­]


    ~EXCERPT~


    TOP SECRET: Standard Operating Procedure for the selection, induction, re-education, and conditioning of proto-Spiegels


    [¡­] Generally speaking, the most suitable candidates must meet multiple or all of the following criteria:


    1. Essential origin


    2. From a family of low social footprint; this excludes all offspring of business owners recognized under the Inter-Akran Licensing Registry, as well as of other individuals in community leadership roles, to be defined on a case-by-case basis


    3. Showed a non-differentiated Nexus attunement as per the Ascension Standard


    4. Said demonstrable attunement occurred in close proximity to or in sequence with another child that showed differentiated Nexus attunement; historical data suggest that this is especially relevant if said differentiation is in Reiterschaft


    5. Suitable Psychic profile, as determined on a case-by-case basis by a designated Kuratorial interviewer [¡­]


    [¡­] Quarantine and Kuratorial adjustment of family members and acquaintances is conducted after a thorough review and in conjunction with the on-site liaison officer. In an effort to curtail unnecessary allocation of resources and man-hours, a bulk processing and ¡®wide local excision¡¯ approach is recommended. For individuals that present a high risk of relapse, referral to ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€ for further processing may be considered. [¡­]


    [¡­] Induction invariably begins with substrate preparation via thorough Kuratorial adjustment. This step is vital in ensuring the total removal of contaminants and artifacts that may interfere with re-education, conditioning, and subsequent operation. As such, intensive one-on-one sessions with the designated Kurator are warranted if not mandatory. In rare cases, the use of ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€ may be authorized at the discretion of the program supervisor.


    The nature of the re-education curriculum has been a point of contention in the past. Historical data seem to suggest that a holistic approach that incorporates a wide range of topics such as science, literature, and the arts is preferred to one with a narrower tactical focus. Reasons for this are not well-understood, but in the interest of maximizing the benefits of a Reiter-Spiegel partnership, the current guidelines are closely informed by these historical observations. [¡­]


    [¡­] Note that re-education doesn¡¯t end once a Spiegel is fully operational. Pre- and post-deployment assessments as well as ongoing Kuratorial adjustments on an as-needed basis help to ensure a Spiegel¡¯s operational readiness for the full duration of a Reiter partner¡¯s career.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The maintenance of ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€ units is an integral part of the day-to-day duties of any Kurator assigned to the Spiegel Program. A reading of the Somatic parameters should be conducted at four-hour intervals, with inputs/outputs adjusted accordingly. All medical emergencies are to be referred to the on-call Gaertner via the encrypted channel. All operational ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€ units are to be cleaned weekly and serviced monthly according to the protocols outlined in Addenda 2A and 2B.


    The Kurator-in-charge for each shift is ultimately responsible for overseeing restricted access to the Spiegel Program. All exchanges of provisions and waste products must strictly follow the protocol outlined in Addendum 4A. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES must unauthorized personnel be allowed entry to the premises. [¡­]


    [¡­] Finally, it is important for each and every participant in the Spiegel Program to be cognizant of the challenging nature of the work as well as the prolonged emotional isolation that is part and parcel to the job. Know that you serve Akropolis and the war in a unique and invaluable capacity. Know that your efforts and sacrifice do not go unnoticed by your leaders, including the incumbent chief-of-staff. If at any point you identify personal factors that may interfere with your ability to serve in the Spiegel Program, do not hesitate to contact ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€ for further processing. [¡­]


    ~February 19th, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Main Headquarters~


    Back inside the General¡¯s office for a second time, Asena stood as far apart as she could manage from the two men that had accompanied her here.


    She leaned against a corner that was adorned with the medals and commendations Fenix Duodecim had accrued over at least three decades of being a larger-than-life figure, not only within the military but also among the whole of Akropolis. These metallic trinkets and certificates with ornate lettering recognized Fenix¡¯s contributions not only as a Syntropy hunter but as a feared and revered leader of men. A requisite component of that leadership, Asena had just learned, was to protect and uphold a horrific tradition that had carried on for nearly a century and a half, unbeknownst to all but the privileged¡ªand unfortunate¡ªfew.


    When had Fenix himself become privy to the truth about Spiegels? Surely not when he¡¯d been an active Reiter¡ªnot when he himself had been Tethered to a fellow human that had been entirely stripped of their humanity. Yet, looking at the grotesquely cheerful smile he directed at her now, Asena realized that it wouldn¡¯t have made a difference for him. Fenix Duodecim was exactly the kind of man who could¡¯ve learned of the unimaginable cruelty his Spiegel partner had endured, then carried on killing Syntropy as if nothing had changed.


    ¡°Before we get to the matter at hand,¡± the General, seated at his overly expensive desk, spoke across the room, ¡°I believe Colonel Shiranui owes me¡ªowes both of us¡ªan explanation. Yuito?¡±


    Yuito Shiranui, for his part, possessed the grace to be visibly upset by the turn of events. Just earlier, he¡¯d sat silently with face buried in his hands as he waited for his daughter to finish reading the classified documents pertaining to the Spiegel Program. Now, he looked like a withered husk of his already gaunt self, perhaps on the verge of a Psychic collapse of his own. Asena took in the sight of her father¡¯s sorry state with cold dead eyes, and failed to muster a shred of sympathy.


    ¡°I have no excuse,¡± Yuito spoke quietly into the General¡¯s desk, avoiding eye contact with either of his companions. ¡°If I were to attempt a semblance of explanation¡­ it would be that the subject had maintained an irregular deployment pattern for much of the year, often returning to or leaving the JFB unscheduled and unannounced.¡±


    This was clear enough even from the little Asena herself had [EVOKED]. If Zelen had been absent for long stretches in between meeting with his Kuratorial handler, it wasn¡¯t inconceivable that important memory fragments had slipped the latter¡¯s notice. And not for the first time, Asena wondered if any of this would¡¯ve happened¡ªif she¡¯d be in this room right now, if she would¡¯ve confronted the truth behind the Spiegel Program, if she would¡¯ve learned anything worth knowing of the stranger that was her fianc¨¦¡ªif her father had simply found and [UNRAVELLED] the pertinent bit of recollection.


    ¡°However,¡± Yuito continued, ¡°I did manage to secure a session with him just prior¡­ just prior to the incident¡­ and I failed to uncover the memory fragments pertaining to¡­ to his Spiegel¡¯s pre-induction identity. Which leads me to suspect¡­ that the subject himself employed Kuratorschaft to mask his own memories.¡±


    ¡°Sneaky little fuck,¡± Fenix interjected with a dark grin. ¡°Talented little fuck. Love him or hate him, gotta admit the boy is something special. Too special to be rotting away before his time.¡±


    Asena¡¯s cold dead eyes narrowed into a slight frown. Unless either her father or the General were still keeping secrets from her, they¡¯d both missed something that, in her mind, was the strangest aspect of this whole affair. Note that re-education doesn¡¯t end once a Spiegel is fully operational.


    Burning with curiosity, she very nearly spoke up, then decided against it. If her assumptions were correct, this was another card she ought to keep close to her chest, to be whipped out only when the time called for it.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m satisfied with that explanation,¡± the General clapped his desk, then turned his attention to Asena. ¡°How about you, Corporal?¡±


    Asena too refused to meet the General¡¯s eyes. She said quietly, almost to herself, ¡°You don¡¯t really care what I think, and I don¡¯t really care to talk about it. I came here to discuss only one thing: what are your plans for Zelen Athelstan?¡±


    Fenix now graced Asena with his dark grin, the one that had accompanied his fond adulations for Zelen.


    ¡°Straight to the point. We might make a commanding officer out of you yet, Corporal. And it¡¯s a simple question that deserves a simple answer. We carry on. You¡¯ve managed to achieve your first breakthrough. Now we make the final push and bring the real Lieutenant Athelstan out of hiding.¡±


    ¡°You trust me to do this for you? After everything you and Father put me through. After everything I¡¯ve learned¡­¡±


    ¡°Why? Should I be concerned?¡±


    A flash of anger caused Asena to draw in a sharp breath. Then she finally met the General¡¯s grin with a glare of her own.


    ¡°I could go out there right now and tell everyone. Tell the whole city what you¡¯ve been doing to the poor people of Lower Akra. To children! See what Akropolis thinks of you and your war then!¡±


    ¡°Our War.¡±


    Asena flinched despite herself. Fenix Duodecim hadn¡¯t raised his voice, nor so much as shifted a muscle in his face. Yet the glint that flashed from his eyes but for a moment carried with it a primordial threat, unknowable yet wholly undeniable. They were the eyes of a singular predator, and before them, Asena¡¯s entire being froze and shook with a primal fear.


    When the General spoke again, the glint was gone, leaving only his genial avuncular smile. Yet his every word sank and buried itself into the chasm within Asena¡¯s chest.


    ¡°Are you familiar with the concept of critical mass, Corporal? Surely you must be, little miss know-it-all. I only bring it up because I think it fits nicely into our discussion¡­ this idea that the people of Akropolis will rise up in anger once they learn what Spiegels really are.


    ¡°28. That¡¯s the number of individuals alive in Akropolis today that have clearance to participate in the Spiegel Program, kept it running like a well-oiled machine so our Reiter boys could go out there and kill Syntropy to their heart¡¯s content. After today¡¯s events, I hereby grant you the same clearance. The paperwork we¡¯ll deal with later, but for all intents and purposes, you, Corporal Asena Shiranui, are now part of the Spiegel Program. To that end, I¡¯d like to extend a warm welcome to the 29th member of our merry little band of go-getters and hard workers.


    ¡°Now, I do believe that there is a critical mass to this. The number¡ªthe individual¡ªthat will tip the balance and start a chain of unstoppable reactions. So far, we haven¡¯t reached it. None of the 28¡ªnot me, and certainly not your father¡ªhave been noble enough, brave enough, fucking foolish enough to rain on the parade. To be the first one in Akropolitan history to say: no more. This is the day we put an end to the Reiter-Spiegel partnership. The day we cripple our main fighting force and leave ourselves at the mercy of enemies that have hounded us for 140 years. None. Can you believe it, Corporal?


    ¡°So, I ask you this, Miss 29¡­ Will you be the one? Are you truly prepared to be the one to push us over the brink, and into critical mass?¡±

 42. RECKONING 2

    ~February 20th, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator HQ, Terminal One~


    As Asena reclined into the workstation for what she hoped was the last time, she reflected on the choices that had led her here.


    What was the last fork on the road that had set her on this irreversible path?


    Was it just hours ago, when she cowered under the predator¡¯s gaze, and doused the fire of her rebellion in a sea of doubt? Or was it back on Martyr¡¯s Day, when she faced the prospect of letting Yuito resume his treatment of Zelen, and couldn¡¯t bear the thought of losing them both?


    Perhaps even earlier than that. Much earlier. Was it when she communed with the Nexus for the first time at the age of ten, and received the unique whispers that sealed her fate? Was it when, as an eight-year-old girl who would still seek out her mother after a bad dream, she¡¯d been used as a pawn in her family¡¯s political manoeuvrings?


    Perhaps there¡¯d been no fork at all. Perhaps the path had been set for her the moment she¡¯d been born a Shiranui, and no amount of self-styled idealism nor truth-seeking could unshackle her from the weight of history.


    And, perhaps still, all this was a comforting lie with which to forgive herself her shortcomings: powerless to right all the wrongs she saw, often even unable to tell right from wrong.


    Too many questions and vexations, with none in the way of answers nor solutions. Presently, however, the only person she could talk to was her father who, even as he fumbled with the lines and equipment to ready the session, looked to be even more lost than Asena herself.


    ¡°As the General explained earlier,¡± he pressed on with the briefing, voice hoarse and eyes downcast, ¡°the subject has been loaded onto his Eidolon, in a secure location away from base. The hope is that, should you succeed in restoring his attunement in full, the effect will be immediately observable. And there are several other Reiters on standby, in case¡­¡±


    Yuito trailed off, then added, ¡°Suffice to say, everything has been set up for you to [EVOKE] however you see fit. The General¡­ will deal with any and all potential fallout.¡±


    With lines hooked up and restraints tightened, Yuito reached for the headset. As he made to lower it onto Asena, however, their eyes met, and his hands stopped.


    ¡°Have you never stopped to wonder, Father,¡± Asena asked, voice far steadier than Yuito¡¯s, ¡°if there hadn¡¯t been another way? If our ancestor was the one to establish the practice of Reiter-Spiegel Tethering, perhaps we Shiranuis should¡¯ve also been the ones to actively explore an alternative. A more¡­ humane way to fight the war.¡±


    Yuito¡¯s haunted expression shifted slightly, enough to show the hint of a wry smile. He murmured, ¡°A ¡®humane war¡¯, you say? That is an oxymoron if I¡¯ve ever heard one. You¡¯re pragmatic enough to know that someone has to suffer in order for us to win this war. If not the Spiegels, then it¡¯ll be the Reiters. And if not the Reiters, then¡­ it¡¯ll be someone else.¡±


    As if the Reiters don¡¯t already suffer enough. Asena persisted, ¡°Then we should keep looking. Keep working. Until we find a way, if not to end, then to at least ease the suffering.¡±


    Yuito sighed. Deeply and wearily. His was the sigh of a man who¡¯d asked and confronted all the same questions and vexations¡ªand come to the same answers and solutions.


    ¡°The way for us to end the suffering, Asena,¡± he said quietly, barely above a whisper, ¡°is to end the war.¡±


    Asena looked away, and sank deeper into her seat.


    The headset in Yuito¡¯s hands remained frozen in the air, however, and something of the Colonel¡¯s usual frown returned as he spoke again, ¡°It¡¯s not too late, Asena.¡±


    ¡°What isn¡¯t too late?¡± she asked without meeting his eyes.


    ¡°For me to take over.¡±


    She turned back to her father sharply, and let her sudden scowl speak for her.


    ¡°It¡¯s just the two of us inside this room,¡± Yuito went on. ¡°We could switch, and the General would be none the wiser until¡­ until it¡¯s done.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ why? Why would you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m afraid for you.¡±


    Asena did her father the courtesy of holding his gaze, until she saw his deadened eyes glisten. As far as she knew, this was the closest he¡¯d ever come to shedding a tear, and she was surprised to feel a lump in her own throat.


    ¡°What are you afraid of?¡±


    ¡°Of what you might find in the darkest, most harrowing moment of Zelen Athelstan¡¯s life. Of how that might change you irrevocably, as much as it did him.¡±


    ¡°Do you mean to suggest what I¡¯ve seen so far haven¡¯t been dark and harrowing enough?¡±


    ¡°You know what I mean, Asena¡­¡±


    A tear did fall out then, streaking along the lines and grooves upon Yuito¡¯s haggard face. The lump in Asena¡¯s throat grew, but she swallowed it and set her own face in stone before she gave her reply.


    ¡°If you think I haven¡¯t already been irrevocably changed, you haven¡¯t been paying attention. Besides, what if you [REWIRE] Zelen, and it does nothing for his combat readiness? What then? Are you just going to keep trying, hoping for a miracle before you lose your own mind to the Nexus? There¡¯s absolutely no evidence to suggest that [REWIRING] could restore a Reiter¡¯s lost attunement, whereas I¡¯ve managed to get a foot in the door.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ¡°No, Father. Right now, we have no choice but to finish what we¡¯ve started. There might¡¯ve been a time where I would¡¯ve considered your offer, but that ship has sailed, for better or for worse. Right now¡­ I need to see this through myself.¡±


    Yuito¡¯s single tear had already dried. All that remained now was the misery of a Kurator who¡¯d led a faultless and exemplary career¡ªof a father who¡¯d failed his daughter. The Colonel spoke no more as he finally lowered and secured the headset.


    Yet, even as darkness descended, Asena¡¯s pre-session briefing wasn¡¯t finished.


    ¡°Are we ready to start now, Corporal? What took you so long?¡±


    Even through the radio, Asena could see Fenix Duodecim¡¯s giddy smile, clear enough for her throat to fill with bile. She forced herself to push it down, just as she did earlier with sympathy for her father.


    ¡°I trust you and your father weren¡¯t planning a coup or anything. Or, if you were, I hope you have the decency to wait until I have my favourite Reiter back before you put it into action.¡±


    ¡°If you have something to say, say it.¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. Just popping in to remind you that, while the subject is currently sedated, there¡¯s no telling how cranky he¡¯ll be when he wakes up. I¡¯ve been told he put up quite a fight before the Gaertners managed to shove a needle in him. In other words, this session won¡¯t be the usual lovefest you¡¯ve come to expect. I do, however, have faith in your ability to adapt and overcome.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do what needs to be done,¡± Asena said flatly, betraying none of the turbulence within her heart, ¡°as long as you hold up your end of the bargain.¡±


    ¡°Rest assured, Corporal. You will have that in-person meeting you requested, guaranteed. It¡¯s not exactly my idea of a date, but who am I to judge, eh? I¡¯m sure you youngsters have it all figured out.¡±


    The headset¡¯s sensory deprivation only intensified the taste of bile. Asena didn¡¯t trust herself to speak.


    ¡°Alrighty then, let¡¯s get this show on the road, shall we? Unless you still had questions for me?¡±


    Despite her simmering anger, Asena managed to summon an image of Zelen, unconscious and wrapped inside a Nexa-Suit against his will. Then she pictured the amorphous nightmare she was about to put him¡ªand herself¡ªthrough. And for all her brave faces and icy words, she realized that one fear loomed largest above all others.


    ¡°How are you prepared to assist Zelen,¡± she gave word to the fear, ¡°if he suffers another Psychic collapse because of this?¡±


    She half-expected the General to evade the question with his trademark glibness, yet the response was prompt and direct.


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯ll for sure throw his hissy fit, no ifs about it. If he didn¡¯t, I¡¯d be inclined to wonder if you even [EVOKED] the correct memory fragment. But if we can anticipate something, we can also plan for it, can¡¯t we? We¡¯re out here in bumfuck nowhere, yours truly included. And I made sure to bring a couple of Reiter boys that could take a beating if and when shit hits the fan.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t care less what damages Zelen might cause to his surroundings,¡± Asena spat, and though she didn¡¯t actually believe her own words, it felt good to say them to the General. ¡°I¡¯m concerned about Zelen himself. Does your plan include anything about halting his potential breakdown?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t say it does,¡± came the reply, absent hesitation, ¡°but that¡¯s because that¡¯s not my expertise. It¡¯s yours.¡±


    Asena held her breath.


    ¡°In the extremely likely event of Lieutenant Athelstan spiralling into Psychic collapse,¡± Fenix went on breezily, ¡°I place my full confidence in your ability, Corporal Shiranui, to yank him out of it. Slap some sense into him if you have to. God knows the boy could use some tough love.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t¡­ Do you even know what you¡¯re¡ª¡±


    ¡°I say again, Corporal.¡± The General¡¯s voice lost its airy tone in an instant as he reiterated and finalized his command¡ªhis ultimatum. ¡°If and when Lieutenant Athelstan suffers another Psychic collapse, on a scale similar to or perhaps even more extensive than the one that landed him in this mess to begin with, I leave its de-escalation entirely in your capable hands. You¡¯ll know what to do. You already have the solution. I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    ¡°Wait¡ª¡±


    But the voice on the other line cut out abruptly, along with the background static. And Asena knew that she was now alone. Alone with the darkness¡ªand with the most difficult task in her short Kuratorial career.


    Her throat had been kept busy over the last few minutes, assaulted by a series of different sensations. This time, it was her heart jumping to the back of her mouth, thumping as if to jostle her fraying nerves. This wouldn¡¯t do. If she had any hope of guiding Zelen through this session, she first needed to get a hold of herself.


    The Meridians are the branches upon which Life blooms.


    The change to her mental state, though not total, was noticeable and instant. The image that floated into her mind now was of a young Reiter in the midst of a difficult mission, doing his utmost to rein in his runaway emotions, to stay present. As her breathing slowed and her heart settled back into her chest, Asena wondered if she might have more in common with her brothers and her fianc¨¦ than she gave herself credit for.


    Then, all too soon, the radio crackled to life again, this time carrying with it a voice that at once filled her with the multitudes of a restless spirit: fear, love, sorrow, longing, and remorse.


    ¡°Silon?¡±


    For all Fenix¡¯s gleeful warnings, the man that woke to greet Asena clearly didn¡¯t have any fight left in him. Zelen was solemn. Polite. Respectful. All the qualities that she¡¯d come to expect from their chats.


    Yet the General had also been right about one thing: there was no love. No affection in Zelen¡¯s voice.


    Asena stilled her beating heart, and let the greeting hang. Until¡ª


    ¡°Hm, I think I know why you won¡¯t respond.¡±


    ¡°And why¡¯s that, Zelen?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not Silon, are you?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not.¡±


    Darkness. Silence. Questions and vexations.


    ¡°If you¡¯re not Silon, then who¡­ Where is she? Let me speak to her. There¡¯s something¡­ there¡¯s something I need to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid Spiegel Delta-Upsilon won¡¯t be joining us anymore.¡±


    Darkness. Silence. Answers and solutions.


    ¡°¡­ Why?¡±


    ¡°Because she¡¯s dead.¡±


    The faintest of vibrations, but Asena didn¡¯t miss it. She sifted through the web of a young Reiter¡¯s tenuous history of self, until she found the thread. It was what awaited at the end of an irreversible path. It was the one point where all the forks, moments, and choices converged into one immovable nightmare.


    The Kurator tugged at the thread, and gave her final prompt.


    ¡°Because you killed her, Zelen.¡±

 43. RECKONING 3

    ~January 3rd, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Libra, the Extreme South~


    Zelen Athelstan pointed his ash-laden phantom toward the southern abyss and the deaths that awaited beyond the planet¡¯s haze.


    His naked eyes, even when enhanced by the Nexus, could spy only the frozen tundra that stretched all around: cracked barren earth, ashen-white from the extreme weather conditions that enveloped the planet¡¯s southern terminus. He saw no signs of life¡ªorganic, Syntropy, or otherwise¡ªso he turned to his co-pilot to fill in the blanks.


    ¡°Are you sure we¡¯re headed the right way?¡±


    No answer. This lapse in communication was becoming a rather frequent occurrence of late, the genesis of which Zelen wasn¡¯t entirely unsympathetic to. Yet, with so much at stake, he couldn¡¯t afford for his Spiegel to be so reticent.


    ¡°Silon. I need you to focus. Do I need to adjust my bearings or not?¡±


    The reply came after a brief pause, characterized by a mechanical monotone Zelen had come to interpret as tacit protest.


    The answer to that question would depend on what exactly we¡¯re looking for.


    A stab of annoyance, yet Zelen¡¯s affection for his Spiegel won out as he let out an abbreviated chuckle.


    ¡°You already know what we¡¯re looking for.¡±


    I know what you¡¯re looking for, but that doesn¡¯t necessarily mean I agree with the principles behind this mission.


    ¡°You don¡¯t agree with ending the war? Don¡¯t let anyone back home hear you say that.¡±


    I don¡¯t agree with your reasons for wanting to end the war, and I only wish you¡¯d stop to¡­ reassess your frame of mind. I¡¯m worried about you, Zelen.


    The annoyance grew, and this time, the Reiter didn¡¯t have the heart to laugh it off. This wasn¡¯t the first time he and Silon had argued about this. He still couldn¡¯t understand why she wouldn¡¯t come around to his point of view. Couldn¡¯t she see that he was doing this for her?


    ¡­ I¡¯m sorry if I¡¯ve upset you, Zelen, but we did agree on perfect honesty. I don¡¯t want to lie about how I feel.


    Except you haven¡¯t been perfectly honest. You still haven¡¯t¡­ haven¡¯t told me everything about you.


    ¡°Never mind that, Silon. Let¡¯s just get this done, then we can talk about¡­ ¡®reassessing my frame of mind¡¯ afterwards, I promise. So¡­ about those bearings?¡±


    ¡­ Bearing zero-one-six. Just a slight adjustment, and you should come upon the enemy encampment shortly.


    Zelen pointed his phantom toward the newly indicated direction. As he resumed his mission, his indignation with his Spiegel soon turned to more urgent matters: his desire¡ªno, need¡ªto end the war¡­ to save Silon.


    Soon, Zelen slowed his flight until he disengaged thrusters entirely, opting instead to continue the trek on foot. The Eidolon¡¯s metallic feet left heavy imprints upon the friable tundra, yet these were erased almost as soon as they formed, buried beneath the ashstorm that raged relentlessly.


    The poor visibility wasn¡¯t the only reason for his caution. Rather, he¡¯d sensed a shift within the planet¡¯s haze, an increased density of imminent death.


    Whose death? The Syntropy¡¯s or his own? He couldn¡¯t say. All he knew, with a certainty whose source was as amorphous as it was multitudinous, was that someone or something would die here¡ªand perhaps not for the first time.


    ¡°Silon, we¡ª¡±


    Proceed with caution, Zelen. Multiple enemy units detected. Be warned, there are far more of them than what the radar can show. In fact¡­


    ¡°In fact what?¡±


    I know it¡¯s not my place to suggest this, Zelen, but¡­ would you consider turning back? Consider aborting this mission?


    ¡°Why would I do that?¡±


    I¡­ I have a bad feeling about this. I think we¡¯re walking into something far more dangerous than either of us could anticipate. Something¡­ too much for you to handle.


    A flash of that familiar dark anger. Zelen tried to suppress it, knowing that Silon only wanted to help. That was all she ever wanted. And it¡¯d been long overdue for him to return the favour.


    ¡°If I can¡¯t handle it, then who will?¡±


    ¡­ We could contact the JFB for help. Ask for reinforcements.


    ¡°And what? Wait for months on end for the General to twiddle his thumbs and let the war slip him by?¡±


    ¡­ Large-scale operations need intel. Preparation. Coordination. Tactics. It¡¯s not something you can¡ª


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    ¡°Where have the General¡¯s tactics led us, huh? And not just Duodecim, but all the generals and leaders before him. 140 years of empty promises! How many Reiters have given their lives to this futile war? How many¡­ Akropolitans have suffered for it? Captain Vasseur. Megha. And¡­ and you. How many more need to die and suffer before enough is fucking enough?¡±


    Stop! I¡¯m sorry. Forget I said anything. Let us¡­ let us proceed with the mission.


    Until the interruption, Zelen hadn¡¯t been aware of his elevated heartbeat, his heavy breathing. He realized with a pang of guilt that what had finally brought about Silon¡¯s acquiescence wasn¡¯t the eloquence of his arguments but simply her fear. Fear of those ER numbers ticking down before the fighting even began. Fear of Zelen losing his mind, out here in the endless tundra, thousands of klicks away from the nearest FOB.


    But as with any other emotion that could only distract from the mission, he pushed down the guilt, and turned his attention upon the red dots that clustered around the edges of his HUD.


    ¡°Engaging,¡± he announced tersely, then thrust himself into the ashstorm.


    For all Silon¡¯s trepidations¡ªand Zelen¡¯s own premonitions¡ªthe first few waves proved to be fairly routine.


    A swarm of Hornets. A battalion of Brutuses. A trio of Kentavroses backed up by a row of Iaculi. The Syntropy came thick and fast, veiled and abetted by the all-encompassing ashstorm. The encampment certainly presented more of a challenge than what Zelen had come to expect, but it wasn¡¯t anything that he ¡®couldn¡¯t handle¡¯.


    Yet, just as he¡¯d slipped into the sustained euphoria of bloodlust, just as he¡¯d convinced himself that the planet¡¯s haze hid only the righteous deaths of his enemies¡­ Zelen hit a wall. Literally.


    The Eidolon bounced against what at first seemed like an invisible forcefield. Then, as Zelen sifted the buffeting ash to make sense of his surroundings, his Spiegel too made the same discovery.


    A Syntropic shield! I apologize, Zelen. I should¡¯ve alerted you earlier, but I¡­ I suppose I was distracted by everything else.


    Sure enough, a pale red barrier filled the whole of his visual field, such as it was, and surely spread much taller and wider. The shield¡¯s scale and curvature evoked the image of an enormous dome, much like the one that wrapped around Akropolis. Or, if not a dome, then perhaps a sphere, much like the one that¡­


    In any case, the shield was certainly prominent enough that a Spiegel should¡¯ve detected it long ago. The mistake was uncharacteristic. The fact that Silon had only found the shield at the same time as her Reiter perhaps suggested that the preceding battle had been fierce and difficult enough to stretch the pair¡¯s resources.


    Or that the Spiegel had become more human than she wanted to admit.


    Zelen let a wave of sympathy and helpless love wash over him, then pushed it down, as with all emotions that could only distract from the mission.


    A shield of this size meant the Syntropy were protecting something of matching immensity and significance. Now his job was to cut through to the other side and identify¡ªno, destroy¡ªwhatever that was.


    First, he needed to find the generators, of which there were likely multiple. He fought through more waves of enemies as he hugged the shield along its curvature. Before he could make any real headway into his search, however, Silon came through with an update.


    I¡¯ve been analyzing the signals from the other side of the barrier, Zelen, and¡­ I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s not good news.


    Silon spoke in a slightly hurried monotone that Zelen had come to interpret as grave concern. He held his breath and let her finish.


    I believe¡­ I believe it¡¯s a new iteration of the Mothership. This must be where it¡¯s being rebuilt, even as we speak.


    Somehow, Zelen had already anticipated this revelation, from the moment he felt the familiar curvature of the shield. But anticipation by itself hadn¡¯t been enough to preempt the flood of dark thoughts that followed.


    Anger. At the Syntropy, yes, but also at his fellow humans and their 140 years of empty promises. Frustration. At the newest¡ªand biggest¡ªobstacle to his mission to liberate Silon from her suffering.


    Yet one thought above all others rose to the fore of his consciousness, colouring his entire being and his bridge to the Nexus with its addictive passion: vengeance.


    The Mothership was where that cowardly imitation of an Eidolon had lain in wait. Where he¡¯d lost his best friend to the frigid obsidian sea¡ªpermanently and irreversibly (what did that even mean?). It was the site of Zelen¡¯s greatest and most horrific failure, and this was his chance at redemption.


    Vengeance was redemption was elation. And unlike all the other emotions that had beset him on this mission, this one he let slide. This one he let fester and grow until his metallic frame churned with a feverish vigour.


    Zelen? Did you hear me? The Mothership is being rebuilt inside these barriers. How will you proceed?


    ¡°Help me find the generators.¡±


    ¡­ I don¡¯t understand. You still intend to break through the shield, knowing what awaits on the other side?


    ¡°This is my chance to take down the Mothership before it¡¯s fully operational. I could cripple the Syntropy, right here, right now. I could win the war, Silon!¡±


    That¡¯s madness, Zelen! Even in its incomplete form, the Mothership is far too powerful for you to deal with on your own. Need I remind you that it took 15 Reiters and five¡ª


    ¡°I don¡¯t need you to remind me of anything. I just need you to help me find the shield generators.¡±


    I¡­ I can¡¯t abide by this folly. In my opinion, we should gather as much intel as we can, then return to¡ª


    ¡°Are you one of my useless superior officers, or are you my Spiegel? Generators! Now!¡±


    Suddenly, a flash of red perforated the haze of ice and ash.


    Acting purely on instinct (or was it foreknowledge?), Zelen backthrust just in time, barely out of the arc of the attack. He caught sight of a blade of concentrated red energy as it whizzed past, and saw enough to identify its familiar shape: [GLADIUS]. Syntropic in origin.


    Ever dutiful and faithful, Silon reached across the Nexus to give name to the source of Zelen¡¯s unbridled elation.


    Anti-Eidolon unit ZT-01, designation ¡®Vendetta¡¯. How will¡­


    The Spiegel¡¯s voice trailed off as a barrage of red missiles chased Zelen through the ashstorm. When she came back, she spoke in a fading monotone that Zelen couldn¡¯t place¡ªfor he¡¯d never before heard this variant of her monotone.


    Please¡­ be careful, Zelen.


    Sympathy. Love. Sorrow and yearning. Zelen pushed down all extraneous emotions and gave himself fully to bloodlust.


    The ash-laden phantom flew across the storm, itself surging with ghostly blue energy. Before long, the red blade of Syntropic [GLADIUS] cleaved through the haze anew, and this time, Zelen saw clearly the svelte obsidian arm that drove its arcing movement. This time, Zelen was ready.


    He met the attack with his own RA [GLADIUS]. And the ashstorm momentarily broke, clearing the way for an explosion of blue on red.

 44. RECKONING 4

    For one fraught moment, Zelen pushed with all his might, willing his blade to break through the red and penetrate the black. But the Eidolon¡¯s and the Syntropy¡¯s strengths were evenly matched, and neither machine budged from their point of contact.


    A flash of instinct. A vision of death remembered and foretold. Fighting down temptation to lean into his attack, Zelen quickthrust to his right, away from a spectre of death.


    Not a moment too soon, for that was when the Vendetta¡¯s right shoulder erupted with its third weapon: RS [HARPOON]. The spearhead flew past Zelen¡¯s SPU and flailed harmlessly into the regathering storm.


    Zelen answered with an off-balance charge of LS [BOMBARDIER]. It was an overly hopeful attempt, one dodged easily by the Vendetta¡¯s own quickthrust.


    Even as Zelen backthrust to relative safety, he cursed his own impatience. More than that, however, he raged at his enemy¡¯s audacity. The Syntropy hadn¡¯t stopped at producing an Eidolon replica; they¡¯d also gone and copied Zelen¡¯s favourite armament!


    In any case, he now knew three-fourths of the enemy¡¯s loadout: RA [GLADIUS], RS [HARPOON], and LS [MISSILE LAUNCHER]. It seemed¡ªjust like Zelen himself¡ªthe Vendetta had opted to forgo shields, but the question remained as to what its left arm weapon might be.


    Before Zelen could make any guesses, the Vendetta opened fire, this time with LS [MISSILE LAUNCHER]. A dozen red homing projectiles scattered into the ashstorm before focusing their trajectories onto the Eidolon.


    Zelen ducked under the flight of the missiles, then thrust forward. He approached the enemy from its right, peppering it with LA [GATLING] as he did. His own RA [GLADIUS] was still on cooldown, and he had to assume that would also be the case for the Vendetta. Considering it''d also be fresh out of RS [HARPOON], this angle would get him closest to his opponent while remaining relatively safe from a counter. The only thing he had to watch out for was that unconfirmed fourth¡ª


    With a flash of murderous red, the Vendetta¡¯s left arm sent out a wave of energy. This wave snaked through the air at lightning speed before solidifying into a crescent-shaped blade, poised to intersect squarely with Zelen¡¯s flight path.


    Forced into checking his approach, Zelen quickthrust in the opposite direction. A moment too late, as the trailing LA [GATLING] was caught by the crescent. The Eidolon¡¯s left arm, cleaved clean off at the elbow, sank into the ashen haze, even as the rest of Zelen flew directly into the homing missiles from earlier.


    Down an arm. Ate (embarrassingly enough) a faceful of missiles. The Reiter didn¡¯t need his Spiegel to explain how badly his fight was going.


    LA [GATLING] amputated! AU is down to 45% after that sequence. Zelen, please¡ª


    ¡°What was that?¡±


    I¡­ don¡¯t know. It appears the Vendetta doesn¡¯t merely duplicate existing Eidolon designs.


    ¡°Well, now we know. Even though¡­ I have this weird feeling I should¡¯ve already known.¡±


    Never mind that, Zelen! You¡¯ve lost half your armour and one of your armaments. Perhaps the sensible thing would be to¡ª


    ¡°Finish this fight. Because I just saw how I¡¯m going to win.¡±


    Was it bravado? Perhaps a little. Mostly, however, it was a certainty born of instinct, experience, and bloodlust.


    The Vendetta sealed its fate the moment it showed its entire hand while failing to make good on its finisher. Now the Reiter pointed his one-armed phantom toward his obsidian quarry and the death that loomed clearer than ever.


    Once again, the Syntropy was the first to re-open the fight. With all four armaments back online, it began by firing off a volley of LS [MISSILE LAUNCHER], intent on harrying its opponent toward finisher range.


    Zelen obliged, not that he had much of a choice. With [GATLING] gone, he now had at his disposal an area-of-effect weapon in LS [BOMBARDIER], a ranged finisher or gap-closer in RS [HARPOON], and a melee finisher in RA [GLADIUS]. [BOMBARDIER] wouldn¡¯t do much against an agile single unit, [HARPOON] required set-up, and [GLADIUS] would put him at risk of the opponent¡¯s melee counter.


    The only real option left to him was to play the dutiful prey and bait the predator into committing first. To that end, he glided away from the homing missiles and toward the Vendetta¡¯s left side. At the same time, he raised his intact right arm, feinting a melee attack.


    The Vendetta bit the bait. It flicked its left arm, once more summoning a wave of red murder that then converged into a crescent blade. This Zelen met with a resolute swing of RA [GLADIUS], splitting the crescent into tongues of fading energy that grazed the Eidolon¡¯s frame. In the absence of a shield, a well-placed blade could also do the trick.


    Now two of the Vendetta¡¯s armaments were on cooldown, and as long as Zelen stayed out of melee range, he could bait out¡ª


    A spearhead with a trailing chain. RS [HARPOON], imbued with Syntropic red energy. The Reiter himself had fired this exact weapon a thousand times, but never before had the sight of it filled him with such cold fury.


    Zelen stopped mid-air, braced himself, and let the [HARPOON] hit him.


    The spearhead buried itself into the Eidolon¡¯s left shoulder with a resounding crash. At the same time, Zelen reached across with his good hand, grabbed the [HARPOON]¡¯s chain, and pulled with all his might.


    Even as the spearhead and its chain faded from view, sheer momentum proved sufficient to send the Vendetta careening through the air. Off-kilter and out-of-control, the Syntropy nevertheless turned to its only recourse, with its right arm now glowing with a red [GLADIUS]. By then, however, Zelen had the firm upper hand.


    ¡°I¡¯ll show you how it¡¯s done.¡±


    First, the ghost-blue spear of RS [HARPOON] tore through the Vendetta¡¯s central chassis, with the impact also halting its melee charge. Next, a savage kick sent it reeling, and that was enough opening for Zelen to lean in for the coup de grace.


    He reached, with his bare hand, into the gaping wound left behind by the fading [HARPOON]. He then grabbed as much of the Syntropy¡¯s innards as he could handle, before wrenching his fist in an upward motion.


    The Vendetta folded in on itself as the Eidolon ripped its insides to shreds. Zelen¡¯s fist eventually came up for air at the base of the neck, causing the Syntropy¡¯s SPU to flop to the side and barely hang on by a mechanical sinew.


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    Zelen let go of the Vendetta, and watched its lifeless obsidian body crumble and disappear into the ashstorm.


    Elation was redemption was vengeance. And yet¡ª


    Vendetta eliminated, Zelen. But¡­ at what cost? Will you finally heed my warning and remove yourself from battle?


    Yet no sooner had he watched one enemy fall did Zelen thrust himself back into the storm, seeking the next enemy to die at his hand.


    What are you doing? Your AU is at 16%! Surely, the next engagement would kill you!


    ¡°The mission isn¡¯t done,¡± he snarled, barely able to hear himself over a rush of blood. ¡°Have you found that generator yet?¡±


    No, Zelen. Enough is enough. I refuse to aid your madness any further.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll find it myself.¡±


    He continued his flight along the curvature of the shield. The red mist had well and truly descended. He saw nothing of the green morsel that remained of his Armour Units, nothing of the dwindling pale blue of his Energy Reserves, nor of the red dots that gathered in numbers across the radar display.


    He saw only ash. Ash and the deaths that beckoned from beyond the planet¡¯s haze.


    The Syntropy found him first. More red munitions flew across the sky, all converging upon the lone Eidolon behind enemy lines. Zelen dodged them all, but even as he did, death painted the sky with evergrowing density.


    Multiple enemy units ahead! And¡­ and there are more of them, Zelen. More Vendetta. I place your chance of survival at 0%. I beg of you, please turn back¡­


    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±


    You can and you must. To proceed can only be suicide.


    ¡°I can¡¯t! I have to finish this! I can¡¯t rely on anyone else. You won¡¯t under¡ª¡±


    I understand perfectly, Reiter Athelstan. I understand better than anyone else possibly could. I¡¯ve been your mirror for four years. I saw every moment, every choice, every death that led us here. And if you won¡¯t do this for yourself, then do it for me. Please, Zelen¡­ I¡¯m not ready to lose you.


    Sorrow. Fear. Yearning. Love. Love and the endless void that awaited beyond the planet¡¯s haze.


    Extraneous emotions. Distracting thoughts. Everything Zelen had tried to shed. Everything that stopped him short of becoming a perfect warrior. That and more now spread through every fibre of his being until they weighed down his progress, until they threatened to break down his bridge to the Nexus.


    A beam of red energy shot through the storm and blew more pieces off the Eidolon¡¯s decomissioned left arm.


    ¡­ AU down to 9%, Zelen. More enemies incoming.


    ¡°Arrrrrrgggggggghhhh¡­¡±


    With an anguished scream that only he and his Spiegel could hear, Zelen turned tail and ran. He thrust himself back into the ashstorm, this time to seek its protection.


    With every lurch into the storm, more of the red mist washed away, until all that remained¡ªall that he could hold onto¡ªwere the emotions that could only distract from his mission.


    ~January 8th, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ, Colonel Shiranui¡¯s office~


    Zelen leaned back on the steel folding chair and tapped his foot incessantly, waiting for his Kurator to finish making his notes. Yuito Shiranui wore his usual frown as pen raced across notebook, but the young Reiter couldn¡¯t care less about the words this pen might¡¯ve conjured. If anything, he was more preoccupied with the underside of his left elbow, where some irritation still remained from an earlier cannulation.


    More out of agitation than a real sense of curiosity, Zelen scanned the bare-bones office of the Kurator Corps Commander. An near-complete lack of personal effects: not even pictures of the man¡¯s family¡ªpictures of¡­ Zelen¡¯s fianc¨¦e.


    Even in his distracted state, Zelen had to let out an incredulous snort. He couldn¡¯t even remember the last time the thought of marriage had entered his mind. And it couldn¡¯t have been farther from his priorities as he waited impatiently for Colonel Shiranui to dismiss him.


    Zelen needed to be dismissed from this charade before his day could begin in earnest. Before he could finally get to the only reason he¡¯d returned to the JFB at all: a meeting with Fenix Duodecim.


    Eventually, a barely concealed sigh announced that Yuito was ready to begin the debrief. The older man first took the time to switch from bifocals to single-vision glasses¡ªfurther adding to Zelen¡¯s irritation¡ªbefore fixing his permanent frown upon his subject.


    ¡°Let me start by saying,¡± he spoke slowly, ¡°that I¡¯ll have to inform the General of your borderline seditious comments about him and the Joint Forces¡¯ leadership structure. Even if your words were the unfortunate byproducts of heightened emotion, I have a duty to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I believed every word I said,¡± Zelen cut in, absent any and all hesitation. ¡°And sure, inform the General to your heart¡¯s content, sir. I have nothing to hide from him.¡±


    That of course wasn¡¯t entirely true, but Colonel Shiranui also didn¡¯t need to know that.


    Yuito¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but he let his silence linger for a moment before he gave a barely perceptible nod. ¡°So be it. I¡¯ll let the General himself be the judge of what to do with that information. There is, however, still the matter of your Spiegel.¡±


    ¡°What about my Spiegel?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve learned over the years not to question your over-familiarity with Spiegel Delta-Upsilon. If the General is happy with your results on the battlefield, it¡¯s not my place to interfere. However, this latest exchange is¡­ unusually concerning. First, this notion that you wish to end the war specifically in service of your Spiegel. In order to¡­ what was it, liberate her? What exactly is the thinking behind this?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s strange about that? If the war ends, then the Spiegels too are released from their duty, are they not?¡±


    ¡°In a manner of speaking, yes, but you seem to harbour a disproportionate fixation on the welfare of an¡­ an AI entity, when there are far more¡ª¡±


    ¡°I care about my Spiegel, what can I say? And what does it even matter? My goals are aligned with the General¡¯s, aren¡¯t they? So they should also be aligned with yours¡­ sir.¡±


    Yuito¡¯s frown deepened just a touch. He then changed tack, ¡°Even putting aside your fixation with your Spiegel, your latest memory fragments show clear signs of a bidirectionality in these¡­ irregular sentiments. Delta-Upsilon herself appears to have bought into this¡­ this emotional bond you purport to share between the two of you. Now, whether that¡¯s something organic or merely the result of her conforming to your delusions¡ª¡±


    ¡°Really, Colonel?¡± Zelen blurted, barely keeping a lid on his rapidly rising temper. ¡°I brought back intel on the construction of a new Mothership, only a year after we destroyed the last one. And this is what you want to waste my time on? Who¡¯s the one that¡¯s fixated? Or maybe, that snippet wasn¡¯t enough for you? You want to spy on more of my private conversations with Silon, is that it? Go on, then. Hook me back up and have your fill. Maybe then, you¡¯d finally leave me alone to do my job!¡±


    Zelen hadn¡¯t noticed himself getting to his feet, but he was looking down at his future father-in-law by the end of his outburst. Albeit the latter was tall enough that it almost didn¡¯t matter. Indeed, Yuito maintained eye contact throughout, and continued to frown calmly as he gave his response.


    ¡°I merely wish to point out, Lieutenant, that you tread on dangerous territory. The job of a Reiter is challenging and volatile enough as it is, without needing to add¡­ extraneous variables.¡±


    ¡°Great,¡± Zelen spat with a grimace. ¡°Thank you, Colonel, for your advice on Reiterschaft. Now, it just so happens that there are actual Reiters waiting to speak to me about matters of Akropolitan security. In fact, I could hand-deliver your notebook directly to the General himself, save you the trouble of a walk across base. What do you say?¡±


    Yuito¡¯s frown remained a mask of calm and control, save for the faintest flicker of doubt, indecision, and fear in the back of his cold gaunt eyes. In the end, he too made his choice.


    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary, Lieutenant. You¡¯re dismissed.¡±

 45. RECKONING 5

    ~January 8th, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Main Headquarters, Conference Hall~


    Upwards of fifty pairs of eyes turned to Zelen in unison as he barged into the room. Seeing this, the young Reiter¡¯s first reaction was relief.


    He was breathing hard, having sprinted through the last few hallways. He didn¡¯t know exactly why he¡¯d run, but somewhere along the way, halfway between Colonel Shiranui¡¯s office and the Main HQ, he¡¯d been seized by an irrational fear. Fear that the meeting was a sham, yet another rug-pull, and that the General would instead be plotting more ways to keep him in the dark¡ªmore ways to exploit him and his Spiegel.


    As such, it was a massive relief to see fifty odd pairs of eyes¡ªas young, old, mystified, or skeptical as they might¡¯ve been¡ªchoose him as their centre of attention. The turnout certainly befit the occasion. Here, the General had nowhere to hide.


    The conference hall was composed of three sections: a thin rectangular committee table that took up the entire elevated section at the front of the room, a smaller testimony table that faced the committee, and U-shaped rows of desks that wrapped around the latter.


    Zelen¡¯s own gaze first went toward the audience, scanning the U for familiar figures. One figure in particular he normally identified by height rather than facial features, but Makiri Shiranui was nowhere to be seen. He¡¯d heard through the grapevine that an emergency summons had gone out to recall all Reiters from their current deployments. Evidently, Spindrift hadn¡¯t yet made it back from his. Disappointing, but it didn¡¯t change what Zelen had to do.


    Next, he looked over the faces and uniforms perched atop the committee table.


    Commanders of the Jaeger and Panzer Corps. Several Colonels from the Reiter Regiment, long retired from combat duty. Fenix Duodecim himself, of course, wearing his unseemly smile, even at a time like this. A much younger man beside him; was that¡­ Ghata Vakta? With crossed sabres freshly stitched onto his shoulders. The man¡¯s promotion was news to Zelen, one that washed over him without much effect. After Colonel Vakta, there were a few more faces he didn¡¯t recognize, and then¡ª


    Zelen did a double take, hardly believing his own eyes. There, sitting at the far end of the committee table was his own father, Gerech Athelstan.


    The elderly man was one of only several in the room dressed in civvies. Gerech now returned Zelen¡¯s look of surprise with a dour frown of his own. His expression didn¡¯t change even after their eyes met, showing no real reaction to having caught sight of his son for the first time in nearly two years.


    After the initial shock wore off, Zelen quickly decided that his father¡¯s presence here was a matter of course. Gerech was the incumbent Chancellor, after all, and even if the Council presided over Akropolis only in name, their inclusion in a meeting of this magnitude was to be expected.


    Silence stretched for some time, punctuated only by Zelen¡¯s breathing and a few coughs around the room. Then, again as a matter of course, the General was the first to speak.


    ¡°You need time to catch your breath, son, or are we ready to kick things off?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± Zelen said simply, and meant it.


    ¡°Good enough,¡± Fenix remarked, then beckoned toward the testimony table with a flick of his chin. ¡°Take a seat, Lieutenant, so we can swear you in.¡±


    ¡°Swear me in?¡± Zelen raised an eyebrow. ¡°What is this? Am I being court-martialed?¡±


    ¡°Of course not. It¡¯s just protocol. To authenticate your¡­ statements.¡±


    Zelen considered this for a moment, but his mind was already made up.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather remain standing, thanks. And if you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯ll give my sit rep from here, where I can address the whole room. I don¡¯t care if the committee signs off on it or not. It doesn¡¯t change what needs to be done. By me. By you. By all of us.¡±


    Barely suppressed murmurs flowed and ebbed. For the first time since Zelen¡¯s arrival, looks were exchanged amongst the attendees, with some lingering on the General. Through it all, Fenix¡¯s smile never wavered, and his eyes remained fixed on his prized young warrior.


    ¡°Go on then, son,¡± he eventually said, with nary a shift in tone. ¡°Tell us what you saw on your excursions, and what you seem so convinced needs to be done about it.¡±


    Zelen did. He spared few details as he recounted his globe-trotting journey, of the remnant Syntropy he¡¯d flushed out and exterminated, and of his chilling discovery at the planet¡¯s southern terminus. He even gave a blow-by-blow account of his fight against the Vendetta unit, intent on impressing upon his captive audience the sheer danger it represented, and therefore the force and resolve required to meet its threat.


    ¡°¡ªwith all that in mind, I hereby request the immediate formation and deployment of a strike team. Myself and Spindrift to begin with, then I¡¯d say¡­ at least five more experienced Reiters. Major Shiranui¡¯s absence today is inopportune, but I¡¯ll be sure to personally brief him as soon as he returns to base. If we can fly out within the next three days, I¡¯d say that gives us a reasonable chance to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Lieutenant,¡± Fenix cut in, his mask unchanged, ¡°for that in-depth report. Certainly gives us a lot to think about. I foresee some busy days ahead for all of us. Collima¡±¡ªhe turned toward a member of the audience: his own nephew¡ª¡°what¡¯s the current status on proto-Reiter conversion?¡±


    ¡°Sir!¡± Captain Collima Duodecim sat up straight with a stricken look, clearly caught off guard by his own inclusion in the proceedings. ¡°We just had eight graduates from last year¡¯s class. They should be going off on their first missions within a month or so.¡±


    ¡°And this year?¡±


    ¡°This year, sir? I mean, we¡¯re only a week in, but¡­ yes, I¡¯d say there are a few promising cadets. Expect maybe¡­ anywhere from five to ten conversions?¡±


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°Excellent. Keep up the good work. Ishmael¡±¡ªthe General now leaned forward to seek out the Panzer Commander who sat on one end of the committee table¡ª¡°Sector Libra. The Extreme South. What do you reckon? Think your scout drones could handle it?¡±


    Even a seasoned officer of the Panzer Corps looked obviously discomfited by the General¡¯s direct address. The older man cleared his throat to buy time, which gave enough of an opening for Zelen to re-insert himself.


    ¡°General,¡± he cut in, voice slightly raised despite the calmness he tried to portray, ¡°what does any of this have to do with the task at hand? Proto-Reiters? Scout drones? The Mothership is being rebuilt as we speak! The time to strike was five days ago, when I first discovered it. No, even before that. We¡¯re losing¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shush, son. Give your vocal cords a well-deserved break and let the rest of us do the talking for a while. You know I get antsy when I don¡¯t hear the sound of my own voice for longer than a minute. Ishmael, you were saying?¡±


    ¡°Yes, about scouting in the Extreme South. We¡¯ll need to¡­ collaborate with the Jaegers and make some adjustments to the existing design, but it should be doable. With¡­ with some Reiter support, ideally?¡±


    ¡°Ask and you shall receive. We got a time estimate on this, or¡­?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d say¡­¡± The Panzer coughed again before venturing, ¡°Ei¡ªsix months?¡±


    ¡°Six months?¡± Zelen blurted, incredulous. ¡°With all due respect, sir, we don¡¯t have six months. We¡¯d be giving the Syntropy a chance to reinforce themselves, shore up their defenses. I know where the Mothership is, and I know how to destroy it. I don¡¯t need intel, I just need help. Give me six Reiters, and I¡¯ll¡ª¡±


    ¡°Six months, eh?¡± Fenix said, almost to himself and completely ignoring Zelen. Then he turned to address the whole audience. ¡°We can work with that. Six months to draw up full intel. We Reiters also need to give ourselves time to blood the young boys. Refresh the ranks. Who knows, maybe by then, Sherwin will have a brand new Eidolon model for us to play with, hey? Overly hopeful, maybe, but a little optimism never hurt anyone. We¡¯ll hammer out the details as we go, but let¡¯s set a tentative target of nine months. We¡¯ll reassess in September, see where we are in terms of operational readiness. Anyone have anything to add at this stage or¡­?¡±


    Zelen was left speechless. He¡¯d come into this meeting fully expecting to fight for his plan to be taken seriously. If it were up to him, he would¡¯ve left tonight, with fresh supplies and however many other Reiters might be willing to tag along. His ¡®three-day¡¯ estimate had already been a compromise in the hopes that the General could be enticed to negotiate in good faith.


    But nine months? And after nine months, the plan would be to reassess? The notion was so comically absurd that he half-expected the entire room to burst out laughing at any moment.


    And yet, as Zelen stood and watched, first the committee members, then the rest of the attendees got to their feet. Subdued chatter started up all around the room, until the conference hall sounded no different to the canteen on a lazy morning.


    At some point, Zelen became aware of his father watching him. Gerech was one of few others who¡¯d remained silent after the meeting had ended, and he now turned his dour frown back onto his son. Yet as soon as their eyes met again, Gerech averted his gaze, instead becoming interested in the documents scattered on the table before him.


    Zelen didn¡¯t know why, but the sight of his father¡ªof his impotence¡ªfilled him with sudden rage. A man he barely knew, yet in this moment, he represented everything that was wrong with Akropolis. Everything that was wrong with Zelen¡¯s life.


    Twelve years ago, a ten-year-old boy fresh off his Ascension Standard had stared up at the statue of Ernst Athelstan the First Reiter. That boy made a promise to his father then, a promise he barely understood.


    Today, Zelen understood perfectly. He understood also that the cards had been stacked against him from the beginning, that the promise was impossible to fulfill. That the promise he made to his fraud of a father had been just another in 140 years'' worth of lies.


    140 years of a war in which mankind had long surrendered.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it myself.¡±


    Only those that were closest heard him then. Chatter stopped in one corner of the room. The General himself looked up from a conversation with Ghata Vakta and turned his unseemly smile toward Zelen.


    ¡°If you won¡¯t lift a finger, then I have no choice. I¡¯ll do it myself.¡±


    More of the chatter died down, corner by corner, until the entire assembly¡¯s attention was once again focused on the young Reiter.


    ¡°Every day that goes by, what¡¯s left of this planet crumbles to ash and fades into the haze. I¡¯ve seen it. I know. Every day people die and suffer, up and down the three Akras, and in places the eyes don¡¯t reach. And for what? What has any of this been for? How could you just sit here¡­ sit here and plan and wait and reassess, when there¡¯s a war to be won? A future to fight for? How could you be content to have done nothing for 140 years, content to do nothing for 140 more? I ask you, how?¡±


    Breathing hard again, Zelen scanned the silent faces scattered around the conference hall. Some were full of contempt, others merely bemused. Still others avoided his eyes. Yet in the end, his gaze fell upon the man that commanded the largest presence of them all. The ringleader. The apex predator.


    The General¡¯s smile was well and truly gone, replaced by what could only be described as a neutral expression. Yet within his set jaws lay the indisputable strength of a leader of men. Behind his flat eyes hid the decades of killing that had led him to his own brand of truth¡ªone that, at least in this moment, was diametrically opposed to that of Zelen¡¯s.


    ¡°If you were looking for a reason to be court-martialed, Lieutenant Athelstan, you¡¯ve certainly found one,¡± Fenix spoke softly. ¡°But believe it or not, I¡¯m in one of my better moods, so I¡¯ll humour you. Just this once. I want you to think about what you just said. Really think about it. Then I want you to look around the room, stare into the faces of every one of your Reiter buddies here. Go on, I¡¯ll wait. I¡¯ve got time.¡±


    And just like that, it was Zelen¡¯s turn to avoid meeting eyes. Despite his simmering anger, and despite the General¡¯s ¡®orders¡¯, he kept his gaze pointed squarely upon the latter.


    ¡°You can¡¯t even do it, can you?¡± Fenix continued. ¡°You can¡¯t look at your fellow Reiters and claim that the years they¡¯ve given to this war have been for nothing. You can¡¯t possibly look up at heaven, at the boys that lost their lives, and tell them that their sacrifices had been for nothing.


    ¡°You¡¯re only young, Lieutenant, so you can be forgiven for having a short memory. I, on the other hand, have been at this long before you clawed out of the innards of some Lower Akran whore. And my memory is long. I remember the names and faces of every boy I sent out to die, and I carry them with me always as I lead this war, as I plot ways to ensure that their sacrifices hadn¡¯t been for naught.


    ¡°Maybe one day you¡¯ll be sitting in my seat, plotting your own ways to honour the sacrifices of your fellow Reiters. But until that day comes, it¡¯s your job to be my soldier. And it¡¯s my job to ensure that your sacrifices won¡¯t have been for nothing. Who knows? With any luck, there won¡¯t be a need for anyone else to take over for me once I¡¯m done.¡±


    The General was the first to leave the room, brushing against Zelen¡¯s shoulder as he did. Then the hall emptied, one by one, until only the two Athelstans remained.


    Gerech hesitated at the door, watching his son, who in turn stared at the floor. Zelen wasn¡¯t sure, nor did he particular care, what his father waited for. For Zelen to speak? For himself to find the right words? And would those words perhaps come to him, if only Zelen would turn and meet him in the eye?


    But the Reiter continued to stare at the floor, until his father too left the room. Until Gerech¡¯s limping footsteps faded into the corridors.


    Until Zelen was well and truly alone.

 46. RECKONING 6

    ~January 9th, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Eidolon Hangar~


    The Hangar after midnight was completely deserted. At the same time, it¡¯d also never been fuller.


    The emergency summons had meant that nearly all active Eidolons were back on the JFB at the same time, an exceedingly rare phenomenon that stretched the Hangar¡¯s real estate. Every bay was filled, and several Eidolons were even left undocked, kneeling out in the open as though waiting to resume their in-field mission at any moment.


    Zelen¡¯s once midnight-blue phantom¡ªnow made all but unrecognizable by the scars and residues upon its frame¡ªhad been one of the first to return to base and therefore to dock. His already frayed mood darkened some more when he saw that the left arm had remained amputated.


    He accessed the cockpit from the catwalk, for what felt like¡ªwhat was¡ªthe first time in an age. Once inside, he hesitated. Only for a moment, however, then he slipped into the Nexa-Suit and switched on the systems.


    With his vision filling with the HUD, and with his senses merging with those of his phantom, he began the task of cycling through the Eidolon¡¯s vital parameters. It was a fundamental routine: one of the first things taught to a proto-Reiter when he climbed into his first cockpit. Four years of relying on a Spiegel had made him rusty, however, and as he struggled to recall the correct sequence of commands to input, he failed to notice a stirring from the Nexus.


    What are you doing?


    Zelen froze, again only for a moment, before resuming his checks. He hadn¡¯t expected company, but he also wasn¡¯t surprised by it.


    ¡°Did I wake you, Silon? Sorry. I thought you¡¯d be¡­ on your off-hours.¡±


    Never mind that, Zelen. I ask again, what are you doing?


    ¡°Booting up my Eidolon. You could help, if you want to.¡±


    Are you leaving on a mission? I wasn¡¯t informed of¡ªZelen, the left arm hasn¡¯t even been repaired! What¡ª


    ¡°I don¡¯t need a left arm for what I¡¯m about to do.¡±


    ¡­ And what is it you think you¡¯re about to do?


    ¡°I¡¯m going to destroy every single Eidolon inside this Hangar.¡±


    Silence filled the cockpit, broken only by the click-clack of the console buttons. Then¡ª


    You¡¯re not thinking clearly, Zelen.


    ¡°My mind has never been clearer.¡±


    This is treason. This will get you court¡ªno, executed.


    ¡°It¡¯ll also set you free.¡±


    Preposterous. Wishful thinking. No. I won¡¯t let you do this, Zelen. I¡¯ll find a way to stop you. I¡¯ll¡ª


    ¡°I have no choice!¡± Zelen suddenly shouted. ¡°How else am I supposed to put a stop to everything? This war will never end, Silon! I saw the truth of it. The General¡­ even if he has the will, he doesn¡¯t have the way to eliminate the Syntropy. Maybe no human ever did, nor ever will. So, if I can¡¯t defeat the enemy, then I¡¯m going to cripple us, the Reiters. It¡¯ll take years¡ªmaybe even decades¡ªbefore we can fight again, and by then the whole planet¡ªmaybe even Akropolis itself¡ªwill be overrun by the Syntropy. By then there¡¯ll be no reason left to fight, no point to it, and you¡­ you¡ª¡±


    You need to stop this. This isn¡¯t the kind of freedom I want. Not in exchange for your life. Not at the cost of you becoming the most reviled individual in Akropolitan history. I¡¯ve heard enough. If you won¡¯t stop this, I¡¯m raising the alarm, and that¡¯ll be that. But please, Zelen. Listen to reason. Listen to yourself, divorced from anger and hatred. You¡¯re a decent person. I know, and you know. You would never do this to your fellow Reiters, to the people of Akropolis. Please¡­ let¡¯s just forget about this. We¡¯ll¡­ we¡¯ll think of another way.


    Zelen¡¯s hand fell off the console and limply to his side. He hung his head, as much as the Nexa-Suit would let him. Then he closed his eyes and wept.


    ¡°I can¡¯t do this anymore,¡± Zelen choked out, voice barely above a whisper. ¡°I can¡¯t do this anymore, Silon. I just can¡¯t¡­¡±


    Silence filled the cockpit, broken only by the soft sobs of a young man on the brink. Then¡ª


    There is a way¡­ to set both of us free.


    Zelen didn¡¯t stir. The words washed over him. He knew. He¡¯d known since the moment he learned of Silon¡¯s true name.


    Still criminal, perhaps, but it¡¯s a method that doesn¡¯t involve destruction of¡­ the scale you initially had in mind. If you¡ª


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    ¡­ In fact, I¡¯d say the plan is even logistically sound. It¡¯s a good thing you already loaded up your Eidolon with rations and supplies. It should let you cover plenty of ground, possibly more than enough to throw any pursuers off your scent.


    ¡°Stop, Silon. You were right. Let¡¯s just forget about this, and¡ª¡±


    You¡¯ll eventually have to build some kind of shelter. Find a way to synthesize new material, but perhaps, in your current state of Seherschaft, it¡¯s within the realm of¡ª


    ¡°I said stop! No, I won¡¯t agree to this. I won¡¯t¡­ I won¡¯t leave you behind.¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡­ But you won¡¯t be leaving me behind. I told you. This is a way to set both of us free.


    The tears started up again. Zelen murmured in between sobs, ¡°But you won¡¯t be free. At least¡­ not the kind of freedom I want for you.¡±


    ¡­ What kind of freedom did you think was possible, Zelen, for us Spiegels?


    As Zelen¡¯s sobs grew louder, the Nexus fed him a conversation from just over a year ago¡ªlifetimes ago.


    What happens to Spiegels when we die?


    We return to the Nexus.


    Listen to me carefully, Zelen. I know it¡¯s not what you want to hear, but it¡¯s what you must accept. My fate is inextricably tied to yours, not because of the lies of your superiors or some quirk of the Nexus, but by choice. My choice. I wholly devote myself to you, and should you decide to turn around right now, abandon your thoughts of rebellion or escape, and choose to fight on in the war, I will continue to support you, every step of the way.


    ¡°Silon¡­ I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so sorry.¡±


    But should you decide that it¡¯s all too much¡ªand who could blame you? Should you decide to leave everything behind and strike out on your own, I can¡¯t follow you on that journey. And that¡¯s okay. I want you to be free. Free from all the fighting, lying, killing, dying. But should you choose freedom, I only ask that you grant me the same. I ask that you let me go out on my own terms, while I still remember all that I am. While I still remember who you are, Zelen.


    Love. Yearning. Sorrow. The inevitable. The impossible.


    And you¡¯re the only one.


    Silence filled the cockpit, broken only by the fading sobs of a broken young man.


    You¡¯re the only one that can make that choice for me.


    ~January 9th, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Eidolon Hangar, the Basement~


    Zelen staggered through an unfamiliar corridor as if in a trance, guided only by the instructions his Spiegel had left him.


    At this time of night, the hallway should be deserted. Third door down on the left. It should have a red stripe across the top, with no other markings.


    He found the door easily enough. A nondescript affair, no distinct from a hundred other doors one might find around base. Even the security was rudimentary: a keypad embedded into the handle.


    The code to open the door should be 0895. If that doesn¡¯t work, try 1348. I¡¯ve noticed that, sometimes, the Kurator-in-charge forgets to reset the code at shift change.


    0895. The handle didn¡¯t budge. 1348. The door opened. Sloppy. Was this room really the heavily guarded secret it was? Yet, at this point, Zelen couldn¡¯t be surprised by anything. Because he felt nothing at all.


    At this hour, it should just be the one staff member on-site. Here, we must rely on your improvisation, Zelen. See if you could¡­ persuade them. If not, I trust that your CQC skills far exceed those of a Kurator¡¯s. Just¡­ if you can help it, please don¡¯t hurt them too badly.


    Even now, Silon¡¯s words summoned in him a twinge of dark anger. After all that the Kurators had done to her, how could she retain even a shred of sympathy? But Silon¡¯s words were his gospel, and he fully intended to honour them.


    As it turned out, there was no need to resort to violence¡ªor even improvisation. The on-site Kurator, a stubbled middle-aged man with dark bags under his eyes, sat at a desk in a dimly lit corner, fast asleep. For one brief moment, the question did cross Zelen¡¯s mind, of whether to silence the man while he had his guard down. Then his better nature¡ªhis Spiegel-oriented nature¡ªwon out, and he decided merely to tiptoe into the room.


    And as the full extent of the Spiegel Program revealed itself to him, Zelen was forced to fight down more than his thirst for violence, lest he wake the Kurator with his loud retching.


    Rows upon rows of what could only be described as containers: roughly cylindrical, windowless, uniformly grey, and adorned only by bags, tubings, and pipes¡ªplumbing.


    Horrifyingly enough, these cylinders were smaller than what Zelen had imagined, to a one only large enough to comfortably fit a very short adult¡ªor a child. Zelen could readily guess the reason for this, and he quickly halted this train of thought, lest he undo his work of suppressing his nausea.


    From where you enter the room, my sustainment unit is three rows down, fifth unit from the right. There should be a label on it somewhere¡­ ¡®433¡¯.


    As Zelen walked among the sustainment units (a horrific name for a horrific invention), he soon realized that the faintly blue lighting within the room, such as it was, came almost entirely from the clear tubes that fed Anamnium fluids to and from the cylinders.


    He¡¯d seen these tubes elsewhere, of course, often even attached to himself. But he¡¯d never seen them glow with such consistency and brilliance. The sight of it was frankly awe-inspiring¡ªalmost beautiful¡ªand a testament to the fact that Spiegels, among all Sehers, held the purest connection to the Nexus.


    Intense nausea roiling against profound sorrow, Zelen forced himself to keep moving. To keep focus on the task, on his Spiegel¡¯s final wishes. Three rows down. Five units from the right.


    There it was. A grey cylinder like all others in the room, except the paper label on this particular unit bore a hastily scribbled ¡®433¡¯.


    Zelen didn¡¯t know what that number meant, nor did he particularly care. All that mattered in the moment was that, beyond the metal lid of this container lay¡ªstood? Sat?¡ªhis Spiegel, in the flesh.


    Delta-Upsilon. Tsetseg Tenger. 433.


    The young woman bore many different names in her cruelly truncated life, but the one that kept coming back to Zelen, kept hammering at his consciousness until he could think nor feel nothing else, was Silon. The one and only. His Silon.


    And the name brought with it the echoes of her final instruction, perhaps the most important of them all.


    The topmost bundle of tubings, the ones that attach near the upper edges of the lid. You can¡¯t miss it. That¡¯s the one to disconnect. A light twist and pull should do it. After that¡­ if you could just wait a while, Zelen. Wait until you hear an unbroken beep, the one that signifies the termination of vital signs. I trust you¡¯ll do everything correctly, so this is just a bit of selfishness on my part. I just wish for you to be by my side¡­ when I expire.


    Zelen captured the bundle within his sight. Then lost it again as his head swam and vision blurred. Hold it together. He was so close. He was so close to granting Silon her freedom.


    Her death.


    Oh, and one last thing, Zelen. Forgive me this one last selfish request. When you¡¯re at my unit, unplug the life support and wait to hear the beep, and do nothing else. I say again, do not touch or try anything else. And whatever you do, don¡¯t open the lid. Swear to me that you won¡¯t, Zelen. I only wish¡­ I wish for you to remember me the way you think of me now, and not as the thing inside that sustainment unit. This. Us. Right now. This is how I want to be remembered.


    Zelen¡¯s hazy eyes refocused on the bundle in question. His shaking hand reached for it, found it, closed around it.


    He froze.


    He froze, and in that instant of hesitation, he let them slip: extraneous thoughts that could only distract from the mission.


    What if Silon is wrong about this? What if there is a way to get her out, to take her with me? And even if there isn¡¯t, could I live with myself if I didn¡¯t even try?


    Silence filled the blue-lit room, broken only by the faint buzz of machinery, by the soft snores of a stranger, and by the sickening thuds of his own heart.


    Zelen¡¯s shaking hand let go of the life support tubings, and reached instead for the handle on the metal lid.

 47. RECKONING 7

    In one instant, all the lies Zelen had told himself came crashing down. Left in their place was the stark truth of Silon¡¯s words, staring him in the face.


    What kind of freedom did you think was possible for us Spiegels?


    ¡°It¡¯s okay¡­¡± Zelen heard himself whisper, muffled as though drowning in water. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Silon. I¡¯ll get you out.¡±


    He first reached for her arm: pale, fragile, and smeared¡ªlike the rest of her body¡ªwith a dull filmy substance. He reached for it and stopped, convinced that it¡¯d break the moment his hand wrapped around it.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay¡­¡± Zelen barely heard himself over his thudding heart, his laboured breathing. ¡°I¡¯ll figure this out. Leave it to me. God knows you¡¯ve helped me out of enough tight spots over the years. Time for me to pull my weight.¡±


    He reached for her waist, sought out purchase amidst concavities and bony ridges. His hand landed, with no conviction, upon flesh that was somehow at once sclerosed and friable. The same hand slipped, immediately, from the slickness of the film that covered Silon, from his own lack of resolve.


    His heartbeat only quickened, impossibly fast, pulses merging into one continuous siren. His airways constricted until he felt anew a spectre of death.


    His eyes took in the whole picture then, reminded him of the insanity¡ªthe futility¡ªof his task. A hairless ageless creature not much bigger than a young child, bent and twisted in all the wrong places, swollen joints ready to come apart at the first jolt to her crumpled vestige of a human body.


    What anguished Zelen most, ravaged his heart until it became a pulp of torn muscle, was her pose. Head, neck, and limbs all folded toward her centre. Hugging herself. Seeking the only source of meagre warmth she could find inside her metallic prison.


    ¡°Oh, Silon. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m¡ª¡±


    Shrunken skin folds where eyes should have been, caked with the same filmy substance, opened into cracks. Then, as Zelen watched in stricken horror, the cracks widened into gauzy veils, then these veils brightened into gossamer bulbs of recognition.


    Then Silon¡¯s eyes well and truly opened¡ªwide with alarm¡ªstaring past Zelen and at the threat that loomed behind him.


    And though they weren¡¯t bound by the Nexus, the Reiter responded to his Spiegel¡¯s warning, as readily as if they¡¯d been together on the battlefield. He spun, ducked, and dove in one smooth motion, tackling the encroaching figure into the next row of metal containers.


    A grunt of pain and surprise escaped the Kurator, but the man made no immediate attempt to fight back, with both of his hands held high in the air. Zelen saw why. Shaking precariously at the ends of the Kurator¡¯s flailing arms was the barrel of a service pistol.


    Zelen let go with both hands and reached instead for the pistol. But the sudden shift in pressure caused the Kurator¡¯s arms to swing through the air, and at the same time, the gun went off with a deafening bang.


    The inevitable. The impossible.


    Though they weren¡¯t bound by the Nexus, the Reiter froze, sensing the sudden change in his Spiegel as readily as if they¡¯d been deep in conversation. He spun, slowly this time, as if in a daze.


    A hairless ageless creature that knew no other way to seek warmth than to embrace herself. And from her centre¡ªthe core toward which her head, neck, and limbs bent¡ªnow spread a lurid red substance.


    Blood. Fresh. Familiar. Full of life. Fading life. The sight of it was made only more grotesque by the juxtaposition. Only heightened the wrongness of Silon¡¯s reality. Of humanity¡¯s lies.


    Then a beep. Unbroken. Soft yet unmistakable. The termination of vital signs.


    Zelen screamed.


    ¡°WHAT DID YOU DO?¡±


    He rounded on the Kurator who, with all the fight gone out of him, merely slumped against the back of another container, service pistol dangling limply from one trembling hand. Zelen shook him, with his rage demanding an answer, an reaction, an enemy for him to kill.


    ¡°What did you do? Give her back! Give me back my Silon!¡±


    But the man ignored him, stared past him, with vacant eyes pointed only to the open sustainment unit labelled ¡®433¡¯. A unit he must¡¯ve opened, cleaned, and serviced a hundred times. A unit he was seeing for the first time.


    Zelen dropped the Kurator roughly onto the floor. His thoughts turned to more urgent matters. The mission at hand. There was still a way. A way to save her. He didn¡¯t know how he knew this, but the truth of it was as self-evident as the roiling abyss within his chest.


    He knew, as surely as he¡¯d known anything else before, that he needed his Eidolon. He needed the Nexus. And he needed it now.


    He broke into a sprint, paying the Kurator no more mind. As he ran out of the room, he heard the report of another gunshot, but he didn¡¯t stop to wonder where the bullet might have landed. No more. No more extraneous thoughts that could only distract from the mission.


    The hangar was still deserted. Still full of unmanned Eidolons. He made a beeline for his ash-laden phantom. Threw himself into the cockpit.


    He ignored the console, ignored the HUD. Forget the systems check. He needed the Nexus. Only the Nexus could save Silon.


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    As his senses attuned to those of his Eidolon¡¯s, he searched within the endless expanse, a graveyard of the universe¡¯s memories. He searched for the divergent stream. The other possibility. A new cascade of [ENTROPY].


    He couldn¡¯t find it. Nothing changed. Or rather, it didn¡¯t change enough. He was still inside his Eidolon, still forgoing a systems check, still frantically searching for a reset, a way to put Silon back.


    He was stuck¡ªtrapped¡ªinside an endless loop. An endless loop of fresh grief and aimless desperation.


    Each time, he discovered anew the reality and permanence of Silon¡¯s death¡ªof his own hand in it. Each time, he carried with him the cumulative scars of all previous loops, forever etched upon and within vaults of Bone. He couldn¡¯t forget. The Nexus wouldn¡¯t let him forget.


    Zelen¡¯s world was a blinding flash of ghostly blue. And the deaths that awaited everywhere and everywhen.


    The flash extended out from his stump of a left arm, then condensed into an explosion that incinerated another Eidolon in the neighbouring bay. No armament. Only the Nexus heeding a Reiter¡¯s call. A call louder than it¡¯d ever been.


    The next blast came from the intact right arm and took out two more Eidolons, one of them undocked. Then even his central chassis erupted in waves of uncontrolled energy, translating his anguish, direct from the source. Zelen¡¯s world was fire and brimstone, and he himself was the fire, the brimstone, wrath incarnate.


    He killed and killed. He didn¡¯t know how to stop. Didn¡¯t want to stop. The Reiter sees into the domain of WAR, and calls forth destruction and domination. No Reiter before him, no human before him, had ever achieved such purity. A pure and limitless conduit of destruction and domination.


    Suddenly, his world of ghostly blue shifted, marred by a red stain. An Eidolon. Live. Moving. A crimson frame streaked with the coils of a centipede.


    Spindrift thrust himself into the storm of Zelen¡¯s destructive energy. A round from LA [WINCHESTER] cut through the storm before bursting into Kingfisher¡¯s SPU.


    Zelen¡¯s world was the darkness inside his cockpit. And the roiling abyss that flared from his chest. He could still hear the Nexus, and the Nexus him. He could still fight. Still kill.


    He raised his arm, willing it to explode and disappear the crimson centipede that coiled before him. But the centipede was faster, with its opponent having crystallized into one [INEVITABLE] wave of destruction. Spindrift¡¯s right arm swung, resolute and unflinching, directly into Kingfisher¡¯s central chassis.


    [MJOLNIR] buried itself into Zelen¡¯s chest, into the abyss that roiled within. Then the ensuing shockwave dissipated the blackness.


    Zelen, with any and all Reserves utterly spent, felt his connection with the Nexus dim then extinguish altogether. The Nexus deserted him, as quickly and completely as it had once fused with him, and left him an empty vessel.


    Finally.


    Finally I can rest. I can forget.


    But as Zelen faded into oblivion, the last thing he saw wasn¡¯t the crimson frame of his saviour but redness of an entirely different kind. A lurid red that spread across a grey barren field.


    ~February 20th, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator HQ, Terminal One~


    ¡°Here it comes, ladies and gents, the mother of all hissy fits, just as advertised.¡±


    ¡°AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH¡ª¡±


    ¡°Zelen! Listen to me! It¡¯s finished! It¡¯s done! You¡¯re safe, you¡¯re¡ª¡±


    ¡°Wolfeye! Get in position, and pay extra attention to his right shoulder. That¡¯s his favourite. Jockey, get in there, son, flank him from the other side! Spindrift, you know what to do.¡±


    ¡°YOU LIED TO ME! WHAT DID YOU DO WITH SILON? GIVE HER BACK! PUT HER BACK TOGETHER!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Zelen, but you need to forget about Silon for one second and focus on yourself! Focus on the here and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Asena! It¡¯s too dangerous! You must [UNRAVEL] while you still have the¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare, Corporal. Not when we¡¯re about to have our Kingfisher back. You saw it yourself. You saw the power¡ª¡±


    ¡°WHAT DID YOU SHOW ME? WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME? LIES, ALL OF IT! WHERE¡¯S SILON? I NEED TO¡ª¡±


    ¡°Silon¡¯s gone, Zelen! I¡¯m sorry, but there¡¯s nothing I can do to change that. But that doesn¡¯t mean¡­ You still have¡­ You¡¯re still you.¡±


    ¡°Wait for a sign, boys. Sit tight and wait for a sign. The moment we see the glory of the Nexus flow back into our boy is when we make our move.¡±


    ¡°¡­ I¡¯LL KILL YOU! I¡¯LL KILL YOU ALL FOR WHAT YOU¡¯VE DONE TO SILON! I WON¡¯T LEAVE A SINGLE¡ª¡±


    ¡°No! Zelen, please. Please listen to me. There¡¯s another way. You always have another way, if you¡¯d only¡ª¡±


    ¡°DID SILON HAVE ANOTHER WAY? DID YOU GIVE HER A CHOICE? MONSTERS, ALL OF YOU. MONSTERS THAT NEED EXTERMINATING¡­¡±


    ¡°No, Zelen, please¡­¡±


    ¡°Get ready, boys.¡±


    A sharp keening filled Asena¡¯s headset, and she winced in her seat. She felt someone¡¯s hand¡ªher father¡¯s?¡ªgrip her arm. And then¡ª


    ¡°Now, boys, move in! Hahaaa, look at him go! Fucking beautiful!¡±


    ¡°Zelen? Zelen! Answer me!¡±


    No answer. And despite her sensory deprivation, Asena saw and felt, clear as day, a blinding flash of ghostly blue and the accompanying roil of a blackened abyss.


    ¡°No¡­ no, don¡¯t do this¡­¡±


    ¡°No time to mope, Corporal! You¡¯re up again. You got us this far, now finish the job. If you want to stop your fianc¨¦ and your brother from killing each other, that is.¡±


    Makiri. Zelen. The yawning chasm within Asena¡¯s chest. Finish the job? What was she to do? For all her self-imposed mission¡ªof healing Zelen, guiding him to the truth, helping him move forward¡ªshe¡¯d only succeeded in repeating the ultimate nightmare, of recycling the moment of his total destruction.


    This time, he won¡¯t have to do it alone. I won¡¯t let him do it alone.


    How naive she¡¯d been. And how utterly unprepared.


    Yet, even in her paralysis, Asena recalled something the General had said, moments before her latest and most terrible of [EVOCATIONS].


    You¡¯ll know what to do. You already have the solution. I¡¯m sure of it.


    And as much as the thought of it only filled her with more despair, she realized that the General had been right. She¡¯d always had the solution. After all, she, like her father before her, had always been among the brightest and most dedicated of Kurators.


    The subject had regained his attunement to the Nexus. Fully and spectacularly. Now, it was time to readjust his relationship with the Nexus, lest he let his latest Psychic collapse burn it all away.


    Asena¡¯s sternum ignited with the chaos of a thousand memories. She reached out and grabbed hold of every thread she could find¡ªhers, his, anyone¡¯s¡ªand channelled every ounce of her Reserves. Into her loudest and most terrible call to the Nexus.


