-0031 Military Hours
-Tartarus Base, 16th of April

Shooting on sight will be authorized, this is the first it's been allowed," James mutters over the silence, breaking the tension with a careful tone.

"It's a necessity, just in case," I say.

He pushes on, "Not going to question it?"

I push down a weary sigh, maintaining a firm hold on my voice. "Not now at least, we all need some sleep first."

"Agreed," he says, heading away from the Operation's Wing, casting a puzzled glance at me shortly after.

"... you're not coming?"

I shake my head at his question, a thought stopping my legs from moving. "Not yet, need to clarify on something regarding the mission. You go ahead with the rest, this shouldn't take long," I assure my teammate, fixed on my intentions.

"Alright," James went off, bidding the quiet farewell under his breath.

I take a deep breath before trudging back into the Operations Wing, back to the place of intense discussions not ten minutes prior. My eyes survey the room for Meagan Pierce, finding her still with that heavy look on her face.

"Ma'am," I call out to the Operations Officer, stepping into her field of vision. She looks up to me, surprise evident in her posture as she focuses her attention on me, the dark bags under her eyes expressing the scope of her mental fatigue.

"What is it Lieutenant," Meagan says, more of a statement than a question. The rest of the command staff pay no attention to my sudden return as I gather the words lodged in my throat.

"The reconnaissance mission to Visegrad..." I begin, eyes locked onto the table. At the very least, I owe her my opinions regarding her plans. "Our own risk of casualties will be substantial, even more so without external support."

"I know it's not ideal, but you have to work with it," she replies. "If it really turns out the outpost, and everyone in it has been captured by the locals, it's up to you to conduct asset denial. Anything we can't bring back, it must go up in smoke."

"Fair enough." I issue her a small nod, going along with her answer.

It is reasonable, but something about the explanation prompts me to further continue the conversation. "You know that directive's drawn up from Cygnus Station." I retort, indirectly referencing the state of the Rift as distant memories of the Antarctic landscape fill my head.

The implications of what I said did not pass over her head unchecked. She ponders from across the table, the frown on her lips growing more evident by the second. Cygnus is no longer relevant to our operating procedures, and Meagan knows it.

For all intents and purposes, we are on our own. Jupiter Contingency is the only certainty for us, a basic guideline to keep us afloat in the mess we are in.

"It is, but as far as we're concerned that directive still is in effect. I need boots down south on Visegrad. Secondary objectives will focus on rescue if possible, I know you all can handle whatever's thrown your way. I've gone over everyone's files, your fireteam included," she answers, giving me a rough idea of what I can expect.

"It all seems hastily planned, we have no advanced intel on the island as it is," I comment, averting my eyes to the side. "No promises... but we'll do the best we can." She seems adamant on this particular course of action, I will have to trust her judgement even if it is a massive risk.

"I just have one request if it's possible," I declare, taking note to keep my words in line.

"What would it be Simmons?" Meagan answers, using my surname to indicate her heightened attention on me.

"If we fail to turn up at any of the extraction points on the 2nd of May, consider my fireteam compromised and most likely captured... or maybe worse," I say, pausing to deliver a more serious tone. "If that's the case, do us a favour and don't send any more units to Visegrad, it's not worth it."

Dark brown eyes meeting her tired blue, I wait for her reply as the stale tension surrounds us. Meagan for her part stood firmly against my stare, mulling over my grim statement.

"I... I'll note that down Lieutenant," she says, averting her eyes from me, seeming to understand the context. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that, anything else?"

"No Ma'am, that's all." I offer her my gratitude with the curt string of words, unclasping both hands behind my back to rest them on the table. An audible sigh rushes past my lips, carrying the full extent of my exhaustion, both physical and mental.

"You should get some shut eye while you still can," she says, pulling me out of my musings. "Only four hours till 0500."

"I probably won't, but thanks," I decline her suggestion, making my way towards the exit after noting the Operations Officer's show of concern.

Exiting the Operations Wing, the worry seated deep inside me still festers like an infected wound. Deciding to stroll through the dimly lit borders of the base, I wander through the outskirts without an inherent destination in mind.

Knowing what lies ahead, sleep will be almost impossible to achieve. It isn't worth the attempt, even though this will be my last opportunity to sleep on a bed for some time.

