-1652 Military Hours
-Visegrad Island, Sonarai Village

"Four more ships yet to dock, they will arrive before the sun's decline," a stern voice announces overhead, the figure in question clasping his hands tightly in an unspoken sign of urgency.

He dons a dark cobalt armor, its design a graceful mix of nobility and strength, the carapace plating styled in the intimidating likeness of the shelled predators of the deep. The jagged pauldrons spikes and ornate pincer crest displayed on the helmet, impossible to regard as anything else.

These traits mark the person in front as a Cabal Marshal, leaders of the finest caliber.

Beside him, subdued voices linger in the air as his commanders converse amongst themselves, my ears idly catching their words. The teal armor they wore, crafted to resemble the smaller but equally aggressive bonehead fishes. Scaled plating instead of carapace, different but no less imposing with their persistent gleam under the sun's watch.

"...yes, the troops are accounted. My officers report them to be ready."

"I still await half of my own from the last ships, but the rest are ready for commands."

"Good... start having our pathfinders seek out their holdings. I want numbers, their weapons... anything of value." The Cabal Marshal declares, his subordinates accepting his decree without issue.

"It will be done, I'll send seven of my best to vanguard the quickest routes." The one from the left responds.

"Do it..." A short response from the Marshal, the two words heavy with emphasis. What they failed to convey, his tone and posture did.

"Understood sire." The commander promptly leaves, feet destined to bring him towards the Grand Cabal's main encampment further inland, closer to the village I called home. Conflict might be set to arrive on our shores, the first in so many seasons since the great retreat.

Peering my eyes out over the deep blue, I set my sights on the bright masts of the warring ships. Just four more ships, powered by the favorable winds, each carrying the might of fifteen Grand Cabals.

"Battle ready as they are, nothing can be assured when it concerns the unknown," I abruptly say, turning the heads of the Marshal and his remaining commanders.

Recognition briefly flashes within the eyes of the Cabal Marshal, before the cold expression returns to his pair of green. Continuing to send my regards through the open silence, I wait for his response, curious to know what my usually stoic friend shall do next.

"Continue with the finesse of our details at camp, I need to speak with an old friend." He says, attention on his commanders, tone still leveled but underlined with a sliver of anticipation.

"Kaidel, once the rest of your warriors are off the ships, have them be ready at once. Standard formation, as we all have been taught. Be ready to march at anytime."

"As you wish sire." The named commander tightens his posture, now resting both armored hands on his long sword, further driving the enchanted steel's edge into the gravel.

Moving away from the docks, I stroll along the coastlines, my eyes chasing a flock of sea birds in the distance. The sound of boots on gravel meant my trusted friend is just behind, a greeting still left unspoken as he follows my lead. Perhaps a cue for me to start?

"It has been awhile," I begin, passing by the ships that have already docked. Their masts lowered, the wooden ramps creak in protest as warriors and sailors move to and fro, offloading much needed supplies for the uncertain days ahead.

"You would have been a great Marshal," he retorts, though lacking any venom, "... but I suppose you made a good choice, even though I think it wasn't the best you could have made."

I roll my eyes, initial reason for speaking with the Marshal fading from my thoughts. "When you finally find a lady that means the whole ocean to you, maybe then you could understand why I left the prestigious academy."

He laughs, good heartedly. "Perhaps out there on the islands, is my destined wife. A soulmate for eternity, a goal worthy of struggles. But I will not go out of my way to reach her, because you know better than most what my answer will be." A sigh marks the end of his speech, a weary look overcoming his hardened expression.

"My place, achievements, rank, and well earned right to lead the Defensive Regiments. It's too late for even a soulmate to tempt me out of it."

"Maybe if it had been earlier..." The wistful thought escapes my unguarded lips.

"Maybe... but not likely." My friend softly echoes, eyes trapped in wondering speculation.

The unsaid message between those words, a clear reflection of his dedication to the Elven Army's cause. He still remains the same after all these seasons, a fiery soul driven to seek greater things. Unwilling to be shackled to anything, or anyone.

Placing a firm hand on my shoulder to stop my feet where they are, he continues on. "Something tells me this is my path, because I truly doubt anything can change it... but I'm not here to talk about any of that," his voice takes on a grimmer tone, the shake of his head a harbinger of more serious discussions to come.

"The theories, the unknown beings, and visions. It still doesn't make sense," I fold my arms, hiding the frustration that still plagues my senses with a leveled tone. Looking back to the army, a part of me still remains worried in spite of their considerable numbers.

Maira is still being plagued by these visions, so vivid and foretelling. Now, images of an icy land taint her memory, with indiscernible features planted all across its expanse of white. She tells me of the same unknown beings that inhibit them, and how fearfully tall they were, walking past her as if she was with the passing wind, not worth even a glance as they march towards a sphere of vibrant magic.

To console her quivering form as she holds back the shudders from the frightful visions almost nightly, it drives me to be displeased at the Crystal Herald for implanting such troubles to my dearest. My heart still wrings itself every time I look at her eyes, still beautiful, but now laced with dark eye bags.