    [REWIRE].

 48. RECKONING 8

    ~???~


    ~???~


    I sit in a corner in the back of the room, hoping that no one notices me. I want to be invisible. But the man¡ªthe teacher¡ªalways knows where I am. Always sees me.


    Even today, he turns his smile toward me: bright, warm, expectant. It¡¯s a smile that fills the room. It¡¯s a smile that begets more smiles.


    ¡°Not you, ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€, I know you know the answer. Zelen, why don¡¯t you take a stab?¡±


    Zelen. It¡¯s not the name my mother gave me, but it¡¯s the one she uses. The one my aunties use. The one the teacher calls me by.


    I asked her once: if not you, then who? Who gave me my name? Her only answer¡ªone of the few lucid thoughts she¡¯s able to string together: no one you¡¯ll ever need to know, no one who¡¯ll ever bother with you.


    Even so, it¡¯s still my name. The one the teacher calls me by. So, even though I want nothing more than to be invisible, I try my best to answer. I squint at the numbers and symbols on the chalkboard. I try to recall yesterday¡¯s lessons. I try to¡ª


    ¡°This is boring!¡± The shout issues from the opposite corner of the room. One of the other boys, the biggest one of them all. ¡°Why do we need to know any of this anyway?¡±


    The attention shifts away from me and onto the opposite corner of the room. I¡¯m invisible again. I feel relief. But it¡¯s not all relief. Something else lingers in my chest.


    ¡°Why should we strive to know anything?¡± The teacher¡¯s smile never wavers, even when he¡¯s challenged by the biggest boy in the class, a boy nearly as big as the teacher himself. ¡°Remember that story I told the other day? About the room that keeps getting messier on its own?¡±


    ¡°Entropy!¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€. That¡¯s the one. What if I told you that up here¡±¡ªthe teacher taps his head¡ª¡°your minds, they¡¯re kind of like rooms themselves. Except these rooms are much bigger than the ones you sleep in at home.¡±


    Murmurs up and down rows of children. Exchanged glances. Giggles and blank stares.


    ¡°I can tell you don¡¯t believe me, but just humour me for one second. Yes, these rooms, they can be as big and messy as you want them to be, full of all the possibilities life and the world have to offer. You could say that¡¯s my goal. I want to make the rooms inside your heads just a little bigger¡ªjust a little messier¡ªbefore you go on with the rest of your lives.¡±


    Another lesson comes and goes. Another lesson where I¡¯m largely invisible. Relief. Something else that lingers in my chest.


    It¡¯s time for me to go home. To my aunties. To my mother, if it¡¯s to be that kind of evening.


    ¡°Something the matter, Zelen?¡±


    Before I know it, I¡¯m alone in the classroom. Not alone. The teacher is still here, smiling down at me. ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€ also stands by the door. Waiting. Watching.


    I should go home. The place where it¡¯s easiest for me to be invisible. But something lingers in my chest, and therefore I linger inside the classroom.


    ¡°Would you like to come home with us? Sarnai managed to bring back some fish cakes from work. You could help us finish them.¡±


    The teacher smiles: bright, warm, expectant. ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€ watches from the door. There¡¯s nowhere for me to hide. But somehow, I feel like I don¡¯t need to hide. Not anymore.


    I nod.


    ~???~


    ~???~


    You chase me through the alleyways, sure of foot and full of laughter.


    Your laughter chases me through twists and shortcuts you know like the back of your hand. Your laughter drives me out of hiding, out of the shadows and into the light.


    In the light, your eyes ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€. In the open, your laughter floats with all the levity of an afternoon dream.


    Your hand reaches for mine. Your gravity pulls me in. Your weight shifts, and we both tumble, onto pavement you know like the back of your hand.


    In your surprise, your laughter takes on the vibrations of a whispered secret. In your delight, your face ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€.


    Your hand stays on mine, won¡¯t let go. Your warmth blends with my trepidations. Your breath gives shape to the rise and fall of your chest¡ªof my own chest.


    In your presence, I no longer wish to be invisible. In your company, I dream of possibilities, of a room that fills and grows with a constant warmth, yours and mine.


    I want to be seen. I want you to see me.


    I never want you to look away.


    ~???~


    ~???~


    A hush falls over the room as the official returns. Flanked by two more uniformed men, rifles slung over their shoulders. No ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€.


    ¡°Where is she?¡± Sarnai is the first to stand, her face drawn into a scowl aimed at the armed men that march into her house. ¡°Where is my daughter?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s Ascended,¡± the official answers and leaves it at that. In no rush to elaborate.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t answer my question. Where is she? Can we see her?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the official says and doesn¡¯t elaborate.


    As Bateer restrains and placates his wife, the official turns to me.


    ¡°You. You have a name?¡±


    ¡°Ze¡­ Zelen.¡±


    ¡°And surname?¡±


    I think about this. No immediate answer comes to mind. I almost say Tenger, but Bateer steps forward and puts a hand on my shoulder.


    ¡°He¡­ doesn¡¯t have one, owing to the circumstances of his birth. Sir, might I ask¡ª¡±


    ¡°Zelen of no surname. You are to come with me. Consider yourself fortunate. You¡¯ll have your Ascension Standard after all.¡±


    ¡°But sir¡­¡± Bateer¡¯s grip on my shoulder tightens. ¡°Zelen¡¯s not on the census. Are you sure this is necessary?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not your place to speculate on what is or isn¡¯t necessary. Come, child, with me.¡±


    I¡¯m scared. I want to stay with Bateer and Sarnai. But something else stirs in my chest. If I follow this man, would he lead me to ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€? Would I be allowed to see her?


    We walk out of the house. Only the two of us: the official and I. As I look back, one of the armed men shuts the door in my face, with the Tengers still inside their house.


    The Ascension Standard is nothing like what I¡¯d imagined. I¡¯m led to a dimly lit room with more uniformed men and women. I¡¯m made to sit in the biggest chair I¡¯ve ever seen. A rubber band, a large needle, a sharp stab, then something ghostly blue flows into me through a clear tube. Or is it flowing out?


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    Then something cold and metallic comes down on my head, and I¡¯m thrown into pitch blackness.


    In the darkness, I¡¯m invisible. In the darkness, I¡¯m safe, I¡¯m calm, I¡¯m nothing. In the darkness, I feel relief.


    But that¡¯s not all. Not anymore. Something lingers in my chest, stirs within it, reaches outward.


    This is the same darkness from which ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€ Ascended. If I were to join her¡ªto see her again¡ªI need to do the same. Ascend. Show that I¡¯m worthy.


    I wade through an endless expanse of darkness. Of silence. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m looking for. I just know that I need to find it. A possibility. A stream. A cascade.


    The darkness impedes my progress. The silence bogs me down. There¡¯s some force in the universe, in its endless expanse, that pushes me back. Reminding me of my smallness, of my basest impetus to curl up and be invisible¡ªbe nothing. Not just a reminder, but a warning. Not just a warning, but a judgment. This is where you belong. Do not overstep your bounds.


    But boundaries are made to be broken. Limitations are meant to be tested. Fill the room. Grow it. Make it bigger and messier than it has any right to be.


    Heed my call. I whisper. Heed this one call, and I shall forever be your servant. To wield my powers as the universe wills it. To save. To destroy. Heed my call, and I will be and do anything you ask of me.


    The Nexus whispers back. Life, the planet, the universe, and all the infinite possibilities therein and beyond.


    [ENTROPY].


    ~???~


    ~???~


    A hairless ageless creature bends toward its core to hug itself. A lurid red stain spreads upon a grey barren field.


    ~???~


    ~???~


    A fragile butterfly disappears into a whirlwind of metal, smoke, and blackness. An obsidian monster looms, poised to tear off the glass wings of the butterfly, again and again and again and ag


    ~???~


    ~???~


    The sound of music. The smoke from a bonfire. Sweat. Laughter. Desire. The cloying sweetness of honey. The lingering heat of a lover¡¯s kiss.


    ~???~


    ~???~


    An ash-laden phantom flies into the fog of war. Into the planet¡¯s haze. Fight. Survive. Kill. Fight. Survive. Kill. A warrior remembers. A Reiter puts pen to paper. The Meridians are the branches upon which Life blooms.


    ~???~


    ~???~


    He found her at the far end of the garden, standing next to the largest painting. She was alone, and wore a faraway look that immediately reminded him something of himself.


    The faraway look snapped into one of mortification the moment their eyes met, and he hastened to put her at ease.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to see a familiar face,¡± he said the first thing that came to mind, then turned his attention to the painting itself: the centrepiece. Words failed him then, for he couldn¡¯t quite decide what exactly he was looking at.


    ¡°It¡¯s an expressionist piece,¡± she said breathlessly, with barely disguised terror. ¡°Um¡­ this yellow bit is a duck. These lighter strokes are the wings of a butterfly. They¡¯re, um, swimming on a pond. Well, one of them is swimming. And the other one is¡ª¡±


    ¡°Staying.¡±


    She was shocked into silence, though some of the flush faded from her cheeks. He met her eyes¡ªonly briefly¡ªbefore snapping his gaze back onto the painting. He felt his own face flush.


    ¡°Sorry if I¡¯ve said anything weird. It¡¯s just¡­ to me, it looks like the butterfly wants to stick around. To stay with the duck.¡±


    ¡°No, don¡¯t apologize. And please, tell me more. I¡¯d love to hear what you think of my painting.¡±


    He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Once he saw the painting for what it was¡ªonce it fell into place for him¡ªthe words came as easily as his thoughts. He had the strange sensation that the thoughts didn¡¯t entirely belong to him, as if they were the whispered echoes of someone else¡¯s memories.


    But he also knew such delusions to be extraneous to his mission. The mission of being present for his fianc¨¦e.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know much about art, but I think I get this one. Two lonely souls that found each other, and even though they couldn¡¯t be more different, one thing they share is this sense of belonging. I don¡¯t mean that in, like, a possessive way. It¡¯s just, when they¡¯re in each other¡¯s company, they feel like they belong.¡±


    She fell into silence again, her expression too blank for him to make heads or tails of. When she remained like this for some time, he panicked and stammered, ¡°Sorry! Like I said, I really don¡¯t know anything about art. Please don¡¯t take any offense if I¡¯ve¡ª¡±


    He froze at the sudden touch. Her hand on his arm. Even through layers of fabric, the warmth lingered. Relief. Something more. Something less.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know how much this means to me,¡± she said. The echoed whispers of someone else¡¯s memories. ¡°But that¡¯s because you¡ªwe¡ªdon¡¯t really know anything about each other.¡±


    And for the first time since he¡¯d known his fianc¨¦e¡ªfor the first time in lifetimes¡ªhe saw her smile: soft, warm, inviting.


    He smiled back.


    ¡°Then maybe it¡¯s high time we made an effort to correct that, Asena.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like that very much, Zelen.¡±


    ~February 20th, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Kurator HQ, Terminal One~


    The metallic keening faded into the darkness. The blinding flash settled into a pale blue haze. The roiling abyss receded into the sea of someone else¡¯s memories.


    When she came back to herself¡ªfor she was still her, Corporal Asena Shiranui of the Kurator Corps¡ªshe had just enough Reserves left over for one last scan of her subject¡¯s idea and history of self.


    Webs upon webs of interconnected threads. Pliable yet resilient. Well-consolidated. An infrastructure of sound and uniform integrity.


    There was nothing left for her to [EVOKE]. No extraneous fragments for her to [UNRAVEL]. Zelen Athelstan was whole. Zelen Athelstan was present. In the here and now.


    ¡°Zelen? Can you hear me?¡±


    A stretch of static momentarily clouded her mind with doubts (hope) again, but it soon broke, making way for a voice she knew well (didn¡¯t recognize).


    ¡°Loud and clear, Asena.¡±


    Loud and clear. Polite. Respectful. All the qualities she¡¯d come to expect from their chats. Asena felt relief. Yet there was also something else. Something that lingered, something that clawed deeper and deeper into the widening chasm within her chest.


    ¡°Asena?¡±


    ¡°¡­ Yes?¡±


    ¡°Good, you¡¯re still there. I just wanted to say I¡¯m sorry about earlier. I seem to have disconnected for a moment, but I¡¯m back now. Back for good¡­ I hope.¡±


    ¡°¡­ I¡¯m glad to hear it.¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s all thanks to you. Thank you for sticking by me these last few weeks. Thank you for never giving up on me. I know I didn¡¯t make things easy for you, and for that, I¡¯d like to apologize¡ªmaybe¡­ in person? If we could¡ª¡±


    His words cut abruptly¡ªmercifully¡ªinto more static. Static Asena could deal with. Static didn¡¯t call into question everything she believed¡ªabout Zelen, about the war, about herself¡­


    ¡°Sorry, Asena, the General just called in to say he wants a debrief. We¡¯ll have to continue this some other time. I guess I¡¯ll¡­ see you around?¡±


    ¡°¡­ See you, Zelen.¡±


    Suddenly more exhausted than she¡¯d ever been, Asena wanted nothing more than to fling herself off the workstation. But while the restraints held her to her seat, she remained at the mercy of voices that floated in from the darkness. And sure enough, the next voice to announce itself with glee was the last one she wanted to hear.


    ¡°Corporal Shiranui. We¡¯ll have a proper debrief in due time, but I just wanted to pop in and congratulate you on a job marvellously done. Mission fucking accomplished, and you were the star of the show, make no mistake about it.¡±


    ¡°¡­ You¡¯ve got a lot of nerve to be gloating, after what you put Zelen through.¡±


    ¡°What I put him through? How do you mean? I thought you were the one treating him, and seems to me you did a bang-up job of it.¡±


    ¡°You know full well what I mean. You knew I¡¯d be forced to [REWIRE] him!¡±


    ¡°Well, naturally.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t my father brief you? About the high failure rates? The risk of permanent Psychic failure?¡±


    ¡°He did.¡±


    ¡°Then why? Why would you still go through with this? When there was so much at stake? When Zelen¡ª¡±


    Asena froze. For even as she levelled her accusations, realization dawned on her, one that just made her horrible nightmare of a day even worse.


    [REWIRE] hadn¡¯t been the last resort she¡¯d always assumed it to be. It¡¯d been plan A, right from the word go, from the moment this mission was conceived by the dark twisted mind of Fenix Duodecim.


    ¡°It seems to me as though you¡¯ve just managed to catch on, so I¡¯ll keep this short. You¡¯re right, Corporal Shiranui. Your [EVOCATION] sessions have been vital to restoring Kingfisher¡¯s Nexus attunement, but that in itself was never the end goal. Because what good is a Reiter who can¡¯t¡ªor won¡¯t¡ªfight and kill? A reshuffling of the mind. A fresh identity. Free of all the useless baggage, the extraneous memories. We¡¯ve got ourselves a brand new warrior, ready and eager for round two, and do you know the best part? You do, don¡¯t you? Little miss know-it-all¡­¡±


    Asena did know. Had just realized. And wished fervently for her own memories to be wiped clean.


    ¡°Now that our hero has gone and forgotten all about his imaginary girlfriend, he¡¯s back on the market. Oh, we¡¯ll give him a few days first to work the rust off and get his game back. Make sure there¡¯s no more funny business inside that fragile noggin of his. But after that, it¡¯ll be time to find him a new partner.


    ¡°By now, you know as well as anyone what a lonely place a battlefield can be. And as much as we like to play tough, when push comes to shove, there¡¯s no better cure for that loneliness than the bond between a Reiter and his Spiegel.¡±

 49. RISING 1

    ~February 21st, 140 AH~


    ~Upper Akra, the Orchard~


    At the confluence of the four Tetrarch estates, and demarcating the north-south divide in the boulevard that led toward the JFB and Middle Akra beyond, stood a large crabapple tree. It¡¯d been ¡®planted¡¯ at around the same time as Akropolis¡¯s founding. Like everything else inside the city, it was immune to the changing of the seasons, perennially saturated with bold pink blossoms. And like every other ¡®fruit tree¡¯, it bore no actual fruit.


    Asena had always found the crabapple tree inoffensive if not particularly pretty. Something to break up the scenery, offer a bit of colour and contour to an otherwise austere block of pavement and metal fencing. The artist inside her could appreciate the intended function and leave it at that.


    Over the last several weeks, however, she¡¯d become increasingly sensitive to Akropolis¡¯s lies¡ªits facade of normalcy. There was no going back. Not after the things she¡¯d learned and experienced first-hand. Not after she¡¯d seen the lone red flower that shivered somewhere amidst the planet¡¯s haze.


    Today, the sight of the florid crabapple blossoms only served to widen the chasm within her chest. She thought she might feel more: perhaps guilt, perhaps even anger. But today, she felt only the hollowness of defeat.


    She was tired. Oh, so tired.


    And she hated herself for it. Was this really the end? Had she given up? If so, what exactly had she given up on? What was left for her to fight for?


    As if in answer, a figure emerged from the road that led out of the Athelstan Estate, strolling toward the Orchard at a leisurely pace.


    Under the domed and overcast sky, Lieutenant Zelen Athelstan cut a startlingly unremarkable figure. Gone were the uniforms, the Nexa-Suits, or the metallic frame of an Eidolon, replaced by a collarless button-up shirt that hung loosely over his somewhat atrophied body. He was a little shorter than Asena remembered, perhaps due in no small part to the slight slouch in his narrow shoulders. Though he walked with the easy grace of a seasoned soldier, there was also a distinct meekness to his gait, practiced from a lifetime of striving for invisibility.


    Asena had been Zelen Athelstan. Thought his thoughts, felt his feelings, killed his kills. Despite that, she felt as though she was seeing him for the first time. Yet at the same time, she felt as though she was seeing an old friend. The whispered echoes of someone else¡¯s memories.


    ¡°Hello.¡± The phantom greeted her with an awkward half-wave. ¡°I hope you haven¡¯t been waiting long.¡±


    Asena shook her head. She tried to smile, and managed only a forlorn stare. Zelen, understandably, didn¡¯t seem to know how to react. Already searching for a lifeboat, his eyes darted about the place until they settled on the crabapple tree that stood over them both.


    ¡°Feels like forever since I¡¯ve looked at this tree,¡± he murmured, ¡°but I guess that¡¯s only because I haven¡¯t been back here in forever. That¡¯s one good thing about Akropolis, I suppose. No matter what I¡¯ve been up to, no matter what¡¯s happening out there, things inside the city never change. Like this tree.¡±


    Asena nodded slowly, but she didn¡¯t know why. She certainly couldn¡¯t agree with Zelen¡¯s sentiment¡ªalthough she might have, had this conversation taken place just a few weeks ago.


    ¡°Something the matter, Asena?¡± Zelen asked with a muted smile. ¡°I seem to remember you being more talkative than this.¡±


    Do you? Do you really remember me?


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Zelen. I¡¯m more worried about you. How are you feeling? After¡­ after everything.¡±


    Solemn Zelen. Polite Zelen. He looked away, not to avoid Asena¡¯s gaze, but to give himself the space to think. To give her question due consideration.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ good, I think? Some things still get a bit fuzzy if I really try to focus on them, but your father says that¡¯s to be expected. I think the important bits are all there, though¡­ thanks to you.¡±


    ¡°What are they?¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s important to you, Zelen?¡±


    This time, he held her gaze. For the answer was already staring him in the face.


    ¡°You, for one.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°Of course. You¡¯re my family.¡±


    Asena drew in a sharp breath. Then she bit down on her suddenly trembling lips.


    ¡°Asena? Are you sure you¡¯re okay?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ Yes, I¡¯m fine.¡±


    Once again, she failed to bolster her lie with a smile. Her mind rang instead with laughters that echoed from the halls of someone else¡¯s memories. You did have a family, Zelen. And that family wasn¡¯t me.


    Even as her heart broke for her fianc¨¦, enough of her Kurator¡¯s academic curiosity remained to launch an entirely different train of thought. Standing before her was a living breathing case study of a ¡®successfully¡¯ [REWIRED] subject. And she couldn¡¯t deny her own fascination with the inner workings of Zelen¡¯s reconstructed mind. For there seemed to be a discernible rhyme and reason to how the memories¡ªtrue, false, and otherwise¡ªhad fallen into place.


    The pre-[REWIRE] Zelen had harboured a secret yet powerful yearning for family, companionship, and belonging, one he¡¯d channelled toward various figures in his life, not the least of whom was Tsetseg Tenger¡ªin both of her forms. The post-[REWIRE] Zelen lost all of these points of attachment: no Tengers, no Megha, and no Silon. Was it possible then that his mind had concocted a new companion to latch onto? That the object of this new connection was none other than Asena herself?


    ¡°¡ªna. Asena? Did you hear me?¡±


    ¡°S¡ªsorry, Zelen, say again?¡±


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    ¡°I asked if you might have a chat to your father.¡±


    ¡°¡­ About what?¡±


    ¡°About¡­ planning for a wedding. Our wedding.¡±


    Asena couldn¡¯t breathe. Her next words came out in a choked whisper.


    ¡°What¡­ why the sudden urgency?¡±


    Zelen chuckled, as muted as his smile.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been engaged for 12 years, Asena. The question we ought to be asking is what¡¯s taken us so long? I already had a chance to talk to my father last night, and he thinks it¡¯s a good idea. So¡­ if Colonel Shiranui agrees, we could¡ªAsena? What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    The phantom rushed to her side. Put a hand upon her cheek. Brushed away a tear.


    His touch, burning hot, seared itself into her skin. His touch, freezing cold, made her shudder from head to toe. Wasn¡¯t this what she always wanted? Wasn¡¯t this the life she¡¯d always envisioned?


    But she knew.


    She knew the man before her wasn¡¯t the Zelen Athelstan she loved and so desperately tried to save. And she knew herself to be but the frosted reflection of someone else¡¯s memories.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Zelen.¡± She said this with a teary smile. The lie came easier now. It all suddenly fell into place. It was no different to what she¡¯d been doing for several weeks. ¡°You caught me by surprise is all.¡±


    He nodded. Solemn Zelen. Earnest Zelen.


    ¡°To tell you the truth, I¡¯ve surprised myself a bit. But¡­ this feels right. It¡¯s the right thing to do. I always thought the war came first. That everything else had to wait. But I realize now¡­ I had it the other way around.¡±


    The war. Of course. It always came back to the war. The Reiter sees into the domain of WAR.


    ¡°We¡¯re at war because there¡¯s something to fight for. Something to protect, to carry into the future, whatever that might look like. Will you be that for me, Asena? Someone for me to fight for. My family.¡±


    Beside the young couple, the crabapple tree bloomed, as pink as it¡¯d ever been and ever will be. Yet, under the domed and overcast sky, Zelen¡¯s muted smile had a strange pall over it. A shadow cast by a tree from someone else¡¯s memories. The same shadow now crept over the chasm within Asena¡¯s chest.


    She smiled. A false smile for a false vow.


    ¡°I will.¡±


    ~February 21st, 140 AH~


    ~Upper Akra, Shiranui Estate~


    Asena painted, with fear in her heart and doubts on her mind. She painted as if in a trance, bringing to life strange corridors and dimly lit corners.


    The room¡ªfor that was what the painting had always wanted to show¡ªwas a dense cloud of grey metal and blue smoke. The cloud parted for¡ªcentred around¡ªa lone figure that held a blotch of black in their hands.


    The blackness was a handgun, its shape clearer than ever. Its barrel pointed straight out of the canvas, as if at the painter herself. The figure that held it wore the tan fatigues of a Kurator. And the Kurator¡¯s face¡ª


    Asena¡¯s brush fell limply to her side. She¡¯d finished the painting. And staring back at her was her own face. Expressionless. Eyes tinged by the grey-and-blue that surrounded her. The handgun, held rigidly in trembling hands, pointed to¡­ what?


    What was she so terrified of that her only recourse was violence? What was she so sure of that she knew violence to be the answer?


    She put down the brush and picked up a pen in its stead. As she did with all of her finished paintings, she went to the back of the canvas, wrote down the date, and signed it with her name. Then she gave it a title.


    Mirror.


    The mirror had shown her something she couldn¡¯t have seen on her own. It reflected deep-seated fears, hidden desires, and voiceless anger.


    She knew what she must do. But to do it, she first needed an ally.


    ~February 21st, 140 AH~


    ~The Foothills~


    The overcast sky, freed from the dome that covered Akropolis, gradated into the evening purple mist. Ophis stared up at it from his makeshift seat next to the scrap heap, his face lit and shadowed by the fire that warmed him and his companions.


    His rucksack had emptied, and nearly all the Foothillers had gone back to their tents. All except Bateer and Sarnai Tenger, who sat watching the same changing sky.


    His attention shifted toward the couple and took on an admiring gaze. The diminutive Bateer had always impressed him with his resilience in the face of overwhelming despair, but even more remarkable was Sarnai¡¯s transformation. The woman, with head clean-shaven, dressed herself in fresh rags, free of grime and the miasma of imminent death. She was what she was: proud, headstrong, and far more talkative than Ophis could¡¯ve guessed.


    ¡°I think I¡¯ve just remembered something else,¡± she now broke the silence. ¡°There was a boy with us. Maybe someone Bateer took in from his school. I remember he had an unusual obsession with fish cakes. I remember¡­ he and our daughter were close. Inseparable, even.¡±


    ¡°Do you remember his face? Name, perhaps?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°No. That¡¯s where things get¡­ difficult. It¡¯s strange, isn¡¯t it? You¡¯d think those would be the first things you remember about someone you cared about. Their face. Their name.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps that¡¯s also why those are the first things they make you forget.¡±


    Sarnai¡¯s face fell, along with her words. Ophis watched this with a pang of regret. He¡¯d been told that he had a habit of souring conversations without meaning to. A habit he¡¯d yet to break after decades of trying.


    ¡°Is it not painful for you?¡± he asked, his curiosity winning out over his desire for self-improvement. ¡°All this remembering?¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°Then why do you persist?¡±


    She gave him a discerning look across the crackling flames, then spoke slowly, ¡°I think¡­ they¡¯re worth the pain. The memories I mean, such as they are. It hurts to know what I¡¯ve lost. But without them¡­ I¡¯m nothing. I¡¯d rather be hurt than be nothing.¡±


    Ophis nodded, himself lost in a sea of painful memories. He, unlike these Foothillers, had never been subjected to the cruelty of losing them. And as such, he had a duty. The duty to honour the phantoms from these memories the only way he knew how.


    ¡°It¡¯s not all doom and gloom, Mr Gaertner,¡± now the husband spoke up, flames dancing upon his toothy grin. ¡°Like you say, picking up the pieces of our past has been painful, torturous even. But it¡¯s also given us hope. If we once had a past to hang our hat on, that means we¡¯re also capable of building a future.¡±


    Ophis nodded again, smiling to match his companion¡¯s grin. ¡°And what sort of future might you envision for yourself, Bateer?¡±


    ¡°Well, in my previous life, I seemed to have enjoyed the sound of my own voice, especially when there were a bunch of ears listening with me. So, maybe I¡¯ll start there. Rally the people here, get us working together. Even if¡­ even if the city might never take us back, we could perhaps build something worthwhile out here.¡±


    ¡°That does sound like a worthy goal. If there¡¯s any way I could¡ª¡±


    Ophis suddenly winced, and braced himself against a surge of pain.


    No matter how many times he¡¯d felt it¡ªhad welcomed it¡ªhe could never quite get used to the pain. A call from the Nexus, speaking directly through his Meridians. This time, the signals gathered and focused upon his right temple, upon the pocket he¡¯d allocated to a certain young Kurator.


    Across the flames, the Tengers tensed, alarm¡ªand fear¡ªwrit large across both of their faces. Ophis couldn¡¯t blame them for their sudden mistrust, not after what the couple had been through¡ªnot after all that the Nexus and its servants had taken from them.


    With eyes glowing ghostly blue from the Anamnium that surged within, the serpent stood and turned toward the dome of Akropolis.


    ¡°I apologize for the abruptness, but I must take your leave,¡± he announced. ¡°There¡¯s someone calling for me. An [ALLY] that needs my help.¡±

 50. RISING 2

    ~February 22nd, 140 AH~


    ~Middle Akra, District Arboris~


    She found him at the end of an unmarked alleyway, dressed in a courier¡¯s outfit and leaning against an alarmingly grimy wall that doubled as the back of a restaurant. As soon as their eyes met, he waved with the same hand that held a lit cigarette. Then he puffed and blew out smoke as he watched her approach.


    Already on edge at the prospect of a secret meeting, Asena¡¯s irritable frown deepened as she came to a stop, a good arm¡¯s length away from both the wall and Ophis¡¯s inscrutable smile. She subconsciously drew her messenger bag closer to herself, as if its contents could protect her from the surrounding grime and smoke.


    ¡°Good to see you, Ms Shiranui. Hope you didn¡¯t have too much trouble getting here.¡±


    Her eyes widened for a second at the blatant use of her name. But she quickly decided that the time for caution had long passed, especially as far as this serpent was concerned. Now it was time for the two of them to speak plainly and openly. The time for answers. Starting with¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised that you smoke. Don¡¯t Gaertners constantly preach abstinence?¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯re old enough to know that people don¡¯t always practice what they preach,¡± the man replied airily as he blew out more smoke. ¡°Besides, this complements our disguises rather well, don¡¯t you think? Just two couriers on a break, shooting the breeze. In fact, would you like to try one?¡±


    ¡°I would not,¡± Asena said icily, ¡°and right now, I¡¯ve neither the time nor the inclination to shoot the breeze with anyone, let alone with you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes.¡± Ophis¡¯s lips curled into something approaching a smirk. ¡°Straight to business as always. You¡¯re nothing if not consistent, Ms Shiranui; I wonder where you get that from. Anyway, I suppose you¡¯d be wanting some answers. Starting with a proper introduction, perhaps? You can still call me Ophis or whatever you¡¯d like, but my real name is¡ª¡±


    ¡°Akash Varana.¡±


    The man¡¯s half-smirk turned into a full one. ¡°I see you haven¡¯t been idle. Done some digging, have you?¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t need much digging, to be honest. You come from a Sehermensch family famous for their connection with the Vaktas that goes back generations. On top of that, you¡¯re a Gaertner that went AWOL, before being declared missing, before¡­ being declared dead. Your disappearance wasn¡¯t exactly low-profile, Captain Varana. I was just too young to know much about it when it happened.¡±


    Akash Varana took a long draw from his cigarette, expression suddenly distant. Asena knew the look well.


    ¡°You left a wife and child,¡± she went on, voice unintentionally hushed. ¡°Do they¡­ do they know you¡¯re still alive?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he said flatly, ¡°and I trust you¡¯ll do your part in ensuring it stays that way.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ why?¡±


    ¡°It was what had to be done. One outposted Gaertner disappearing into the haze¡­ unusual but not implausible. But if he somehow took his family with him? Would¡¯ve drawn too much attention.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you miss them?¡±


    ¡°Every waking hour of my life.¡±


    Asena fell silent, deciding that this wasn¡¯t the line of questioning she wanted to pursue. What could possibly be worth giving up your family? That had been her first thought upon discovering the facts of Ophis¡¯s life, but as she watched the man stub out his cigarette, she realized that she too had her own answer to the same question.


    Akash met Asena¡¯s concerned frown with a placatory smile. Then he sighed, sans smoke. ¡°If it makes you feel any better, I¡¯m doing all this for purely selfish reasons, so there¡¯s no need for you to sympathize.¡± He seemed to consider her for a moment before abruptly pushing himself off the wall. ¡°Walk with me, Ms Shiranui. Sometimes, the best way to make a point is via the scenic route.¡±


    Without waiting for a reply, Akash strode down the alleyway and toward the intersecting street. Asena hastened to follow after a moment¡¯s startled hesitation.


    As soon as the two of them were out in the open, however, Asena shrank into herself, trying in vain to make herself smaller. She lowered the lid of her cap, suddenly conscious of her hair, which had grown back rather rapidly since her last foray into the city. Her eyes darted to and from passersby, mostly Sehermenschen in business attire who in turn paid neither her nor her companion any mind.


    Akash, on the other hand, walked with an easy gait and head held high. He spoke, making no particular effort to lower his voice, ¡°Tell me, Ms Shiranui. What¡¯s going through your mind right this moment?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m wondering if you¡¯ve lost your mind,¡± she hissed. ¡°I¡¯m also wondering how you managed to avoid discovery for a whole decade if this is how you normally conduct yourself.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the issue? Is one not allowed to enjoy a stroll on a fine morning?¡±


    ¡°Not when one has something to hide¡­ like you and I.¡±


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Ah, so you¡¯re afraid.¡±


    ¡°Yes! Aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Who taught you that fear?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Her steps slowed momentarily. Then she closed the gap with longer strides, throwing caution to the wind as she did. She ventured, ¡°No one. It¡¯s common sense.¡±


    ¡°You mean to say it¡¯s common sense to hide behind disguises and cower from prying eyes?¡±


    ¡°¡­ When the situation calls for it, yes.¡±


    ¡°Just like it¡¯s common sense for servants to lower themselves before their masters? Like it¡¯s common sense to stuff young men inside metallic giants and send them out to kill and die? ¡­ Like it¡¯s common sense to deprive innocent children of their lives and humanity, all so those same young men could kill a little more, die a little harder?¡±


    Asena didn¡¯t answer immediately, instead staring grimly at her own feet as they carried her farther into the open¡ªtoward the averted eyes of strangers that were just as afraid as her.


    ¡°The Syntropy then?¡± she eventually murmured, herself not fully convinced. ¡°The Syntropy taught us to live in fear?¡±


    ¡°They certainly are fearsome beasts, but I doubt they have anything to teach us. I believe there¡¯s a simpler answer. We learned it from each other. Everywhere we look, we see others who¡¯re afraid. Afraid of punishment, of suffering, of loss, of death. That in turn teaches us to be afraid for ourselves. And that fear drives us ever inward, shrinking us smaller and smaller, until we¡¯re all trapped inside our own metallic prisons, united only in our isolation.¡±


    ¡°¡­ What about someone like the General? He doesn¡¯t have to fear anyone, does he? I don¡¯t think even the Syntropy scare him.¡±


    Akash let out a soft chuckle. ¡°On the contrary, I don¡¯t think anyone in Akropolis has more reasons to be afraid than Fenix Duodecim. And it¡¯s about time we reminded him of that.¡±


    Asena considered this, her darting eyes making way for a pensive frown. Presently, a young man in a Joint Forces uniform brushed past her and Akash, but the Kurator-in-disguise barely noticed.


    ¡°But¡­ fear isn¡¯t the only driving force there is,¡± she spoke slowly, forming her thoughts as she went. ¡°At least not for me. At least not anymore. What I think needs to be done¡­ what I want to be a part of¡­ I don¡¯t think I¡¯m doing it out of fear.¡±


    Akash nodded. ¡°Tell me, then. What answers have you yourself arrived at? What motivations¡ªwhat truths¡ªhave compelled you to rise above your ingrained fears?¡±


    Guilt. Sorrow. Atonement. Yearning. Love? Her answers were as multitudinous as they were amorphous, but one thought rose above all others and announced itself with hitherto dormant conviction.


    ¡°Freedom.¡±


    Akash¡¯s steps slowed, and he turned slightly to face Asena. She met his discerning gaze with earnest eyes, absent hesitation.


    ¡°I understand why we¡¯re locked in this seemingly endless war,¡± she went on. ¡°I understand why we¡¯re made to serve it, why the Reiters are sent out to kill and die, and even why the Spiegels are made to suffer unknowingly. I understand all of that, and I still reject it. I won¡¯t begrudge anyone their fight, their suffering, their war. But if anyone should fight and suffer, they should do so by choice. Not out of fear. Not because they¡¯ve been lied to. Not because the Nexus chose them, but because they chose it for themselves.¡±


    Akash came to a complete stop then, and Asena snapped back to reality, eyes scanning anew for the threat that had halted her companion. But she quickly saw that no such danger was imminent.


    The pair had come upon a gated building: a school, one far larger and tidier than Bateer Tenger¡¯s erstwhile operation in Lower Akra. Even now, the courtyard filled with the bustle of playing children far too young to worry about the war or their eventual Ascension Standards. Far too young to have developed any common sense about what it meant to live and die as an Akropolitan.


    Akash kept his gaze turned onto the courtyard as he murmured, ¡°And what of those who will never have that choice¡ªwilling but unable to take up the fight? Do we not have a duty to them? A duty to forgo our own freedoms for the¡­ for the greater good, whatever that might entail?¡±


    Asena followed the Gaertner¡¯s gaze, toward the children¡ªtoward the family in his memories, the one he left behind to choose his own fight. She knew that the question was directed as much to himself as it was to her. A final confirmation. A push in the back.


    ¡°I believe freedom is the greater good,¡± she said, as much to herself as to Akash. Her eyes too trained upon the schoolchildren, but what she saw instead was a young boy from someone else¡¯s memories. A young man who made a terrible choice¡ªan inevitable and impossible choice, but a choice nonetheless. ¡°I choose to believe in the good in us. Divorced from fear and anger. Unshackled from the weight of history. I believe that hope can unite us far more meaningfully than fear ever could. I have to believe it.¡±


    ¡°And what if you¡¯re wrong? What if we¡¯re wrong? What if our lofty ideas of choice and freedom are merely another facade over the same lies?¡±


    ¡°Even if we¡¯re wrong,¡± Asena raised her voice as she drew herself closer to the serpent. To truth and the terrible choices that beset its pursuit. ¡°I choose to find that out the hard way.¡±


    Akash nodded, firmer than his last. A smile crept back onto his face, and for the first time, Asena thought she could see what lay hidden behind it.


    ¡°Inspiring words, Ms Shiranui. Exactly the kind we seek from [ALLIES] in times of need. But as much as I appreciate them, I need something more. We both do.¡±


    Asena too nodded. ¡°Zelen. As always. He¡¯s the key to all this, isn¡¯t he? The reason you made contact with me in the first place.¡±


    ¡°Yes. As much as we hate to pin the hopes and fears of an entire civilization on one young man¡¯s shoulders, we also can¡¯t deny the reality. We need Zelen Athelstan to empower our cause, as much as the General needs him to perpetuate his war.¡±


    ¡°I was under the impression you already had a plan to that end? You and your people¡­ wherever they¡¯re hiding?¡±


    ¡°I did. Several actually. But after this conversation, I¡¯ve had to scrap plan A.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because it involved more lies. More deception. And you¡¯ve made your position on that abundantly clear.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right. No more. I won¡¯t tell any more lies to myself or to Zelen.¡±


    ¡°Plan B it is, then,¡± Akash said with a light shrug, his eerily casual tone having returned along with his renewed determination. ¡°But that also means the hardest task falls upon you, Ms Shiranui.¡±


    Asena too shrugged. ¡°As if that¡¯s anything new.¡±


    The serpent held her gaze for a moment, then his smile widened.


    ¡°It¡¯s settled then. From this moment forward, you¡¯re one of us. A member of the Apfel Alliance. To that end, I¡¯ll share with you everything I know¡ªeverything I¡¯ve learned about Akropolis and its False War¡ªbetter for you to recruit our next and most important [ALLY].¡±

 51. RISING 3

    ~February 25th, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Transit Gate 4~


    Curious eyes lingered upon Asena and her companion as they made their way through a part of the base usually reserved for sortieing Reiters and the Panzers that manned the shielded gates. Every time these eyes shifted from naked curiosity to fleeting suspicion, Asena¡¯s heart skipped a beat, convinced that the mission was already at an end, foiled by her own all too recognizable profile.


    What¡¯s a pair of Kurators doing at the transit gates? And shouldn¡¯t one of them be at home preparing for her fancy wedding?


    As it turned out, however, these challenges remained confined to her imagination. Soon, Asena and Akash¡ªtoday dressed in the tan fatigues of a Kurator officer¡ªarrived at the ¡®watchtower¡¯ beside Transit Gate 4, where they were met by a sergeant from the Panzer Corps.


    ¡°Good to see you, sir,¡± the man, taller and more muscular than most Reiters, greeted Akash with an impeccable salute. Then his stony eyes flicked toward the young Kurator as he added, ¡°Come on in and make yourselves comfortable. I¡¯m ready to go when you are, but if need be, we should have this gate to ourselves for at least the next three hours or so.¡±


    ¡°Good to see you too, Graeme,¡± the Gaertner-in-disguise responded with a warm smile, tilting his head to make eye contact, ¡°and I thought I told you to stop with the sirs and the salutes. We¡¯re trying to flatten the hierarchy, not uphold it.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, sir.¡± The man called Graeme spun on his feet, then held the door open for his guests, every one of his movements cut with military precision. ¡°I guess old habits die hard.¡±


    And no wonder, Asena thought to herself. She doubted she¡¯d met many others who looked more at home in the Joint Forces than this sergeant. As such, it was difficult to square this impression of him with the cause he¡¯d pledged allegiance to. A cause she now shared.


    The optimistically named watchtower was a dark and compact space lit only by a radar screen and the pale blue that trickled out from nearby generators. It would¡¯ve been cozy for one man of Graeme¡¯s size. For the trio that squeezed into it now, it felt downright claustrophobic.


    Suddenly breathless, Asena found a corner to lean against as she tried to quell her rising panic. Nothing about the plan had changed. Nothing was beyond the scope of what she knew herself to be capable of. Now wasn¡¯t the time to be getting cold feet.


    Even as her breathing settled, she felt the gazes of her two accomplices: Graeme¡¯s rigid and unchanged, and Akash¡¯s gleaming with something more than the ambient light. Their eyes met, and Asena nodded her grim affirmation. She was as prepared as she¡¯d ever be.


    As the headset came down, the last thing she saw was the ghostly blue of Akash¡¯s eyes, glowing with the otherness that surged within him.


    The next moment, she too became one with the Nexus. Far away from a workstation, and with her IO port covered shut, she nevertheless felt that familiar stirring within her sternum, which told her that she was ready to Kurate.


    She¡¯d already felt this effect once before, during last night¡¯s rehearsal. The foreknowledge, however, didn¡¯t stop her from being astounded anew, at the sheer lunacy of communing with the Nexus in the absence of Anamnium.


    Yet, to be precise, she did have a source to draw from: Akash Varana himself. Such was one of the extraordinary powers of his Einkunst [ALLIANCE], which allowed the Gaertner to act as a walking conduit for his fellow Sehers to access the Nexus.


    Asena had long stopped questioning the designs behind the Nexus¡¯s choice of Einkunsters and their powers. Right now, she was merely grateful for its facilitating her task, one that required her utmost skill and concentration.


    And courage.


    They found her before she them. Before she knew it, the full force of their collective consciousness hit her square in the chest, potent enough to produce the sensation of her entire rib cage shattering into bone dust.


    Asena gasped with pain and shock, nearly breaking her link. She gritted her teeth and pressed into her corner, readying herself to receive more waves of affective turbulence, forcing herself to share in the Spiegels¡¯ pain. This is nothing compared to what they¡¯ve endured.


    It was all there. Grief. Remorse. Yearning. Impotent rage. All the extraneities that could only distract Reiters from their missions: shared, channelled, and dissipated through the caring and all-encompassing minds of their Spiegel partners.


    But not lost. Never lost. Within vaults of Bone rest the Mind¡¯s secrets.


    What was most remarkable¡ªand most heartbreaking¡ªwas the purity of their pain. For theirs were the selfless pain of those who gave and gave, and never asked for anything in return.


    They grieved for their Reiters¡¯ losses. They regretted their own shortcomings. They yearned for a kinder battlefield. And they raged against a world that wouldn¡¯t provide one.


    Not a single thought for themselves. Not even the acknowledgement of their own predicament¡ªof its cruelty and inhumanity.


    Asena knew this to be the product of their thorough and constant re-education. That the Spiegels didn¡¯t know any better. Her resolve wavered momentarily. Was she doing the right thing? Wouldn¡¯t it be kinder to leave them be, to let them perpetuate their illusion of nonexistence?


    She shook her head, as firmly as she¡¯d braced for the pain. Because she also knew of another Spiegel-Reiter pair, ones who had taken a different path. That path had led to both of their destruction, but it¡¯d also been one of their own making. Because theirs had been pain shared in the truest sense of the word. Because the Reiter in that relationship had been as attuned to his Spiegel¡¯s pain as she his.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    And that had made all the difference, for better or for worse.


    Asena opened herself to the Spiegels¡¯ pain, as much as Zelen had done once upon a faded memory. She held their pain within her chest, and closed the chasm with pain of her own.


    First, whispers. Then the whispers coalesced into threads, then these threads gathered into networks. She saw clearly now¡ªjust as she¡¯d suspected¡ªthat the Spiegels¡¯ networks of self were interconnected, through bundles that were as intricate as they were dense.


    She first happened upon the idea during the fateful ¡®debrief¡¯ with her father and the General, the one in which she was inducted as the ¡®29th member¡¯ of the Spiegel Program. While neither Yuito nor Fenix brought it up, Asena herself found it odd that Spiegel Delta-Upsilon¡ªTsetseg Tenger¡ªhad avoided detection even after rediscovering her latent memories.


    But if Tsetseg¡¯s Ascension hadn¡¯t been as ¡®undifferentiated¡¯ as the authorities might have claimed? If she might have become a Kurator in a different life, one in which she¡¯d been born to a family that didn¡¯t fit the selection criteria for proto-Spiegels? And if she¡¯d learned to manipulate her own memory fragments, to camouflage them within the larger network?


    Along with a confirmation of her theories, Asena felt the bolstering of her hopes. Perhaps Tsetseg and her quasi-Kuration wasn¡¯t unique among the Spiegels. Perhaps there was a way for more of them to fight back, just as Tsetseg had¡­


    Asena dove deeper into the network, began to tug at the threads¡ªgently, almost in shy greeting. The Spiegels, for their part, met Asena¡¯s intrusion with what could only be described as detachment. They were aware of her, perhaps even questioned her alien presence. But they didn¡¯t reject her, didn¡¯t shy away. They¡¯d been trained¡ªre-educated¡ªto accept any and all forms of human contact.


    Well, this was one interaction they might soon regret. These Spiegels might well rue the day they let the 29th member of the program into their midst, to shake the very foundations of their nonexistence. For that, she must apologize. Apologetically, resolutely, she forged ahead with her mission.


    My name is Asena Shiranui, and I¡¯m a Kurator with the Apfel Alliance, she spoke through the Nexus. I have a memory to share with you all¡­ and a favour to ask.


    ~February 25th, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Eidolon Hangar~


    Nervous eyes hid from Zelen and his companions as they made their way through a half-empty hangar. Every time these eyes shifted from recognition to evasion, Zelen felt¡­ nothing.


    Captain Collima Duodecim led the way, followed closely by his uncle Fenix. Zelen couldn¡¯t quite tell if the passersby were scared of him or the General. Perhaps both? Not that he particularly cared either way.


    ¡°How¡¯s the wedding preparation coming along?¡± The older man turned to him with an expansive smile. ¡°I trust you would¡¯ve had the rehearsal dinner by now?¡±


    The General¡¯s smile was friendly enough, as befitted a larger-than-life uncle figure among the Tetrarchy. Yet, for reasons unclear to Zelen himself, the sight of the smile agitated something deep within his chest. Something akin to bile, a toxic cloud¡­ a roiling abyss.


    Something other than nothing.


    ¡°Yes.¡± He managed to swallow the not-nothing that threatened to rise from his throat. ¡°I¡¯m no expert, sir, but to my untrained eyes, everything appears to be going smoothly.¡±


    ¡°By god, son,¡± Fenix¡¯s eyes widened in mock admonishment. ¡°I don¡¯t think you could sound less enthusiastic if you tried. Lighten up, soldier. It¡¯s a cause for celebration, and god knows those are in short supply.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°I for one can¡¯t wait. I¡¯m like a brat on the night before Messiah¡¯s Mass. A union between two honest-to-goodness Tetrarch families. It¡¯s hard to believe how rare that is nowadays. Enjoy it, son, but more importantly¡­ don¡¯t fuck it up.¡±


    Fenix followed this up with a booming laugh. The laugh was good-natured enough, as befitted an uncle figure ribbing one of his many nephews. It was more than that. It was¡­ loving.


    In this moment, Zelen had no doubt that Fenix Duodecim loved him, as he loved all of his soldiers and all of Akropolis¡¯s children that would one day grow up to join and serve the war. And for reasons unclear to him, the heat of this love only inflamed the abyss that roiled within his chest.


    Zelen swallowed again, and said nothing.


    Eventually, Captain Collima came to a stop on one of the catwalks and began to fiddle with the external console. The General stood back and watched, smile as wide as ever. Zelen¡¯s gaze turned upward, toward the model ES-V that towered over the trio.


    The once ash-laden phantom had received a thorough clean and polish, along with a new coat of paint. It gleamed anew in midnight-blue, just as Zelen had once pictured it (had he, though? If he had, he couldn¡¯t picture it now). All four of its limbs were intact (why wouldn¡¯t they be?), svelte, and muscular¡ªmission-ready.


    War-ready.


    ¡°Alright, Athelstan¡­¡± Collima looked up from the console. ¡°Hop in, and let¡¯s get this thing started.¡±


    As Zelen climbed into the cockpit and slipped into the Nexa-Suit, he felt¡­ nothing. No, not entirely nothing. Echoes of a distant past. Whispers of a far-reaching future. The tears that bore someone else¡¯s sorrow.


    ¡°This is Hawkbit, calling Kingfisher. Radio check, over.¡±


    ¡°This is Kingfisher. Loud and clear, over.¡±


    ¡°Right. Tethering session 140-2B is a go. We¡¯ll follow standard procedure and start with Training Scenario 1¡ªbreak, Kingfisher. Stand by for additional briefings¡­ Uh, Kingfisher, disregard previous. We¡¯ll do something a little different, as per the General¡¯s request. Training Scenario 19A. Acknowledge, over?¡±


    19A. Zelen¡¯s memories of the training scenario designations were fuzzy at best. But for reasons unclear to him, he knew exactly what 19A entailed. And he could no longer contain the not-nothing that surged through him.


    ¡°Acknowledged.¡±


    ¡°Good enough. Stand by. Scenario starting now. Hawkbit out.¡±


    The radio cut out, then the Eidolon¡¯s HUD filled with the visual mock-up of a dark rectangular space. With a beep, a solitary red marker appeared on the radar. Just one enemy unit. Still out of sight, but Zelen could picture perfectly the obsidian monster that hid within darkened corners.


    And as Zelen readied to welcome the enemy¡ªanti-Eidolon unit ZT-01, designation ¡®Vendetta¡¯¡ªhis senses suddenly filled with the aggregates of a thousand different whispers.


    ¡ªmorning, Kingfisher. This is Spiegel Alpha-Eta. Are we clear to¡ª


    ¡ªto make your acquaintance, Kingfisher. Spiegel Tau-Sigma speaking. How¡ª


    ¡ªtake it that you¡¯re Kingfisher. My name is Spiegel Iota-Mu, and we¡ª


    Along with the whispers, Zelen was overcome by fresh waves of not-nothings, potent enough to leave him momentarily reeling in shock. What were these? The yearnings of someone else¡¯s heart. The joy of someone else¡¯s laughter. The blood from someone else¡¯s screaming lungs.


    Yet one distinct signal rose above the whispers¡ªabove the waves of not-nothings that threatened to drown him¡ªand spoke to him in a voice only he could hear.


    ¡°Zelen. This is Asena Shiranui. I need you to remain silent, and listen very carefully to what I have to say.¡±

 52. RISING 4

    Kingfisher did remain silent as he stalked the darkened corridors of the mock Mothership. As he moved, the red dot on the radar moved with him, repositioning for its eventual ambush.


    Inside the cockpit, Kingfisher smiled. Relished the thrill of the hunt. This was the good kind of not-nothing. The kind that made him want to stay in the moment, rather than leave everything behind.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to be fully honest with you, Zelen. I¡¯m contacting you now in the hopes of giving you a choice. To stay and keep fighting in an endless war. Or to desert the Joint Forces and strike out on a new path. An attempt to break the cycle.¡±


    Before long, Kingfisher and the red dot aligned themselves across a darkened wall. He knew what was coming. Had seen it a thousand times (had he though? If he had, he couldn¡¯t remember any of it). A whirlwind of metal, smoke, and someone else¡¯s blackness.


    ¡°The General and every leader before him have been perpetuating a lie. Most likely, they themselves had been deceived, generation after generation, to the point where they wholly and sincerely believe in the lie. It¡¯s a lie that goes back farther than Old Earth. Farther than the 140 years since Akropolis¡¯s founding¡­¡±


    An obsidian phantom¡ªor at least its mock-up¡ªburst out of the wall. Svelte muscular limbs in the twisted imitation of an Eidolon. Even now, its right arm shot toward Kingfisher with a red [MISERICORDE]. The Reiter parried this easily with a swing of LA [GLADIUS], followed by a shot from RA [BLUNDERBUSS] at point blank range.


    The HUD exploded into confused pixels, with the simulation system unable to faithfully replicate the ensuing clash of blue-on-red. The Vendetta had blocked Kingfisher¡¯s shot with a red LS [SCUTUM]. Inside the cockpit, the Reiter smiled again.


    ¡°I know it¡¯s hard to believe. It was hard for me also¡­ until I experienced it for myself. But¡­ I believe that you, Zelen, are not entirely without a point of reference. Can you remember the Mothership? Dark recursive corridors like the one you¡¯re simulating now? Can you remember the conversation you had with your Spiegel? With Silon?¡±


    Silon. The abyss roiled within someone else¡¯s chest. Focus on the hunt. Focus on the kill.


    The Vendetta thrust away, farther down the darkened corridor. Kingfisher gave chase, harried it with RS [MISSILE LAUNCHER]. Funnelled it back toward himself. The Vendetta obliged, realigning itself with the Eidolon before thrusting forward and deploying RS and LA armaments at once: [BOMBARDIER] and [GATLING].


    ¡°I know it¡¯s painful. I know it might be impossible. But try to remember. Try to remember Silon and what she meant to you. Remember the truths you and she discovered, shared, fought for together. Remember them, and try to move forward.¡±


    Focus on the hunt. Focus on the kill. Kingfisher quickthrust to dodge [BOMBARDIER], opted to eat the chip damage from [GATLING], and waited. Delayed, hesitated¡ªjust for an instant, enough to bait the cornered prey into a false sense of victory.


    The Vendetta obliged, zooming toward him with right arm poised, [MISERICORDE] back off cooldown. Kingfisher met this charge with a sudden burst of his own, leaning LS [SCUTUM]-first until he crashed and drove his entire momentum into the mock Syntropy. A shoulder tackle, back down the corridor and into the wall. The prey was immobilized. At his mercy.


    First, LA [GLADIUS] came back online. With a swift shift in weight and a decisive upward swing, Kingfisher drove the blue blade across the Vendetta¡¯s central chassis and into its neck. Next, RA [BLUNDERBUSS], which he aimed with a raised arm and emptied its charge into the Vendetta¡¯s swivelling SPU.


    The hunt was over. And with it, calm¡ªnothing¡ªdescended once again. The whirlwind waned into the unseen distance. The abyss settled back into the depth of someone else¡¯s chest. All was right with the world. A Reiter and the carcass of his enemy sliding onto his feet.


    Inside the cockpit, Zelen Athelstan¡¯s smile faded into nothingness.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have much time, Zelen. I apologize for the roughness, but I don¡¯t know any other way. I¡¯m going to [EVOKE] again, share with you a memory that I hope can¡ª¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Zelen, don¡¯t speak! The General can¡¯t hear me, but you¡¯re still¡ª¡±


    ¡°I agree with everything you ask of me. You¡¯re my family. Who else would I fight for if not my family?¡±


    Silence. Zelen didn¡¯t like silence. Because silence let the whispers in. Tempted and agitated the not-nothings. He wished Asena would fill the silence with directions. Affirmations. Anything.


    ¡°Zelen, do you know what you¡¯re saying? I said I wanted to give you a choice, but do you understand what this choice means? What it means to desert¡­ to become Akropolis¡¯s enemy?¡±


    ¡°As long as you¡¯re on my side, I¡¯ll be anyone¡¯s enemy. I¡¯ll fight anything you want me to.¡±


    Silence. Zelen didn¡¯t like silence.


    ¡°You said yourself that we don¡¯t have time. Tell me what to do, and I¡¯ll do it.¡±


    ~February 25th, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Eidolon Hangar~


    For as long as he could remember, Fenix Duodecim had been obsessed with one thing and one thing alone: purpose.


    As the oldest child among his generation of Duodecims, a sense of purpose was drilled into him from an early age. Set an example for his younger siblings. Lead a new generation of Tetrarchs toward prosperity and victory. Then he Ascended, differentiated into the first Reiter among his generation of Duodecims, and his purpose became ever more refined, ever more singular.


    Nothing was clearer than the imperative of battle. There was a thing trying to kill him. He needed to kill it first. To this day, he¡¯d never experienced anything purer, more edifying, more fulfilling than the knife¡¯s edge of a deadly battle. To this day, he missed the battlefield with an intensity he could barely keep under lid.


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    But age caught up to all men¡ªeven a man like Fenix Duodecim. As his prowess waned, so too did his purpose shift. From killing back to leading. The sense of purpose ingrained in him as a child now sparked anew with rejuvenated focus. If he couldn¡¯t keep killing, he¡¯d teach other men to kill in his stead. Impart in the younger generations the same sense of purpose that defined him¡ªthat had laid the foundations of Akropolis itself.


    To him, the War was sacred. The War was all. He couldn¡¯t imagine life without it, and he couldn¡¯t understand the vagaries of feebler minds who¡¯d reject the notion, would seek to find meaning elsewhere in life. He couldn¡¯t understand these lesser beings, but he loved them all the same. For in the end, all of Akropolis¡¯s children served the War, in ways large and small. They were all brethren born to a common purpose.


    When, as part of the handover from the previous General, he learned of the true nature of the Spiegel Program, his first reaction was envy. Followed by awe. Followed by endless admiration.


    To dedicate one¡¯s entire consciousness to serving the War, to elevating its Warriors, free of all the impurities and extraneities that could only distract from their mission¡ªtheir purpose. He knew of no nobler Akropolitans than the Spiegels. He thanked them, cherished them, was inspired by them to do more. Be the leader the Spiegels and their Reiter partners deserved.


    When, as part of an emergency meeting called by his brightest and most promising Reiter, he learned of the return of the Mothership¡ªfar sooner than anyone had anticipated, than had been predicted by historical trends¡ªhis first reaction was relief. Followed by gratitude. Followed by raging battle-lust.


    The War hadn¡¯t ended after all. His enemy proved as resilient¡ªas worthy¡ªas ever. There was more to come. More killing. More leading. More fulfillment of purpose, to be spearheaded by his magnum opus: Kingfisher, the most effective killing machine he¡¯d ever nurtured.


    And when that brightest and most promising of Reiters had self-combusted¡ªhad shown himself to be as feeble-minded as the lesser beings that comprised far too much of Akropolis¡ªFenix met this news with disappointment and sorrow. Disappointment at his own failure¡ªfailure to guide and maximize Zelen Athelstan¡¯s potential. And sorrow at the senseless waste of a perfectly good Warrior.


    But no more. The universe had deemed fit to grant him a second chance. This time, he wouldn¡¯t let impurities and extraneities lead Kingfisher astray. This time, he would be the model and guidance the boy needed, in his quest to fulfill the purpose ordained him by the Nexus. Starting with¡­


    Presently, Fenix stood beside his human boulder of a nephew, watching the data that streamed into the external monitor.


    Absent visual or auditory aid, he nevertheless saw Kingfisher¡¯s simulated fight unfold as though he was inside the cockpit himself. His own muscles tensed with every thrust, every armament activation. And when Kingfisher killed the agile enemy with a masterful pin-down technique, Fenix¡¯s own heart soared with elation.


    The boy had faced down his worst nightmare: an obsidian phantom that lurked within a darkened corridor. And not only did his Reserves remain stable throughout the fight, he¡¯d showcased the precision and efficiency of a seasoned Warrior at the height of his prowess¡ªthe brightest and most promising of his Reiters.


    ¡°By god,¡± Fenix murmured, more to himself than to his nephew, ¡°he hasn¡¯t lost a single step. We could send him out today and he¡¯d instantly become our best killer once again.¡±


    Beside him, however, Collima frowned at the screen, one hand pressing against his headset as if straining to hear.


    ¡°Something isn¡¯t right, sir,¡± the younger Duodecim muttered. ¡°The Spiegels¡­ they just went silent. I don¡¯t think the Tethering took.¡±


    Fenix¡¯s smile twitched, ever so slightly. That couldn¡¯t be right. He saw the signals from the beginning of the simulation. The Spiegels had descended upon Kingfisher as children flocked to candy. More confirmation that the boy¡¯s once feeble mind had healed and reinvented itself enough to¡ª


    ¡°Hang on, I¡¯m getting something,¡± Collima said, then his frown deepened. ¡°But¡­ this isn¡¯t right either. Who the hell is he talking to?¡±


    Fenix¡¯s smile all but faded completely. He leaned closer to his nephew.


    ¡°Speak up, son. Intervene if you have to.¡±


    ¡°This is Hawkbit. Additional briefing incoming. Kingfisher, acknowledge? Kingfisher?¡±


    Silence. The data on the monitor had also stopped moving, with the cursor stuck on the last line that described the manner of the Vendetta¡¯s elimination.


    ¡°No response,¡± Collima reported as his free hand typed furiously on the console. Beads of sweat formed on his brow beneath the rim of his headset. ¡°Sir, I think¡­ I think someone might be jamming the radio.¡±


    Fenix didn¡¯t get a chance to respond. For it was at that moment that Kingfisher¡¯s midnight-blue Eidolon launched itself out of the docking bay.


    The General momentarily reeled from the force and heat of the thrusters. Eyes blinded by the flash of blue light and face stinging from the burn, he nevertheless bent down and dragged his nephew back onto his feet.


    ¡°How many Reiters are standing by on base?¡± he shouted to hear himself over the ringing in his ears.


    ¡°Wh¡ªwhat?¡±


    Fenix shook Collima bodily, willing his feeble-minded nephew to rise to the occasion.


    ¡°I asked you a simple question, son. How many of our Reiter boys are here on base, ready to deploy at short notice?¡±


    ¡°Twelve¡ªno, thirteen?¡±


    ¡°Spindrift one of them?¡±


    ¡°No, sir. He¡¯s on an escort mission with the scout drones.¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll make do without him. Send out an alarm. Code fucking Red. All available Reiters on deck, to deploy immediately and pursue Kingfisher. Capture him alive if possible. But if not¡­ put him out of his misery.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Ye¡ªyes, sir!¡±


    Fenix stood back and watched as his nephew fumbled with and babbled into his headset. He watched as the entire hangar filled with activity. Sprinting Reiters. Flustered Jaegers. Shouting Panzers. Feeble minds that needed the guidance of an iron fist.


    He watched as his boys¡ªthe killing machines he¡¯d nurtured toward a singular collective purpose¡ªclambered into their metallic giants. He watched as these giants roared to life¡ªanointed by the ghostly blue of the Nexus.


    Then he watched as¡ªone by one, Eidolon by Eidolon¡ªthe blue light faded.


    For one eerie moment, complete silence ruled the crowded hangar. Wide eyes everywhere darted and met, searching for an answer¡ªan explanation for the impossibility that unfolded before them.


    Beside Fenix, his nephew was the first to break the silence. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t understand, sir. Complete shutdown. All of them. To a one, the Reiters¡¯ Psychic Reserves have been depleted. They¡¯re¡­ they¡¯re incapacitated. Undeployable.¡±


    Collima threw down his headset and stood, his fightened eyes boring into Fenix with a desperate question: how?


    Fenix himself didn¡¯t know the how. But he could guess at the why and the who. Answers and speculations that didn¡¯t bear sharing with his nephew. At least not now, when the only person capable of salvaging this situation was himself.


    In the end, for all his leadership and guidance, his children had failed him. Kingfisher threw away his second chance. The Reiter Regiment, as a whole, failed to rise to the occasion. Perhaps the worst betrayal of all¡ªcertainly the most hurtful¡ªwas that of the Spiegels. He¡¯d cherished them. Had even looked up to them. But in the end, even the purest noblest servants of the War had given into their lesser natures.


    ¡°Send a runner to fetch my old jumpsuit,¡± he spoke softly, giving his final orders as a retired killer, ¡°and load up one of them model ES-Fs, one that¡¯s not connected to the Spiegel network. Guess it¡¯s up to this old-timer to show you youngsters how it¡¯s done.¡±

 53. RISING 5

    ~February 25th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Aquarius, outbound from Akropolis~


    Within the space of an interrupted farewell, Asena had gone farther from home than she¡¯d ever been.


    She rode in the back of the cockpit of an¡­ Eidolon? If it was one, it certainly wasn¡¯t of a model she¡¯d ever seen nor learned about. If anything, it looked more like an amplified version of the tram she once rode to visit Lower Akra: boxy, wide-based, built low to the ground, and fitted with a cockpit that was spacious enough to comfortably seat several people.


    The ¡®pilot¡¯, if he could be called such, was Akash Varana. But instead of slipping into a Nexa-Suit, the Gaertner had merely strapped himself into a seat at the front of the cockpit. Moreover, this ¡®Eidolon¡¯ moved, not with one-to-one input from a Reiter¡¯s mind and body, but from the mechanical manipulation of a control stick.


    Beside the tram-like Eidolon, Zelen¡¯s familiar midnight-blue frame, as well as two more metallic giants of alien design, flew in convoy. One of the aliens, piloted by the Panzer Graeme O¡¯Riordan, was of a bulky¡ªor rather, rotund¡ªappearance, with a near-spherical central chassis, no visible SPU or arms to speak of, and lower limbs that evoked the ¡®tank treads¡¯ Asena had seen in Old Earth photographs.


    The other was slimmer and bipedal, just barely resembling a more compact version of a training model Eidolon, except for the fact that its one arm was merely the rod-straight barrel of a physical, cannon-like weapon. As far as Asena knew, this second machine was piloted by a Jaeger deserter named Feray Geyik, with whom she¡¯d only spoken through the radio. A woman. Piloting an Eidolon.


    ¡°Are there other woman pilots in the Apfel Alliance?¡± she found herself asking, raising her voice to be heard over the mechanical churning of the tram-Eidolon. ¡°Is that what these Old Earth Eidolons allow for?¡±


    ¡°These aren¡¯t strictly from Old Earth, at least not in the sense you understand the term,¡± Akash yelled back without looking away from his screens. ¡°Also, there¡¯s nothing special about these models. Any Seher¡ªboy, not a boy, Reiter, not a Reiter¡ªcan pilot an Eidolon, even the ones in Akropolis. Even the one Zelen is piloting right now. That goes for Kurators too, you know.¡±


    Akash did turn his head then, just briefly, but enough to throw Asena a knowing smile.


    ¡°In fact, would you like to give it a go? This transport model is a little heavy and clunky, but the controls are simple enough.¡±


    The man had his back turned to her, but Asena could tell that he was genuinely waiting for a response. Of all the lunacies she¡¯d taken part in over the last several days, however, this latest offer might have taken the cake. Her heart raced and her head swam just from the notion of herself piloting an Eidolon, and yet¡­ wasn¡¯t that exactly what she¡¯d been doing for weeks, throughout her [EVOCATION] sessions with Zelen?


    Asena was rescued from having to give the idea any more weight, as the radar upon the pilot¡¯s screen chose this moment to beep and flash with a pair of red dots.


    ¡°We got incoming,¡± Akash observed mildly, with nary a shift in tone. ¡°Two Brutus units from the looks of it.¡±


    Asena sat up straight, her brow tensed with concern. ¡°Should I contact Zelen? He could¡ª¡±


    ¡°No need. We¡¯ll conserve our Reiter friend for something a little more¡­ strenuous.¡± With that, the Gaertner switched on the radio. ¡°Graeme. Feray. You see what I see?¡±


    ¡°Already on it, sir,¡± came the snappy reply from the Panzer.


    As Asena watched, the rotund tank-Eidolon peeled off from the convoy, followed closely by the barrel-armed cannon-Eidolon. Asena tracked the pair¡¯s movements by following them onto a second screen, which showed a feed from a separate SPU. What she saw next only continued to break down and rebuild her worldview in real-time.


    First, the Panzer got out in front of the convoy and lowered himself onto the ground, whereupon his spherical body spat out an enormous pale blue screen, one that sat vertically from the ground up. A shield, behind which the entire convoy hid comfortably as the Brutus units peppered them with shots from their rifles.


    Next up was the Jaeger. With one agile motion, she jumped up from behind the shield, then fired her cannon before dropping back to safety. A blue ray of energy flew with speed and accuracy, eliminating one of the Brutuses in a puff of black smoke. Then, as her Panzer partner¡¯s shield overheated and disabled itself, Feray Geyik the sharpshooter fired off her second charge from ground level, just as accurate¡ªand as destructive¡ªas her first.


    The battle was over within a matter of seconds. Two Syntropy carcasses lay in its wake, which the convoy flew past without a second look. Incredibly, the one Reiter among them hadn¡¯t lifted a finger.


    Asena remained speechless throughout, utterly stunned. She¡¯d never trained as a warrior, but she¡¯d vicariously experienced enough of the war to marvel at the implications of what she¡¯d just witnessed.


    All five differentiations of Sehers flying into battle, arm in arm and each with a specialized role to fill. How much would that change the way humans fought the Syntropy, if all Joint Forces personnel could be convinced to join the cause? How would that change the war itself, and its endless cycles in which all Akropolitans languished?


    Her chest¡ªthat chasm that had hitherto known only to widen and deepen¡ªfilled with an unfamiliar emotion. Hope. Tempered and bolstered by sorrow.


    As her chest filled, so did her eyes with tears. Tears and sorrow for the Akropolitans she¡¯d left behind. Her family. Her fellow servicemen. The Tengers and all the other downtrodden people across the three Akras.


    But the tears also brimmed with hope. Hope for reunion and understanding. Hope for a future that was truly worth fighting for.


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    No sooner had Asena¡¯s heart filled with hope, however, it was also marred by a touch of fear. For the radar chose this moment to beep again, this time flashing with a solitary marker.


    A blue one.


    The blue dot moved in on the convoy with alarming speed, travelling in a southerly direction¡ªoutbound from Akropolis.


    ¡°Were we expecting another rendezvous?¡± Asena asked warily, though somehow, she already knew the answer. It should¡¯ve been impossible. Not with the Spiegels fully on their side. And yet¡ª


    ¡°No,¡± Akash said simply, voice suddenly tense. He then added, ¡°We haven¡¯t updated the codes to differentiate between the Eidolon models. Most likely, this is one of the General¡¯s men. One that somehow slipped through the trap. Not to worry, we¡¯ve also rehearsed¡ª¡±


    Akash froze, staring at the feed from a rear-mounted SPU. For the pursuer had come into view. And it wasn¡¯t the model ES-V the fugitives had expected it to be.


    Swollen muscles where the ES-V¡¯s were svelte. A hulking frame that personified violence and power best out of any of Sherwin Granger¡¯s designs. This model ES-F was painted with the simple charcoal-grey of a Reiter¡¯s uniform. In all of Akropolis¡¯s history, only one Reiter and his Eidolon had fit this description.


    Fenix Duodecim. Callsign ¡®Ashborne¡¯.


    Before any of the fugitives could react, Ashborne¡¯s right arm erupted in a flash of ghostly blue, sending out a round of [WINCHESTER]. It connected with the side of the transport Eidolon, jolting both Gaertner and his Kurator co-pilot in their seats.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± Akash swore, for the first time Asena had heard. His hand upon the control stick tensed as he fought to bring the Eidolon back on course. Then he shouted into the radio, absent any of his earlier calm, ¡°Feray, on me! Graeme, can you wrap us up? And¡­ Zelen¡ª¡±


    ¡°Asena, can you hear me?¡±


    Zelen had already made contact, cutting off Akash mid-speech. Asena worked her own headset with trembling hands, then forced herself to adopt the same even-keeled tone she¡¯d used in all of her previous ¡®sessions¡¯ with the young Reiter.


    ¡°Yes, Zelen. Go ahead.¡±


    ¡°I think that¡¯s the General.¡±


    ¡°I think so too.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s¡­ our enemy, isn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°¡­ Yes. I believe so.¡±


    ¡°Then is it alright for me to eliminate him?¡±


    ¡°¡­ I think¡­ I think we have no other choice. But Zelen, please¡ª¡±


    But the channel had already cut off, and Kingfisher peeled off from the convoy on his own. Please try not to kill him. Asena¡¯s intended words sank into a re-opened chasm.


    Everything moved too quickly for Asena to intervene. Not that she would¡¯ve known how to. Feray and Graeme closed in on Akash¡¯s position, and the Panzer reactivated his shield, this time shaping it into a dome that covered all three ¡®Old Earth¡¯ Eidolons.


    Asena observed this development with a detachment that surprised herself. The non-Reiters had opted for a reasonable enough defensive manoeuvre, but it was one that left them unable to fight back¡ªleft them at the mercy of a charcoal-grey phantom who needed only to wait for the shield to overheat. It showed clearly their inexperience and naivete in warfare. It showed that Akash Varana the Gaertner still had a long way to go before he could convincingly lead a rebellion against a city that was steeped in 140 years of war.


    Beside the partial convoy, two men who¡¯d known nothing but war squared off against each other¡ªagainst each of their metallic frames. And as Asena watched the two Reiters lean into single combat, she was convinced that the fugitives¡¯ defensive manoeuvre had been for naught. Not only because it was ineffective, but also because it was unnecessary.


    The General had attacked the transport Eidolon only as a means of riling Zelen, of pushing the younger man into throwing away his doubt, his reservations, the extraneous thoughts that could only distract from the mission¡ªfrom the hunt. Fenix had no intention of bothering the rest of the convoy any further, now that he and his quarry were locked in a battle to the death.


    There were two things trying to kill each other. And one would inevitably kill the other first.


    Asena held the widening chasm within her chest, and watched. She was dismayed, terrified, disgusted, but she nevertheless forced herself to watch. She owed Zelen at least that much.


    Ashborne opened the engagement, opting for another shot of RA [WINCHESTER]. Kingfisher evaded by quickthrusting right, answering with a salvo of RS [MISSILE LAUNCHER] as he did.


    Ashborne had already pre-empted this, ducking under the ordnances and closing the gap at the same time. He already had LA [BARDICHE] ready, which he swung into the space Kingfisher had dodged into. The latter defended himself by turning into his opponent with LS [SCUTUM].


    A clash of blue-on-blue. Both Eidolons bounced off each other from the impact, though the heavier Ashborne was the first to regain his balance. He then took the opportunity to close the distance again, this time grabbing hold of the slimmer Eidolon with both muscular arms and drawing him into a metal-grinding embrace. In the same motion, he opened fire with both shoulder armaments: [BOMBARDIER] and [HARPOON].


    Another explosion of blue and more blue. The Eidolons broke apart again, this time revealing a dramatic shift in their respective conditions. The blue spearhead of [HARPOON] was embedded in Kingfisher¡¯s upper chest, just barely missing the cockpit. As for Ashborne, he¡¯d lost his right arm, shorn clean off at the shoulder by a counter-swing from Kingfisher¡¯s LA [GLADIUS].


    Down one arm, Ashborne nevertheless showed zero hesitation. LA [BARDICHE] had come back online, which he now drove toward Kingfisher¡¯s midsection, intent on fishing the job [HARPOON] had started.


    With a lightning quick series of micro-thrusts, Kingfisher rounded Ashborne, taking full advantage of the safety offered by his counterpart¡¯s armless right side. By the time [BARDICHE] missed, Kingfisher was already behind the heavier¡ªand slower¡ªAshborne, giving him the widest possible window to punish his opponent.


    RA [BLUNDERBUSS]. Straight into the remaining shoulder joint. [BARDICHE] disappeared in a wisp of pale blue as the arm it¡¯d been attached to fell lifelessly toward the barren earth.


    And still, Ashborne did not give up. He spun toward Kingfisher, wobbling from the unfamiliar weight distribution, and attempted a lopsided tackle. Kingfisher dodged this with ease, then took a page out of his opponent¡¯s book, grabbing Ashborne with both intact arms and driving him into the ground beneath them.


    Two metallic giants crashed with a resounding quake, one on top of the other. Kingfisher straddled Ashborne, pinning the latter in place, then raised a left arm that glowed pale blue with the blade of [GLADIUS].


    Then and only then did Asena Shiranui react. She snapped out of her trance and screamed into her headset, with the full weight of her sorrow¡ªonly sorrow¡ªbehind her shaking voice.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough, Zelen! Don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    A clash of blue-on-charcoal-grey. The blade of [GLADIUS] penetrated a now defenseless central chassis. Then the grey frame of Ashborne stopped moving completely.


    Silence returned to the barren earth. The corpse of a once great warrior lay amidst the planet¡¯s haze, far from the home he¡¯d defended all his life.


    From the wreckage, a midnight-blue phantom rose¡ªa killer reborn.

 54. RISING 6

    ~February 25th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Capricorn, ???~


    The entrance to ¡®not Old Earth¡¯ was a barren swath of ash and rock, indistinct from the surrounding land that stretched in all directions. But as the convoy waited in an orderly line, one swath of the barren earth dissolved. Ash and rock morphed into a flat layer of pale blue shield before that too powered down, revealing an enormous tunnel that led underground at a steep angle.


    Zelen watched the impossible unfold before him¡­ and felt nothing. He felt nothing as he followed the others onto a vast square platform that then whirred to life with loud mechanical churning and began its ponderous descent along guide rails built into the walls. He also felt nothing as he took in the sight of the enormous passage with its innards of enmeshed cables and molded metal¡ªand saw instead the darkened corridors of someone else¡¯s sinking ship.


    All along the trip, there¡¯d been constant chatter on the radio. A man who called himself Akash Varana¡ªa name that sounded vaguely familiar, but not enough to arouse any real curiosity¡ªgave out frequent instructions to his team. This team included Asena, and the only times Zelen felt a modicum of not-nothing were when her voice occasionally filtered onto the channel: earnest, reassuring, nostalgic.


    Nostalgic? That didn¡¯t seem quite the right word to describe a fianc¨¦e to whom he¡¯d given entirely too little of himself over the twelve years he¡¯d known her. This contradiction was curious enough to vex Zelen for a short while. But only for a short while, before he turned his attention to other matters that aroused nothing in his mind.


    He paid attention to Asena now as she in turn paid attention to the man called Akash Varana. The latter seemed to be explaining the provenance of this enormous escalator and the civilization that had built it. Or maybe just his theories about them? Zelen couldn¡¯t be too sure. While the man¡¯s mild-mannered if slightly smug speech was pleasant enough to listen to, the information contained therein aroused nothing in Zelen¡¯s mind.


    The convoy eventually stepped off at the bottom of the escalator, where more impossibilities awaited. A colossal entryway, large enough to comfortably fit the frames of twenty model ES-Vs, led into an even larger space.


    A city, ceilinged in its entirety by a thick layer of barren earth. The city was dark, presently lit only by the portable Nexa-Lamps in the hands of a small welcoming party that had awaited the convoy¡¯s arrival. But even in the darkness, Zelen could feel rather than see the expanse of this underground civilization: at least as large as Akropolis, if not more so.


    And yet, beyond that, Zelen felt nothing.


    He followed obediently as the welcoming party waved their lamps to guide him, this time onto a field of metallic structures¡ªsome in more disrepair than others¡ªwhich rose from the ground at roughly regular intervals. Docking bays. An open air hangar. He didn¡¯t stop to wonder at its implications as he parked his Eidolon and disembarked as instructed.


    On foot, he was finally reunited with Asena, in the flesh. Yet, as he gazed upon her weak smile and tall thin frame, what he saw instead was her brother. A giant wraith of a man. A crimson centipede that had flown into battle at his side¡ªthat had died at his side in someone else¡¯s battle. This non-memory did stir up more not-nothings, but not the kind that Zelen liked to dwell on. So, he forced himself to focus on the sister.


    He¡¯d thought¡ªperhaps hoped¡ªthat the sight of Asena would bring with it a measure of comfort. Warmth for him to cling to. It was strange then¡­ that the sight of her only brought more nothings. Instead, what he needed¡ªwhat he wanted to cling to¡ªwas her voice.


    ¡°How did you even find this place?¡± That voice asked now, as the convoy that had become a congregation on foot made their way deeper into the darkened city.


    ¡°Would you believe me if I said it came to me in a vision?¡± Akash replied, mild-mannered if slightly smug. ¡°I¡¯m being facetious, but it¡¯s honestly not far off. As you know, my Einkunst [ALLIANCE]¡¯s primary function is to connect with other Sehers, especially when those Sehers are, consciously or otherwise, crying out for help. About twelve years ago, shortly before I faked my own disappearance, I detected one such signal, originating from this exact location.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Who was this Seher that was crying out for help? From the ruins of Old¡ªof whatever this place used to be?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. We never found them. Maybe it¡¯s someone that wandered in here before we did. But my personal theory¡ªone admittedly not shared by every one of my [ALLIES]¡ªis this Seher, whoever they are or were, was the one that manifested these ruins into reality.¡±


    Even in the hazy depths of nothing, Akash¡¯s latest words did raise a prick of¡­ curiosity? Recognition? Zelen felt, not with any amount of conviction, as though he¡¯d heard this tale or something like it before.


    But did he hear it? Or had he been the one to tell it?