The shimmering backdrop of stars immediately catches my attention in the ensuing serenity, my eyes rooted at the foreign constellations as I reflect on the circumstances that led me to this moment. As with anything involving the distant past, I keep these memories under a tight lid, only skimming through them when there is nothing else occupying my mind.

The random sea of thoughts continue to circulate, each never lasting more than a few sparse seconds, with the exception of one. A name, paired with a woman's face. The one person I considered the closest to me, even with the distance between us. My best friend above everything else.

'Catherine...' The disappointment reflected in her eyes, the forced smile on her lips as I relayed the news. The very last time we locked eyes with each other on that restaurant, our farewells left unsaid in my haste.

I know my sister worries about me every single day. That was a given, it's in her nature. Now, after years of being so certain down this path in life, I find myself burdened with regret knowing I may never see her again.

The Blonde haired inhabitants of the Archipelago, the constant ebb of salt water crashing against the shoreline, and the distant faces of those that are only recently listed as missing in action.

They were furthest from my mind, even though they will be more than relevant in the coming hours.

===Present Time===

-0252 Military Hours, 28th of April
-Visegrad Island, Local Settlement

It's best to be honest about it all instead of pretending it's something else entirely. We are being corralled against our will, removing even the most remote options of escape. The open hostility emanating from the locals did little to take my attention off the fact we are currently following the one person I least expected to come across.

The tension dangerously hovers at the breaking point, even breathing the wrong way may just tip them over the edge. On all sides, the soldiers pointed their weapons mere inches from our vitals, tense arms poised to deliver the strike at any given moment. It was not a pretty sight.

With the obvious threat of lethal force giving my fireteam all the motivation we needed to remain cooperative, there isn't much I could do but entertain the harsh reality of our situation. We continue our silent march under heavy guard, my eyes keeping to the front and nowhere else.

The grimace on my lips are in full swing as a notion sweeps across my mind. The helmet keeps my expressions in check from those around me, something I was grateful for. No one really needs to know how much this affected me... how much this failure signifies to me.

Failure...

The greatest sin I could think of.

The horrible word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. The fear of slipping up, letting my teammates down, not doing more to prevent this. All of it, now a crushing reality.

I am at a complete lost at the outcome of the mission, with a part of me still trying to process the fact that the Major is somehow in collaboration with the locals. Fullerton is many things, experienced, a natural-born commander, and a whole other bag of positive traits, all modeled and exemplified as a single person. No matter how hard I try, the word traitor simply failed to stick to his image.

So why?

Moving along the open plaza only added to the potent cocktail of mixed feelings, betrayal and anxiety being the most prominent. There are several important questions brewing at the back of my mind, all of which were centered around the Major and his association with these folks.

Though I wanted to call out to the man in particular, I decide against the act at the last second, admittedly more than a little hesitant to break the silence with my life on the ropes. I shift my attention to the person beside him, a familiar figure constantly seen throughout the reconnaissance phase of the mission.

The officer was an enigma, it was evident even as early as one week ago. There is just something about the way he carries himself that made me consider him an unknown.

Much like the soldiers surrounding him, the officer's weapon is laced with a shade of blue, the soft glow coating the blade evenly across its surface. It was reminiscent of a claymore if nothing else, though I would not consider it as such given a few key differences in the sword's overall design.

With a hand perched on the hilt, it was clear this subtle gesture was intended to show he is armed, if the fingers constantly adjusting along the knob are anything to go by. His body posture is rigid, coiled and ready to spring into action, in other words he is prepared.

He leads the way across the settlement with a smaller contingent of soldiers alongside us, the rest having switched their efforts to deal with the commotion stirred up by our failed infiltration. All the while, I could not help but speculate about his course of action. Where exactly is he taking us?

The plaza behind is still filled with civilians, the vocal few too caught up in the moment to realize the supposed 'danger' had already past. I shake my head unknowingly at the thought, thinking back to the genuine fear plastered on the faces of the unfortunate few I've come across.

Throughout the course of my service, it was an expression I have become all too accustomed to seeing. Innocent people caught up in something they don't understand, the fear surging through their widened eyes. Those far-off memories added a hint of familiarity to this otherwise completely foreign situation.

