The cold air begins to diminish as the broadwing begins its descent from the sky, spurred on by a string of commanding words from its rider. The journey has eaten up a considerable portion of the day, and it was highlighted by the yellow hue of the setting sun behind my back.

From this point on it won't be a surprise to find traces of the conflict, both in the air and on the ground. We are well into the Red Zone, officially stated by Tartarus Command to be areas where 'both factions are confirmed to be engaged in active hostilities against one another'.

The evidence for this war can be seen slowly creeping into the horizon. Given the altitude, it was easy to estimate the scale of what was probably a previous engagement, a brief glance below the visage of the broadwing is all that is needed.

Pockets of smoldering black dot the ocean of greenery beneath. Above them rose pillars of smoke, haunting flares of grey against a blue canvas.

They serve not only as a solemn reminder of a past battle, but also an ugly scar to mother nature herself.

Massive formations of Alpha's troops can be seen gathering on the ground, their trademark red and white armored forms stretching for hundreds of meters. Up here in the sky, rallying cries can be heard from a squadron of banshees as they fly past my vision. Their sleek wings are spread out, hastily propelling their bodies towards the eastern horizon.

Even if I close my eyes, I can feel the suspense of war brimming in the air.

And to think the Expedition went about in the middle of it all, ignorant of the situation until the first contact. I feel somewhat sorry for their luck. Those lives were swept away, all because of a misunderstanding.

As the ground gets closer, a sense of familiarity hits me. This command post of theirs is really familiar. It takes several seconds to process the sight, and despite the differences in the lighting this place is undeniably the same from memory.

With a glint of recognition, James speaks out with a small undertone of intrigue, "This seems to be the Native Stronghold, looks like your hunch was right after all."

There was never a doubt in my mind about that educated guess. "Yeah, it can't be anything else. Though there is some noticeable damage to the perimeter walls," I shrug, "most likely due to an assault."

"Those aren't there last time we were here, but it's definitely site A. Layout matches perfectly with our Intel," he further comments, referencing the other official name of the Native Stronghold.

"Sachana Encampment," our rider unexpectedly remarks.

We both snap our heads to Myandra, "What was that?" I respond, mildly surprised at the seeker's words.

She points a finger down at our landing zone, entertaining our curiosity. "That is the Sachana Encampment, a military post on the eastern border of our nation, serving as a watchful eye against any unwanted incursions."

"Good to know...." I retreat to the inner confines of my head, adding another piece of the puzzle to my mental picture of the situation. With the piece in question being what she said.

Her words made it easy to deduce the general purpose of this base. It functions as an early warning system, more or less.

"So it's the first line of defense against an attack," I mutter out, beginning to understand why so much of the fighting was centered around this particular sector. "This place has significant strategic value...."

"Stra...tee...gic, what are you even speaking?" Judging from her tone, Myandra is utterly confused about my response. She turns her head towards me, barely visible eyes peering through the slits of her helmet.

Silence rides along the air as I rifle my head for a solution to the awkward tension. I was at a lost, until a fact regarding the language necklace surfaces from the depths of my mind. If a word from the origin language does not have an equivalent counterpart to another, the meaning will never be translated.

"Important... I meant to say important," I hold up the necklace by the pendent, emphasizing its dim yellow glow, "your language doesn't seem to have a word for 'strategic'. So the meaning must have gotten lost in the translation."

She locks her eyes on the pendant, "The seal of understanding is not without its limits. I can understand that, Princess Luculia has informed me beforehand to expect strange words from your weird, yet oddly fascinating tongue."

"Our guide is talking about our language right?" Douglas inquires, darting his attention back and forth.

"Yeah, she's just picked up on the differences between the English language and her own," I answered back, shooting a glance at my Second-In Command. It was quite a feat being able to partially comprehend the words of our guide without the assistance of a translation necklace, even taking into consideration the lessons we did at learning the basics of Faction Alpha's language.

"So nothing significant then?"

"Affirmative, it's nothing of relevance to our current objective."

"Alright then..."

"T-the conversations with your fellow warriors, I find them to be quite interesting. The most intriguing thing however, is the way you word your sentences."

My lips form a neutral line, "If it's that interesting, we could teach you the basics of English." Although my tone is devoid of amusement, I did not hesitate to show her a brief nod to convey my willingness to teach.