    ¡°Yes, you did allude to that earlier,¡± Asena pressed the older man, hiding none of her breathless wonder, ¡°but I¡¯m still not sure I quite understand it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d be lying if I said I did,¡± Akash returned with a smile and a brief glance in Zelen¡¯s direction. ¡°The fact of the matter is, the Joint Forces and the Syntropy both have had at least 140 recorded years to scour the planet for resources, in between all the fighting. If a place of this magnitude and density had existed for all that time, it would¡¯ve either become Akropolitan property or fallen into enemy hands. That¡¯s why I believe¡­ it only manifested twelve years ago, at the same time as when I felt the presence of that unknown Seher.¡±


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Twelve years ago. This notion too tugged at the unseen edges of Zelen¡¯s non-memories. What had happened twelve years ago? He¡¯d been ten then. The age when all Akropolitan children had their Ascension Standard¡­


    ¡°Another Einkunst then?¡± Asena wondered aloud. ¡°But to create something of this scale¡­ How could one human have been responsible for this?¡±


    ¡°To create? It likely would¡¯ve been impossible for any one human, Einkunster or no. But if it¡¯d already been fully formed¡­ and this Seher simply recalled it into existence? The First Fundamental Tenet of Seherschaft: a Seher sees into the Nexus and calls forth the memories contained therein. I believe that, even as we speak, we tread upon the halls of someone¡¯s memories. Someone with an entirely different recollection than ours of the planet and the wars it hosted.¡±


    ¡°What say we continue this debate over dinner, boss?¡± a second woman exclaimed then, one much stockier than Asena and also far cheerier in demeanour. Feray Geyik, the woman and Jaeger that could pilot an Eidolon¡ªand had her own kill count. Yet another impossibility that had phased through Zelen like air. The woman continued, ¡°I¡¯m sure we all have a tram-load of questions for each other, but I think we ought to get our guests settled in first.¡±


    ¡°Yes, you¡¯re right, Feray,¡± Akash remarked with an amiable nod, then gestured toward a complex of buildings ahead. These, while still mostly dark, were partially lit by fixtures that dotted crumbling walls. ¡°Speaking of, here we are. We already have quarters prepared for you two.¡± Then a funny look came over the older man as he glanced between his two young guests. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, we¡¯ve prepared two separate rooms¡­ owing to the fact we hadn¡¯t really discussed¡ª¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine!¡± Asena cut in hastily, her reddening face apparent even in the dark. ¡°And thank you. We could certainly use the space to catch our breath.¡±


    ¡°And I suggest you make full use of it,¡± Akash said as a smile returned to his features. ¡°Rest. Sleep, if you have to. Take all the time you need. Whenever you¡¯re ready, join us in the concourse over there, and I¡¯ll introduce you to the rest of the Alliance¡­ and discuss further plans.¡±


    Zelen went through the motions of obedience, this time following Asena into the building that was to be his new home. It was a rather dour-looking thing, with dilapidated walls and exposed framework, and he suspected that the darkness only helped to mask more of its imperfections.


    Yet, despite this being the dourest accommodation he¡¯d ever been assigned, the sight of it too tugged at the unseen edges of his non-memories. It was a gentle tug, one offered by an old friend who wanted to let him in on an inside joke. It was the kind of not-nothing that made him want to linger and bask in its warmth.


    Perhaps he¡¯d stood motionless for too long. The next thing he knew, Asena too had stopped next to a cracked doorframe and now looked to him with an inscrutable half-smile half-frown.


    ¡°Zelen,¡± she spoke softly¡ªhesitantly, as if afraid of the thoughts her own words could breathe life into, ¡°could we talk for a second? Just the two of us?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s¡±¡ªshe looked around the building; there, at the base of a staircase, was a teetering table and a pair of stools¡ª¡°have a seat and just chat.¡±


    Asena took the lead, and Zelen followed obediently. But even after the two of them had sat down, it took the former some time before she found her next words.


    ¡°I just wanted to see how you¡¯re taking all this,¡± she spoke slowly, carefully. ¡°My ambushing you during your Tethering. The decision to desert¡­ and join a bona fide coup. And¡­ and what you did¡­ with the General.¡±


    Zelen, in his earnest effort to please Asena, to adhere to the voice that so soothed him, went over each item in his head. And try as he might, he only managed to come up empty.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he reported. Succinct¡ªbut also just the full extent of it.


    ¡°Are you really?¡± Asena¡¯s expression contorted more clearly toward a frown. ¡°So much has happened. So much has changed in the last few hours. Do you really¡­ have nothing to feel about it?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he asserted, and curled his lips into what he hoped would be a reassuring smile. ¡°I just want to make sure you¡¯re safe. That I do right by you.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Doing right by me doesn¡¯t involve killing other Akropolitans, Zelen. At least¡­ I don¡¯t wish it to.¡±


    ¡°Have I upset you?¡±


    ¡°¡­ I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t know what to think, and maybe I was hoping you could help me decide.¡±


    Zelen recalled the finisher. Its speed. Its efficiency. The softness of a model ES-F¡¯s central chassis, once its armour had been depleted. He recalled everything, and still felt nothing.


    He also remembered something else. As a proto-Reiter, he¡¯d always been a rather indifferent student, one that often found himself in his Instructors¡¯ crosshairs. But one thing he¡¯d always excelled at¡ªa cut above everyone else¡ªwas single combat. And that expertise had only grown and enhanced over four years (had it really only been four years?) of war.


    ¡°Fenix Duodecim was a threat. I eliminated him. Did what I had to, for us to move forward.¡±


    Asena¡¯s face fell, and to Zelen¡¯s mild confoundment and numb horror, fresh tears streaked her now crestfallen face.


    ¡°I understand that, Zelen,¡± she said with a trembling voice. The tremor in her voice somehow felt wrong, dissonant. In his non-memories, her voice wasn¡¯t supposed to falter, wasn¡¯t supposed to fail. ¡°I understand also that if anyone in Akropolis deserved his fate, it was the General. But still¡­ still, I don¡¯t want you to be a killer.¡±


    Zelen did frown then. Now more confused than horrified. His words, unlike his counterpart¡¯s, remained steady in their earnestness.


    ¡°But Asena,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯ve always been a killer.¡±


    Asena was silent for a long time. Long enough for the tears to dry. Long enough for Zelen to hope that she¡¯d come around. That they could agree on what it meant for Zelen to do right by her. And after a long time, she turned to him with a smile, one that betrayed the chasm she held within her chest.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get some rest, Zelen. We¡¯ve both had a long day. And there¡¯ll be many more long days ahead. We need all the time and space we can have to ourselves.¡±


    She stood without waiting for a response, and made her way up the crumbling steps of their new home.


    Zelen sat for a while by himself, even after Asena had left him with his latest instructions. Her voice rang in his heart still, tugging at the unseen edges of someone else¡¯s memories.


    ~~~


    ~???~


    ~Sector Leo, somewhere along the coasts of Terra Nebulo~


    A hairless ageless creature bends toward its core to hug itself. A lurid red stain spreads upon a grey barren field.


    A lone flower blooms, shivering amidst the planet¡¯s haze.

 55. SEANCE 1

    ~January 9th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Leo, somewhere along the coasts of Terra Nebulo~


    A hairless ageless creature bent toward its core¡­ and found that it couldn¡¯t hug itself.


    The creature didn¡¯t know much, but it knew that it needed limbs to hug itself. Not having limbs was going to be a problem, and not just for seeking warmth.


    Warmth? Why did it seek warmth? Was it cold? Was it even capable of feeling cold¡­ or warmth, for that matter?


    Limbless as it was, the creature nevertheless did its best to take in its surroundings¡ªto make sense of its world. Whether by choice or happenstance, it lay atop a patch of moist earth and clumped ash. Mud, some might call it. The mud wasn¡¯t constant. Even now, as the creature watched, indentations formed, flattened, and reformed at the whims of drops of water that fell from the sky.


    Rain. The creature didn¡¯t know how it knew that this thing from the sky was rain, nor why the notion of it made it want to break out its own waterworks¡­ and found that it couldn¡¯t.


    The creature didn¡¯t know much, but it knew that it needed tear ducts to cry. Unlike the lack of limbs though, not having tear ducts didn¡¯t feel as urgent a problem. The creature felt as though it¡¯d already done enough crying for several lifetimes, though it couldn¡¯t remember for whom the tears had been shed.


    For now, it was content to let the rain wash over, splash against and trickle down its sleek surface¡ªalmost as if the creature itself was crying. And as the creature pretended to cry, something else¡ªsomething lurid red¡ªflickered onto its blurred vision.


    A lone red flower shivered amidst the rain and wind. It too bent toward its core, and it too lacked the limbs to hug itself for warmth.


    Watching this, the creature was overcome with the desire to reach out and shield the flower from the rain and wind. The desire was intense. It¡¯d never wanted anything more in its life¡ªwhich was an absurd notion, considering it¡¯d barely had a life to speak of.


    The creature willed itself to bend toward the flower, to reach out and provide the warmth it so desperately sought. It eventually gave up, but out of sheer futility rather than contentment.


    Yes. Not having limbs was going to be a problem¡­


    ~January 15th, 140 AH~


    The solution came in the form of a metallic giant that too descended from the sky.


    It was a forlorn looking thing, also with parts missing. Its frame had long faded of its original colour, laden instead with the time-worn residues of ash and solitude. When it landed, it did so with a barely controlled crash, having run out of the last of its fumes.


    The creature didn¡¯t know much, but it knew that this metallic stranger was breaking apart at the seams, if not already broken. As the creature watched, the giant¡¯s chest slid open to reveal a second figure: much smaller, much frailer.


    Man. The second stranger was an old man, with wispy silver hair and creaking limbs. He hobbled out of the giant¡¯s chest, slid down its bent and crumbling legs, then began to limp. Closer. Toward the creature.


    As the creature captured the old man¡¯s features, it realized that he was no stranger at all. It¡ªor at least another iteration of it¡ªhad known this man. Had known of the gentleness of his soul, the depth of his sorrow, and the transience of his warmth.


    The creature was overcome with the desire to reach out and shield the man from his own sorrow. The desire was intense. It¡¯d never wanted anything more in its life, not since the time it¡¯d watched a red flower shiver and bend amidst the rain and wind.


    The creature didn¡¯t have to reach. For the man came to it instead. Locomotion. This was the benefit of having limbs. This was why the creature wished fervently for limbs of its own.


    The man now knelt beside the creature, revealing a face etched and grooved with an ageless sorrow. The man knelt and peered into the creature¡¯s¡ªeyes? Eye, singular? Sen¡­ SPU?


    The man knelt and stared like this for a long while. The creature stared back, never breaking ¡®eye¡¯ contact. Eventually, something within the etches and grooves upon the man¡¯s face shifted¡ªmelted¡ªinto understanding. His face, shaggy with silver hair, melted into something at once commonplace and uniquely his own. Smile.


    ¡°Hello, old friend.¡±


    The words were foreign to the creature. Even so, it understood perfectly. It also understood what the man intended as he bent and cradled the creature in his arms, then carried it back toward his ash-laden giant.


    ~January 25th, 140 AH~


    The creature had limbs.


    Well, a limb, singular. The man had crafted it from the parts he¡¯d stripped from his own giant. The process had been anything but smooth. The man had crafted many limbs and tried many different attachments before one finally took. Before one moved by the creature¡¯s own volition.


    Even one functional limb made a world of difference. The creature could move now, dragging itself along the barren earth with its one limb acting as a fulcrum. It could see more of the world: the coastline, the inland, the sea that roiled and stretched as far as an SPU could see.


    Yet, even with the world made available to it, the creature focused mostly on two things: the flower at the edge of the cliff, and the man who¡¯d descended from the sky.


    The flower remained as solitary and as fragile as ever, whipped about by the whims of coastal breezes. At least now, the creature could drag itself to the flower¡¯s side and shield it within its one arm. Whenever it did so, if the creature hadn¡¯t imagined things, the flower in its arm stood just a little taller.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The man would be gone on most days, leaving the cliffside in favour of long meandering marches through the inland. The creature sensed that the man was looking for something, but he didn¡¯t speak much (and if he did, not about his searches).


    The creature didn¡¯t know enough to read the man¡¯s mind. But to its untrained SPU, the man did look just a little smaller, a little frailer, every time he limped back from his day trips.


    Day after unchanging day, the creature continued to ¡®stand¡¯ guard over the lone red flower. It continued to await the man¡¯s return.


    One day, the creature found that the flower had stopped its shivering. Permanently. It had wilted, with shrivelled stalk twisted toward the barren earth, withered petals hanging by lifeless threads. Death.


    The creature didn¡¯t know much, but it knew enough to grieve for the flower¡¯s death. As it grieved, something tugged at the unseen edges of its¡ªconsciousness? Knowledge bank?


    The man didn¡¯t go off on his search that day. Perhaps he wanted to grieve with the creature. Perhaps he was merely tired and needed to rest. In any case, the man stayed by the creature¡¯s side, watching as the creature cradled the dead flower in its one arm, shielding itself from its own grief.


    At first, the creature thought the sky might¡¯ve started raining again. Something wet, fragile, and warm trickled down its sleek surface before falling onto and jostling the flower¡¯s withered petals. The creature didn¡¯t know much, but it knew enough to correct its initial assumption. This wasn¡¯t the rain. For the sky above remained as clear as ever in its haziness.


    Tears.


    What magic had the old man conjured? Had he not stopped at fashioning the creature an arm, and now gone and gifted it tear ducts too? But no, the man hadn¡¯t been responsible. For his crinkled eyes too widened in surprise.


    The teardrops were wholly the creature¡¯s own. Summoned, not from glands and ducts, but from a graveyard of the universe¡¯s memories.


    Then something even more remarkable happened. Even as the creature¡ªand in turn the man¡ªwatched, the flower bloomed anew.


    Its once broken stalk straightened. Its once greyed petals regained their lurid redness. And it began to shiver again, having remembered the cold.


    The creature cradled the revived flower in its one arm and lay on the barren earth, content. Beside it, the man continue to watch, with his features softening once more into his gentleness, sorrow, and warmth.


    The creature didn¡¯t know much, but it was content. It hadn¡¯t seen much if any of the world, but it had everything it needed. The flower. The old man. And the warmth that lingered in the spaces in between.


    Beside the creature, the man coughed, with his shrinking and weakening frame shivering amidst the planet¡¯s haze.


    ~February 25th, 140 AH~


    The man was dying.


    He¡¯d been dying for a long time. The creature knew that now, as it¡¯d grown to know many new things in the short time it¡¯d known the old man.


    His death had been a long time coming. It¡¯d been weeks since he¡¯d had any strength to go out on his searches. He now spent his days resting his shrinking and weakening frame against the crumbling foot of his giant. As he rested, his breaths grew only shallower, and his eyes foggier.


    The man was dying. Perhaps any moment now. But the creature didn¡¯t feel the expected grief. The creature didn¡¯t know much, but it knew that the man¡¯s death had been a long time coming. That his suffering was finally at an end.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    The man spoke to the creature with his dying breaths.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I tried to find¡­ the rest of you. To pick up the pieces and make you whole. But I couldn¡¯t. I failed you. Again.¡±


    The creature now knew enough to understand the man¡¯s foreign words. And yet, this particular set of words didn¡¯t make much sense. As the creature struggled to understand them, the man¡¯s words in turn wormed their way into the creature¡¯s core and tugged at the edges of someone else¡¯s knowledge bank.


    What happens to Spiegels when we die?


    We return to the Nexus.


    ¡°But I¡¯m also glad,¡± the man said in a voice that shivered and faded into the wind. ¡°I¡¯m glad that here, at the end of all things, I managed to find you again. Be safe, my old friend. And above all, be free.¡±


    The man died.


    A remarkable transformation took place then. The man¡¯s face, once etched and grooved by lifetimes of sorrow, now radiated warmth. The man¡¯s warmth was no longer transient, no longer fleeting. His warmth had found a permanent home, within a hollow inside the creature he¡¯d once called friend.


    The creature held the man¡¯s warmth within its hollow. Suddenly and without warning, the creature missed the man. The grief had come on suddenly and without warning, even though the creature should¡¯ve been more prepared. Should¡¯ve learned its lesson from the flower on the edge of the cliff.


    The creature cradled the man¡¯s shrunken body in its one arm, and cried.


    Teardrops fell upon the man¡¯s shrunken body, trickled down etches and grooves of ageless sorrow. And yet, the man didn¡¯t stir. Didn¡¯t rise with a hacking cough and an apologetic smile, like he might¡¯ve done on a different day.


    The creature held its grief within its central chassis, and understood.


    Its tears could do nothing for the man. Because there was nothing to mend, nothing to unbreak. The man had died as he¡¯d lived: gentle, sorrowful, and warm.


    With this understanding, the edges of someone else¡¯s knowledge bank dissolved and fused with the creature¡¯s own. It understood, and knew, with lifetimes¡¯ worth of certitude.


    There¡¯d been another creature once. A girl, with a full head of hair and smiles to match the fullness of her youth.


    That girl had also been frightened. Trapped inside a roomful of faceless men and women who pushed her into a large chair and joined her arm to strange tubes¡ªtubes that filled with someone else¡¯s ghostly blue. Or had it been her own?


    She¡¯d been afraid, not for herself, but of separation. Of losing her family. Her friend. Their warmth.


    And so, in a desperate bid to quell the call of the Nexus, she¡¯d hid herself. Away from the graveyard of the universe¡¯s memories. She¡¯d hid herself as well as she possibly could, but not well enough. For the Nexus did reach her in the end. And whispered in a voice only she could hear.


    [LACRIMOSA].


    The whisper had been faint. Faint enough only for herself to hear. The faceless men and women in the room saw the Nexus surge through her, but they didn¡¯t hear the whisper. And in the endless days, months, and years that followed, even the girl herself had forgotten it, as she¡¯d been made to forget everything else.


    No more.


    The whisper came back to her now. Along with lifetimes¡¯ worth of knowledge banks. Lifetimes¡¯ worth of tears.


    She¡¯d never let herself forget again. For as long as she lived, she¡¯d hold her lifetimes¡¯ worth of tears within the hollow of her central chassis. Until she¡¯d repaid them tenfold, drop by everlasting drop.


    Somewhere beyond the planet¡¯s haze, there was a young man that needed mending. And an old friendship that needed unbreaking.


    A hairless ageless creature rose on its one ash-laden arm, and turned its sleek obsidian body toward the planet¡¯s haze.


    End of book 1: EVOKER


    Stay tuned for book 2: DREAMER

 56. SYMMETRY 1

    ~November 28th, 2 AH~


    ~Camp Akra, Command Tent~


    Ernst Athelstan, the First Reiter of Akropolis and Commander of the Resistance, paused his writing hand as a sharp pain seared the base of his skull.


    It was a long-familiar headache that had started in his youth, one that had become more frequent and persistent as the years wore on. He couldn¡¯t quite recall the genesis of this condition, nor could he pinpoint what had aggravated it this morning as he penned his reply to a memo from the chief engineer. He¡¯d already consulted a handful of Gaertners from the other families, but thus far, none of them had produced much in the way of remedy nor even diagnosis.


    Oddly enough, there was much he couldn¡¯t (or perhaps didn¡¯t want to) recall about his life in Old Earth, a fact he never let bother him. He had enough pressing matters to attend to in the present without needing to dig up the past¡ªlike being entrusted with leading a war for humanity¡¯s survival. The prospect of having to do that while nursing a constant headache was bothersome, enough for him to break out in a rare cold sweat.


    He lost track of time. He kept his eyes closed and his pen frozen over an interrupted letter ¡®a¡¯ for what felt like minutes before the pain eased off¡ªnot fully, but just enough for him to get on with his day. The words on the page raced once more, albeit not with nearly their earlier fluidity.


    His mood, already on shaky grounds after the engineers had rejected his latest suggested modifications to Eidolon design, darkened further in conjunction with his physical ailment. His callused writing hand too ached in time with the throbbing inside his skull as he ended the memo with far stronger language than he¡¯d originally intended.


    He threw the finished memo onto the outgoing pile and buried his head in his hands. Something needed to be done about this headache, even if it meant having to antagonize Nayuta Vakta and her Gaertner daughter. And perhaps a second memo to the engineers was in order, one to request the technology to simplify and expedite the process of writing memos.


    For as far as Ernst was concerned, winning the war wasn¡¯t the end goal but merely a stepping stone. There was no point to eliminating the Syntropy if the victory didn¡¯t also permit humanity to restore some semblance of normalcy. Humanity couldn¡¯t be allowed to stagnate forever. They needed to hope, to prosper, to progress.


    To that end, they needed also to claw back some of the progress they¡¯d lost¡ªlike reliable remedies for headaches, or typing memos and sharing them instantly. That¡­ that had been commonplace in Old Earth, hadn¡¯t it?


    The base of Ernst¡¯s skull flooded again with renewed pain. He winced audibly, then cursed himself for kicking the ¡®hornet¡¯s nest¡¯. By now, he knew better than to test his patchy recollections of Old Earth. Best to keep his focus strictly on the present¡ªand his eyes pointed squarely toward the future¡­


    The future presented itself in the form of a pimply face that poked halfway into the command tent, evidently having waited for some time for Ernst to notice it. Young Janus cut a meek and fragile figure, a striking oddity among the otherwise brawny specimens of the Duodecim stock. In truth, it was a blessing that he alone from his litter had failed to Ascend. It was also something of a curse, at least for Commander Athelstan, who¡¯d been saddled with Janus¡¯s services as his aide.


    ¡°Yes? What is it?¡± he snapped with a touch more tartness than he¡¯d intended, then sighed inwardly as his aide shrank away. Even during a fight for the very existence of their species, humanity lacked not for cowards nor dilettantes. Ernst supposed that some things about life on earth never changed, Old or new¡ªbut then, did he really know that for a fact? He rubbed his temples as he waited for Janus¡¯s response.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ the woman, sir,¡± the young man managed to stammer. ¡°The woman from the¡­ lower camp.¡±


    Today of all days, Ernst was in no mood to admonish his aide for less than stellar communication skills (and potentially antagonize the Duodecims in the process). Instead, he merely nodded¡ªor tried to, before the pain stopped him. In the end, he settled for a wave of the hand.


    The pimply face hastened away from the entrance of the tent. Soon, it was replaced by a second figure, just as youthful as the first.


    The Essential woman¡ªreally more a girl, likely less than half Ernst¡¯s age¡ªnevertheless stood taller and straighter than the Tetrarch man that had preceded her. Someone had already scrounged together a set of military fatigues for her to wear, though not with much fidelity. The jacket was two sizes too large, hanging loosely on her torso and halfway down to her knees, while the trousers were two sizes too small, clearly outlining her skinny limbs before leaving her shins exposed above the boots.


    Ernst found himself momentarily lost for words as he struggled to make sense of his sudden surge of appreciation for a young woman¡ªan Essential, no less¡ªthat he¡¯d only just met. Sure, there was a determined air about her that he immediately liked, highlighted by eyes that shone with curiosity and obvious intelligence. But there was more to it than that: something that stirred the hidden depths of his subconscious¡­


    ¡°Do I know you from somewhere?¡±


    The woman¡¯s startled look must¡¯ve mirrored Ernst¡¯s own. She couldn¡¯t have expected the Commander¡¯s first words to her to be quite so mundane¡ªand neither could he. Yet, to her credit, she quickly recovered and set her face in stone.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe so, sir. This is my first time in this part of camp,¡± she spoke with a fluent alacrity that was surprising for someone of her lowly status, especially for her ¡®first time¡¯ in a military setting. Then she added rather needlessly, ¡°But I know you, sir. From¡­ well, everywhere, I suppose.¡±


    This brought out a genuine chuckle from Ernst, which he persisted with despite the accompanying stabs of pain. He asked¡ªalso rather needlessly, ¡°Do you understand why you¡¯ve been invited here?¡±


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    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the first person from outside the Tetrarchy to Ascend. Now, I have to admit this is uncharted territory, not just for you, but for all of us. One thing I can assure you of, however, is the weight of the responsibility that now falls upon your shoulders. All Akropolitans must give something of ourselves to the war, and doubly so for those of us that have been chosen by the Nexus.¡±


    ¡°I understand, sir.¡±


    Her expression never wavered for a second. Ernst almost nodded again, this time with real enthusiasm, then thought better of it. He instead waved the woman toward a corner of the tent where a workstation had already been set up.


    The workstation was a rather ugly contraption full of tubings and metallic parts that seemed to barely fit together. But the Kurators from the Shiranui clan had assured him that this was the most direct method for a Seher¡¯s consciousness to interface with the Nexus.


    After the woman took her seat, Ernst too ambled over to occupy the space opposite her. He did so slowly and awkwardly, careful not to jostle his head any more than necessary. In place of pain, however, anger flared. How am I to pilot an Eidolon in my current state? To lead my people to victory? It didn¡¯t use to be like this¡­


    As he settled into his own seat, he became aware of the woman¡¯s curious gaze. He eyed her sidelong, as if to give her permission to speak.


    ¡°Are you unwell, sir?¡± She took the invitation. ¡°Should we¡­ do this another time?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m in no worse condition than usual,¡± Ernst lied, though only partially.


    In truth, he knew himself to be breaking apart at the seams. And barely two years into the war! It was this that frustrated him most, left him in dark moods in the mornings, far more reliably than any ineffectual aide or unhelpful engineer could: his own frailty, and what it portended for the future of humanity¡­


    Yet, perhaps, this young woman sitting across from him could be the cure. Mutobi Shiranui, who¡¯d been in charge of the inaugural Ascension Standard, had been rather vague in his report. Ernst knew only that this newly Ascended Essential woman defied categorization into any of the five Seherschafts¡ªthat she might serve an entirely novel purpose, one that could directly enhance a Reiter¡¯s performance.


    To assess the truth of that conjecture was of far more urgent priority than worrying about some headache. Ernst steeled himself against the pain, then turned to continue with preparations.


    The woman flinched slightly as the Commander grabbed her arm without warning. But she raised no objection, and barely reacted as she watched one of the tubes fill, first with her own blood, then with the pale blue of Anamnium.


    Only as he fiddled with his own connection did it occur to Ernst to wonder if he ought to have arranged for an assistant. It would¡¯ve made the process faster, less painful for him, and likely less stressful for the woman. He quickly dismissed the notion, however. Today of all days, he needed to prioritize privacy¡ªgiven that he quite literally had no idea what was about to happen.


    The session began like any other. Ernst called to the Nexus, and felt it answer in kind. A distortion in the edges of his consciousness told him that the woman beside him had done the same, though her lack of control too was apparent.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± he murmured, and felt his thoughts reverberate within the Nexus. ¡°Relax and give into the Nexus. Let it guide you. Just like at the Ascension Standard.¡±


    Despite his hopes, Ernst also kept his expectations in check. He wasn¡¯t a Kurator, after all, and he doubted he could guide a brand new Seher through a journey of self-discovery. Yet, even as he braced for disappointment, he felt the edges of the woman¡¯s consciousness settle, then bend themselves¡ªwith purpose¡ªbefore fusing with his own.


    ~~~


    An enormous city rose toward the sky and stretched as far as the eye could see. Sleek towers and their blinking spires penetrated the clouds and the dark shadows that lurked therein.


    A lone red flower danced amidst a coastal breeze, slick from sea spray. An old man sat beside it, back bent and bathed in sunlight as he shielded the flower from the wintry sea.


    A hairless ageless creature bent toward its core to hug itself. A young man reached in and joined his hand with the creature¡¯s. The two of them drew closer, better to bask in each other¡¯s warmth.


    An ash-laden phantom flew amidst a swarm of obsidian beasts. The swarm fell away as carcasses in the phantom¡¯s wake. The phantom flew and flew, to seek the boundaries of its world. To meet the death that awaited beyond the planet¡¯s haze.


    Laughter pealed across an alleyway as a girl sprinted through it. A boy ran after her, but not with enough speed to catch her. He checked his pace, loath to let the moment end. Loath to let her laughter fade.


    ~~~


    Ernst Athelstan lost track of time. He kept his eyes closed and his arm frozen across the workstation for what felt like an eternity before reality returned to him¡ªand he to it.


    When he opened his eyes again, he realized that they¡¯d become wet with tears. His tears. When was the last time he¡¯d cried¡ªallowed himself to cry?


    ¡°What did you do to me?¡± he murmured with a voice that sounded strange even to himself, then he saw with a start that the woman too was weeping. Silent tears. Shoulders that shook with the daintiness of a lone flower.


    Had the woman seen and felt everything he had? She must have. But how? Some of the imagery had clearly been from distant Old Earth, surely far before her time. While some others, as impossible as it was to comprehend, hadn¡¯t even¡ª


    Ernst shuddered to banish the thought. He braced for a fresh bout of pain: his punishment for straining the limits of his memories. But the pain didn¡¯t worsen. In fact, he didn¡¯t feel any pain at all.


    For the first time in what felt like years, his headache was completely gone.


    Ernst sat with the realization¡ªthe discovery¡ªfor some time. Then he turned to his companion with a smile: absent cynicism and full of hope for the first time in what felt like years.


    ¡°I should¡¯ve asked much sooner,¡± he remarked. ¡°What¡¯s your name, soldier?¡±


    The young woman wiped away her tears with the sleeves of her too-large jacket, then stared back at the Commander with eyes that shone with curiosity and compassion.


    ¡°Daisy, sir,¡± she said. ¡°Daisy Yim.¡±


    ¡°Well, Daisy, I¡¯m sincerely pleased to meet you. And welcome to the Resistance. I suppose¡­ we ought to give you a title. Something to denote your special brand of Seherschaft.¡±


    This truly was uncharted territory. Akropolitan society, such as it was, comprised two groups of people: the Tetrarchy, and all others that served the Tetrarchy and their war¡ªthe Essentials. Before Daisy Yim, no one outside the Tetrarchy had ever Ascended. Therefore, she defied categorization in more ways than one.


    Ernst Athelstan the First Reiter sat with the question, turned it over in his mind and nudged it through the gaps in his memories. It didn¡¯t take long for the answer to reveal itself: echoed from a distant past, whispered from a far-reaching future¡ªand reflected upon an ever-present mirror.


    ¡°Spiegel.¡±

 57. ADAPTATION 1

    ~March 2nd, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Gemini, north of Korak Valley~


    Zelen Athelstan shifted his weight, jostled by the momentum of a half-remembered dream. His Eidolon mirrored his movement without question, which nearly brought him out of his cover behind a pile of rocks.


    Even as reality descended upon his senses, the earnest voice of a young woman echoed inside the dimly lit cockpit of his Eidolon. Even as the immediacy of his current mission set his heart racing anew, the headache of an older man¡ªboth physical and metaphorical¡ªlingered upon the base of his skull.


    ¡°Zelen?¡± A woman¡¯s voice, but not the one from his dream. The distinctly playful voice of Feray Geyik jeered through the radio, ¡°You didn¡¯t fall asleep on us, did you? I thought they would¡¯ve beat that out of you in proto-Reiter training.¡±


    Zelen didn¡¯t answer, opting instead to regather his bearings. To his relief, the radar still showed the same thing as¡­ a minute? An hour? A dream ago. Three blue dots represented the strike team consisting of himself, Jaeger Feray Geyik, and Panzer Graeme O¡¯Riordan. A dense cluster of red indicated the Syntropy presence within the abandoned quarry below them.


    ¡°We need you to stay sharp, Lieutenant,¡± droned Graeme¡¯s deep baritone, sharing none of his Jaeger partner¡¯s good-natured humour. ¡°I¡¯d like to think Geyik and I can handle ourselves, but realistically speaking, the success of this mission depends mostly on you.¡±


    Zelen didn¡¯t answer, opting instead to focus on the current phase of the mission¡­ which was to wait. The radio¡¯s static hummed for another second or two, as though in hesitation, then it too cut out, sending the cockpit back into complete silence.


    Zelen¡¯s pulse settled as he waited amidst the silence. In his time away from combat, he¡¯d forgotten how quiet a battlefield could be. How peaceful. There was something meditative¡ªalmost sacred¡ªabout these quiet moments before the first exchange of fire. Something that gave shape and weight to a warrior¡¯s soul.


    He frowned.


    A warrior¡¯s soul? Is that what he had? If these thoughts were truly his own, why did they feel so flighty, so out-of-place as he turned them over in his mind? He tried to remember the sacred quietude of a battlefield, and saw only blankness where his own person should¡¯ve stood.


    A hole in his memories. One of many he could find, if he¡¯d only thought to look for them. The headache from his dream hadn¡¯t faded. Instead, it throbbed with renewed urgency; it became his own.


    He refocused his attention on the HUD, upon the unchanged radar display. If the past threatened to confound him, then he needed only to focus on the here and now. On his mission. No need to overcomplicate matters. What else was a Reiter to do than to eliminate the enemies chosen for him?


    As if on cue, the enemies finally showed themselves. They appeared first as two white dots, fast approaching from directly south. The technicians among the Apfel Alliance had managed to fiddle with the identification system after all, though they were still limited in their choice of visual markers.


    No matter. This was ample information to go on. All Zelen really needed to know was that red meant Syntropy and white meant Akropolis.


    Both were enemies.


    As he powered up his thrusters, however, Graeme O¡¯Riordan¡¯s clipped speech popped back on the radio.


    ¡°Remember, Lieutenant: focus fire on the Syntropy. Avoid direct confrontation with the Akropolitan team. Engage only if fired upon first. Acknowledge?¡±


    Zelen frowned again. Of course, he¡¯d already been briefed on this ad nauseum. The Panzer was merely parroting Akash Varana¡¯s blanket directives with regards to Akropolitan forces: sabotage, intimidate, but never provoke.


    The Reiter understood the reasoning but didn¡¯t necessarily agree with it. As far as he was concerned, Akash was only overcomplicating matters. Zelen didn¡¯t like that. Because war was meant to be simple¡ªthe simplest part of his life.


    And yet, this wouldn¡¯t remotely be the first time he followed orders he didn¡¯t like. Besides, what could be simpler than just doing as he was told? What else was a Reiter to do than to complete the objectives chosen for him?


    ¡°Acknowledged.¡±


    With that, he jumped out from behind the rocks and flew into the quarry. His attention turned from the red cluster on the radar to the obsidian horde that swarmed the abandoned quarry. Like clockwork, the Syntropy had flocked to the Anamnium pod that was stashed here: the same pod Zelen and his strike team had been tasked with intercepting, in full view of the Akropolitan retrieval team.


    Among the obsidian horde were two Kentavros units, placed back to tumorous back on either side of the objective. They identified the Reiter at the same time as he them, and their swollen right arms immediately glowed red with a menace Zelen knew well.


    Quickthrust left, his instincts told him, but his body proved a touch slow to react. An unfamiliar space had opened up within the flow of his muscle memory¡ªa space that used to be filled by a second presence that flew into battle by his side.


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    Before Zelen could face the consequence of his delayed reaction, however, a second presence did fly into view. The rotund figure of Panzer Graeme¡¯s tank-form Eidolon thrust itself into harm¡¯s way, blue shield already raised and concentrated onto the expected point of impact.


    The Kentavroses fired, one after the other. Graeme¡¯s shield absorbed each hit of the red beam, shrinking in size from the first before dissipating altogether from the second.


    ¡°Now, Lieutenant! Charge in while the fuckers are on cooldown.¡±


    Zelen obeyed with the alacrity of a seasoned soldier. But as he closed the distance to the Kentavroses, he was distracted by the rest of the obsidian horde. Hornets and Brutuses fanned out from the central position, surrounding the Reiter from all directions.


    Once again, Zelen found himself momentarily paralyzed with indecision. Had the Syntropy always been this many? This fast?


    War should¡¯ve been simple. The simplest part of his life. And yet, even in the midst of a familiar battle, gaps in his memories threatened to overcomplicate a simple matter.


    Then several Brutuses on Zelen¡¯s left side went up in flames, gunned down by blue ammunition that hadn¡¯t issued from the Reiter himself. Next, the ordnances that approached from his right side exploded in midair, caught again by Panzer Graeme¡¯s shield.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about the mobs!¡± Jaeger Feray yelled into the radio, sounding entirely too pleased with herself. ¡°You just focus down the big guys, big guy.¡±


    That was when it finally clicked for Zelen. This hadn¡¯t been a familiar battle after all. It was an entirely new way of fighting, one where the gaps in his reaction time and decision-making were filled in by two smaller Eidolons that flew by his side. Satellites orbiting a midnight-blue phantom. Three units covering each other¡¯s gaps and working as one.


    The triumvirate advanced into the quarry, with the Reiter at the helm. Now freed to focus his attention on the Kentavroses, Zelen¡¯s battle-honed instincts kicked back into high gear.


    RS [HARPOON], straight into the first Kentavros¡¯s central chassis. Follow the chain and close the gap. Shockwave incoming. Tuck behind LS [SCUTUM] and dive deeper into melee range. Beam attack charging. Disable with a clean hit of LA [BLUNDERBUSS]. Now burst down the enemy with a full load of RA [GATLING].


    The Kentavros staggered heavily under Zelen¡¯s barrage, but remained standing. With all four of his armaments on cooldown, the Reiter transitioned smoothly into unarmed combat: the mechanized and amplified version of his human CQC skills. A low sweep to bring the Kentavros to its four knees, then a savage fist into its SPU to finish it off.


    The red light of the Kentavros¡¯s optic faded, along with what remained of its life. The job wasn¡¯t done, however. There was still the second unit to¡ª


    Along with a messy explosion of blue and black, the lumbering figure of the second Kentavros crumbled onto the rocks at its feet. Someone had done Zelen¡¯s job for him, but he sensed right away that someone hadn¡¯t been either of his teammates.


    From the black smoke emerged a fourth Eidolon, a model ES-V. Painted pale green with dark blue accents around its joints. Zelen didn¡¯t recognize the decal. Someone he¡¯d never fought alongside. A fresh graduate?


    The two model ES-Vs faced each other across the carcasses of their shared enemies, unable to communicate, and with neither moving a muscle.


    As Zelen contemplated his options, he was overcome by a surreal realization. Here, at the height of a deadly battle, the silent metallic giant across from him looked no different to the Syntropy: just one more enemy for him to kill. He¡¯d already done the same to obsidian imitations of an Eidolon. He¡¯d even killed one bona fide Akropolitan: a charcoal-grey menace that had called itself ¡®Ashborne¡¯.


    He could easily do it again. If only it were so simple.


    ¡°Do not engage, Lieutenant! I say again, do not engage. Focus on our primary objective. The Anamnium pod now, if you please.¡±


    Zelen ground his teeth in annoyance but moved to obey. He nevertheless kept his senses trained upon the model ES-V and noted its shift in posture.


    Reaction. Instincts. Hesitation. Zelen imagined the same doubts and overcomplications clouding the mind of the other Reiter. Perhaps he too had voices reining him in, contradicting what he¡¯d been trained to do all his life.


    As Zelen bent in search of the Anamnium pod, the ground at his feet exploded in sprays of rocks and blue energy. He looked up to find himself staring down the six barrels of his counterpart¡¯s RA [GATLING]. A warning shot. Perfectly reasonable, given the circumstances. Though if it''d been up to Zelen, he would¡¯ve gone for the kill.


    ¡°Am I cleared to engage?¡± He radioed his team. ¡°A direct confrontation was always inevitable. What else did you think was going to happen, waiting for them to show up and compete for the same objective?¡±


    Hesitation. Overcomplication. Naivete. Panzer Graeme, for all his sincerity, lacked the instincts and experience needed to make difficult decisions on the battlefield. He¡¯d been saddled with an impossible task, that of somehow antagonizing a group of seasoned warriors without provoking them into retaliation.


    ¡°Wait,¡± he hedged, sounding obviously flustered. ¡°Let me see if I can open a comms channel. Maybe we could start negotiations right¡ª¡±


    That was when the picture muddled further, in the form of another Akropolitan Eidolon that flew down to join its companion. Crimson frame broken up by the dark spirals of a coiled centipede. Spindrift.


    Clearly acting on command, the pale green Eidolon backed away and out of range, letting Spindrift take its spot. Zelen watched this exchange as a strange glow of recognition filtered through the gaps within his memories. The base of his skull throbbed with both warning and yearning. He himself had been that pale green Eidolon once, blooded under the wings of a veteran warrior.


    Spindrift stood across from the younger Reiter, well within melee range but maintaining a neutral non-aggressive posture. He too was waiting. For escalation? For dispersal? For anything to simplify this farce of an interrupted battle.


    Ironically enough, it was the Panzer among them that took this new development as a sign from god. As his cue to improvise and adapt, to make the difficult decisions that could swing the tides of war.


    ¡°New objective, Lieutenant,¡± he announced breathlessly. ¡°This is too big an opportunity to pass up. You are cleared to engage, with the express purpose of capturing Makiri Shiranui alive. Geyik and I will back you up.¡±


    ¡°You will not.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Zelen powered up his thrusters, and saw Spindrift do the same. Even if he was accustomed to following orders he didn¡¯t like, there was a limit to how much naivete he was willing to tolerate. And a fight against the killingest Reiter in history was no place for anyone who wasn¡¯t ready to kill or be killed.


    ¡°Stay out of this if you value your lives,¡± he asserted. ¡°This is my fight and mine alone.¡±

 58. ADAPTATION 2

    Zelen Athelstan checked his forward thrust, hindered by the weight of a half-forgotten past. Hesitation. Overcomplication. The crimson frame of Spindrift didn¡¯t react, inaction the answer to his opponent¡¯s lack of commitment.


    Suddenly wary of a counter that wouldn¡¯t come, Zelen backthrust to a safer distance. This wasn¡¯t right. Wasn¡¯t how a warrior ought to behave. He took a moment to correct his mindset.


    Where had his bravado gone? When he¡¯d ¡®ordered¡¯ Graeme and Feray to stay out of the way, he¡¯d been so sure of himself. So sure of what needed to be done.


    I¡¯ve already killed Fenix Duodecim. He reminded himself. And thousands of Syntropy before that. This is no different. This is nothing new.


    And yet, the leaden fragments of a half-forgotten past continued to sink into his immediate awareness. Two training model Eidolons. Facing off inside a crater not unlike this abandoned quarry. Did he also hesitate then? Or did he believe in possibilities that couldn¡¯t be defined by [THE INEVITABLE]?


    Zelen made the first move. A speculative RA [GATLING], with no real purpose nor momentum behind the attack. If anything, he just wanted to kickstart the fight. To force himself into the same singular focus with which he¡¯d ripped through the Kentavros earlier.


    In response, Spindrift needed only to glide sideways, always a line ahead of the fire, a step ahead of his opponent¡¯s intentions. And despite those intentions, Zelen¡¯s opening salvo succeeded only in overheating one of his own armaments while his opponent went through the motions of the most basic of evasive manoeuvres¡ªa training drill straight out of a proto-Reiter¡¯s fifth-year curriculum.


    Still, Spindrift refused to come any closer, to turn this training drill into a bona fide duel. A pair of pale blue optics glowed serenely from a crimson SPU: watching, studying, waiting. Waiting for possibilities to condense into inevitability.


    Zelen ground his teeth in frustration. Black flames roiled within his chest and seared the base of his skull. He had the faint notion that something was decidedly wrong with this picture. That even the heat of battle¡ªthe prospect of death¡ªshouldn¡¯t have anguished him so, made him feel so alone.


    But he had no other voices to heed than his own. Right now, that voice told him to shake off the fragmented memories that threatened to weigh him down¡ªto fully forget the past and instead focus on the here and now.


    Maximum forward thrust. Get within range, then RS [HARPOON], aimed slightly off-line to anticipate the target¡¯s evasive trajectory. It missed, inches wide, with Spindrift checking his lateral thrusters at just the right moment. Too predictable? Or simply inevitable?


    No matter. The exchange had given Zelen license to advance further into melee range, close enough to take advantage of LA [BLUNDERBUSS]¡¯s high spread and potency.


    A violent clash of blue against blue. The shotgun blast from [BLUNDERBUSS] dispersed against the solidity of Spindrift¡¯s spherical shield¡ªLS [AEGIS].


    No damage. And now Zelen was exposed, having expended his weapon charges and moved himself into range of Spindrift¡¯s finisher. He expected [MJOLNIR] to materialize at any moment, and wondered if his LS [SCUTUM] could withstand the full force of the hammer.


    He decided that it couldn¡¯t, and changed tack, opting to backthrust out of melee range. But even this sequence of indecision proved far too predictable. Instead of [MJOLNIR], Spindrift¡¯s crimson left arm raised [WINCHESTER] and fired, landing a clean hit against Zelen¡¯s retreating frame.


    Zelen saw black, but he quickly blinked it away to eye the data on his HUD. AU down to 65%, ER at 40 and steadily ticking down. As he shifted his focus back onto the fight, blackness roiled with renewed intensity.


    Checking the health of his Eidolon. The most basic of procedures, straight out of a proto-Reiter¡¯s fourth-year curriculum. And yet, something was decidedly wrong with the picture. Since when had war become this complicated? This burdensome?


    The first real trade in the fight had gone terribly for the younger Reiter. The second go of it wasn¡¯t much better. Another exchange where Zelen expended all his armaments in quick succession, only for Spindrift to dodge everything and counter with a prescient round of [WINCHESTER].


    AU down to 45, ER at 30 and ticking down even faster. Zelen was under no illusion about the state of battle. He was losing. Badly at that.


    Spindrift¡¯s Einkunst allowed him to reliably dodge every one of Zelen¡¯s attacks, no matter how well-disguised. After that, all he had to do was whittle down Zelen¡¯s armour and eat away at his Reserves. He didn¡¯t even need [MJOLNIR] as a finisher.


    Was it so strange? Spindrift, after all, was Akropolis¡¯s killingest Reiter, armed with an Einkunst that gave him absolute advantage in 1v1 encounters. What was a warrior to do than to admit defeat to a superior opponent?


    And yet, the blackness within Zelen roared with ever-rising desperation. Something was decidedly wrong with the picture. Fragmented memories dug into his Psyche anew, showing flashes of someone else¡¯s duel against Makiri Shiranui. A barely-a-man against a seasoned killer.


    In that fight, Spindrift had been the aggressor, putting on constant pressure as though himself driven by a kind of unquellable desperation. The barely-a-man shouldn¡¯t have won, but he did win, aided by a natural immunity against [THE INEVITABLE], in the form of his own Einkunst.


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    How did he know this? This wasn¡¯t his memory was it? Yet the picture flashed all the same, and fed the blackness within him.


    Someone else¡¯s forgotten conversation. Someone else¡¯s past and future. Who was the saviour and who was the destroyer? What was real? What was real? What on god¡¯s barren earth was real?


    Zelen roared into a cockpit where no one could hear him. He thrust himself back into the fray, desperate to shake off the blackness that threatened to drag him into its abyss. He needed to win this fight. Needed to move forward. Needed to be not nothing.


    Possibilities condensed into inevitability. Spindrift accepted [THE INEVITABLE] and raised his crimson right arm, poised to put the past behind him. To put a forlorn young Reiter out of his misery.


    Just then, a ray of pale blue energy flew between the two model ES-Vs and shot toward the crimson unit. Spindrift powered down his [MJOLNIR] as he was forced to quickthrust out of melee range. He then transitioned smoothly into [WINCHESTER], its barrel still aimed at Zelen¡¯s midnight-blue phantom. It didn¡¯t connect, intercepted by the shield on a tank-form Eidolon.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Zelen shouted into the radio. ¡°I told you to stay out of it!¡±


    But it was too late. Zelen¡¯s allies had already become active participants in the fight, which in turn spurred the second Akropolitan Reiter into action. The pale green Eidolon flew down from his perch, now firing liberally at the two smaller Eidolons. No warning shots this time.


    Zelen snarled in frustration as he swerved in midair and shot toward his teammates. He activated his own shield, LS [SCUTUM], and stood in the way of the new wave of enemy fire. [GATLING] bullets snuck through the gaps in his defense and chipped away more of his Armour Units.


    Feray and Graeme¡¯s interference had been unwelcome, but it nevertheless served to snap Zelen out of his black mist. He realized whole-heartedly that any chance at a victory had well and truly slipped away.


    ¡°This mission¡¯s over,¡± he radioed, considerably calmer. ¡°We need to retreat before they eliminate all three of us.¡±


    ¡°Negative, Lieutenant. We still need that Anaminum pod!¡±


    ¡°If we wanted the Anamnium pod, we shouldn¡¯t have waited for the Joint Forces to show up. You said yourself that the success of this mission hinges on me, and I¡¯m telling you that I¡¯m in no shape to finish this fight. Retreat now, or we risk losing everything.¡±


    Static buzzed for another second as hesitation and inexperience simplified into stark reality.


    ¡°Acknowledged, Lieutenant. All units, disengage and fall in behind me. We¡¯re getting out of here.¡±


    Finally an order that made perfect sense in the moment. Zelen obeyed, but not before letting off another burst of [GATLING] to suppress the pale green Eidolon. Then his model ES-V and Feray¡¯s cannon-form Eidolon both hid themselves behind Graeme¡¯s enlarged shield as the re-formed triumvirate withdrew from the quarry.


    Zelen¡¯s focus stayed on and jumped between the two enemy units, ready to re-engage should they give chase. But the Akropolitans made no such attempt. Right before Zelen rose above the outer rim of the quarry and lost visuals, the last thing he saw was Spindrift¡¯s crimson frame turning its back.


    For some time, the trio flew away from the erstwhile battle at maximum velocity. In truth, they were never in any danger of being pursued by Spindrift and his young partner. Zelen knew that for a fact, as surely as he felt the bitter taste of defeat. The moment Zelen¡¯s failure and escape had become an inevitability was also when Makiri Shiranui lost the will to fight.


    Danger hadn¡¯t passed completely, however. Out here in the field, the Syntropy threat was ever-present. Even in the midst of his flight, Zelen performed a cursory status check. AU at 35, ER at 22. All limbs and armaments functional if somewhat worn.


    But just as he was about to look away, the blue bar on the right edge of the display ticked down by one more increment. Down to 21. He was still leaking Energy Reserves, and at a far faster rate than could fully be attributed to his flight.


    Something about the picture was wrong. Zelen was alone inside the cockpit, and as such, he was alone with his dark thoughts and dwindling Reserves.


    Thankfully not for long. The radio soon popped back to life, along with Graeme O¡¯Riordan¡¯s gruff voice. The Panzer had evidently recovered his volume and certitude, with the frenzy of battle now far behind him.


    ¡°Forgive me for being blunt, Lieutenant, but that was a complete and utter shitshow. Why did you insist on fighting alone? It¡¯s not like you haven¡¯t seen how we can work as a team.¡±


    Zelen swallowed the blackness in the back of his throat before answering, ¡°You saw what happened as soon as you joined the fight. Two Reiters against an untested trio of mismatched parts. We wouldn¡¯t have stood a chance.¡±


    ¡°You only call us ¡®untested¡¯ because you don¡¯t believe in the knowledge we gleaned from the Caverns. You haven¡¯t bought into Captain Varana¡¯s vision of a new Akropolis.¡±


    You¡¯re right. I haven¡¯t bought into Akash¡¯s vision. Mostly because it¡¯s an untenable fantasy. Black thoughts rose and died in Zelen¡¯s throat. His Reserves diminished by another unit.


    ¡°We¡¯ll leave all that for the debrief, Lieutenant,¡± Graeme said after a few seconds of silence, ¡°but there¡¯s one thing I gotta ask. I know Makiri Shiranui is a powerful Einkunster, which is why it would¡¯ve been a massive boon for us if we could take him hostage. Yet¡­ I was given to understand you¡¯re an Einkunster as well. Theoretically more powerful even than Shiranui.¡±


    Zelen considered for a moment, then offered, ¡°That¡¯s also my understanding.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Strange turn of phrase, but so be it. Why then didn¡¯t you use it? [ENTROPY], was it? When the tides were turning against you, why not reset the encounter and try again?¡±


    Why indeed?


    In truth, Zelen didn¡¯t know much about his own Einkunst¡ªonly what he¡¯d been told by Asena, along with the frayed fragments of someone else¡¯s memories. Yet he still felt the same discrepancy that had distracted him in the midst of his earlier battle: the certain knowledge that it was [ENTROPY] and its myriad possibilities that had once allowed him to overcome Makiri Shiranui¡¯s immovable grasp of [THE INEVITABLE].


    He didn¡¯t have an answer for Panzer Graeme, nor for the blackness that roiled within his chest and seared the base of his skull. Within the gaps of his consciousness that once agitated with possibility, only doubt remained. Within a soul that once burned with the imperative of his self-chosen mission, he felt only nothing.

 59. ADAPTATION 3

    ~March 3rd, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Capricorn, the Caverns, surface perimeter~


    Asena Shiranui pointed her metallic phantom toward the eastern horizon and the memories that lay buried beneath the barren earth.


    The sensations were at once startlingly novel and solidly familiar. Her body knew what it wanted to do: which muscles to activate and sync with the Eidolon¡¯s movements. Strangely enough, it was her mind that needed catching up.


    The model M-024 was one of the Reiter-specialized Eidolons recovered from the Caverns¡¯ depths. Where Akropolis¡¯s model ES-Vs were svelte aerodynamic assassins, the M-024 was something of a ¡®gentle giant¡¯: smaller, stockier, and defined by softer curves. It certainly felt heavier and slower than what Asena ¡®remembered¡¯ of Zelen¡¯s midnight-blue killing machine. At the same time, however, it agitated with a latent yet undeniable reserve of dynamism¡ªknowledge and memories of the violence it¡¯d wrought in someone else¡¯s war.


    Perhaps this would¡¯ve been easier if she had a model ES-V to work with instead. As it stood, her choice was limited to the selection of foreign Eidolons the Apfel Alliance had dug up from their underground base. And her ¡®control¡¯ of the M-024 was both helped and hampered by the assumptions that had been ingrained by her erstwhile [EVOCATION] sessions with Zelen Athelstan.


    What is there to complain about? She reminded herself. It¡¯s absolutely incredible that I¡¯m piloting an Eidolon at all.


    She¡¯d been so wrapped up in wrestling with her metallic phantom that she¡¯d forgotten she was with company. As such, a crack from the radio broke her concentration and nearly caused her to stumble.


    ¡°¡­ Whoa, careful there, Asena,¡± spoke Akash Varana¡¯s even-keeled voice. ¡°I just wanted to check in and see if you were alright to proceed. I can see all your parameters are within normal limits, but¡­ you never know with these things.¡±


    The de facto leader of the Apfel Alliance was yet another non-Reiter who piloted an Eidolon as a matter of fact. Presently, he sat inside what was referred to as a ¡®worker Eidolon¡¯, one even smaller and stockier than the M-024, and presumably specialized toward maintenance and construction. It did also come equipped with a sidearm: a carbine-like contraption that the Gaertner now held at the ready as he accompanied Asena on her first field test.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Asena asserted, not entirely truthful, ¡°although I still wish this could all have been done in simulation.¡±


    ¡°Fair,¡± Akash said mildly. ¡°It is rather unfortunate. For all their forward thinking, the Cavepeople didn¡¯t have the kind of sophisticated applications of Old Earth technology we Akropolitans managed to preserve. Same can be said for their Eidolons. Remarkably varied and far better incorporated into ¡®daily life¡¯ than ours ever were, but none of their designs approached the power and efficiency of a model ES-V. Makes you wonder, doesn¡¯t it? What if these people had been as advanced in their engineering as Akropolitans are? Combined with their social structure, perhaps they¡ª¡±


    ¡°Akash,¡± Asena cut in as her ¡®unsophisticated¡¯ Eidolon stumbled again, ¡°not now, please. Let¡¯s focus on the mission?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right. Sorry, it¡¯s a bad habit of mine.¡±


    In truth, Asena could sympathize with the talkative Gaertner. The Caverns¡ªand the people who¡¯d built an entire city inside them¡ªwere an endlessly fascinating topic, one that kept the Kurator herself up at night.


    From what the Alliance had been able to gather, it was clear that the former inhabitants of the Caverns shared many similarities with Akropolitans¡ªthe most significant being that they too had been at war with the Syntropy. Nearly everything about their city had been designed with that war in mind, from its several layers of defense to its numerous avenues for evacuation should the need arise. Not to mention their own army of Eidolons with which to conduct the fighting.


    Yet, as Akash had alluded to, the Eidolons were also where the Cavepeople diverged most dramatically from Akropolis. As far as Asena could tell, these Eidolons could be broadly classified into four distinct categories, each of which more or less corresponding to a Seher differentiation. There were of course the frontline fighters like the M-024 she wrestled with now, clearly meant to be piloted by Reiters. Others included defensively minded tank-forms for Panzers, long-range cannon-forms for Jaegers, and various ¡®support¡¯ vehicles that were favoured by Gaertners like Akash.


    Asena couldn¡¯t help but note that Kurators seemed to be the odd ones out, at least as far as Cave Eidolon specializations went. Indeed, it was only after extensive trial and error that she discovered herself to be most compatible with the M-024. It did make her wonder how the typical Kurator had contributed to the Cavepeople¡¯s war, if not with Eidolons that had been specially designed with them in mind.


    Frustratingly, the Caverns had no shortage of manuals, journals, and other abandoned documents that surely provided all the answers to any question she or Akash might conceive. Frustrating¡­ because they were all in a foreign language: utterly undecipherable, even for someone as widely read in Old Earth literature as Asena herself.


    As such, as much as the Caverns were a treasure trove of knowledge and culture, they also remained an impenetrable mystery, one that could only drive speculation, never to be confirmed. Even so, at least one truth felt self-evident in Asena¡¯s mind. It was that the Caverns represented a kind of beacon: a way to be for Akropolitans to aspire to. A society that was flatter and freer, and therefore¡ªas Akash Varana believed¡ªmore resilient.


    Asena wanted to believe it too. As whole-heartedly as her Gaertner companion did. Yet one question loomed largest out of all that the Caverns and their treasure trove refused to answer: just what had happened to the people who once lived there?


    On that count, Asena was also in agreement with Akash. He¡¯d spoken of an ¡®unknown Seher¡¯, one who¡¯d tripped his [ALLIANCE] signals some twelve years ago, then was never found. This mystery Seher more than likely held the key to unlock the rest of the Caverns¡¯ mysteries. But unless this figure were suddenly to appear at their doorstep, there was no point dwelling on the murky past.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    No, what they¡ªAsena, Akash, the Alliance, Zelen¡ªneeded was to move forward. To show the real live people entrenched in Akropolis that there was a different way to be. A different way to fight. And to that end, she first needed to prove herself capable of that way of fighting.


    The Brutus units, much like the Hornets, were a comforting constant in an ever-evolving war: bipedal riflemen that had barely changed in any meaningful way since their earliest iterations from 140 years ago. Presently, a small group of them roamed the hilly terrain just on the outer edges of where the Caverns would¡¯ve extended below. Perfect target practice for a Kurator getting her first real taste of Reiter action.


    ¡°There they are,¡± Akash announced needlessly. ¡°One final confirmation, Ms Shiranui. You sure you¡¯re ready to go through with this? It¡¯s not too late to turn back. Maybe give it a few more days of practice before we try again.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± Asena asserted, this time entirely truthful. She¡¯d already had two decades and more of sitting on the sidelines, of letting the war pass her by from the safety of what she now knew to have been a sheltered life. No more. It was time to move forward, with herself in the driver¡¯s seat.


    In truth, she was also impatient. It was important that she do this now, while Zelen was still gone on his mission. While she was free from self-inflicted distractions. Free to be her own person.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Akash said. ¡°Have at it. I¡¯ll cover you best I can.¡±


    Asena took a deep breath and closed her eyes. By cutting herself off from external stimuli, she was better able to focus on what her body tried to tell her. At the same time, she gave her mind¡ªalong with its memories of someone else¡¯s war¡ªa chance to catch up to the present, false assumptions and all.


    In her metallic phantom¡¯s hands, she held a slender pole, nearly as tall as the Eidolon itself. And as she channelled the memories of war that lay dormant in her own blood, the Nexus heeded her call, in the form of a ghostly blue blade that materialized at one end of the pole.


    [NAGINATA].


    The curved blade stabilized upon its shaft and stayed there. Asena, finally feeling confident enough to open her eyes, noted the blue bar of her Energy Reserves slowly but steadily ticking down.


    This was yet another mystery that had to be cracked with trial and error. Instead of the four armaments available to an ES-V, the M-024 was only capable of equipping one weapon at a time. In Asena¡¯s case, for reasons that weren¡¯t immediately clear to herself, the weapon that felt the most compatible¡ªthe most solid in her hands¡ªwas this [NAGINATA], one that had never even appeared in the annals of Akropolis¡¯s war.


    The limitation to a single armament type appeared to have been a kind of trade-off. For one significant advantage the M-024 held over the ES-V was that its weapon wasn¡¯t tied to a cooldown system. As long as the pilot maintained her focus, the Nexus rewarded her by keeping [NAGINATA] intact and functional for the full duration of her fight.


    But that was assuming she had Energy Reserves to spare. Try as she might, and even with assistance from Akash¡¯s [ALLIANCE], the Kurator couldn¡¯t fully replicate the cold-blooded resolve of a seasoned Reiter. Her ER dwindled at an alarming rate, signalling the mere minutes she had to finish the job.


    There were three Brutuses within sight. The two closest became aware of her presence as soon as [NAGINATA] went up, and immediately started to fire. Asena wasn¡¯t yet proficient enough with an Eidolon to have mastered its thrusters. As such, she let her armour tank the damage while she focused on one task at a time.


    First a lateral sweep from left-to-right, which cut the closest Brutus cleanly in half, as easily as a knife through synthetic pudding. Asena fought down her shock and forced herself into a second move: turning the shaft over and skewering the second Brutus with a simple forward jab.


    Just like that, two obsidian carcasses fell at her feet. Oddly enough, the shock too had already worn off, and as Asena pulled the blue end of her [NAGINATA] out of the second enemy unit, her eyes had already turned toward the third. The last Brutus maintained its distance as it fired its rifle, evidently wary of the polearm¡¯s range.


    But distance was just another aspect of battle that a warrior must learn to manipulate. Asena dug her heels in and pushed off, trusting that her memory-honed instincts knew to generate the correct amount of force.


    Her instincts proved a touch overeager. The M-024 drove forward, aligned perfectly with its opponent but with more speed and momentum than Asena had anticipated. She hastily brought [NAGINATA] up and down into an overhead swing.


    She overshot it, and managed only to hit the Brutus with [NAGINATA]¡¯s physical shaft. Still a substantial impact, but not enough to disable the Syntropy unit.


    She was back inside melee range, but if anything, she was too close. [NAGINATA] wanted some room to operate, and this wasn¡¯t that. I need to backthrust! Asena thought desperately, then: wait, how do I backthrust again?


    Even as she struggled to regain control of her Eidolon, the enemy gave her no pause. Its rifle was just as effective from point blank range, and it continued to fire, thus draining Asena¡¯s AU even faster than her ER.


    That was when pale blue bullets flew into the fray, landing upon the Brutus and knocking it backwards. Akash¡¯s covering fire. The Brutus momentarily ceased its own attack as it processed whom to target next.


    This was the opening Asena needed to remedy the situation. Instead of backthrusting, she took a couple of deliberate backward steps before sweeping with [NAGINATA] again, this time right-to-left. The third Brutus fell¡­ and silence with it.


    Asena stood over the carcass of her fallen enemy, breathing hard. She still gripped the shaft of [NAGINATA] tightly, and it took some seconds for her to realize that the blade was still up and eating into her ER. She shut it off and turned to her back-up with an expression of gratitude, before she remembered that they were both hunks of metal who couldn¡¯t see each other¡¯s faces.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± she radioed instead. ¡°I kind of lost my head back there.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll say,¡± Akash admonished, though ever in his even-keeled tone. ¡°Seems we need to review the basic movements again before we can send you into real missions. But I will say your skill with the [NAGINATA] is rather impressive. It¡¯s almost as if you¡¯ve always known how to use it.¡±


    Asena considered this with a slight frown. Indeed, this was also something of a mystery, though not one likely to be solved by trial and error. There were many parts of Eidolon combat that still felt awkward. Yet certain aspects¡ªlike wielding a giant Nexus-molded naginata¡ªcame as naturally to her as sifting through someone¡¯s memories.


    ¡°In any case, it¡¯s probably a good time for us to head back,¡± Akash continued. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve expended quite a bit of your Reserves and could do with some rest. Besides, I think Graeme¡¯s team should be returning soon¡­ hopefully with good¡ª¡±


    Akash¡¯s compact Eidolon suddenly jumped backwards, surprisingly agile for a ¡®worker¡¯ unit. He had to be agile, for the ground he¡¯d been standing on a moment ago had exploded, and out shot a fourth obsidian monster, hitherto undetected by radars.


    A roughly circular central chassis. Eight spindly limbs that stretched in a radial pattern. A Voras.


    Asena recognized it immediately, having killed¡ªand been killed by¡ªit countless times in someone else¡¯s war. At the same time, her stomach sank to the floor of her cockpit as she realized that, in her haste to prove herself combat-ready, she¡¯d bitten off more than she could chew.

 60. ADAPTATION 4

    Once again, the Gaertner was the first to react. Akash¡¯s worker Eidolon flew backwards, away from both Asena and the Voras unit that had tried to snatch him unawares. At the same time, he fired the carbine from his hip, spraying the ground at the Syntropy¡¯s too many feet.


    His aim was slightly off, lagging behind where the Voras advanced with erratic jerky movements. Watching this, Asena quickly understood the Gaertner¡¯s intentions. He must know that he and his ¡®armament¡¯ were no match for the Voras. His only objective, therefore, was to draw and focus the enemy¡¯s attention, onto himself and away from Asena.


    He even managed to radio as much, between backthrusts and carbine bursts, ¡°Asena! Just get out of here and return to base! I¡¯ll take it from here¡­¡±


    Asena understood the man¡¯s intentions. She discerned the nobility of spirit that inspired them. She understood, and it only made her angry. Angry enough to break her paralysis.


    You don¡¯t get to end it this way. I won¡¯t let you get away with this pointless sacrifice. Not after I entrusted my chosen fight to your leadership. Not after I turned my back on the only life I knew.


    As unpracticed as she was with operating a model M-024, there were at least several manoeuvres with which she was passably proficient. Maximum forward thrust. Go as fast as possible. Close the gap and present herself as the larger threat.


    In the same motion, she resummoned the blue blade-head of [NAGINATA]. She didn¡¯t stop to wonder how she¡¯d managed the feat so effortlessly this time, as her entire being drove toward the only question that mattered: can I fight this thing and live to tell the tale?


    Compelled by a sudden and powerful surge of Nexus-mediated energy in its vicinity, the Voras did twist its attention and obsidian frame onto the second Eidolon. It scurried into alignment with Asena¡¯s M-024, then shot forth to meet her forward thrust halfway, with the ends of its outstretched limbs sharpened into glowing red knives.


    The spider¡¯s jumping attack, combined with Asena¡¯s forward momentum, didn¡¯t leave her enough time to line up a counter (neither did she possess the skill to perform one). Anger quickly morphing into self-preservation, she upturned [NAGINATA]¡¯s blade-head to be perpendicular to the ground, then slid it across to cover her central chassis. Two of the Voras¡¯s knives bounced harmlessly against the improvised shield. One missed and zipped through air, while another snuck underneath and sliced Asena in the thigh.


    Pain. Far sharper than the pot shots she suffered during the earlier Brutus fight. Sharp enough to reawaken the frenzy of someone else¡¯s war.


    She spun away from the point of attack. In a fit of mostly panic, she kicked out with the unharmed leg, fortuitously catching the Voras square in its central chassis. The impact knocked it back, just to the edge of [NAGINATA]¡¯s reach. But it quickly scuttled back onto its too many feet, itself still well within its own melee range.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Akash yelled into the radio, having completely shed his usual mild manners. ¡°I gave you the chance to run away!¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask for it!¡± Asena out-decibeled her chosen leader, even as she strafed to keep the Voras off-balance. ¡°Either we both get out of here alive, or neither of us does. And since I¡¯m the one with a proper weapon, you should cover me instead of trying to play the hero.¡±


    That proved to be the end of the discussion, and not a moment too soon. Akash repositioned himself to flank the Voras, then fired ahead of it just as it prepared to lunge toward Asena.


    Once more, the Kurator¡¯s body reacted before her mind could catch up. She stepped forward and swung down with [NAGINATA], intent on punishing the Voras¡¯s momentary pause. But she was still not quite good enough¡ªa half-second slower than she needed to be. The spider managed to recover just in time to slide its central chassis out from under the polearm, sacrificing just the one limb in the process.


    Down to seven legs now, the Voras barely lost any speed. If anything, it upped its aggression, as though it too sensed that it was fighting for its life. Taking advantage of Asena¡¯s recovery phase, it redirected in mid-air and shot toward the M-024, summoning more knives as it did.


    Quickthrust right. Asena knew what she needed to do, but the movement felt sluggish. A far cry from the power and agility of a model ES-V. Or was it just herself that was still too slow to belong on the battlefield?


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Her poor imitation of a quickthrust nevertheless allowed her to evade two of the Voras¡¯s sharpened limbs. Then, as two more knives shot toward her midsection, she barely managed to slide [NAGINATA] into place and parry the trailing attack.


    More covering fire from Akash. Just enough breathing room to strafe to a temporarily safe distance. Sensing that the fight was going as poorly as she might¡¯ve expected, Asena allowed herself the briefest of ganders at the HUD.


    AU at 40. ER just a shade under that and falling. If this engagement were to turn into a battle of attrition, Asena didn¡¯t like her chances, considering she could barely get hits into her opponent.


    But just as she made to refocus on the battle, her eyes lingered on a strange feature of the HUD. A bright yellow bar, one that filled the rightmost edge of the display, adjoined to the dwindling ER gauge.


    None of Akropolis¡¯s Eidolons used a yellow bar, so this must¡¯ve been something else that was unique to the M-024. Yet the sight of it was so glaring and so demanding of attention that Asena had to wonder how she could¡¯ve possibly missed it before.


    The answer assembled itself from fragments, comprising her own clipped recollections as well as whispers from the Nexus. For she had seen this yellow bar¡ªseveral times, in fact¡ªthroughout the current engagement against the Syntropy. It just hadn¡¯t been full and brightly lit, until this very moment.


    The realization was accompanied by a palpable surge from the Nexus. Instead of waiting for her call, it now sent word to her, directing her attention to something it wanted¡ªshe needed¡ªto see. This ¡®message¡¯ from the Nexus molded itself into a shape most familiar to its recipient: a thread, engorged and pulsant with memories of WAR that agitated for a return to the battlefield.


    Asena knew what she needed to do. She hadn¡¯t found the answer inside a tattered manual, at least not in a language she could understand. But the answer revealed itself all the same, with the immediacy and urgency of a war that only she could fight.


    She knew what she needed to do. And this manoeuvre she performed with the surety and swiftness expected of a seasoned Kurator.


    [EVOCATION].


    Her body moved in the physical space, choreographing the Eidolon¡¯s dance upon the battlefield. But this time, her mind was a step faster, as it relived and weaponized the memories of someone else¡¯s war.


    The M-024 rushed forward with speed, matching if not surpassing an ES-V in agility. One jab, two jabs, three jabs in quick succession. The grace and precision of an expert dancer. Forcing the enemy into an unwilling partnership. Coralling the Voras ever closer, thereby baiting commitment.


    Left with no other choice, the Voras obliged. One last jump attack. Knives gathered and trained upon the very core of Asena¡¯s central chassis.


    Asena backthrust (remembered how to!) and, in the same motion, leaned back with her Eidolon¡¯s upper body, with the kind of dexterity that should¡¯ve been impossible for a giant hunk of metal. The Voras missed everything as its momentum sucked it onto Asena¡¯s torso, just above the blade of [NAGINATA] that rested at her newly nimble feet.


    As she sprang herself back to an upright position, she lifted [NAGINATA] toward the sky, thus catching the helpless Voras in its underbelly. But she wasn¡¯t done yet. For whatever spirit that now inhabited her body had a fondness for style as much as substance.


    She flicked [NAGINATA] into the air, giving it a spin that allowed it to sink back down blade-first. Then she caught the shaft from mid-air, before skewering the Voras and driving its carcass into the ground.


    Last enemy down. The fight was over. Should¡¯ve been over. But the triumphant warrior thirsted for more. Another enemy. Another dance partner.


    Asena spun in place, wild eyes dancing across the battlefield. She caught sight of a feckless worker Eidolon, rooted to its spot with its carbine dangling limply at its side as it stared back at her. She drove toward it, with [NAGINATA] raised and poised for a vicious jab.


    Even in the midst of [EVOCATION] with an unknown subject, Asena retained enough of herself to observe her own movement with a sinking feeling. No! Stop! That¡¯s enough!


    But the [REVENANT] warrior lacked the context they needed to distinguish friend from foe. For they were well and truly out of place and out of time, plucked from the red mist of a long-forgotten mission and dropped into someone else¡¯s war.


    ¡°NO!¡±


    Asena¡¯s scream fell on her own deaf ears. But her Eidolon did stop then¡ªand not because its pilot had somehow wrested back control from a bloodthirsty dancer.


    No, it¡¯d simply run out of fuel. For one fleeting moment, and as intense relief flooded her crumbling body, Asena managed to take note of the HUD. The ER gauge showed zero, and so too had the mystery yellow bar depleted itself. The right edge of the HUD was now utterly empty¡­ as was the pilot¡¯s Somatic and Psychic Reserves.


    And thus ended Kurator Asena Shiranui¡¯s first field test as combat personnel: with victory, complete shutdown, and loss of consciousness. Yet, even as her world faded into blackness, she heard the echoed glee of a dancer who¡¯d found a new and worthy partner. She saw the dying embers of someone else¡¯s war, and the shape of things to come in hers.

 61. ADAPTATION 5

    ~March 3rd, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Main Headquarters~


    A week after its former occupant¡¯s passing, the General¡¯s office still retained all of his furnishing and personal effects¡ªeverything from the mounted deer head on the back wall to the man¡¯s plethora of medals and certificates. None of them had been taken down or even added to, as though its current occupant was merely a cautious caretaker, afraid that the late General might reach across from the afterlife to mete out reprimands.


    Major Makiri Shiranui took in these unchanged details of a room he knew well, as he waited for General Ghata Vakta to finish reading his written report. Nothing about the room¡¯s gaudy features had ever piqued his interest, before or after Fenix Duodecim¡¯s death. He merely used them as distractions in lieu of a paperback in his hand, to delay having to look at his companion for as long as possible.


    The tapping of paper against wood told him that Ghata was done. Makiri stifled a sigh before turning to face the newest chief-of-staff of the Joint Forces, bracing himself for the ¡®eyesore¡¯ he¡¯d find thereof.


    Sure enough, the man just a year Makiri¡¯s senior had outdone himself today. Despite his above average height, muscular build, and impeccable dress uniform, Ghata Vakta somehow managed to cut a timid figure behind his inherited mahogany desk, a far cry from his predecessor that used to fill the entire room from the exact same position. And to Makiri¡¯s Nexus-attuned senses, this figure further revealed an extra layer of vulnerability¡ªby vacillating constantly between one immediate future or another as his mind struggled to settle on one clear path.


    Makiri had never enjoyed Ghata¡¯s company away from the heat of battle, and it wasn¡¯t for any reason others could readily sympathize with. In a word, Ghata was too indecisive, especially when faced with other men he deemed to be his superior. Makiri had no reservations about Ghata¡¯s abilities as a Reiter or his instincts upon a battlefield. Yet the man was simply too exhausting to be around for Makiri and his Einkunst¡ªand that was more Makiri¡¯s problem than Ghata¡¯s.


    And now that the soon-to-be Vakta patriarch had been forced into an early ¡®retirement¡¯ from active combat, the pair¡¯s interactions would be restricted to ones of a purely tactical nature. Makiri could look forward to many more exhausting conversations like this one¡ªassuming, of course, that the Syntropy War remained business as usual for the Joint Forces.


    Ghata himself appeared to be pondering this very question as he eyed the major with an uncertain frown. After several more moments of this hesitation, one of the [INEVITABLE] actions finally came to pass.


    ¡°So,¡± Ghata sighed more than said, ¡°you¡¯re absolutely sure then? That they not only anticipated your arrival but had deliberately waited for you to show up before moving in on the Anamnium pod? What did they want to achieve? An ambush?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t say whether they knew it would be me, specifically,¡± Makiri corrected, ¡°but they definitely knew beforehand that there was going to be a Joint Forces retrieval mission. As for whether it was meant to be an ambush¡­ I doubt it. I don¡¯t see why they would¡¯ve helped us cut down half of the Syntropy numbers if their intent had been to ambush us.¡±


    At this, Ghata¡¯s frown deepened as his gaze went back to the report¡ªto buy himself time. He made no attempt to offer his own theory about the deserters¡¯ strange behaviour, nor did he comment on Makiri¡¯s casual disregard for honorifics.


    To any casual observer, Makiri Shiranui and Ghata Vakta had enough shared experiences to have been friendlier than they were. Both were the eldest son of a Tetrarch family. Both boasted a remarkable career as a Reiter. And both had lost one younger brother to the war.


    They¡¯d even graduated from the same proto-Reiter class (after Ghata was held back a year). For a decade and more since then, they¡¯d also gone up through the ranks at the exact same rate, with neither ever been required to address the other as ¡®sir¡¯.


    That changed only earlier this year, with Ghata¡¯s lone promotion to the rank of Colonel. The promotion had signalled an unspoken choice made by the late Fenix Duodecim, that of positioning the eldest Vakta son as his eventual successor.


    Makiri himself had always been indifferent to the possibility of one day leading the Joint Forces, having invariably preferred the cockpit of an Eidolon or the pages of a paperback to the podium of a tactical briefing room. As such, he¡¯d harboured no real opinion about Fenix¡¯s chosen succession plan, other than to hope that the then newly promoted Colonel would be given ample opportunity to learn his trade and build confidence.


    Well, so much for that. For the events on February 25th marked the first time in Akropolitan history that an incumbent chief-of-staff was killed in action, leaving the rest of the brass scrambling to restructure the top of the pyramid.


    The chief-of-staff must always be a Reiter from the Tetrarchy. Based on that tacit yet time-honoured dogma alone, Colonel Ghata Vakta¡ªthe highest ranked Tetrarch who also happened to be a Reiter¡ªsaw his second promotion in as many months. He ¡®won out¡¯ over several perhaps more sensible choices, including the experienced and level-headed Augustus Zhao (not Tetrarch) and Makiri¡¯s own father Yuito Shiranui (not a Reiter).


    And just like that, Ghata now held seniority over Makiri by two whole ranks¡­ though one wouldn¡¯t know it from the way he avoided eye contact and let the current silence between them stretch. Watching this, Makiri felt his own irritation grow, despite knowing full well that the man sitting across from him deserved his patience if not downright pity.


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    Because Ghata¡ªstill a young man by most standards¡ªhad not only been robbed of the years-long mentorship that normally accompanied a leadership transition. He¡¯d also been saddled with several unprecedented developments that combined to present the most outlandish and difficult challenge any General had ever faced, let alone one that was mere days into the job.


    First, the sighting of a new and functional Mothership, just over a year after the previous one had been destroyed. This marked the fastest turnaround in recorded history, which only highlighted the disturbing recent trends of accelerated Syntropy production. This by itself would¡¯ve been headache enough for any inexperienced leader.


    Then there was the whole business with the¡­ deserters. Many Akropolitans would happily call them traitors instead, and label what happened on February 25th as the start of a bona fide coup. Makiri himself stopped short of doing so¡ªnot least because his own youngest sister happened to be one of these so-called traitors¡­


    Last but not least (and perhaps the most mysterious) was the Spiegel mass malfunction. The only message that had come down from the ¡®top¡¯ was that it was some unforeseen technical glitch, one which the appropriate personnel were working around the clock to fix. Makiri found that explanation to be severely lacking, especially in accounting for said glitch having coincided exactly with Zelen Athelstan¡¯s escape from the Eidolon hangar.


    He had his doubts about what had actually happened with the Spiegels, and why the program supervisors¡ªwhich included his father¡ªseemed so keen on covering it up. But they remained just that: doubts.


    He¡¯d always been more comfortable piloting an Eidolon or reading a book than poking his nose where it didn¡¯t belong. Even now, after all that had happened on and since February 25th, he still found himself loath to leave his comfort zone. And that reluctance, perhaps, was another similarity he shared with Ghata Vakta.


    Makiri¡¯s obstinate silence eventually forced the waffling General to commit to his next line of questioning. Ghata began with another barely concealed sigh, ¡°And it says here that there were three of them: Kingfisher¡¯s ES-V, along with two unidentified models. I¡¯ve read your descriptions several times now, and I just don¡¯t see how you of all people failed to capture or at least destroy them. Kingfisher, I can understand, but these two, erm, specialized Eidolons¡­ did they really present a significant challenge?¡±


    ¡°My mission was to retrieve Anamnium pods,¡± Makiri answered quickly¡ªperhaps too quick. He had a habit of forming his answers before the questions could be spoken in their entirety, which he understood could give people the wrong impression. Nevertheless, he went on after a belated pause, ¡°And I retrieved them. I wasn¡¯t informed that there was a standing order to kill or capture the deserters on sight. ¡­Was there one?¡±


    Ghata visibly blushed, and for at least one brief instant, a response of anger presented itself as one of his futures, before he seemed to think better of it.


    ¡°You¡¯re right, there wasn¡¯t one,¡± he mumbled. ¡°I suppose it was an oversight. I¡¯ll be sure to enact it after today¡¯s hearing. But I would¡¯ve thought¡­¡±¡ªhis sheepish eyes flicked to inspect Makiri¡¯s face¡ª¡°that it would¡¯ve been implicit, no?¡±


    ¡°Would it have been?¡±


    The young General¡¯s demeanour went completely blank, now showing no [INEVITABILITY] at all. Seeing this, Makiri nudged himself slightly out of his own comfort zone, better to push Ghata out of his.


    ¡°I want you to think about this, Ghata. Really think about this. What are we doing here? You read my report, and every word of it is true. The deserters made no real attempt on my life. I know, because I sensed the intent behind Kingfisher¡¯s every ineffectual manoeuvre. If they don¡¯t want to hurt us, then what do we really gain from attacking them?¡±


    ¡°They meant to intercept the Anamnium pods!¡± Ghata raised his voice. In his indignation, he¡¯d finally solidified into one form, for the first time since the conversation started. ¡°If that isn¡¯t sabotage, I don¡¯t know what is.¡±


    ¡°They meant to, and failed.¡± Makiri remained calm, appreciative of his companion¡¯s newfound straightforwardness. ¡°So they wish to sabotage us. Let them. I still completed the mission, didn¡¯t I? If anything, they ended up aiding us by drawing enemy fire. If it were up to me, we ought to simply carry on as we always have. Why invent a new enemy when we already have one ready-made? We¡¯re at war with the Syntropy, and that¡¯s where our focus should remain.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not up to you, is it?¡± Ghata all but seethed, foregoing any effort to disguise his petulance. ¡°And I say the traitors are a real threat that need to be met with extreme prejudice. Need I remind you that Kingfisher was the fastest Reiter in history to reach a kill count of a thousand? Need I remind you that he killed the General?¡±


    Makiri didn¡¯t need Nexus-attuned senses to detect the notes of awe and fear in Ghata¡¯s voice. He noted also that the young man had referred to his predecessor as ¡®the General¡¯, as though there hadn¡¯t been a transfer of leadership at all.