Partially caught up by the mental imagery, the better part of me reeled my senses back into proper gear, pulling my attention away from the unexpected rush of memories. At a time like this, it is best I avoid anything that would negatively impact my spatial awareness.

Based on our current heading, it seemed reasonable to assume we are enroute towards the western-most encampment. It is the largest of the four and is the closest to the settlement at just under two kilometers.

The journey there is relatively silent, calm even with the plethora of footsteps marching through the grass. No one spoke during this, not my men, nor the locals soldiers. While we are still armed with our Rail Assault Rifles, I suspect it was only a matter of time before they were forcibly taken away.

I hold my weapon tighter in both hands, keeping the GD-45's muzzle angled downwards, the unpleasant frown on my lips growing more evident. These things were only the prototype variants, but nonetheless they were valuable.

"Where do you think we'll end up," Robert whispers over local comms, the guarded tone hiding his concern.

"Cut it damn it," James reprimands him immediately, "we're already neck deep as it is." He motions subtly to the front, prompting me to reprimand the both of them through communications.

"Both of you, quiet. No need to state the obvious," I say through gritted teeth, daggers embedded in my tone. The unprofessional choice of words cleared up the local channel as small pockets of light appear directly ahead. I squint my eyes at the distant pinpricks of yellow, trying to discern what they are.

Partially blocked by a handful of trees, they were spaced evenly across an elevation roughly four meters high. With each step closer, the light fog surrounding the darkness slowly lifted.

Eventually, the details become clear enough for me to identify the unknown structure, and by extension, what this place is. Akin to stirring a hornet's nest, I take in the sight of the encampment with a healthy dose of trepidation.

From here, the makeshift walls of the imposing compound could just be seen against the stars. Wooden barricades and numerous guard towers placed at regular intervals make up the perimeter defences, the array of lights I noticed earlier too weak to function as anything except a means to indicate the encampment's rough outline against the environment.

The central gate leading to the loosely circular compound remains locked, the edges shaped by daring curves and draped on both sides with a pair of red ornate banners.

I take away the rest of my observation as a loud creak breaks through to my ears, the sound deafening in comparison to the ambience around me. The gate swings open, the hinges moving inwards to slowly reveal an interior filled with all the things I have come to expect from over two days worth of pre-target surveillance.

Groups of tents separated by paved roads, vegetation swept aside leaving the occasional tree stump, and a few sturdier looking structures arranged in a predictable grid along the centre comprise the majority of the encampment's notable features. At first glance, there seems to be no significant changes or additions since the drones last swept the area exactly three days ago.

Out of the blue, the officer turns on his heels to my direction, his hand still firmly on his weapon. Instinctively I take a step back, shouldering my weapon in a pre-alert stance, my teammates doing the same in spite of the soldiers around us, the tension shooting straight up in just a few moments.

The cold edge of a sword situated against my nape is the only thing preventing me from issuing a vocal warning against his approach. I settle for holding my position until he stops just beyond my reach, rough eyes sinking deep into my own.

Behind him, Fullerton calls out to me, visible over the man's left shoulder guard. "Lieutenant," he says, pausing to get my attention.

Mildly surprised, I look in his direction, still keeping my guard up. "What is it Major?"

"He's able to speak English, nothing too advanced. Don't question how, that's irrelevant for the moment," he explains, prompting me to rise my brows in spite of the situation. "What is however, is what he will be explaining."

To the corner of my vision, Douglas shakes his head in apparent disbelief, turning to face me shortly after, intent on watching the spectacle through a skeptical lens. The rest of my fireteam did likewise, as did a few of the local soldiers. Despite being thrust into the spotlight, the sudden onset of attention did little to damage my composure.

Keeping my expression guarded but open to interaction, I listen intently as he collects himself with an audible intake of breath. Without further delay, he parts his lips to deliver his first string of words in coherent English.

"Before I begin," he breaks the ice, the syllables distorted with a clear accent, "I must request that you and your warriors undertake no further acts of violence and wanton destruction."

His wary eyes glared daggers into my own, taunting me to say otherwise.

"In the name of honor, do I have your word?" He says, indifferent expression partially obscured by the unusually designed helmet. On the surface, it seems reasonable in every sense of the word.