"Perhaps I would like to, if only to sate my curiosity," Myandra softly whispers, the passing words barely discernible against the still rushing wind. The sun burns brightly at our backs as everyone observes the silence, waiting for the inevitable touch down. Only a hundred meters left, it won't be long.

With nothing left to cater my attention, I sluggishly shift my eyes towards the Valor, watching as it mirrors the descent with the aid of her two pilots.

Out of the blue, our ride emits a low growl. It wasn't an infectious cry like a banshee's, but nonetheless the sound puts me and the rest of my team on edge. All traces of boredom leave my system, allowing a cold wave of professionalism to take over.

Tapping the Seeker on the shoulder, I inquire about her mount with eyes furrowed in suspicion. "What's wrong with her? She wasn't like this when we left the royal palace."

The verbal cues from her mount seem to put her in a state of worry. "Astel's wings are tired, you four are surprisingly heavy. Your armor and absurdly massive bags are weighing heavily on her strength."

"I see." That makes sense, the Mark II Goliath Recon Suit weighs approximately twenty eight kilograms. Not including ammunition, weapons and all the other essentials needed for survival and operational readiness.

"You won't have to worry long, the ground's coming up shortly," I firmly stated, using a gentle tone to convey my understanding. There aren't many instances where I would use that soft voice, but hearing that unmistakable tone of worry on her voice made that reflex kick in.

No sooner after saying that, the Broadwing makes contact with the ground. Dust stirs up momentarily, a result of the reptile's massive form. As visibility recovers, I immediately get to work assessing the terrain, eyes cutting through the last remnants of the dust.

The landing zone is situated at the northern parts of the stronghold. Several odd structures lay to the right, their imposing roofs towering over the men and women of this base. Like a ripple across water, the feeling of being judged exponentially increases with each passing second.

Soldiers and grounded Banshees alike stop to register the presence of my fireteam with uncertain eyes, as if wondering what the hell are we doing here. I keep a close eye on my team and our guide, watching as the latter hops off her mount without any regard to the tension.

The thundering roar of the Valor increases as it deploys its landing gear. In an oddly amusing manner, the aircraft begins standard landing procedures, doing nothing out of the ordinary despite being extremely out of place.

Curious onlookers watch on as the tiltrotor settles right beside the massive broadwing, its angular grey frame easily dwarfed by the animal's scale covered body. With her flight systems now powered down, the aircraft joins its living companion in a state of rest.

"This is gonna be one heck of day," Robert spares me an apprehensive tone as he plants his feet on the ground. I return the sentiment with a nod, very much in agreement..

"No kidding," I motion the rest of my team to our position, keeping their focus on high alert. "Okay listen up, the war's pretty messy, the soldiers of both sides will likely be on our scopes long before they enter their own engagement range. We have permission to retaliate against any units deemed hostile if they get within one hundred meters."

I continue on, using the brief pause to emphasize the next point with a subtle glance to the people nearby, "This isn't our fight, we have no obligation to assist their soldiers if a fight breaks out near our position. If possible, I want us to complete this without testing our new rifles. It's better that way, debriefing will be shorter if we don't shoot anyone."

"I agree," Douglas supports my statement, "we hightail our way back to the palace as soon as we recover our dead."

After going over the final details of the next phase, I turn around to face the Valor's cockpit, radioing both pilots to stay within the confines of the aircraft as my men secure the immediate area around them. The action is completed without much delay, allowing much needed focus to be spent on the whereabouts of our guide.

For a person employed by royalty, the Seeker seems to have no problems with disregarding orders. She's left us by ourselves, which I'm sure contradicts with the orders given by the Princess.

I shift through the crowd of soldiers and Banshees, even going as far as to peer into the windows of the nearby buildings in an effort to locate her. My efforts eventually bear fruit, hefting a large basket in both hands a considerable distance away, is Myandra.

Armed with a stern voice, I call out to her, "Where did you go?"

"Getting food for my dearest dragon of course," she responds, almost sounding annoyed, "she is hungry after such a flight."

I stiffle the urge to sigh, given her reasonable excuse to stop at this base. A look back shows her Broadwing happily resting, allowing a few of the more daring soldiers to gently pet her. It releases a yawn, briefly showing its hidden rows of serrated teeth meant for grabbing onto flesh.

I have to give those guys props, I wouldn't stick my hand near those jaws in a million years.