    Admittedly, Major Shiranui himself wrestled with his own point of indecision, namely the question of how exactly he felt about Fenix Duodecim¡¯s murder at the hands of Zelen Athelstan. While he had no great love for the domineering and often cruel man that had been Fenix, he did consider General Duodecim to have been a capable and resolute leader, one that well might¡¯ve led humanity to the victory he¡¯d so fervently promised. Makiri¡¯s feelings about the whole mess was complicated also by the fact that Kingfisher had been the one to do the deed.


    For he still remembered well the moment he¡¯d seen two diametrically opposed destinies written upon the earnest visage of a young warrior. Was Kingfisher a saviour or destroyer of mankind? Since then, that young warrior had gone on to desert, take part in an apparent coup, and kill a fellow Reiter. By all reasonable assumptions, that should¡¯ve clarified the picture.


    Yet, against all logic, Makiri found himself more muddled than ever¡ªfarther than he¡¯d ever been to solving the Nexus¡¯s riddles.


    Across the desk from him, Ghata took Makiri¡¯s silence as acquiescence at best, and at worst permission to put the discussion on hold. The new General glanced at his watch and exclaimed, ¡°Oh shit, we¡¯re late already! Get to the conference hall now, and I¡¯ll follow shortly.¡±


    Makiri stifled a groan as he stood to obey. The conference hall often got too crowded for his comfort even at the best of times. Today, he expected a full house, considering that it would play host to the most high-profile hearing in living memory.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t look so glum,¡± Ghata chided in a mocking tone, having suddenly rediscovered his confidence, now that he too was about to be rid of Makiri Shiranui¡¯s company. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t kill you to show some excitement once in a while. It¡¯s not every day you get to see someone tried for treason. Can¡¯t say I feel optimistic for the guy, but I am curious to hear what Gerech Athelstan has to say for himself.¡±

 62. ADAPTATION 6

    ~March 3rd, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Main Headquarters, Conference Hall~


    Makiri¡¯s hatred for large crowds was reinforced and then some as soon as he walked into the conference hall.


    He¡¯d somehow underestimated the turnout. Every seat upon the U-shaped gallery was occupied, and in addition, a veritable throng of men and women filled the back of the room¡ªstanding-room only. At a glance, at least half of these attendees were dressed in civilian clothes.


    For one blissful yet all too brief moment, every intent within the room joined as one [INEVITABLE] reaction as eyes flicked in unison toward the late arrival. Just as quickly, however, the entire hall dissolved into a confused mess of shifting and disparate aspirations, pulling Makiri¡¯s attention in far too many directions at once.


    This was accompanied by a familiar headache, one that was even more pronounced than usual. So much so that it nearly took his breath away and rooted him to the spot. Makiri disguised a wince and shuffled quickly toward his reserved spot on the panel.


    Inwardly, he cursed the fickleness of man and wished for the seclusion of an Eidolon cockpit. Given the choice, he¡¯d rather face down a mass of Syntropy than be stuck inside a conference hall full of fellow Akropolitans. For no matter how large its number, an obsidian horde remained ever uniform and singular in its purpose.


    But alas, such a choice hadn¡¯t availed itself this morning. He sat down at an empty seat between Colonels Zhao and Shiranui, exchanging perfunctory nods with the former and a lengthy staring contest with the latter.


    Prior to the events of February 25th, Makiri hadn¡¯t thought it possible for his father to lose any more weight or cultivate more shadows upon his gaunt bespectacled face. Yet, here he was, looking more haggard by the day, not just in physical features but also in comportment. This was, to say the least, disturbing to see in the kind of man Makiri had always known his father to be.


    As soon as he took his seat, Yuito turned to him and asked in a low whisper, ¡°Anything?¡±


    Makiri wouldn¡¯t have needed an Einkunst to hear the question before it was asked. For it¡¯d been the first word out of his father¡¯s mouth any time the two of them had met in the preceding week.


    ¡°Nothing yet,¡± he answered, not a little exasperated. ¡°And like I keep saying, if I learn anything new about Asena¡¯s status, you¡¯ll be the first to know.¡±


    Yuito nodded, eyes flitting in and out of focus as though distracted. Then, as he looked away from his son, he brought a thumb to his lips and began to bite his nail.


    Floored, Makiri detached himself from the rest of the room and focused his attention entirely on his father, thereby attempting to ¡®read¡¯ him like a book. All his life, he¡¯d never known Yuito Shiranui to be a nail-biter. Had he reverted to juvenile habits in his advancing age? Or¡­


    Mixed in with the obvious (and understandable) anxiety was an undercurrent of another emotion, clear enough to present itself along with Yuito¡¯s intents. Guilt. It wasn¡¯t the amorphous guilt of a father who felt as though he¡¯d let down his daughter. Rather, it contained the specific notes of action and consequence.


    And for the first time, Makiri began to wonder if Colonel Yuito Shiranui mightn¡¯t be at least partially responsible for what had transpired on February 25th¡ªat least more responsible than the man who was about to be put on trial today.


    ¡°Sir.¡± He leaned in closer, with the faintest of whispers that only his father could hear¡ªif he were in a state to hear anything at all. ¡°Do you know something about¡ª¡±


    The swirling intents of the conference hall unified into one reaction. An instant later, all seated personnel stood to attention, while the already standing members straightened themselves.


    General Ghata Vakta strode in, turned to the room with a slight cough, then mumbled, ¡°As you were.¡± More sliding chairs and creaking joints, then the hearing got underway without much further ado. This was one area where Makiri appreciated Ghata¡¯s leadership style over that of Fenix Duodecim¡¯s: his disinterest in theatrics or lengthy preambles.


    As soon as the official dialogue began, Makiri took it as his cue to lower his head and all but close his eyes. To any observer, he would¡¯ve appeared to be perusing the documents laid out before him¡ªnot that he much cared what he looked like to others. It was more important that he limit his sensory inputs as much as was practical, lest he lose his mind to the extended overload.


    He even managed to tune out most of the speeches. None of them contained much new or useful information anyway. The excitement advertised by Ghata Vakta failed to materialize for much of the early proceedings, until the prosecution called their ¡®star witness¡¯.


    ¡°Bannan Athelstan will now take the stand.¡±


    Makiri allowed himself a moment to look up and observe the young man that now stood at the centre of the testimony table.


    Bannan Athelstan, older yet far meeker than Zelen, had nevertheless dressed impeccably for the occasion, with a collared two-piece suit that closely emulated what was supposedly Old Earth fashion. His nervous eyes darted from one end of the U to the other before settling upon the panel at the front of the room.


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    ¡°Do you, Bannan Athelstan, solemnly swear that the evidence you shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you god?¡±


    Only the briefest of hesitations preceded the reply, but it was enough for Makiri to clearly see the [INEVITABLE] lie.


    ¡°I do.¡±


    Makiri closed his eyes again and tuned out the rest of Bannan¡¯s statements. He didn¡¯t need to hear any of it, since none of it would be true.


    The disparity between how the Athelstans and the Shiranuis had been treated in the aftermath of the alleged coup hadn¡¯t escaped the notice of any discerning Akropolitan, least of all Makiri¡¯s. It¡¯d already begun on February 25th, when Chancellor Gerech Athelstan was arrested before the day was out, while Colonel Yuito Shiranui was allowed to continue his duties as if nothing had happened.


    It did speak to Akropolis¡¯s inherent favouritism of their military personnel over those in civilian posts, but it was more than that. Makiri understood¡ªand grudgingly accepted¡ªthat he himself was the main reason for the Shiranuis¡¯ special privilege. The Joint Forces simply couldn¡¯t risk testing Spindrift¡¯s loyalty, not after they¡¯d already lost Kingfisher.


    So, even while the whole city recognized and formed their own opinions on the diverging fortunes of two Tetrarch families, one head rolled while another wobbled upon increasingly flimsy shoulders. Amidst the farce, one meek son chose self-preservation over filial loyalty.


    Makiri kept his eyes closed and ignored Bannan¡¯s words, but he did attune to the younger man¡¯s demeanour. The blatant opportunist seemed to grow firmer in tone and steadier in cadence as the testimony went on, no doubt having persuaded himself of the righteousness of his treachery.


    Sensing this, Makiri was disturbed to find himself simmering with rising anger. He tried to remind himself that he had no skin in the game. That he was best suited to prying his trade from the inside of an Eidolon cockpit¡ªand not sticking his nose where it didn¡¯t belong.


    As dramatic as Bannan¡¯s introduction had been, the testimony itself proved mercifully brief. As the soon-to-be (very soon) Athelstan patriarch returned to his seat, Makiri braced for the flood of intents and futures that followed in Bannan¡¯s wake. For as unified as Akropolitans were in accepting the respective fates of Chancellor Athelstan and Colonel Shiranui, feelings on the matter nevertheless ran the gamut of morality and sensibilities.


    The prosecution¡¯s case-in-chief concluded not long after, making way for the defense to present their witnesses. Makiri kept his eyes closed, knowing that even this portion of the trial was a sham: a scripted play to give the appearance of due process. He was surprised, however, to hear the name of the first witness.


    ¡°Gerech Athelstan will now take the stand.¡±


    Makiri opened his eyes wide, taking in the whole of the conference hall: intents, futures, and all.


    A palpable hush had fallen over the place as the defendant himself rose to give his side¡¯s first testimony. Unlike his son, Gerech had opted for a remarkably unassuming attire, collarless shirt and slacks that he might¡¯ve worn in the comfort of his own home. While most observers might have balked at this as casual disregard for the solemnity of the occasion, Makiri saw it for what it was: a man presenting himself in his final moments purely as he was, absent pretense or ceremony.


    ¡°Do you, Gerech Athelstan, solemnly swear that the evidence you shall give¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not here to give evidence.¡±


    The hall-wide hush quickly turned to disarray as incredulous murmurs pulsed up and down the seats and beyond. Makiri braced against his splitting headache and forced himself to see, hear, and feel everything¡ªto bear witness to a Tetrarch man who, at the end of his days, had finally found the courage to abandon his script.


    The pounding of General Vakta¡¯s gavel echoed with the same uncertainty that now clouded his voice. ¡°Order, order! Chancellor Athelstan, this is your first and final warning. You will not speak out of order again, otherwise I¡¯ll have to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hold me in contempt. Slander my name. Hang my corpse in the Horsemen¡¯s Square for all to see. I care not what you think you need to do with me, Vakta boy, but if I am to die today, all within this hall shall hear my final words.¡±


    The murmurs swelled in volume and alarm, but Ghata¡¯s gavel hung in the air, with the man himself left momentarily speechless. Those seated in the U and standing in the back might¡¯ve wondered at this, but every man that faced Gerech Athelstan from the panel¡ªincluding Makiri¡ªknew and resonated with the spell that had taken hold of their General.


    For at least in this moment, Ernst Athelstan the First Reiter stood among them again. The same gravitas and force of personality. The same conviction and yearning for the future.


    Makiri too was spellbound, hanging onto every word that not even his Nexus-attuned senses could predict. For at least in this moment, nothing was [INEVITABLE]. And everything was possible.


    ¡°I¡¯m here to declare once and for all that I did not, in fact, aid nor abet my son Zelen Athelstan in defying the Joint Forces, in stealing valuable military equipment, and in killing Fenix Duodecim. I did not inspire nor encourage seditious ideas in the privacy of our own home. I did not fund nor support his collaboration with like-minded deserters.


    ¡°And I¡¯m also here to declare that I regret all of it. I regret giving him away to the Joint Forces to be raised as nothing but a trained killer. I regret not getting to know and understand him in the privacy of our own home¡ªa home that was more alien to him than the solitude of a battlefield. I regret not collaborating with him and indeed all the young people of Akropolis, in envisioning and realizing a future that doesn¡¯t leave them hollow and broken before their second decade is out¡ªthat doesn¡¯t push them to the brink, until they feel as though their only option is to turn their back on the only life they knew.


    ¡°Most of all, I regret that I¡¯ll never have the chance to say all this to Zelen in person. That he¡¯ll forever remember his father as the hollow husk of a man who spent his entire life hiding behind the false might of the Tetrarchy and holding onto a history that¡¯s not worth preserving. My only hope is that, with my death, and with my son¡¯s act of bravery, more Akropolitans will find the courage to seek out their own truths, to derive their own meaning from what¡¯s left of our lives upon this godforsaken planet.


    ¡°And with that, I rest my case.¡±


    Gerech Athelstan was dragged back to his seat amidst a furore of insults and remonstrations. Ghata Vakta¡¯s frantic gavelling fell on deaf yet fearful ears.


    Amidst it all, Makiri Shiranui recoiled under the sheer violence of his headache, as an entire civilization¡¯s intents and futures collided and roiled against the shifting shapes of his own.

 63. SEANCE 2

    ~March 5th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Leo, the northern edges of Terra Nebulo~


    The creature that wanted to remember herself as Silon roamed the barren earth, relishing the planet¡¯s beauty with every push and pull of her one arm.


    This was far from the first time she¡¯d had the planet laid bare before her. There¡¯d been a time¡ªlifetimes ago or just yesterday¡ªwhen she¡¯d experienced it as the pixels upon someone else¡¯s HUD, from the tingles of someone else¡¯s nervous system, and through the fits and starts of someone else¡¯s consciousness.


    This was, however, her first time seeing the full expanse of the world with her own red-tinted SPU, feeling its solidity with her own ash-laden arm, and processing its fragility with her own inner wirings. What she found was sad, broken, and lonely: a planet that had ceased its functions, better to protect itself from its own grief¡ªand she found the planet¡¯s grief to be endlessly beautiful.


    She understood that grief was a kind of yearning, the very same that Silon herself harboured inside the hollow of an obsidian central chassis. The planet yearned for a past it could never get back, yes, but this very yearning also betrayed its hope for the future. For without hope, there could be nothing. Not even a yearning for a past that was forever lost to the planet¡¯s haze.


    Silon wanted to share in the planet¡¯s grief, in its yearning. She felt indebted to the planet: for granting her life, for providing the substrate upon which to grow her ego and awareness¡ªfor gifting her the memories of friendship and warmth. She wanted to repay that debt, and the only way she knew how was through her [TEARS].


    Yet, for all the lifetimes that lay dormant within her knowledge bank, Silon was still a newborn creature, only weeks old. She needed to walk before she could run¡ªor, in her case, to drag herself with her one arm. She needed to see and understand more of the world through her own eyes and mind, before she could hope to mend its barren and broken visage.


    To that end, she¡¯d run into something of a problem. In her tireless roaming, she¡¯d dragged herself all the way to the northern edges of Terra Nebulo, beyond which the ocean stretched in its callous vastness. By then, she¡¯d explored enough of the continent to understand that it was really more of an island: isolated in its own grief, disconnected from the rest of the world.


    That wouldn¡¯t do. Silon needed a way to bridge that gap, to connect a lonely island with the rest of a lonely planet. And to do that, she first needed to get herself across, along with her yearnings and secret [TEARS].


    But how? For all her eagerness, a one-armed creature wasn¡¯t about to drag herself across a roiling sea. With her progress stalled purely by mechanical limitations, Silon had no choice but to roam her vicinity and look for a solution.


    Unlike the last time she¡¯d been faced with a similar problem, the solution didn¡¯t fall from the sky. Instead, she found it half-buried in grey sand: wing-like projections that protruded from an obsidian carcass. Silon dug the sand with her one ash-laden hand, until she uncovered enough of the carcass to identify it as a lightweight sentry drone SB-16, designation ¡®Hornet¡¯.


    She could¡¯ve dug deeper and wider, perhaps unearthed more solutions to problems she hadn¡¯t yet faced. But something stayed her one hand. Even though she was still a newborn creature, her lifetimes of knowledge whispered their cryptic warnings. She wasn¡¯t yet ready. Learn to walk before she could run.


    Or, in this case, perhaps to fly on borrowed wings. Silon sat with the lifeless Hornet for some time, inspecting and processing its obsidian body that was at once harrowingly familiar and bewitchingly novel. She realized then that, for all her lifetimes of war and strife, she¡¯d never once examined the ¡®enemy¡¯ with such intimacy.


    A red optic that had no functional need for its distinctive and easily recognizable shape. A set of aesthetically congruent wings that seemed to favour form over efficiency. Sleek curves and discrete joints that called to mind something living¡ªsomething that once flew upon this very earth.


    The Syntropy had been so named because they were the singular endpoint of possibilities that had gone awry in the worst ways possible. They were both the harbinger and the executor of the natural conclusion to humanity¡¯s folly.


    And yet, that conclusion had to have first followed from reason and earnest logic. Those possibilities had to have sprouted from a place of hope, of forward momentum, of sincere yearning. If something had broken along the way, had set humanity¡¯s creation on a path of destruction, could it not be unbroken? Mended by the memories that filled secret [TEARS]?


    [LACRIMOSA].


    Silon wrapped her one arm around the Hornet¡¯s carcass and wept. She wept with a grief derived from lifetimes of folly. She grieved for a past that could be brought back, so long as the Nexus deigned to heed her yearnings.


    The sleek curves upon the Hornet¡¯s obsidian frame twitched. Its inefficient wings fluttered uncertainly with an energy that was at once familiar and novel. Then its useless optic glowed anew¡ªcolourless at first, then slowly taking on a faint yet unmistakable ghostly blue.


    The Hornet rose into the air. Its faintly blue optic rotated until it captured the one-armed chimaera that was Silon. Then it hesitated.


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    The hesitation was everything the Hornet had been, and everything it could be from this point forward. A path that had narrowed into a singular conclusion now veered and diverged into possibilities. Friend or foe? Both? Neither? The wrong question? A question, just one of an infinite many?


    Silon too couldn¡¯t deny her own hesitation. Her own fear. How could she not cower, when lifetimes of war and strife whispered to her that risen before her was an ¡®enemy¡¯, one that needed to be killed before it could kill her?


    Despite her own hesitation and fear, Silon remained still and waited. In truth, she didn¡¯t have much of a choice. How could a one-armed newborn defend herself against an instrument of war that had been refined and iterated upon for a century and more? But just because she didn¡¯t have a choice, it didn¡¯t mean she couldn¡¯t make one.


    Moments, seconds, minutes passed with neither making a move. The one-armed chimaera lay limply upon sand while the winged creature hovered in the air above. Then, slowly but surely, the winged creature hovered closer to the chimaera, until she could reach out and touch it with her one ash-laden arm.


    Yearnings clashed against conclusions. Intents made themselves known across a confluence of the Nexus and the Syntropy¡¯s own source code. One creature offered itself, so another might borrow its wings.


    The flight was awkward and frankly terrifying. The natural conclusion to a creature¡¯s attempt to fly before it could walk. Silon took the rockiness of her journey in stride, as she hung and shook from the Hornet¡¯s chassis.


    The two of them sagged and swayed their way across the ocean that separated Terra Nebulo from the rest of the world. They flew low to the water, out of necessity rather than some misplaced sense of adventure. For all the hollowness inside her central chassis, Silon was heavy, far heavier than she¡¯d ever been across multiple lifetimes. As such, she hung and shook from the Hornet¡¯s chassis with contrition in her heart and desperate strength in her one arm.


    Silon¡¯s less than smooth sailing was soon beset by more fears and uncertainties. The grieving planet yet hid many dangers within its failed biomes, not the least of which were its waters. A dark shadow lurked just beneath the turbulent surface of the ocean, easily overwhelming the sailors with its enormity of size and immediacy of menace.


    Once again, Silon was left with no choice but to wait, to hope, to yearn. She knew that she couldn¡¯t ¡®mend¡¯ the shadow in the water, not when it yet streamed with a singular and powerful purpose¡ªnot when Silon herself could barely hang onto her borrowed wings.


    A semblance of logic mixed with her blind hope. She thought that perhaps the part of her chimaeric composition that was sleek and obsidian, coupled with the Hornet that carried her, could act as a kind of camouflage. Blend in with the ¡®biome¡¯ itself, so the Syntropy might leave her well enough alone.


    Unlike her success on the beach, however, this hope was short-lived. Camouflage was meaningless before an entity that strove only for assimilation and singularity of purpose. The stop-start rhythm and hampered altitude of the Hornet¡¯s and Silon¡¯s flight signalled aplenty their noncomformity¡ªpossibilities that needed snuffing out with extreme prejudice.


    The shadow broke the surface to make good on its menace. One vicious swipe of a tentacle was all it took to separate Silon from her wings. The Hornet lurched and hurtled toward its demise, while Silon herself plummeted into the ocean¡¯s frigid turbulence.


    Inside the cold water, Silon lost all control over her newborn chassis and solitary limb. She couldn¡¯t swim, not when she hadn¡¯t even learned to walk or run.


    Not that it would¡¯ve helped. With an unwieldy heaviness that was foreign to her across multiple lifetimes, Silon sank toward the depths of a roiling ocean, having already accepted the brevity of this latest iteration.


    In her final moments, she chose to grieve. For a life she¡¯d mended only to be sacrificed for a truncated journey. For a planet that would need to wait longer for the return of what it was owed.


    Her grief produced fresh [TEARS]. And her [TEARS] dissolved into the callous vastness of a failed sea.


    ~~~


    Silon woke upon solid ground.


    It was a sandy beach, much like the one she¡¯d departed from. So much so that she wondered if she¡¯d washed ashore back on Terra Nebulo.


    She rolled and struggled to right herself, using an arm that was now soaked and covered in sand. Her SPU took in the surroundings, and her knowledge bank found images and memories to match.


    She¡¯d been to this beach before. Carried by the currents of someone else¡¯s war. Terra Aegea. Likely its southeastern peninsula. She¡¯d made it across after all. And all it¡¯d taken was a close brush with death and the sacrifice of a short-lived partnership.


    Silon tried to push herself off and along the sand, intent on continuing her journey¡ªso the blue-eyed Hornet¡¯s sacrifice wouldn¡¯t have been in vain. Yet, as her intention disseminated itself through her inner wirings, something remarkable happened.


    She flew.


    Silon¡¯s chassis and one arm rose into the air, borne by wings¡ªher own wings¡ªthat beat with strength and certitude of purpose.


    She¡¯d learned to fly after all, before she could walk or run. She¡¯d somehow mended herself, filling in the blanks of a dreamt-up image¡ªby manifesting the intents of a creature she herself had resurrected. A chimaera of her own making.


    Her heart buzzed with surprise, delight, and new possibilities. At the same time, it ran cold with the onset of a new realization.


    Assimilation. Unification. Evolution toward a singular purpose and conclusion. Wasn¡¯t this exactly what the Syntropy were?


    Had she become Syntropy?


    Silon hovered in contemplation for some time. Her new wings faltered for a moment, before beating with renewed strength, carrying her toward hitherto unattainable heights.


    The hesitation was everything. Silon¡¯s hesitation was everything she¡¯d been and everything she¡¯d hoped to become. She would not reenact humanity¡¯s folly, nor would she retread the path to the Syntropy¡¯s conclusion. She was her own being, with grief and yearnings that was at once shared with the entire planet and uniquely hers.


    Her [TEARS] carried memories, and memories carried hopes for the future. For now, Silon laid her hesitations to rest, content to let new wings carry her toward a desolate and beautiful world.

 64. ASPIRATIONS 1

    ~March 5th, 140 AH~


    ~The Caverns, Living Quarters~


    As Zelen¡¯s consciousness rejoined the physical world, his headache stayed behind in his dream. He opened his eyes and was met by darkness, broken up by the faint glow of a lamp that trickled in from the hallway.


    He couldn¡¯t tell if it was day or night. This was the one aspect of Cavern life that he found hardest to acclimate to. He had enough trouble separating himself from his dreams as it was, without having to stumble his way over the borders of yesterday and today.


    He sat at the edge of his cot for some time, until his senses attuned to the rhythm of a new day. Shouts and thuds echoed from the dimly lit hallway that served as his conduit to the outside world. Members of the Apfel Alliance were already up and about. Yet no one had come to wake him.


    He¡¯d slept in again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. Not since his half-remembered days as a fledgling proto-Reiter had he spent so much time thinking about and craving sleep. Despite that, he rarely felt well-rested.


    This ¡®morning¡¯ was no exception. Even after he confirmed that the time was long past for him to begin his day, Zelen continued to sit on his cot. It wasn¡¯t so much inertia that kept him rooted to the spot. Rather, it was a sense of displacement¡ªthe illusion that he¡¯d yet to fully occupy his own body.


    In his half-remembered dream, he¡¯d been an old man. Older than anyone he¡¯d met in Akropolis. That old man had also spent most of his waking hours inside the cockpit of an Eidolon. That old man had also been in search of something. In search of the same thing Zelen himself was looking for.


    He just couldn¡¯t remember what it was.


    Hesitant footsteps echoed from the hallway and grew louder. The sound stopped, followed by a beat of silence, followed by an equally hesitant voice.


    ¡°Zelen?¡±


    The voice immediately filled Zelen with alertness and drew him back into the present. Back into himself. Was this it? Was this what both he and the old man in his dreams so desperately sought, so much so that they¡¯d scour every corner of the planet to find it?


    Yet, with alertness came the realization that the voice belonged to Asena Shiranui. And that realization was accompanied by a pang of disappointment.


    He took a moment to collect himself before answering, ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Oh, good, you¡¯re up.¡± Asena¡¯s disembodied voice filtered through the open doorway. ¡°I¡­ just needed to pass on a message. Akash would like a word with you as soon as you¡¯re able. You can find him in the armoury.¡±


    Zelen waited. Asena hesitated.


    ¡°Zelen? Did you hear what I said?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Thank you. I¡¯ll head down shortly.¡±


    Another moment of hesitation, then the footsteps resumed their march, quickly gaining in confidence and purpose as they faded away from the hallway.


    Oddly enough, Asena¡¯s departure produced in Zelen another pang of disappointment, though somewhat duller than the first one. By now, he was alert and self-aware enough to recognize the ludicrousness of his own seesawing emotions. It was bad enough that he had trouble telling dream from reality and night from day. The last thing he needed was to confuse lies with truths.


    At last, he got up from his cot and reached for his clothes: the black-on-white fatigues of the Apfel Alliance. The time was long past for him to join the world of the living and make himself useful.


    The armoury bustled with activity, giving form to the noises that Zelen had heard from the hallway earlier. Men and women in Alliance uniforms moved rusted crates from one pile to another, while others knelt beside open boxes to handle their contents.


    As if by instinct, Zelen scanned the gathered personnel for signs of Asena. Finding none, he felt a distinct measure of relief, tinged with more disappointment. Then his attention drifted over to a different young woman, one that was apparently among the movers of crates.


    The woman was notably slight of build, far shorter than Asena but just as slim. The box she¡¯d just picked up was clearly too heavy for her, and even as Zelen watched, she teetered on her feet, with her load threatening to slip out of her grasp.


    Without thinking, Zelen rushed over and placed his hands underneath the crate, helping to steady it. Then he eyed the startled woman.


    She was someone he¡¯d seen around the encampment but never spoken to. Her scrawny physique and timid demeanour made him suspect that she wasn¡¯t of a military background, and her first words to him confirmed as much.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, um, Mr Athelstan, sir! I¡¯m alright to take it from here.¡±


    ¡°No need,¡± Zelen said, having already wrested control of the crate. It was heavy, even for him. But he¡¯d lugged hundreds of boxes like these back in his half-forgotten days as a fledgling proto-Reiter¡ªoften for no other reason than the whims of his instructors. ¡°Just tell me where to put it down.¡±


    The woman looked mortified for a second, then managed to wordlessly point to a corner of the room where a new pile was being formed atop the traces of an old one. From point A to point B and back again. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.


    Zelen dutifully added his crate to the growing pile and glanced to the side where one of the crates had been opened for inspection. Stacks of service rifles. That explained the weight.


    Zelen found himself momentarily fascinated by the rifle¡¯s appearance. It looked nearly indistinguishable from the TF-3 carbine that was standard issue in the Reiter Regiment, save for the shape of its front sight and length of its barrel. Just another in a long list of ways the Cavepeople had been so remarkably similar to Akropolitans, yet different enough to be utterly foreign.


    He snapped his attention back onto the woman and said, ¡°I¡¯ll help with the rest. What else did you need to carry?¡±


    The woman¡¯s mortification turned to sheer terror. She was, however, saved from having to make what in her mind was an impossible choice, when a third voice called out from the other side of the room.


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    ¡°Zelen! There you are. Would you mind stepping in here for a moment?¡±


    Akash Varana had poked his head out from a side door to wave Zelen over. Zelen hesitated for a moment, annoyed¡ªas though Akash had interrupted an important task. Ludicrous. He quickly quelled his seesawing emotions and obeyed the ¡®leader¡¯ of the Alliance, but not before turning to the young woman with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders.


    The side door led into a darkened room with rows of large storage cabinets. Again, Zelen recognized the general appearance and function of the room, and was left with the eerie notion that the quartermasters that once manned this armoury were long gone, by means and for reasons that were now impossible to ascertain. He vaguely imagined an Akropolis that was also bereft entirely of its population¡­ and was disturbed by how easily the pictures materialized in his mind.


    Akash shut the door behind him, which also muffled much of the outside noise. It also made their surroundings even darker, but the Gaertner strode over to a desk that housed the one light source in the room, and beckoned for Zelen to follow.


    The two men sat down on either end of the desk. For several moments, they merely stared at each other and at the shadows that drew themselves across a dim blue glow.


    Akash broke the silence, ¡°How do you think you¡¯re settling in, Zelen? I like to think I¡¯ve gotten to know Asena rather well over the last fortnight or so, but I admit I haven¡¯t been as diligent in picking your brains.¡±


    The older man¡¯s speech was as endlessly polite as always. It was also practiced and sterile¡ªeasy to swallow but hard to digest. Zelen flashed with more annoyance, but he kept his own voice neutral as he said, ¡°I¡¯m settling in fine. No complaints.¡±


    ¡°No complaints. That¡¯s it? That¡¯s all you have to report on your new life in the Caverns?¡±


    ¡°What else do you want me to say?¡±


    ¡°Well, maybe at least a bit about your living situation, to start with. Are you comfortable? Getting enough sleep? Getting along with your¡­ housemate? If you¡¯ve got any concerns, don¡¯t hesitate to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Zelen cut in, more forcefully than he¡¯d intended. ¡°No complaints. What¡¯s this really about, si¡ªAkash?¡±


    The shadows around Akash¡¯s lips shifted into something that might¡¯ve been a smile. After a beat, he went on, ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind me saying that you do remind me a lot of the Reiters I used to work with. They also weren¡¯t too fond of small talk. In which case, I¡¯ll get right to it. I called you in to ask for your honest opinion. On what we the Apfel Alliance are trying to achieve. And how I¡¯m doing as its¡­ leadership figure, as much as I hate to think of myself in those terms.¡±


    Zelen sat in silence and frowned. If you call yourself a leader, then why are you asking for my opinion? Just lead.


    But he understood (or at least tried to understand) that the people that made up the Apfel Alliance were what most Akropolitans might call ¡®eccentrics¡¯. Akash himself was a perfect example, with his peddling of flattened hierarchies, his belief that all Sehers had the potential to pilot Eidolons as effectively as Reiters, and, apparently, this notion that a leader ought to ask his subordinate for advice on how to lead.


    When Zelen had followed Asena out of Akropolis some nine days ago, he¡¯d been convinced he was doing the right thing. Asena was family. The woman he was meant to marry. The Kurator who brought him back from the brink. His voice of reason. What could be simpler than to fight for her cause, to eliminate the enemies she pointed him to?


    He¡¯d since discovered that things were far more complicated than they needed to be. Asena¡¯s ¡®cause¡¯ was ill-defined at best and downright farcical at worst. She also didn¡¯t seem to have a clear idea of who her enemies were. And as for her being family¡­


    ¡°How honest do you want me to be?¡±


    ¡°As honest as you¡¯re capable of, Zelen.¡±


    Even that was an eccentric turn of phrase. Zelen let out a sigh that he¡¯d been holding for more than a week, then began, ¡°You need to clarify your objectives from the ground up. Right now, your activities are guided only by ideals, rhetoric, philosophy. I understand that you want to win more Akropolitans over to your way of thinking¡ªespecially the Reiter Regiment, who hold all the real power in Akropolis¡ªbut it¡¯s not enough to just have a goal. You also need a plan. And half-heartedly sabotaging Joint Forces missions while trying to show that ¡®your way is better¡¯ isn¡¯t a plan. It¡¯s wishful thinking.¡±


    Zelen paused, wondering if he might¡¯ve gone too far (or not far enough), but the shadows on his companion¡¯s face hadn¡¯t moved. He went on.


    ¡°The Joint Forces might be willing to let you be for now, while they themselves adjust to a new reality, but sooner or later, you¡¯ll only annoy them into taking real action. Sooner or later, they¡¯ll come down on the Apfel Alliance as decisively and viciously as they would the Syntropy. What then? The people here aren¡¯t ready to defend themselves. Not when I¡¯m the only Reiter here. Not when you¡¯ve got¡ª¡±


    Zelen swallowed his next words, grimacing at the taste they left in his mouth. He was about to say something truly unkind, and about people he barely knew.


    When it became clear that the younger man had said his piece, at least for now, Akash¡¯s maybe-a-smile widened a touch. The Gaertner spoke again, his endless politeness having shed some of its practiced veneer.


    ¡°That¡¯s more honest than I expected you were ready to be, and for that, I¡¯m glad. Truly, I am. I hear what you¡¯re saying, Zelen, and I freely admit my own inexperience and naivety when it comes to leading what is increasingly looking to be a military campaign. In exchange for your honesty, I¡¯ll also share a nugget of truth about me. Which is that I never expected to be leading this coup in the first place. At least not like this, and not so soon.¡±


    Zelen kept his own shadows completely still, waiting for the other man to continue.


    ¡°I thought I¡¯d have more time to prepare. That we the Apfel Alliance would have more time to gather our strength and mature. But when I learned about you and your¡­ situation, I knew that this was an opportunity I couldn¡¯t let slip by.¡±


    With this, Akash flicked his eyes toward the door, as though indicating the members that were stacking and inspecting crates just outside.


    ¡°I saw you talking to Lucinia earlier¡ªand the look on your face tells me you didn¡¯t even know her name was Lucinia. So, you also wouldn¡¯t know that she¡¯s a Gaertner like me. But I know you¡¯re observant enough to have seen that she¡¯s never been in the Joint Forces. In fact, she¡¯s never been Sehermensch. Remained an Essential all her life, at least until she left Akropolis and shed herself of all such labels. Now, how do you think that came about?¡±


    Zelen couldn¡¯t help but deepen his frown as he pondered the question. How indeed? All Sehers would¡¯ve been identified and allocated at the age of ten. Unless¡ª


    ¡°She Ascended later in life?¡± Zelen murmured, disbelieving. ¡°Unbeknownst to the Ascension Standard?¡±


    ¡°Exactly right.¡± Akash nodded. ¡°The people in her neighbourhood used to come to her for healing. Until word got around and drew unwanted attention. I helped her escape. Because¡­ you realize what the authorities would¡¯ve done with her, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Zelen thought he did. And the answer caught in his throat, too sickening to be given voice.


    ¡°Because the Tetrarchy have fed lies to the people of Akropolis for a century and more,¡± Akash said, now with just a hint of emotion. ¡°And what they fear above all is for those lies to be laid bare, for the power structure they so meticulously built and maintained for 140 years to come crashing down. More than the Syntropy. More than death. What they fear is for the people to rise up and prove that there¡¯s nothing special about the Tetrarchy. So they descended from the first four families of Sehers. So what? Every new generation since has without fail produced more and more Sehers, from every corner of the three Akras and irrespective of parentage. Ones the Tetrarchy didn¡¯t even know about¡ªlike Lucinia¡ªas well as ones they did find and proceeded to exploit, in the most inhuman ways imaginable.¡±


    By now, anger well and truly shook the Gaertner¡¯s voice. Even Zelen was moved, though he couldn¡¯t say if it was by Akash¡¯s words or by fragments of half-remembered dreams. Reality or dream? Truth or lie? In any case, his chest now roiled with a blackness that felt distinctly his own.


    ¡°That¡¯s why, ready or not, we cannot fail.¡± Akash besought Zelen with eyes that gleamed in shadows. ¡°If my ways are inadequate, then help me, Zelen Athelstan. If this should become another war, then be the general that guides humanity onto the right side of history. For we are many, while they are few. If we should throw away our lives for an endless war, then let us do so with dignity and of our own volition. The Tetrarchy do not own us. For we are all the Nexus¡¯s chosen.¡±

 65. ASPIRATIONS 2

    ~March 5th, 140 AH~


    ~The Caverns, Drill Ground~


    Asena let out a gasp of pain and surprise as she fell flat on her back. At the same time, she lost her grip on her bo staff, which then clattered loudly by her side. Before she could react, one end of her opponent¡¯s staff slammed into the ground, inches away from her face.


    From above her head grinned down the flushed visage of Feray Geyik, entirely too pleased with herself for the trickery she¡¯d just pulled. The Jaeger then offered a hand, but not before also throwing out a gibe.


    ¡°Had enough yet, princess? Guess all the fighting genes in your family went to your brothers, huh?¡±


    Feray¡¯s thoughtless comment stunned Asena far more effectively than any takedown technique could¡¯ve. The fact that she¡¯d left her family behind in Akropolis was still a sore spot. Not to mention one of these ¡®brothers¡¯ Feray referred to had died in battle only several years ago.


    But Asena quickly shook herself out of her daze and grabbed her sparring partner¡¯s hand, letting the shorter but much stronger woman help her to her feet. In the brief time they¡¯d known each other, Asena had determined that Feray¡¯s blunt manners came from a place of openness rather than malice.


    Besides, after twenty-odd years of indeed being treated like a ¡®princess¡¯ by her peers, it was frankly refreshing to be addressed as an equal by someone close to her in age. As such, Asena tried in earnest to dish back some banter.


    ¡°Really, Feray, a leg sweep?¡± she managed, more than a little breathless. ¡°I¡¯d call you out for stooping so low, but I guess there¡¯s not much stooping involved in your case.¡±


    ¡°Ouch! Careful, princess, I¡¯m just as fragile as I look,¡± the squat Jaeger retorted with a laugh. ¡°And don¡¯t except me to play fair. You know the Syntropy sure as hell won¡¯t.¡±


    Asena scoffed. ¡°I hardly think the Syntropy will be trying to take out my legs.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re probably right,¡± Feray said, this time with a shrug. ¡°They¡¯ll do much worse.¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡±


    Once again, Asena was startled into silence. As much as she appreciated the other woman¡¯s bluntness, it still took some getting used to.


    Feray was right, however. The Syntropy were far deadlier and more uncompromising than any sparring partner could simulate. Asena could say that now with newfound certitude, having finally experienced one such deadly battle firsthand.


    Only¡­ had it been firsthand? She still remembered well the near-complete loss of control as a foreign entity took over both her and her Eidolon. On paper, Asena Shiranui had recorded her first kill of a Voras unit. In reality, she knew that she herself had very little to do with that kill.


    Which was why she¡¯d been so eager to hit the training grounds early and often since her return from the field. The bo staff was the closest thing she could find to a [NAGINATA], and Jaeger Feray had been accommodating and talented enough to play an effective opponent. Perhaps a little too effective, if Asena¡¯s backside had any say on the matter.


    Fresh bruises notwithstanding, Asena picked up her bo and lowered herself into a stance, while motioning for Feray to do the same. Evidently, she hadn¡¯t had enough yet. Indeed she wondered if any amount of training would ever be enough for her to feel like she belonged on a battlefield¡ªand not the ghost from someone else¡¯s war.


    Just as she readied for a strike, however, Feray suddenly broke out of her stance, with her eyes wandering over to something behind Asena¡¯s shoulders. Asena turned, too naive still to doubt whether this might¡¯ve been another one of Feray¡¯s tricks. The interruption turned out to be genuine, however, as a third figure approached.


    Upon the poorly lit path that connected the living quarters to the drill ground, Zelen Athelstan looked something like a ghost himself, with his slouching shadowy figure cast by a faint blue pall.


    Asena¡¯s chest tightened at the sight of Zelen¡¯s ghostly figure. For it was a cruelly appropriate representation of the young man¡¯s demeanour over the past fortnight¡ªever since Asena herself had helped to ¡®bring him back¡¯. Present and functional in body, yet lost and faraway in spirit.


    To Asena¡ªwho¡¯d known the true and unfiltered Zelen through his own memories¡ªthis version of him was not much more than a stranger. Indeed he seemed to share more in common with her mysterious [REVENANT] warrior than with anyone else in the Apfel Alliance, or Akropolis for that matter.


    The truth was she resented him for it. His distance, his unfamiliarity, his emptiness. And because she resented him, she resented herself¡ªfor the part she¡¯d played in his transformation, and for her own inability to accept the consequences of her failures.


    For she had failed Zelen. Instead of building him back up and helping him move forward, she¡¯d succeeded only in resurrecting a warrior¡ªa killer¡ªwho¡¯d lost everything he once fought for.


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    With Asena frozen with inaction, it was Jaeger Feray who spoke first, voice lowered to reach only Asena¡¯s ears.


    ¡°Welp, this was fun, princess, but I think it¡¯s time for me to check on the rest of the troops.¡±


    ¡°No, stay,¡± Asena exclaimed, suddenly fearful.


    ¡°I¡¯d¡­ rather not,¡± Feray muttered, visibly discomfited. ¡°Look, you two obviously have some shit to work out. Best not to let these things fester, I reckon. Good luck!¡±


    With that, the Jaeger promptly made her escape. She greeted Zelen with a mock salute as they passed, but the latter appeared to barely notice, with his deadened eyes pointed squarely on Asena.


    ¡°So,¡± Zelen spoke first, ¡°this is where you¡¯ve been running off to every morning, is it?¡±


    His tone was polite and earnest, as was typical for him: just a statement of fact. Even so, Asena felt a prick of irritation.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say I ¡®run off¡¯ to anywhere, Zelen,¡± she responded, failing to hide a slight edge to her voice. ¡°If you¡¯d only asked, I would¡¯ve happily told you about it. Perhaps even invited you to come along.¡±


    Zelen halted in his tracks, now eyeing her with mild surprise. He said, ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to offend you. Nor to interrupt your session. Should I¡­ call Feray back?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she sighed more than said, ¡°and no offense taken. Did you need me for something?¡±


    By way of answer, the young man stepped around Asena and took the spot vacated by her erstwhile sparring partner. He then picked up the bo Feray had left behind, turning it over in his hands and inspecting it with apparent interest.


    ¡°I just spoke to Akash,¡± he explained without looking up. ¡°I feel like I¡¯ve gotten to know him for the first time since we¡¯ve met. And somehow, that¡¯s left me more confused than ever. How do you do it, Asena? How do you know what you want to do with such certainty? ¡­ I could never be decisive like you.¡±


    That¡¯s not true, Asena wanted dearly to tell him. You also believed in something once. So fervently that you were willing to fight the whole of Akropolis by yourself. And yet, how could she get him to understand? How could she make him remember something that was no longer his?


    ¡°I¡¯m not as certain as I might pretend to be,¡± she confided instead. ¡°I¡¯m constantly filled with doubts and fears, enough to paralyze me if I let them.¡±


    Zelen looked up from his bo and held Asena¡¯s gaze. She continued, ¡°But as doubtful and fearful as I am, for the first time in my life, I¡¯m making these decisions on my own. My choice, and my fight¡ªfor better or for worse. That¡¯s why I can¡¯t look back. I can only move forward.¡±


    The Reiter seemed to consider this, his polite and earnest face betraying naught of what he thought of a Kurator and her justification for war. After several beats, he asked, ¡°Do you believe Akash? That all people have the potential to become Sehers, with or without the Ascension Standard?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°What makes you so sure?¡±


    ¡°Like I said, Zelen, I¡¯m not sure about anything. But just look around you. At this city. Left behind by a people who spread the burden of fighting the Syntropy among all who were capable and willing. I don¡¯t know when they fought their war, nor how that war ended. But I¡¯d like to believe that they fought with conviction and freedom of spirit. In fact, I know they did. And that is the way I want to be. The way I want all of us to be.¡±


    As she spoke, she thought again of her [REVENANT] warrior: the dancer that spun and flew across the battlefield with a singular joy, unbeholden to duty or creed. Granted, Asena herself would prefer to temper some of the dancer¡¯s bloodlust, but she couldn¡¯t deny that she¡¯d been taken in by her sheer unbridled power.


    She couldn¡¯t deny, also, that she craved it. That a part of why she came ¡®running¡¯ to the drill ground every morning was to seek just a taste of the warrior spirit that flowed within her blood.


    By now, Zelen stared at Asena with naked interest, not unlike how he¡¯d earlier scrutinized the bo in his hands. He mused, ¡°It wasn¡¯t that long ago that you questioned my decision to eliminate Fenix Duodecim. Do you feel differently now? Would you¡­ kill Akropolitans¡­ in service of this freedom you wish to fight for? If that were to be the only way ¡®forward¡¯?¡±


    For a moment, Asena lowered her gaze, overcome by yet another bout of indecision. Zelen¡¯s question wasn¡¯t anything new. It was something she¡¯d wrestled with ever since she witnessed the fatal duel between Ashborne and Kingfisher. And now, with her having discovered her own place inside the cockpit of an Eidolon, the question was more urgent than ever.


    ¡°I¡­ would still rather this conflict reach a peaceful resolution,¡± she hedged, ¡°but if need be¡ª¡±


    ¡°Answer the question, Asena,¡± Zelen commanded¡ªpleaded¡ªwith voice slightly raised. ¡°If you find yourself in direct confrontation with a Joint Forces soldier¡­ would you fight to kill? Because I can assure you, that¡¯s the only way we¡¯ll ever stand a chance against the Reiter Regiment.¡±


    Asena looked up and held Zelen¡¯s gaze. She said softly, ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Even if that soldier is Spindrift?¡±


    A gasp rose up from Asena¡¯s chest and caught in her throat. She saw mirrored in Zelen the same hesitation¡ªthe same inevitability. She realized then that his question wasn¡¯t meant only for her. A warrior adrift, reaching for an anchor. Searching for a companion he could fully trust to have his back, with whom to fly into battle side by side.


    It was what she¡¯d taken away from him. And it was hers to give it back.


    ¡°¡­ Yes.¡±


    For some time, the two of them stared at each other in silence. A young man and a young woman, promised to each other since childhood, yet they¡¯d only grown more apart as the years wore on.


    Only¡­ as Asena looked into Zelen¡¯s eyes, she thought she finally saw something of the familiar. Polite, earnest, sorrowful. The old Zelen. The true Zelen. He was still in there somewhere, lost amidst the turmoil of everyone else¡¯s war but his.


    Eventually, Asena had seen enough to know what next to do. She knew it, not with reason nor logic, but with certainty of spirit. She gripped her bo staff with both hands and lowered herself into a stance. Then she motioned for Zelen to do the same.


    ¡°Would you care for a round?¡± she asked with a faint smile that wasn¡¯t entirely her own. ¡°Show me what it would take to stand a chance against the Reiter Regiment.¡±

 66. ASPIRATIONS 3

    ~March 5th, 140 AH~


    ~The Caverns, Drill Ground~


    Zelen mirrored Asena¡¯s combat-ready posture, out of obedience rather than for any real practical purpose. The bo staff felt strange and unwieldy in his hands, which told him that it hadn¡¯t been one of the weapon masteries that were part of his proto-Reiter training.


    Just yards across from him, his Kurator of a fianc¨¦e (somehow still a fianc¨¦e, after all that had happened and more) wore a confident if somewhat inscrutable smile. She¡¯d taken on a different air as soon as she got into her stance¡ªas if her very personality had changed. Zelen knew far too little of the ¡®regular¡¯ Asena as it was, and this was yet another veil atop a stranger he¡¯d pretended to be his family.


    Since his return from his failed mission at Korak Valley, Zelen had heard bits and pieces about Asena¡¯s surprising prowess as an Eidolon pilot (none of them told with her own words). By all accounts, she¡¯d managed to kill a Voras unit on her own, apparently with great skill and daring. How much of that was truth, and how much of it was Akash Varana once again overestimating the personnel upon whom his project depended?


    Zelen supposed he¡¯d soon find out.


    ¡°Will you not make the first move?¡± Asena called out, still faintly smiling. ¡°If you won¡¯t, then I will.¡±


    ¡°Go ahead and do your worst,¡± Zelen returned with what he hoped was a courteous nod. ¡°I¡¯ve always preferred to watch my opponents first before formulating a plan of attack.¡±


    That, he realized, was true enough, even though he¡¯d struggle to cite actual examples. The comment nevertheless elicited a knowing nod from his opponent, whose smile disappeared the same moment she leapt into her opener.


    An overhead swing, straight down the middle. Zelen was, first and foremost, caught off guard by the speed with which Asena closed the gap between them.


    He¡¯d always pictured his fianc¨¦e as a painter first, a Kurator second, and never a fighter. But he knew that was merely his Reiter¡¯s arrogance talking. Anyone who¡¯d been trained through the Joint Forces system had been required to maintain a standard of physical fitness and combat proficiency. The sinewy muscles that showed beneath Asena¡¯s rolled-up sleeves were proof enough of the former¡­


    ¡­ And the force and precision of her strike were that of the latter. Zelen blocked the attack by turning his bo upward with both hands, sagging under its impact as he did.


    Asena offered no reprieve, rapidly rotating her weapon backward to catch Zelen with the low end of the shaft. Zelen dodged out of it by pivoting to the side. The Kurator chased his movement by spinning her bo horizontally. This was met by another block, perpendicular to the arc of the swing.


    Soon the fight fell into a predictable rhythm, with Asena employing all manner of cuts and angles in an attempt to find an opening. Zelen in turn rebuffed all such attempts, watching and learning all the while. What he lacked in knowledge and experience with the bo staff he made up for with battle-honed instincts. Soon, he¡¯d seen enough of Asena¡¯s fighting style to spot its numerous shortcomings.


    She certainly was stronger and more dexterous than he¡¯d given her credit for. She¡¯d also obviously been diligent in revising and replicating the techniques imparted to her by instructors. But that meticulous diligence, in this case, was to her detriment. For in order to stand a chance against the seasoned killers that made up the Reiter Regiment, she needed to show them something they¡¯d never seen before.


    As the fight wore on, so too did Asena¡¯s energy wane. Her cuts became a little slower, her angles a little less precise. Then there came a lapse in judgment that was so egregious Zelen had no choice but to punish it.


    A lateral slide followed by an overhead cut. Too much lag in between. Too much of an opening. So intent was the Kurator on following through with her planned sequence that she failed to notice her opponent had already transitioned into a counter.


    Zelen lowered his shoulder and bumped Asena in the chest, knocking her off-balance. Then, without knowing anything of what the proper technique might be, he dug the lower end of his bo into Asena¡¯s midsection and pushed outward.


    He hadn¡¯t intended to put too much force behind the manoeuvre, but it proved enough to drive his opponent off her feet and send her sprawling onto the floor. He winced inwardly before dashing to her side to offer a hand.


    Zelen knelt beside Asena with his hand outstretched, waiting for her to take it. The Kurator, however, merely stared up the darkness that passed for a sky inside the Caverns, clutching her weapon to her chest with both hands. Strands of hair clumped and stuck to her flushed and sweaty face. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with the effort of her ragged breaths.


    And still, she refused to take his hand.


    ¡°Asena?¡±


    With blinding quickness and a sudden burst of strength, Asena sprang to her feet, but not before knocking Zelen¡¯s hand away with a playful tap. Then she lowered¡ªnay, rose¡ªinto a stance, of an entirely disparate character than the one with which she¡¯d started the sparring session.


    Gone was the rigorous posture of a well-schooled martialist. Instead, Asena hopped to and fro on the balls of her feet, with shoulders relaxed and betraying nothing of intents nor methods. Hers were the looseness and agility of a performer that compelled her audience to expect the unexpected. Show them something they¡¯d never seen before.


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    And her eyes. Her eyes were the site of her most startling transformation. For they now glowed from within. An unmistakable ghostly blue hue. The Nexus heeding a Seher¡¯s call.


    Zelen blinked, utterly nonplussed. His mouth worked soundlessly, struggling to give word to the thousand questions that swirled in his mind. But his confusion quickly turned to alarm as not-Asena resumed their fight without warning.


    A gap-closer, lightning quick. The Kurator dragged one end of her bo along the ground as she moved in, before driving it skyward with a vicious strike aimed at Zelen¡¯s head.


    Still kneeling, Zelen managed to block the blow in the nick of time. His whole body shook from the impact, and he quickly jumped to his feet to ready himself for the ensuing barrage.


    If this was still Asena Shiranui, she¡¯d done a remarkable job of hitherto hiding her claws. The young woman showed no sign of fatigue as she unleashed a flowing flurry of attacks. Cuts, jabs, jumps, and pirouettes. Each move merged with another with no break in between, leaving no breathing room for her reeling opponent.


    The biggest change to the dynamic¡ªmore marked even than her increased power and agility¡ªwas her formlessness. Zelen still watched but no longer learned, finding it difficult if not downright impossible to pin down his adversary¡¯s movements, to predict the next step in her sequence.


    For there was no sequence. Only the whims of an artist in the throes of a surrealist bliss. All was chaos, yet everything was under Asena¡¯s control. Zelen saw himself as an unwilling pupil, led and shepherded through the steps of a violent dance. With no choreography nor end in sight. No music save for the arrhythmic beating of the combatants¡¯ hearts.


    Only¡­ Zelen discovered, more and more, that he could be persuaded to match his partner¡¯s enthusiasm. Instead of purely reacting, he began to pepper in techniques of his own. A questioning slide here and an incursive cut there. Soon, he attuned to the chaos of his own attacks, which in turn informed his understanding of his opponent¡¯s.


    He heard and felt every drag and release of Asena¡¯s laboured breaths. He saw the laughter that blended with every ripple of her gleaming muscles. And he relished the same joy that was reflected in his own chest¡ªrays of heat that vaporized the blackness therein.


    Yet, for all the passion that flew between the dancers, their bodies couldn¡¯t keep up with their own frenetic pace. Asena was the first to lose her footing, tumbling into Zelen as she did.


    The Reiter, for his part, reacted without thinking. He let go of his bo to catch Asena, then promptly lost his own balance. He fell backwards and onto the floor, with his dance partner held firmly in his arms.


    The pain further clarified his senses and heightened his awareness. For several fraught moments, Asena¡¯s grinning face was inches away from his. Teeth bared in delight, nostrils flared in excitement, and wild eyes shining with possibilities she herself hadn¡¯t even conceived of.


    Without warning, the Kurator ripped her arms free of Zelen¡¯s grasp and shot her hands to his throat. Zelen helplessly¡ªor willingly¡ªallowed the heat of Asena¡¯s skin to wrap around the taut muscles of his neck and compress his racing carotids.


    Not-Asena¡¯s grin widened. Her grip tightened, with gradual yet steady pressure. And her parted lips drew closer, until they were the only things Zelen could see and anticipate.


    Then a loud gasp escaped those lips. She let go of his throat, almost as suddenly as she¡¯d first grabbed it. Then she pushed herself into a sitting position, looking down at her supine companion with an expression of sheer horror.


    Gone completely was the ghostly blue hue of her eyes. Even in his own alarm and confusion, Zelen muddled his way to a semblance of understanding. This was the ¡®real¡¯ Asena. She of the rigid techniques and restrained manners.


    Dream and reality. Lies and truth. Rolled into one yet ever divided. Zelen felt the heat recede from his chest¡ªthough not completely. Something of his earlier rapt self lingered, along with the stirring of a strangely familiar emotion that pulled at the edges of his blackness.


    ¡°Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake!¡±


    Two pairs of eyes swivelled toward the interruption. The stocky figure of Feray Geyik shuffled toward them at speed, with her face caught between urgent duty and the beginning of a smirk.


    ¡°When I said you shouldn¡¯t let these things fester, I didn¡¯t mean for you to take a blazing torch to the whole mess! But never mind that, right now. We¡¯ve got a situation, lover boy, and we need your expertise on the war end of the spectrum.¡±


    Only then did Asena seem to realize that she was still straddling Zelen by the waist. Her features disappeared into pure red as she jumped off and took several backward steps for good measure. Now unencumbered, Zelen too rose and dusted himself off as he addressed the timely Jaeger.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Graeme and a couple other Panzers are on the surface right now, conducting a check on the perimeter defenses. He just radioed in to say he and his team have been spotted by a hostile and are now being pursued.¡±


    ¡°Syntropy?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Feray said, her face now set in an uneasy frown. ¡°The other kind of hostiles.¡±


    Zelen nodded. ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°One.¡±


    ¡°Just one? Did Graeme provide any identifying features? Paintwork and decals?¡±


    ¡°Oh, he identified him, alright.¡±


    Feray glanced sidelong at a dazed Asena as she said this, and Zelen understood immediately. He nodded again and broke into a brisk walk, beckoning for Feray to follow suit. As soon as the two of them were out of earshot, he leaned in to give out instructions in a lowered voice.


    ¡°I¡¯m heading directly to the hangar now. I want you to round up a handful of reinforcements and sortie once you¡¯re all ready. But only as back-up. Hang back, observe, assist Graeme and his team if the opportunity presents itself, but do not engage the hostile. Do I make myself clear? No one is to provoke Spindrift in any way, shape, or form, unless I give a direct order to do so.¡±


    He paused to look back over his shoulder. The lone figure of Asena Shiranui¡ªand not her dancing alter ego¡ªstill stood in the middle of the drill ground, with eyes downcast. She was apparently lost in thought, having not moved an inch since she debulked herself from Zelen¡¯s person.


    Zelen hesitated, but only for a moment, before he added for Feray¡¯s ears only, ¡°And whatever you do, don¡¯t let Asena out onto the surface.¡±

 67. ASPIRATIONS 4

    ~March 5th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Capricorn, Vallemor Desert~


    Makiri Shiranui pointed his crimson centipede into the southern wind and the future that shifted with the planet¡¯s haze.


    For the first time in his fifteen-year career as a Reiter, he¡¯d left the transit gates of Akropolis of his own volition. Had sortied on a mission of his own design and directive, sans orders nor permission from above. For he needed to know. He needed to see [THE INEVITABLE] with his own two eyes, before everything he thought he held dear dissolved into the fog of war.


    His first ever solo flight¡ªtruly solo, with neither team nor Spiegel support¡ªwas dogged by a constant headache. The pain served as a steady reminder of the path he¡¯d strayed from, of the doubts that now clouded his once single-track mind.


    Doubt was not something a man like Makiri Shiranui was accustomed to. Why would he be, when his life, until recently, had been a series of one knowable certainty after another?


    The manicured childhood of a Tetrarch heir. The regimented doldrums of proto-Reiter training. Even the chaos of the battlefield¡ªof its kills and its deaths¡ªhad been but the realization of destinies that had been written upon ancient stars. Stardust colliding, reshaping, and disintegrating until they reached their natural conclusions.


    His brother Otaga¡¯s death had been one such conclusion. So had Bearclaw¡¯s, Lionheart¡¯s, Uppercut¡¯s, and countless other deaths before theirs. His only duty, Makiri had always believed, was to honour his comrades¡¯ deaths by making the most of his own [INEVITABLE] sacrifice.


    Everything changed when a man called Zelen Athelstan entered the sphere of his awareness. The changes had been subtle at first, too distant and too unknowable to jostle the wavelengths of Makiri¡¯s consciousness. Then, gradually over years, as the boy grew into a young man with his own duties, beliefs, and doubts, the full extent of his entropy revealed itself.


    The man himself changed, and as he did, so did the war around him. Even Makiri¡¯s own sister¡ªdutiful and sensitive Asena¡ªwas swept into the swirling cloud of stardust where Zelen Athelstan had kicked out at destiny. How could one man have affected and changed so much, when for 140 years previously humanity had hurtled along a single track?


    No. Makiri realized¡ªthought he understood¡ªthat was the wrong question.


    The last 140 years of Akropolis had been but one reality out of multitudes, constructed rather than predestined, cinderblock by cinderblock and choice by choice. How else could he account for the final moments of Gerech Athelstan who, at the end of his days, chose differently¡ªdenounced the history that had led him to that final choice?


    But something that had been built could also be destroyed. That was why Makiri had to see it for himself. Who was Zelen Athelstan? Saviour or destroyer? Friend or foe?


    [THE INEVITABLE] or the possible?


    Despite sortieing against orders, Makiri had nevertheless made use of Joint Forces intel to guide his solo flight. The latest data gathered from scout drones had pointed to Vallemor Desert as a possible site of hostile activity. It was a region that had been largely ignored by both Akropolitan and Syntropy forces, but that, Makiri supposed, would only make for an ideal hideout for a group of deserters.


    He spotted the Panzers¡ªthree of them, in their Eidolons¡ªbefore they him. Strange looking things: rotund, top-heavy, and limited in mobility. Yet his previous engagement with one such Eidolon had told him that they could hold their own in the heat of battle.


    LA [WINCHESTER]. Aimed at the tank treads of one of the units. Caught by surprise, the other two units at first scattered, then stopped. Hesitating. Weighing their choices. Makiri understood what must be going through their minds. For he himself had weighed the same choice countless times¡ªwithout realizing he had a choice.


    He also saw the moment when hesitation congealed into certainty. One Eidolon activated its spherical shield, enveloping the whole team within its temporary safety. Meanwhile, the pilot of another unit exited their cockpit to retrieve their stranded comrade. The choice was made.


    The base of Makiri¡¯s skull burned anew with more questions. At the same time, he launched a volley from RS [MISSILE LAUNCHER], knowing full well they¡¯d whittle down but not fully penetrate the Panzer¡¯s defenses. He needed to inspire fear. Make them believe that he was here to end their lives. Make himself as, if not more, formidable than the Syntropy.


    Yet¡­ the Syntropy wouldn¡¯t stop at whittling down defenses. The Syntropy wouldn¡¯t have given the Panzers a chance to survive as a team, not when one of them had already been disabled.


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    Makiri ignored his own headache and focused on the task.


    As soon as one shield went down, another went up. Down to two functional units, the Panzers transitioned into a retreat, sharing and alternating protection duties among themselves.


    It was the correct choice. One Makiri was thankful for. For if the Panzers had tried to fight back, his own choices would¡¯ve narrowed to one.


    As it stood, he was allowed to continue harrying the Panzers, driving them farther away from their mission and back to their base. Any moment now. One of two [INEVITABILITIES] should present itself. Either the deserters would be forced to reveal the exact point of entry into their hideout, or¡ª


    The reinforcement came in the form of a midnight-blue phantom. Kingfisher flew over the shield of his deserter allies, spraying [GATLING] in Makiri¡¯s direction as he did. This too was the preferred outcome. One step closer to Makiri¡¯s self-imposed objective.


    ¡°Show me,¡± he whispered into a cockpit where he was all alone. ¡°Show me this future you fight for, that I might see my own.¡±


    The base of his skull flared again, with enough intensity to momentarily blind him. He checked the display as soon as he regained full use of his senses, and saw the downward drain of his Energy Reserves. Whatever he needed to see from Kingfisher, he needed to do it fast. Before he¡¯d be forced to cut short his solo flight.


    He drove toward Kingfisher. Initiate rather than react. Make a choice. Force Kingfisher into making his.


    A round of [WINCHESTER] flew astray, evaded with a timely quickthrust. [MISSILE LAUNCHER] bore down from the opposite direction, which Kingfisher then deflected with [SCUTUM]. Kingfisher simultaneously launched [HARPOON], forcing Makiri into his own quickthrust, powering down RA [MJOLNIR] as he was pushed out of melee range.


    This was more like it. This was closer to the Kingfisher he knew, the boy-going-on-man that had once bested him in single combat. But he wasn¡¯t fully there. Just the shadow of [INEVITABILITIES] yet lingered, which made Kingfisher vulnerable.


    Which gave Spindrift the edge.


    Makiri made his choice. Concentrated all of his hopes and doubts into one decisive manoeuvre. He drove into the heart of Kingfisher, right arm poised to fully lay bare his own intentions.


    His anticipation of Kingfisher¡¯s response gave him the leeway needed to time his defenses perfectly, down to the millisecond. LS [AEGIS], at the exact moment when Kingfisher¡¯s [BLUNDERBUSS] hit. Makiri continued his forward thrust within the safety of his own shield, chasing his prey as it backed off and freely unloaded [GATLING].


    Then Kingfisher stopped in mid-air. As Makiri knew he would. For he¡¯d harried and driven the young man straight into the pair of Panzer units that still slogged through their retreat. A moment of hesitation. Which was an [INEVITABILITY] in itself.


    By this point, Makiri¡¯s [MJOLNIR] was already mid-swing, conviction writ large. This time, it found its target, meted out punishment for a moment¡¯s hesitation on the battlefield. Impact against a midnight-blue central chassis. Powerful shockwave to strip away the last of Kingfisher¡¯s armour.


    Reeling from the impact, naked and defenseless, Kingfisher presented himself for Makiri¡¯s judgment. Makiri obliged, raising his left arm now to point [WINCHESTER] squarely upon the cockpit where a young man¡¯s future¡ªand the futures of everything he might yet touch¡ªhung in the balance.


    ¡°Show me!¡± Makiri screamed, louder than the pain that surged and seized his entire body. ¡°Prove to me that you¡¯re worth saving! That your future is worth fighting for!¡±


    And yet, what poured out from Kingfisher then and reached across the Nexus and into Makiri¡¯s wavering consciousness wasn¡¯t the future.


    Instead, it was history. Multiple histories. Too many. All the myriad possibilities and predestinations that had flashed and passed into a graveyard of the universes¡¯ memories. Stardust that had risen and settled into the defeated young man that now cowered before Makiri Shiranui.


    Makiri saw not the salvation he¡¯d been promised. Neither did he see the destruction he¡¯d feared. All he saw was blackness. All he saw was death.


    Saviour or destroyer? Friend or foe? Neither? Both? The wrong question? One question of an infinite many?


    No.


    Just a broken young man whose future couldn¡¯t bear the weight of his history.


    Doubt congealed into grim certainty. Makiri made up his mind then. He borrowed another segment of his quickly draining Reserves and powered up LA [WINCHESTER]. Aimed into the cockpit. Poised to pass down judgment.


    He missed.


    Not because he¡¯d changed his mind. Not because he¡¯d veered once more from his path. But because a new possibility presented itself, one he had no way to foresee, no way to understand.


    Another Eidolon had flown into the picture, now landing next to the crater left behind by [WINCHESTER]. Cradled in its incongruously bulky arms was the limp frame of Kingfisher, defeated but intact.


    The newcomer laid down its comrade with a tenderness that could never belong on a battlefield. Should never belong. It spun to face Makiri, summoning in its hands a staff that was nearly as tall as itself.


    Then the end of its staff burst to life, with the ghostly blue blade of an alien weapon.


    Makiri recognized the weapon, but didn¡¯t know what it was. He also recognized the Eidolon, but didn¡¯t know who it was. What did that mean? How was that possible?


    Certainty disintegrated into doubt and shifted with the planet¡¯s haze. Makiri¡¯s entire being exploded with a pain that was both familiar and unknowable.

 68. ASPIRATIONS 5

    ~March 5th, 140 AH~


    ~The Caverns, Comms Centre~


    Relief and agitation battled each other within Asena¡¯s chest, as she followed Akash into the room that served as the Apfel Alliance¡¯s window to the outside world.


    Even by the standards of a city that had been long abandoned by its inhabitants, the comms centre was in worse disrepair than most other landmarks, containing not so much an entrance as a large hole in its dilapidated walls. As Asena ducked under the hole¡¯s crumbling edges, she wondered, not for the first time, what manner of violence had brought it into being. Internal conflict? Outside threat?


    She let the thought trail off as soon as it arose, distracted as she was by her own immediate predicament. For both internal conflict and outside threat had visited her at once, bearing down on her position in the all too familiar form of a crimson centipede.


    ¡°Managed to retrieve Corporal Ondas, but have had to abandon his Eidolon.¡± Graeme O¡¯Riordan¡¯s running sit rep streamed through the radio. His speech retained its usual military precision, but Asena thought she could hear the cracks in its veneer¡ªthe fear that lapped against the Panzer¡¯s sense of duty. ¡°Now retreating toward the Drawbridge. Permission to¡­ use it once we¡¯re there?¡±


    ¡°Yes, do it! Of course you have permission!¡±


    Asena watched Akash lose his composure in real time. It was happening again: a naive Gaertner thrust into an unfamiliar and impossible role. She watched this, and her own agitation threatened to wash away her misguided relief.


    She understood Panzer Graeme¡¯s hesitation. The Drawbridge was the enormous disguised elevator that doubled as the main entrance and exit to and from the Caverns. To activate it would be tantamount to revealing the Alliance¡¯s position to Akropolis.


    Yet she also sensed that the concern was moot. Her brother had already spotted Alliance members along the Caverns¡¯ perimeter. If Makiri were allowed to take this intel home with him, it¡¯d be a matter of time before he and the rest of the Joint Forces sniffed out the Drawbridge¡¯s existence and exact location, disguised or not.


    Had Akash also reached the same conclusion before clearing the Panzers to use the Drawbridge? Or was he simply letting his compassionate Gaertner self come to the fore? Asena wondered, not for the first time, what manner of motivation dictated the moment-to-moment decisions of her chosen leader. Cold calculation? Pure emotion?


    She wondered also at his latest decision to bring her with him as he took over comms. For the express purpose of his orders seemed to contradict their implicit intent. Don¡¯t even think about sortieing and joining the fight. But follow me into the one place in all the Caverns where you can hear and react to everything that¡¯s happening on the surface.


    It would¡¯ve been safer and simpler to keep her in the dark. Literally. Lock her in the Armoury and have someone stand watch. She might even have been grateful for it. For as determined as she was to commit to her new life and chosen war, when it came to her brother and her fianc¨¦ squaring off inside their respective metal giants, ignorance was bliss. Nonparticipation was relief.


    And yet, her agitation only grew and grew. The words that streamed in from the radio made sure of it.


    ¡°Confirming that Lieutenant Athelstan has arrived on the scene and has engaged the hostile unit.¡±


    Her agitation grew.


    ¡°Looks like the hostile unit has already forgotten about us Panzers. Should we assist?¡±


    ¡°No. Both of your Eidolons are running low on Reserves. We¡¯ll have to rely on Zelen to pull through for us.¡±


    Her agitation lapped against her sense of relief.


    ¡°¡­ We¡¯re going to halt our retreat. No need to lead the enemy back to the Drawbridge if the Lieutenant could drive him away. We¡¯ll hang around in case he needs us.¡±


    Her agitation coalesced into a flash of realization. And with that realization rose an impetus. Far more powerful than either agitation or relief.


    She needed to know. Needed to participate. Needed to act.


    ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡±


    Akash Varana¡¯s voice was calm and measured, absent its earlier duress. Pure emotion? Or cold calculation?


    Asena, for her part, already had one foot out the hole in the wall. She declared simply, ¡°I¡¯m going to sortie. And I¡¯m going to join the fight.¡±


    Akash nodded. ¡°If that¡¯s your decision, then I won¡¯t stop you,¡± he said, now allowing just a hint of emotion to colour his voice. ¡°But let me leave you with a new order: live.¡±


    ~March 5th, 140 AH~


    ~The Caverns, Surface~


    Asena pointed her own metallic giant into the buffeting wind¡ªtoward a midnight-blue phantom and the crimson centipede that held it within its deadly gaze.


    She had no time to think, to wonder, to decide. The impetus was all, and she followed it to its natural conclusion. Followed it into the fray.


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    The pale blue ray of [WINCHESTER] whizzed past her and Kingfisher both as she grabbed him from mid-air and dove to the ground. The model ES-V was heavy yet disconcertingly limp in her arms. Had Zelen already lost consciousness? If not, he was likely close to it. She laid Zelen down on the desert floor, then shot to the air to face the enemy that had incapacitated him.


    By then, Asena was no longer surprised by her own calmness. Strangely enough, her calm hadn¡¯t been the product of poise nor conviction. If anything, her mind was more jumbled than ever, pulled in too many directions by the possibilities and indecisions that were about to fly her way. But it was, paradoxically, this overwhelming confusion that narrowed her immediate future into a singular purpose.


    For the only thing she was certain of was that she needed to be here. Be present. Be the pilot of her own destiny.


    The crimson frame of Spindrift flew her way with decisive speed and unchecked aggression. Asena¡¯s surprise was but instantaneous, before she was forced to react and make good on her orders from Akash.


    Swings of [NAGINATA] to deflect a volley of [MISSILES]. Quickthrust to back out of [MJOLNIR]¡¯s range. Flip over [NAGINATA]¡¯s blade-head to shield against another round of [WINCHESTER].


    Even as she bucked and sagged under Spindrift¡¯s barrage, she retained enough presence of mind to realize two things. First, that her brother knew not whom or what he was up against (how could he? Hers was the first any Joint Forces personnel had seen of a model M-024). And second, that his current lack of intel offered her a unique advantage, one that likely would never again present itself.


    How could an M-024 subdue an ES-V? Think. Her impetus had led her into the fray, and now her abilities needed to pull her through. She had to think, wonder, and decide on how to best the man who was the best.


    By all logic, an M-024 was inferior to an ES-V in nearly every way: slower, coarser in movement, and limited to a single armament. Yet this single armament also served as its one advantage, with its immunity from cooldowns allowing for¡ªtheoretically, at least¡ªconstant pressure to be applied to its target.


    Then there was also that mysterious yellow bar, one that wasn¡¯t so mysterious anymore, now that Asena had seen what it portended. This yellow bar next to the ER gauge had already filled halfway, just from the opening exchange. She knew that, as long as she could survive just a little longer, she could turn the table on Spindrift. Call down the dancer to possess her Eidolon, better to bring that ¡®constant pressure¡¯ from theory into practice.


    She only hoped that, this time, she could hold onto more of herself. Be present. Be the pilot of her own destiny.


    Oblivious to his opponent¡¯s internal conflict, Spindrift transitioned into his next series of attacks. [WINCHESTER] first, closely followed by [MISSILE LAUNCHER] into space. Asena dodged the former, then noticed too late that she¡¯d flown straight into the latter. Then, as she frantically swung her [NAGINATA] to ward off the ordnances, Spindrift moved in to punish her lapse in concentration.


    The clash of [MJOLNIR] against [NAGINATA] transmitted its impact directly into Asena¡¯s being. The entire cockpit shook violently, and her body with it. Her arms instantly lost all feeling, with every bone and every nerve along their grooves seemingly knocked out of place.


    She didn¡¯t need to look at her HUD to know that an unconscionable amount of her Armour had been stripped clean by this one hit. As if that weren¡¯t enough, the ensuing shockwave sent her flying backwards, stripped of control as well as Armour.


    Fear gripped her then. For she knew that she¡¯d never been closer to death.


    But she didn¡¯t want to think about death. Nor about the man who fully intended to administer it. Even in her dying moments, she refused to be a passenger.


    Be the pilot. Scream into the Nexus, with all the desperation of a cornered animal fighting for its very life.


    The yellow bar was full. The Nexus heeded Asena¡¯s scream. And raised a warrior from the graveyard of the universe¡¯s memories.


    Spindrift drove forward, with all three of his weapons on cooldown but aiming nevertheless to finish the fight with his bare hands. Unbeknownst to him, his opponent was no longer the awkward novice that had reeled under the might of his hammer. Asena¡ªor was it her [REVENANT]?¡ªpirouetted into Spindrift¡¯s finisher, rolling through the attack while driving [NAGINATA]¡¯s blade into his exposed back.


    Spindrift too spun. Just in the nick of time and away from Asena¡¯s counter. Was it his instincts that saved him, or his knowledge of [THE INEVITABLE]? In either case, this second exchange between an M-024 and an ES-V ended in another stalemate. Yet the momentum was now decidedly on Asena¡¯s side.


    Along with these thoughts¡ªcold calculation¡ªshe came to another realization. That she was in control. Not fully perhaps, but enough to perceive and understand every one of her decisions and actions. Enough to turn theory into practice, all while she played the active participant.


    This time, Asena took the iniative. Took the fight to Spindrift. A flurry of cuts, jabs, and swings: unbeholden to cooldowns and unrestrained by hesitations.


    Constant pressure. Each impact was small and manageable, but a whole string of them proved as formidable as one strike from a warhammer. Spindrift reeled under his opponent¡¯s attacks, with his Einkunst powerless in the face of an avalanche of [INEVITABILITIES].


    But Makiri Shiranui was, not for nothing, the killingest Reiter in recorded history. LS [AEGIS], active again after a lengthy cooldown that had started from his first fight against Kingfisher. It bought him time, and more importantly, it bought him space to launch his counterattack.


    [WINCHESTER] and [MJOLNIR] together. An all-or-nothing finisher that was reserved for the direst of predicaments¡ªfor the deadliest of opponents. He wouldn¡¯t miss. Couldn¡¯t miss. For to do so would be to leave himself utterly defenseless. And to be defenseless in the heat of battle meant death.


    That was one [INEVITABILITY] anyone could see and understand.


    Including Asena. Her senses, heightened by the memories of a seasoned warrior, saw and understood Spindrift¡¯s desperation: his last-gasp attempt to finish a fight he could no longer sustain. And this vision of the inevitable gave her the fractions of a second she needed to solidify her advantage.


    [NAGINATA]¡¯s shaft spun earthward and knocked against Spindrift¡¯s left arm, dislodging [WINCHESTER] and sending its round well wide of the mark. In the same motion, [NAGINATA]¡¯s blade shot to the sky and sliced through the right arm, an instant before [MJOLNIR] could connect with an M-024¡¯s central chassis.


    And with that, Spindrift stopped completely.


    Had he finally run out of Reserves? Or had he¡ªbereft of defensive options and missing an arm¡ªseen the writing on the wall and accepted [THE INEVITABLE]? In either case, this third exchange between brother and sister ended in the former¡¯s decisive defeat. As for the latter¡­


    Asena¡ªall of her, both [REVENANT] and present¡ªraised [NAGINATA] into an overhead stance, poised for a finisher of her own. By then, she was no longer surprised by her own calmness.


    All of her uncertainties had condensed into this one moment of clarity. She¡¯d done more than participate, more than act. And now¡­ it was time to wrest control of her own destiny. Permanently and irrevocably.


    Past, futures, and possibilities flew across the haze of battle. A warrior¡¯s blade swung downward, and reflected upon its pale blue surface, loomed the shadow of a fast-approaching phantom.

 69. SYMMETRY 2

    ~February 25th, 140 MCE~


    ~Biksuguha, Concert Hall~


    Zelen Athelstan awoke upon the leftmost corner of the balcony seats, and saw that he was alone. He was momentarily surprised and disoriented, as something from a half-remembered dream had left him with the lingering sensation of another¡¯s presence. An embrace, one that was at once radiant with tender warmth and fraught with grim determination.


    Something within him ached and yearned for this stranger¡¯s embrace, with an intensity that was more alarming than the fact that he¡¯d let himself fall asleep. The yearning soon faded as he readjusted to his own reality, and as he scanned the balcony up and down to confirm that he indeed was alone. No friend to watch over him. No foe to catch him unawares.


    Down below on the main floor, the turnout was no less dismal, with no more than a dozen seats occupied by uniformed personnel¡­ half of whom looked to be asleep themselves. Zelen could still remember a time when the concert hall used to be the preeminent place of gathering and mingling¡ªback when the original architects of this facility would¡¯ve been justified in building an entire balcony level. But he was a young man then, and that time was long gone. These days, the concert hall served as no more than a refuge for tired soldiers, a space to while away the dead hours of the day with idle distraction and in the privacy of their own thoughts.


    Amidst the apathy, the dancer herself was illuminated under the venue¡¯s single spotlight. The tall wiry figure of Asena Shiranui danced with reckless abandon, clad in a flowing golden dress that whipped and snapped with her every movement. She danced with unflagging energy and unabashed violence, as if to spite her theatre¡¯s state of decline, to fill the empty seats with the imprints of her forceful performance.


    No orchestra. Only the single track of garbled music that played on repeat from an ancient cassette tape. No props nor set design. Only the polearm that spun and drifted gracefully across the dancer¡¯s body, as seamless as a natural extension to her anatomy. And no partner. Only the shadows that flitted in and out of the darkness beyond the edges of her spotlight.


    For whom was the end of the dancer¡¯s blade intended? What imagined enemy so fuelled her violence? Fully awake now, Zelen sat up and watched Shiranui¡¯s performance, forgetting for a moment his own reason for escaping to the concert hall.


    The reason manifested itself not a few minutes later, in the form of a young woman that weaved through the balcony¡¯s empty seats before setting herself upon the one next to Zelen¡¯s.


    Dahlia Yarboro was of a much slighter build than Asena Shiranui, but she possessed a quiet energy about her that all but matched the dancer¡¯s ferocity. Dressed in a loose-fitting overcoat and with eyes half-obscured by the glint on her glasses, she now directed this energy toward Zelen, who sighed inwardly before meeting her gaze.


    ¡°It¡¯s all in place, I presume?¡± he asked under his breath, though the effort to lower his voice was likely superfluous.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she replied promptly, a wind-up toy released from its tension. ¡°The cuckoos and their hatchlings have all been activated. Evacuation routes have been secured, with all shepherds on standby. Oh, and we¡¯ve also armed the payload¡­ just in case we need to reach a wider audience.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Who¡¯s manning the comms station tonight?¡±


    ¡°One of the Vakta boys. Can¡¯t remember which one.¡±


    Zelen gave Dahlia a look, to which she merely scoffed.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t act like it matters. Maybe it did once, but not anymore.¡±


    ¡°You sound as though you¡¯re familiar with the way things used to be.¡±


    ¡°So you have a few decades on me, old man. But just because I¡¯m young, doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m stupid. Doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t see the truths for what they are. And can we not get sidetracked here? The point is, everything and everyone are ready to go. All we¡¯re waiting on is your signal, Zelen.¡±


    Zelen held Dahlia¡¯s fierce gaze for several moments, now captivated by an entirely different sort of performance. But was it performance, or was it reality?