The conditions are simple, more than enough for me to agree on. "Affirmative," I answer strictly, the awkward silence prompting me to reconsider my formal choice of words. "Yes."

The brief shadow of confusion within his eyes dissipates, leaving behind a calculating gaze as he leads us into the encampment, left hand drifting away from the hilt of his sword.

I sweep my eyes across the interior, spotting a few female soldiers in the mix of armor towards the far right, the tresses of feminine blonde drawing my curiosity more than it actually should. I shake my head in bewilderment, the sight of a women in full metallic armor absurd to put it simply.

It is still hard to take this as a fact, that the females here also make up a considerable demographic in their standing army. With the Euralians into the equation, it seemed this is more than likely a universal constant throughout the rest of this world.

"Leave us," the Officer speaks, switching back into their language, confident tone burning with authority. "This matter will be left to me, return to your posts."

"By... your decree Sire," several of the soldiers mutter in unison, head bowed in acknowledgement. A few cast dangerous looks in my general direction upon hearing that, their sharp eyes glaring intensely from the sides with obvious disdain.

The sharp pressure against my nape finally leaves me as the remainder of the escort reluctantly breaks away from me and my men, the shuffle of footsteps breaking off seamlessly into the hustle of organized activity within the encampment.

"Follow me," the Officer says in English, "until the sun peeks over the waters, there is much to discuss." He motions a hand to the building, stepping aside to allow my fireteam and the Major entry first.

The rest proceed first while I hold my legs in position, intending to squeeze out an answer from him.

"Why," I inquire.

He turns his attention to me, appearing mildly offended. "?"

His expression says it all in lieu of a vocal answer, prompting me to continue on. "I don't understand, treating us with this level of mutual respect, you should know why we're here," I say, briefly shaking my head to signify confusion.

He mirrors my dark look, frown growing more consistent with each passing second as he mulls over my words.

"Your kind were never the enemy, we were blinded by our past until... it was too late. We struck first because of fear. A few of you humans died, but it is nothing compared to our losses," he pauses, downcast expression reflecting his guilt.

"By the Crystal Herald, I stand here now to make amends and prevent further bloodshed. This is a start, I suppose. No one else... needs to die," he ends with a mournful look spreading across his features.

Still lacking the full context to his answer, I can only offer a clueless nod to indicate my attention, drifting off with an almost quiet whisper at his last few words.

"... agreed," I say, sympathizing with him to a certain extent. I know how it feels like to witness someone you know die in a moment. That traumatic level of grief saturating your senses, it was something no amount of training could prepare you for.

"Anything but further escalation." Hopefully we can all put this behind and resolve this through negotiations, if this could be considered one.

It does not need to be said, but the Major must have told him about who we are. I remain silent passing the Officer, sealing my lips as I make my way into one of the rooms, expecting my answers to be given at any time as I wait in the small confines of the interior.

My men were restless, the Major on the contrary is not. As for me, the only thing I feel is an inkling deep inside of me, an excitement churning underneath my skin.

Whatever this is, I am confident the outcome will include one thing, valuable Intelligence. It is something to look forward to, at the very least.

======
-0542 Military Hours
-Visegrad Island, Local Settlement, Encampment four

Burning through the rest of the night, the Officer explains in further detail the string of events that eventually led to the attack on Visegrad outpost, including the context of who they are, and interestingly enough, what they call themselves. Since that information is now out in the open, the word to describe them I decided, seemed suspiciously convenient.

I keep a clear head as the discussions rolled through one after the other, some spiraling into lengthy debates between my men, the Major as well as the Elven Commander.

Every topic handled thus far is done so with a heavy heart. The grievances brought up from the side of the locals are laid out in a systematic manner, with damage to the Island's biggest terrestrial arthropods being brought into the equation surprisingly enough. From what I can differ, it had to do with the position of Visegrad outpost along the shallow bay.

Following the series of frantic incursions by the Titan Crabs, sightings of this particular species have gone down significantly, almost to the point they may as well be considered functionally extinct. The assault by the highly territorial arthropods could hardly be considered as one, if anything it was undeniably a slaughter.