"Make it quick, remember we have a mission," muttering in acceptance, I lock the safety mechanism back on my weapon.

"I don't like the look these people are sending." Seriously, the attention is akin to a giant spotlight. An unwanted one at that.

"My men don't either, look at them." I tilt my head in the direction of my fireteam, tracking their rigid and heavily guarded movements around the lone aircraft from the corner of my vision.

Despite my complaints, our guide remains firm in her stance. "I hear you, a short break is all my loving Estal needs to regain her strength. In the meantime feel free to explore Sachana Base to your heart's content."

I roll my eyes at the suggestion, "I'll pass on the offer Ma'am."

"O-ok then..." she issues me a nod, continuing the journey to her mount with that basket of meat. I briefly considered helping her with that baggage, but given the GD-45 on my hands, the option was never acted upon.

In the end, I eventually decide to join the rest of my men in the defensive patrol around our only aircraft. Safely cradled in a protective sphere afforded by four highly trained operatives, it was undeniably in safe hands.

======
-1653 Military Hours

To pass the time, I opted to review my surroundings. More specifically, the medieval soldiers. Every type, ranging from the standard looking infantry to the more fearsome variants fell under my observation. Needless to say, my eyes had several things to say about Faction Alpha's military.

However, all that visual information falls into obscurity when examining their behavior.

After approximately thirty minutes of scrutiny and deep analysis, I have come to a final conclusion. To see a sizable amount of interlocked hands between male and female soldiers, one thing is abundantly clear. Romantic relationships are allowed in their military, no words could describe how..... wrong it feels to see such displays of affection in a place like this.

I slow my steps as a new couple comes into visual, looking weary with their armor covered in dirt and foliage. With both heads leaning onto one another in mutual support, they shuffle through the northern gate alongside a platoon-sized unit.

The woman was snaking her way around the upper arm of her male companion with her smaller hands, obviously finding comfort through the contact. Together they drag their tired legs deeper into the base, battle fatigue clearly evident on their posture. Yet even as exhaustion claws at their last reserves of energy, my eyes could sense the romantic spark between them.

This is unbelievable, or maybe it wasn't.

The ratio between both genders in the army is roughly split in half, something of this sort was practically unheard of in any of Earth's conventional military forces. It is a major difference, but it is just one of the many things that separates us from these people. That list will grow as new observations come up, of that I am sure of.

"Astel is ready to take to her wings," breaking my train of thought, is the voice of Myandra.

"Understood Ma'am," I respond, shooting a quick glance at the Seeker and her mount. The Broadwing rears its massive wings, directing her attention onto my fireteam with an intelligent glint sparking in her reptilian eyes.

"Alright that's the cue," Douglas calls out, inciting everyone else to follow his lead. I climb up the ropes fastened onto the animal's harness, using the firm grip to pull myself up onto the multi-seat saddle in record time.

A parting glare is given to the couple, who remains oblivious to my single minded focus. Shaking my head disapprovingly at their forms, I turn my gaze back to the front.

"Astel, to the skies!" Myandra shouts out, tone coated with a firm sliver of urgency. A sudden push from gravity forces me against the saddle as the ground leaves my vision. Not far behind is the bellowing drone of the Valor as its rotors spin to life, its pilots directly the aircraft to follow our lead.

The Broadwing took off a low angle, using its massive wingspan to generate the necessary lift. This method of ascent contrasted strongly with the Valor, who instead performs a vertical take-off devoid of any majesty or grace.

"Vulture to Desert Leader, we are on your six, " the aircraft informs.

"Acknowledged Vulture, continue maintaining formation and heading," I radio back, sparing a glance behind to confirm its relative positioning.

"You were giving them the stink eye weren't you," one of my men calls out to me. The statement was vague, not much context was given so I turn my attention to the source of the call.

"What do you mean?" I reply with a questioning tone, wanting Robert to be specific, though I have a hunch about what the subject was.

"The couple back there, you directed your face at them for a good ten seconds at one point."

He caught on that anomaly in my behavior, that doesn't surprise me in the slightest. "Can you blame me though, that sort of relationship isn't something to be proud of. They have an ongoing war for Christ's sake," I emphasized.

"It's understandable to think that... even I was a little mystified," Robert earnestly comments. Clearly we thought along the same lines.

"Are you warriors against all notions of romance?" Myandra unexpectedly speaks out, disbelief evident from her tone. Due to my demeanor, it was a little understandable she would think that way.