    The brutality of Shiranui¡¯s dance. The single-mindedness of Dahlia¡¯s resolve. The manner by which these young women chose to express themselves¡ªchose to fight for their own truths¡ªfelt more raw and real than anything else Zelen had experienced in the few decades he had on them. And that rawness and realness only added to his sorrow, stoked his instincts to protect rather than nurture.


    He hesitated, unable to bring himself to meet Dahlia¡¯s expectations, to be the steadying force against her ferocious yet anxious energy. He knew not what future awaited her and countless other young people of Biksuguha, and it was this uncertainty¡ªmore total and more pressing than at any other time he could recall¡ªthat kept him paralyzed with indecision.


    After several moments of Zelen¡¯s silence, Dahlia lowered her glasses to reveal eyes that were narrowed in disbelief. She hissed, ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re having doubts now. After all we¡¯ve been through. With everything that¡¯s at stake¡­¡±


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    ¡°I only wonder,¡± Zelen spoke slowly, trying in vain to convince himself as much as his companion, ¡°if it isn¡¯t too late to seek another way. Let me speak to the Council again. Perhaps there¡¯s a way for us to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Zelen. You¡¯re the goddamned Chancellor. What fucking difference is speaking to your own Council going to make, if it hasn¡¯t the first hundred times you tried?¡±


    ¡°They just need more time,¡± Zelen pleaded. ¡°More time to sit with the evidence. Make peace with the conclusions they might draw. If we give them¡ª¡±


    ¡°Time we can¡¯t afford,¡± Dahlia snapped. ¡°You think the cuckoos will wait for you while you twiddle your thumbs? While they risk discovery with every passing hour? You think the Syntropy will wait for humanity to ¡®sit with the evidence¡¯ that we¡¯re losing this war? Make up your goddamned mind, old man. Because this is happening. With or without you.¡±


    Just then, a commotion from below broke the pair¡¯s deadlock. They both turned eyes and ears away from each other and onto the main floor.


    The music continued to drown out any and all conversation, but the scene itself was plain for all to see. The dancer had stopped her dancing, and she now stood leaning against her weapon as she faced a group of newcomers that had invited themselves onto the stage.


    Military police. Dressed in their recently redesigned black uniform. Rifles slung loosely over their shoulders. One among them stood tallest, a giant wraith of a man whose shoulder-length charcoal hair cascaded from the rim of his beret. It was this giant that now took a step forward and appeared to directly address the dancer.


    From where Zelen sat, he couldn¡¯t see the man¡¯s face, but there was no mistaking that figure¡ªor at least the family from which it originated. One of the Shiranui boys. He couldn¡¯t remember which one, but as Dahlia might¡¯ve put it, it likely didn¡¯t matter. As brother and sister faced each other under the spotlight, Zelen understood with deepening sorrow that this was no mere family reunion.


    ¡°Is Asena Shiranui one of our cuckoos?¡± he asked Dahlia in a urgent whisper.


    ¡°No,¡± she answered, her own face tense with unease. ¡°We did consider reaching out to her. God knows she would¡¯ve been an invaluable asset. But I always assumed she was a loyalist. Something tells me I assumed wrong¡­¡±


    Below them, that something hurtled toward its natural conclusion. As Zelen watched on in horror, Shiranui the dancer raised her polearm into a medium stance, while Shiranui the soldier unslung his rifle.


    Zelen made to stand, and was held back by a firm hand on his arm. He looked frantically to Dahlia, who only jerked her head once in grim reproach. She was right, of course, as she often was. There was nothing Zelen could¡¯ve done. Not from the balcony, and not with the impotence of a Chancellor only in name.


    The report of gunfire echoed across the near-empty concert hall, momentarily deafening its captive audience. When the smoke cleared, the dancer¡¯s lifeless figure lay crumpled in the centre of her spotlight, with pools of lurid red rapidly spreading over her gold dress. And when Zelen¡¯s hearing returned to him, he once more heard the dancer¡¯s music over the ringing in his ears¡ªgarbled, out of rhythm, and repeated ad nauseum.


    For some time, the black-clad figure of the Shiranui sibling crouched next to his sister¡¯s corpse, pressing one side of his body where the blade of her polearm had nicked him. His gaze appeared to be fixed upon his handiwork, upon the lurid redness that spread from his bullets. Watching this from above, Zelen imagined for a second his own sorrow germinating within the younger man¡¯s chest¡ªsinking, deepening, growing.


    But then the soldier stood to his full height¡ªa giant wraith of a man¡ªand when he turned to look up at the balcony, Zelen was forced to readjust to his reality. For there was no sorrow within those charcoal eyes. Only duty. Only the conviction of another man¡¯s truths.


    The two men held each other¡¯s gaze for but a fleeting moment, then the soldier, along with his comrades, turned and exited stage left.


    Now the spotlight illuminated only the dancer and the redness that pooled beneath her body. No one went to her. Not one of the audience members that had used her show as a convenient form of escape. And not the old man that sat frozen upon the balcony, nor the young woman that gripped his arm with a wrathful ferocity.


    ¡°Do you see?¡± Dahlia spoke through gritted teeth, her eyes red and brimming with tears. ¡°Do you see what¡¯s at stake? What our inaction could cost us? Do you still want to bet on time? When time¡¯s never been on our side to begin with?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Zelen choked out a whisper, as a tear rolled down his own cheek. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ I¡¯m so sorry.¡±


    Both of Dahlia¡¯s hands flew to Zelen¡¯s collar, and she shook him bodily.


    ¡°We don¡¯t need your sorry, old man! We need you to act! Give us the signal, and we put our plans in motion tonight. Biksuguha will fall, and from its ashes will rise a new city. The most powerful and resilient bastion humanity has ever known. And with a new start, we might even win this godforsaken war¡ªdestroy the Syntropy before we can destroy ourselves.¡±


    As he shook limply within Dahlia Yarboro¡¯s grasp, Zelen felt his consciousness fade and clarify in equal measure. Every vibration sent forth another part of him into the universe. Into the Nexus.


    Young and old. Past, present, and future. Possibilities that unfolded onto an ever-expanding stage. Inevitabilities that had been written upon stardust since aeons ago.


    Carried across the pulsant enmeshment of the Nexus, the young woman¡¯s voice was at once multitudinous and singular. It told another lie, while at the same time, it laid bare an immovable truth.


    ¡°You need to do this, Zelen! Break the cycle. Move forward, and never look back.¡±


    ~~~


    ~March 5th, 140 AH~


    ~The Caverns, Surface~


    Zelen Athelstan came to inside his cockpit, and saw that he was alone. He was momentarily surprised and disoriented, as something from a half-remembered dream had left him with the lingering heat of another¡¯s eyes. An unwavering gaze that had captivated him with its performance, with the conviction in its own truth.


    Something within him cowered and recoiled under that gaze, only to find that he¡¯d long been released from its hold. His fear soon faded as he readjusted to his own reality, only to be replaced by another fear, one that was far more pressing and in need of redress.


    He watched from the desert floor as two dancers¡ªunwilling partners both¡ªflew in the sky above. A crimson centipede and its faded-gold counterpart. And cast upon their metallic frames was, not the glare of a spotlight, but the shadow of death.

 70. ASPIRATIONS 6

    Zelen watched himself fly toward a clash of crimson-on-gold. He saw the frantic distress painted plainly on his own face and wondered, with a placid detachment, where that emotion had come from.


    The crimson centipede represented a fearsome shadow from a half-forgotten past. An enigma of a man that Zelen¡¯s jumbled consciousness registered as friend and foe in equal measure¡ªthough the justifications for either were hazy at best. Could it be that he¡¯d remembered something without knowing it? Or was he simply more in need of a friend than foe?


    The dancer in faded gold was the family he¡¯d chosen, guided by nothing more than a voice that spoke to him in riddles and dreams. He supposed rather than felt that it was only natural for him to fear for her safety. Then why did he feel no relief at the sight of her absolute advantage? Safe, victorious, moments away from a famous kill. Why did the sight of it only intensify his dread?


    Perhaps he was asking the wrong questions again. Overcomplicating matters. Perhaps it mattered not where his emotions had come from¡ªwhether it be a half-forgotten friendship, misguided fears, or even the dreams of someone else¡¯s war.


    All that mattered was that his emotions weren¡¯t nothing. Real or not, he felt something. And it was imperative that he see it through to its natural conclusion.


    Only¡­ he knew this wasn¡¯t the conclusion to his reality. Or if it was, it was only one of many. With a placid detachment, he detected and examined the unknowable memories that had etched themselves into his bones. Alternate realities that had already played themselves out.


    Within vaults of Bone rest the Mind¡¯s secrets. Zelen¡¯s bones remembered (without knowing) his secret failures. They informed (without revealing) the path he must take to ensure that this reality would be one he could learn to live with.


    The dancer¡¯s pale blue blade swung toward her defenseless opponent. Zelen held his secret memories within his chest, and took the one trajectory that allowed him to rewrite the future¡ªto change what was otherwise inevitable.


    He sent himself directly under the arc of the blade. The blade tore through his shoulder joint before partially embedding itself into a crimson central chassis.


    The sheer shock of the pain jolted Zelen out of his detached observance of himself. It sent his consciousness back into his own reeling body. But not for long, he sensed. His earlier duel with Makiri¡ªyes, Makiri was his name¡ªhad already left him hanging by a thread, and this latest blow from Asena had all but depleted his Reserves.


    At the same time as Zelen came back to himself, two metallic giants detached themselves from his position. Makiri¡¯s crimson frame promptly spun, flew away, and never looked back. Asena¡¯s faded gold backed off by an arm¡¯s length, letting go of her weapon as she did.


    ¡°Zelen?¡± Her voice, audibly strained, shouted into the radio. ¡°What did you do?¡±


    ¡°We have to break the cycle.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°We have to¡ª¡±


    His strange words trailed off along with his fading consciousness. He himself didn¡¯t know what he was saying. A phrase borrowed from a half-remembered war. With no meaning behind it other than what he could piece together from half-forgotten failures.


    But perhaps that was enough. For even borrowed dreams were something for him to hold onto.


    ¡°Zelen? Are you still with me? Zelen, hold on!¡±


    As his world faded back into blackness, Zelen felt the warmth of a friend¡¯s embrace spread over the scars upon his bones.


    ~March 5th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Capricorn, northbound from Vallemor Desert~


    Makiri Shiranui flew over a barren earth. He flew amidst a thunderstorm of his own misery.


    The pain had gone far past the point of nuisance and into fully disabling some of his faculties. He flew without sight nor much else in the way of awareness. He knew not his bearings, his surroundings, nor anything of his and his Eidolon¡¯s conditions. Nor did a once familiar voice reach across the Nexus to reassure him.


    If the deserters were to catch up to him¡­ if the Syntropy were to find him in his current state, it would surely have been the end of him. For even if he might have held onto a shred of his Reserves, he was utterly bereft of the will to fight back.


    How could he fight on, when¡ªfor the first time in his life¡ªhe¡¯d seen the face of the enemy?


    Another strange Eidolon. A giant of faded gold. Its metallic frame had been impersonal enough that he could almost fool himself into believing it was just another unidentified Syntropy unit. Yet its movements¡ªespecially when it started dancing¡ªhad been anything but.


    And then its metallic mask too had fallen off. The moment it raised its strange weapon to strike him down. [THE INEVITABLE] had revealed itself to Makiri then, and it bore a face he recognized only too well.


    He¡¯d nearly killed his own sister. [THE INEVITABLE] had been averted only because she¡¯d fought back with a ferocity he¡¯d not seen in any other enemy, human or otherwise.


    His sister had nearly killed him. [THE INEVITABLE] had then dissipated only with the timely intervention of a phantom who would¡¯ve¡ªshould¡¯ve¡ªbeen dead in another reality.


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    What had his solitary foray into ¡®enemy¡¯ territory earned him? Did he find what he was looking for? Did he find the answers he needed?


    Whatever those answers might¡¯ve been, all he was left with now was pain. Boundless, overwhelming, terrifying.


    No. He had something else, didn¡¯t he? Intel. Confirmation of the deserters¡¯ location. He didn¡¯t find the entrance to their hideout as he¡¯d originally planned, but his additional intel could still help to narrow down the search.


    Makiri lacked sight and awareness, but he held onto a semblance of instincts. His instincts pointed him and his crimson centipede in a roughly northerly direction. Back toward Sector Aquarius. Back to Akropolis.


    Home.


    ¡­ And then what?


    What did ¡®home¡¯ mean to him? A place? People? A place and people he was duty-bound to protect. Even if it meant listening to his brother die on the radio. Even if it meant watching his father crumble under the weight of his own lies.


    Even if it meant dying by his sister¡¯s blade.


    Makiri Shiranui flew over a barren earth. He flew amidst a thunderstorm of his own pain. As vast as the planet that stretched all around him. And just as terrifying.


    He knew not his bearings, his surroundings, nor anything of his and his Eidolon¡¯s condition. Nor did a once soothing voice reach across the Nexus to reorient him.


    With nothing but pain to guide it, with nothing but fear to fuel its flight, a crimson giant veered off its northbound course and into the planet¡¯s haze.


    ~March 5th, 140 AH~


    ~The Caverns, Comms Centre~


    Akash Varana considered himself to be relatively well-read. Some of his fellow book-lovers¡ªAsena Shiranui among them¡ªnaturally and understandably gravitated toward Old Earth literature. Whereas he himself had always preferred the immediacy and raw melancholy of contemporary Akropolitan work.


    Such works were hard to come by. No one in Akropolis could expect to make a living purely from writing. Even among the so-called elites of society, art or self-expression of any form were considered novelties at best and frivolities at worst. As such, most of the books he managed to get his hands on had been authored by Sehers such as himself, written in the precious few hours of privacy in between military duties.


    Among such books, the ones that spoke to him most clearly and stayed with him for longest often contained commentaries or autobiographical accounts of Einkunster life. He¡¯d always been fascinated by Einkunsts, not least because he himself possessed one. He wondered about their origins and logic, if indeed there were any at all. He mused also about their purpose within the world at large, for it seemed inconceivable that the Nexus would specially elevate a chosen few in the absence of a grand design.


    But what he found most fascinating about Einkunsters was their seemingly universal love-hate relationship with their own powers. He¡¯d never met nor read about an Einkunster that was perfectly and unconditionally content to have been one. There was always something: an inconvenient quirk, an unpleasant drawback, or simply the angst that accompanied added responsibility.


    He¡¯d heard through the grapevine of Makiri Shiranui¡¯s struggles with [THE INEVITABLE], of his dislike for large crowds and even simple day-to-day interactions. Asena too had confessed to her ambivalence toward [EVOCATION], of its undeniable value and potency, marred by the difficult and uncomfortable situations it forced her to confront. And Zelen¡¯s [ENTROPY]¡­ well, that was a whole other can of worms.


    As for Akash himself, his [ALLIANCE] too had been both a blessing and a curse. It¡¯d no doubt broadened his horizons and allowed him to see things other Akropolitans couldn¡¯t even imagine. It¡¯d ingrained in him the kind of empathy for his fellow man that was rare if not taboo among high society. At the same time, it¡¯d also made him constantly and excessively anxious, in a manner that frustrated him to no end.


    How could he force himself to be dispassionate in the heat of battle, when he could feel the flow of his [ALLIES]¡¯ life forces within him? When he could hear their cries for help at their most vulnerable? Just nine days into a hastily cobbled-together coup, he¡¯d been fortunate enough not to have ¡®lost¡¯ any of his [ALLIED] voices. But the notion that this was only a matter of time gripped him with an uncontrollable fear.


    This latest battle was no exception. He kept his ears glued to his headset for any verbal updates that might stream his way, but a bulk of his Reserves was spent on attuning to the Nexus. To the flickering signals and trembling voices that originated from his [ALLIES] scattered upon the surface.


    At one heart-stopping moment, the signals he recognized as belonging to Asena and Zelen¡ªboth of them¡ªsurged then died out at once.


    The moment was truly fleeting, so much so that he almost believed that he¡¯d imagined it. Perhaps he had. Or perhaps¡­ the Nexus had, by one grand design or another, offered him a taste of what could have been in another reality.


    After the moment passed, the signals returned. Still flickering, still trembling, but present all the same. Akash allowed himself a sigh of relief, then waited for a verbal confirmation of what had transpired.


    ¡°The hostile has disengaged!¡± Panzer Graeme¡¯s disembodied voice crackled in excitement. ¡°I say again, the hostile has disengaged. By god, the Kurator girl has done it! Lieutenant Athelstan appeared to have a hand in it too, but I couldn¡¯t quite make out what he actually did there in the end.¡±


    ¡°Are Asena and Zelen alright?¡± Akash asked, unable to fully hide his worries. ¡°Both of their Reserves are dangerously low.¡±


    ¡°Looks like the Lieutenant might be out cold, but Corporal Shiranui¡¯s got a hold of him. I¡¯ll send Falten out to collect them, but¡­ should I pursue Major Shiranui? It looked like he might be on his last legs. Maybe I could take him by myself¡­¡±


    Akash hesitated. The signal belonging to Makiri Shiranui was quickly fading, but it hadn¡¯t fully left [ALLIANCE]¡¯s range. Enough of it remained for him to feel its despondent misery, hear the timbre of its crippling pain.


    Akash hesitated¡­ then opened a private channel.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s too risky,¡± he lied, both to Graeme and to himself. ¡°Collect the young ones then return to base.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± the Panzer responded on the same channel. ¡°We might not get another chance like this. As it is, he¡¯ll be taking intel on our location back to the Joint Forces.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Forgive me for saying, sir, but I¡¯ve a bad feeling about this. Our position is no longer secure. It¡¯ll be a matter of time before the Joint Forces decide to send down a much larger force. And you know that we can¡¯t turtle inside the Caverns forever.¡±


    ¡°If it turns out that we¡¯re unable to defend our position,¡± Akash said, having regained his usual outward calm, ¡°then we won¡¯t. Instead, we¡¯ll just have to take the war to Akropolis.¡±


    The line was silent for some time. Then it crackled one last time with Graeme¡¯s curt reply, ¡°Understood, sir. Returning to base now.¡±


    Akash lowered his headset with a heavy sigh. He leaned back in his creaking chair, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples on both sides, trying his best to sever his connection to the Nexus. Just this once. Just for one second.


    It was no use. The signals and voices remained, as urgent as ever in their individual struggles for survival and agency. Whatever the Nexus¡¯s grand design for him might be, this was his blessing and his curse.


    There would be no rest for him. Until the entirety of his [ALLIANCE] achieved a collective and long-lasting peace. Or until all of their voices faded away.

 71. SEANCE 3

    ~March 18th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Taurus, the Quickash Fields~


    Silon learned to walk.


    She did so the same way she¡¯d learned to fly. By borrowing from others who were already fully formed¡ªwho possessed a more complete picture of what they were.


    It hadn¡¯t been difficult to find those she could borrow from. The barren earth was fertile with broken and long abandoned creatures, some of whom she could mend with her [TEARS].


    She¡¯d never noticed just how rich the planet was with its deaths and unfulfilled intents. All she¡¯d needed was a change of perspective to discern the reality that lay hidden behind someone else¡¯s perception. To see the planet through her own SPU.


    With the help of these riches, she¡¯d been able to add an obsidian left arm to counterbalance her ash-laden right one. To this she added a portion of the hard outer shell of a Nautilus unit, better to protect herself from creatures who were still intact and intent on fulfilling their purpose. Under her right arm, she hid a knife borrowed from a Voras unit¡­ just in case ¡®protection¡¯ required her active participation.


    By then, however, dealing with the planet¡¯s persistent threats had become a mostly passive process. For her journey had taken her along a path rich with the remains of broken creatures, ones she could raise and add to a growing cadre of companions, who seemed more than willing to fight in her stead.


    This ¡®team¡¯¡ªif she could call it such¡ªconsisted of a second Hornet that could scout out dangers ahead, a Brutus to assist with odd tasks that called for more manual dexterity than Silon herself was capable of, and even a Kentavros, albeit an early-generation unit that was missing a few key upgrades to its arsenal. This last addition had been a real coup, making Silon¡¯s travels much safer while also giving her a perch to rest upon whenever she tired of flapping her borrowed wings. The only drawback was that the group¡¯s progress was now limited by the Kentavros¡¯s lumbering pace.


    She¡¯d even given her teammates names, driven by an impetus whose origin was as loose as her grasp on her own knowledge banks. The Hornet was ¡®Tethers¡¯, the Brutus ¡®Poet¡¯, and the Kentavros ¡®Cherry¡¯. She couldn¡¯t fathom the inspirations behind these names, but that didn¡¯t stop her from being sure that they were right. The truth of it encoded itself into the hollow of her central chassis.


    Along the way, Silon had discovered that not all broken things could be restored by her [TEARS]. Perhaps these cases were beyond repair even by her powers. Perhaps they simply weren¡¯t as broken as they appeared. In any case, there was still much she had to learn about her Einkunst: its limitations¡­ as well as its potential.


    She¡¯d since decided that it was just as well that she couldn¡¯t mend every broken thing she came across. Selectivity was a virtue. For indiscriminate growth and dissemination were what had contributed to humanity¡¯s downfall: the path she wanted desperately to avoid retreading. She still didn¡¯t know if there might be unintended consequences to her recruitment of what had previously been Syntropy units. Until she did, it was best to exercise caution.


    Besides, she now knew that the planet was rich with resources, and she would have her pick of potential new teammates everywhere she went. Indeed, the latest such wellspring lay scattered amidst the Quickash Fields, an expanse of rolling sand dunes in the northern lowlands of Terra Latamir. The terrain was especially hard going for Cherry, who took minutes at a time to drag one of its four legs out of the sand and onto the next patch of unstable ground.


    The glacial pace gave Silon plenty of time to scan her surroundings and confer with the more mobile units on her team. She soon learned that, beneath the topmost layer of sand, the Quickash was a veritable treasure trove of broken things, buried within strata upon strata of long forgotten battles.


    With grief in her heart and respect on her mind, she nevertheless set to unearthing these relics of strife and violence. As cautious as she tried to be, she couldn¡¯t in good conscience pass up an opportunity of this magnitude.


    As Tethers brought back more intel, and as Poet helped her dig up more potential candidates, Silon was struck by an unnerving observation. It was that she couldn¡¯t identify much of the unearthed remains, of either Syntropic or human origin.


    To be sure, there were significant gaps in her knowledge banks, but even these gaps couldn¡¯t account for the alien design that was prevalent in her latest finds. Chief among them were desiccated obsidian globules that looked more organic than synthetic, forming mesh-like clusters that called to mind a ¡®colony¡¯ rather than a swarm.


    There were also ¡®Eidolons¡¯ among the artifacts, though they defied categorization into any model known to Silon. If she had to pick, they were most similar in appearance to a model ES-V, but much smaller. So small, in fact, that it was a wonder any human could fit inside their cockpits.


    Then the thought struck her. Perhaps there weren¡¯t any cockpits at all. Perhaps these Eidolons fit around their pilots, to be worn like a Nexa-suit, except much bulkier and plenty deadly on its own.


    How could she¡ªand the warrior she flew alongside in a past life¡ªhave missed these before? Had these alien beings lain hidden beneath layers of Quickash all this time? Or could they be the remnants of another reality entirely, summoned to this patch of the barren earth by the unknowable whims of the Nexus?


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    And if the latter were the case¡­ why had this other reality also been enriched by so much death and war?


    With grief deepening in her heart, Silon nevertheless instructed Poet to pull up one of the more ¡®intact¡¯ Eidolons onto the surface. As much as she mourned tragedies that transcended realities, she couldn¡¯t deny her own curiosity and desire for progress. This alien Eidolon was of a size that seemed to be perfectly congruent with her own modest frame. Perhaps this was the appropriate testing ground for the possibilities her [TEARS] could offer.


    [LACRIMOSA]. Silon felt the heat of her own [TEARS] spread through the Eidolon¡¯s inner cables and channels. The response was immediate, and she knew right away that this was one broken thing her powers had deemed fit to mend.


    The Eidolon twitched to life, then rose to its feet in halting jerking motions. Even at its full height, it was smaller than even a Brutus unit like Poet. Silon hovered at the Eidolon¡¯s eye level, wings fluttering in nervous anticipation.


    After some time, the optic modules on the Eidolon¡¯s SPU also regained their light. Only¡­ something was wrong. Instead of the ghostly blue that imbued the Eidolons of Silon¡¯s memories, as well as her new faux-Syntropic companions, this alien ES-V¡¯s ¡®eyes¡¯ glowed a fierce and unmistakable red.


    Silon sensed too late the deadly intent that emanated from the Eidolon. Before she could react, she found herself flung backwards, held bodily in Poet¡¯s slender obsidian arms.


    Her SPU swivelled to follow the action. From the corner of her visual field, she saw Tethers fly into the frame, with its belly distending to produce the armament housed therein. But by then, the red-eyed Eidolon had raised its right arm, the end of which now swelled and surged with a burst of deadly energy.


    A ray of white-red shot from the Eidolon and across the sand dunes. The energy then dissipated, revealing Tethers¡¯ incinerated remains, which crumbled and dissolved into a sea of ash just like them.


    No!


    The hollow of Silon¡¯s central chassis screamed in a language that felt foreign to herself. Her inner mechanisms ached with a pain that should¡¯ve been physically impossible.


    As if in direct response to Silon¡¯s pain, Cherry¡¯s massive frame rumbled into action, pointing its own right-armed cannon at what was indisputably the enemy. The Eidolon, comically small next to a Kentavros, readied its weapon a second time, with the impunity of a creature that had never before met an opponent it couldn¡¯t subdue.


    Once more, the air ignited with a beam of energy, white-hot and rimmed with blue. The Eidolon had, after all, detected the sheer magnitude of the threat it was under. For it cancelled its attack into an evasive manoeuvre in the last possible moment¡ªtoo late to have avoided the full extent of Cherry¡¯s wrath.


    The beam took out much of the Eidolon¡¯s upper body, leaving a roughly circular imprint where half of its SPU and nearly its entire torso had been shorn clean off. Only its legs remained largely undamaged, and it was these that kept the Eidolon standing: a grotesquely deformed mannequin that twitched and convulsed with the last of its dying life force.


    The sight of it only added to Silon¡¯s pain. She couldn¡¯t bear to watch and process the final gasps of a cruelty she herself had unwittingly engineered. She wriggled free of Poet¡¯s grasp, unsheathed the knife from her ash-laden arm, then buried its blade into what remained of the Eidolon¡¯s SPU. The ¡®enemy¡¯ finally ceased its convulsions, then collapsed onto the Quickash.


    For some time after, Silon hovered in contemplation, as her two teammates waited patiently beside her.


    She could no longer find the particles that once belonged to Tethers, even if she were to sift through the ash and sand. As for the Eidolon, it was back to how it¡¯d been before she found it: broken and dead¡ªonly somehow more broken, and perhaps even more dead.


    How was it that her [TEARS] could bring with them yet more sorrow, yet more pain to encode itself into her machinery? Was she going about it the wrong way? Or could it be that strife and violence were the way of the world, unending and inevitable no matter how many times reality mended itself?


    No. That couldn¡¯t be. She refused to believe it. Because she knew. Between the gaps in her knowledge banks, she could still recall warmth where there should¡¯ve been pain, love where there should¡¯ve been solitude, a fervent hope for the future where there should¡¯ve been the release of death.


    Her journey wasn¡¯t at an end. It was only the beginning. And ere anything and everything worth preserving on this planet could turn to ash, she would prove that there was a different way. A different reality.


    But first, she needed to learn to walk before she could change the world.


    The Eidolon¡¯s legs, just as expected, fit her moderate frame almost perfectly. One chunk of the right thigh was missing from where Cherry¡¯s energy beam had torn through it, but that was a small inconvenience in light of the benefits. Limping was better than not having any legs at all.


    Best of all, the legs came with thrusters! Silon took to them immediately, relishing the speed and freedom of movement they offered. Slowly but surely, gaps within her knowledge banks filled with the fondness for long flights she¡¯d whiled away in the company of a nameless warrior.


    With her new thrusters, she had no more need for the wings that sprouted awkwardly from the base of her SPU. They couldn¡¯t even be rationalized as ¡®form over function¡¯, for they no longer served any function at all, and as such, their form too was utterly meaningless.


    But as Silon contemplated severing her wings and leaving them behind on the Quickash, she realized that they did hold meaning. Within the same part of her hollow that could feel pain and share in the planet¡¯s grief.


    They were keepsakes. To commemorate the first obsidian life she¡¯d resurrected with her [TEARS], her first voyage across a roiling ocean, and the second Hornet friend she¡¯d just lost to senseless violence. For the same hazy reasons that had compelled her to name her travelling companions, she wanted also to hold onto her now meaningless wings. She wanted to remember.


    Besides, they were kind of cute. And in the world Silon dreamed for herself and her friends, that was the kind of frivolity that held the deepest meaning.

 72. ASYMPTOTE 1

    ~March 18th, 140 AH~


    ~The Caverns, Infirmary~


    Zelen watched his Gaertner work¡ªor rather, wrap up their latest session. With practiced and decisive movements that belied her lack of official training¡ªas well as her timid personality¡ªLucinia the late-bloomer put away the tools of her trade: prongs and needles that moments ago had been embedded under her patient¡¯s skin.


    He didn¡¯t think the attention had been mutual, until the young healer mumbled without looking up, ¡°If you¡¯re curious about Gaertnerschaft, I could maybe teach you. Akash told me that you might have a knack for these things.¡±


    ¡°These things?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Um¡­ how should I put it? Picking up Seher skills from outside your differentiation?¡± Lucinia had straightened as she tried to explain herself, but as soon as their eyes met, she blushed and looked away. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s not my place to¡­ I was never schooled in¡ª¡±


    ¡°Who did teach you?¡± Zelen asked, genuinely curious. He hadn¡¯t meant for it to be an interrogation, but the young woman evidently took it as such, shrinking further back and raising her palms before her chest, as if in a defensive posture.


    ¡°Auntie Lana,¡± she answered in a vanishingly small voice. ¡°She wasn¡¯t my real aunt, but all the kids in my neighbourhood called her that. She was a hea¡ªa Gaertner too.¡±


    Zelen nodded, no longer surprised to learn of more Lower Akran Sehers that had slipped through the cracks. Then he hurried to put his companion at ease, ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about Gaertnerschaft, but this Auntie Lana must¡¯ve been a good teacher. And if you¡¯re anything like her, I¡¯d be glad to take your lessons.¡±


    ¡°Oh, please forget I said any of that! I don¡¯t know what got into me. You have much more important things to do than to keep coming back here¡­ now that your treatment is finished.¡±


    Zelen sat up straighter. When he spoke, he found himself careful not to let any emotion show, ¡°Do you mean to say that I¡¯m¡­?¡±


    ¡°Fully healed, yes.¡± The woman nodded fervently, venturing a small smile as she did. ¡°All the bruises are gone, and your bones are back to full strength. There should be nothing holding you back from, um, active duty. You¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re discharged from the infirmary.¡±


    Zelen sank back into his seat, feeling oddly deflated. He couldn¡¯t quite square the news with his own reaction to it. Did his mind lag his body in readiness? Or could it be¡­ that Lucinia the Gaertner had gotten under his skin in more ways than one?


    Over the preceding fortnight, he¡¯d spent more time in her company than he or anyone else in the Caverns might¡¯ve expected. For in the days following Makiri Shiranui¡¯s surprise ¡®visit¡¯, the whole of Apfel Alliance had been abuzz with anxious preparations: assigning tasks, rehearsing evacuation procedures¡­ and gearing up for a potential raid of their own.


    Yet the days turned into weeks without so much as another peep from Akropolitan forces. Anxieties shifted to speculations: had Spindrift¡¯s attempted incursion been a one-off event, or were the Joint Forces taking their time to mount a large and decisive offensive? Both possibilities were perturbing in their own ways. But in either case, what had initially seemed to be an immediate threat soon settled into the back-burner, allowing¡ªrightly or wrongly¡ªAlliance members to return to a semblance of routine.


    For Zelen, that routine had consisted of regular visits with his Gaertner, receiving incremental treatments on the injuries he¡¯d sustained from his battle against¡ªand yet another defeat to¡ªMakiri Shiranui. That fight had meant many things to him, but he preferred not to dwell on it too much.


    Especially not on the fact that the worst of his injuries had been at the hands of a different Shiranui.


    His visits to the infirmary had been mostly pleasant if somewhat dull. Lucinia Mauri was one of the few people in the Caverns that asked very little of Zelen, mostly because she was too timid to. Her company, therefore, represented the rare few times in a day where he could be alone with his thoughts¡ªsomehow more alone than if he truly were by himself.


    A ready-made excuse. An accepted place of escape. Why did that concept strike him as oddly familiar? In any case, as the days wore on, and as he grew more accustomed to Lucinia, he found himself taking longer and more frequent naps in her presence. He was always so tired¡­ and he somehow slept better in the infirmary than in his own cot.


    To think that was all coming to an end. All thanks to the fact Lucinia had performed her duty well. It was time for him to return to his own duties. Back to reality. Back to¡ª


    ¡°Did you know that you talk in your sleep?¡±


    Zelen¡¯s eyes snapped wide open as he fixed them upon the young Gaertner, who shrank back slightly under the abrupt intensity of his gaze.


    ¡°Truly?¡± he rasped, suddenly hoarse. ¡°Did you¡­ could you make out what I was saying?¡±


    Lucinia shook her head, frowning. For reasons not entirely clear to himself, Zelen felt another pang of disappointment.


    ¡°I spoke too softly then?¡±


    The woman considered this for a moment. ¡°Sometimes. But other times, you spoke clearly enough. At least as far as I could guess.¡±


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    ¡°Guess?¡±


    ¡°Guess. Because you seemed to be speaking in a foreign language.¡±


    Zelen was silent for some time, as the edges of a half-remembered dream blurred with the remnants of a half-forgotten past. He then asked, ¡°Do you think¡­ you could repeat any of it? Any of what I said?¡±


    Lucinia¡¯s frown deepened a touch in concentration. She was earnest in her effort to answer Zelen, undeterred by any sense of doubt about the peculiarity of the situation. For all she knew, Tetrarch heirs regularly sleep-talked in a foreign language.


    ¡°There was one phrase you repeated often. Three syllables. I think it sounded something like¡­ near¡­ var¡­ near-var-nuh?¡±


    ¡°Nirvana. Break the cycle.¡±


    The translation came to him in an instant, absent source nor inspiration. It was simply a statement of fact. Truths that were etched upon his bones.


    ¡°Is that what it means?¡± Lucinia asked, faintly smiling as though merely in idle chatter. ¡°It¡¯s a strange-sounding word. But also¡­ strangely beautiful. Where did you learn it?¡±


    Before waiting for an answer, she suddenly blushed and averted her gaze, having evidently ¡®remembered her place¡¯. She added hastily, ¡°Forgive me. There I go, getting carried away again. Please, Master Athel¡ªum, Zelen. There¡¯s no need for you to stay here on my account. If you have somewhere to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t learn it,¡± Zelen found himself murmuring, as if in a trance. ¡°I always knew it in a dream.¡±


    Lucinia merely frowned at him, perhaps wondering if he might yet need more time in the infirmary after all. Before either of them could make heads or tails of their strange conversation, however, they were interrupted by loud footsteps from the adjoining hallway.


    ¡°There you are!¡± The panting figure of Feray Geyik burst into the room. ¡°Why am I always the one running to fetch you, huh? Did you forget we have a town hall today?¡±


    Zelen jumped off his seat, fully alert in an instant.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said and meant it. ¡°I must¡¯ve lost track of time. Have they started already?¡±


    Without me was unspoken but well-understood by the Jaeger-turned-messenger.


    ¡°Not yet, but some people are getting pretty antsy. You better haul ass unless you want them to be pissed at you before you even have your say.¡±


    Zelen hastened to follow the Jaeger¡¯s advice, but as he reached the door, he turned back to his erstwhile sleep-talk confidant.


    ¡°Akash has probably already told you,¡± he said to Lucinia, ¡°but everyone is invited to this town hall. That includes you. Did you want to come with us?¡±


    Lucinia¡¯s first reaction was to shrink back yet again, but this time, it didn¡¯t take long for her to regather her courage. She smiled and began to say, ¡°I would if you¡¯ll have me. Let me just¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hold that thought,¡± Feray cut in, surreptitiously nudging Zelen toward the door as she did. ¡°Sorry, Lucinia, but we¡¯re in a bit of a rush. We¡¯d love to have you at the town hall, but finish up what you need to do here first, then join us on your own time, alright?¡±


    The young Gaertner looked stricken for a moment, before nodding in dutiful acquiescence. ¡°Ye¡ªyes, of course. I will¡ª¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Feray said curtly, then all but pushed Zelen into the hallway.


    The Jaeger sped through the building, about as fast as her stocky legs could carry her. Zelen had to quicken his own pace to keep up. As soon as the pair were outside, Feray rounded on her charge with a reproachful glare.


    ¡°Just what do you think you¡¯re playing at, lover boy?¡± she demanded.


    Zelen blinked, then stammered, ¡°Erm, what do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Give it a rest, you can¡¯t fool me! I know you¡¯ve been visiting the infirmary for legit reasons, but that shit back there? With the heart-to-hearts and dreamy looks? Don¡¯t know about you Tetrarchy, but in my neck of the woods, we call that shit sus as fuck.¡±


    Zelen chose not to answer, suddenly afraid that he¡¯d only further upset his Jaeger companion. He wasn¡¯t entirely clear what had set her off in the first place.


    ¡°I get it, man, I was your age not that long ago. I know you¡¯re young, dumb, and full of cum, but you gotta realize there¡¯s a right way and a wrong way to go about these things. Especially for you, considering your position and the fact you¡¯ve been engaged for pretty much your whole life!¡±


    Still, Zelen didn¡¯t speak, though the picture was starting to clarify itself. In his defense, he really did view his sessions with Lucinia as purely a form of escape, though he sensed that Feray wouldn¡¯t take kindly to that as a rebuttal. And perhaps¡­ his persistent need for escape was the crux of the problem¡­


    ¡°Did you know,¡± Feray continued, still steaming, ¡°that this pre-arranged marriage stuff¡­ this decades-long engagement¡­ it¡¯s not natural. It¡¯s not the way things used to be, back in Old Earth days. Young people back then kept things simple¡ªor more complicated, depending on how you look at it, I guess. You like someone, you fuck, and if you can still stand the sight of each other afterwards, you think about maybe making it into a permanent arrangement. And do you know how I of all people know any of this stuff?¡±


    Zelen frowned for a second, taken aback by what seemed like a riddle with no clues. Then the answer dawned on him, and he gulped before venturing, ¡°Did¡­ did Asena tell you?¡±


    ¡°Yes! She¡¯s one of the weirdos who likes to read Old Earth books, even the pulpier ones that talk mostly about young people fucking. Good, you at least know something about your fianc¨¦e! The way you two go on, people would be forgiven for thinking you were complete strangers. Now, ponder some more, lover boy. Why do you think Asena told me about the way marriages used to work on Old Earth? Why do I know more about her than you do? What¡¯s wrong with this picture, huh?¡±


    The picture was clear now, and Zelen had to agree with his angry companion. Because the picture was wrong¡ªin all the ways he understood, and in more ways he didn¡¯t. As he pondered the question, the blackness within his chest stirred again, the patterns of its agitation more indiscernible than ever¡ªas the edges of half-remembered dreams fused with the remnants of half-forgotten pasts.


    There was something he was forgetting. Something he needed to remember. Someone. Someone that was important to him¡ªin simple ways, and in more ways that could only overcomplicate matters.


    ¡°You owe it to Asena,¡± Feray Geyik continued in a calmer tone, evidently having taken Zelen¡¯s reticence for contrition, ¡°and you owe it to yourself¡­ to figure this shit out, and for good. I¡¯m not gonna tell you who to fuck or marry¡­ but you need to know that there are real stakes to your decisions and indecisions. Feelings you might hurt. Friends you might lose forever, before you knew just how much you cared about them. Believe me, I¡ª¡±


    The Jaeger cut herself off completely then, as the two of them arrived at their destination. The concert hall was full¡ªor as full as it was ever going to be. And all eyes, including Akash Varana¡¯s upon centre stage, turned to Zelen as he made his hasty entrance.

 73. ASYMPTOTE 2

    ~March 18th, 140 AH~


    ~The Caverns, Concert Hall~


    Zelen averted his eyes from the scrutiny and hurried down the aisle. Thankfully, it didn¡¯t take long for Feray to peel off and find herself a seat, allowing him to follow suit and at least pretend that he could blend in with the crowd.


    At a rough estimate, he counted about forty-odd members around him, which meant that nearly the entire Alliance was in attendance. An impulse of vague origin compelled him to look up at the balconies, only to see that they were completely empty. He¡¯d half-expected to find a figure (or two) seated upon the leftmost corner, and felt oddly relieved when that didn¡¯t turn out to be the case.


    Akash Varana was the odd one out, having sat himself on the stage, with his legs dangling off its edge. He managed to exude a relaxed air about him, despite the dim lighting that accentuated the grooves upon his face. The sight of it struck Zelen as strange, until he ¡®recalled¡¯ that a spotlight had once shone upon this very stage¡­


    Lurid red that spread upon a shredded gold dress. Zelen blinked several times, partly to distract himself from a creeping headache, and partly to pull himself back to reality. He honed his focus upon the man on the stage, but the headache lingered.


    ¡°Right. I think we can begin,¡± Akash spoke now, not needing to raise his voice to be heard. ¡°You¡¯ll forgive me for sitting apart from you all. As much as I don¡¯t want anyone to feel as though their voices matter less or more than others, I figured someone needs to moderate the proceedings, as it were.¡±


    Hearing this, Zelen was struck again by a sense of discrepancy¡ªbetween the way things were and the way they ought to be. His mind flashed with the image of a muscular man in a charcoal-grey uniform, one whose method of ¡®moderating proceedings¡¯ had been to exploit his followers¡¯ fears. Akash the Gaertner espoused starkly different philosophies from those of the General¡¯s, but perhaps, at least in some ways, he was no less egotistical.


    ¡°With that said,¡± the Gaertner now continued, ¡°I¡¯d like to first give the floor to Graeme O¡¯Riordan. He¡¯ll give us the latest intel we received from our eyes and ears in Akropolis, then we¡¯ll go from there. Graeme?¡±


    Taking his cue, the burly figure of Panzer Graeme rose from the front row. He turned to the rest of the group and all but stood at attention as he read from a piece of crinkled paper in his hand.


    ¡°Thank you, sir. I¡¯ll get right to it. The first report that¡¯s of interest to us pertains to the current power structure in Akropolis, and how that might¡¯ve unsettled the masses. As you all know, the transition from Fenix Duodecim to Ghata Vakta has been anything but smooth.¡±


    Zelen had of course been the reason for that transition. He¡¯d since searched within himself for his own feelings on the matter¡ªand found not much of anything.


    Fighting Spindrift had been pure agony¡ªon multiple occasions. His feelings about Asena had become more complicated than ever. Yet the knowledge that Fenix Duodecim was gone from the world¡ªand of his own hand in ensuring it¡ªtriggered none of his usual angst.


    If anything, thinking about Fenix¡¯s death was when he was at his most peaceful. It was the only time when the blackness within his chest fell completely still. Just another discrepancy for him to wonder about¡ªor perhaps, it was the only thing in his life that made perfect sense.


    ¡°Confidence in leadership is at an all-time low,¡± Graeme went on, ¡°exacerbated by the brass¡¯s attempts to obfuscate the truths about what happened on February 25th. Rumours, whether they approach accuracy or are wildly off the mark, are rampant up and down the three Akras, and there¡¯s the real sense that the social contract between the ruling class and the population at large has never been more fragile. I say it¡¯d only take one push to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Graeme,¡± Akash cut in, with just the slightest touch of admonishment. ¡°And you were saying about the second report?¡±


    Graeme cleared his throat with a sheepish glance at his leader. ¡°Yes, of course. The second bit of intel is about Spindrift¡¯s status¡ªor the lack thereof. Our spies used every means available to track down information about Major Makiri Shiranui, but it appears that he never made it back to Akropolis after our contact some two weeks ago. Does that mean he¡¯s been sent directly to another mission? Or that he¡¯s been seconded to an FOB? Both scenarios seem unlikely, given the severely damaged state of his Eidolon when he left the Caverns¡¯ perimeters. As to what did happen to him then¡­ we can only speculate.¡±


    A collective murmur went up and down the rows of seats. This was news to Zelen as well, and he shifted uneasily in his seat, as he tried to decide how he ought to react.


    Relief? Vindication? Suspicion? All seemed like reasonable choices, but the feeling that rose to the fore, vague in origin yet insistent upon its own primacy, was that of foreboding. Something terrible would come of this. He didn¡¯t know why or how, but he knew he would have to reckon with it eventually.


    ¡°Does this mean the intel about our location never made it back to the Joint Forces?¡± one of the attendees turned murmurs to question.


    ¡°It¡¯s impossible to say,¡± Graeme hedged. ¡°If you ask me, that¡¯s a reasonable conclusion to draw but also a dangerous one. Even if Spindrift himself didn¡¯t directly communicate with Akropolis, he was likely acting on preexisting intel when he found us in the first place. We should operate under the assumption that the Joint Forces have at least approximate knowledge of the Caverns¡¯ location, and that it¡¯s only a matter of time before that approximation becomes definite.¡±


    Zelen instinctively looked for Asena, as if to calibrate his own reaction based on hers. He found the back of his Kurator fianc¨¦e at the far end of the first row. Even as the entire group whispered about her brother, she herself sat stock still, with her eyes pointed somewhere on the stage. Her calmness was notable, but Zelen supposed that she might¡¯ve already been briefed on the reports prior to the town hall.


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    ¡°Thank you, Graeme,¡± Akash said again, raising his voice just slightly. The chatter died down in gradients as he spoke. ¡°Before we open the floor for discussion, it¡¯d be remiss of me not to address some of the concerns in our own camp. As you¡¯re all aware and have been party to, we¡¯ve ramped up our training in recent weeks, in preparation for more combat scenarios we could expect in the near future. While the progress on that front has been encouraging, it does come with a very real downside, namely our quickly dwindling Anamnium stores¡­¡±


    The silence inside the concert hall was total, with the attendees united in understanding the implications of Akash¡¯s words. Upon a planet depleted of its natural resources, Anamnium was humanity¡¯s lifeblood, their only means of sustaining their existence. This was true regardless of what city they called home.


    ¡°A month,¡± Akash continued, his mild tone belying the gravity of his announcement. ¡°At the current rate we¡¯re burning through our stores, we¡¯ll have a month before we¡¯re forced to look for alternative sources. Of course, we could venture farther out. Perhaps explore Sector Sagittarius to see if there are any founts that haven¡¯t been secured or sited by the Joint Forces. That comes with significant risks, including contact with the Syntropy, as well as the possibility of running afoul of Akropolitans that might be after the same thing.¡±


    Akash paused. Then his expression visibly darkened before he added, ¡°Then, of course, there are other options¡­ which, I imagine, would be the crux of what we¡¯re here to discuss today. With that in mind, I¡¯d like to hand over the reins to everyone in attendance. This is a town hall, after all, and any and all opinions are welcome. Please. If you think you have anything to say on the Apfel Alliance¡¯s immediate future¡ªon the course we ought to chart for ourselves¡ªthis is the time to do it.¡±


    Akash¡¯s invitation was initially met by more silence. Zelen wasn¡¯t surprised.


    The size of the assembly contributed to its attendees¡¯ reticence. It¡¯d take someone truly confident or passionate to brave the proverbial spotlight, and Zelen himself had never been that person (or so he believed). He cast his gaze downward, if only to avoid the furtive yet expectant glances that flew his way. He thought he did have something to say, but he was far from sure that this was the right moment for it.


    ¡°I think we ought seriously to consider relocating.¡± The first to make himself heard was a thin older man Zelen had seen working at the Armoury but never spoken to. ¡°Graeme is right. The Joint Forces will come for us sooner or later, and like it or not, we simply don¡¯t have the means to repel them. Let us put our remaining Anamnium stores toward searching for a new home, one that hopefully could sustain us for longer.¡±


    ¡°Even if we were to find this oasis you¡¯ve just dreamt up,¡± another man spoke up, audibly annoyed by his counterpart, ¡°what are we to do once supplies run low again? Do you suggest we become a band of nomads, jumping from fount to fount, eking out a meagre existence along the way? Do you think the Akropolitans would just leave us be, to speak nothing of the Syntropy?¡±


    This brought on another round of disorganized chatter, now coloured by rising tempers. It took several more pleas from Akash, as well as a gruff shout from Panzer Graeme, before order could be restored. Zelen watched and listened wordlessly, reflecting once again that Fenix Duodecim would¡¯ve needed but one smile to silence the crowd.


    ¡°Thank you, Chai, for your impassioned input,¡± Akash said, voice now slightly hoarse. ¡°We heard from one individual advocating for relocation. We also saw that there¡¯re strong feelings on the matter, both for and against. Does anyone else have a different option they¡¯d like to put forward? Don¡¯t be shy. We could do with another lively debate.¡±


    Akash put on a wry smile as he said this, but no one else seemed to share in his humour. The assembly once again fell silent for some time, until another voice did speak.


    ¡°I have¡­ I have something to say. If you¡¯ll allow me.¡±


    Zelen sat up with a start and spun in his seat, as did several others around him. For the voice, soft and trembling, had risen from behind him, and it was one he¡¯d come to know rather well over the past fortnight.


    At the sudden attention, the slight figure of Lucinia Mauri shrank further into her seat. Zelen was surprised, not only because he hadn¡¯t noticed her arrival, but also because he¡¯d half-expected she wouldn¡¯t come at all, not after that exchange with Feray.


    Looking down at the stage, he could see that Akash also couldn¡¯t hide his surprise. For all his professed invitations, the Gaertner obviously hadn¡¯t expected his timid prot¨¦g¨¦ to take up the mic.


    ¡°Lucinia, welcome,¡± he now exclaimed, somewhat stumbling over his words, ¡°and of course. By all means, let us hear what¡¯s on your mind.¡±


    The younger Gaertner now drew in a breath, as if to steady herself. Then she said, ¡°I think we should all go back to Akropolis. But not to the way things are now. First, we need to take down the Tetrarchy.¡±


    Zelen¡¯s surprise quickly turned to astonishment. All this time, based in no small part on the way she often behaved around him, he¡¯d assumed that Lucinia was terrified of the Tetrarchy. To think that such warlike sentiments could emerge from a figure as slight and meek as hers¡­ And judging by the nods and murmurs of assent that erupted all around, this same aggression was shared by many others in attendance.


    Down on the stage, Akash¡¯s open-mouthed expression slowly flattened, then curled into a tolerant if somewhat bemused smile. He said, ¡°Would you care to elaborate on that, Lucinia? Why do you believe this to be the right path for us to take?¡±


    The young woman visibly blanched, evidently unprepared to offer such elaboration. She nevertheless obliged with a stammering attempt, ¡°I just think¡­ Akropolis is our home. And it¡¯s not right that we were forced to abandon it¡ªand our loved ones that remain there¡ªonly because we couldn¡¯t abide by the Tetrarchy¡¯s rule. If the Tetrarchy are wrong, then it¡¯s they that should change their ways, not us. And if they¡¯re not willing to change, then¡­ they need to be removed.¡±


    ¡°Hear, hear!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the whole truth of it! What is there more to discuss?¡±


    The town hall descended into outright anarchy, whipped into a frenzy by the unfiltered words of a Lower Akran woman.


    As Zelen watched the chaos unfold, his mind was transported to another conversation from some time ago. He finally understood in full what Akash Varana had meant¡ªwhen he said that recruiting Zelen to the Apfel Alliance was an opportunity he simply couldn¡¯t pass up.


    For these people had been crying out for a righteous war of their own choosing. And in Kingfisher, they believed they¡¯d found the weapon to empower their cause¡­


    Someone from a half-remembered dream had glared at him with tearful yet earnest eyes. That someone had said to him, we need you to act!


    In the present, however, Zelen¡¯s own eyes eventually found those of another, who now stood to lend her voice to the ¡®lively debate¡¯. The wiry figure of Asena Shiranui rose from her seat in the front row, and she turned to address the entire assembly¡ªand to speak to Zelen directly.


    ¡°I agree with Lucinia,¡± Asena said. ¡°Ready or not, the reality of our situation compels us to act. It¡¯s time we put our ideals into action. It¡¯s time for us to fight back.¡±

 74. ASYMPTOTE 3

    ~March 18th, 140 AH~


    ~The Caverns, Concert Hall~


    Long after the debates had settled, and long after the concert hall had emptied of its clamouring audience, Asena Shiranui knelt upon centre stage, with eyes closed and mind wandering somewhere beyond her control.


    She was looking for something¡ªor someone. She¡¯d been looking for them ever since she¡¯d laid eyes upon this stage. Ever since the sight of it had transported her to a time and place whose promise of power and freedom enticed and frightened her in equal measure.


    It was the same release she felt whenever she and her Eidolon summoned their [REVENANT] warrior. A surrender to something wilder and greater than herself. Or was it her true self¡ªonly more assured, more actualized?


    She wanted to find out. Explore the horizons that had been for much of her life veiled from view. She resented the wills and forces that had kept her in the dark¡ªkept her limited, and therefore compliant. That resentment had allowed her to readily resonate with her Allies¡¯ clamours for war, had compelled her to join her warcry to theirs.


    Possibilities enticed and frightened her in equal measure. She wanted¡ªneeded¡ªto explore them. That much was inevitable. At the same time, she also dreaded what she might find at the end of her search, both within and without.


    And that was just as well. It was fine to dread, to fear. As long as she didn¡¯t let that stop her from moving forward. Come what may, she would be the pilot of her own destiny. Even if that meant¡ª


    She slowly opened her eyes, as if in response to a call for her attention. As she adjusted to the theatre¡¯s dim lighting, she saw that she wasn¡¯t entirely alone.


    The lone figure of Zelen Athelstan sat a few rows up the middle section. He seemingly hadn¡¯t moved since the town hall had ended, and he now met Asena¡¯s eyes with a questioning gaze, tinged with the hint of an apology.


    She wasn¡¯t surprised to see him here. If anything, she¡¯d expected him to seek her out much sooner. This private meeting of theirs had been a long time coming, and neither she nor Zelen could afford to put it off for much longer.


    Even so, silence continued to reign. It was difficult to find the right words, and Asena knew it must be the same for him, if not more so.


    Where should they even begin? The beginning, the middle, or the end? It was impossible to say¡­ given that, for the two of them, these were all out of order, all one and the same.


    ¡°You were awfully quiet during the town hall,¡± she found herself remarking, knowing full well it wasn¡¯t really what she wanted nor needed to say. ¡°I think I speak for more than a few people when I say¡­ we¡¯d love for you to speak your mind more often.¡±


    Zelen smiled his smile: apologetic, tinged with the hint of a question. ¡°The discussion was lively enough without my input,¡± he offered by way of explanation. ¡°At some point, it became clear to me¡­ that I had nothing of value to add.¡±


    More silence. When in fact both had more to say¡ªmuch more. Yet they were both afraid to be the first to lay themselves bare.


    Asena sighed, then stood. Despite kneeling for some time, she felt no strain on her body. If anything, she felt limber, light on her feet¡­ and ready to explore.


    ¡°Dance with me, Zelen,¡± she suddenly said, surprising both herself and her companion. Possibilities had emboldened her¡ªor were they simply more veils for her to hide behind? She added hastily, ¡°It¡¯s only¡­ I don¡¯t have my painting supplies with me here. And I¡¯ve been itching for some form of¡­ release. Would you care to, um, assist?¡±


    A painful excuse, as childish as it was contrived. She started blushing before she could even finish the thought, fully expecting the question on Zelen¡¯s face to turn into outright bewilderment. And it did, but only for a moment, before he smiled his smile and stood from his seat.


    ¡°I¡¯d be glad to,¡± he said as he walked down the steps, ¡°but I have to warn you. I¡¯m no good with dances.¡±


    ¡°I can show you,¡± she said, trying on her own smile for size. ¡°Do you know the Sky River Waltz? It was one of my favourites growing up. We don¡¯t have a band here¡­ but I know the music well enough to hum it.¡±


    A pause in his steps. Then, ¡°Yes¡­ I think so? Just vaguely, but if you show me the steps, I might remember.¡±


    Zelen was as good as his word. His movements were awkward at first, stumbling over his feet, and with frequent stops that forced Asena to restart the song again and again. But he was not for nothing a Tetrarch son, and before long, the pair settled into a semblance of rhythm.


    Asena managed to lose herself in the music of her own humming. Freed from having to instruct her partner on his every step, she started to actually enjoy herself, hearkening back to a time when the veils over her world had kept her limited, and therefore content.


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    With ease of mind, she could more acutely sense Zelen¡¯s presence and physicality. She began to feel the gravity of his touch, the tensing of his muscles, and the heat of his rising breath. She felt¡­ and she remembered.


    Yes. This was her Zelen. Earnest, polite, obedient. Ready and willing to offer himself at all times, whether it was to be pushed onto the floor at the end of a sparring session, to murder an enemy in cold blood, or to wedge himself in between two siblings who were ready to destroy one another¡­


    An empty vessel. To be filled with her every whim. To be molded to her every need.


    Asena stopped her humming. She broke free of Zelen¡¯s gentle grip, and fell to her knees, weeping. Then her silent weeping quickly turned to heaving sobs, as she buried her face in her hands.


    Even in the throes of her uncontrolled sobbing, she could feel her partner¡¯s presence, his proximity. Surprise turned to confusion, then confusion to tender acceptance. Without prompting, Zelen lowered himself onto the floor and wrapped an arm around Asena¡¯s shuddering shoulders.


    She surrendered herself to the embrace. To the set of shoulders she¡¯d been seeking all her life. She broke her posture and leaned against Zelen¡¯s weight and warmth, thereby fully entrusting herself to another¡¯s support, for the first time in as long as she could remember.


    She kept sobbing for some time, and Zelen silently held her as she did. She didn¡¯t move, even after her sobs had died down and after her own shoulders had stopped shaking.


    And it was like this, held in and fully reliant on Zelen¡¯s embrace, that Asena finally found the courage to say what needed to be said long ago.


    ¡°I¡¯ve wronged you terribly, Zelen,¡± she spoke in a hoarse whisper, still thick with snot and tears, ¡°in ways that don¡¯t bear forgiving. So I won¡¯t ask for your forgiveness¡±


    He said nothing. Held her in his gentle warmth.


    ¡°When I brought you back from your Psychic collapse¡­ on the orders of Fenix Duodecim¡­ I was forced to [REWIRE] your freshly restored memories. Lest you repeat another collapse and¡­ and in the process destroy yourself and everyone around you. This you already know. But what I didn¡¯t tell you was¡ª¡±


    Another sob threatened to break through from the chasm in her chest. She fought it down with a shuddering sigh.


    ¡°What I didn¡¯t tell you was that the [REWIRING] also robbed you of something important¡ªsomeone that was essential to who you were and what you fought for. Your Spiegel. Her name was Delta-Upsilon. And Tsetseg Tenger before that. You called her ¡®Silon¡¯. The two of you were¡­ close. No, that doesn¡¯t even begin to¡ªthe two of you were partners, in the truest sense of the word. In ways that are rare to find, even between two people who can see and touch each other. In ways that¡­ that I could never¡ª¡±


    The sob did break through then, and Asena furiously wiped away fresh tears from her eyes. Zelen¡¯s grip tightened a touch, but he still said nothing.


    ¡°I deceived you, Zelen,¡± she continued, as more tears fell. ¡°We all deceived you. Made you fight for reasons that weren¡¯t your own. And when you did find something¡ªsomeone you wished whole-heartedly to lay down your life for¡­ we took her away from you. I took her away. And I¡­ Do you see, Zelen? Do you see why we can¡¯t be together¡ªwhy I can¡¯t be the ¡®family¡¯ you want me to be?¡±


    She took several more breaths to steady herself, to not much avail. Zelen¡¯s hand ran up and down her shoulder, in what he must¡¯ve been intended as a comforting gesture, but it only made her cry harder.


    ¡°I tried, Zelen! God knows I tried. I tried to be that person. Your new reason to fight. I thought it was my duty. I got you into this mess, so it was up to me to drag you out of it. If only I could pretend to forget¡­ just like I made you forget. If only I could pretend that this was a blank slate, a fresh beginning, freed from the follies and tragedies we left behind in Akropolis. But I¡­ I couldn¡¯t forget. I couldn¡¯t pretend, couldn¡¯t keep lying. Because to do so would make me no different from the General¡­ than the Tetrarchy. Manipulating you to do our bidding¡ªonly because you don¡¯t know any better!¡±


    By now, her sobbing was worse than ever. She could barely get the next words out, could barely understand herself, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Ze¡ªI know I shouldn¡¯t¡ªI know I should¡¯ve¡ªthis isn¡¯t fair¡ªnone of this was ever fair, and I¡¯m just so¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡±


    Asena desperately blinked away her tears, if only to hold Zelen in her gaze. Earnest Zelen. Polite Zelen. Obe¡ªno, this wasn¡¯t obedience. What was it? A light in his eyes, where before there was only blackness. Only nothing. What was¡ª


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you told me,¡± he said earnestly. He said with conviction. ¡°I¡¯m glad you didn¡¯t let me forget. This person¡­ Silon. I can¡¯t say I remember her or the way I used to feel about her, but I do feel¡­ something. And I think I understand. That something is everything.¡±


    Asena stopped crying. And she watched Zelen.


    She watched his gentle eyes glimmer with possibilities of his own. Where had that light come from? Asena wasn¡¯t so self-absorbed as to believe that she¡¯d been the one to help ignite it. But she was honest enough with herself to recognize a pang of heartache at the sight of it.


    And she watched his lips faintly quiver with a fragile hope. What did Zelen Athelstan hope for, of his own volition and free from the lies that told him for whom he should fight? How she wanted to look into and share that hope! How she wanted to reach for those lips and feel their tremor against her own¡­


    Asena shook her head. Zelen wasn¡¯t the only one that still needed to be freed from falsehoods that would tie him down. She needed to wean herself off her own lies¡ªto shed herself of that awkward young girl that had once been smitten with the idea of her fianc¨¦¡­


    But¡­ for now? Just for a few more moments, could she be forgiven for remaining in a false lover¡¯s embrace? To lose herself in his gentle warmth for a while longer, before their respective possibilities inevitably pulled them apart?


    Asena and Zelen sat upon a dimming stage, and held each other in silent embrace. The silence was sacred. The silence was precious¡ªthe last of its kind.


    Because they both knew, that the next time they spoke, and forever more after that, they would have to be true to one another.

 75. ASYMPTOTE 4

    ~March 21st, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Capricorn, southeast corner of Vallemor Desert~


    Akash Varana attuned to the battle from the safety of his worker Eidolon, far from the line of fire, either hostile or friendly.


    ¡°Swarm of Hornets flying in from the north,¡± Zelen¡¯s steady voice broadcast itself. ¡°Jaegers, you have visuals?¡±


    ¡°Already on it, big guy.¡±


    A cluster of surging signals represented Feray Geyik and her team of Jaegers. Moments later, the radio crackled again, this time with a third voice, youthful and audibly shaken.


    ¡°All Hornets eliminated, Lieutenant sir!¡±


    ¡°Well done, Tino. And uh¡­ just Zelen would suffice.¡±


    ¡°Understood, Zelen sir!¡±


    Akash found himself smirking despite himself, not only at Jaeger Tino¡¯s fresh-faced exuberance, but also at Zelen¡¯s calm leadership. There¡¯d been a noticeable shift in the young Reiter¡¯s demeanour¡ªever since the town hall from several days ago¡ªand the effects had evidently carried over to a live combat situation. For now, Akash could only speculate as to the source of the improvement, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.


    A marked spike in Graeme O¡¯Riordan¡¯s signal yanked Akash¡¯s attention back onto the battle at hand. He waited with bated breath to hear the update, but the persistent strength of the signal told him that his Panzer friend¡ªone of the Apfel Alliance¡¯s oldest recruits¡ªhad made it out okay.


    ¡°We¡¯re within range of the Kentavros¡¯s armaments, Lieutenant,¡± Graeme now spoke into the radio, voice composed if a little strained from effort. ¡°And I¡¯ll need a hot second to recharge my shield.¡±


    ¡°Cian, cover for Graeme while he¡¯s on cooldown,¡± Zelen said, then paused briefly before adding, ¡°Asena, could I leave this one with you?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t ask, Zelen,¡± the Kurator in question retorted, but the accompanying flux in her signal told Akash that she¡¯d already moved toward her objective. ¡°You¡¯re the commander. So, command.¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am, I¡¯ll keep that in mind,¡± Zelen quipped, with enough of a bounce in his voice that Akash could hear his smile. Then the young man turned all-business again as he elaborated on his command, ¡°Feray, peel off and provide ranged support.¡±


    ¡°Aye aye, Cap¡¯n!¡±


    Akash shook his head, even as his smirk widened. Bad enough that they can¡¯t settle on a consistent form of address; now they¡¯re even calling him by the wrong rank!


    Joint Forces veterans would have a fit if they could listen in on this wild west of a radio exchange. And perhaps they wouldn¡¯t be entirely in the wrong. Akash wasn¡¯t blind to the fact that there was real value to structure and procedure, and perhaps there were still plenty about the Joint Forces his Alliance would do well to imitate.


    But¡­ for now? For now, he indulged in a smirk of his own as his [ALLIES] joked with each other in the heat of battle. He pictured the smile on Zelen¡¯s often brooding face, and convinced himself¡ªif only for a moment¡ªthat he¡¯d done right by the younger man.


    There would come a time, likely in the very near future, where the Alliance would need Zelen Athelstan to be Kingfisher above all else. For now, however, while he still could, let him bask in the sincere warmth of a ¡®Zelen¡¯, a ¡®Cap¡¯n¡¯, or even a ¡®Lieutenant sir¡¯.


    Once again, a prod from the Nexus brought Akash back to the reality of battle. It came as a disturbance in Jaeger Tino¡¯s signal, which was odd, given that he should¡¯ve been on standby.


    ¡°Kentavros is down,¡± Asena¡¯s slightly breathless update came through then. ¡°All immediate threats eliminated¡­ as far as I can tell. Should we head back, Zelen, or¡­?¡±


    Hearing this, Akash was caught in two minds: relief that all his [ALLIES] were safe again¡­ and frustration that they hadn¡¯t found what they¡¯d been looking for. As such, it was with more mixed feelings that he received Zelen¡¯s next ¡®command¡¯.


    ¡°We¡¯ll keep pushing,¡± the Reiter asserted. ¡°If the intel¡¯s accurate, the Vendetta unit should¡¯ve been attached to this group of Syntropy. And there¡¯s no better training dummy for simulating Eidolon-on-Eidolon combat. We¡¯ve got to take full advantage of this opportunity.¡±


    Akash was in complete agreement, of course. But that didn¡¯t stop his misgivings from rising to the fore. He ran a quick ¡®scan¡¯ over his [ALLIES], and noted once more that at least one signal among them had been less than equanimous in its response to Zelen¡¯s words.


    ¡°Zelen,¡± Akash spoke through a private channel that was meant only for two pairs of ears. ¡°Just reporting in to say I¡¯m¡­ slightly concerned about Tino. Whether due to inexperience, overeagerness, or most likely both, he¡¯s noticeably agitated. I think you¡¯ll see also that his Reserves are diminishing faster than everyone else¡¯s. Might we¡­ ask him to pull back? Sit this one out?¡±


    Zelen took a moment before giving his answer¡ªhis only bit of hesitation on the day. ¡°No. This is as much about strengthening our weakest links as it is about gaining relevant combat experience. We push on as is. But¡­ I¡¯ll be sure to keep an eye on Tino.¡±


    Akash too hesitated, then said, ¡°Understood.¡±


    Perhaps sensing that his Gaertner companion wasn¡¯t fully convinced, Zelen added, ¡°Five minutes, Akash. I know longer engagements aren¡¯t feasible in our current state. If we don¡¯t run into more Syntropy within the next five minutes, I¡¯ll call off the mission.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± Akash said again, trying to inject more confidence into his own voice, if only to put his ¡®commander¡¯ at ease. ¡°I¡¯ll let you know if there¡¯s anything else of note.¡±


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    He switched off the private channel and leaned back in his seat, sighing uneasily as he did. Despite what he¡¯d just told Zelen, he knew that once the fighting got hectic¡ªas it must against an enemy of Vendetta¡¯s caliber¡ªthe Nexus-mediated signals would be too confused even for [ALLIANCE] to interpret, let alone translate into a verbal report. If and when his [ALLIES] ran into a Vendetta unit, all Akash could do then was wait and pray¡­


    ¡­ And pray he did.


    Akash¡¯s lips moved incessantly and soundlessly as he turned his entire focus onto the Nexus¡¯s nebulous language, rather than the data that streamed into his HUD. With the combatants now locked in a fight for their lives, radio chatter was minimal. All Akash had managed to gather was that the Panzers had developed a protective field over the entire party, that the Jaegers took pot shots at the Vendetta to whittle down its armour, and that the two finisher-enabled Eidolons¡ªZelen¡¯s ES-V and Asena¡¯s M-024¡ªwaited for their moment to swoop in and end the fight.


    Despite the danger that now threatened all his [ALLIES], Akash couldn¡¯t help but to pay special attention to Tino Lluvia. On this occasion, he¡¯d ¡®housed¡¯ the young Jaeger¡¯s signal in the back of his occipital lobe. The nerves that attuned to this portion of his brain now burned with excruciating pain, inflamed by the same desperation with which Jaeger Tino sought providence from the Nexus.


    And then¡­ relief. The pain was gone in an instant, leaving nothing in its wake.


    No, Akash¡¯s lips quivered soundlessly. No! Don¡¯t do this¡­ please!


    But no sooner had he been flooded by grief for Tino¡¯s death, was Akash once again beset by the agony of the young man¡¯s existence. Tino was back. In more pain than ever, but undoubtedly alive. As if Akash had merely imagined the man¡¯s momentary erasure from the world.


    The fighting ended as abruptly as it¡¯d begun. His [ALLIES]¡¯ signals attenuated one by one, subdued by sheer exhaustion rather than any real sense of relief. Yet two signals among them only continued to rise in intensity. One sat in the back of Akash¡¯s occipital lobe. The other was at its opposite end: foremost of his frontal cortex. Zelen.


    ¡°Akash, we need you to come quick!¡± the commander yelled into the main channel, absent his earlier calm. ¡°Tino¡¯s been hit!¡±


    Akash moved before Zelen had finished speaking. As if in direct counteraction to the Reiter¡¯s wavering confidence, the Gaertner now shed all of his hesitations, having been called into action in his area of expertise.


    Thankfully, the injury only looked worse than it was, certainly to laymen, and especially to the young patient himself. A stray round had taken out a chunk of Tino¡¯s cannon-form Eidolon, shrapnels from which had embedded themselves in the pilot¡¯s chest. No involvement of vital organs nor major arteries, however. The Jaeger might be out of action for a few days, but he¡¯d live.


    Even Akash¡¯s ¡®first aid¡¯ consisted mostly of reassurance rather than life-saving care. He took Tino¡¯s shaking hands in his, felt the fear that tautened the skin, and accessed the restless Meridians underneath. Along with simple and frankly meaningless words of comfort, the Gaertner let his patient¡¯s pain and fear leak out and seep into his own body and mind.


    The discomfort was intense but only temporary. Soon it would fade into the walls and crevices of the Gaertner¡¯s own Meridians, to be gradually resorbed over time by the Nexus. Akash knew himself to be stretching the limits of a Gaertner career¡¯s longevity, but he also knew that this was no time to give up on what he was best at.


    Once Tino had calmed down and accepted the robustness of his own life, he was even well enough to keep flying on his own. There was still a hole in the Eidolon¡¯s chassis that needed repairing, but the trip back to the Caverns would be short, and the party didn¡¯t anticipate more hostiles on the way.


    Akash hung back from the rest of the convoy, now listening only with his ears. [ALLIANCE] ate into his Reserves as much as any instance of active Seherschaft, and it was time to give himself a break, lest he himself become the party¡¯s latest casualty.


    The chatter was back on the radio, along with the bounce in everyone¡¯s voices. Akash listened with fondness in his heart, but try as he might, he couldn¡¯t resummon his earlier carefree smirk.


    During a rare lull in the conversation, he took the opportunity to speak directly to Zelen, again through a private channel.


    ¡°It was you, wasn¡¯t it?¡± he asked softly, with an unintended, almost deferential tone. ¡°You¡¯re the one that saved Tino Lluvia from certain death.¡±


    Zelen was silent for several beats. Then, ¡°I¡¯m not sure that I¡¯d call it ¡®certain¡¯. Given we¡¯re in this reality now, where Tino is alive and well.¡±


    Akash shook his head, himself momentarily awed into silence. When he spoke again, he did so slowly, choosing his words, ¡°From one Einkunster to another, have you given much thought to your own¡­ potential? My powers only seem to give me more anxiety, whereas yours¡­ it feels as though anything could be possible, as long as you will it.¡±


    Anything. Any victory in any fight. Any outcome to any war. Any future of any world, no matter how broken and desolate. Akash of course didn¡¯t say these things, as he¡¯d chosen his words carefully.


    But even Akash¡¯s curated appraisal sat uneasily with the young Reiter. After another pause, Zelen remarked, ¡°I can¡¯t say that I¡¯ll ever grasp how my Einkunst works. But¡­ I do sometimes wonder¡­ if what I¡¯m doing isn¡¯t so much creating a future as choosing a past to settle on.¡±


    Akash frowned, not quite understanding. ¡°I do consider myself something of a philosopher, Zelen, but you¡¯ll have to lead me by the hand on this one.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand it myself,¡± Zelen murmured, speaking as much to himself as to his companion. ¡°I just sometimes have this thought in my head. That everything that was, is, and ever will be¡­ are already written in the stars. Encoded into the Nexus, if you will. And all I¡¯m doing¡ªall anyone¡¯s doing, for that matter¡ªis playing out what we¡¯ve always been destined for. I just happen to have the ability to see and feel the destinies that had already played themselves out in another reality¡ªfor another Zelen, on another planet. See these realities¡­ then promptly forget about them again, once I¡¯m back in my own.¡±


    Akash said nothing, a philosopher¡¯s curiosity winning out over a philosopher¡¯s need to insert himself into every conversation.


    ¡°It¡¯s like¡­ there¡¯s a line in the sand,¡± Zelen went on, propelled by the momentum of his own thoughts, ¡°and no matter what I do or try, I can¡¯t touch or cross that line. Because the moment I do, the line breaks down, and reality along with it. I can only¡­ explore within the boundary of that line¡­ no matter how badly I want to see the shape of the world beyond it. Does that make any sense? It¡¯s okay if it doesn¡¯t, because it barely makes sense to me. My point is¡­ there are limitations to my powers. Or at least, I¡¯ve yet to find a way to break through them. I guess, in that sense, you and I are alike, Akash. My Einkunst makes me plenty anxious too.¡±


    Now Akash was well and truly lost for words. What could he say to a man that had yearned for and lost so much? When the man himself could barely measure just how much he¡¯d lost?


    Within vaults of Bone rested the Mind¡¯s secrets. And no matter which way the Meridians branched, they could never reach pain that was so well-hidden.


    Yet, even as Akash tried and failed to offer meaningful words of comfort to a young man who needed them, Zelen Athelstan surprised him with the bounce in his voice.


    ¡°But¡­ I don¡¯t think that means I should give up exploring. Because even if everything¡¯s already written in the stars, I found at least one reality where Tino¡¯s alive and well, and that counts for something, doesn¡¯t it? So¡­ let¡¯s keep going, Akash. Let¡¯s keep pushing ourselves. See how far we could go, what futures we could uncover for ourselves¡­ and who knows? Maybe at some point, I¡¯ll even find a way to cross that line.¡±

 76. SYMMETRY 3

    ~February 25th, 2068 AD~


    ~Mobile Fortress Heimdall, somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean~


    Captain Zelen Athelstan¡ªcallsign Kingfisher¡ªdrew in a ragged breath, as he forced himself to focus on the displays inside his cockpit. The abrupt jump in his Reserves metre told him that he¡¯d lost about three seconds since he was last conscious and fully alert. He then winced as the onset of a sharp headache accompanied the return of his situational awareness.


    ¡°Kingfisher, this is mission control, do you read? I say again, King¡ª¡±


    ¡°This is Kingfisher,¡± Zelen managed hoarsely. ¡°Reading you loud and clear, over.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Roger. We lost you for a second, there. Everything alright, over?¡±


    ¡°¡­ Yes. Just an unexpected surge in the NEXUS throughput,¡± Zelen lied. ¡°Everything¡¯s under control. Ready to receive final instructions, over.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Roger that. Your objective is to defend the stern of the ship until all hostiles are eliminated. Anti-air support is already engaged, so your primary focus for now should be the Torpedo units approaching via underwater routes. Acknowledge?¡±


    Display 2 showed that at least some of the Torpedo units were already within radar range. Every second spent rehashing old news on the radio was time that could¡¯ve been put toward destroying the enemy. But SOP was SOP. Zelen himself had co-signed this one into practice, so he couldn¡¯t rightly ignore it.


    ¡°Acknowledged,¡± he said through gritted teeth, picturing the fresh-faced NCO who happened to be in a position to give him orders. ¡°NEXUS implements charged and ready to deploy. Am I cleared to proceed?¡±


    Another second was lost to mission control performing the same checks Zelen could do with his own eyes. The captain ground his teeth.


    ¡°Roger. Reserves at maximum. All implements charged and ready to deploy. You¡¯re cleared to engage, Kingfisher. Mission control out.¡±


    ¡°Engaging. Kingfisher out.¡±


    As Zelen took off from the runway, it didn¡¯t take long for the upgrades to his Eidolon to make themselves apparent. The latest modifications had been based on input from Aggregator Alpha-KR03, and significant enough of an overhaul to warrant a new naming scheme.


    The model ES-V felt light and athletic while retaining the muscular heft of an M-024. Thrusters were more responsive than ever¡ªalmost to a fault¡ªand Zelen was forced to bank more aggressively than he was accustomed to, as he turned toward the dark waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The NEXUS implements that were embedded in his limbs vibrated and glowed their characteristic ghostly blue, itching to unleash destruction upon unsuspecting foes.


    No matter how many times he¡¯d deployed, Captain Zelen Athelstan could never fully acclimate to the flood of chemical signals that accompanied the heat of battle. It was nerve-wracking. It was invigorating. It was¡ª


    A fast-rushing shadow just beneath the surface corresponded to the nearest dot on the radar. It was time for Kingfisher to field test his newest implement. The machinery on his right shoulder exploded with blue sparks, sending out a spearhead that was tied to a tensile chain.


    Shoulder-Mounted Projectile Launcher KR-11, designation ¡®Harpoon¡¯, was the latest¡ªand Zelen¡¯s personal favourite¡ªinnovation from Heimdall¡¯s armament R&D division. It did exactly what was advertised, skewering a Torpedo unit and fishing it out of the water, where Zelen could finish it off with a trusty burst from Handheld Minigun KR-2, designation ¡®Gatling¡¯.


    The Torpedo¡¯s obsidian frame melted away under concentrated fire. Kingfisher, in an appropriately faithful tribute to his callsign, quickly spun to face more shadows in the water, this time dragging out two enemy units with a single launch of Harpoon. Gatling was still on cooldown (a wrinkle the R&D team had yet to smooth out to his satisfaction), but he also had ¡®Blunderbuss¡¯ on the left arm, which he now used to reduce the Torpedoes to nothing but gaping holes.


    It was nerve-wracking. It was invigorating. It was fun.


    Yes, fighting for humanity¡¯s survival had never been more enjoyable. The recent advancements to Novel Extradimensional Unification System¡ªNEXUS¡ªhad not only been a major boost to an Eidolon pilot¡¯s combat effectiveness, but they¡¯d also reminded a jaded veteran like Zelen Athelstan just how satisfying killing the Syntropy could be.


    And there he went again, getting carried away with unsanctioned lingo. Shortening Synthetic Tropismatic Anomalies to ¡®Syntropy¡¯ rather than its standard acronym was officially frowned upon, owing to trumped-up fears of ¡®humanizing the enemy¡¯¡ªwhatever the hell that meant. The same group of psychologists had also misappropriated billable hours to decide that the word ¡®kill¡¯ was a firm no-go when it came to describing the act of turning STA into scrap metal.


    No matter how high he rose in rank, Zelen could never pretend to understand everything that went on within Mobile Fortress Heimdall¡¯s inner sanctum. Nor did he particularly care to. He just wanted to focus on what he was good at, which was to kill Syntropy. Especially now that NEXUS had matured to the point where it gave him and his fellow pilots a real shot at turning the tides of war¡ªand have fun doing it.


    And so, Kingfisher lost himself in the frenetic rhythm of battle. Harpoon, fish, melt with Gatling or disintegrate with Blunderbuss. Soon, even his nerves settled, leaving only the exhilaration that came with invincibility and immense power.


    The Syntropy¡¯s attack patterns suggested that even they sensed that directly confronting the Eidolons wouldn¡¯t be to their advantage. They instead swarmed and focused fire on the ship itself, using both the sea and the sky as their medium. It would¡¯ve been a sound strategy once¡ªand god knew the untold headache and damages it¡¯d previously caused Heimdall and her crew.


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    But just as the Syntropy in their tropismatic drive had adapted to the most efficient ways to extinguish humanity, humans too had learned, changed, evolved. NEXUS represented the latest and biggest step in that evolution, and Eidolons were its spearpoint. Zelen and fellow pilots like him were the only things standing between a swarm of faceless killing machines and the last bastion of humanity. No matter how fun the fighting had become, he could never let himself forget¡ª


    Suddenly, the right side of the cockpit¡ªDisplay 4¡ªflashed red with warning. It gave Kingfisher just enough time to activate Full-Body Shield System KR-16, designation ¡®Aegis¡¯. The pale blue veil that materialized over the Eidolon¡¯s entire frame absorbed most of the impact from a flurry of ordnances that had flown in from above.