The sight of the coastline littered with the corpses of the giant crabs is one that will stick with me in the decades to come. The former Visegrad detachment could not have known the area was their biggest, and only viable nesting grounds... until the damage is already done. Insufficient reconnaissance, coupled with a distinct lack of advance knowledge concerning the island's local ecosystem, in this case the blame is mostly on us.

In short, it was misunderstandings on the entire front, from both our sides. With this information mentally catalogued, my whole perspective on this affair shifted on its head.

Eventually, the tone of the conversation shifts into new territory, now centered on the nature of my fireteam's second deployment to Visegrad. I did my best to exclude any unnecessary information, opting instead to say the bare minimum as I describe our activities on the Island in chronological order.

I start off with day one, recounting the Advance Team's progress shortly after landfall. From encountering a group of stragglers from Visegrad's Taskforce to the prelude of the assault on that ship, I went ahead and covered the gaps. Minor misconceptions aside, the Elven Commander has proven adept at comprehending military based idioms.

"That's correct, we assaulted that ship with the intention of rescuing any survivors. It was called 'Silent Reception'. During this time, 1-3 was stationed south of this settlement to alert us to possible reinforcements," I say, the latter portion directed at Major Fullerton rather than the Officer beside him who proceeds to glare at me, not at all pleased in the slightest.

He makes his displeasure known, the lines on his face reinforced with resentment. "My old friend was on the Ethornai, your actions left him on the brink of death. However good your intentions are for your brethren, I still disapprove of it. Three of our warriors died that night," he states, the tone sharp and reprimanding.

"We carefully observed the rules of engagement whenever possible, the casualties are kept to a minimum," I strongly counter back, annoyance directed at the man I now know as the acting commander of the Island's military regiments.

"Like we've said before, it was all a misunderstanding," Robert uses the opportunity to voice his opinion, arms folded defensively. "All we want is to get the rest of the taskforce back and leave this Island, we're not leaving until then. The researchers are accounted for, but we've still got our scopes set on the security contingent."

"Asset denial as well, both on the outpost and whatever's on our target building back at the settlement. Logistical supplies, ammunition and weapons, classified documents pertaining to the local wildlife. Major... you get the idea," Douglas affirms, expanding on our mission parameters.

I let my men take the forefront of the conversation, giving them the opportunity to eventually get Fullerton up to speed on the affairs back at Tartarus.

As the words fade into the background, my mind reels back to the Major's comment roughly an hour ago. It was Fullerton's idea to consolidate every single piece of equipment from the outpost into one location to lure us out from the forest. He knew in hindsight we had to undertake asset denial, in addition to observing the rules of engagement. None of the locals would have been shot if they did not directly attack us.

Had I not known his reasons for doing all of that, I would have considered the Major mentally compromised and deserving of a court-martial. With what I know now, it seems best to consider the facts without letting my emotions factor into it. Such a feat was a tall order, even for me admittedly.

"Unbelievable..." I vocalize the thought as a whisper, still busy entertaining the oddity that was everything I have been told. Out here, down south and separated by several hundred kilometers of ocean, I never expected Faction Alpha to be the reason for the attack. The fear of being completely wiped out for good, that was the tipping point for the Elves.

These people represented the last remnants of a culture devastated by a ruthless campaign of genocide. Converted to our standard calendar, the event was roughly nine hundred years ago.

The same nation who almost wiped out the Elves are now the ones supplying Tartarus with the essentials necessary to sustain the remainder of our operations. The thought was alarming, more so given our level of vulnerability.

If anything happens, we have to be there.

"How soon can we have the rest of Taskforce Anvil," I press on, wanting to expedite the process. "I understand Anvil's military detachment is kept separate from the researchers, on the closest Island correct?"

"Correct Lieutenant," Fullerton shoots back, "though travel time from Gemini to Visegrad would be substantial. There's no way to speed that up considering transport is by sea."

"It will be many days before you will see your captured brethren. My messengers have already left on our fastest ship, it is the best I can offer," the Commander says with a hint of understanding.

"Duly noted." I forego the urge to rub my temple, accepting it with a sigh. Fortunately, there is a way to circumvent the delays. "Our exfil's scheduled to make landfall around the 2nd of May, early morning. I can maybe direct them to fetch them up, we'll have enough room. We really don't have much time Major."