"In a way.... yes," I relented, deciding to forgo that air of secrecy around me. "With our people, romantic relationships between soldiers is not allowed."

"W-why would your people impose such a rule against love itself?" the tone suggests our guide is more surprised than curious. It is almost as if she didn't really believe my statement.

I give my answer in a stern voice, "Military law."

Two words, yet they had a noticeable impact on Myandra. She is stunned into silence with that revelation. Although it was impossible to make out her exact thoughts, it is safe to assume the gears in her head were fast at work.

In an effort to confirm my suspicious, I press the attack, "Do you think it's weird?"

"Very much so. But, I suppose that... law seems reasonable, if a little too restrictive for my tastes," she tentatively answers, eyes peering off into the distant clouds.

No further words were added by her, signifying the end of the conversation. The minutes drag on into the dozens. An orange glow fills the air as the sun touches the rolling horizon, with traces of solemn red coating the wide expanse of a darkening sky. To say the atmosphere was serene would be a considerable understatement.

The forest canopy is closing in, its untamed leaves are fluttering against the slow breeze. Underneath the fading glare of a setting sun, we finally reach our destination. A lush albeit dimly lit area, devoid of large trees and covered in tall grass and the occasional shrub.

"We are close now to your fallen brethren," our guide gestures to the area beneath us, "their life essence is near, I will evoke my skills as a Seeker. So don't be alarmed by my eyes."

"Noted." A surge of determination rushes through my skin, pushing my spatial awareness to the next level. The mission lies ahead, search and identify being the name of the game.

I get off the saddle, making my way down the rough scaly hide of the animal. A steady downpour of air marks our aircraft's incoming descent, its silhouette casting creeping shadows against the vegetation.

Although the peaceful ambiance is supported by cheerful calls from a few birds and the occasional whisper of a moving branch, the forest is still potentially a hostile place. As such I have to keep my senses on full alert.

Looking towards the Seeker, I begin to notice something odd. Her eyes, which should have been kept hidden by the helmet are now glowing. The intensity is not all that strong, but the fact those eyes are now emitting light remains extremely baffling nonetheless.

As if reading the confusion copied by my men, she begins, "Seeker's true sight, hence my yellow eyes. The gift strengthens my senses with all things spiritual, including souls that are no longer anchored. If there are any, my eyes will now see."

I translate the words to the rest of my men for their benefit, at the same time trying to decipher the logic behind her statement.

If I am correctly following her words, what she is doing is something akin to passive scanning. Much like how a submarine goes through the oceans, using its sensors to detect the presence of allied or hostile vessels alike without giving away its position.

"How close are we then?" I immediately ask after the inner monologue, wanting a quick answer.

Peering at me from the corners of her vision, she replies, "Four souls, none of which are tainted by magic. They rest along the forest floor... this way." Her outstretched arm points to my right. The direction leads into twisting branches and concentrated trees, the terrain puts me into a state of readiness.

The pilots stayed behind as I order my fireteam to form up beside Myandra. All notions of banter and unnecessary words are thrown out the window, leaving nothing but dense professionalism and possibly a hint of apprehension.

A steady stream of cautious footsteps mark our advance as we all thread carefully into the shadows. What was left of the sun's light was blocked out by the canopy, making our eyes increasingly ineffective with each step away from the landing zone.

There are two options available to bypass the problem, it is either my men put on our NVG's or we simply turn on the auxiliary lighting on our helmet. Given the nature of what we're after however, it is clear which option was better.

I flick that small switch at the side of my helmet, inciting the rest to do the same. Four additional sources of light made their impact on the vegetation, rendering the terrain visible to our trained eyes.

A surprised gasp comes out from Myandra, who displays a reasonable amount of confusion upon seeing our tactical head lights active. She eventually returns her attention to the front, peering through the forest with the assistance of our lights.

"Fan out, three meter spread," I open my clenched fist, issuing the signal. My men comply with their usual efficiency, resulting in a line close to twelve meters across, centered around our guide.

Signs of battle were sparse, but undeniably there. The most obvious example would be the scorched trees, their trunks having been singed by high temperatures.

A deep cry resonates above, coming from the sky. I look up, only to come into contact with the canopy.

"Yhunian Spearheads," Myandra whispers, identifying the animal based on the haunting cry, "this far south from the frontlines, it must be a patrol."