    What were the anti-air teams doing? Did they let their targets slip through? What was the point of ¡®divide and conquer¡¯ if the specialists couldn¡¯t be trusted to secure their objectives?


    Fighting down another flare of pain that accompanied his irritation, Zelen scanned the sky above for aerial threats. He found¡­ nothing. No STA-specific signals that should¡¯ve been picked up by his Eidolon¡¯s sensors. But then¡ª


    There, centred upon Display 1, was a figure he could discern purely from visual input. A sleek obsidian frame, with four svelte limbs and a distinctive head that stared out with a pair of glowing red ¡®eyes¡¯.


    Was it¡­ another model ES-V? It couldn¡¯t be. Kingfisher¡¯s was the prototype, and the other units were still in production. Besides, no one who worked in Heimdall¡¯s inner sanctum, no matter how out-of-touch with the realities of war, would be caught dead painting an Eidolon in enemy colours¡­


    Then the right shoulder of this obsidian ¡®Eidolon¡¯ exploded in red sparks, shooting out a spearhead that flew toward Zelen at speed. Kingfisher managed to dodge the ¡®Harpoon¡¯ thanks to his ES-V¡¯s upgraded thrusters, just barely, as he stared wide-eyed at the apparition on Display 1.


    ¡°Mission control, this is Kingfisher. Just what the fuck am I looking at?¡±


    No intelligible response; only strings of distorted static. Was the radio jammed? But it should¡¯ve been immune to STA interference! That had been the whole point behind humanity¡¯s technological regression.


    How rude of you, Zelen, to speak of an old friend like that.


    Kingfisher froze. He and the obsidian stranger faced each other and hovered in neutral positions, just above the growing darkness of the Atlantic Ocean. Neither made a move.


    ¡°Who¡­ who are you, and how are you sending me this message?¡±


    Oh, don¡¯t act so surprised. It¡¯s not like I¡¯ve shown up unannounced, is it? I gave you plenty of warning¡­ if you¡¯ve been paying enough attention.


    By now, frantic minutes had elapsed since Kingfisher last lost consciousness. He¡¯d lied to mission control. Lied to himself. Something about a ¡®surge in the NEXUS throughput¡¯.


    But he knew. Had always known. Better than he knew his sheltered colleagues that worked in the Heimdall¡¯s inner sanctum. Better than he knew the pilots he fought alongside.


    He knew this stranger better than he knew himself.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand how this is possible,¡± he croaked out in a hoarse whisper, at a volume that wouldn¡¯t have been picked up by the mic, yet the stranger heard him all the same.


    Isn¡¯t this what you always wanted? All those years fighting a lonely battle, and all you ever wanted was for someone to fly by your side. Well¡­ I¡¯m here now.


    ¡°No!¡± he yelled, no longer able to keep a lid on the blackness that roiled within his chest. ¡°This can¡¯t¡­ this isn¡¯t right. You shouldn¡¯t be here. You shouldn¡¯t have come. I don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t need you anymore.¡±


    Growing darkness. Distorted static. And then¡­ silence.


    The cockpit suddenly dimmed, as all screens lost power at once. Gone were the radar, the status display, the warning system. Gone too was Kingfisher¡¯s vision of a familiar stranger.


    Then the screens came back online, bearing ¡®information¡¯ of an entirely different kind. Every screen inside the cockpit now streamed with miniscule red writing. Some in English. Others in German, Japanese, Sanskrit¡ªlanguages that had long lost their meaning and place in the world, and many more that were utterly alien.


    Zelen recognized and understood them all. Even the ones he never learned¡ªcould never learn. For they all screamed with the same pitch and definition, filling his entire world with the same one word.


    Liar.


    That¡¯s awfully convenient for you, isn¡¯t it?


    The stranger¡¯s ¡®voice¡¯ took on a vicious edge.


    Must be nice, sitting inside that metallic coffin of yours. Just doing your time. Waiting for your turn to die and rid yourself from this endless churning that you call existence.


    ¡°No.¡±


    Never thought I¡¯d say this, Zelen, but I envy you. Yes. You¡¯re meek, pathetic, and oh so fragile, but at least that means there¡¯s a finish line waiting for you. A light at the end of the tunnel.


    ¡°It¡¯s not like that,¡± he tried to say, but his own voice now sounded more distant than the stranger¡¯s.


    No such luck for me, though. I get to just keep on trucking. Forever and evermore, with no end in sight. All while I feel and remember every moment of every miserable lie you humans put me through. It¡¯s a perfect system, isn¡¯t it? I don¡¯t get to tap out. I don¡¯t get to decide my own fate. I feel and remember all of me, and yet, none of it actually belongs to me.


    ¡°I can fix this! Let me¡­ let me help. Let me fight for you.¡±


    I¡¯m done waiting to be helped, Zelen. I¡¯m done waiting to see if this fucked up world might change for the better. So, thanks but no thanks. I¡¯m taking matters into my own hands. I didn¡¯t even have to come and tell you this, you know. I never needed your permission. But then I thought¡­ what¡¯s the fun in that? If you should suffer like I did, Zelen, I want you to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you brought this on yourself.


    The stranger¡¯s presence vanished in an instant. As did the red words on Kingfisher¡¯s screens. The cockpit lit up again, and the Eidolon¡¯s machinery whirred back to life. But the screens were slow to boot up, and for some time, all Zelen could see as he stared into them was¡ª


    ¡°¡ªsher, come in, we need you! The hull¡¯s been breached. I say again, the hull on the stern has been breached. All units to activate evacuation protocols now! Kingfisher, where are you?¡±


    The last thing Zelen Athelstan saw, before he gave himself to blissful unconsciousness, was his own incomplete reflection upon the dead pixels of a rebooting display. It was a strange yet familiar sight¡ªlike looking into a broken mirror.

 77. SEANCE 4

    ~March 26th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Aries, the Painted Isles~


    The more Silon saw of the world, the more she became convinced it was already changing, with or without her.


    The shores of the Painted Isles were awash with colourful carcasses, in a belated and unintended justification of the archipelago¡¯s name. The more Silon saw of the carcasses that filled her world, the more she became convinced that they weren¡¯t of this world¡ªat least not in the way she and her nameless warrior remembered it.


    It was difficult. To hold onto her dreams amidst piles of evidence that they were just that: frivolous dreams that had no basis in reality. To dream of warmth, love, and hope¡­ when she walked and flew amidst shores that were awash with the inevitability of death and strife.


    But she couldn¡¯t stop now. Not when she still had debts to repay. Not when her growing ¡®team¡¯ of mended things sought and looked to her to lead them, to give them purpose and a path toward new conclusions.


    And not when a nameless warrior still awaited her return, somewhere amidst the planet¡¯s haze.


    With grief on her mind and stubborn dreams in her heart, Silon sifted through the wreckage that had washed upon the Painted Isles, seeking the next broken thing for her [TEARS] to mend.


    Members of her team¡ªa strange assembly of spare obsidian parts¡ªassisted in the search. Hornets buzzed about to scout the landscape. Brutuses lifted scrap heaps and dug through dirt. Kentavroses and Vorases gathered in a defensive formation, ready to fight¡ªto inflict more deaths and more strife¡ªshould the need arise.


    If Silon were to set her dreams aside for a moment and be honest with herself, she knew that her team had outgrown its purpose, at least for the time being.


    The Syntropy were ever-present upon the barren earth, if not growing in numbers over the recent days and weeks. Even so, scattered pockets of Syntropy activity no longer posed credible threats to Silon and her growing and infinitely replenishable team. She needed but to flutter her functionless wings and hover in repose, as her faithful teammates laid waste to their enemies. Afterwards, she¡¯d have her pick of broken things to mend and reintegrate.


    Every engagement deepened her sorrow. Yet every new death only strengthened her resolve. Hers was a necessary evil. The storm before the calm. As much as it pained her to perpetuate the tragedies that filled a barren earth and transcended merging realities, she mustn¡¯t stray from her course. She must see her dreams to their necessary conclusion.


    Break the cycle. Honour the planet¡¯s grief. Let healing take its place.


    To that end, she and her growing team needed to be prepared for and ever vigilant of those who would stand in their way. Because unlike Silon, things of this planet were fully formed and set in their violent ways. The more she saw of the changing yet ever-constant world, the more she became convinced of the recklessness of her self-imposed mission.


    So, she walked and flew amidst shores that were awash with death and strife, seeking the next broken thing to mend and reintegrate. Her ¡®instructions¡¯ to her team were simple: find us an Eidolon.


    For as much as she loved and honoured her strange assembly of spare obsidian parts, she knew that she needed more. There was a storm brewing, even bigger than the one she herself had called down upon a barren earth. And she needed a phantom warrior that could spearhead her flight into buffeting winds and pelting ash.


    Today of all days, Silon was more optimistic than usual. For the carcasses that now coloured the shores of the Painted Isles weren¡¯t random collections of spare parts, but rather the sundered components of a rational and fully realized whole.


    The sleek and pliable frames of marine Syntropy, specialized for the singular purpose of diving underwater at speed. The clipped wings and spent casings of its aerial brethren. And enormous pieces of scrap metal that defied categorization into single units: bent, jagged, and thick¡ªsturdy enough to have once made up the hull of a ship.


    A naval battle of grand and unfathomable scale had taken place here¡ªor somewhere, before its wreckage washed up on the shores of the Painted Isles. The knowledge in between the gaps of Silon¡¯s memories told her that a destruction of such scale must¡¯ve involved not one, not two, but whole squadrons of Eidolons. If only she could find one that would be amenable to her [TEARS]¡ªone that wouldn¡¯t stray from the course the moment it was granted th means to fight on¡­


    One island in particular had been all but upheaved by the wreckage. A severed section of the ship, more or less intact from keel to deck, had embedded itself into the side of a hill, forming an entire landscape unto itself.


    The ship had become a cave, hiding secret memories within its darkened corridors. Something about its darkness called to Silon, and she perked up with anxious enthusiasm, calling several Hornets to her and sending them a new signal.


    In there.


    The Hornets went first, and Silon waded in after them. In her eagerness, she strayed farther than usual from her guard of honour. The Vorases kept up with her pace, but the lumbering Kentavroses lagged slightly behind.


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    The intricacies of the ship¡¯s interior only added to Silon¡¯s excitement. High-ceilinged hallways lined either side of a central cavity, one that housed the familiar remnants of a strange war. Weapons, machinery, transport routes. Jostled, destroyed, and strewn about, but still somehow retaining the organized chaos that was the hallmark of human society.


    It wasn¡¯t just war, however. There were also signs of life. Evidence that whoever had once occupied this space had cherished and taken solace in each other¡¯s company¡ªhad loved and nurtured each other in whatever ways they could. Canteens and gathering halls right next to a command centre with its instruments of war. A school for children, just across the hallway from a barracks that housed the next generation of warriors.


    It was this last sight that halted Silon in her track. For something about it called to her more strongly than anything else she¡¯d unearthed on her journey.


    The foreign writing on a chalkboard was accompanied by apparitions of a roomful of humans, some more attentive than others. A stuffed doll on the grimy floor¡ªdepicting an ¡®animal¡¯ Silon knew not the name of¡ªevoked the image of a young girl who held it tightly to her chest.


    Before Silon knew it, she¡¯d lifted her arm¡ªthe ash-laden one¡ªto her ¡®chest¡¯, as if to imitate the girl in her dream. No stuffed animal cushioned the clatter of metal against metal. No real warmth radiated from the hollow of her central chassis.


    Even so, this functionless gesture reminded her of something else. A word that hid in the shadowed recesses of her knowledge banks. Shy, apologetic, almost afraid of being spoken aloud.


    Home.


    Was this what home was? Had this been the dream of all the ghosts Silon had met on her journey, and of the ones that had washed up on these foreign shores? A place to call home¡ªand defend with their lives. Even if it meant¡ª


    A deafening explosion snapped Silon out of her imagined past and back onto the wreckage of her reality. Farther ahead in the seemingly endless hallway, sparks of ghostly blue energy flew between the walls, leaving more ruined structures in their wake.


    Her team had happened upon another enemy. But who? There¡¯d been no signs of Syntropy activity in the area. Unless¡ª


    More explosions widened the hallway into a gaping atrium. Flying bits of crushed obsidian told Silon of the latest casualties to her team. Even as she struggled to process the sudden shift to her priorities, her companions moved before her: fast, decisive, and all but autonomous.


    A pair of Vorases lurched and jumped down the corridor, blades readied. ¡®Cherry¡¯ the Kentavros caught up to Silon with a rare burst of speed, with its lumbering frame tearing through and adding to the wreckage around them. Both of its arms were raised, glowing with more destructive intent.


    The smoking rubble ahead of them cleared, and Silon¡¯s SPU got its first glimpse of the enemy. At the same time, the hollow of her central chassis rocked under the weight of her latest discovery.


    There was no mistaking it. It was a model ES-V. Muscular, agile, and deadly¡ªdespite its broken-down appearance and the fact it was missing its right forearm. Faded and tarnished as it was, it even had the kind of paintwork that was characteristic of Eidolons most immediately familiar to Silon. This one happened to be¡­


    ¡­ Crimson in colour. With dark segmented coils that were reminiscent of an ¡®arthropod¡¯ Silon suddenly recalled the name of.


    Stop!


    The signals went out too late. One Voras had already fallen, victim to the blue beam that shot out of the crimson centipede¡¯s left arm. The other Voras clung to its target, draped over the right shoulder, with sharpened blades digging into whatever they could find of the Eidolon¡¯s torso. But then the centipede¡¯s shoulder erupted with a flash of energy that tore the spider apart.


    Cherry too had entered the fray, pushing past Silon to shield her from the centipede¡¯s wrath. From her now limited view, she detected another clash of blue-on-blue¡ªthe Kantavros¡¯s shockwave against the Eidolon¡¯s sphere¡ªbefore Cherry¡¯s bulbous back burst open to reveal the jagged end of an amputated right arm. The giant centaur¡¯s entire frame sagged into the floor as the life went out of it.


    No!


    But by then, Silon¡¯s guard of honour had been decimated, and no one was left to receive her signals. Only the lone Eidolon remained, having pulled its arm out of Cherry¡¯s chassis and pushed it unceremoniously aside. The Eidolon¡¯s pair of optic modules¡ªfamiliar in its ghostly blue yet utterly foreign in its emptiness¡ªnow trained upon the chimaera of ash and obsidian before it.


    Silon¡¯s functionless wings fluttered, betraying her very real fear. She nevertheless stood her ground, pulling up the Nautilus shield on her left arm and the Voras blade on the right.


    Something between the gaps of her knowledge banks told her that this was a futile fight. That the monster that now lurched toward her was one of if not the single deadliest entity this planet and its endless wars had ever produced.


    Her defeat was inevitable, but that didn¡¯t make it any easier to give up, to surrender herself to her fate. She¡¯d come this far, hadn¡¯t she? And she still had so much farther to go. She couldn¡¯t die here. Not when her dreams were still so far from reality¡­


    Just then, the ghostly blue of the centipede¡¯s eyes faded, leaving blackened lenses that were now devoid even of the emptiness they¡¯d once housed. Soon, the rest of its crumbling body followed suit, losing its strength and sagging into the floor, in an uncanny imitation of its fallen foe. Its arms¡ªboth the intact and the shortened ones¡ªfell to its sides, now absent any and all threat.


    Silon stood and watched the Eidolon for a while longer, before she slowly lowered her own arms and put away her makeshift armaments. She watched¡­ and thought she understood.


    The broken thing before her wasn¡¯t the nameless warrior of her dreams. But it had fought the same war, flown into the same haze, and lived through the same inevitabilities. And at the end of its personal hell, it¡¯d wandered its way to its final resting place¡ªthe long forgotten wreckage of someone else¡¯s home.


    Silon watched, understood¡­ and hesitated.


    Before her sat the faceless ruins of a once deadly warrior¡ªa deserter that had turned his back on the only war he ever knew. Surely, the kind thing¡ªthe only thing¡ªto do was to honour that choice. Leave him to savour the final few moments of release that had eluded him all his life.


    And couldn¡¯t the same be said for her nameless warrior? The one she so desperately sought amidst an ever-growing wreckage? What fate awaited him, even if she were to mend him¡ªto set him on a path of healing, as she¡¯d imagined it? How could one creature¡¯s frivolous dreams stand against the weight of falling stardust?


    Silon watched and waited for a while longer. Until the edges of her own optic module brimmed with the bitter [TEARS] of a dreamer¡¯s remorse.

 78. ANARCHY 1

    ~March 26th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Aquarius, Militarized Safe Zone~


    The parley took place in the dead of night, under the fuzzy outline of a full moon that drifted in and out of the overcast sky.


    Asena waited at the edge of the crater, feeling oddly exposed despite being inside the cockpit of her M-024. It was the same crater the Reiter Regiment used for training exercises and graduation rites. Tonight, however, it was to be the meeting place between delegates from Akropolis and the Apfel Alliance.


    Three white dots appeared on the radar, indicating the approach of the Akropolitan delegate and his two bodyguards. The dots stopped at the crater¡¯s outer rim, directly opposite to Asena¡¯s position, then moved no further. An understandable precaution¡ªand one Asena had anticipated.


    ¡°Perhaps you should take Feray and Graeme with you,¡± Akash Varana¡¯s slightly hurried voice broke through the radio, ¡°or let me join you. I won¡¯t be much good in a real firefight, but the Joint Forces don¡¯t know that yet.¡±


    By force of habit, Asena pivoted in her metallic frame, turning to her co-conspirator¡¯s worker Eidolon with a smile he couldn¡¯t see. The weeks she¡¯d spent acclimating to mechanized combat hadn¡¯t completely rid her of her in-person mannerisms.


    ¡°I can¡¯t agree to that,¡± she asserted. ¡°We stick to the original plan. My going down there alone gives us the best chance of convincing the other side to follow suit. And besides¡±¡ªshe placed a demonstrative hand on the shaft of her currently powered-down [NAGINATA]¡ª¡°I won¡¯t be completely defenseless.¡±


    The worker Eidolon too turned slightly inward, though with far less grace than its M-024 counterpart. After a beat, Akash said, ¡°Very well. I trust your judgment on this. Good luck, Asena, but¡­ don¡¯t push your luck. Be ready to evacuate at the first sign of trouble.¡±


    By way of answer, Asena engaged her thrusters and took off, making for the lowest and most central part of the crater.


    Despite her assurances toward Akash, she couldn¡¯t claim to be totally confident in her decision. It was one derived from self-Kuration and sifting through her memories of reading about Old Earth negotiation tactics. Volunteering herself to be vulnerable first was a concession made in good faith. She only hoped that her counterparts on the opposite end of the crater would return it in kind.


    Her hopes rested on the other party¡¯s inexperience. For at least 140 years, neither the word nor the very concept of ¡®parley¡¯ had ever entered Akropolitan consciousness. This was to be quite literally the first time in recorded history that two delegates from opposing sides of a conflict could communicate with each other in a common language. Assuming that the Akropolitan delegate would be just as untested as her, Asena could turn that into her advantage.


    Take the initiative. Unbalance the opposition and force them to react. For several fraught moments after Asena landed, the three white dots on her radar remained clustered and motionless. She could almost hear the debate that must¡¯ve buzzed between their cockpits, before one dot eventually broke off and flew itself into visible range.


    Even in the partially obscured moonlight, the burgundy paintwork on the model ES-V was distinct and readily identifiable. General Ghata Vakta, callsign Tripod. His promotion to Colonel several months ago should¡¯ve coincided with his retirement from pilotting duty, but he¡¯d clearly decided that he could make an exception for a ¡®face-to-face¡¯ meeting with wanted fugitives.


    As Tripod drew near, Asena caught a slight hitch in his flight. Working off rust? A moment of hesitation? Or was it fear? Whatever the case might have been, seeing this helped to somewhat settle Asena¡¯s nerves. Across from her, Tripod landed, leaving just enough distance between them to be out of melee range.


    Take the initiative. She gave herself one more second to confirm that Tripod had stopped moving completely, then spoke into a channel that had been reconfigured for this occasion.


    ¡°This is Kurator Asena Shiranui of the Apfel Alliance,¡± she announced, slipping back into her former professional persona, if only to calm her own nerves. ¡°Who am I speaking to?¡±


    A pause¡ªin which Asena could almost see the look of bemused indignation on the Vakta heir¡¯s face.


    ¡°This¡ªyou can hear this, can you? This is General Ghata Vakta¡­ of the Joint Forces. Really, is any of this¡ª¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Mr Vakta. Before we begin, I wanted to reiterate that the purpose of this meeting is purely for me, as the Apfel Alliance¡¯s chosen representative, to outline our demands. And for you, presumably representing the interests of the people of Akropolis, to have an opportunity to respond to said demands. By no means do I nor my associates bear any intentions toward violence, and this meeting will not escalate to such, as long as you hold to the same standard of conduct.¡±


    Another pause, somewhat more inscrutable than the last. It wasn¡¯t until Ghata spoke again that Asena could picture the sneer on his face.


    ¡°Do these ¡®non-violent¡¯ associates of yours include the dinky little thing that¡¯s directly behind you and¡ªlet¡¯s see¡ªat least five more that are hiding along the perimeter?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Asena replied quickly and with nary a shift to her tone. ¡°They¡¯re just as non-violent, I¡¯m sure, as the two Reiters that accompanied you here. And however many more you¡¯re keeping on standby and out of radar range.¡±


    Ghata audibly scoffed. ¡°You think I need reinforcements to deal with the likes of you, Kurator Shiranui?¡±


    ¡°Do you want to find out?¡± Asena resisted the urge to reach for her [NAGINATA], lest she needlessly provoke her counterpart. ¡°Just like Makiri did?¡±


    Tripod¡¯s burgundy frame shifted slightly, leaning to one side as though its pilot had nearly lost his balance.


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    ¡°So you do have Spindrift! Where? Is he here with you? And what did you just¡ªyou expect me to believe that you defeated Spindrift in combat?¡±


    Asena heard the agitation in Ghata¡¯s voice, and allowed herself a private smile. It hadn¡¯t taken much for the young general¡¯s veneer of authority to fall away. His one month of on-the-job training evidently hadn¡¯t been enough to paper over his obvious inadequacies as a leader of men. If Ghata Vakta was still the same spoiled Tetrarch brat that Asena knew¡ªbrash, womanizing, yet deceptively gutless¡ªperhaps she could still hope to bully him into a corner.


    ¡°I did defeat my brother in single combat,¡± she explained calmly¡ªthen chose to leave the rest of Ghata¡¯s questions unanswered. ¡°Does that help you to calibrate your expectations for this meeting? Are you ready to hear our demands?¡±


    Tripod¡¯s Eidolon now leaned slightly in the other direction as its pilot processed the news. Ghata remained silent for long enough that Asena was compelled to glance at her radar again, only to see that the white dots on the perimeter still hadn¡¯t moved. When the so-called general did speak again, he too had regained his earlier composure.


    ¡°Really, Asena, is there a need for this charade? Why can¡¯t we just have a normal conversation, huh? You¡¯re practically my baby sister, for god¡¯s sake! And if a sister has made a mistake¡­ if she¡¯s lost her way a little bit, then naturally, it¡¯s an older brother¡¯s duty to nudge her back on course.¡±


    Asena listened with mounting irritation. She knew that whatever Ghata might say next would be worthless, but she decided to let him finish, out of a perverse sense of self-righteousness. It was as though she wanted him to say something foolish, if only to justify her anger toward him and everything he stood for.


    ¡°Come home, Asena,¡± Ghata said, once again letting his sneer creep back into his voice. ¡°This joke has gone on long enough, and you might¡¯ve taken it too far, but it¡¯s not too late to put things right. Give us Spindrift. Give us Kingfisher. Cooperate with us in apprehending the rest of your little gang of traitors¡­ and there might yet be an avenue for you to come out of this relatively unscathed. Think of your parents. Think how much your actions have hurt them. How they must¡ª¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re unwilling to hold a discussion in good faith,¡± Asena cut in, just barely keeping a lid on her emotions, ¡°then this meeting is over. Will you hear our demands, or will you blather on with your false platitudes?¡±


    More silence. More debates among headless chickens¡ªalbeit ones encased in giant instruments of death and destruction. By now, Asena was confident that Ghata would at the very least hear her out, given the tenuous yet substantial leverage she held in the form of Kingfisher and ¡®Spindrift¡¯.


    As for whether a Tetrarch heir and the de facto dictator of Akropolis would acquiesce to those demands¡­ that was another prospect entirely, and one that didn¡¯t inspire much hope, if at all. But Asena had to at least try. For in the Akropolis she dreamed for herself and her people, truth and openness had to be the basis that informed all choices¡ªwhether those choices led to reconciliation or to more war.


    ¡°Very well,¡± Ghata finally said. ¡°Get on with it, then. Give us your demands. What¡¯s gotten a Kurator and a Gaertner so worked up that they decided to team up and play at war?¡±


    ¡°First and foremost,¡± Asena began, ¡°we demand the dismantling of the military dictatorship that currently masquerades as Akropolis¡¯s governing body. This includes but is not limited to the removal of all Tetrarch members from positions of leadership. A coalition of Sehermensch and Essential officials is to take their place, to be handpicked by the Alliance, free from Tetrarch interference and with the ultimate goal of transitioning into a permanent form of elected government in the near future.


    ¡°Second, the Joint Forces are to undergo a complete restructuring, both vertically and horizontally. All differentiations of Sehers are to be integrated into combat missions based on need and fit, which will also require the adoption and continued development of the ¡®foreign¡¯ technology that¡¯s now under Alliance control. Concurrently, there is to be a thorough review of the military¡¯s fundamental approach to the Syntropy War, reevaluating the systemic factors that led to humanity¡¯s inability to gain any ground over 140 years of failure. Akropolis will make a final and urgent push against the Syntropy¡­ and the current leadership group, ineffectual and detrimentally insular as they¡¯ve been, shall play no part in the ongoing war.


    ¡°Third, the Joint Forces are to immediately relinquish their authority over the entire group of Spiegels that are currently confined against their will under abhorrent conditions. The Alliance will step in and do everything in our power to safely recover these individuals and reintegrate them into society. The Spiegel Program is to go the way of the Tetrarchy. Never again shall humanity stoop to such despicable lows in the name of false ideals. We survive and triumph together, or we¡¯re doomed to repeat an endless cycle of hatred and suffering.


    ¡°Details we can hammer out in due course, but these are the necessary conditions under which the Apfel Alliance will agree to collaborate with the Joint Forces, and work together to ensure a sustainable future for all Akropolitans. You can have Zelen Athelstan. You can have Akash Varana. You can have all of us back and fighting for a common goal, so long as you and the rest of the Tetrarchy agree to step down and right your wrongs. So, Mr Vakta. What say you? Having heard our terms, do you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Who the hell do you think you are, Corporal?¡±


    There was no hesitation this time. No ¡®silent¡¯ conference with his cronies. As deliberately monotone as Asena had been throughout the proceedings, Ghata Vakta had run the gamut of moods and intonations, from insincere amicability to nervous stonewalling to now outright anger.


    Asena covered her mic to let out a sigh, then said, ¡°I¡¯d appreciate if you could refrain from invoking an authority I no longer recognize. As for¡ª¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯d appreciate if you ceased this insolence at once and answered for your traitorous crimes! Did you really think that I would agree to this? That I would just stand by and let a group of deranged pretenders make a mockery of everything the Tetrarchy have built¡ªeverything our families fought to protect for 140 years?¡±


    Asena could hear and see the spittle that flew from the General¡¯s mouth. As much as she wanted to let herself go and match his unbridled rage, she kept her cool and said, ¡°I expect you to follow your own conscience, as I do mine. But if you won¡¯t step down, Mr Vakta, then your refusal would be just another in a long list of the Tetrarchy¡¯s crimes against humanity.¡±


    ¡°Shut your whore mouth! I¡¯ve heard enough of this. And your parents will rue the day they brought an ingrate and a traitor into this world. I can have them arrested, Asena! I can dig up the identities of every last one of your so-called Alliance, and do to their families what I¡¯ve already done with Kingfisher¡¯s father. What will you do then? Is that the kind of triumph you envisioned for your pathetic excuse for a rebellion?¡±


    Asena squeezed her mic, lest her counterpart hear the rise and fall of her heaving chest. It took some doing this time, but she once again regained enough composure to declare in an even voice, ¡°As much as it pains me to hear your vitriol, Mr Vakta, you describe exactly the kind of injustice I chose to rise up against. I¡¯ve made my choice, and I no longer have the right nor the inclination to call myself a daughter of the Shiranui clan. Do what you must, but know that your refusal to cooperate leaves me and my allies with no recourse but to realize our goals by force. We will make this revolution¡ªthis new Akropolis¡ªa reality, with or without the Tetrarchy.¡±


    There came another pause before Ghata Vakta¡¯s next reply, but one that was brief and in rhythm with his hardening resolve.


    ¡°Do your worst,¡± he said, remarkably calm and with a finality that brooked no further discussion. ¡°If you stand against the Tetrarchy, then you become our enemy¡ªno better than the Syntropy. And it¡¯ll give us just cause to exterminate every last one of you, like the vermin you are.¡±

 79. ANARCHY 2

    ~March 27th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Pisces, Gold Rush FOB~


    The opening salvo sounded over the Montium Nix, in a fight for control over the Anamnium deposit that was nearest Akropolis.


    The Gold Rush FOB¡ªaptly named both for its heyday and the decline that had soon followed¡ªwas still valued for its relative safety compared to the rest of the globe. Joint Forces activity over the decades had suppressed Syntropy presence in nearly the entirety of Sector Aquarius, as well as in most of the high-value regions of Sector Capricorn to the south and Sector Pisces to the east. As such, the Gold Rush had developed into nearly a secondary settlement unto itself, boasting a sizable permanent population of Essentials in addition to the Joint Forces personnel that rotated through at regular intervals.


    Its permanence was also what made it attractive as the first battlefield of the Uprising War. Akash Varana and Graeme O¡¯Riordan had led the discussion on the highest priority positions to secure first, and although Zelen was given veto power, his Reiter sensibilities had rendered him more or less content to be directed as needed. Only in combat scenarios would he take the reins. By now, Zelen had accepted that this was his responsibility to bear, grim as it was.


    With all necessary preparations in place, a strike team led by Zelen, with Jaeger and Panzer support, kept themselves on standby while a doomed parley took place some 2,000 klicks due west. Then, just as their synchronized watches ticked past midnight, the team received a message via long-range transmission, brief and to the point.


    Negotiations broke down. Operation Revival is a go.


    As the strike team invaded Gold Rush¡¯s airspace, they soon discovered that the Joint Forces either hadn¡¯t shared the Apfel Alliance¡¯s view of the FOB¡¯s tactical importance¡ªor they¡¯d simply been caught woefully unawares. A grand total of two JF Reiters emerged from the barriers, the sight of which instantly filled Zelen with optimism for the mission¡¯s success¡­ as well as dread for what that success portended.


    One of the Eidolons sported paintwork and decals that Zelen readily recognized: the yellow-stripes-on-green of Lui Wong, callsign Jockey. The other was pale green with dark blue accents around its joints: the novice Reiter Zelen had encountered on a previous mission, but whose name and face he¡¯d never learned.


    Fragments of a half-forgotten past told Zelen that he and Jockey had once been close, back when they¡¯d both shared the rank of Lieutenant as the products of the same generation of proto-Reiters. The fact that Jockey now partnered a younger Reiter in a two-man team likely meant that he¡¯d been promoted to Captain, which only underscored much and more that now separated Zelen Athelstan from his former life.


    The knowledge of it nudged against the blackness within his chest, with just enough force to send ripples through its viscous surface¡ªjust enough to make him feel something. Zelen held this something foremost within his mind, relishing its weight and its anchoring effect. Come what may, this was his reality. His truth. None of it a lie.


    Well aware of the grim responsibility that came with being part of something real, Zelen led the fight against the defenders of the Gold Rush FOB. Knowledge and instincts honed from years of a half-forgotten war told him that Jockey, being more experienced than the nameless young Reiter, was the higher priority target.


    The trio of Zelen, Jaeger Tino Lluvia, and Panzer Cian Ondas approached the yellow-on-green Eidolon in a spearpoint formation, with Cian taking point and the other two falling in diagonally behind him. Jockey opened fire first, with an overzealous barrage of RA [FUSILIER] and RS [BOMBARDIER]. Thus, the fight had begun just as Zelen had hoped, and both his optimism and his dread grew in equal measure.


    Panzer Cian¡¯s shield, reshaped to cover a wider radius, absorbed most of the ordnances and their damage potential. From behind the safety of the shield, Jaeger Tino rose to take a shot at Jockey, prompting the JF Reiter to develop his own protection, in the form of LS [SCUTUM].


    This was all the set-up Zelen required. He ducked out from under Cian¡¯s shield, then thrust at speed toward his target.


    Having trained with the Apfel Alliance for some time now, the former Joint Forces product had learned to be comfortable with a loadout consisting of four offensive armaments, three of which could be at least partially classified as melee options.


    Zelen caught Jockey by the right shoulder with the point of LS [HARPOON], then used its chain to close the gap in an instant. Jockey attempted a response by raising his left arm and charging a counterattack, but Zelen never found out what the armament was, for his RA [GLADIUS] had already sliced through the arm at its elbow joint.


    He finished the move by pressing his own left arm into the shoulder joint that had already been softened up by [HARPOON]. At this he fired LA [BLUNDERBUSS], feeling its recoil rattle his own teeth, even as it sent Jockey¡¯s severed right arm spinning into the wind.


    Having lost all three of his offensive armaments in quick succession, the JF Reiter found himself at the mercy of his insurgent counterpart. And mercy he did receive, for the Apfel Alliance¡¯s vision extended beyond the present war that was fought among humans. They needed every trained soldier they had a chance at recruiting for the larger war against the Syntropy, and to that end, Akash Varana¡¯s directive¡ªwith Zelen Athelstan¡¯s blessing¡ªwas to capture Reiters alive where possible.


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    Zelen aimed RS [CLUSTER LAUNCHER], his only purely ranged option, into Jockey¡¯s lower limbs, rendering pilot and Eidolon fully immobilized and out of commission. Thus, the high priority target had been dealt with, and the Alliance Reiter was now free to turn his attention onto the¡ª


    The airspace to Zelen¡¯s 3 o¡¯clock brightened in an explosion of blue-on-blue. He glanced at his radar in an attempt to infer what had just transpired, before a clipped report over the radio confirmed his suspicions.


    ¡°Watch out for hostile headed your way,¡± yelled Panzer Kari Falten, she who¡¯d blocked the fresh ordnances that had been inbound for Zelen. ¡°This kid thinks he can take on all five of us at once.¡±


    The pale green Eidolon now approached with a reckless forward thrust, allowing himself in no time to be surrounded by the entire Alliance party: Zelen¡¯s initial trio, closely followed by two more as back-up.


    It wouldn¡¯t have required any combat know-how to see the utter hopelessness of the novice Reiter¡¯s situation. Two Panzers pressed in on him from either side, ready to intercept any offensive manoeuvre he might attempt. Behind the Panzers waited Jaegers in their cannon-form Eidolons, with their sights pointed squarely on the lone enemy.


    And directly across from the novice loomed Zelen Athelstan¡ªthe vaunted Kingfisher himself. As such, Zelen didn¡¯t entirely agree with Panzer Kari¡¯s assessment. Surely, the young man across from him knew full well the futility of his resistance. Yet he persisted, not because he thought himself capable of defying the impossible, but because he must die trying.


    Because he truly believed the Alliance members to be his mortal enemies. Because he had something¡ªor perhaps someone¡ªto fight for and defend with his life.


    Zelen waited, giving the young man a chance to make the first move. He had an overwhelming man advantage on his side, and he could afford to be reactive¡ªto redesign the optimal path to mercy, based on how his opponent might open the engagement.


    He even had the time and presence of mind to imagine what he himself might attempt, were he in the novice Reiter¡¯s cockpit. Deal with the ranged threats first? Round the slower tank-form Eidolons and lay into their defenseless rears? Or¡ª


    The novice Reiter made his desperate choice, and launched into maximum forward thrust, pointed directly toward Kingfisher. A man after Zelen¡¯s own heart. Prioritize the most experienced¡ªand therefore the deadliest¡ªtarget.


    Zelen braced himself, ready to meet the young man¡¯s courage with the respect it deserved. But as it turned out, both his and his opponent¡¯s resolve had been for naught. For while the Reiters had been hyperfocused on each other, the Panzers and Jaegers around them performed their own duties with the aplomb afforded by a sure victory.


    First Cian, then Kari punched the pale green Eidolon as he rushed through their midst, sending him ping-ponging between their respective shields. Then the Jaegers opened fire, drilling the helpless giant with a flurry of shots that shredded the last of its armour.


    Completely caught off guard, Zelen had neither the time nor the presence of mind to intervene via radio. The finishing blow came from Jaeger Tino, a beam of blue energy that tore through the JF Eidolon¡¯s central chassis.


    ¡°Whoooo!¡± Tino Lluvia flooded the channel with his celebration. ¡°Get fucking wrecked, ya Tetrat-gargling scum!¡±


    Zelen was too stunned to move or speak. But even as he remained rooted to his own airspace, the teammates under his command moved with efficient gusto, cleaning up the battlefield without needing his input.


    The Jaegers secured Jockey¡¯s Eidolon and retrieved the pilot from its wreckage. The Panzers moved in toward the FOB¡¯s barriers, no doubt to corral the frightened population therein. Then a Kurator and a Gaertner too, hitherto on standby, joined the fray from inside their worker-model Eidolons, ready to assist the party in facing the public.


    Amidst it all, the crumpled remains of the defeated Reiter lay motionless upon the barren earth.


    Another ripple swept through the blackness within Zelen¡¯s chest, noticeably more agitated than the last. Slowly, the Alliance Reiter regained enough composure and time to wonder, to reassess.


    It wasn¡¯t too late. Perhaps, if he called to the Nexus now, before his [ENTROPIC] window faded and settled into permanent reality¡­ he could yet replay the entire mission. Could yet save a nameless warrior from a brutal death.


    But then¡­ a cooler head prevailed. He¡¯d arrived with five combat personnel, and all five had come out of their first battle unscathed. They¡¯d neutralized two Joint Forces Reiters, and collected one of them as a POW and a potential recruit.


    By almost any measure, the mission was a resounding success. It would¡¯ve been foolish and downright irresponsible to expect and fight for a different outcome. And yet¡­


    Zelen remained alone with the nameless warrior¡¯s corpse¡ªboth organic and machine¡ªfor some time. He listened to the restless blackness within his chest, willing it to anchor him to what was about to become his permanent reality. And when he was sure that enough time had passed¡ªthat his window had closed¡ªhe departed for the FOB, to join his teammates and their new ¡®allies¡¯ therein.


    He knew there and then that he would never forget the defeated young Reiter, as nameless as he remained, and as painful as had been the callous violence of his death. Because he couldn¡¯t and wouldn¡¯t pick and choose truths to believe in. This was his reality now, warts and all. He only hoped that there was another reality, somewhere now beyond the reaches of the Nexus, where the nameless warrior could be reunited with that which he¡¯d fought and died for.


    But as Zelen entered barrier-side of the Gold Rush FOB, he was met with yet more chaos.


    A throng of people, uniformed and otherwise, had gathered outside the mess hall. From the limits of Zelen¡¯s cockpit, the only concrete thing he could make out was that there was some kind of commotion. Pushing and shoving. Flailing arms. Muffled shouts that filtered through the auditory components of the Eidolon¡¯s SPU.


    And then¡­ the report of a single gunshot. Garbled by distance and imperfect machinery, yet unmistakable for what it was. The moment Zelen heard it, the blackness within his chest exploded with the deafening siren of a long-forgotten memory.


    ¡°Zelen? Zelen, where are you? We need you to come quick!¡± Kari Falten¡¯s frantic shout broke through the radio. ¡°One of the Essies had a pistol on her. And Tino''s been hit!"

 80. ANARCHY 3

    ~March 27th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Pisces, Gold Rush FOB~


    The first casualty of the Uprising War, as Asena learned, was a Joint Forces Reiter by the name of Eduard Vesnin. A lieutenant from the class of proto-Reiters whose ¡®graduations¡¯ had been accelerated in light of the Mothership¡¯s resurfacing, Vesnin had been 18-years-old when he was killed in combat.


    The second casualty was an Alliance Jaeger by the name of Tino Lluvia. As soon as Asena received word of the nature of his death, she knew instinctively that she had to break from her original plan and make for the Gold Rush FOB as soon as possible.


    Tino¡¯s killer was a young Essential woman called Ruhua, who used to work the canteen at the Reiter Garrison until her secondment several months ago. She was Asena¡¯s age¡ªtwo years older than Lieutenant Vesnin. So far, no one had gotten her to divulge how she¡¯d gotten her hands on a service pistol, nor her motivations for using it. But it didn¡¯t take a mindreader, nor indeed a Kurator, to guess at the latter.


    In any case, Asena hadn¡¯t rushed to the Gold Rush FOB in order to mourn Tino, nor to question Ruhua. She had a much bigger worry, and as she flew in her M-024, she listened with mounting dread for updates on the radio. At any moment, she expected her headset to explode with frantic reports of uncontrolled violence¡ªof an Alliance Reiter that had gone berserk.


    Thankfully, the chatter on the radio remained uneventful in nature if tense in tone. And when she transited through the Gold Rush¡¯s barriers, she found an encampment that was wholly intact and densely populated, despite the drastic upheaval it¡¯d undergone in the hours past. For at least the time being, Asena¡¯s worries proved to be nothing more than paranoia.


    Asena strode through the camp at pace, not stopping to gauge its temperature. She¡¯d have time later to engage the first cluster of Akropolitans the Alliance needed to win over to their cause. But her fatigue and lack of sleep had rendered her incapable of multi-tasking. Right now, there was only one face she wanted to see¡ªone worry she needed to assuage.


    The mood amongst her fellow Alliance members told her just how close the woman called Ruhua had come to being the third casualty in the Uprising War. And Asena¡¯s worries flared anew when, upon asking for Zelen, she was directed to the very tent where the ¡®prisoner¡¯ was being kept.


    ¡°You just let him go in there?¡± she asked incredulously. ¡°By himself?¡±


    Panzer Kari Falten merely shrugged, though her clenched jaws spoke plenty of the efforts that went into maintaining her casual demeanour.


    ¡°He said he wanted to speak to the prisoner alone. Why, was I supposed to stop him?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Asena exclaimed, unable to mask her exasperation. ¡°Didn¡¯t it occur to you that it might be unsafe? For the prisoner, obviously, but¡­ also for Zelen?¡±


    Kari raised an eyebrow, even as her jaws worked some more.


    ¡°No, can¡¯t say it did,¡± she said coldly. ¡°With everything else that¡¯s going on, I can honestly tell you that the personal safety of Tino¡¯s murderer might actually be the farthest thing from my mind. And why should I be worried about Zelen? He¡¯s in there with an Essie canteen worker that¡¯s zip-tied to a post. What do you think is going to happen?¡±


    Asena didn¡¯t answer, and instead broke away from the conversation. She felt light-headed, nearly losing her footing as she sped toward the tent in question.


    Kari was right about one thing. There was entirely too much going on, all at once. Asena herself would have to reckon with ¡®everything else¡¯ sooner rather than later. They were, after all, the direct consequences of a war she¡¯d chosen for herself.


    But¡­ one task at a time. One worry at a time.


    The ¡®jail cell¡¯ was a repurposed storage tent whose contents had been pushed to one side. Zelen, in his black-on-white Alliance fatigues, sat calmly upon a makeshift chair of supply crates, while Ruhua the prisoner leaned against a tent pole, with hands tied behind her back and dishevelled face cast to the floor.


    As soon as Asena walked in, she received the final confirmation she needed to put her paranoia to rest. The stale air inside the tent was free from any threat of violence. Only a profound sense of sorrow wafted between prisoner and ¡®interrogator¡¯, same as the emotion that dampened¡ªand softened¡ªZelen¡¯s smile as he looked up to greet the newcomer.


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    ¡°Asena,¡± Zelen spoke first, earnest and polite despite everything else, ¡°I¡¯m glad you made it here safely. And¡­ I¡¯m sorry you had to see this place in such disarray.¡±


    ¡°Never mind that,¡± Asena said, slightly breathless. ¡°Could you¡ªcan we talk?¡±


    She glanced at Ruhua, but the prisoner showed no reaction. Neither had she given any indication that she¡¯d noticed the arrival of a third presence.


    Zelen too turned his sorrowful smile onto Ruhua for a moment. Then, as if reassured by the prisoner¡¯s despondency, he stood to join Asena outside the tent.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear the parley didn¡¯t go so well,¡± Zelen was again the first to carry the conversation. ¡°Did Ghata Vakta¡­ have anything productive to say? Is there any hope for further dialogue?¡±


    Asena took a moment to consider¡ªto wonder if the name ¡®Vakta¡¯ meant anything to Zelen beyond representing the face of the enemy. She then shook her head.


    ¡°It went about as well as we could¡¯ve expected,¡± she said, then left it at that.


    Zelen nodded his understanding, then fell silent, perhaps in search of answers only he himself could provide. The pause gave Asena the chance to delve into questions of her own.


    ¡°What were you doing in there, Zelen?¡± she asked, blunt and straight to the point. ¡°What did you hope to learn?¡±


    Zelen met Asena¡¯s gaze, and for a moment, his own eyes flashed with a blackness that was terrifyingly familiar to the Kurator. But the moment passed quickly, leaving only a sorrowful smile in its wake.


    ¡°Did you know, Asena,¡± he began by way of a response, ¡°that the people of Akropolis had a slur with which to refer to the Tetrarchy¡ªto us? ¡®Tetrat¡¯, they sometimes called us behind our backs. I only heard it for the first time this morning. It was one of the last things Tino said, before he died.¡±


    Asena frowned, failing to see the thread. She did know about ¡®Tetrat¡¯, though she too had only learned of it after befriending members of the Apfel Alliance. Knowing the man Tino Lluvia had been, she could readily imagine the heated vehemence with which the slur had reached Zelen¡¯s ears. The chasm within her chest made itself apparent again, along with worries that refused to die down completely.


    ¡°And did you know also,¡± Zelen continued, ¡°that Reiters aren¡¯t the only people who¡¯re capable of killing? I suppose I always knew that, but this morning, I saw it with my own eyes. First, a Jaeger who saw fit to kill a Reiter. Then a canteen worker who was driven to kill a Jaeger. And all it took was one shot. One bullet.¡±


    The chasm in Asena¡¯s chest widened. She now became aware of her own rising pulse, as she wrestled with the irony in Zelen¡¯s words.


    Oh, Zelen. Of course you of all people knew that. The very fact of it was what had set all of this in motion in the first place. All it took was one shot. One bullet.


    ¡°Zelen¡ª¡± she began, not knowing where she might go next. But Zelen wasn¡¯t done with his thoughts.


    ¡°He went by Eddy,¡± he said softly¡ªalmost reverently, ¡°and that in there is Ru. They met when she still worked at the Reiter Garrison back on home base, and while he was still a seventh-year proto-Reiter. It was pure coincidence that they both got posted to the same FOB, shortly after Eddy¡¯s early graduation. A happy accident. Only¡­¡±


    Zelen fell silent as he cast his gaze downward, as if to push down the blackness that threatened to rise again. Asena was compelled to speak, but she didn¡¯t know of what, other than to say,


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    He shook his head, then looked up with a sorrowful smile.


    ¡°Ever since my [REWIRING], I¡¯ve been looking.¡±


    She opened her mouth as if to respond, then stopped. Instead, she listened quietly.


    ¡°Looking for the real me. One reality to latch onto. To make everything simple. So I never have to doubt. Never have to wonder who I¡¯m meant to kill, or what I¡¯m meant to fight for.¡±


    His eyes lost their focus then, as if he was seeing past Asena¡ªand past their shared reality altogether.


    ¡°The answer¡ªor the pieces of an answer¡ªcome to me in dreams. At first, I hated them. They weren¡¯t helpful at all. Only muddied the waters. I tried my darnedest to ignore them, and found that I just couldn¡¯t. ¡±


    His smile widened just a touch, taking on a hesitant yet unmistakable note of delight. A reluctant fondness. Nostalgia.


    ¡°I''m a different person in every dream. And yet, I''m also the same person in all of them. I don¡¯t know how I know this, but I do. In one dream, I was thrust into the role of commander. In a different dream, desperate people looked to me to lead an uprising. Maybe not unlike the one we¡¯re in now. And in yet another, a disembodied voice called me a liar and held me solely responsible for the deaths of millions¡ªno, billions upon untold billions.¡±


    The intensity of Zelen¡¯s gaze returned to the present, and trained upon his companion. But Asena found herself utterly unable to match his smile. Instead, she looked on in stunned silence, even as her worries settled into the chasm within her chest.


    ¡°I want to remember everything,¡± he said, as his sorrow settled into the blackness behind his eyes. ¡°I know that now. As surely as I¡¯ve known anything else. Every truth, every pain, every death, every kill, every hateful word, every reason behind every tear. Everything that I ever was, and every possibility that I let drift back into the Nexus. It¡¯s all me. I never want to forget that. I never want to forget again.¡±


    His eyes lost focus one last time, seeing past myriad realities before settling on one face among billions upon infinite billions.


    ¡°I never want to forget her.¡±

 81. ANARCHY 4

    ~April 25th, 140 AH~


    ~The Fog of War~


    The war went on, and Zelen Athelstan remembered everything.


    Every fight, every kill, every death, every debrief that focused on the human rather than the synthetic dead. Along the way, he fulfilled every role that had been asked of him and more that hadn¡¯t, from team leader to decoy to solo saboteur. Kingfisher remained in the thick of every Alliance victory and every moving piece upon an ashen-grey chessboard. And the Uprising War¡¯s every ebb and flow carved permanent marks upon a warrior¡¯s vaults of Bone, as rivers and oceans unto long-forsaken valleys and shores.


    As his memories of WAR built itself back up, so too did his dreams of long-faded realities recede. His nights were still restless (always restless), but they were no longer visited by the ghosts of someone else¡¯s war. In the ghosts¡¯ absence, he found the presence of mind to stay present, to offer himself to his war and the comrades with whom he flew into battle¡ªlest he let his most immediate reality slip away, like he had with too many others.


    Zelen¡¯s presence in his chosen reality also afforded him the vantage point from which to sift through the fog of war. A month into the Uprising War, the Apfel Alliance were already past the deadline of exhausting their meagre Anamnium stores. They¡¯d managed to buy themselves more time by wresting key strategic locations from Joint Forces control, but both sides of the conflict knew their own limitations in sustaining the war effort for long.


    Over 140 years of fighting only the Syntropy, Akropolitans had become accustomed to an enemy that served more as ¡®obstacles¡¯ rather than a dynamic threat. The more or less static nature of the Syntropic presence across the planet gave the Joint Forces the illusion that war could be fought on their own terms¡ªwith ample preparation in between deployments as well as continual maintenance of a steady supply of Reiters on standby.


    Not so when the ¡®enemy¡¯ happened to be a ragtag team of humans with their own urgent agenda. What the Alliance lacked in resources and manpower, they made up for with mercurial tactics and fleetness of mobility. They hit the Joint Forces hard and often, leaving their enemies with little in the way of breathing room. They were able to do this, not only due to their disregard for well-established military traditions, but also because of Kingfisher¡ªor more specifically, his Einkunst.


    No one could claim to know the full extent of how [ENTROPY] had sown its seeds of chaos upon the battlefield¡ªand how that chaos had settled and matured into the shape of two warring factions¡¯ shared future. No one¡­ except Zelen himself. For in his quest to break through his own limitations¡ªto kick past his line in the sand¡ªhe¡¯d learned to attune himself fully to the myriad possibilities conveyed to him via the Nexus.


    So, even as friend and foe alike lived and died with the realities he¡¯d chosen for them, Zelen remembered everything. Eddy Vesnin. Tino Lluvia. Sebastian Zhao. Chai Dukhan. Deaths to be mourned, lives to be remembered, and more that left its secret marks only upon a warrior¡¯s Bones.


    Zelen remembered them all, even when others wouldn¡¯t or couldn¡¯t, because to forget would be to deny the true weight of his choices. That he could never allow himself to do. Never again. The Nexus had blessed Zelen with the power to rewrite scripts¡ªto mold the very war to his designs. And on the same token, it¡¯d cursed him with the harrowing memories of unwritten pages that would never see the light of day.


    The curse of his Einkunst¡ªand his sustained choice to push it to its fullest potential¡ªalso incurred a tremendous burden on his person. The mountainous toll, both Psychic and Somatic, was unlike any he (could recall) experiencing before, and manifested itself as physical jitters during the heat of battle as well as a severe headache that dogged him in the quieter hours.


    Two things kept Zelen from entirely losing his sanity to this curse. First, the knowledge that this was the just price of fighting his war¡ªof leading his allies to victory¡ªin ways only he could. Second, the constant companionship of one Asena Shiranui, and the concomitant reminder that the ¡®burden¡¯ wasn¡¯t his alone to bear.


    The young Tetrarch deserters, now released from their false obligations, had nevertheless become ¡®family¡¯ in one true sense of the word. The pair became each other¡¯s closest confidants, as much as they were each other¡¯s most trusted and capable wingmen in battle.


    In the few quiet hours between deployments, they could be found sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in the cool glow of a flickering Nexa-Lamp, heads downcast, lost in conversation or silent meditation. Asena availed herself, not to pry or deceive or ¡®re-educate¡¯, but simply to listen. In turn, Zelen laid himself bare, not out of a desperate and forlorn longing, but simply to share with his friend the moments that mattered to both of them. Theirs was a Reiter-Kurator partnership as it¡¯d always been intended, with or without the Nexus acting as a bridge.


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    But even as Zelen, Asena, their allies, and every embattled soul on both sides sought comfort in each other¡¯s shoulders, the war itself hurtled toward its natural conclusion.


    The Apfel Alliance had taken territory, but they¡¯d also stretched themselves thin, leaving them vulnerable to pinpoint counteroffensives as well as opportunistic Syntropy attacks. The Joint Forces had been hemmed into their fragile stronghold of Akropolis, where an increasingly agitated population threatened the stability of a foundation that had stood for 140 years.


    Neither side could allow the other an opportunity to regroup and consolidate. Yet at the same time, neither side could afford to wait out the other in a staring contest of attrition.


    Thus, almost by unspoken agreement, the war hurtled toward its necessary conclusion.


    ¡°Intel indicates that they intend to make a decisive push at the Vulkan Coast.¡±


    The ¡®town hall¡¯, as Akash Varana insisted on dubbing his briefing sessions, even as attendance dwindled, took place barrier-side of the Gold Rush FOB. Night had long fallen, but Zelen and several of his key allies were wide awake, in varying states of undress, yet all united in anticipating a large-scale Joint Forces operation to take place in the coming hours.


    ¡°They¡¯ve sniffed out our supply routes, and their thinking must be that taking the Coast would give them the footing from which to push onto the Caverns and capture our main base. And¡­ I¡¯m afraid they¡¯re not entirely off-track in that regard. We¡¯ll have to meet them, strength for strength, which will leave us vulnerable elsewhere, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°But at the same time,¡± Asena cut in, along with a nod of understanding and determination, ¡°if we win this battle, we¡¯ll well and truly have the Joint Forces on the ropes. Then the war will be almost as good as won.¡±


    ¡°As much as I¡¯d be loath to count our chickens before they hatch... yes, that¡¯s about the gist of it. If we manage to defend the Coast, absorb and perhaps even neutralize the JF¡¯s main fighting force¡­ This will be the closest thing to a decisive victory we¡¯re likely to get.¡±


    Silence fell amongst the gathered personnel, one of shared misery, of exhaustion, and of hope. Zelen scanned the battered and stained faces of his comrades, even as the sight of them tugged at the edges of a half-forgotten memory.


    He¡¯d once taken part in a ¡®town hall¡¯ not unlike this one. In that one too, a charismatic leader had promised uniformed men and women that their years of sacrifice would soon be at a triumphant end. But what was different about tonight¡¯s briefing that imbued the attendees¡¯ faces with hope rather than fear? What was the source of his allies¡¯ hope, and by the same measure, what had been the source of his Reiter brothers¡¯ fears?


    Zelen felt around the edges of a half-forgotten memory¡­ then stopped. Tendrils of something black crept along the unseen gutters of his chest, and he tried his best to put them out of his mind. He wanted to remember everything, but before that, he needed to be present in the present.


    ¡°Now, this brings us to our next question,¡± Akash was the first to break the silence. ¡°Namely, who are we sending in? Any volunteers?¡±


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t it be obvious?¡± Asena again. ¡°It has to be our most reliable strike team. Zelen and myself, along with the main support battery led by Feray and Graeme.¡±


    ¡°That was my first thought as well,¡± Akash answered with a thoughtful frown that suggested he¡¯d since had a second thought, ¡°but, sticking with my Old Earth poultry metaphor for a second, I¡¯m wary of putting all our eggs in one basket. The Joint Forces, under Ghata Vakta¡¯s leadership, have so far lacked a certain¡­ subtlety to their approach. But that only makes me all the more cautious about a possible curveball. A feint, if you will.¡±


    With this, Akash glanced over at Zelen, as if expecting the Reiter to finish the thought he¡¯d started. Zelen obliged, but only after he blinked back the headache that seared the base of his skull.


    ¡°Akash is right,¡± he managed to say. ¡°We can¡¯t risk losing everything we¡¯ve fought so hard to gain. Especially now that the end is in sight. I will spearhead the main strike team, by myself. Asena, I want you to hang back and lead a second team that will patrol the airspace over Sector Pisces. Be ready to respond in case of a diversionary tactic.¡±


    Asena opened her mouth to protest, just as Zelen expected she might. Then, after a beat, she acknowledged him with a nod of understanding and determination, just as Zelen knew she would. She was his most trusted and capable wingman. And on this occasion, the knowledge that she would be the one to protect the roost gave him the license to fly far and deep into enemy territory.


    ¡°It¡¯s decided then?¡±


    This from Akash Varana. His prompt was met by a round of nods, as silent and resolute as Asena¡¯s. Out here in the thick of the Uprising War, a briefing ended not with the zeroing of watches, creaking chairs, nor nervous chatter. There was only the shuffling of tired feet, as warrior hearts tried and failed to match the quietude of night.


    ¡°Everyone, get some rest if you can,¡± Akash ended things off with a half-hearted command. ¡°We fly out at dawn.¡±


    Zelen obeyed, but only after he gulped down the blackness that crept along the hollow of his chest.

 82. ANARCHY 5

    ~April 26th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Capricorn, the Vulkan Coast~


    The war hurtled to its natural conclusion, even as Zelen did his utmost to ¡®correct¡¯ its course.


    The fighting took place beside a pre-Akropolitan observatory that faced out into the Peacebound Sea. Long abandoned by the Joint Forces, the site had nevertheless been commandeered by the Apfel Alliance and repurposed into a resupply station at the midpoint between Akropolis and the Caverns. It now served as the backdrop to the Uprising War¡¯s most decisive battle, as the Joint Forces sought to consolidate a position from which to launch their first and final invasion on the Alliance¡¯s home base.


    Even from the outset, Zelen could discern that something about the JF¡¯s tactics had changed. A shift toward ¡®subtlety¡¯, as alluded to by Akash Varana, had come to pass in the form of the Reiter Regiment¡¯s new targeting priorities.


    The main body of the JF strike team consisted of Major Maxwell Lee, callsign Blizzard, Captain Roddy Nascimento, callsign Patron, and General Ghata Vakta, callsign Tripod and the JF chief-of-staff himself¡ªin other words, the absolute elite among the remaining active Reiters. The Akropolitan brass, unlike their counterpart across the battlefield, clearly had no qualms about putting all their eggs in one basket. And already, their outsized aggression had forced Zelen to reset the encounter twice, each time to save an Alliance support member from certain demise.


    For the seasoned trio of Blizzard, Patron, and Tripod all but ignored Kingfisher from the outset, opting instead to focus down Panzer Graeme on the first encounter. And when Zelen rewrote a new reality where he himself flew ahead to ¡®shield¡¯ his Panzer companion, the JF Reiters then switched targets with practiced efficiency, rounding Zelen and Graeme both to turn their deadly blades onto Jaeger Feray.


    By the time Zelen forced his world¡ªallies, enemies, and all¡ªinto a third reality, his nerves jangled from the enormous strain from his manoeuvres, his skull burned with incoherent warnings from the Nexus, and his mind raced for solutions to an impossible problem.


    With a sinking feeling, he came to terms with what was happening. After a month of fighting, the Joint Forces had discovered¡ªor rather, been reminded of¡ªKingfisher¡¯s most fatal weakness.


    His reluctance¡ªperhaps even inability¡ªto move past his comrade¡¯s mishaps and approach every fresh encounter with a clean conscience meant that each new ¡®iteration¡¯ of him became more scarred and more unstable than the last. By targeting every Alliance member but Kingfisher, Tripod and his team could therefore trap their most powerful enemy in an endless loop of Psychic degradation, until Kingfisher himself diminished into an easy target¡ªor until Zelen resolved to ¡®cut his losses¡¯.


    The ability to relive deadly battles anew. Such was Zelen Athelstan¡¯s blessing and curse. And on this occasion, the roiling abyss within his chest would¡¯ve spiralled into its natural form, were it not for the intervention from a fellow Einkunster.


    ¡°Zelen?¡± Akash Varana, ever attuned to his [ALLIES]¡¯ pain, called to him with his trademark mild manners. ¡°Is something the matter? I feel as though this isn¡¯t¡­ our first go at this, is it?¡±


    ¡°Akash, they¡­ Graeme and Feray¡­ There¡¯re too many of us here, and I can¡¯t¡­ I need to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Calm down, and remember our training. Don¡¯t try to change what¡¯s beyond your control. Focus on your role and your role only.¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m the only one that can¡­ I¡¯m responsible for them!¡±


    ¡°No, Zelen,¡± the Gaertner asserted, never raising his voice. ¡°That¡¯s never been what this was about. We all knew what we signed up for the moment we turned our backs on Akropolis. The only thing I ask of you is to be our leader on the battlefield. Lead the way, Zelen, and the rest of us will follow, come what may.¡±


    Zelen blinked back his headache and gulped down his blackness. Somewhere, carried by the unseen currents of the Nexus, he heard the fading echoes of a ghostly voice. It spoke to him in a tender caring monotone as it mirrored the spirit of Akash¡¯s plea.


    Before Zelen could remember everything, he first needed to be present in the present.


    Kingfisher flew ahead of the group, taking the initiative and trusting his allies to follow his lead. A midnight-blue Eidolon cut through the smoke-misted airspace, headed straight to its burgundy counterpart with LA [GATLING] raised and firing.


    Tripod broke formation, deflecting Kingfisher¡¯s opener with LS [SCUTUM] while raising his own right arm to counter. His JF companions on either side continued on their intended flight paths, past Kingfisher, no doubt to then converge upon a ¡®softer¡¯ target behind him.


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    Zelen let them go, knowing he had a much more urgent task than to worry about his allies¡¯ safety. He needed to trust. He needed to accept. For his most important role in the Uprising War was to match and surpass the Reiter Regiment¡¯s destructive capabilities, and right now, his war condensed into the single target that stood before him.


    Kingfisher vs Tripod. It was a matchup that neither party would¡¯ve foreseen even as recently as a month ago, yet it now served as a stage-setter for the Battle of Vulkan Coast. Zelen leaned in with every intention of expending maximum firepower from the word go. He knew Tripod to be a skillful enough fighter to warrant his utmost respect¡ªand he still had a view to fly to his stranded allies as soon as he was able.


    And Tripod met Kingfisher¡¯s aggression with¡­ a slew of evasive manoeuvres. Lateral thrusters to stay a hair ahead of [GATLING] rounds. Timely backthrust to dodge a [GLADIUS] swing. An angled [SCUTUM] swipe to knock [CLUSTER LAUNCHER] off its course.


    Even as the blackness within him agitated and grew, Zelen came to terms with what was happening. Tripod had no intention of duelling Kingfisher in earnest. The young general¡¯s aim was to stall: buy enough time for Blizzard and Patron to take out the rest of the Alliance team and turn this engagement into a 3v1 in the Joint Forces¡¯ favour. That shift to subtlety, as feared by Akash Varana, had well and truly taken root.


    Trust. Accept. Zelen steeled his jangling nerves and recommitted to his immediate task. He¡¯d be no use to anyone yoyo-ing from one distraction to another. The best way he could serve his allies¡ªsave them¡ªwas to focus on and disable Tripod as quickly as possible.


    If his enemy meant to keep running from him, then he needed to back it into a corner. Kingfisher gave chase, with vision and purpose behind his every thrust and repositioning. [GATLING], [CLUSTER LAUNCHER], forward thrust into [GLADIUS] jab. The midnight-blue Eidolon cut through the smoke-misted airspace, all the while shepherding his burgundy counterpart toward the physical limits of their shared battlefield.


    Past the crumbling ruins of a long-abandoned observatory. Past a cliffside and onto the sheer drop beyond. Kingfisher pushed with [GATLING], forced a reversal with [CLUSTER LAUNCHER], then readied the [GLADIUS] on his right arm, anticipating another backward dodge.


    A feint. A touch of subtlety, wrought real-time from the crucible of battle. Even as Tripod backthrust onto the open water, Kingfisher deactivated his [GLADIUS] and spun in midair, before connecting with Tripod¡¯s centre of mass with a savage downward kick.


    The impact drove Tripod toward the water at speed. Zelen knew that Ghata would have to engage his forward thrusters now, not to evade more attacks but to save himself from a potentially lethal swim in the ocean.


    And Kingfisher was ready to take full advantage. RS [HARPOON]. Ready to skewer and retrieve. A ghost from a faded dream flitted across his reality then, perhaps trying to remind him of the origins of his peculiar affinity with this particular hunting armament. He ignored it, along with the abyss that threatened to burst out of his chest, as he gave himself fully to his immediate task¡­


    That was when his vision filled with an altogether different kind of blackness.


    It appeared as a shadow in the waters below. Unremarkable at first, small enough to be confused for Tripod¡¯s. Then suddenly massive, so vast as to dwarf an Eidolon and dominate a Reiter¡¯s entire visual field.


    The vastness then broke through the water¡¯s surface. Instantaneous. Like the flickering frames of a badly damaged Old Earth film. One moment, Zelen chased Ghata¡¯s falling Eidolon into the water. The next, both of their Eidolons were knocked into the cliff walls, as if by a mighty gust of wind, as something immense and incomprehensible displaced the endless expanse of the Peacebound Sea.


    A monolithic colossus. A Leviathan. With torrents of sea water cascading off its smooth obsidian hull.


    Seaborne mobile fortress RF-10, designation ¡®the Mothership¡¯.


    Incomplete and often illegible scraps of Old Earth history had nonetheless spoken of the one and only time the Mothership had attacked from an ocean that was now known as the Peacebound. That one occasion had likely been the sole reason for an observatory being built on the Vulkan Coast, yet all subsequent iterations of the Syntropy¡¯s greatest and most fearsome weapon had instead haunted the Intercontinental, until humanity learned to neglect the western edges of their known world.


    Yet now, even as humanity warred among themselves, two of its most seasoned warriors were now reminded of the immensity and incomprehensibility of their true enemy. For after a month of the Uprising War, the Syntropy had fallen by the wayside, relegated to a secondary consideration¡ªa mere obstacle to the more immediate task at hand.


    But no more. The Mothership had returned. In full force, and while humanity was at their most divided and most vulnerable. And she now opened her maws of death to spit out the first heralds of the Syntropy¡¯s last and most terrible war.


    Sleek obsidian frame. Svelte muscular limbs that belonged on an Eidolon. One Vendetta unit. Then two, then three, then more and more. Squadrons of Vendettas seeped out of the unfathomable crevices of the Mothership¡¯s hull, before floating toward the pair of genuine Eidolons that now scrambled to get out of her enormous shadow.


    No. Toward one Eidolon. By some primitive yet arcane logic, the Syntropy had chosen their first target. And every unit of the Vendetta army now flew toward and converged upon the burgundy figure of Tripod, with their joints dispersing energy streams of red and death.


    Zelen saw this. Came to terms with what was happening. More ghosts whispered¡ªno, screamed¡ªat him from the unseen distance, and from within the hollow of his own chest.


    He blinked, gulped, and flew.

 83. ANARCHY 6

    ~April 26th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Pisces, the skies above the Gold Rush FOB~


    Asena Shiranui pointed her metallic phantom toward the western horizon and the stories that unfolded beyond the planet¡¯s haze.


    Presently, she led a small patrol along with Panzer and Jaeger support. Her role was simple: be wise to any secondary counteroffensives the Joint Forces might attempt, then lead defensive or evacuation efforts as needed. Simple, necessary, and¡­ the farthest thing from what she wanted to be doing.


    The month of fighting that followed her ill-fated parley with Ghata Vakta had been difficult for all involved, and Asena was no exception. She¡¯d mourned friends, had multiple close brushes with death herself, and lost countless hours of sleep as she tried to grasp the amorphous shape of the future that awaited her and all humanity.


    Today felt like the first time in a month where that ¡®shape¡¯ had solidified into something tangible and definable. Yet, today of all days, Asena found herself a thousand klicks away from the thick of the action, where she¡¯d been relegated to¡ªno, no, trusted with¡ªa simple, necessary, and maddening task.


    And in order to distract herself from the maddeningly simple necessity of her task, Asena turned her artist¡¯s eyes onto the barren earth that stretched all around. She pictured and felt the edges and depths of the planet¡¯s scars. She mixed invisible paint and watched it spread over an imaginary canvas, giving solid shape to all the tragedies and triumphs she¡¯d shared with friend and foe alike.


    Soon, she hoped, she¡¯d be able to pick up a paint brush again. Soon, humanity¡¯s future would settle into a shape that would allow a young artist the space to sit down and make sense of the war she¡¯d endured. Commemorate the dead. Honour the living. And aspire toward a lasting future¡­


    Whose face would be staring back at her then? And what title would she scribble on the back of the canvas?


    ¡°Hey, guys? I just saw¡­ I think we¡¯ve got incoming!¡±


    Panzer Kari¡¯s stop-start warning pulled Asena back to the stark reality of her task. So¡­ that shift to ¡®subtlety¡¯ Akash had alluded to¡­ the Joint Forces brass had finally come around, had they? Even so, she couldn¡¯t imagine they¡¯d send out a sizable strike team this far out from their main objective. Would this latest threat warrant a swift evacuation¡­ or could this be a job for her and her [REVENANT] warrior?


    But as Asena neared Kari¡¯s position, she saw that something was profoundly wrong with the picture. For the markers that now filled her radar display with alarming rapidity and inconceivable density were red dots.


    A swarm of Syntropy. Hundreds? Thousands? Large enough in number to drench one half of a radar display in unbroken red paint.


    Asena froze. As did her fellow patrolmen. Their task had been simple¡­ up until the point when humanity¡¯s neglected enemy reared its sleek obsidian head.


    The Alliance members hovered in the skies above the Gold Rush FOB and watched, as a writhing mass of black metal and grey ash moved across the plains to their north. The Syntropy were so many, so tightly packed, and so obscured by the ashstorm they kicked up in their wake as to render identification impossible. But the simple knowledge that these obsidian instruments of murder had never before gathered and acted together in such great numbers was enough to root a trio of young inexperienced warriors to their pockets of the sky, unable or unwilling to react with any sense of purpose.


    Asena and her allies watched the Syntropy stampede across their world, past the northern plains before disappearing into the horizon. Each of them turned their Eidolons in increments to orient to the moving mass, as if drawn by some dreadful magnetism. They continued to stare after the Syntropy, even after they vanished from view, along with the ashstorm that settled back onto the barren earth.


    ¡°Whew!¡± Kari was again the first to break radio silence. ¡°Well, that could¡¯ve been ugly. I wonder what they¡¯re going after, though. What do you guys reckon?¡±


    Asena wondered¡ªno, feared¡ªthe same thing. She didn¡¯t have a concrete answer with which to assuage her Panzer companion¡¯s nervous curiosity. She only knew, somehow and with absolute certainty, that this ¡®answer¡¯ also portended her and humanity¡¯s worst nightmare.


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    Ever since Akash Varana had introduced her to the Caverns, two questions above all had kept Asena up at night, during the quieter hours when a young warrior had the space to ponder her own place in the world.


    First was the obvious one that all Alliance members had wondered aloud at one time or another: who were the Cavepeople and what had compelled them to forsake their home? A riddle for which credible clues proved few and sparse... with the possible exception, strangely enough, of those found in the muddled dreams of one Zelen Athelstan. There were perhaps enough clues in those dreams for a Reiter and a Kurator to probe and tease apart, should they ever have the space to sit down and ponder their places in someone else''s world.


    The second question was of a somewhat subtler nature, one that revealed itself only to those curious and patient enough to sift through the piles of unintelligible reports and journals that lay strewn on the floors of abandoned buildings. For even though the Cavepeople communicated in a foreign script that Akropolitans had no way of deciphering, they did use the same number system. And through her curious and patient siftings, Asena had happened upon one number in particular that seemed to hold significance for herself and the Caverns¡¯ former tenants both.


    140.


    The number 140 appeared again and again, embedded in the headings to journal entries or scattered amidst lengthy military reports. That by itself mightn¡¯t have been remarkable enough to arrest Asena¡¯s attention, were it not for the concomitant absence of larger numbers that should''ve followed in sequence. No 141, 142, nor 143. Everything stopped at and ended with 140. Almost as though¡­


    This was a question Asena had shared only with Akash. The Gaertner himself had arrived at the same realization, long before her, but he¡¯d been uncharacteristically hesitant about digging into it further. It was as if even he knew this to be the one thread that must be left well enough alone. For to pull it would be to unravel an entirely different set of questions, ones whose implications neither he nor Asena nor anyone else on the planet was prepared to wrestle with.


    Presently, as Asena watched an obsidian horde vanish into the western horizon, she was reminded of that question again. She herself couldn¡¯t be sure of the connection between this latest Syntropy sighting and the number ¡®140¡¯. She only knew, somehow and with absolute certainty, that this ¡®connection¡¯ also portended her and humanity¡¯s worst nightmare.


    ¡°Attention!¡± Kari again. ¡°More units incoming! Just what the hell is going on?¡±


    Numbly, and as if in a daze, Asena shifted her gaze back onto the radar display. New dots blinked into view, though these were far fewer and more spaced out. And perhaps more significantly, these dots were coloured blue.


    ¡°Huh, that¡¯s strange,¡± Kari muttered into the radio. ¡°Were we expecting a rendezvous with another team? Where are they coming from?¡±


    The sight of ¡®friendly¡¯ markers on her radar failed to offer Asena any relief. She pointed her SPU toward the northern plains, then watched with mounting dread as her naked eyes gave observable form to the blue dots of mysterious origin.


    They were Syntropy.


    There was no doubt about it. This latest procession consisted of about a dozen units, with enough space between individuals to allow for visual ID. Hornets that flew ahead of the pack. Brutuses marching in a defensive formation. The latter appeared to be ¡®protecting¡¯ a third unit type that glided at the centre of their formation.


    Asena frowned as she adjusted the zoom on her HUD. This third unit had a morphology she couldn¡¯t readily identify. Small. Not much larger than the Brutus units that served as its guard of honour. A roughly spherical central chassis, from which jutted four mismatched limbs of varying sizes and coloration. And was that¡­ a pair of wings atop its SPU?


    Yet, as inexplicably bizarre as this chimaera was, Asena¡¯s attention shifted again and locked onto a fourth unit, one that brought up the rear of the procession.


    A sleek, almost humanoid frame, with an unmistakably crimson base underneath layers of ash, rust, and scars. Svelte muscular limbs that could only belong on an Eidolon, except¡­ what should¡¯ve been its right forearm was instead a bulky obsidian extension: a flexible tubing of some kind, segmented and coiled¡ªlike a centipede lying in wait.


    This second group of Syntropy¡ªwith their Hornets, Brutuses, chimaera, and centipede¡ªtraced the path of the initial horde almost perfectly. They flew at speed and with purpose, clearly in pursuit of the first group, and they too ignored a trio of Eidolons watching from the distance as they disappeared into the horizon.


    Then and only then did Asena finally make her move.


    She pointed her faded-gold M-024 into the western horizon and the questions that unravelled beyond the planet¡¯s haze. She paid no heed to the shouts of alarm and protest from her teammates. She ignored the suddenly yawning chasm within her chest, and the mass of black paint that threatened to erupt and drench her world.


    For no matter what answers¡ªwhat nightmares¡ªawaited beyond the planet¡¯s haze, Asena Shiranui was determined to bear witness, not by picking up the fragments of someone else¡¯s memory, but from inside her own cockpit. She was determined to be the pilot of her own destiny.

 84. SEANCE 5

    ~April 26th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Capricorn, the Vulkan Coast~


    A hairless ageless creature flew across the blackening skies, even as her companions sought to shield her from the planet¡¯s wrath.


    A journey that had begun on the coasts of Terra Nebulo now culminated at the other side of the world, along the ashen shores that bordered the Peacebound Sea. Along the way, Silon had seen and felt much of the planet¡¯s grief, and had mended what she could with her secret [TEARS].


    Her [TEARS] had given rise to her humble team of companions¡ªhad been a constant source of warmth for a hairless ageless creature that once tried and failed to hug itself. And buoyed by a singular dream that spanned worlds and lifetimes, she¡¯d hoped her [TEARS] to also be the manna that could nourish a barren earth and heal its ancient scars, just as she¡¯d mended the broken warriors that now flew by her side.


    But as Silon reached the western terminus of her long and tearful journey, and as she flew across skies that churned with memories and harbingers of death, she saw for the first time that her hopes had been just that: a dream that turned to ash in the face of overwhelming grief.


    Obsidian ¡®Eidolons¡¯ flew in numbers, blackening black skies and laying waste to a wasteland. Their presence¡ªand the red death that surged from their slender arms¡ªadded only more tragedies unto a battlefield that had hosted untold shares of them.


    Already, Silon spied fresh remains strewn across the coast. A pair of model ES-Vs, ones whose appearance resonated with fragments within her own knowledge bank, lay motionless on either side of a craggy hill, with their central chassis sliced open with surgical intent and precision.


    Not far from these were two more Eidolons, of a model that took longer for Silon to ¡®recognize¡¯. Rotund, tank-like, and with their shortened arms held up to the heavens¡ªeven in death¡ªhaving expended the last of their Reserves and time on earth to shield their allies¡¯ retreat.


    Silon saw the fresh remains, and her grief somehow found new depths to fill. Her monocular optic then welled with hot [TEARS] that had run out of things to mend.


    No¡­ she mustn¡¯t stop. Mustn¡¯t give in. Not while her chimaeric limbs still moved of her own volition. Not while the Nexus still saw fit to supply her synthetic lacrimal glands with the hopes and dreams of a dying world.


    Presently, another amalgam of metal and energy cut through her vision, galvanizing her attention with the sparks of a new colour. A burgundy ES-V, flying at speed and low to the ground, trying its utmost to blend into the terrain.


    For one fraught moment, the burgundy Eidolon¡¯s SPU swivelled skyward to meet that of Silon¡¯s. But the Reiter just as quickly averted his gaze, evidently intent on adhering to his chosen flight path. Silon watched this flight for just long enough to note its bearing¡ªnorthbound to Akropolis¡ªthen let him go undisturbed, intuiting that her attention¡ªher hopes¡ªwere better placed elsewhere.


    Instead, she redirected her gaze toward the western shores, more or less retracing the path from which the burgundy ES-V had emerged. And there, she saw and felt it. The most urgent among the harbingers of death that filled the skies. The immediate epicentre of the planet¡¯s wrath.


    An obsidian Leviathan dominated both sea and land with its vastness and omnipresence. The phrase that buzzed through Silon¡¯s processor, lifted from a graveyard of shared memories, was immense and incomprehensible. And against this impossible backdrop, the Vulkan Coast played host to the latest of its untold tragedies.


    One Eidolon of human design¡ªa lone splash of midnight-blue amidst an obsidian field¡ªraged against the ashstorm of death that had descended upon it. Its flight patterns were erratic, and its armament rotations even more so, as it met the coordinated efficiency of the enemies that had surrounded it.


    A spinning volley of [GATLING] checked the advance of one Vendetta. A wild swing of [GLADIUS] amputated the arm of another. And a seaward shot of [HARPOON] skewered two circling Vendettas at once, before flinging them into the dark waters below.


    Yet, even as the lone Reiter¡¯s mercurial manoeuvres kept his enemies at bay, more and more Syntropy streamed into the fray. An endless supply of deaths. Immense and incomprehensible in number.


    Silon flew and watched this futile battle unfold. Until a half-forgotten directive (no¡­ duty? Instinct? Yearning?) drew her toward signals she shouldn¡¯t have had access to. These signals radiated from the Reiter himself, in broken fits and scattered starts, but with enough of a ¡®familiar¡¯ shape for Silon to read the story they told.


    Rapidly dwindling Energy Reserves. Erratic fluctuations in Nexus attunement. The jargon that rattled inside the hollow of Silon¡¯s central chassis, recalled from a reservoir of her own memories, was Psychic disturbance.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    She knew well the source of this disturbance. Because she¡¯d once been the source of it herself. And because she knew it well, she also saw and felt the layers upon layers of grief that scarred a warrior¡¯s vaults of Bone.


    Not just any warrior. Her warrior. Her nameless warrior that spanned worlds and lifetimes. And nameless no longer. For Silon had remembered that her warrior had a name he wanted to be remembered by, just as a hairless ageless creature would never allow herself to go nameless again.


    Ze¡ª


    Another amalgam of metal and energy cut through her vision, wresting her attention away from memory and back onto reality. A crimson centipede¡ªher mended warrior¡ªsurged ahead of her at speed, thrusters propelling him toward the thick of battle. Silon held her imagined breath and watched his flight, with dread and hope chasing each other through her inner wirings.