"How much longer?" He questions, switching the topic back to the state of the Rift.

"Not much Sir..." James begins with a heavy undertone of despondency. "Before we left, projections from InOps puts the deadline at around late May. After that, they speculate the Rift will shrink out of existence all together."

"May 26th to be exact, of course that's considering the Euralians failed to assist us with it. There's a chance they might have slowed it down, or maybe even stopped it since we left Tartarus. I... can't say for sure though." Douglas points out, heading back to my peripherals afterwards.

I look towards the Elven Commander to determine his response towards all of this, sensing a slight twitch at the mention of their supposed enemies. "Euralians..." He whispers, fingers visibly digging into his palms.

In the interest of time, I ignore the reaction, heading back to the conversation. The final stretch of discussions leaves me with a solid conclusion. What I know about the Euralians, is only just the bare minimum.

An entire society based on a faith strikingly similar to the Elves, holding the concepts of honor and tradition to the highest levels possible. A matriarchal nation, built upon the wishes of the ever faithful.

Those were some of the words from that woman, Anhj. From her, I completely understood these people would do anything if it furthers the cause of their beliefs. To their soldiers, the very thought of refusing even the most questionable orders, is impossible to entertain.

"It may be hundreds of Starwheels ago, but their traditions will never change," the Commander speaks out, gaining our attention. "They will always adhere to the wishes of their Queen above all else. Should she deem your people a threat, expect nothing less than the entirety of their army to take up arms against you. It happened to our ancestors on the mainland, so make no mistake on their loyalty."

"Noted," Douglas acknowledges the grim set of words with a look directed at me, the visor hiding his face in a veil of anonymity. Regardless, I could almost picture his expression behind the polarized coating. He is wholly convinced now, just like me.

Faction Alpha's threat level might be deserving of being reclassified to an S-1. If nothing else, just as a precaution. We still need their help, but Tartarus Command will have to know about this.

"What do you think now," Fullerton asks, pressuring us to answer the rhetorical question.

James looks to him, trusting the Major to fill in the blanks. "Tartarus won't have the numbers if they come by the thousands. They'll get overwhelmed."

"It's a possibility, if what you've said is true, because I'm not entirely sold on their assistance. From what I think... they agreed too easily. They've got something going on."

There is no denying the Major's assessment. "If it somehow comes down to it..." I say, the grim and steady tone reflecting a fraction of my thoughts.

"We deal with the situation accordingly," Fullerton remarks.

======
-1833 Military Hours, 29th April
-Tartarus Base

After casting a parting gaze to the Prime Scholars, I leave them to their efforts as is their wish after handing over my latest sketches for today. Oddly enough, I realize they now seem to prefer depictions of their Aerial constructs and weapons.

Such a task proved daunting as they never leave their tools of battle unguarded, nonetheless I worked over these trivial issues. With my eyes funneled with magic from within, I was able to capture the essence of what makes them menacing onto parchment from a distance. Still, I fear my endeavors are not as subtle as I have hoped.

Their warriors are many things. They are skilled practitioners in their unique form of battle, carrying themselves high with great resilience and pride, the ones that are worthy of my everlasting respects. These trained men are anything but naive.

These thoughts prevailed over the journey back to my post, the lonely winds present to entertain my senses along the way. It is no secret that while we are here out of our own kindness, to help them uncover the secrets of their darkened Rift, we stand to gain possibly more from within the deep waters, I suspect that much at least from the Scholars.

All my sketches must amount to something...

Trapped in wondering speculation, I remain ignorant of my surroundings until I feel the touch of a hand upon my shoulder.

It was Sephra, warm concern awash over her features. The late afternoon sun glints strongly against her polished armor. The shade of rare gold, beautiful beyond the measure of words.

"It is done," I say, weariness glazed within my voice.

"Splendid," Oswin appears behind her, also fully dressed in his battle worn attire. "we were waiting for you. Rather, a messenger orb is waiting for all of us."

At that, newfound curiosity gathers within my eyes. "Who?" I ask, puzzled as to why such a message is directed at us, and not at the Scholars themselves.

"Only one path unveils the truth," Sephra turns around, "so let us proceed shall we?"