"Airborne units from Faction Beta, they can't detect us from up there," I comment, making the effort to reassure my men.

Walking through the foliage, flashbacks to the first day of deployment raced across my mind. It was a rare moment of mental lapse, however brief the window was.

Our guide exudes a solemn demeanor as she takes in the signs of battle, it was easy to come to that assumption based on the exhausted droop of her shoulders.

She begins to wave her hands in an intricate dance, as blue flares envelop her entire form. I stop to watch the scene with curious eyes, my men doing to same.

The flares weave around the palms of her outstretched hand, eventually forming into multiple spheres roughly the size of tennis balls. A chant echoes through the forest as the orbs leave her hand. The words were a mess, the language necklace failing to translate its meaning. This could mean she is speaking in another language, one that isn't in anyway related to the one usually spoken by her nation.

Four orbs, they went on to different directions. Those wisp-like objects traveled for a distance until they hovered in place. My eyes remain captivated by their pulses, until a question forms within me.

"Ma'am," I call out to Myandra, hoping to pull an answer out of her.

"Go to these orbs without me, beneath them you shall find what you seek. I fear of what I will see," she softly mutters, seeming to be on edge.

That immediately puts my legs into motion. With the rest of my men behind, I advance towards the closest orb, already mentally prepared to face the sight. My heart beats faster as I push through the undergrowth, watching as damage of a previous battle appears before me. My team was near this place many days ago, during an afternoon sky.

Through the greenery, snippets of faded white greet my vision. I identify it as the standard attire worn by UN explorers, a modified version of a typical hazmat suit.

There was nothing but silence as I take in the decomposed remains of one of the researchers. He was well beyond visual recognition, the only hint of an identity is a nametag on the left chest. David Westwood it reads.

Leathery skin clung on to the exposed skull, most of its flesh had been eaten away by insects and bacteria. The rest of the body is hidden inside the suit, but I can safely assume they are in a similar condition.

I continue the examination in an effort to find the cause of death. The investigation reveals a wide hole, measuring an inch wide in between the shoulder blades. Damage is consistent with scorch marks, just like the ones on that first mission.

"How long was it since they were declared missing?" I ask, expecting a quick answer from my men.

"Just under two weeks," James answers, "...27th of March if I'm right."

I nod in response, looking to the other three orbs, calling for attention in the distance. "Check out those things, see if you can identify the researchers based on their nametags."

"Understood," Douglas takes the lead, guiding our two fellow operatives away, leaving me to contemplate about the corpse right in front. Truth to be told, even though I expected to find something like this, the gruesome sight still did some damage to my composure.

Myandra is still in the distance, sparing me the occasional glance or two. With nothing else left, I decide to radio the pilots, "Desert Zero One to Vulture, we've found them. You guys were right, it's not a pretty sight."

"Acknowledged, will be heading to your position, standby."

The coffins will be stuffed. It will take some time, but it should be done before midnight. I will have to get my tactical gloves dirty. For the sake of hygiene, I hope Cygnus Station has a spare set in storage.

After this, the original reason for my fireteam's deployment to New Eden will finally be concluded.

I am out here right in the middle of a forest, on the cusp of evening. Away from the Rift and nowhere near the ice of Antarctica, it is no overstatement to say that Earth feels very far away.

Despite how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, I knew I was missing home.

======

-Earth, Antarctic Peninsula

Antarctica, also known as the fifth largest continent on Earth is home to a series of research stations, belonging to a one nation or another. Situated to the north of Queen Elizabeth Range however is Cygnus Station, supported exclusively by the United Nations.

It is home to the biggest mystery ever stumbled upon by humanity, the Rift. Operations in this black site zone should have went on without pause, that isn't the case today. No one on the station could have prepared for this sudden phenomenon, it was an outcome that was previously only mentioned in the worst case scenerio.

This gateway into another world is still here, but its composition has been drastically altered beyond recognition. The once flamboyant colours of the Rift have been replaced with an inky black, its spherical surface absent of energetic ripples.

Nothing could enter or exit the Rift in its new state, physical or otherwise. Communication relays, both primary and secondary have been severed, and efforts to directly contact Tartarus Command via low frequency radio waves have proven to be unsuccessful thus far.

A small portion of humanity is trapped on the other side, the question now remains.

Will they ever make it back to the world they call home?

===End===