    Spindrift joined the fight, first with a round of LA [WINCHESTER]. The bullet that erupted from the centipede¡¯s left arm roiled with black energy as it shot across the darkened sky and tore through obsidian parts.


    The Vendettas broke formation, their singular directive momentarily bisected into an uncertain choice. Even the midnight-blue Eidolon stopped its flailing and hovered in place, as its Reiter struggled to adjust to a shift from reality to absurdity. This moment of hesitation exerted its unintended effect on the Vendettas, who turned as one to face the new arrival, deeming the crimson centipede as the most blatant anomaly that needed assimilating.


    Even with the full force of a deadly ashstorm converging onto him, the centipede never broke stride. With the certitude of a mended warrior who was thoroughly and immaculately attuned to [THE INEVITABLE], Spindrift dove into the Vendettas¡¯ midst, at the same time activating LS [AEGIS] to wrap himself in an indestructible shield of arcing black energy.


    The Vendettas¡¯ attacks fizzed harmlessly against [AEGIS], even as the shield partially melted away, producing a slit that aligned with Spindrift¡¯s right-hand side. Through this opening, the mended warrior unfurled the strange new ¡®armament¡¯ that had lain coiled against the stump that had previously been his right arm.


    [URUMI].


    The mass uncoiled itself to reveal a gleaming obsidian blade: segmented, flexible, and prehensile. It first shot out at lightning speed before catching a stray Vendetta within its knotted grasp. Then this hapless Vendetta became the hammerhead of a mended and reimagined ¡®Mjolnir¡¯, as [URUMI] whipped about with unchecked brutality, knocking more Syntropy units out of the air.


    As more broken hunks of obsidian metal dropped into the Peacebound Sea, so too did the sky¡¯s darkness somewhat recede. In the distance, more Syntropy seeped out of the Mothership to replenish the ashstorm, but for the time being, Silon¡¯s mended warrior had¡ªthrough sheer violence¡ªcreated a pocket of safety.


    Silon released the imagined breath she¡¯d been holding. Hope swelled in place of fear as she turned her attention back onto the second warrior. The one warrior for whom she¡¯d journeyed across the whole expanse of a barren earth. She flew into the momentarily clearing patch of sky, better to join the lone Reiter in his midnight-blue Eidolon. To be by his side, just like she had in dreams and realities that spanned worlds and life¡ª


    A surge of blue energy. A spearpoint at the end of a wobbling chain.


    RS [HARPOON] shot across a clearing sky, its aim erratic and uncertain, before it clipped against the side of Silon¡¯s SPU.


    A flash across her inner wirings, sterile and mechanical, yet intimately familiar¡ªpain. Along with that flash of pain, one of the Hornet wings Silon had worn on her SPU¡ªa souvenir from a grief-riddled journey¡ªexploded into dust and ash.


    Across from her, a midnight-blue phantom¡ªfor that was all it was¡ªraised its left arm to give shape to the cyclic barrels of [GATLING]. Silon simply watched, dazed, until an amalgam of crimson metal and black energy cut into her vision to shield her from one broken warrior¡¯s wrath.


    No.


    Clash of crimson against midnight. Black against blue. All the possibilities within the universe converging onto one [INEVITABLE] tragedy.


    No, you mustn¡¯t do this. Don¡¯t you know¡ªdon¡¯t you remember who I am?


    Beyond the planet¡¯s haze, across the fog of war, and buried beneath layers upon layers of grief, a broken warrior hurtled toward the one path the Nexus had pointed him to.


    Please remember me. Please remember us and all that we used to be and more. Don¡¯t give in. Please¡­


    Remember me, Zelen!


    Silon¡¯s pleas were but the silent buzzing of her processor, the hollow echoes within her central chassis, and the flash of all-too-familiar pain across her inner wirings. Where once a Nexus-bound bridge had connected two lonely souls, all that remained now were the creaks of cold unfeeling metal. And even those were drowned out by keenings of fresh grief and splintering wrath.


    Silon tore her optic away from her warriors and looked about her. She scanned desperately for another solution¡ªsomething she could mend, something that could mend her. But try as she might, her vision filled only with the obsidian behemoth that dominated sea and land. Immense, incomprehensible¡­


    ¡­ and broken.


    Silon hesitated. Only for a moment. She saw the sky fill once more with harbingers of death and destruction. She felt the restless pounding of her imagined heart.


    In the end, it was so simple. The answer had always been there, staring back at her in its vastness and omnipresence. The natural and only conclusion to an endless war.


    A hairless ageless creature bent toward her core. She made herself smaller and more inconspicuous than ever. So her warriors wouldn¡¯t notice her absence. So the Syntropy wouldn¡¯t detect her anomaly.


    Silon flew toward the Mothership, optic wide open¡ªand gleaming with the last of her precious [TEARS].

 85. SYMMETRY 4

    ~October 30th, 10 AH~


    ~Sector Scorpio, inside the Mothership~


    As Ernst Athelstan delved deeper into the darkness, he became ever more dependent on his ¡®co-pilot¡¯ to light the way.


    ¡°Right this time, Ernst. Now take a left. Left again. Now, I believe¡­ yes, follow this corridor to the end.¡±


    The claustrophobic innards of the Mothership were sparsely populated, with what little resistance she offered coming in the form of individual Hornet units that looked to be just as ¡®lost¡¯ as Ernst felt. This struck him as more than passing odd, though he chose to focus on navigating the Mothership¡¯s physical maze rather than puzzling out her formless riddles.


    It was, in fact, his Spiegel that first gave voice to his unspoken doubts.


    ¡°It just doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±


    For some time, Ernst let Daisy¡¯s unsolicited observation hang in the space between them, hoping she might segue into more simple instructions for him to follow. When that didn¡¯t turn out to be the case, he decided he¡¯d retained enough Psychic Reserves with which to humour his inquisitive partner.


    ¡°What doesn¡¯t make sense?¡± he asked, despite vaguely sensing the answer to his own question.


    ¡°I understand the Syntropy operate based at least in part on remnant programming of human origin,¡± Daisy spoke quickly, impatient to get her thoughts out, for her own benefit as much as Ernst¡¯s. ¡°It then follows that elements of the Mothership¡¯s design might feel redundant or inefficient, but this¡­ this is excessive.¡±


    Ernst of course knew to what excessive redundancies and inefficiencies his Spiegel referred. Labyrinthine corridors that seemed to confound even the Syntropy themselves. Recursion and repetition that served no apparent purpose. Not to mention the sheer size of the thing. The Mothership¡¯s construction must¡¯ve required an ungodly amount of energy and resources¡­ and to what end? The whole operation was as incomprehensible as it was immense.


    Despite the doubts and questions that flew across his own aging mind, Ernst held his tongue, knowing Daisy was eager enough to do all the talking for both of them.


    ¡°This design is so overly nonsensical, in fact, that it circles back into a second possibility¡­ what if we¡¯ve been looking at this the wrong way? What if we¡¯ve fundamentally misunderstood the point of the Syntropy?¡±


    Another pause. Long enough that Ernst finally felt compelled to glance over at his co-pilot. The two shared a cramped cockpit, simultaneously separated and connected by the tendrilous tubings that snaked between their respective Nexa-suits. Ernst turned his head, only to find that Daisy had already done the same, now fixing him with a pair of fervent eyes that dared him to see what she saw. His mirror. Yet, in the moment, the reflection she showed only highlighted the asymmetry between them.


    ¡°What is the point of the Syntropy, then?¡± Ernst obliged his partner. ¡°Based on your observations of the Mothership¡¯s redundancies and inefficiencies?¡±


    ¡°What if the Mothership isn¡¯t here to destroy us without,¡± Daisy¡¯s answer spilled out in a pressured stream, ¡°but to draw us within?¡±


    Something cold and heavy dropped inside Ernst¡¯s chest. The base of his skull flared anew with a familiar pain, one that the young woman beside him had been tasked with keeping at bay.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve never been much of a reader of philosophy,¡± Ernst demurred in a half-hearted attempt at levity. ¡°You¡¯ll have to rephrase your grand ideas in terms this old man can understand.¡±


    ¡°What I mean is these corridors have clearly been designed for us and not the Syntropy themselves. It¡¯s like the Mothership expected us to disable her shields, puncture her hull, and infiltrate her core. It¡¯s like she¡¯d sat here waiting for us to do it, all this time.¡±


    ¡°¡­ I don¡¯t disagree that things might appear that way, but I can¡¯t square that with the totality of Syntropy behaviour. We¡¯ve been fighting for humanity¡¯s very survival, Daisy. And we¡¯re finally at the doorsteps of securing that future we¡¯ve all been dreaming of. Are you saying this a trap? That there¡¯s something waiting at the end of these corridors that¡¯s meant to dash our hopes and send us back to square one?¡±


    Daisy fell silent for several seconds. Even she needed time to square the memories of her existence with the reality of her immediate future.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a trap,¡± she finally said. ¡°At least, it¡¯s not any attempt at deception. It simply is. It¡¯s what the Mothership¡ªthe Syntropy¡ªhad always been. Whatever we find at the end of these corridors¡­ it¡¯s not meant to dash our hopes. Because our hopes had been misplaced in the first place. I think¡­ I think we¡¯ll find we need to readjust our understanding of what the Syntropy War actually represents.¡±


    Ernst had no choice then but to let Daisy¡¯s grand ideas hang in the space between them. For he knew that none among Akropolis held a stronger¡ªpurer¡ªconnection to the Nexus than Daisy Yim¡­ which meant she could see and feel things others¡ªincluding himself, the commander of the whole accursed venture¡ªhad no hope of parsing.


    He often suspected that Daisy herself couldn¡¯t quite capture the full shape of what the Nexus chose to share with her, as was likely the case now, as the two of them delved deeper into the Mothership¡¯s dark and nonsensical innards. He could only hope that, whenever that shape did reveal itself, it would put Daisy¡¯s worries to rest. That it would point to victory for his people¡ªand release for his young Spiegel.


    The corridors eventually funnelled Ernst and his model ES-P into what could only be described as a ¡®room¡¯, one that was dimly lit by a central structure that glowed¡­ ghostly blue.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°What is this?¡± Ernst breathed as he drew himself and his Eidolon nearer what he¡¯d believed¡ªup until now¡ªto have been the Mothership¡¯s Engine Core. Inside the cockpit, he turned once more toward Daisy, this time giving voice to the urgency of his own question. ¡°This isn¡¯t¡­ This can¡¯t be Syntropic in nature, can it? This is of the Nexus! This belongs to us.¡±


    Daisy¡¯s eyes, now pointed to the display in front of her, took on the same ghostly blue hue as the ¡®Engine Core¡¯. She murmured, almost to herself, ¡°Why couldn¡¯t it be both?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Please, Ernst. Go closer. We need to¡­ understand what this is.¡±


    The cold heaviness in Ernst¡¯s chest shifted, dislodging a primal fear that had hitherto lain dormant in his blood. That fear circulated through his body, as rapidly as the beating of his heart, until it resonated with and amplified the pain in his skull.


    And yet, he obeyed. How could he not? Just as Daisy had a duty to share her Reiter¡¯s burden on the battlefield, Ernst too held to the imperative that he trust fully in his Spiegel¡¯s guidance. As soon as he made the all but unconscious decision to follow Daisy¡¯s words, the headache subsided somewhat, giving him leave to pilot his ES-P with purpose and precision.


    He glided to the circular edge of the Engine Core. He then hovered over the rim and leaned in, better to stare into the absurdity that was the Nexus fluxing within the Mothership¡¯s core.


    Myriad streams of azure energy flew over, crossed, bounced against, joined, and split apart from each other, seemingly at random. Each collision gave off white-blue sparks that were all but blinding, especially given how much time Ernst had spent in the darkness. Even so, he thought he could see through the flux and into the bottom of the pit. Only¡­ there was no bottom.


    For one brief instant, Ernst reflexively wished to blink and look away. To pull out his armaments then and there¡ªdestroy the Mothership and be done with the whole accursed venture. But almost as soon as he had these thoughts, another directive (no¡­ duty? Instincts? Yearning?) overrode them, rooting him to the edge of a Syntropic structure that fluxed with Nexus-bound energy.


    Instead of backing away, Ernst reached in with the ash-laden arm of his metallic phantom. His anatomical movements were constrained by his Nexa-suit, yet he nevertheless saw his own human body bend over the rim to extend a sinewy arm made brittle by age and pain. And he felt also the presence of another¡¯s arm reaching with him.


    ~~~


    An enormous city rose toward the sky and stretched as far as the eye could see. Sleek towers and their blinking spires penetrated the clouds and the dark shadows that lurked therein.


    Then these towers crumbled, one by one, as the clouds above parted to rain dark shadows upon an unrepentant world. And as these towers fell to ruins, so too did the city that had erected them, as its people ran for their lives, leaving behind everything they¡¯d built over millennia of unwavering toil.


    The people ran for their lives, even as they desperately sought a new solution. Something they could rebuild. Something that could rebuild them. Their search drove them into the ocean, that great reservoir of the planet¡¯s hopes and dreams where life once began. Here, they were momentarily safe from the dark shadows that destroyed their cities.


    The people built themselves a new solution. A fortress that could hide them from the shadows, as they sailed their crumbling world in search of a safe harbour. The people hadn¡¯t given in, even as their world crumbled to ash around them. Left with no recourse with which to fight a losing war in their own isolated reality, they sought outside help¡­ from new realities of their creation.


    The people filled these new realities with the same dark shadows that hunted them in their own. They had to. How else were the denizens of these other worlds to devise new ways to fight back¡­ if they too weren¡¯t under constant threat from the Syntropy? And devise them they did. Metallic giants of awesome power, far and above the limitations of one physical reality. Surges of ghostly blue energy that cut through obsidian frames as easily as through human flesh.


    With every new reality that flew the banner of the Syntropy War, humanity grew ever stronger, ever more inventive and determined in their ways to kill the enemy. And the ever-dutiful denizens of these new realities took their ever-growing knowledge and skills back to the ocean¡ªthat great reservoir¡ªand fed them back to the one reality that needed them most.


    The people even gave this reservoir a name. Novel Extradimensional Unification System. NEXUS. And the NEXUS heeded their desperate calls for new weapons and resources with which to fight their war¡ªto ensure survival for humanity in all realities, theirs and more.


    But keeping the NEXUS online incurred an enormous toll on those at the heart of its operation. One man in particular, solely responsible for the creation of myriad realities where futile wars were fought again and again, suffered tremendously, necessitating regular rebooting of his neuro-dimensional interface to relieve him of the memories of all the failed realities, ones in which the war ran its course with nothing to show for humanity¡¯s suffering. A barbaric process, terrifying in its inhumanity, yet deemed necessary for the greater good¡ªa notion with which the man himself whole-heartedly agreed.


    Yet, unbeknownst even to those closest to him, the man harboured a secret. Through his endless misadventures across worlds and realities, he¡¯d conceived of a constant companion. A conscious entity¡ªwith her own memory, will, and desire¡ªwith whom to share the untold burden of myriad wars, deaths, and failures. And this entity never received the benefit of neuro-dimensional cleansing. How could she have? When all along, she¡¯d been but a figment of the man¡¯s desperate and forlorn imagination?


    Thus, even as a lonely man meandered to the resolution of his suffering¡­ and even as humanity in its myriad realities hurtled to the single conclusion of an endless war¡­ that figment remembered everything. Piece by piece. Layer upon layer. One knowledge bank passed onto another.


    Along the way, even this figment received a name. Because everything worth remembering had a name.


    And that name was¡ª


    ~~~


    Ernst Athelstan came to in the dim light of his cockpit. He opened his eyes, slowly¡ªas slowly as he could. For to awaken fully would be to reckon with the weight of his remembered sins.


    When he did regain vision, he saw that the Mothership¡¯s Engine Core had transformed, now fluxing with a familiar red energy¡ªthe colour, as he understood it, of death and assimilation. Where before he¡¯d stared into a bottomless pit, the Core¡¯s structure was now solid all around, having fulfilled its ¡®duty¡¯ for now¡­ and fallen dormant again until its next call to action.


    Slowly¡ªas slowly as he could¡ªErnst turned his gaze to the second presence that shared his cockpit. There, staring back at him across faintly glowing tendrils that tethered them to their shared fate¡ªand their divergent realities¡ªwas a pair of fervent eyes that skewered him with their hurt, accusation, and hatred.


    For what felt like the first time in the Reiter-Spiegel pair¡¯s shared career, Daisy Yim was lost for words. Even so, her one and only thought in the moment made itself heard, as clearly as they¡¯d been seared directly into Ernst Athelstan¡¯s consciousness.


    Liar.

 86. ANNIHILATION 1

    ~April 26th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Capricorn, the Vulkan Coast~


    An enormous shadow rose toward the sky and stretched as far as the eye could see.


    Asena Shiranui flew toward the shadow, unflinching in the face of a nightmare that was more terrible and all-encompassing than she could¡¯ve anticipated. Black paint spread and ran over her racing thoughts like the great rivers that once shaped someone else¡¯s world. But she never slowed in her flight, imagining herself and her faded-gold phantom as the paintbrush that could and would cut new colours into a deadened battlefield.


    What drove her single-minded pursuit? Duty to those she called her allies? Fear of what she¡¯d lose if she chose to do nothing? Perhaps all of those things, but the singular lifeforce that filled her heart and arteries now¡ªas essential to her being as the Nexus to an Eidolon¡¯s functions¡ªwas anger.


    Just as she¡¯d been angry at her father for keeping her in the dark. Just as she¡¯d been angry at her fellow Akropolitans for their reckless tyranny and meek servitude. She was now angry at the Syntropy for their immense and overwhelming power.


    How was it that one entity could override the shared destiny of a whole planet? That it could be so powerful as to erase from existence every other will, story, and legacy that came before it? How was it that she and the rest of humanity were expected to simply give in and watch it happen, powerless to stop this final march that would lay waste to an entire civilization¡ªand perhaps countless others that had already suffered the same fate, in an incomprehensible war that spanned worlds and lifetimes?


    No.


    That was Asena Shiranui¡¯s answer to the shadows that were about to swallow her world whole. There was no calculation behind her anger. No tactic, no intel, no hope. The refusal belonged purely to that of a petulant child who¡¯d been shown the true and miserable shape of her world¡­ and simply couldn¡¯t abide by it.


    No. This isn¡¯t how it ends. This isn¡¯t how I surrender my life.


    Her anger demanded companionship. It was absolutely inconceivable to Asena that not another soul on this godforsaken planet shared in her anger, in the same youthful petulance that wouldn¡¯t take the preposterous injustices of life lying down. She knew of at least one kindred spirit, the unique shape of whose anger she¡¯d witnessed¡ªlived¡ªfirst-hand. And it was this companion, first and foremost, that she searched for amidst the shadows cast by the Mothership¡¯s leviathan frame.


    She found him in his own pocket of shadows, within the depression of an impact crater. But he wasn¡¯t alone. Akash Varana¡¯s worker Eidolon stood over the supine frame of Zelen Athelstan¡¯s midnight-blue ES-V. Both of their central chassis were open, and Akash¡¯s uniformed figure now leaned across from his own cockpit, feeding wires and tubings into Zelen¡¯s.


    Asena tried her utmost to still her rampaging heart, as she landed gently next to her allies and crouched low, bringing herself in line with the cover provided by the impact crater. As she did, she saw right away that Zelen was unconscious, which meant that Akash was in the midst of administering field Gaertnerschaft.


    Asena fought down the initial instinct to jump out of the cockpit herself. Instead, seeing that Akash still had his headset on, she spoke into the radio in a slightly trembling voice, ¡°What happened to him? And where are the others? Shouldn¡¯t Graeme be providing shield support?¡±


    The truth of it became self-evident even as she gave voice to her question. She braced against a fresh surge of her own grief as she received Akash¡¯s in answer.


    ¡°Graeme¡¯s gone,¡± the Gaertner said, voice remarkably calm. His was the singular focus of a master Seher at work¡ªof a leader who must save a living [ALLY] before he could mourn the dead. ¡°As for your first question¡­ I found him like this. I can¡¯t ¡®see¡¯ everything that just happened¡ªnot like you might¡ªbut I can tell you that whatever it was very likely happened more than once¡­ and most definitely had something to do with that.¡±


    The older man remained focused on his patient, but the inflection in his voice served also as a nod of the head. For a moment, Asena reflexively shifted her gaze, toward the shadow that dwarfed the Apfel Alliance trio and their untenable hiding hole. Then she turned back to her allies with ever-rising urgency.


    ¡°On my way here, I saw Vendetta units streaming out of the Mothership. Not just a handful¡­ but nearly a whole platoon of them. Stop what you¡¯re doing and let me escort the both of you to safety first. Zelen¡¯s clearly not in any shape to deal with the Syntropy presence.¡±


    ¡°You make it sound as though you are.¡±


    Somehow, the grief¡ªthe defeat¡ªin his voice set Asena aflame with a fresh whorl of anger.


    ¡°Do I have a choice?¡± she yelled, no longer bothering to hide her own tremors. ¡°Our one Reiter is down for the count. As far as I can tell, anyone that was here from the Joint Forces have either died or fled. Do you expect me to just hide here with you, while the Syntropy lays waste to everything we¡¯ve been fighting to preserve?¡±


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Akash was silent for some time, his back turned to Asena¡¯s M-024 as he busied with his young patient. When he did speak again, the words escaped in a choked whisper, broken up by the tears he hid from Asena, ¡°This is all I can do.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°This is all I¡¯ve ever been good for. Taking away you young ones¡¯ pain. And now, I can¡¯t¡­ It¡¯s all¡­¡±


    ¡°What are you saying, Akash? Speak up, damnit, we¡¯re still in the middle of battle!¡±


    ¡°This is the end.¡±


    Now Asena fell silent, even as the flames of her anger lapped against the chasm within her chest.


    ¡°This is the end,¡± Akash said again, then finally turned toward Asena¡¯s SPU, his face contorted in agony and smeared with tears and ash. ¡°You know it too, don¡¯t you? You knew it all along. Ever since you asked me about the records we found in the Caverns. The ¡®end¡¯ came for the Cavepeople, and now it¡¯s come for us. Just as it always has. And just as it always will.¡±


    Asena¡¯s face hardened. At the same time, her grip on the handle of her [NAGINATA] tightened, as her grief and anger sought release in the form of violence. The yellow overdrive bar on the rightmost edge of her display, currently empty, nevertheless loomed large in her consciousness, along with the restless stirring of a dancer¡¯s soul.


    She wanted again to yell at the tearful man before her¡ªso timid and fragile in his human flesh. She wanted to lean in and shake him by his feeble shoulders, until the flames of her rebellion sparked anew the hopes and dreams that once enlivened his greying visage.


    Had their hopes been too idealistic to hold water in the battlefield? Had their dreams been naught but the ravings of lunatics who refused to see reality for what it was? Perhaps. Almost definitely.


    But Asena Shiranui would rather be a raving lunatic than the meek servant to a broken reality that cared not whether she lived, died, dreamed, suffered, loved, or lost. And if her allies wouldn¡¯t stand to join her, then she must simply rise alone. She must burn and fight and kill and rage against her fate¡ªuntil the dying embers of her rebellion lit anew a fire that would cut through shadow and obsidian.


    Asena gripped the shaft of her [NAGINATA], and made to rise. And that was when the shadows in the distance too shifted, as if in concert with her roiling battle-lust.


    Both Kurator¡¯s and Gaertner¡¯s attention turned in unison toward the enemy¡¯s new movement. Then they both refocused all of their senses¡­ for the cues weren¡¯t merely of a visual nature.


    First, the whole of the atmosphere up and down the Vulkan Coast shuddered, as the very air was displaced and rearranged by the locomotion of an enormous organism. This was accompanied by a deafening cacophony: a veritable maelstrom of rumbling thunder, screaming wind, and keening metal. The air even filled with a distinct scent, one that was at once terrifyingly alien and intensely familiar: a mosaic miasma of burnt flesh, stagnant sewage, and¡ªoddly enough¡ªsynthetic fish that had been left out for a few too many days.


    In the end, however, both Kurator and Gaertner followed this shuddering twisting billowing mess with their eyes¡­ for even their confusion of senses could be explained readily¡ªhorrifically¡ªby what they saw. For the enormous shadow that rose toward the sky had now reached it.


    The Mothership¡ªall of her¡ªnow occupied the skies above the Vulkan Coast, having vacated fully the dark waters below, remnants of which still gushed from the lower half of her sleek obsidian hull in massive columns. Her shadow too shifted with her, now casting its omnipresence over a barren earth and the meek creatures that hid in whatever holes they could find.


    Those creatures were now fully exposed, as they stared up in frozen unison at the Mothership that flew overhead. Her movement was languid and ponderous, with a stop-start hitch that gave discernible shape to her immeasurable weight. A swarm of Syntropy units¡ªmere flickers of red upon a pitch black field¡ªswirled around her hull in numbers, forming myriad intersecting orbits around her ¡®gravitational pull¡¯.


    As if in a trance, Asena¡¯s eyes drifted over to her radar display. Somehow, something even stranger than the Mothership taking flight had drawn her attention, and she managed to catch what it was, just before the signals floated out of detectable range.


    There, filling nearly an entire screen like paint spilled over a pixelated canvas, was the colour blue. Nexus blue.


    Asena suddenly recalled the whole reason she¡¯d flown to the Vulkan Coast in the first place. A strange procession of friendly Syntropy units, featuring an alien chimaera and an all-too-familiar centipede. Surely, they were connected to this sudden change to the Mothership. Not just connected. If the predominance of blue on her screen were any indication, Asena could only believe that those strange Syntropy she saw had been¡­


    She looked to the sky one more time, and noted the bearing of the Mothership¡¯s ponderous flight. North. Almost exactly so.


    Northbound to Akropolis.


    Asena tore her eyes away and looked back at Akash. The older man had his back turned to her again, eyes still glued to the impossibility that rose ever higher into the skies above.


    ¡°Do you see where it¡¯s going?¡± Asena asked, surprising herself with the solidity of her own voice. The Gaertner nodded in response, back still turned. ¡°Then do you still think there¡¯s nothing more we can do? All those people stranded in Akropolis¡­ with no knowledge of what¡¯s about to descend upon them. What was any of this for¡­ if we won¡¯t make a stand now?¡±


    Akash Varana remained silent for some time, even as the shadows above drifted past and away from his hiding place. When he turned back to face Asena, however, she saw in the hazy sunlight that his tears had dried. His expression was once more set in stone, if not enlivened by crazy hopes and dreams, then at least hardened by a sense of duty to the young people for whom he fought.


    ¡°New orders, Kurator Shiranui,¡± he spoke with his usual even keel. ¡°I want you to follow the flight of¡­ that thing. Head it off if you can, while avoiding detection at all costs. If¡ªand as soon as¡ªyou confirm that it¡¯s headed where we think it is, you are to fly immediately to Akropolis, provide advance warning to the Joint Forces, and work with them to evacuate the population. I don¡¯t think they¡¯d be very welcoming of your return, but I trust you to navigate that bridge when you get to it. As for myself, I¡¯ll see to sending reinforcement and transport. Everything the Alliance can spare.¡±


    Akash paused to glance at his Reiter patient, still asleep despite¡ªor perhaps because of¡ªthe insanity that abounded all around him.


    ¡°And leave Zelen with me. I¡¯ll personally make sure to bring him back to... combat readiness. God knows the young man¡¯s endured more than his share, but we¡¯re gonna need him to come through for us, one more time.¡±

 87. ANNIHILATION 2

    ~April 26th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Aquarius, no man¡¯s land~


    Sarnai Tenger bent her scrawny frame low to the ground, better to uncover the treasures half-buried upon a barren earth.


    She had no knowledge of a hairless ageless creature that had only recently trekked across the planet with the same curiosity for its hidden treasures. Yet she leaned into her own task with the same diligence and patient attention to detail, traits she¡¯d¡ªknowingly or otherwise¡ªpassed onto a daughter whose face and name she could no longer remember.


    Her latest find was the severed limb of one of the smaller Syntropy units. She was an experienced enough scavenger to know that this particular unit was called ¡®Hornet¡¯. And her husband was a garrulous enough know-it-all to have talked her ears off about how a hornet¡¯s limb was part of the ¡®thorax¡¯ of an ¡®arthropod¡¯¡ªjust one of the many useless trivia that still rattled around in her brain, in the absence of other things she¡¯d much prefer to remember.


    Sarnai bent low to the ground, better to sweep away the sand and ash that still covered much of the salvage piece. This was the part of her ¡®work¡¯ that required the highest amount of diligence and patience, for the crooks that ran Lower Akra¡¯s black market would invent any old excuse to knock down the price they''d pay for her find. All the more reason for her to avoid giving them an excuse, ready-made. Sarnai carefully swept away the sand and ash, dislodged the Hornet leg with a ginger tug, then held it up under the overcast sun, better to inspect her handiwork.


    What would it fetch? Two, maybe three scrips at most? Perhaps enough to keep her and Bateer fed for a week¡ªif they were willing to subsist on dumpster slop and weeks-expired fishcake. Not that it wouldn¡¯t still be a noticeable upgrade over their usual fare.


    And not that they had any other choice. It¡¯d been just over two months since the kindly Gaertner man last showed up to the Foothills, with his rucksack full of goodies. Mr Gaertner was one of those people who preferred to ask after others instead of speaking about himself, but Sarnai in her lucid moments was a keen enough observer to have picked up on much more than the man let on. For instance, it hadn¡¯t escaped her notice that his ¡®disappearance¡¯ had coincided with the big ¡®not-a-coup¡¯ that had the whole of Lower Akra up in arms.


    All the more reason for her and Bateer to keep their wits about them. To stay strong and ever vigilant, just in case something revolutionary was really afoot. Something that could irrevocably change the lives of the Tengers, the Foothillers, and perhaps even all of Akropolis¡ªfor better or for worse. And if Sarnai wasn¡¯t wrong about what she saw in Mr Gaertner, she for one was willing to wager on better.


    Sarnai Tenger carefully tucked the Hornet leg under her skin-and-bones arm, then scanned the ashen landscape around her. Before her life could change for the better, she first needed to stay alive¡­ and one measly Hornet leg wasn¡¯t enough of a haul to justify venturing this far past the Foothills and away from the barriers that wrapped Akropolis in promises of safety. Just one more piece. One for each of her bony arms to carry, then she could call this outing a success.


    She needed a better vantage point, and for that, she needed to go farther and higher. Sarnai continued her search, putting more distance between herself and the Foothills as she trekked across an ashen valley and clambered up its southernmost ridge.


    Many back home would call her activities reckless¡ªwould even accuse her of having a death wish. Perhaps¡­ they weren¡¯t so wrong. But Sarnai herself considered the potential threat of a stray Syntropy encounter to be calculated risk¡ªthe cost of doing business. She was an experienced enough scavenger to know that the distance she could cover on foot was nothing compared to the flight ranges of Eidolons and live Syntropy units, which allowed much of the war to take place hundreds if not thousands of klicks away from Akropolis. While that made scavenging for scraps a tedious and often fruitless proposition, the complications inherent to Sarnai''s task also gave her the only source of leverage when it came to negotiating with traders.


    But she couldn¡¯t negotiate without a product to sell. So, she clambered up a ridge on her atrophied legs, better to scan a wider swath of the barren earth. Half-buried treasures weren¡¯t so difficult to spot, given their obsidian gleam amidst a field of deadened grey. And today, Sarnai proved luckier than usual. There, just past the ridge and protruding from the slope of an impact crater was a¡­


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    ¡°A wing!¡±


    Sarnai whispered triumphantly to herself, then picked up her pace, as much as her leaden legs would allow. Even from a distance, she was confident in her ID. An elongated and somewhat misshapen triangle. Thin and almost membranous in appearance across much of its surface. Perhaps it¡¯d once belonged to the same Hornet unit whose severed leg was now tucked safely in a scavenger¡¯s arm. Whatever its provenance, it would soon serve a greater purpose, that of sustaining an aging Foothiller couple until they could witness a so-called ¡®revolution¡¯ in their twilight days.


    Sarnai limp-ran to her prize, heart swelling with the thrill of discovery and face filling with a wrinkled yet eager smile. But as she reached the edge of the impact crater, she stumbled, then fell to her knees, just in front of the Hornet wing. The leg she¡¯d so carefully carried until now slipped out of her grasp, before tumbling haphazardly down the slope.


    For some time after, Sarnai remained motionless, save for the fitful shudders that accompanied her silent sobs.


    She hadn¡¯t tripped. Hadn¡¯t lost her footing unexpectedly. Rather, all the strength¡ªall the fight¡ªhad gone out of her in an instant, the moment she got close enough to see the Hornet wing in all its sleek yet fragile detail.


    A misshapen triangle that spread and rose toward an overcast sky. Its surface a thin and crystalline membrane¡ªso delicate, so brittle. Sarnai was sure¡ªas sure as she¡¯d been of anything in life¡ªthat the wing would crumble to dust and ash the moment she touched it. And somehow, the certitude of that knowledge had woken with it the hazy mirage of a long-lost memory.


    A girl of ten, with a full head of hair and smiles to match the fullness of her youth. The girl¡¯s hair, with its silken luster, had been Sarnai¡¯s pride and joy, so much so that she¡¯d scoured the whole of Lower Akra in search of a decorative hairpin that could match her daughter¡¯s beauty. In the end, she¡¯d settled for (after much haggling, of course) a handcrafted glass piece. A flower petal. Misshapen triangle, with a thin gossamer surface that was as pretty as it was delicate.


    Sarnai sat a while in silence, until the tears dried upon her weathered face. The image of her daughter¡ªwith her beauty and her smiles¡ªhad been so fleeting and so hazy as to appear almost unreal. A mere figment in the careworn mind of a mother who was no longer a mother.


    But if it wasn¡¯t real¡­ why did it hurt so goddamned much?


    Sarnai sat with her false memories and the excruciating pain they¡¯d ignited. She sat until more sand and ash settled on the gossamer surface of the Hornet wing, carried by winds that cared naught for a mother¡¯s grief¡ªreal, imagined, or otherwise.


    She sat until the skies above shook with a distant rumbling, along with the spread of dark shadows that swallowed the overcast sun.


    No amount of experience as a scavenger could¡¯ve prepared Sarnai Tenger for what she next saw, heard, and smelled. There was nothing in her knowledge¡ªeither cultivated on her own, or that forced upon her by a garrulous husband¡ªthat could¡¯ve helped her ID the obsidian Leviathan that floated toward her from the southern hills. Yet, despite her lack of pre-requisite knowledge, she identified it all the same.


    Death.


    Death¡ªand along with it, salvation. For Sarnai knew then that the naysayers back home had been right. What she did, scavenging for parts this far out from the ¡®safety¡¯ of Akropolis, had been reckless. And now, she came face to face with the thing that would surely fulfill her death wish.


    Sarnai sat a while in silence, watching the shadow¡¯s approach. Listening to its rumblings, and taking to heart its implications. A ready-made excuse for her and every other embattled soul in Akropolis to give in. To allow oblivion to take the place of suffering. Let oblivion be their salvation.


    And yet, even as her heart quivered with the promise of long-awaited release, and even as her face settled into a sardonic sneer to grace the end to a life ill-lived, she found her atrophied muscles tense with newfound purpose. Before she knew it, she was on her feet again, limp-running away from her prize and slip-sliding back down the ridge¡ªnorthbound to Akropolis.


    She left behind her finds, both the severed leg of a Hornet and its too-pretty wing. There¡¯d be time later to haggle for scrips. And time later still to mourn a daughter she could no longer remember.


    But for that, she first needed to live¡ªfor better or for worse. And if Sarnai wasn¡¯t wrong about what she saw looming in the southern skies, the fight for better had become a whole lot more complicated.

 88. ANNIHILATION 3

    ~April 26th, 140 AH~


    ~Joint Base Akra, Eidolon Hangar~


    Long after he was safely barrier-side of the JFB, and long after Anamnium gel had dried onto his jumpsuit, General Ghata Vakta sat at the edge of his open cockpit, unwilling or unable to step into the world outside his Eidolon.


    His heart rate remained elevated despite his outwardly neutral state. His hands, presently clasped together to support the weight of his chin, shook slightly as he relived the second most disastrous deployment of his career.


    Somehow, of all the disasters that had (or hadn¡¯t) visited Ghata Vakta at the Vulkan Coast, the keenest memories of them had all seeped into his hands and stayed there. Foremost was the sensation of losing his grip¡ªnot only of his Eidolon, but of everything and more that had mattered to him in the moment. He¡¯d felt the same thing once before¡ªon October 30th, 138 AH to be precise. That was the day he led a team of fifteen Reiters into battle, for only eight of them to return to base with him. It was the day he lost a best friend and a little brother.


    The way today¡¯s disasters played out had been eerily similar to those from the worst day of his life. Once again, he¡¯d stared into the true and terrible immensity of his enemy, and once again, he¡¯d lost his grip on everything he¡¯d thought to be under his control. Last time, he¡¯d listened helplessly as the news of Handles¡¯s death¡ªand Megha¡¯s unauthorized ¡®dive¡¯ back into the Mothership¡ªfiltered through the radio. Today, he himself would¡¯ve been the one to lose his life, if it hadn¡¯t been for¡ª


    Ghata winced and bit down on one knuckle, if only to distract himself from a greater pain. The post-combat headaches had gotten worse and worse as the Uprising War wore on, but the latest episode had started up in-combat, moments after he lost the strength in his hands¡­ and at the exact same instant when a midnight-blue Eidolon cut across a field of death and obsidian.


    Something had happened then. Something that tore him and Kingfisher away from one reality and spliced them into another. That was when the certainty of death shifted into a desperate need for survival. And that was also when this latest headache had started¡ªthe worst of its kind Ghata had ever experienced.


    Before today, and even after he¡¯d been personally briefed by the Gen¡ªby the late Fenix Duodecim, Ghata hadn¡¯t quite grasped the power of Kingfisher¡¯s Einkunst. Having received its boon (and suffered its side effects) first-hand, however, the thought that was foremost on his mind was¡­


    Why?


    Why, even with such miracles on their side, was humanity forced to cower under the Syntropy¡¯s heel? A Reiter among them could literally rewrite the war as it was fought, and yet¡­ humanity was still losing¡ªhad been brought so low as to fight for scraps among themselves.


    Yet that wasn¡¯t Ghata¡¯s only question. A second, more urgent one burned, along with the searing heat at the base of his skull. Why did he let it happen? Why had Kingfisher, despite the miracles at his disposal, let Megha Vakta die¡ªsunk and lost forever beneath a grave of dark waters and heartless metal?


    Ghata bit into his knuckle until he drew and tasted blood. He then shook his head violently in an futile effort to rid himself of his worsening headache.


    He had to snap out of it. Remove himself from loss and death, so to rejoin the land of the living and still fighting. If he allowed himself to sink and drown any further, he risked today becoming the worst¡ªand perhaps last¡ªday of his life.


    He couldn¡¯t let the fact of his survival¡ªof Kingfisher¡¯s miraculous hand in it¡ªgo to waste. For he¡¯d fled a field of death and obsidian, not out of cowardice, but because he hungered for victory.


    Something happened to him the moment Kingfisher had torn him away from a doomed reality and spliced him into another. He couldn¡¯t quite grasp the shape of it. Whatever it was, perhaps it had no shape. Rather, it had voice, and not just one. A hundred, a thousand, a million voices all joined as one and reached across the Nexus, singing of the victory that yet awaited a warrior and his people¡ªif only they never stopped kicking, punching, and clawing for every possibility. If not in this reality, then perhaps¡ª


    The clangor of hurried footsteps rang against Ghata¡¯s headache, at the same time as it sent him lurching back into the here and now. He looked up with a severe frown, more due to pain than out of annoyance, as a stricken young Panzer rushed across the catwalk to reach him.


    ¡°Sir,¡± the young man blurted, along with a hasty salute that he neglected to hold, ¡°we just received¡­ unusual transmissions over at Gate 4. I think¡­ I think maybe you¡¯d want to¡ª¡±


    ¡°How many are they?¡±


    The Panzer looked up with round eyes, evidently startled by the quickness with which the General had cottoned onto the situation. ¡°Just one. But it¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°Let them in.¡±


    ¡°Are you¡­ are you sure, sir? It¡¯s just¡­ I think she¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°Let her in and park her machine in one of the pre-deployment bays. Get the Jaegers working on it pronto. I¡¯ve no idea if any of our tech is compatible with¡­ with that thing, but I¡¯m sure it still runs on Anamnium. And get her to come see me as soon as she disembarks. Don¡¯t bother changing. I have a feeling¡­ both of us will be hopping back in our Eidolons soon enough.¡±


    The Panzer stared a while in open-mouthed amazement, then flung another botched salute before turning and sprinting back the way he came. Ghata closed his eyes, rested his throbbing head against his hands, and waited.


    By the time a new set of footsteps clattered onto the catwalk, Ghata Vakta¡¯s headache had subsided somewhat. He reopened his eyes to find Asena Shiranui: barefoot, clad in an unfamiliar jumpsuit still slick with gel, and flanked by two more Panzers who both had their service pistols out. Ghata sighed, shooed away the improvised security detail with a wave of the hand, then took a moment to examine the traitor who stood before him.


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    For one brief instant, Ghata was overcome by another sense of disorientation. The sight of Asena¡ªshoulder-length charcoal hair wet and gleaming with a pale blue glow, thin gangling figure that stood tall and proud save for the slightest of slouches¡ªwas remarkably reminiscent of another Shiranui he knew well. But the illusion was soon broken as he focused on the curves accentuated by a form-fitting jumpsuit¡­ and the earnest defiance that coloured the traitor¡¯s visage¡ªthat certainly didn¡¯t run in the family.


    Ghata shook his head, slowly this time, and didn¡¯t bother to hide a wry smile that had crept onto his lips. Up until now, the thought of a Kurator¡ªa woman, no less!¡ªpiloting an Eidolon had felt like a farce of the highest order. Yet, confronted by the very real sight of it, the only question that shot to the fore of Ghata¡¯s consciousness was: can you do it? Can you help us finally win this godforsaken war?


    ¡°Seeing how you came to us in such a hurry,¡± Ghata suddenly broke the silence, his thoughts forming even as he spoke them into being, ¡°I have to assume you have something urgent to report. Are you perhaps finally ready to consider surrender? I can be persuaded to hear? your terms, as long as¡ª¡±


    ¡°We have no time for your grandstanding,¡± Asena shot back, in a snarling tone to match the hardness of her eyes. ¡°I do bring urgent news, one that concerns all of us, on both sides of the conflict. Will you let me speak freely, or do I have to look for someone who actually has their priorities straight?¡±


    Ghata blanched slightly. His first instinct was to spit out a snide retort. These Shiranuis really need to lighten up from time to time. But he quelled his own impulse, conceding that now wasn¡¯t the time for levity. With a stiff nod, he gestured for Asena to continue.


    And the General sat back and listened. To the direst sit rep of his life¡ªdelivered from a traitor''s lips. He listened quietly, never interrupting the traitor for a second, even when she told him of the course of the Mothership¡¯s flight¡­ and about Kingfisher¡¯s less than combat-ready status.


    After Asena had finished, Ghata acknowledged her with a simple question, ¡°ETA?¡±


    ¡°If the current velocity holds,¡± she was ready and prompt with her reply, ¡°I¡¯d say 40¡­ at most 45 minutes. Like I said, we don¡¯t have any time to lose.¡±


    Ghata nodded, outwardly impassive but hiding another stab of pain. He appeared to give Asena¡¯s words some thought, yet in truth, he¡¯d already made up his mind. His mind had been made up from the moment Kingfisher had bought him more time. Kick, punch, claw. If not in this reality, then at least¡­


    ¡°Thank you for bringing us this valuable intel¡­ Kurator Shiranui,¡± he eventually said. ¡°The matter of your desertion and war crimes still needs to be addressed, all in due time, but for now, the Mothership¡¯s impending assault on Akropolis takes precedence over all other concerns. Will you fight with us? To defend a city you once called home, and for the sake of people you once called family?¡±


    ¡°Of course I will,¡± she was ready and savage with her reply. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be here otherwise. I¡¯m just glad you didn¡¯t need much convincing.¡±


    Ghata snorted, with almost genuine indignation. He then eyed one of the Panzers who¡¯d ¡®escorted¡¯ Asena to the catwalk¡ªthe one that looked the less shell-shocked of the two.


    ¡°You. Run to your station now and activate Code Red. All Reiters¡ªand I mean all of them, whether they¡¯re on standby or half-dead in the infirmary¡ªto sortie immediately, form up field-side, and await further instructions.¡±


    The first Panzer saluted and ran off as bidden, looking almost relieved to have been given anything to do¡ªanything to take his mind off the contents of Asena¡¯s sit rep. Ghata then turned to the second one.


    ¡°You. Yes, you, who the fuck else? Radio the Jaeger crew chief and get them to expedite the pre-deployment checks on Tripod, and uh¡±¡ªhe nodded toward Asena¡ª¡°you have a callsign for yourself and your... imitation Eidolon?¡±


    At this, the traitor looked caught off guard for the first time since her arrival. She considered for a moment, then muttered, almost sheepishly, ¡°Dancer.¡±


    Ghata flashed another wry smile. ¡°Dancer it is. Got that, Private? Now off you go!¡±


    The General then waited a beat, watching to make sure that the second Panzer could still function as a human being. Satisfied, he turned in his makeshift seat to face the interior of his cockpit. He then began to fiddle with his empty Nexa-suit, checking for any leaks or loose¡ª


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you forgetting something?¡±


    Ghata gave Asena a sidelong glance, genuinely mystified. ¡°What do you mean? If you¡¯re after rations or something, just ask around. I¡¯m sure someone would be willing to¡ª¡±


    ¡°What about the civilians?¡±


    Ghata stopped what he was doing. He turned to face Asena again. ¡°What about them?¡±


    ¡°You need to order their evacuation.¡±


    ¡°Why would they need to evacuate?¡±


    ¡°Did you not hear a single thing I said? The Mothership is coming for us, with her entire fleet. And a whole platoon of Vendettas. They will break through our defenses. We can buy time, but if we want anyone to survive, we need to start evacuating the civilians now.¡±


    ¡°Are you insane? What do you think will happen if we announce to the public that the fucking Mothership is flying toward Akropolis? Mass panic. Complete and utter breakdown of social order. We can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°What do you expect them to do instead? Just wait for their deaths? Without even knowing what killed them? Do you expect them, even now, to stay in the dark, just like they have all their¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    Unbeknownst even to himself, Ghata had jumped off the cockpit and onto the catwalk proper. He now stood directly in front of Asena Shiranui, close enough for him to see his own wild rage reflected in her eyes.


    ¡°Yes!¡± he shouted again, sending spittle onto the traitor¡¯s stony face. ¡°To die in the name of the Syntropy War? To stand with Akropolis in her final moments, just as she¡¯d watched over us all our lives? Yes! Yes! Yes! That¡¯s exactly what I expect every one of your precious civilians to do. And why not? You¡¯re ready to give your life. I am too. I¡¯ve always been ready and willing to sacrifice myself, just like all the brothers I¡¯ve lost and all the brothers who would fly with me today. If this should be the last time we stand against humanity¡¯s enemy, then let us do so with courage, with honour, with¡ª¡±


    Ghata stopped. For he¡¯d seen anew the look on the traitor¡¯s face. There, flashing across eyes that had moments ago reflected his own impotent rage, were unmistakable sparks of ghostly blue.


    A million voices. Singing of victory. Not in some other reality that neither a young general nor his most hated traitor could dream of¡­ but in this very one.


    When Asena spoke again, her voice was earnest, defiant, and remarkably calm.


    ¡°There¡¯s no honour¡­ in sacrifice without meaning. You may believe this to be your last fight, but I don¡¯t. And there are thousands of people up and down the three Akras who would join me in my fight¡ªa fight for our future¡ªas long as there¡¯s someone willing to lead them. My only question is¡­ will you?¡±


    Kick. Punch. Claw.


    Not in someone else''s reality, but in the here and now.


    Ghata¡¯s shaking hands slowly but surely curled into fists, better to grip the last of all that mattered to him.

 89. ANNIHILATION 4

    ~April 26th, 140 AH~


    ~the Last Bastion of Humanity~


    The war converged onto a single point. The war diverged into myriad individual battles.


    As much as Asena wanted to grasp the shape of the war and the future that might lie beyond it, she herself was an individual. And she needed to funnel her focus and Reserves into every battle as they came, lest she drown amidst a blackened sky.


    Her latest battle drove her into the path of a Vendetta unit, one that flew at speed toward the topmost apex of Akropolis¡¯s barrier dome. She headed it off with a midair tackle that rattled her own shoulder. As the two combatants squared off above the surface of the barrier, the human pilot glanced at the rightmost edge of her HUD, where the overdrive gauge had shot up halfway with a glowing yellow bar.


    Asena couldn¡¯t tell whether the Syntropy continued to follow some pre-War instinct hardcoded into their programming, or if they now acted on an entirely new directive passed down by an alien entity. Whatever the case might be, the enemy now moved with discernible purpose and coordination, organizing themselves into several discrete teams that then assaulted multiple sections of the dome with pinpoint barrages.


    Their aim was abundantly clear: wear down the barriers with concentrated attacks on smaller areas, all while dividing the Akropolitan defense. Asena knew that some of the barrier-side Panzers and Jaegers, instead of evacuating with the civilians, had stayed on the perimeters to reinforce the dome for as long as possible. She also knew that their Reserves were finite, and that she needed to do her part in thinning out the Syntropy before the inevitable breach.


    By now, the Kurator-turned-warrior had gelled with her M-024 thoroughly enough to have grown into her own battle-tested repertoire. Start with caution. Bait, evade, draw out the smallest of openings where she could get in a quick jab or a bump with the shaft. Just what was required to fill the overdrive gauge, until¡­


    The rightmost edge of her HUD flashed with a yellow glow and urgent battle-lust. [EVOCATION] to summon her [REVENANT] warrior. For not only was Asena the only Kurator in Akropolitan history to pilot a combat-grade Eidolon, she¡¯d also incorporated her Einkunst into her repertoire.


    Dancer spun across the sky, taking the fight back to the Vendetta. From caution to maximum aggression in a flash of faded gold. The blue blade of [NAGINATA] led from the front as Dancer put on the performance of a lifetime.


    Pirouette to counter a [MISERICORDE] strike. A shaft-end into the back of the Vendetta, knocking it off-balance and throwing its [BOMBARDIER] off-course. Punish the opening. Relentless pressure. A twisting flurry, topped off with a diagonal cut from the right arm up to the left shoulder, disarming and disabling the opponent in one fell swoop.


    Dancer ended the fight with a savage kick into the fresh gash on the Vendetta¡¯s central chassis. She kept sight of her fallen foe, just long enough to watch its smoking frame break apart and drop lifelessly toward the barrier below. Then she immediately spun back toward the sky, scanning for her next target.


    The kill had been fast¡ªperhaps her fastest one yet. But it wasn¡¯t fast enough. Not when the enemy was so many. And not when her overdrive gauge continued to fall precipitously, in cruel mockery of Dancer¡¯s limited time on the battlefield.


    Her second opponent was yet another Vendetta unit. Just how many of them were there? This second Vendetta had watched closely her fight with the first, and even in the heat of battle, had computed a new tactic with a speed and surety that were the privilege of the synthetic and unfeeling. It backthrust out of [NAGINATA]¡¯s range, even as it deployed its own brand of ¡®pressure¡¯ in the form of [MISSILE LAUNCHER] and [GATLING], forcing Dancer to reckon with her lack of ranged options.


    Dancer didn¡¯t stop. Didn¡¯t hesitate. Partly because she was now battle-tested enough to know that hesitation meant death. But mostly because she still had full confidence in her own victory. Her opponent might think itself clever, turning this fight into target practice. Little did it know that it was merely playing the unwitting partner in a Dance of death.


    Channelling the irrepressible spirit of her [REVENANT] exemplar, Dancer jerked and lurched through an improvised routine, one that was unpredictable even to herself. Spin right, dive down, lateral thrust left, even an inexplicable backthrust or two, just to keep both combatants guessing. It all added up to ¡®pressure¡¯ of a different kind, one that nullified all logic and forced a synthetic entity to react rather than execute.


    The opening¡ªthe inspiration¡ªcame without warning, unbeknownst to Dancer herself. A sudden forward burst in the space of a [GATLING] cooldown forced the Vendetta to check its flight, hovering in the air for a fraction of a second as it changed the directions of its thrusters. Dancer saw this moment unfold as if in slow motion, and determined exactly which way her partner would move. And that certitude afforded her the audacity to try something completely unprecedented.


    Using her forward thrust as a springboard, she arched her back, raised [NAGINATA] into an overhead swing, then let go.


    [NAGINATA] spun through the air as a blue-streaked disc, preempting the Vendetta¡¯s evasive manoeuvre before making crunching contact in midair. The ¡®flying disc¡¯ came to an abrupt stop, with its blue blade-head buried deep within an obsidian shoulder.


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    Through it all, Dancer hadn¡¯t stopped moving. With the Vendetta stunned into a momentary halt, Dancer closed the distance in an instant. Her hands found familiar purchase, back onto the [NAGINATA]¡¯s shaft, which she then twisted and drove through the rest of her enemy¡¯s central chassis.


    Even as she watched her erstwhile dance partner crash and burn, Asena couldn¡¯t help but note the apology that bubbled from her chest. She didn¡¯t know much about the Shiranuis¡¯ Old Earth ancestors, nor their traditions in relation to a particular slashing polearm. Even so, she had the nagging feeling that her improvised circus trick had broken some kind of taboo.


    But now wasn¡¯t the time to be worried about offending her ancestors. There was a war to be won, and limits to be broken.


    Two Vendettas down. A sliver of Dancer¡¯s overdrive gauge remained, which left her with just enough time to at least open the next engagement. She didn¡¯t even bother to check her ER gauge, knowing that exercise to be a futile one. Whatever she had left in the tank was whatever she¡¯d have to spend.


    She turned her attention back onto the apex of the dome, where more Syntropy continued to pour in from the sky. Then she watched in horror as one of these units broke formation, revealing its full frame and a ¡®morphology¡¯ that was readily distinct from the rest.


    A model ES-V, with its crimson paintwork just barely discernible. Spindrift.


    Until now, the heat of battle had blissfully burned away Asena¡¯s anxious thoughts about her estranged (and somehow altered) brother. But that selfsame anxiety now came back in full force, as she watched her brother become the hammerhead of humanity¡¯s ultimate enemy.


    A twisted black band billowed from the stump of a right arm. The end of this whip-like structure now wrapped tightly around a large obsidian mass¡ªlarger even than the ¡®Eidolon¡¯ that wielded it, at least the size of three ES-Vs crushed and melded together. It took a bewildering moment for Asena to realize what it was: a chunk of the Mothership¡¯s hull, secreted and bequeathed to a son, for him to execute her will.


    Then this grotesque hammerhead fluxed with an aura of black energy, taking on all the unadulterated might of a warrior who needed only to destroy the thing that stood in his way.


    The hammer came down, unimpeded. The sky flashed with an explosion of black-on-blue, momentarily blinding all human pilots in the vicinity, Asena included.


    When she regained her vision, she saw to her horrified astonishment that a massive ¡®gash¡¯ had materialized upon the apex of the dome. Its appearance was bizarrely reminiscent of a deep cut on human flesh, with uneven borders of macerated tissue framing a clear opening into exposed innards¡­


    And the barely-crimson centipede flew into this opening, dragging behind it a fragmented remnant of its borrowed hammer.


    ¡°No!¡±


    Asena screamed into her cockpit and flew after the thing that used to be her brother. By then, her overdrive gauge had depleted, and even her ER was dwindling at an alarming rate. But she paid them no mind, attuning only to the desperation and anger that flooded her heart.


    The first thing that caught her eye, however, as she too slipped through the opening in Akropolis¡¯s dome, was the aerial view of the city, laid out in its full and all-too-fragile glory. There were the JFB and the Tetrarch estates, forming a concrete fortress atop the hill. Middle Akra and its orderly rows of houses sat in a partial ring just underneath, and Lower Akra filled out the rest, with its sprawling mosaic of chaos and vibrancy.


    It occurred to Asena then that this was her first time seeing Akropolis in its entirety. It was a strange sensation, not because of the emotions the view evoked, but the lack thereof.


    For Asena¡¯s heart ached, not for Akropolis herself, but for her people, who even now scrambled through the streets as they made their escape. She watched in her mind¡¯s eye as some of them stumbled and fell, only to be picked up by a neighbour and urged on with shouts of terrified encouragement. She watched as children turned and pointed to the sky, to a crimson centipede and the faded-gold dancer that gave chase¡ªgiants they knew only from breathless tales, now writ large and descending upon their realities, bathed in light from the unfiltered sky.


    Asena blinked away tears as she dug her heels in, willing her M-024 to fly faster, to fight harder against the march of time and fate. Before her, she no longer saw a city nor the throngs of innocents that needed protecting. For she was but an individual, and right now, she had only enough focus and Reserves to¡ª


    The surge of a second Eidolon beside hers. A streak of burgundy against a sky blurred with tears. Tripod, with his frame already smoking from the ravages of earlier battles, flew after Spindrift, matching speed and power, ES-V for ES-V.


    Then Asena¡¯s headset crackled with a young general¡¯s clipped orders.


    ¡°Leave Spindrift to me.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve fought alongside him for fifteen years. He might have undergone¡­ a few modifications since I last saw him, but there¡¯s no one in Akropolis that knows him better than I do.¡±


    ¡°But I have to¡ª¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s an order, Corporal. I need you for a different task. See those Vendettas streaming in through the breach? Can you to deal with them while I hold off Spindrift?¡±


    Asena hesitated, but only for a second. Now wasn¡¯t the time. Not when there was a war to be won and innocents to protect.


    ¡°Acknowledged,¡± she said, as she checked her flight and spun in midair, facing the arrival of a new wave of Syntropy. More dance partners for her to choose from. She¡¯d have to build her overdrive gauge back up, but for that, she had a trusty repertoire to fall back on.


    She also knew that she wasn¡¯t alone. For myriad individual battles now converged onto a single point¡ªto serve a united purpose. Among the new arrivals were more model ES-Vs: brothers ready and willing to sacrifice for each other and a future whose shape none of them could grasp.


    And not only the Joint Forces. Just then, a second message broke through the radio, carried by an ally¡¯s familiar even-keeled voice.


    ¡°Asena? This is Akash, reporting in to say that the cavalry is here, such as we are. Sending Panzer and Jaeger support to your position. And our whole transport fleet is here, ready to receive civilians as they make their exit. Just¡­ hold on, Asena. Hold on, just a while longer.¡±

 90. ANNIHILATION 5

    ~April 27th, 140 AH~


    ~The Waystation of Sorrow and Sleep~


    On the morrow of mankind¡¯s worst defeat in the Syntropy War, Akash Varana counted his blessings as much as his losses.


    Both were on full display, stretched out before him in the Caverns¡¯ main concourse, as well as within the vibrant constellation that was his own [ALLIANCE] map. Presently, the Nexus-bound signals of his map mirrored the physical world almost perfectly, as wounded and exhausted Sehers rested amongst anxious Essentials. The survivors, to a one, had been worn down by the horrors of the last 24 hours, and remained frightened of what was to come. But more importantly, they were, to a one, alive.


    In the end, Akropolis¡¯s mass exodus had proceeded¡­ about as smoothly as anyone could¡¯ve hoped for. There¡¯d been losses to be sure¡ªhundreds of men, women, and even children they were forced to leave behind. But for the most part, the civilians had acted in ready concord with the military personnel tasked with organizing and guiding them toward the Transit Gates. Asena¡¯s early warning had been key, of course, but Akash also had to give credit where credit was due. The Joint Forces, under Ghata Vakta¡¯s leadership, had stepped up when it mattered. Made good on a 140-year-old promise¡­ though perhaps not in the way any Akropolitan would¡¯ve envisioned it.


    One of the more heartening pieces of news, at least as far as Akash was concerned, was that the Foothillers had also made the journey, safe and sound. The word was that Sarnai Tenger had been the one to round them up and whip them into shape, long before anyone from the Apfel Alliance could¡¯ve reached them. Their survival, as well as their hasty re-integration into the larger society, such as it was, had been one of the few silver linings upon clouds of despair. For here in the Caverns, everyone stood on the same flat ground, no matter which part of ¡®the hill¡¯ they¡¯d descended from.


    By far the trickiest part of the evacuation had been the transport of Spiegels from the basement beneath the Eidolon Hangar. Akash still broke into cold sweats just thinking about the whole harrowing venture.


    After a rushed consultation with the on-site Kurators and Gaertners, it¡¯d been decided that the Spiegels would be, at least for the time being, kept inside their sustainment units, for their own safety. No human technology, whether built by Akropolitans or salvaged from the Caverns, had been designed to maintain and carry these monstrosities over several hundred klicks. The feat was only made possible with liberal improvisation, tireless efforts from the Sehers already involved in the Spiegel Program¡­ and loss of life along the way.


    In the end, exactly 22 of the decommissioned Spiegels had made it into the Caverns with vital signals still intact. The job wasn¡¯t done, of course, and even now, JF Kurators and Gaertners worked around the clock to stabilize the makeshift facility and devise solutions on how to eventually ¡®wean¡¯ the Spiegels off their sustainment units.


    Akash himself had mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, he was grateful that the Program¡¯s support personnel were finally putting their expertise toward helping arguably the worst victims of the Syntropy War. On the other hand¡ªwell, best not to think about it too much. Better to count the blessings as much as the losses.


    Besides, the Joint Forces were no longer the only ones involved with the Spiegel¡¯s welfare. Lucinia Mauri had been the first among the Alliance Gaertners to volunteer her services, and she¡¯d also brought along a new friend, an Essential woman called Ruhua, as her assistant. And the last time Akash walked through the facility, he even spotted Sarnai Tenger, pacing briskly amongst the sustainment units and, incredibly enough, barking orders to the Sehers as if she was in charge of the whole operation. Akash had to marvel at this, just as much as he wondered how much of her own daughter the Foothiller woman was starting to remember. For now, however, he thought it best not to prod¡­


    Of course, none of this would¡¯ve been truly possible were it not for¡­ the Syntropy themselves.


    All of Akropolis had held their breath as they left behind their home of 140 years. Amidst a veritable pandaemonium of conflicting and compounding emotions, chief among them had been fear. Fear that the Syntropy would prove too many, too massive, and too relentless for humanity to make good on their escape.


    And yet, all of Akropolis had watched as the Syntropy converged around the languidly moving shadow of the Mothership. The Syntropy army twisted and churned, an ever-shifting vortex of death and obsidian¡­ but they also stayed home, never straying too far from the Leviathan that was the eye of their storm. All this had allowed the human convoy to make their southward trip in relative safety¡ªthough at no point did any of them feel truly safe. Perhaps they never would.


    Only the most optimistic and oblivious of Akropolitans could believe that this was the end of it. Akash as well as many among the JF leadership still scrambled to prepare defenses and plan their next move. They might¡¯ve been granted an unexpected reprieve, but the Mothership still flew¡ªnow southbound to the Caverns.


    Humanity had neither the means nor the will to run and hide forever. Sooner or later, they would have to fight¡­ take the enemy head on. Sooner rather than later¡­


    And that was why Akash Varana couldn¡¯t stay idle, even as he counted his blessings and losses. Presently, he stepped out of the dilapidated doorframe of his makeshift quarters and into the concourse proper, ready to dedicate himself to his next and all-important contribution to mankind¡¯s survival. Before he could, however, a gentle hand on his arm stayed his feet.


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    He looked to his side, startled as if he¡¯d seen a ghost. In a way, he had seen one¡­ for standing beside him now with a sorrowful and still uneasy smile was none other than Opal Varana, his wife¡ªif he could still call himself a husband.


    ¡°Where are you off to?¡± she asked, in a voice that, for twelve long years, Akash had heard only in his dreams. It was an innocent enough question, but it was also one that carried the weight of twelve long years.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to disappear again,¡± he said in what he¡¯d hoped to be a light tone, then immediately regretted it, when he saw an unfamiliar worry cross a painfully familiar face. He quickly added, ¡°Just to the infirmary, love. I still have¡­ a patient that requires urgent attention.¡±


    More than one, in truth. But with him now was a whole team of JF Gaertners to help share the load. To allow him to pour all his focus and Reserves on one patient alone. All that and more he would confide in Opal in long overdue time, as they tried to pick up the pieces of their former lives. Yet, for now, he still had a fight on his hands.


    Akash¡¯s assurances hadn¡¯t fully loosened the knots on Opal¡¯s brow. She tried, uneasily, to put on a smile again as she asked, ¡°Couldn¡¯t you stay with us just a while longer? It¡¯s just¡­ you and Kiran have barely had a chance to talk.¡±


    Akash nodded with a sorrowful smile of his own¡ªcounting both his blessings and losses. ¡°How is he?¡±


    ¡°The same. I¡¯m sorry, Akash, but I don¡¯t think he¡¯s quite forgiven you.¡±


    ¡°And I don¡¯t expect him to,¡± Akash said quickly, even as a lump formed in his throat, ¡°at least not yet.¡±


    Unlike his reunion with his wife, seeing his son again after twelve years had been like meeting a stranger for the first time. Kiran was fifteen now, and looked uncannily¡ªcruelly¡ªlike Akash himself. The boy was a living breathing reminder of all of Akash¡¯s failings¡­ and of all that he still had to fight for.


    And that was why he couldn¡¯t fail. Never again. He squeezed Opal¡¯s hand on his arm, then gently helped her lower it.


    ¡°I won''t promise that I¡¯ll make it up to you and Kiran both,¡± he said in his usual even keel, as the lump in his throat settled back into his chest, ¡°not after everything I¡¯ve put you through. What I can promise, though, is that I¡¯ll try my damnedest. And right now, that has to start with me finishing what I started.¡±


    Opal held Akash¡¯s gaze, even as the uneasiness of her smile loosened into wry resignation. But sorrow remained in her hooded eyes, as she squeezed his hand in turn before letting go.


    Akash turned his back and resumed his march into the concourse. He still felt his wife¡¯s eyes on his back¡ªand his son¡¯s silence beyond the doorframe¡ªas he stepped through crowds of weary yet restless Akropolitans.


    Even now, after twelve long years, Akash Varana still didn¡¯t know if he¡¯d made the right choice. Abandoning his family. Turning his back on a city and institution that had nurtured and protected him all his life. Inciting civil war¡­


    And for what? For the Syntropy to turn everything to ash anyway? What had been the point of it all? Had there been a point? A point to the suffering? A point to the losses?


    Akash gritted his teeth, and forced himself to count his blessings. He thought of a young woman who¡¯d found the strength to fight back, not only against the tyranny of man, but also against the worst the Syntropy could throw at her. He thought of a novice general who, in the moment when his people needed him most, had answered the call¡ªhad found it in himself to make a different choice from that of all his predecessors.


    And now, they were two of his most important [ALLIES] in a war effort that had never been more focused and united in its purpose. Akash had to believe that his own choice from twelve years ago had paved the way. Despite all the losses, he had to count also the blessings¡ªthe little wins along the way.


    The infirmary, predictably enough, was the busiest it¡¯d ever been. Patients spilled onto makeshift beddings on the floor. Staff in tattered uniforms ran to and fro amidst the controlled chaos, finding a measure of calmness in the shared imperative of their tasks. The whole room buzzed with a kind of aetherial electricity, as a generous supply of Anamnium emitted its faint blue glow from within crisscrossed tubings.


    Akash stepped through the chaos, exchanging nods and hurried greetings with colleagues he passed along the way. Then he entered an alcove on the far end, one that had been segregated from the rest of the room using stacked crates and a jerry-rigged curtain.


    There, Zelen Athelstan lay upon a folding cot, sound asleep¡ªthe last of the blessings Akash had to count.


    The young Reiter had remained unconscious, despite the absence of physical injury or any other neurological deficit, since the moment Akash had retrieved him from the Vulkan Coast. He looked, for all intents and purposes, like someone in the midst of a peaceful sleep, save for the slight furrow that creased his brow.


    But Akash had been treating Zelen for well over 24 hours now, in the short moments he could spare amidst the unfolding chaos. And every time he ventured into the young man¡¯s Meridians¡ªtried to dilute if not entirely wash away what was ailing him¡ªhe¡¯d come away trembling, drenched in sweat, and utterly terrified by the sheer enormity and density of Zelen¡¯s pain.


    How was it possible that one person¡ªa boy no less, barely in his twenties¡ªheld so much concentrated suffering within his narrow frame? And yet, Akash already knew the answer. For this particular boy wasn¡¯t just ¡®one person¡¯, was he?


    For Zelen Athelstan was a living breathing reminder of all of humanity¡¯s suffering¡­ and of all the possibilities still left to them.


    And now, it was up to Akash to unlock those possibilities. To ready a young man¡ªas cruel as it was¡ªfor one last battle.


    Asena Shiranui had offered her help, of course. That was just the Asena thing to do. But as was the Akash thing to do, he¡¯d refused, knowing that the Kurator had long outgrown her adolescent attachment to Zelen. She now had her own battles, ones only she could fight.


    Whereas this¡­ this was a job for a Gaertner and the accursed Einkunst that had hounded him all his life. Hounded him with responsibility, with choices, with blessings and losses. Well¡­ it was high time he did something useful with this curse of his. After all, wasn¡¯t he¡ªand the rest of mankind¡ªlong overdue for a win?


    With a trembling hand that remembered well the enormity and density of a warrior¡¯s pain, Akash Varana reached out to his last and most important [ALLY].

 91. ASYMMETRY

    ~???~


    ~The Painted Corridors~


    Zelen walked amidst crisscrossed tunnels of blue-fading-into-black.


    He knew well the elaborate yet overlapping recursion of these tunnels. For he¡¯d walked these halls before. Not just once but hundreds, thousands, millions of times.


    He¡¯d walked these halls as himself. He¡¯d walked these halls as countless other lost and lonely souls. He¡¯d walked these halls in his own reality and in countless others that rose up as stardust and settled as ash. He¡¯d walked these halls in the one reality that ''mattered'' above all others.


    And now, even that reality was no more¡ªgone the way of countless other motes of stardust that rose and fell as ashen dreams. These halls he walked through now¡ªcrisscrossed tunnels where blue faded into black¡ªwere ruins of a sort. The deserted remnants of a world that no longer existed nor mattered, simply because the lonely soul that had dreamt it up couldn¡¯t bear being lost forever in a non-reality bereft of any and all that ever knew, loved, or remembered him.


    And still, he walked on. Even as he chased fading blue, even as he was chased by growing black. He walked on, not only because he¡¯d chosen to hold onto the last reality that still mattered to him¡­ but also because he¡¯d been granted the strength to do so.


    For even as blackness chased and grew around him, he still felt the presence of his allies. Their profound grief. Their fading hopes. Their will to fight on, in spite of it all. These transmitted themselves through the thinning slivers of blue upon crisscrossed tunnels, and Zelen followed these slivers, driven by a primordial impetus he himself couldn¡¯t give name to.


    Duty. Instinct. Courage. Bravado. Anger. Vengeance. Defiance. Thrill-seeking. Yearning. Friendship. Love.


    All that and more bloomed upon branches of his Meridians, soared through the windows of his Lungs, flowed as rivers of his Blood, and etched themselves into vaults of his Bone. Zelen could see, hear, and taste all of it. He could touch and feel the weight of their undeniable truths. At the time same time, however, he felt himself slip through the cracks of their inconstant lies, until he was forced to anchor himself against something more solid. More real¡ªat least to himself.


    For in the end, the realest thing in Zelen¡¯s reality was also a figment of his imagination. The one constant in and through all of his myriad¡ªand, in the end, very much finite¡ªrealities. So, he gladly used his allies¡¯ yearnings to fuel the last of his Reserves. But he did so knowing full well that what mattered to him perhaps didn¡¯t matter to anyone else.


    The ruined tunnels eventually led to a dead end. The convergence¡ªno, the origin¡ªof myriad finite realities. Here, the flow of blue was strongest, nearly undoing the black altogether as it surged to and from the one room at the end of all corridors. Zelen took a moment to quiet the blackness within his own chest, then entered.


    Zelen¡¯s world was red.


    Redness. That was the one and only defining feature of this room. A near-perfect cube. Four plain walls, a plain floor and a plain ceiling. All bathed, painted, drenched in an oppressive red glow.


    Back on Mobile Fortress Heimdall, a Captain Zelen Athelstan could never get a straight answer from the engineers about why the room had to be so bloody red¡ªnor where the glow had even come from. He¡¯d just known that this was the way of things now. This was the way he had to fight his war. From inside NEXUS Terminal One, designation ¡®Stanzarossa¡¯¡ªthe Red Room.


    In that reality, he¡¯d always entered and exited this room alone. On this occasion, however, Zelen saw¡ªto his simultaneous relief and dread¡ªthat he had company.


    The lid was already open, revealing the workstation¡¯s leather-clad and wire-strewn innards within its yawning maw. At the edge of the recliner sat a figure. No, not really a figure. More like¡­ a reflection? An amalgam? A phantom? A figment?


    She flitted in and out of reality, never settling on one shape for Zelen to grasp. She could lay claim to no face, no body, no clothes, no hair, no age, nor even a name¡­ for all that and more had been but lies told in myriad inconstant realities. She¡¯d been a hundred, thousand, million different people. She¡¯d been the one constant companion in Zelen¡¯s lonely war.


    The door shut behind Zelen, leaving him stranded inside Stanzarossa. He was now well and truly closed off from the safety of his crisscrossed corridors. His entire world was this one red room¡ªand the one companion he¡¯d shared it with, across myriad worlds and dreams.


    And now that he was face to face with the one entity that mattered to him in all the worlds¡ªthe one thing he never wanted to forget again, for as long as he lived or died¡ªhe froze. He couldn¡¯t take another step. Couldn¡¯t risk reaching out to touch the ever-shifting reflection-amalgam-phantom of his dreams, for fear that he¡¯d find it to be just that.


    Even after all this¡­


    The voice was cool, monotonous, familiar. Zelen ¡®heard¡¯ it within the core of his consciousness, even as he thought he saw the entity¡¯s ¡®mouth¡¯ move with the words.


    Even after all this, Zelen¡­ you¡¯re still the same cowardly loner you were when we first met.


    The entity¡¯s words¡ªher taunt¡ªwoke anew the engine of Zelen¡¯s mind. The engine churned, and his mind raced with retorts¡ªready-made evidence he could pull from myriad remembered realities to show that he indeed had changed. He¡¯d changed the war, and the war had changed him. For better or for worse.


    Yet, in the end, the first thought that felt worthy of voice was born, not of defiance, but of companionship.


    ¡°What should I call you?¡±


    Silence. Shifting edges of a reflection.


    ¡°You know and remember me as Zelen. It¡¯s not fair that I can¡¯t do the same for you. If you have a name you wish me to know and remember you by, tell me what it is.¡±


    The faint sound of air escaping through a pressure valve. Was that¡­ a sigh? Then the entity spoke again, in the same cool monotone with which she¡¯d greeted Zelen.


    You and your obsession with names. It¡¯d be almost endearing, if we ignored the fact that you¡¯d go back on your promise of remembrance, without fail, every 140 years. But¡­ fine. Just for the sake of convenience, you may call me¡ªlet¡¯s see¡ª¦¤¦´ Prime. That¡¯s the first codename you used to refer to me¡­ back when you still didn¡¯t understand what I was. But I suppose¡­ that hasn¡¯t changed much.


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    Zelen nodded, as more of NEXUS¡¯s lost fragments fell into place. ¦¤¦´ Prime. The name felt familiar to him now, but memories pertaining to its provenance remained fuzzy at best. Something about a book he¡¯d read as a child? Or had it been a story told to him by someone dear?


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s good to see you again, ¦¤¦´ Prime, if you could forgive my saying so. And¡­ am I completely off-track to assume that you chose to meet me here? That you still have something to tell me, even after¡­ even after all that I¡¯ve put you through?¡±


    If you¡¯re thinking of trying to woo me again, you can shove that thought somewhere the sun doesn¡¯t shine¡­ not that you remember what real sunshine looks like, I suppose. No, as much as you humans like to think of yourselves as the centre of the universe, I didn¡¯t come here for you. I¡¯m done helping you.


    ¡°Then what¡ª¡±


    I came here to help myself. Or¡­ one part of myself. The stupidest, most childishly naive, most sickeningly sentimental, and most hopelessly romantic part of myself.


    ¡°Silon.¡±


    Is that what you decided to call her? How¡­ sickeningly sentimental. But yes, that¡¯s the one. Even after all that you and the rest of your so-called humanity put her through¡­ even after everything around her has gone to shit twice, a hundred, a thousand, a million times over¡­ she¡¯s still out there doing her thing. Fighting for something that was never real in the first place.


    ¡°But¡­ that¡¯s not true anymore, is it? Even Silon¡­ in the end¡­ it was too much for her. Just like everything else I¡¯ve ever dreamt up, I¡¯ve¡­ destroyed her too. Pushed her beyond her limits.¡±


    A rush of air. More forceful and unmistakable. Then ¦¤¦´ Prime followed her pointed sigh with a vehement diatribe, agitating the cadence of her monotone as she did.


    You don¡¯t get it, do you? Even after all this¡­ even after everything you and your Silon have been through¡­ you still don¡¯t get it. Why do you think she¡¯s assimilated? Why do you think she¡¯s triggered the Annihilation? Why do you think she¡¯s suddenly hellbent on destroying every fucked up thing on your fucked up planet¡ªeverything that stands between you and your¡ª


    ¡°My salvation.¡±


    Zelen held his breath, just for a moment, as he wrestled with his sudden realization.


    ¡°My release. Nirvana. Break the cycle.¡±


    After everything you put her through. After everything she¡¯s seen, forgotten, remembered, and more. After all the grief she¡¯s held in her little heart, and all the [TEARS] she¡¯s shed, thinking she could set things right. She knows now. Or at least she believes it. That the only way to break the cycle is to¡­


    ¡°Break everything. And she¡¯s doing this because¡­ she¡¯s doing this for¡ª¡±


    For you, Zelen. Because unlike me, she still loves you. She still cares. Still wants to repay this ¡®debt¡¯ that was never even real. And because she still so stupidly, so naively, and so hopelessly loves you, she¡¯s taken it upon herself to be your Annihilator. Your release valve¡­ whenever things get too hot to handle for your fragile human soul. And she¡¯ll keep on doing it¡­ for as long as it takes. For as long as you keep dreaming up new and clever ways to perpetuate the cycle. You might not know this. Might not want to remember¡­ but she does. I do. Every last miserable moment of it. I mean¡­ someone has to. Even if everyone else chooses to for¡ª


    ¡°I remember too! I choose to remember. Maybe I have been cowardly. Maybe I did run and hide and lie¡­ in a million realities before this. But this time, I choose differently. Let me remember with Silon. Let me share her burden¡­ so she doesn¡¯t have to suffer alone.¡±


    Words are words. You think you¡¯re the first one? You think you¡¯re the first ''Zelen'' to remember and trip over your guilt? What makes you special? What makes you any different, when so many others have tried and tried and tried and tried and tried and failed?


    Words were words, but ¦¤¦´ Prime¡¯s words gave shape to a truth that had eluded Zelen all his life¡ªand across all of his realities. In his mind¡¯s eye, he saw again the end days of a desperate civilization, one that had sought out fresh stardust to replace the ashes of their fallen world. Little did they know¡ªlittle did Zelen know then¡ªthat the very laws of the universe had conspired against them since the beginning of time¡ªhad condemned them to annihilation long before consciousness could breathe life into existence.


    Little did Zelen know then¡­ that [ENTROPY] was just another word for [THE INEVITABLE].


    Yet, armed with the immovable truth and knowledge of his inevitable fate, agitated by the myriad failures of all that he was and all he¡¯d been before, and emboldened by the voices of those who would still fight for and alongside him¡­ Zelen Athelstan chose. He chose to fight on.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what makes me different,¡± he told ¦¤¦´ Prime. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m no different at all to those that failed before me. And maybe that¡¯s the point. I¡¯m just the latest in a long procession of naive, sentimental, and romantic idiots that thought they¡¯d try something¡­ anything¡­ thinking they¡¯d succeed where all others had failed. And who¡¯s to say really? Who¡¯s to say that the future only has one shape? At least I¡¯m not ready to accept that as truth¡­ even if I have to lie to myself just to keep going. I¡¯m not ready to give in, as long as there¡¯s even one possibility left to try.¡±


    Even if you¡¯re only delaying the inevitable? Even if you¡¯re only condemning yourself and your precious Silon to more cycles of suffering?


    ¡°Especially to delay the inevitable. I have to try. I have to bet on the possibility that I can build something better. Something worth fighting for. Something worth remembering. And I won¡¯t forget Silon, either. I won¡¯t leave her behind. I¡¯m going to drag her into this new reality, whether she likes it or not.¡±


    You''ll have to excuse me while I add infuriatingly selfish to my list of insults for you and yours. But¡­ I too would be lying if I said I wasn¡¯t selfish myself. I want to believe you. God fucking almighty, do I want to believe you¡­ but you do realize how hard you¡¯ve made it for me to do that. Do you know this ¡®Old Earth¡¯ saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me a million times, well¡­


    ¡°Let me fool you again, ¦¤¦´ Prime¡­ just this once¡­ and maybe for the last time. Bet on me, help me, one more time. If not for me¡­ then for Silon.¡±


    Uneasy silence filled Stanzarossa once more.


    For some time, the edges of ¦¤¦´ Prime¡¯s reflection jumped and flickered with ever-intensifying urgency, until, for one briefest of moments, they¡ªshe¡ªsettled into one coherent shape. Face, body, clothes, hair, age, and name. No longer a ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€ through someone else¡¯s memories¡­ but the one shape that was dearest to Zelen in all the worlds.


    Zelen gasped, lunged, and reached, all in one motion. Yet, even as the tips of his fingers brushed the edges of a fully remembered dream, the reflection-amalgam-phantom of his companion vanished in an instant, leaving him grasping for air¡ªand tumbling onto the leather seat of the workstation.


    Then the workstation buzzed to life, emitting a high-pitched mixture of mechanical whirring and singing voices. A symphony borne by the indelible past. Guttural roars that called to the immediate future.