I follow her lead, as did Oswin towards a secluded area. There, along the outskirts of the Human's stronghold I spot the ever alluring visage of a messenger orb. It floats innocently in the air, patient as ever under the control of Myandra.

We close to distance to the Seeker, alerting her to our presence with steady footsteps against untamed grass. As one of Princess Luculia's trusted attendants, she represents our esteemed royalty with her every move and word. A timeless honour it must be, so far away from home.

"Here is the second," she says, weaving the orb with intent to lower it onto the ground, eyes marked by a distant cold look. "I've been told from the first orb this message is to be viewed by you warriors alone. It hails directly from the Lord General of our Fringe Eastern Army."

The sun's luminous hold on the skies slowly fade as the orb fans out, reforming onto the ghostly visage of Lord General Thellius himself, face burdened with the weight of an ongoing war and perhaps more.

"To the esteemed scouts of the 21st Royal Cohort, Prideful Solace Detachment. Progress towards helping the humans has gifted us a great deal of their trust... more so than we deserve."

The great undertone of seriousness, even for a man of his prestige sparks a surge of worry within me as I listen on, taking steps closer.

"In the days since working within their fortress, you three must already know of their battle against a Yhunian Ranger strike group. The scholars report the graves of these fallen warriors, laid to rest in honoured glory by the humans. They are incredible, for such a feat of forgiveness."

"Their weapons are more than formidable, certainly beyond anything our Tool Artisans could forge. In a hundred Starwheels from now, I fear that may not be the case for the Yhunians. They place their faiths in the mechanical wonders of their machines more so than us, and thus made many advances without the touch the magic as I am sure you can attest."

Spurred on by the message, I recount the harrowing experiences behind enemy lines. From close encounters with Yhunian razorbacks with their never before seen bolt launchers to the ever looming threat of Spearhead riders armed with volatile chemicals flasks, the heralds of fear to even the most stalwart of our ground warriors. Images of these new frightful weapons sweep through my mind.

"The esteemed Queen Ayleth has already been made aware of the humans, as well as their dealings with the Elves. As we speak the Queen is making her way to Drossal, the value of knowledge the humans possess must not fall onto Yhunian hands, whatever the cost."

A cold dread blossoms as a realization strikes me, this will not bode well for our otherworldly companions.

The Lord General sighs, face marred with regret. "I personally do not like it, but I would never go against the word of the Queen herself. I understand her motives, and I trust them with my life. So... for the good and interest of the Kingdom."

"I ask that you steel your hearts for battle, to protect our wisest minds from harm and much more in the coming days. Only the Herald herself knows if the elves have already revealed our atrocities against them, thus we must assume the worst."

"By her decree, the humans must fall under our influence. Only then will our dealings with them be ever in our favour. It is... the only way forward."

Upon the last word, the visage of the Lord General melts away, the blue essence trailing off with the wind to destinations yet known. A cold silence takes hold hereafter between all of us, not a word breaching the heavy tension.

"It is by the decree of our Queen," Oswin mummers in the harsh afterglow of the news.

Myandra offers us a resigned look, helmet hiding her troubled features. "So it appears this was our true intent all this time. They saw the human's plea for assistance, as one that could be twisted into an opportunity."

"I suppose we should prepare..." Looking up, I accept this as something that needs to be done. For the worth of my honor and to uphold the traditions of the Euralian Kingdom, I shall follow these orders no matter my heart's true belief.

My duty as an Euralian warrior above all and more...

I hide the unshed regret within the deepest part of my soul, knowing I have no choice but to place my faith upon these orders. May the Crystal Herald forgive us for our transgressions against the Humans.

Even if it is for both our sakes...

===End===

A crumbling wall stands alone, in the ancient fields of green. The ruins of a city once great, remembered by none.

Mosses growing through the ages, between the scars of a battle lost to time. There stands the grave of thousands of lost souls.

The calm of the oceans, present along the nearby coast. A lilting tune forevermore.

The air then thunders, with footsteps pervading the ancient Elven city.

The group of seven, neither Elven nor Euralian, but something else. The winds howl, empty and eerie.

'This is Expedition four, we've reached Objective Spartan, Site Five.' One of them says.

Human...