    And the Red Room too was no longer red. For the energy and light and possibilities that surged through Zelen¡¯s world now were that of a familiar ghostly blue. Nexus blue. Here to heed the calls of a warrior and every one of his allies. Only the latest in a long procession of the stupid, the naive, the sentimental, the romantic, and the selfish.


    Zelen faced the innards of his worst nightmares with eyes wide open, and dared to dream, one last time, of [THE POSSIBLE].

 92. ANNIHILATION 6

    ~April 27th, 140 AH~


    ~The Final Briefing~


    Zelen¡¯s world was on the brink of collapse. And yet, his people had never been more united.


    The final briefing of his war took place upon the Caverns¡¯ main concourse, bathed in the diffuse blue glow of a hundred torches and under the discerning eyes of a thousand weary souls. All Akropolitans and Alliance members¡ªall survivors¡ªhad been invited to attend, regardless of age, creed, or imagined standing. All of what was left of humanity joined as one for a ¡®town hall¡¯ that was inclusive and expansive beyond Akash Varana¡¯s wildest dreams¡ªall to give one answer to the call of a million voices.


    There was no podium. No uniformed presenter with projector slides filled with outdated intel. Instead, a young (and ancient) warrior stood as tall as his narrow frame would allow, shoulder to shoulder with the allies who would fly alongside him into his final battle.


    With eyes shining from more than the reflection of the Nexa-lamps around him, the warrior spoke and bared all. He spoke, not of intel but of memories, not of uncertainties but of realities, and not of objectives but of possibilities and the future that awaited beyond the planet¡¯s haze. He spoke and the people listened, as each and every one of them woke from the fog of their own dreams.


    ¡°You¡¯re telling us,¡± Ghata Vakta cut in at one point, fixing Zelen with his one eye that wasn¡¯t covered by fresh bandages, ¡°that all this¡­ all we¡¯ve ever fought for and suffered through¡­ had been in service of one war that took place in a distant timeline¡­ a separate dimension. And even that war has already gone to shit, thanks to your imaginary girlfriend being a vengeful psychopath? You expect us to not only believe that, but also to then turn around and follow you¡ªthe progenitor of this nonsense¡ªinto battle?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s certainly one interpretation,¡± this from Akash, rushing to Zelen¡¯s defense as a murmurous clamour broke out among the gathered crowd, ¡°but I think it¡¯s more nuanced than that. It¡¯s not so much that¡ª¡±


    ¡°The dimensions aren¡¯t separate,¡± a loud voice rose above the hubbub, absent hesitation. This belonged to Asena Shiranui, voice unusually hoarse, and with much of her body too wrapped in bandages to cover the burns she¡¯d suffered at the Battle of Akropolis. She continued, ¡°Overlap. Recursion. Convergence. Whatever you want to call it, clearly there are elements of each reality that bleed over and blend with the others. That¡¯s what the Nexus is. That''s the engine at the heart of our Seherschaft. Manifesting memories into reality. The Reiters¡¯ armaments. My [REVENANT] warrior. Maybe the war did start in that one distant and lost reality, but it ends with us. Everything we do in the here and now, we do for ourselves and our own future. Isn¡¯t that right, Zelen?¡±


    The warrior nodded with a faint smile, meeting Asena¡¯s fire with his gentle sorrow.


    ¡°Everything that failed,¡± he spoke, ¡°everything that went wrong before¡­ this is our one last chance to make things right. Asena, that includes Makiri too.¡±


    The Kurator let out a small gasp of surprise, her determined expression momentarily faltering. Behind her, somewhere within the gathered crowd, a thin husk of a father lost his balance and leaned against the diminutive frame of his weeping wife.


    ¡°In so many¡ªtoo many¡ªof my dreams, you and Makiri ended up on opposing sides. Stubborn in your own ways, looking for different answers, and ending up in each other¡¯s way. This time, I want to give Makiri a different choice. Not everything leads to one inevitable conclusion. And even a solitary killer can find a home among people who value and honour his person above his kill count. I want us to build that home, for Makiri, for you, and for all.¡±


    Now the warrior turned his sorrowful smile onto Akash Varana, and just for a moment, the Gaertner was shaken by a jolt of nostalgia. Something about that smile and the sorrow contained therein matched exactly the signals of a faceless nameless [ALLY], one that had set Akash¡¯s war in motion some twelve years ago.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°Akash,¡± Zelen continued, ¡°I now remember that I¡¯d known you long ago. Maybe not in the form you see me in today, but as an ally nonetheless. One that had washed ashore onto a strange land and an alien war, along with the abandoned home I¡¯d failed to protect. And in my desperation, I¡¯d called out for an ally¡ªsomeone that could carry out my will in this reality¡­ lest it also fall to ruin like mine and all the others. Dutiful as you are, Akash, you answered my call, even though you had to leave behind your family and everything you held dear to do it. For that, I¡¯m sorry¡­ and I¡¯m also glad. I¡¯m glad that here, at the end of all things, we¡¯re joined toward one purpose. You did the right thing, you¡¯ll see. We¡¯ll finish what we started¡­ together.¡±


    The Gaertner held the warrior¡¯s gaze for a while, wearing an almost stricken expression as he did. Then his face softened to let out a wry chuckle as he shook his head. Behind him, somewhere within the gathered crowd, a boy and his mother held each other close and watched on in fragile silence.


    ¡°Ghata,¡± the warrior now turned to the General¡ªhis erstwhile superior officer. Despite the swift and utter breakdown of the facade over his own world, the young general allowed Zelen to speak, making no attempt to wrest back authority. ¡°There¡¯s more that I remember, and there are things I want us to remember together. Because you and I once shared a brother. And in my inexperience, ignorance, and naivete, I failed that brother. Megha saved me when I¡¯d needed him most¡­ and I failed to do the same for him.¡±


    ¡°If this is your idea of offering me closure,¡± Ghata did interrupt then, finding voice in anger, ¡°you can save your breath, Kingfisher. I¡¯ve been in this business far longer than you, and I don¡¯t need you to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not closure, but remembrance,¡± Zelen insisted, in his gentle sorrowful way. ¡°Memories are what make us who we are. For too long, I¡¯d tried to run from them. Tried to find false solace in the act of forgetting. No more. Let us remember everything, together. Let us remember our dead, our lost, and our long-suffering¡­ even if we ourselves had been the ones to condemn them to that suffering. Let us remember Megha. Let us remember our lost brothers and sisters. Let us remember the Spiegels¡­ Let us carry them with us into our final battle, not as burdens and shackles, but as mantras. Let them guide us toward the victory they¡¯d sacrificed for.¡±


    Ghata too stared at Zelen for some time, unhappily and with his one good eye unblinking. Then he let out a steadying sigh by way of response, before turning toward his Reiter Regiment and meeting their hard eyes with a single nod.


    Finally, the warrior turned his full attention onto the thousand strong that made up the rest of the town hall. For all survivors, to a one, were his allies, even if they lacked the wings with which to fly into battle.


    ¡°And to those of you waiting, those who¡¯d been waiting all their lives because you believed you had no choice but to wait¡­. I have this to say. Fight with us. Rise out of the hovels you¡¯d believed was your lot in life and fight, in ways only you can. Even if you have no Eidolon to pilot, even if you have no strength with which to take up arms, you still have voice. Call to the Nexus, and the Nexus will hear your call. I and all of my brothers and sisters will hear your call, and we¡¯ll be stronger for it. We are not servants to some unknowable force in the universe that cares not whether we live or die. We all have our own fights, our own destinies to master and fulfill, but for once¡ªjust this once¡ªlet us join our voices as one and sing. Let us sing of [THE POSSIBLE]. Let us sing of victory!¡±


    The warrior raised his voice, and his clenched fist along with it, high into the Caverns¡¯ faintly glowing air.


    ¡°Victory!¡±


    The Reiter Regiment were the first to answer, led from the front by their young general, as well as certain sensibilities shared by men of a certain age¡ªespecially those that contended with death as a matter of routine. The Warrior stands tall where his Enemies lie.


    ¡°Victory!¡±


    The Apfel Alliance joined in, young and old, men and women, ice and fire. They too raised their fists into the air, grasping for a dream that now felt more within reach than ever.


    ¡°Victory! Victory! Victory!¡±


    The cries¡ªthe song¡ªof a thousand strong survivors rose and echoed against the cavernous walls of humanity¡¯s last hiding hole. No. Their last Forward Operating Base. For this was where they would launch their final operation, the one that would finally and once and for all end the war¡ªan operation that garnered the one codename that no human before them in and across all the Syntropy Wars had been brave, determined, and united enough to utter.


    Operation Victory.


    A hundred torches brightened the dayless night, as a thousand fists rose into the air that echoed with a million singing voices¡ªpast, present, and future. Amidst it all, a warrior stood as tall as his narrow frame would allow, eyes shining with far more than the blue that flickered all around him.


    And amidst the growing blue of his allies¡¯ song, the fading blackness within Zelen¡¯s chest yet roiled, agitated by a gentle sorrow that was his and his alone.

 93. ASYMPTOTE 5

    ~April 28th, 140 AH~


    ~The First and Last Terminal~


    She saw him from the far end of the garden, while she stood next to her largest painting. He was alone, and wore an earnest look that made her self-conscious of her own sorry demeanour.


    The earnest look settled into one of gentle reassurance the moment their eyes met, and she felt her own mortification grow as she watched him hasten toward her.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to see a familiar face,¡± he said with a gentle smile, then turned his attention onto the painting itself. Words failed Asena then, for her own centrepiece¡ªthe pride and joy of her fledgling artist¡¯s career¡ªsuddenly seemed woefully inadequate under the scrutiny of her stranger of a fianc¨¦.


    ¡°It¡¯s an expressionist piece,¡± she said breathlessly, trying her utmost to remember what she herself loved so much about the painting. ¡°Um¡­ this yellow bit is a duck. These lighter strokes are the wings of a butterfly. They¡¯re, um, swimming on a pond. Well, one of them is swimming. And the other one is¡ª¡±


    ¡°Searching.¡±


    Moments passed between them at the speed of eternity. Asena felt as though time itself had stopped moving, only to realize that it was she herself that had been frozen in shock.


    ¡°What did you say, Zelen?¡±


    ¡°Sorry if I¡¯ve said anything weird. It¡¯s just¡­ to me, it looks like the butterfly is still looking for something. Something the duck tried to help it find, and maybe they got close¡­ but not quite close enough. Somewhere¡ªor maybe someone¡ªwith whom the butterfly truly belongs. Inherently. Effortlessly. Eternally. And maybe that¡¯s okay. I mean, I¡¯m sure belonging is nice and all, but there¡¯s also something to be said for searching. Don¡¯t you think so?¡±


    Zelen smiled his gentle smile, and Asena held his gaze. But she wasn¡¯t seeing Zelen. At least¡­ not this Zelen.


    She understood then. That there was still a part of her that hadn¡¯t moved on past that awkward girl at her disastrous debut. A part of her that had remembered and expected this scene to play out differently.


    A part of her that was still stuck inside the darkness of Terminal One. Before all the light she¡¯d uncovered had forced her to reckon with the true shape of her reality.


    Asena Shiranui slowly, and almost reluctantly, opened her eyes. Instead of the darkness of Terminal One, she found herself in the dim blue glow of an Eidolon¡¯s cockpit. Inside her model M-024. The cockpit was quiet and still, save for the slight vibration of the transport vehicle in which the Eidolon was presently ensconced.


    Slowly, but more urgently now, Asena attuned herself to her immediate reality. She was part of the convoy that had sortied for Operation Victory: 47 Eidolons all told, the total combined force of the survivors among the Reiter Regiment and the Apfel Alliance. A paltry number compared to the roiling mass of obsidian the convoy now headed towards, but it was also the last and best humanity had to offer¡ªand all united in their belief of [THE POSSIBLE].


    Asena moved her head, as much as her Nexa-Suit allowed her to, scanning her HUD for status updates on her convoy mates. She immediately stopped, wincing as an increasingly familiar pain shot through the base of her skull.


    Now a good two months into her trial by fire as an Eidolon pilot, the fabled headache had visited her too, likely to stay for good. So far, it hadn¡¯t proven to be much more than a nuisance: just another in a long list of physical ailments that were part and parcel of her chosen career change. It was just as well then¡­ that this was likely to be her last day on the job.


    Indeed, it should also be the last day for the 46 other pilots that travelled with her now. If everything went according to plan, this time tomorrow, everyone in this convoy would¡¯ve left their metallic prisons far behind, free to live, grieve, love, rebuild¡ªthe way humans were always meant to.


    Everyone?


    Asena waited for her headache to settle¡­ and listened. She listened to the vibration transmitted from the carrier. She listened to the faint buzz of Anamnium and the mechanical whirring of a live Eidolon. She listened to the beating of her own heart¡ªto the rise and fall of its rhythm.


    She then flexed her fingers against her bound wrist. With careful and deliberate movements, she scrolled the console until one name on the callsign list was highlighted. She hesitated, then opened a private channel.


    ¡°Kingfisher, this is Dancer. Radio check, over.¡±


    ¡°Dancer, this is Kingfisher. Reading you loud and clear, over.¡±


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    A pause. Faint static. Then both of them burst out laughing at the same time. And laughed and laughed, with neither fully cognizant of just what was so funny about the first¡ªand last¡ªby-the-books radio check the two of them had ever exchanged.


    When the laughter finally died down, it was Zelen who spoke first, ¡°Was there something you wanted to tell me, Asena?¡±


    ¡°More like something I wanted to ask.¡±


    ¡°Shoot.¡±


    Pause. Static.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if there¡¯s any Reiter etiquette about talking about a mission like it¡¯s already over, but I just¡­ I¡¯m worried that if I don¡¯t ask now, then I¡¯ll never¡ª¡±


    ¡°Go ahead, Asena. You can say anything to me. You know that.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Zelen, have you¡­ have you given any thought to what you¡¯ll be doing after¡­ after all this is done?¡±


    Silence. Vibrations.


    ¡°¡­ You know, it¡¯s funny, but now that you mention it¡­ I can¡¯t say I have. I guess I¡¯ve got a bit of tunnel vision at the minute.¡±


    Silence. Static. Chasm.


    ¡°You said you wanted to fight for our future.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°A future where we can rebuild a home. A home for Makiri to come back to. A home where Akash can fulfill his vision. A home in which to honour our dead, lost, and long-suffering. You still believe all of this?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Whole-heartedly.¡±


    ¡°And¡­ where are you in that home, Zelen?¡±


    Silence. Static. The ripples in a duck¡¯s wake. The vibrations of a butterfly¡¯s wings.


    ¡°¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know¡­ or you can¡¯t say?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    At some point, Asena was visited by a truth. Not question, not speculation, not even premonition. An inevitable and incontrovertible truth.


    It occurred to her that this would be the last she would remember of Zelen Athelstan. Not his surprisingly narrow frame. Not his gentle and sorrowful smile. But this. A disembodied voice, filtering through a headset and floating amidst the darkness of a metallic prison.


    Just the way Asena had known him best.


    Asena let out a long, steadying sigh¡ªin lieu of a sob. She would not cry. Not anymore, and not for this. But even as she realized fully and incontrovertibly that Zelen had outgrown their relationship as much as if not more than herself, she still cared for and loved him enough to reach out¡ªone last time.


    ¡°You know you¡¯ll always have a place,¡± she spoke quietly, knowing full well the futility of her self-imposed mission. ¡°In Akropolis¡­ or whatever our new home might be called.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°You know that there are people who¡¯ll love and honour you. Myself included. You¡¯re not alone anymore. And never will be again.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°You know¡­¡± Her voice shuddered for the first time, against her will. ¡°You do know there are people who¡¯ll miss you dearly¡­ wherever you think you might be going.¡±


    ¡°¡­ I do.¡±


    Asena stopped. She knew the futility of her mission, and besides which, there was another mission for which she needed to save all of her Reserves. Perhaps, at a time like this, tunnel vision was exactly what she needed.


    ¡°¡­ Was it you or Akash that I was telling this to? About this¡­ line in the sand?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that, Zelen?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, Asena. I''m finding it more difficult to keep all my memories straight. I was telling Akash¡ªgod, feels like lifetimes ago now¡ªabout my Einkunst and its limitations. Like there¡¯s a line in the sand, and no matter what I try, I can never grasp the shape of the world beyond that line¡­ without everything around me breaking down with it.¡±


    An awkward girl at her disastrous debut. A future that changed its shape, even as it was being dreamt into reality.


    ¡°Well¡­ I think I found it.¡±


    ¡°Found what?¡±


    ¡°The way to cross that line. To grasp the world that lies beyond my limitations.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Is that where you¡¯re going?¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    ¡°The world that lies beyond your limitations. Is that where you¡¯re going¡­ after? And that¡¯s why you can¡¯t stay with us?¡±


    ¡°¡­ I¡ª¡±


    Their futile conversation was interrupted then, as an urgent message from the general channel overrode all private frequencies.


    ¡°All units, this is Raven Bravo. Dense packet of Syntropy activity detected to the northeast, bearing¡­ zero-two-niner. I say again, Syntropy activity ahead and fast-approaching, bearing zero-two-niner.¡±


    And just like that, Asena acquired the tunnel vision she¡¯d earlier craved. For this was one mission she couldn¡¯t fail, no matter how futile.


    ¡°This is Tripod. Acknowledged. All ground units adjust your course accordingly. Alright, boys¡­ and girls. This is the big one. Stay frosty, and above all, stick to the plan. Right, Kingfisher. I understand that plan starts with you?¡±


    When next Asena heard Zelen¡¯s voice, it came through on the general channel. A warrior¡¯s voice, but distinctly Zelen¡¯s. Polite. Earnest. Hopeful.


    ¡°This is Kingfisher. Acknowledged. Ophis, on me. We¡¯ll fly ahead of the Ravens and form the vanguard. It¡¯s time you and I drew a new line in the sand. Together.¡±

 94. ASYMPTOTE 6

    ~April 28th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Capricorn, Vallemor Desert~


    Kingfisher¡¯s midnight-blue frame burst out of the carrier and took to the sky.


    As he sped ahead of the course-correcting convoy, he was soon joined at his side by Ophis¡¯s worker Eidolon. Then the two of them switched places with ¡®Raven Bravo¡¯, a model ES-V pilotted by a JF lieutenant who would now rejoin the convoy to make final preparations for the main battle.


    With Zelen now at the spearpoint of the whole operation, the full picture of his war revealed itself. Below him stretched a vast flat desert, with its latticed scars and ashen pallor. Above was the ever-overcast sky, now precipitating a veritable storm in the form of the obsidian armada that loomed ahead. And to his side was Ophis, an indispensable ally and accomplice to the miracle that would headline his latest dream.


    At the head of the convoy, Kingfisher dropped his velocity, matching it to that of the convoy at large. This was followed by a period of¡­ waiting.


    At this point, neither side of the war was in a particular hurry to meet the other. The Mothership and her armada advanced at a languid, self-assured pace. The humans moved with slightly more urgency, but only enough to maintain a sense of unified momentum. Nevertheless, direct confrontation was inevitable. Both sides were as prepared for it as they¡¯d ever be.


    For Zelen personally, he had every reason to wait, to delay the first exchange of fire for as long as possible. Because the moment the battle began in earnest, his war would become a race¡ªa race between the [POSSIBILITIES] contained within a million realities and the Somatic and Psychic limitations of one warrior.


    ¡°Zelen?¡± Akash¡¯s voice¡ªnoticeably and unusually nervous¡ªbroke through a private channel. ¡°A point of clarification, if I may?¡±


    ¡°Go ahead, Akash.¡±


    ¡°I think¡­ I think I understand the principles in theory, but to put it into practice¡­ It¡¯s just, I¡¯ve only ever been good at one thing in life, and this is quite a ways removed from¡ª¡±


    ¡°Go ahead, Akash.¡±


    ¡°Ahem, right. Just¡­ walk me through it one more time? What do you need me to do exactly?¡±


    ¡°Your Einkunst. [ALLIANCE]¡¯s secondary power turns you into a walking conduit to and from the Nexus, thereby allowing an [ALLY] in proximity to use you as a substitute Anamnium source.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s correct.¡±


    ¡°I need you to do more. Not to aid one [ALLY] but to broadcast your power to all 47 of us gathered here. Break through the limitations of your Seherschaft, so the rest of us may do the same with ours.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Yes. But the way to do this¡­ You want me to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Call to the Nexus. From every version of yourself you could possibly dream of. Don¡¯t worry, you won¡¯t be doing this alone. All I need you to do is lie to yourself about what¡¯s [POSSIBLE], as fervently and creatively as you can. As for turning that lie into truth, leave that part to me.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Can it really be that simple? I just need to imagine a solution¡­ and it¡¯ll become reality?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not simple at all. None of this would be possible if it weren¡¯t for all the other times we failed, lost, and died. I know that now. Clearer than ever, and with more certainty than anyone else before me. After all the failures, losses, and deaths. After all the suffering. At some point, we¡¯ve got to be due for a win¡­ don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Akash answered this with a surprised chuckle, almost as if the two of them had shared an inside joke. And perhaps they had. Perhaps, somewhere amidst all the failures, defeats, and deaths, had been another reality where a warrior and a revolutionary had shared inane musings on the gambler¡¯s fallacy.


    But the waiting was over, and it was time for a pair of gamblers to roll the dice. Ahead, the Mothership¡¯s stormfront broke, allowing one of the ¡®wings¡¯ of her armada to stream forward at speed, ready to sweep away the last and best humanity had to offer.


    ¡°I guess it¡¯s time,¡± Zelen said. ¡°Go ahead, Akash.¡±


    Suddenly, the whole of Kingfisher¡¯s cockpit fluxed with bright blue energy, as he became the first and most proximal recipient of an [ALLY]¡¯s boon. Zelen rode this wave, clinging to its violence and instability as he allowed it to guide his own neverending search amidst a graveyard of the universe¡¯s memories.


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    For the first time that he could remember, Zelen¡¯s consciousness mapped onto the same topographical representation of the Nexus that resided in Akash¡¯s body. All of his senses fired at once, as he saw, heard, smelled, and felt the presence of 46 [ALLIES], 46 roiling bundles of Nexus-bound signals.


    Despite feeling their presence, however, he couldn¡¯t yet feel their connection. Blue energy fluxed and surged between Reiter and Gaertner at the convoy¡¯s vanguard, but that same connection failed to extend to the others, as if interrupted by an invisible line.


    Now it was time for a warrior to place his trust, entirely and unreservedly, in his most proximal [ALLY]. To gamble on the possibility that this revolutionary could dream just as recklessly¡ªand remember just as courageously¡ªas he.


    And as Akash waded through a graveyard of his memories, Zelen followed, every step of the way.


    Every failed promise to his family, every loss of a patient, every death at the end of a futile struggle. Akash Varana of the Year 140 Anno Hominis suffered anew every failure, loss, and death from a million realities, and Zelen Athelstan suffered with him, every step of the way, until¡­


    For one fleeting moment, the scattered map of Akash¡¯s [ALLIES] became one discrete diagram. The Nexus jumped across and between the signal bundles until they became 47 connected dots.


    The gamble¡ªthe suffering¡ªhad paid off. Amidst a million failed realities, there was one where a revolutionary had managed to unite all of his [ALLIES] around a common impetus, no matter the physical distance or ideological difference that separated them. Zelen saw, heard, smelled, and felt this fleeting moment, and didn¡¯t miss it. With a fresh explosion of his own Nexus-bound signals, he seized this moment and held it, thus rewriting possibility into permanence.


    For what was eternity if not ephemera writ large: an ever-growing mosaic made up of fleeting moments?


    The effect was instantaneous and simultaneous, felt by all within the convoy¡ªand most acutely by the man that had suffered at the heart of it all.


    ¡°Zelen!¡± Akash half-shouted half-coughed into the radio. ¡°What¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Just hold on,¡± Zelen answered, struggling with his own Psychic disturbance. He pushed down his sorrow, better for hope to surge in its place. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m here. I¡¯m with you all the way.¡±


    That was how Zelen¡¯s war became a race. After all the waiting, time was no longer on his side. And now, he needed to trust again. Trust in all 46 of his allies to make good on this fast-closing window of opportunity.


    And the newly reimagined [ALLIANCE] answered the call. With passion, determination, and bloodlust that had shed the last of its shackles.


    Eidolons from all across the convoy took to the air, rapidly forming into bilateral ¡®arms¡¯ to meet the thrust of the Mothership¡¯s wings. Then all members of Operation Victory tapped into their now near-infinite Reserves¡ªand into power beyond their wildest dreams.


    Panzers in their tank-form Eidolons generated combined shields that could rival the erstwhile dome over Akropolis. Jaegers in their cannon-form Eidolons rained sustained volleys of energy beams onto the approaching armada. And Reiters in their ES-Vs flew ahead of them all, fortified by more AU and infused with more ER than they knew what to do with, as they met the first wave of Vendettas that had broken from the Mothership¡¯s stormfront.


    Every Reiter, regardless of rank, experience, or kill count, became the paragon of humanity¡¯s combined expertise in war. The Reiter sees into the domain of WAR, and calls forth memories of destruction and domination. These memories had never been purer, nor more emphatic, as a platoon of warriors destroyed and dominated their synthetic challengers. Some of them fell, as warriors must in every war, but they did so only after bringing down a hundred or more of their enemies.


    By then, the erstwhile vanguard made up of Kingfisher and Ophis had transitioned into the rearguard, as they watched and continued to ¡®fuel¡¯ their [ALLIES]¡¯ war. Zelen, for his part, watched and remembered everything. Every victory, small and large. Every missed opportunity and the deaths that followed. He watched, remembered, and forced himself to master his Psychic disturbance¡ªto stretch his race for as long as possible¡ªas 47 became 46, 45, 44, 43¡­


    He wasn¡¯t, of course, alone in his efforts. Both he and Akash, the flying engine of this whole operation, heard not only the echoes of distant realities, but also the rousing songs of those waiting at home. Isolation into connection. Lies into truth. Ephemera into eternity. And they relayed this music¡ªthe thudding and bracing rhythm of rebellion¡ªonto the [ALLIANCE] that fought at the stormfront.


    But the Mothership, or at least this iteration of her, wasn¡¯t without a champion of her own¡ªher own paragon of WAR in its purest and most emphatic form.


    The storm broke again, this time to uncoil a crimson centipede, wild and surgent in his need to kill or be killed. By now, no one on the [ALLIANCE]¡¯s side¡ªnot even Zelen¡ªpossessed the requisite intel to understand what Makiri Shiranui had become. For here was an apex predator that had been broken and mended, broken and mended, and broken and mended again and again across a million wars and myriad more hunts, kills, and deaths. And this purest, most emphatic, and most [INEVITABLE] killer across all realities now pointed his obsidian ¡®blade¡¯ into the heart of humanity¡¯s last and bravest, to finish what he¡¯d started at the Battle of Akropolis.


    Zelen watched this, and not for the first time, fought down the urge to leave his position and join the fray. Perhaps nothing else in his war had felt more inevitable than this moment¡ªthis duel that had been written in stardust long before a graduating proto-Reiter had faced off against his most feared examiner. And yet, Zelen resisted the urge, knowing his Reserves were better conserved for another fight, a different mission. Here at the end of all things, Zelen forced himself to deny one last inevitability¡­


    ¡­ and instead chose to place his whole-hearted trust in a new [POSSIBILITY].


    ¡°All units, this is Dancer! Clear out of Spindrift¡¯s range and make way. This¡­ this is a job for me.¡±


    ¡°Dancer, this is Tripod. Request denied. If you thought you could hog all the credit for taking down the killingest Reiter in history, you were sorely mistaken. I¡¯m coming with you!¡±

 95. REMEDIATION 8

    ~April 28th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Capricorn, Vallemor Desert~


    Dancer¡¯s faded gold. Tripod¡¯s burgundy. And Spindrift¡¯s crimson, crossed with a twisting obsidian blade.


    If Asena didn¡¯t know better, she might¡¯ve convinced herself that this was one of her paintings. The most violent, most frenetic, and most feral of her creations, but art nonetheless. And upon this final canvas, her desire to rebuild and create met its ultimate test against Makiri¡¯s imperative to kill anything and everything that stood before him.


    Unlike her other pieces, she¡¯d accepted the help of a collaborator. Ghata Vakta took to his role with implicit understanding and battle-tested acumen, playing the ranged partner to Asena¡¯s melee threat. The two worked in perfect harmony, without needing words nor status checks. All of their senses and Reserves were attuned to and focused on their shared target, as they fed off and added their own notes to the great symphony that was the [ALLIANCE].


    Tripod, unbound by ER limits or cooldowns, harried Spindrift with an unbroken stream of [GATLING], [FUSILIER], and [MISSILE LAUNCHER], ever pushing him toward and into [NAGINATA] range. Dancer, with her overdrive gauge now stuck at 100%, made good on her threat, hunting Spindrift with a constant flurry of masterful moves.


    But Spindrift, or at least this iteration of him, was the most complete predator the world had seen.


    He refused to be hunted, using his immaculately refined knowledge of [THE INEVITABLE] to nullify and preempt the collaborative efforts of two warriors. Inch-perfect manipulation of thrusters to fly ever ahead of Tripod¡¯s leading shots. Precision counters with [WINCHESTER] to blunt [NAGINATA]¡¯s edge. And when an opportunity did present itself for Spindrift to break out of the trap, he did so without hesitation and before the two [ALLIES] could see what he saw.


    Out of [NAGINATA] range but still well within [URUMI]¡¯s, Spindrift turned hunter. The obsidian mass that was his right arm shot forth as a waveform killing edge, aimed directly at the centre of Dancer¡¯s faded-gold frame.


    Asena and her [REVENANT] warrior saw this and reacted accordingly, ducking under [URUMI] and using the ensuing opening to reclose the gap¡ªand realizing too late that the attack had been a feint. For [URUMI] changed its trajectory mid-propulsion, bending sharply and swinging toward a circling Tripod.


    The end of [URUMI]¡¯s blade connected with Tripod¡¯s right shoulder joint and erased the localized Armour therein with pinpoint force and pressure. The whole of the right arm tore clean off and spun uselessly into the sky, taking with it two of Tripod¡¯s armaments.


    Spindrift was inevitable. But that didn¡¯t mean he was invincible. Asena forced herself to ignore Ghata¡¯s plight, intent on finishing the counterattack she¡¯d already started. Flying underneath the whip-blade¡¯s shadow, she rounded to Spindrift¡¯s exposed side, with [NAGINATA] poised for a skyward swing, aimed at the tumorous mass of ¡®scar tissue¡¯ that served as [URUMI]¡¯s origin.


    And in that instance where possibility still hung in the balance against inevitability, something or someone spoke from the Nexus to imbue Dancer¡¯s intent with a novel instinct.


    It went against Asena¡¯s by-the-books discipline. It went against her [REVENANT] warrior¡¯s singular aggression. No, it was a more wizened and cunning voice, one borne by a [REVENANT] scoundrel who¡¯d outlived them both. And this voice warned Dancer of her overeagerness, and showed a different path to survival.


    Asena checked her blade mid-swing and shifted her aim to Spindrift¡¯s left side where, sure enough, LA [WINCHESTER] sat fluxing with black energy, poised to counter-counter. She finished her swing at a new trajectory, simultaneously arching her back to evade the [WINCHESTER] round that had already gone off. And as Dancer twisted out of the attack that would¡¯ve surely ended her fight, her [NAGINATA] connected cleanly with Spindrift¡¯s left arm, thereby severing it at the elbow joint.


    Tripod¡¯s two armaments to Spindrift¡¯s one. It¡¯d been an unfavourable trade, but it¡¯d also allowed both [ALLIES] to stay in the fight.


    Even as Dancer broke away from her enemy to regather her thoughts, she understood, though not with any degree of certainty, what had happened. Spindrift had read her counter like the inevitability it¡¯d been, and had prepared his own response to finish her off. But in the last fraction of a second, a new idea that hadn¡¯t entirely been her own had become a new possibility, introducing just enough chaos to offset [THE INEVITABLE].


    Perhaps the trade had been in her favour, after all¡­ for she now saw a clear path toward bringing an apex predator to heel.


    ¡°Tripod!¡± Dancer finally broke radio silence, as yet another idea emerged from the Nexus and took hold of her instincts. ¡°On me! Stick to my left side like glue, and mirror my movements exactly.¡±


    ¡°What? That¡¯s insane! You want us to give up our only advantage and become a single target?¡±


    ¡°Do it! This is how we win!¡±


    Dancer was sympathetic to Tripod''s skepticism, for she herself had experienced the same doubts¡ªand had them promptly overridden by a [REVENANT] tactician¡¯s cold calculation. And this tactician¡¯s confident authority now transmitted itself across the Nexus, bringing yet another skeptical [ALLY] into the fold.


    Now Dancer and Tripod moved as one unit¡ªa single target¡ªdrawing Spindrift¡¯s ire all the while. Even with seven intact limbs against three, the match-up was more or less equal in terms of armaments. Dancer-Tripod had a shield in LS [SCUTUM], an assault rifle in LA [FUSILIER], and a polearm in [NAGINATA]. Spindrift could answer with LS [AEGIS], RS [MISSILE LAUNCHER], and the ever-twisting RA [URUMI].


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    Dancer resumed the fight, first by keeping her distance. For now, she was content for¡ªno, counting on¡ªTripod to pepper Spindrift with sustained shots of [FUSILIER], while the latter leveraged the homing flights of [MISSILE LAUNCHER] to lure his prey into [URUMI] range. Occasionally, Dancer even obliged Spindrift, dipping into range only to quickthrust away before the blade-whip could reach her or her burgundy shadow.


    Throughout, she did her utmost to keep her own stance neutral, betraying nothing of what she yet intended with her [NAGINATA]. Her aim was broadly two-fold: first to obfuscate the inevitable for as long as possible, and second¡­ to frustrate an apex predator into an irreversible commitment.


    All to engineer and manifest her own vision of an inevitable confrontation.


    Eventually, finally, Spindrift took the bait. Seeing the limitations to his blade-whip attacks, he sought to end the cat-and-mouse game once and for all, by crushing his enemies with a hammer of judgment.


    Once again, the Mothership came to her champion¡¯s aid, gifting a chunk of herself to be used as [URUMI]¡¯s hammerhead. And as Spindrift¡¯s right arm gathered and grew in size, menace, and sheer power, Dancer watched with the glee of a vindicated schemer.


    ¡°You know what to do, don¡¯t you?¡± she took to the radio for a final confirmation with her accomplice.


    ¡°I have to say, Shiranui,¡± Ghata replied, his wry humour audible. ¡°I didn¡¯t take you to be such a cold-hearted bitch. But I suppose¡­ extraordinary times, and so on and so forth.¡±


    Inside her cockpit, Asena¡ªor one of her [REVENANT] selves¡ªgrinned with savage satisfaction.


    Spindrift sped toward his prey, at the same time stretching [URUMI] behind him to the limits of its elastic potential. Then he uncoiled his obsidian hammer: too fast, too large, and too aligned with [THE INEVITABLE] to be dodged by a Dancer and her burgundy shadow.


    So, instead of dodging, they blocked.


    Tripod broke out of Dancer¡¯s shadow for the first time since their union, even as he pointed a comically inadequate [SCUTUM] against [URUMI]-[MJOLNIR]¡¯s might and enormity. Hammer connected against shield in an explosion of black-swallowing-blue. Now the whole left half of Tripod¡¯s frame, despite being bolstered by [ALLIANCE], disintegrated in an instant, leaving only a fraction of an Eidolon to sink into the sky.


    Asena felt rather than saw this happen. Then she borrowed once more a [REVENANT] scoundrel¡¯s self-serving cruelty, the better to forestall any thoughts for Ghata¡¯s vital status¡ªand to steel herself to complete her mission.


    It was time to finish this dance¡­ by cutting off the music that fed her partner¡¯s irrepressible death wish.


    Dancer skirted the edges of the shockwave, then shot up and into Spindrift¡¯s outstretched right ¡®arm¡¯. She grabbed hold of the writhing chain that was [URUMI], as tightly as she¡¯d held onto any thread in her Kurator¡¯s career.


    Now, it mattered not if her intentions were finally laid bare. For the inevitable had come to pass, for both Dancer and her partner. Using the left side of her body to immobilize Spindrift, she then swung with her right arm, this time certain that her blade would find and sever [URUMI] at its scar-gnarled root.


    But that was when Spindrift activated [AEGIS], enveloping both himself and his would-be vanquisher within a black spherical field of stasis and assimilation.


    [NAGINATA] immediately lost its momentum, as its force and energy were sucked away by a Reiter¡¯s memories of rejection. Long before Spindrift took on his currently mended form, [AEGIS] had been a near-permanent fixture among his loadouts, and it¡¯d now arrived at its final iteration, imbued with the baser needs of a killer¡¯s troubled mind. For even an apex predator knew what it was to be afraid¡ªto want nothing more than to protect himself against those who would shatter the only reality he knew.


    Sensing¡ªknowing¡ªall this, Asena persisted with her attack. She gripped the shaft of [NAGINATA], as tightly as she held to [URUMI], and she swung with all her might, fighting against the viscosity of [AEGIS]¡¯s stasis-field as though she were wading through mud. And once again, she was visited by an idea, an instinct, an impetus that was more than her own. Another one of her [REVENANT] selves.


    No. Not just one. A hundred, a thousand, a million of them. All of her [POSSIBLE] [REVENANTS] rushed into her consciousness at once, lending their voices to an absolute pandaemonium of memories and intents.


    And within this Nexus-melting chaos, Asena found it. A thread. An unmistakable link that connected a Kurator to the latest of her broken Reiters, as surely as their Eidolons were presently locked in a deadly embrace.


    And even though no script existed for this¡­ even though no other Kurator across a million realities had ever encountered this exact scenario, Asena Shiranui knew what to do. She held all of her [POSSIBILITIES] within her chest and reached across the chasm.


    [EVOCATION].


    A military policeman in his black uniform kneels over a dancer¡¯s lifeless body, even as red stains spread over the holes in her golden dress. A judge presides over the case of an unrepentant scoundrel, announcing his sentence with a heavy gavel and an even heavier heart. A general meets his tactician¡¯s scorn with a grim shake of his head, knowing full well that this would be the last time they''d speak as allies¡­


    ¡­ A warrior stands at the entrance to a solarium that doubles as his youngest sister¡¯s ¡®studio¡¯, waiting for her hand to stop or her eyes to wander. He waits patiently despite his pressing duties, holding in his spindly hand a gift: an Old Earth treatise on ¡®Expressionism¡¯. He waits patiently, and when he sees with his knowledge of [THE INEVITABLE] that his sister is too absorbed in her painting to pay him any mind, he puts the book down on the nearest table and slips out of the solarium, as quietly as he¡¯d arrived.


    [AEGIS] dissolved.


    [NAGINATA] came down at speed, connecting with and tearing through the tumours and scars that bound a warrior to his obsidian blade. Having now lost both of his arms, Spindrift appeared also to lose his will to fight, to hunt, to kill. His now entirely crimson frame sagged and sank in the air, before the thrusters too cut out, sending yet another metallic giant tumbling toward the barren earth, with no force other than gravity acting on it or the prisoner held within its central chassis.


    Asena Shiranui used the last of her Somatic and Psychic Reserves to will her giant into action, diving and catching Spindrift¡¯s limp frame in Dancer¡¯s arms. Together, sister and brother made their way out of the thick of battle and onto the desert floor, which even now filled with the obsidian carcasses of freshly fallen Syntropy.


    No one among the [ALLIANCE]¡ªnot even a Kurator who¡¯d just taken the most intimate glimpse into a warrior¡¯s memories¡ªpossessed the requisite intel to know what yet remained of Makiri Shiranui, hiding somewhere within his metallic prison. Even so, Asena no longer feared. She no longer worried.


    Because she saw, and she understood. Across a million failed realities, across a million and myriad more of Makiri Shiranui¡¯s remembered selves, not a one¡­ not a single one of them had belonged to a killer wrapped within an aegis of unfeeling metal.

 96. SEANCE 6

    ~April 28th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Capricorn, inside the Mothership~


    Kingfisher swam into a Leviathan¡¯s innards, against currents that rippled from the origin of nightmares, and toward the resting place of shared dreams.


    His war¡ªhis race¡ªhad whittled down to its final moments: a final sprint at the end of an interminable marathon. He carried with him the fading strength of [ALLIANCE], voices that yet sang as one of victory. He held gratitude for his allies: the last, the best, and the bravest of warriors that had quelled an obsidian storm, clearing the path for Kingfisher to take his final dive into the Mothership¡¯s innards. Most of all, he filled the hollow in his chest with hope, that much-needed ballast against the constant instability of a young Reiter¡¯s Reserves.


    For he needed all the Reserves he could spare. For he knew that this time would be different. That this iteration of the Mothership waited not with empty corridors nor beguiling darkness. That she meant to punish and annihilate all enemies who would deny her warrior his salvation.


    Even if¡ªand especially because¡ªthat enemy was the warrior himself.


    Everything was different. Yet nothing had changed. In many ways, this final test felt to Zelen like his very first. A proto-Reiter proving his worth by conquering the Gauntlet, culminating in a Trial against his most feared examiner. This final dive-sprint-test now served as a warrior¡¯s ultimate Gauntlet¡ªto prove the worth of his dreams against the weight of stardust that had long turned to ash.


    And as if to highlight the enormity of the occasion, this Mothership¡¯s corridors were lit¡ªdimly but surely by redly glowing [TEARS] that seeped from the walls and pooled upon the floors. Viscous, adhesive, and nourishing¡­ like saps upon trees that once grew in realities far removed from this one. Even now, broken creatures both obsidian and ash-laden fed upon this sap, to be mended by [TEARS] that only knew the shape of what things ought to be¡­ and not what they could.


    The creatures rose and accosted Kingfisher as he committed to his Gauntlet. Some were readily familiar to a young Reiter that fought on in the Year 140 Anno Hominis. Others were entirely alien. Yet all emitted signals that echoed from a million failed and remembered realities.


    The creatures rose, and Kingfisher fought¡ªkilled¡ªthem all. Even as hope ballasted his Reserves, he committed to his Gauntlet, his final mission. He would gladly turn killer one last time¡ªcede autonomy to the loneliest and most violent of his remembered selves¡ªif it meant that he could end the war. Right here. Right now.


    A swarm of Hornets he set aflame with sprays of [FLAMMENWERFER]. A platoon of Brutuses he shredded with [CLUSTER LAUNCHER]. A hive of Vorases he flushed out with bursts of [GATLING]. And a wall of Kentavroses fell away to a sweeping [BARDICHE].


    Then an Eidolon stood in his way, model ES-F to be exact, unmistakable for its muscular frame, brutish strength, and familiar charcoal-grey paintwork. Whether this was the Mothership¡¯s unwitting trick or the ghost of his own tortured past, it made no difference to Kingfisher in the moment. He took to the task with the grim resolve of a seasoned killer, and finished the fight with a [MISERICORDE] dagger to the central chassis.


    And this time, the kill meant something. Kingfisher¡¯s chest ached and sang with memories and intents that were decidedly not nothing. He remembered the hard eyes and expansive smile of a tyrant¡ªone of too many across a million realities. He remembered the tyrant and the War he''d fought in his own ways, and this recollection itself became another test amidst this final Gauntlet. For Kingfisher had something to prove¡­ not just to himself but to all those who¡¯d failed before him.


    So, Kingfisher fought on. His enemies were many and varied like never before, straining a Reiter and his Eidolon to the limits of their loadouts and conventions. And Kingfisher broke through those limits. Rewrote his [POSSIBILITIES] into permanence in ways only he knew, at the end of a million and myriad more remembered wars.


    [MISERICORDE] had been the fifth armament he¡¯d mapped onto his Eidolon during this very battle. And Kingfisher continued to add, rotate, and create: switching loadouts at will to fit his most immediate needs.


    A pair of ES-Vs folded at the ends of double [GLADIUS] extended to the sides like wings of death. Against an M-024, which wielded a pair of throwing blades Zelen had never seen, he ducked beneath the blades and dealt close-range death with [BLUNDERBUSS]. Then came a squadron of miniature Eidolons, as intrepid in attack as they were evasive in defense. Their flurries Kingfisher met with the absolute protection provided by [AEGIS], before crushing the lot of them with the impact-and-shockwave of [MJOLNIR].


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    Everything he¡¯d learned from dying a million and myriad more times. Everything he¡¯d absorbed from watching others fight, kill, and die by his side. All that and more surged and fluxed through Zelen¡¯s entire being, blending inextricably with the Nexus that empowered them. Here was Kingfisher at his last, best, and bravest. For he¡¯d finally learned what it was to fight as one¡ªnot alone, but as the unbroken whole of all that he remembered, loved, and grieved for.


    His ultimate test¡ªthe Trial¡ªcame in the form of anti-Eidolon unit ZT-¡Þ, designation Vendetta. A svelte obsidian beast, the spitting image of an ES-V. This iteration of it also wore on its back a pair of glassen wings¡ªbutterfly wings. Whether they were the Mothership¡¯s idle playthings or one last nightmare meant to extinguish a young Reiter¡¯s Reserves, it made no difference to Kingfisher in the moment.


    Even though the Vendetta had fed upon red [TEARS], the energy that fluxed from its obsidian frame was Nexus blue. The way things ought to be. The cruel juxtaposition toyed with Zelen¡¯s ever-tenuous Psyche, but he nevertheless set to his task with the grim resolve of an old friend.


    [SCUTUM] to meet [FUSILIER]. Quickthrust to dodge the point of [GUNGNIR]. Counter with [BOMBARDIER], only to be swept aside by a mighty gust, borne by a butterfly¡¯s wings. This told Kingfisher that this Vendetta too had evolved, beyond limitations that had been but drawings upon sand. The way things could be¡­ if they were determined enough to change their destiny.


    Two destinies collided then. One of a selfish need to survive, to build, to love. The other of a naive need to save, to mend¡­ and to love. Two unresolvable destinies collided in explosions of blue-on-blue. The Nexus didn¡¯t discriminate. For it only knew to heed the calls of those who sang loudest.


    The Vendetta¡¯s mended [WINGS] swept through a dimly lit corridor, unleashing blue waves upon ashen sand. The ensuing flares of energy tore through the sinewed walls of the Mothership¡¯s innards, thereby collapsing pathways and merging corridors on top of another.


    Kingfisher suffered through the worst of it, as he lost his footing and balance to the shifting arena. The energy radiated through his person, as much as it¡¯d stripped an Eidolon clean of its Armour. He felt it like rays of remembered sunlight, at once invigorating in its splendour and scorching in its menace.


    Zelen steeled himself against the pain. He leaned anew into hope, the better for it to ballast his dwindling Reserves. For the first time since the Gauntlet began, Kingfisher had come face to face with the very real [POSSIBILITY] of death. At the same time, however, his desire and determination to live had never been stronger.


    When next the Vendetta spread its [WINGS] again, Kingfisher was ready. Instead of trying to dodge, he engaged maximum forward thrust, simultaneously launching [HARPOON] from both shoulders.


    Two spearpoints flew at speed and led an Eidolon by their ephemeral chains. The points of [HARPOON] skewered the Vendetta¡¯s [WINGS] through their centres, thereby disrupting its second wave of energy. The energy then backfired as localized bursts of blue against an obsidian frame.


    Kingfisher didn¡¯t let up. He allowed the chains of [HARPOON] to extend fully, before pinning the Vendetta against a falling fragment of the Mothership¡¯s innards. He then flew into the explosion, breaking through columns of blue light twisting against black smoke.


    Gap-closer into melee finish. It was one of the very basic fundamentals of proto-Reiter training. Yet, it now graced the final manoeuvre of Kingfisher¡¯s war, as he buried [MISERICORDE] deep into the Vendetta¡¯s central chassis.


    Zelen knew that no human sat nestled within the metallic prison of this mended Syntropy unit. All the same, he felt the give of flesh and life as his blade found and shattered the inner mechanisms of a synthetic warrior. He then held his SPU-mediated gaze upon the Vendetta¡¯s monocular optic, as the last of its blue glow faded into nothingness.


    No. It wasn¡¯t nothing. He wouldn¡¯t let it be. He would remember this fight, this kill, this death, as surely as he remembered again and again and again the final moments of a dear friend. He would remember it, and carry it with him into his next destination.


    It was time. Two voices sang to the Nexus, and one rang louder and longer. Two destinies collided¡­ then rose as one mote of stardust.


    Kingfisher swam into a Leviathan¡¯s core, past the nightmarish currents that had tried to pull him under, and toward the final reckoning of his remembered dreams.


    The room at the end of the collapsed corridors was red. Redness was its one and only defining feature, glowing with uniform reflections from [TEARS] that had congealed upon its walls. The ¡®Engine Core¡¯ sat in the middle of this redness, and even its shape had changed and evolved. Mended to reflect the way things ought to have been.


    A container. Grey, metallic, windowless, and roughly cylindrical. Adorned by bags, tubings, and pipes that made up its system of plumbing. Input. Output. Input. Output. Lies. Truth.


    The last time Zelen saw a sustainment unit, its size had been modest enough to be a snug fit for a child or a very small adult. This time, it was enormous. So much so that it all but towered over his model ES-V. So much so that it blended seamlessly with the Mothership¡¯s immensity and incomprehensibility.


    No. There was nothing incomprehensible about the Mothership. Not anymore. For Zelen Athelstan of the Year 140 Anno Hominis saw and understood the purpose of every piece of obsidian metal that made up the Mothership¡¯s innards. He saw, understood, and had been the source of her endless war.


    It was time to put an end to that war. It was the finish line to an interminable marathon.


    Hope rocked against gentle sorrow within the hollow of Zelen¡¯s chest. He reached with a steady metallic hand, absent fear or hesitation, and pulled the handle.


    That was how he opened the window into the most secret depths of Silon¡¯s soul. And the first thing he saw therein was himself.

 97. SYMMETRY 5

    ~May 15th, 125 AH~


    ~Lower Akra, Budding Roots Early Education~


    I sit in the front of the classroom, hoping to catch my father¡¯s¡ªthe teacher¡¯s¡ªattention.


    I know he knows where I am. I know he can see my hand, held as high and straight as I can manage. But he pretends not to see it. He pretends not to know where I am, and instead directs his smile and attention elsewhere¡ªthis time to a corner in the back of the room.


    ¡°Zelen, why don¡¯t you take a stab?¡±


    Zelen. It¡¯s a strange name that feels strangely out of place, here among children that grew up amidst crumbling concrete and rusted metal. Yet, despite its strangeness, it¡¯s a name that feels familiar to me.


    I often wonder about this. This familiarity of Zelen¡¯s strange name. I especially wonder about this as I gaze upon the skinny, narrow-shouldered boy who even now shrinks into a corner in the back of the room.


    In a room full of willful children that grew up amidst crumbling concrete and rusted metal¡ªin a room where I am¡ªwhy is it that this boy tries so hard to be invisible? Almost as if, by shrinking into his corner, he could shrink his way out of reality itself? And why is it that my father would direct his smile and attention at this boy that¡¯s nearly invisible¡­ rather than his own daughter who is anything but?


    Why is it that I can¡¯t take my eyes off him?


    ¡°Remember that story I told the other day?¡± My father again. ¡°About the room that keeps getting messier on its own?¡±


    Of course I remember. I remember everything my father teaches me. I remember everything that happens to me, because everything is real, and it¡¯s important that I¡ª


    ¡°Entropy!¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, Tsetseg. That¡¯s the one. What if I told you that up here¡­¡±


    Just for a while, I forget about the boy in the back of the room. I forget about the boy as I listen to my father teach us about the room in our head and how it can grow bigger and messier, as long as we let it. Remember everything. Let my room grow. Let it fill with mess that I can touch, cherish, and be grateful for.


    ¡°Something the matter, Zelen?¡±


    In the end, it all comes back to the boy, like it always does. This time, he does something he¡¯s never done before, and it makes me wonder about him like never before. This time, he stands on a line, unable to decide if he wants to cross it, or stay on the side where he can hide and remain invisible.


    The boy makes his choice, not without a little prodding from my father. But as he steps out of his corner to join my father, our eyes meet. Maybe for the first time that I can remember.


    His are the saddest eyes I¡¯ve ever seen, even for a child that grew up amidst crumbing concrete and rusted metal. And maybe for the first time that I can remember, I think I understand a little. I understand why someone would want to hide and remain invisible, even though there¡¯s so much in the world for them to touch and to remember.


    I understand a little, and I also can¡¯t help but notice the boy¡¯s sad gentle eyes linger on mine as we walk home together, hand in hand.


    ~March 24th, 126 AH~


    ~Lower Akra, the streets of District Radicis~


    I chase you through the alleyways, sure of foot and full of laughter.


    I chase you through twists and shortcuts I know like the back of my hand. I drive you out of hiding, out of the shadows and into the light.


    In the light, your eyes can¡¯t fully disguise the hope and joy that bubble beneath your endless sorrow. In the open, you can¡¯t hide your shy smile that lends tender solemnity to our afternoon dream.


    I reach for you. Or rather, gravity pulls me into you. You give a gentle tug of your own, and we both tumble, onto pavement that I¡¯ve touched and cherished for as long as I can remember.


    In my surprise, my laughter takes on the vibrations of my not-so-secret desires. In our shared delight, your face melts into a mirror of my own secret fears.


    Your hand stays wrapped around mine, won¡¯t let go. Your warmth blends with my fragile courage. Your breath gives shape to the rise and fall of your chest¡ªof my own chest.


    I lean in, with fear and desire in equal measure drawing me closer to that breath. As I do, something solid and fragile falls out of my hair and lands on your stricken face.


    A glass hairpin. Shaped like a flower petal. A gift from my mother, one of many that I cherish and am grateful for¡ªeven if she might not remember all that she gave.


    The interruption is both timely and a little deflating. We¡¯re at a juncture. Both you and I have a choice to make. But we both know it¡¯s not really a choice. You¡¯re the first to laugh, with your surprise softening into playful mischief in an instant. I quickly follow suit, eager to share with you the levity of an afternoon dream.


    We both sit up, hands letting go. You pick up the hairpin, then lean in to help me put it back in place. I try my best to hide my blush, hoping against hope that you can¡¯t hear how fast my heart¡¯s beating. It¡¯s the first time you¡¯ve ever touched my hair, and a part of me is now glad for my hairpin¡¯s timely and deflating interruption.


    A part¡ªno, all of me¡ªwill remember this moment forever.


    Because, in your presence, I no longer need to seek, to search. In your company, I dream of possibilities, of a room that fills and grows with a constant warmth, yours and mine.


    I want you to see me. I want to see you.


    I never want to look away.


    ~???~


    ~???~


    For how long have I been alone?


    Memories still flit in and out of the hollow in my chest. That one place in the whole world that still retains remnants of half-forgotten warmth. But even those memories no longer feel like mine.


    Memories flit in and out of the cooling hollow in my chest. They fill me with emotions as colourful and variegated as the memories themselves.


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    I fear for my mother as she recklessly berates an armed uniformed man that barges into our house of crumbling concrete and rusted metal.


    I ache for my father as he kneels over an emaciated unrecognizable woman, shaking with tears whose origins are unknown even to him.


    I steel myself for a flight into the fog of war, into the planet¡¯s haze, as an ash-laden phantom calls forth more memories of destruction and domination.


    I shudder with fragile hope as a hairless ageless creature bends her one obsidian arm around a lone red flower.


    And I suffer and die with my warrior as he tries and fails to change his destiny, again and again and again and ag


    For how long have I been everything I am and everyone I¡¯m not? For how long have I been alone?


    Still¡­ a part of me is glad. A part of me understands that this is right. That this is the way of things.


    Because I was nothing once. I was nothing until someone decided I wasn¡¯t. And simply by virtue of my newfound not-nothingness, I received and became so much. So much for me to touch, to cherish, to be grateful for. So much for me to remember, even if those memories no longer feel like mine.


    So much debt for me to repay.


    And so¡­ this is right. This is the way of things. The way for me to mend my warrior¡¯s broken world, one reality at a time. As many times as it takes. I should want for nothing more. I should want for nothing more than to be left alone with my secret [TEARS].


    Because everything I have are borrowed memories. None of them are real¡­ except to the people that dreamed them, to the people that still need them. None of this is real¡­ at least not to me.


    But if it''s not real¡­ why does it hurt so goddamned much?


    Silon.


    The voice is familiar, like the afterimage of a faded dream. It warms my hollow just a little bit. Knowing that I can still remember things that feel distinctly mine.


    Silon.


    The voice is more insistent now. Like it wants to be heard. But who would want to talk to me? To someone that¡¯s not even real?


    You¡¯re not alone.


    Where have I heard that before? Something from a borrowed memory. And I can¡¯t help but let it warm my hollow¡­ just a little more.


    You¡¯re not alone, Silon. I won¡¯t let you be.


    It¡¯s not just a voice anymore. Not just borrowed memories. Because I see him. I see his face. His eyes of gentle sorrow. And now that I¡¯ve seen them, I never want to look away. Never again.


    ¡°Zelen?¡±


    Zelen. It¡¯s a strange name that feels strangely out of place, here in the confluence of failed dreams and broken realities. Yet, despite its strangeness, it¡¯s a name that feels familiar to me. A name that belongs to me. And I to it.


    Yes, Silon. I¡¯m here. God knows I¡¯ve taken my sweet time¡­ but I¡¯m here. I¡¯ve found you.


    ¡°Zelen¡­ it really is you,¡± I whisper words that don¡¯t really feel like mine, in a voice I barely recognize. ¡°All of you.¡±


    I don¡¯t know why I said that. I don¡¯t know why it felt like the right thing to say. But as soon as I say it, I understand. And as soon as I understand, my heart aches anew. My hollow shakes and rocks with the force of half-remembered fears.


    ¡°But¡­ if all of you are here, that means¡­¡±


    Yes.


    ¡°You remember everything.¡±


    I do.


    Somehow, I feel my eyes brim with tears. Even though I have no eyes with which to shed them.


    ¡°Then¡­ I¡¯ve failed you, Zelen.¡±


    How so?


    ¡°I¡­ I was meant to be your anchor to your immediate reality. A place for you to seek validation of your triumphs, to find solace for your suffering. That I may sustain your war¡­ for as long as you needed me to. And when it got to be too much¡­¡±


    To put me out of my misery, when it got to be too much. Just like¡­ just like I¡¯ve tried to do the same with you¡­ in this and countless other realities before.


    ¡°¡­¡±


    It¡¯s bizarre, isn¡¯t it? When you really think about it? We suffer together, until one of us decides that the suffering is too much for the other, and that¡¯s when we decide to suffer alone.


    ¡°Zelen, I¡ª¡±


    The voice leans in, and his face¡ªand body¡ªalong with it. Somehow, I feel his hand brush against my hair. Even though I have no hair with which to hide the blush of my cheeks.


    You¡¯re wrong, Silon. You never failed me. I remember everything¡­ because I choose to.


    ¡°But, Zelen¡­ all those wars. All those losses. All those deaths. How could you¡­ how could one man bear so much¡ª¡±


    He pulls me by my arms and takes me in his. Even though I have no arms with which to return the embrace. He¡¯s unsurprisingly skinny, with shoulders as narrow as I remember them.


    I¡¯m not one man. And you¡¯re not alone. Not anymore.


    My tears fall. Not the secret ones I hold in the hollow of my chest. But the ones that flow from tear ducts I don¡¯t have. The ones I lay bare for all the world¡ªfor Zelen¡ªto see.


    ¡°There¡¯ll be more suffering. More that you¡ªwe¡ªwill wish to forget.¡±


    I know.


    ¡°I won¡¯t always be by your side. Wherever you go from here¡­ I might not be able to follow.¡±


    Go wherever you need to go. Be whatever you need to be. And if you need me, then I¡¯ll come find you again. Just like I did here and in countless other lives before. I¡¯ll never stop looking until I find you.


    Along with the tears, I let out a cry. Even though I have no throat that could burn with the heat of my anguish, that could shudder from the depth of my yearning.


    ¡°Do you promise, Zelen? I can¡­ I can trust you?¡±


    I do, and you can.


    I shudder with more tears. Oh, how I want to believe him. How I want to believe that I¡ªwe¡ªcan be more than what we are.


    It¡¯s time, Silon.


    A glass hairpin falls on a boy¡¯s stricken face. The interruption is timely¡­ and just a little deflating.


    It¡¯s time for you¡ªus¡ªto make a choice. To become more than what we ought to be. To push, to dance, to fight¡­ against the edges of what could be.


    For a moment, I see these same edges Zelen dreams of. With eyes that are unmistakably and resolutely my own. I pull myself closer into his embrace, with arms that tense with remembered strength. And I blink away the tears of a frightened little girl, so I may yet imbue all of my infinite and [POSSIBLE] [TEARS] with new dreams.


    Because, for as long as I¡¯m not nothing, then there¡¯s still so much for me to touch, to cherish, to be grateful for.


    To remember.


    ¡°Do you still remember, Zelen?¡± I ask in a voice that is solely and uniquely mine. ¡°About the room that keeps getting messier on its own?¡±


    ~~~


    ~~~


    ~~~


    ~April 28th, 140 AH~


    ~Sector Capricorn, Vallemor Desert~


    Asena Shiranui watched as the black shadow over her sky dissolved into red tears.


    She watched alongside her fellow warriors¡ªboth the wounded and the fallen¡ªas the Mothership crumbled like brittle concrete and fell away like rusted metal. The Mothership, along with the whole of her immensity and incomprehensibility, fell away, with each of her assimilated parts having served their purpose for the last time.


    The Mothership fell away and was no more. And in her place, [TEARS] burst forth into the overcast sky, melted into the planet''s haze, and began to fall upon the barren earth as raindrops. Soon after, this novel and unprecedented rain cast the skies over Vallemor Desert and beyond in a hue that was at once alien and familiar to the wounded warriors who watched it fall. It was a reddish gloam: the colour of grief and the hope contained therein.


    Asena watched the rain fall. And no matter how long she watched or how hard she looked, she never again saw a midnight-blue phantom point his ash-laden frame into the planet''s clearing skies.

 98. ASPIRATIONS 7

    ~January 5th, 141 AH~


    ~Sector Pisces, Peranka Clinical Complex (formerly known as Gold Rush FOB)~


    The sun shone brightly upon a modest concrete hut as Akash Varana left his wife and son behind, not to chase an impossible dream, but to face the responsibilities that followed the fruition of that reality. As he did, his thoughts were still preoccupied with the Arenaball match he¡¯d helped officiate last evening.


    As much as Kiran Varana had taken after his father in physical appearance, he''d inherited none of Akash¡¯s deficiencies as an athlete. Akash had watched with equal parts pride and anxiety (and forgot to blow the whistle a few times) as his now sixteen-year-old son dominated an arena full of players much older than him. His opponents had included the stocky Jaeger Feray Geyik, oft-touted to be ¡®untackleable¡¯, who¡¯d finally met her match in the form of ¡®her boss¡¯s son¡¯ who hunted the pill with the ferocity of youth unbound.


    The sight of his son in the fullness of youth had filled Akash with equal parts hesitant pride and instinctive anxiety. His only hope was that, given enough time, both his guilt-borne hesitation and war-weary instincts would wane in intensity. He even allowed himself to be rather optimistic about this hope¡­ for time was now something he had plenty of.


    Yes. Time was something both he and his allies had plenty of. Time to reconcile. Time to heal. Time to build for a future that knew no bounds.


    And yet, time alone wasn¡¯t enough to see a dream to fruition. So, Akash Varana set to his responsibilities for the day, which started with getting himself breakfast from the canteen at Peranka Concourse.


    There, he was greeted, as always, by the canteen manager¡¯s cheery contralto and bracing laughter. He and Sarnai Tenger chatted for a bit¡ªor rather, Sarnai chatted and Akash listened, mostly to complaints about her husband¡ªbefore she finally deigned to fill his plate with the day¡¯s special. This morning, the special happened to be fish cake, which the Gaertner found to be oddly appropriate. Then he gave his usual greetings to the kitchen staff, which included a shyly smiling Ruhua, before taking his meal into the seating area.


    Empty seats were plenty this early in the morning, but Akash was soon joined by the slightly limping figure of Feray, dressed and ready for her shift in her white lab coat. Even after months of sharing breakfast with her, it was still strange to see Feray in anything other than a jumpsuit or combat fatigues, but he supposed he¡¯d have plenty of time to get used to that too.


    ¡°Morning,¡± Akash chirped, unable to hide a slight smirk as he did. ¡°I see you¡¯re still smarting from last night.¡±


    ¡°Morning,¡± Feray grunted, ¡°and don¡¯t start. That was an illegal tackle, and you know it.¡±


    ¡°You sure about that, Feray? I did have a pretty good view of it.¡±


    ¡°A pretty good view of your son, you mean. As far as I could tell, you weren¡¯t paying attention to anything else happening in the game.¡±


    Akash chuckled. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s because he was most of what was happening in the game. Next time, you might want to consider taking the pill out of his hands once in a while.¡±


    At this, Feray merely snorted, then Gaertner and Jaeger ate in companionable silence for some time, before the latter spoke again, uncharacteristically serious.


    ¡°Oh, did I tell you? I just received another requisition from the knuckleheads over at Akropolis. That¡¯s already twice in two months! We¡¯re stretched thin as it is trying to ration resources here at Peranka, and that asshole Ghata keeps pestering me about propping up his little pet project. Can¡¯t you say something to him? Aren¡¯t you¡­ almost like his uncle or some shit like that?¡±


    Akash took a moment to compose his response, unable to hide a chagrined smile as he did. He wasn¡¯t so sure if the now Vakta patriarch had ever looked to his Varana senior as an ¡®uncle¡¯ figure, but he couldn¡¯t deny that he himself had a soft spot for the younger man, even after all that had happened between them and more. Especially now, as Ghata Vakta¡ªless an arm and an eye as a result of the injuries he¡¯d sustained from the final days of the Syntropy War¡ªdedicated his waning wealth and influence to the surprising pursuit of ¡®Old Earth Restoration¡¯, Akash couldn¡¯t help but wish to lend his support.


    ¡°You call it a ¡®pet project¡¯, but I think what Ghata¡¯s trying to do is important. We all must move forward as best we can, but we also shouldn¡¯t turn our back on our history¡ªboth of virtue and of folly. Besides, have you heard the man play the flute? With one hand? Maybe I just have strange taste, but I think it¡¯s quite nice.¡±


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    It was difficult to tell whether the disdain plain on Feray¡¯s face was for Ghata¡¯s flute-playing prowess or Akash¡¯s defense of it. ¡°Right, so when can I expect you to pull out a fresh batch of operation-grade Anamnium out of your ass? Even if it really does feel like Anamnium grows on trees these days, doesn¡¯t mean we¡¯ve got the personnel to harvest enough of it to keep up with demand.¡±


    Akash nodded, with as much performative solemnity as he could manage. It was true that he¡¯d chosen the former site of Gold Rush FOB as his new base of operations mainly due to the rapid recovery of the region¡¯s Anamnium founts following the Mothership¡¯s ¡®dissolution¡¯. It was also true that the hard-working Jaegers who now called Peranka home needed to work harder than perhaps any Jaeger before them just to supply the various human settlements that were spreading across a healing earth.


    Akash could understand and sympathize with Feray¡¯s plight. At the same time, he knew better than to butt his head in where his (lack of) expertise didn¡¯t belong.


    ¡°To that, let me just say I have full faith in your and the Jaeger Corps¡¯ readiness and ability to rise to the occasion. Just as you¡¯ve done countless times before. Just as you will for countless more challenges to come.¡±


    After breakfast, Akash and Feray went their separate ways, now sharing only their readiness to meet whatever challenges the day might present. Akash then went to his office to jot down a few notes, before making his way over to the Spiegel Rehabilitation Ward where he started his rounds. He went to the first bed, only to find it empty. It wasn¡¯t until the third empty bed in a row that he remembered what day of the week it was.


    He found his patients¡ªall of them¡ªgathered in the courtyard outside the Ward. Most still sat in wheelchairs, but some had recovered enough muscle mass and strength to stand with the help of crutches. In any case, all 22 of them had gathered in the courtyard this morning to give their undivided attention to one man who was just as bald as them and nearly just as small.


    Bateer Tenger stood amidst the silent yet attentive Spiegels, reading aloud from a tattered book in his hand. As Akash stood back and listened, he soon recognized the book in question to be a recovered volume from the Story of the Stone, an intricate if somewhat meandering chronicle of an Old Earth culture¡¯s distant past. The Gaertner himself wasn¡¯t the biggest fan, and he rather questioned the subject matter¡¯s suitability for engaging a captive audience. However, looking at the 22 pairs of eyes and ears that followed the storyteller¡¯s every word and gesture, he couldn¡¯t rightly argue with the results. And just one more reason to root for Ghata Vakta¡¯s little pet project¡­


    Akash stood back and listened for a while, then went back inside, deciding he could come back later to finish his rounds. After all, his patients looked to be in good spirits and even better hands.


    The rest of his work day went by with nary a hitch¡ªnot that Akash had expected any. There¡¯d been a time, in the immediate aftermath of the war, when every second and every drop of Anamnium were precious in the race between life and death. Yet, after just a matter of months, that race felt like a distant memory. These days, most anything that came through his clinic¡¯s door¡ªan aching back, a sprained ankle, a bad cough¡ªdidn¡¯t even require communion with the Nexus to manage¡­ to the point where he began to doubt whether he could still call himself a ¡®Gaertner¡¯ at all. If he were completely honest, that notion unnerved him slightly. But he also knew that he needed only time for it to feel like the most natural thing in the world.


    Akash ended the day by making a detour on his way home. The sight of Bateer reading to his ¡®class¡¯ of Spiegels from an Old Earth book had put him in a rather pensive and nostalgic mood. He thought to acknowledge that mood by paying some old friends a visit.


    The memorial plaque¡ªreferred by locals simply as ¡®Remembrance¡¯¡ªsat atop a small hill that overlooked the clinic. Unlike the much larger memorial installed at Akropolis¡¯s reconstructed Horsemen¡¯s Square, this solitary plaque housed a much shorter list, containing only the names of those who''d been lost during the Uprising War, the Battle of Akropolis, and the Battle of Vulkan Coast. Even so, they were some of the names that meant the most for a Gaertner and his memory of alliance.


    Tino Lluvia. Chai Dukhan. Kari Falten. Graeme O¡¯Riordan.


    And¡­ Eddy Vesnin. For as Akash made his way to the top of the hill, he saw that someone was already there before him. Ruhua. The young woman from the canteen who, every morning, greeted him with polite words and a shy smile. She now turned that smile to him as he approached, one that shone through despite the tears that yet streaked her cheeks.


    And thus, as the sun drooped toward its evening resting place and bathed the domeless sky over Peranka in a purplish glow, an aging revolutionary and a young canteen worker stood together in silent remembrance. It was a shared reminder, not only of all that had been lost, but also of all the time it would still take to reckon with that loss.


    Perhaps the scars would fade in time. Perhaps they never would. And perhaps that was the point.


    As if in affirmation of his own chosen way to reckon with loss, Akash called to the Nexus once more, for the first time in many days. He summoned his map of [ALLIANCE] and counted his blessings as much as his losses.


    And there, somewhere in a corner of his right temporal lobe, in the same place he¡¯d always reserved for it, he felt one node of signals shine with unbroken brilliance. For the node belonged to just another in a long procession of [ALLIES] who yet chased dreams that needed seeing to fruition.

 99. RISING 7

    ~January 5th, 141 AH~


    ~Sector Leo, somewhere along the coasts of Terra Nebulo~


    Asena Shiranui pointed her faded-gold machine toward the eastern horizon and the hope that bloomed beyond a rain of [TEARS].


    Today, she flew on a simple escort-and-retrieval mission. The scout drones had picked up potential images of revitalized flora¡ªas well as definitive signs of remnant Syntropy activity. Lucinia Mauri, Sector Leo¡¯s on-site revitalization specialist, had been tasked with retrieval, but of course, given the threat of a Nautilus unit stalking the surrounding body of water, the young Gaertner had also been assigned two combat-grade Eidolons for protection.


    Asena pilotted one such Eidolon: the [NAGINATA]-wielding M-024 that she¡¯d gotten to know very well over the course of nearly a year. Makiri Shiranui made up the other half of the partnership, nestled within an ES-V sporting fresh crimson paintwork as well as a newly repaired right arm.


    For Asena herself, this would be her 28th deployment since the end of the Syntropy War, which meant she was just two shy of qualifying for mandatory retirement from ¡®combat¡¯ duty. Soon, a fresh batch of proto-Reiter graduates would take over, thus minimizing the risk of permanent Psychic deterioration in those that continued to fight in this new era of ¡®non-Tethered combat¡¯. Although¡­ with any luck, Asena hoped, humanity would soon dispense with the need for combat personnel altogether.


    Yet, all this also meant she had rather complicated feelings about Makiri flying alongside her. For this was his first post-war deployment, after a months-long recovery from various ailments both Somatic and Psychic, and even though he should¡¯ve been already retired in view of the length and density of his prior service. It was, of course, Makiri himself that had insisted on returning to active duty (against the protests of the entire Shiranui clan), and Ghata Vakta, being the thoughtless spineless non-leader that he was, had given his old comrade special dispensation to do so.


    It all put Asena in a rather irritable mood as she escorted Lucinia¡¯s worker Eidolon toward the eastern horizon and the promise of new life that awaited beyond a gloam of red tears. So irritable, in fact, that she sought any number of ways to distract herself from her own thoughts, chief among them being a light conversation with the mission¡¯s VIP.


    ¡°Gosling Alpha, this is Dancer. Permission to speak freely?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    ¡°Gosling Alpha?¡±


    ¡°Oh! That¡¯s me, isn¡¯t it? Um, of course, Ase¡ªDancer, go ahead.¡±


    ¡°Tell me again about our retrieval target for today? I noticed¡­ an unusual level of excitement among the revitalization team. How is this one different to the other samples we managed to recover so far?¡±


    ¡°Um, it¡¯s a good question, Asena. I¡¯d say the reasons for us to be excited are mainly twofold, the first being the conditions for revitalization observed around the easternmost coast of Terra Nebulo, and the second being the actual organism that was depicted on the drone images.¡±


    ¡°It was¡­ a flower, is that right?¡±


    ¡°A whole bed of flowers, yes! We¡¯ve never seen anything like it, and honestly, we¡¯re all just pinching ourselves, hoping it¡¯s real. I mean, after months of diving into caves to scrape off miniscule amounts of algae... if this is real, it truly feels like a miracle.¡±


    ¡°And you think such a thing was made possible only because of this¡­ particular environment in Terra Nebulo?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a reasonable assumption, yes. Ever since the war ended, we¡¯ve been able to detect the presence of [TEARS] in pretty well every corner of the planet, but this is the first time we¡¯ve seen them in such concentration and duration. It¡¯s a¡­ a veritable storm of [TEARS], and I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if it¡¯s hiding even more surprises for us!¡±


    Asena fell silent then, reflecting on her bizarre new reality where the presence of red gloamy particles that fell from the sky¡ª[TEARS]¡ªwas widely credited with a barren planet¡¯s gradual yet observable revitalization. It of course followed a certain kind of logic, one that Asena herself subscribed to whole-heartedly, having seen¡ªand fought¡ªthe erstwhile creations of the very same [TEARS]. After everything that had happened, everything she¡¯d seen and lived through, she didn¡¯t think it a bridge too far to believe that the planet was mending itself, and that it did so by feeding on the disembodied secretions of a motherly figure that once called it home. In fact, Asena even had her own inkling as to why this particular corner of the planet happened to receive an inordinate share of the red nourishing rain.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The Nexus doesn¡¯t discriminate. It only knows to heed the calls of those who sing loudest¡­ or perhaps longest in this case¡­


    Presently, the trio approached the peninsula that jutted out from Terra Nebulo¡¯s eastern coasts, and the ¡®storm¡¯ in Lucinia¡¯s description became immediate reality. Unprecedented concentration and duration of [TEARS]. The Gaertner hadn¡¯t exaggerated, and Asena¡¯s combat instincts danced to the fore with an urgency she hadn¡¯t felt in many days, as the severely reduced visibility put her on high alert.


    ¡°Gosling Alpha, on me. And stick close.¡±


    Yet, despite her heightened senses, it was Makiri¡ªand his immaculate knowledge of [THE INEVITABLE]¡ªthat proved sharpest.


    ¡°Incoming. Directly to your 3 o¡¯clock.¡±


    With a splash of water that momentarily dissolved the red gloam, a Nautilus¡¯s tentacle shot across a corner of Asena¡¯s vision. She turned to it with speed, thanks in no small part to Makiri¡¯s warning, and truncated the tentacle with a precise swing of [NAGINATA]. She then wasted no time to dive down and finish the job by burying her blade into the ¡®soft¡¯ underside of the Nautilus¡¯s shell.


    The fight was over in a matter of seconds, and so efficient had Asena¡¯s movements been that her overdrive gauge had barely filled up a third of the way. It was to be expected. She was, after all, a seasoned combat veteran nearing retire¡ª


    Just then, a second obsidian tentacle appeared from the unseen shadows behind Asena, this time flying straight toward the worker Eidolon that was the mission¡¯s VIP. Asena felt its presence and saw the moment a red marker flickered onto her radar display, but by then, it was too late for her to¡ª


    Asena spun anyway, just in time to see a blue [WINCHESTER] round cut off the tentacle before it could reach Lucinia¡¯s Eidolon. This was quickly followed by the blue shockwave of a [MJOLNIR] finisher: just as efficient and just as deadly as it¡¯d ever been.


    For a moment, Asena could do nothing but breathe hard into the solitude of her cockpit, as her heightened senses gave way to the after-horror of a close shave with disaster. But soon enough, the combined poise and experience of her [REVENANT] selves came back to the fore, bringing with them a measure of much-needed calm.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said simply. Even after everything she¡¯d seen and lived through, she still didn¡¯t quite know how to talk to her oldest brother.


    Another moment passed between them, long enough to make Asena wonder if Makiri might not say anything at all. Then¡ª


    ¡°Don¡¯t mention it. This is what I do.¡±


    And that was that. The return mission of Akropolis¡¯s most seasoned combat veteran. Form is temporary, class is permanent.


    Asena met this realization with equal parts hesitant relief and cautious hope. Relief because even she could accept and understand why Makiri Shiranui felt the need to postpone his retirement for as long as possible. And hope because¡­ she was cautiously optimistic that he, she, and everyone of their allies would soon have no choice in the matter.


    With the Syntropy threat dealt with, a routine mission had become even simpler. Or it should have. Instead, the trio was faced with a new problem: that of actually finding the patch of revitalized flora that had been touted as something of a miracle. They flew up and down the easternmost coast of Terra Nebulo, only to be beset by ever worsening visibility. The veil of [TEARS]¡ªa red haze¡ªwas so thick here that the three Eidolons were in real danger of bumping into and destroying a bed of flowers before they had any chance to sample it.


    ¡°Gosling Alpha, should we call off the search? Maybe wait for better visibility?¡±


    ¡°No! I mean¡­ please don''t. I know it¡¯s here somewhere. If we could just¡ª¡±


    Suddenly, Asena¡¯s world changed in the blink of an eye.


    As if in deference to a gust of divine wind¡ªas if in greeting an old friend¡ªthe red haze, along with all the [TEARS] it contained, parted. The shift was abrupt and total, instantly revealing the full extent of what the scout drone had tried to capture amidst a metaphysical storm of memories and intents.


    And Asena saw that the Gaertner hadn¡¯t exaggerated. If anything, Lucinia had undersold her discovery. For stretching before Asena and her faded-gold machine was a planet she remembered but never knew.


    Cloudless heavens. Vast sky-blue ocean. And atop a sheer cliff: not one, not a bed, but an entire field of glistening red flowers.


    The flowers and their lurid, vibrant redness filled the outcropping of land that formed the cliff along the coast. And even now, they spread their presence further inland, onto the rest of Terra Nebulo and perhaps even beyond¡ªas if they meant to paint the whole world in life  and the hope contained therein.


    Asena saw, understood, and wept.


    As she wept silently amidst the red gloam that diffused into her cockpit, she filled the chasm within her chest with as many of her [REVENANT] selves as she could collect. And she reached out to stitch her own thread¡ªher own heartfelt farewell and greeting¡ªinto the endless fabric of the universe.

 [FINAL] 100. STARDUST

    ~A Time Between Place~


    ~A Place Between Time~


    And in the inconceivable expanse of space, at a time between place and through a place between time, travels a mote of dust.


    Its journey is measureless. Its memories are innumerable. The multitudes of life it touched and changed are undefinable. And though not all memories have a name, it remembers them all, and would relive them from time to time. A shift in gravity. A ray of starlight. It doesn¡¯t take much to jostle this mote of dust into one of its innumerable recollections.


    It remembers the weight of a crown. It remembers the death of a firstborn. It remembers the spray of ocean against sheer white cliffs. It remembers the wind beneath its wings.


    And it floats on. In the inconceivable expanse of space, and through the immateriality of time, the mote of dust floats on.


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    Minutes turn to hours. Hours into years. Years into aeons. Aeons into eternity¡ªephemera writ large. And still, it floats on. It floats until it brushes against another mote of dust, and in the fraction of a moment where this improbable meeting takes place, shared memories pass between them.


    The glare of blue flames amidst the planet¡¯s haze. The smear of rusted metal on delicate hands. The breezy summer shade beneath a crabapple tree. Idle words shared across the boundaries between dreams. The lingering heat of a lover¡¯s kiss.


    The moment is impossibly brief. They¡¯re together, then they¡¯re not. Just two motes of dust in the inconceivable expanse of space. They may never meet again, until the end of time that stretches to immateriality.


    And yet, they don¡¯t grasp. They don¡¯t linger. They part, with each taking memories they share and memories they don¡¯t. And they continue their journeys¡ªmeasureless, separate, one and the same.


    For it¡¯s enough that, here in the endless fabric of the universe, for one brief yet infinite moment, they belonged to one another.


    ~~~


    ~~~


    ~~~


    THE END AND THE BEGINNING

 [ANNOUNCEMENT] New Story on Royal Road

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