"These visitors were not the white haired invaders that drove our ancestors away from our coastal homes on Flugal, that is the only certainty I can gleam from Valerai and the Seers." The Marshal's pragmatic outlook drives away my musing.

He removes the arm, standing beside me as I deliver a question to him. "What do you think they could be?"

The sun glares down at the tension imposed by my inquiry. The waves crash beside our feet, as the wind fills the ambiance. Blue sky, acting as the innocent spectator to this whole affair.

"I don't know, that is why the King wants the army here..." my friend admits, eyes turning to meet mine with sharp intent. "I'd advise you to move your wife and daughter to Vallen, at the very least the island has an easily defendable fortress."

"Do you believe in the worst?" I ask of him, wanting his thoughts to be revealed. If his frown is of any hint, I can only expect a solemn reply.

With eyes turned away, to the edge where ocean met sky, the Marshal answers. "The Great Retreat must not repeat itself... for all our sake. Once is enough." The undertone of worry reflects his inner thoughts, my own mirroring his shortly after.

"So yes, I'd rather my warriors stand firm against what may not come our way, rather than leave it to the whims of anyone else. They are willing to fight and die for this island."

"I as well," I agree, putting up a brave front for everyone I knew. Their faces pass through my thoughts, from my little sapling of a daughter to the respectable Head Bishop Valerai, even if I sometimes believe her to love books more than her husband.

For them, I say to myself.

Still, there must be a chance to avoid bloodshed. The option remains open, if a little unlikely. "But if they come in peace?"

He spares his long sword a quick look, fingers tracing the golden handle in contemplation. "I will leave that to the nobility, for now my task is to oversee the visitors. Their... desecration of the Armidyle nesting shores hasn't done much to bolster my faith in them."

Stopping to face me, he continues on, "... with that being said, how is life as a simple hunter?" Regardless of the unquestionable authority exuded by his stance, and armor painting his figure an ominous blue, I could still see the friend I knew through his eyes, the courteous green still that same shade when we first met as simple cadets in the academy. Even if the green now burns like an awakened candle.

Aware of the shift in our discussion, I lower my guard. "Very good." An apt response to a simple question. My thoughts go back to Lumina and Maira, a smile gracing my lips for no other reason then the fact these two make me whole.

"Savor it," he pauses, willing his legs forward, "only the Crystal Herald herself knows when peace will return. So it's best you prepare yourself Feros. Don't ponder too much about these beings, focus on our strengths instead. Surely we are as unknown to them as they are us..." I stare at the Marshal's back, as he regards several waiting warriors, weaving into their presence as though they are his close brothers.

In hindsight, that they are. But will that help against the bladed-winged beasts? There has not been a sighting of these creatures since yesterday, and that scares me more than I can put into words, ever since one of their kind appeared dangerously close to the village.

Prodding our borders with their presence, always a prelude to an attack. The history books have no reason to lie, the white haired invaders did that to our ancestors.

"Damn this," I swear, a sigh breaking past my lips. I might as well meet up with the others to discuss our options now that the army is here, on the brink of marching.

I look up, savoring the peaceful look of the clouds against the afternoon blue. What happens if fate decides a flock of those creatures is to descend upon us, what defense do we have against winged adversaries aside from arrows and spells.

Was this why our ancestors lost their footing in the war against the white haired invaders? The reason why we were forced to seek a home across the ocean. Worry clouds my thoughts, and as the moments pass, the thought of moving Lumina and Maira to Vallen seems increasingly tempting.

Thankfully, a boat is well within my expanses.

I cannot risk them...

======

My urgent footsteps bring me to the doorsteps of my house, a drop of sweat running down my neck as I heave out a sigh, fingers fumbling to turn a simple doorknob.

A groan from the aged wood alerts my wife from her seat on the table as her eyes dart to meet mine, surprise and concern overlapping her fair features. She stands up worry driving her legs to me, needlework on a new dress set aside.

Reaching a hand to brush my forehead, she wipes away the last traces moisture as she mutters softly, "You came back early, did something happen?" After her opening words, she moves her hand to my cheek, cradling my face with a tenderness only a woman could give.

Leaning into the soft skin of her hand, I can only give out a grunt in response, thoughts too consumed by what I will be suggesting. She will not like it, despite my best intentions.

Seeking to hold my gaze anywhere but my wife's conflicting eyes, I let out my inner thoughts. "I... I want you and our daughter on Vallen, I can't risk you two being here if the worst happens."

The arrangements could have been done without her knowing, but that would spit on our vows to each other. No secrets to bridge the union of our souls. So even if this incites her fury, I can only accept it. I never go back on my word.

"A-and you?" That tone, the amount of worry it held, all of it genuine in every sense of the word. My will falters, but I carry on, she needs to understand why.

"With the Grand Marshal's forces, the knowledge I gained in my time as a cadet still is useful. So I..." With words dragged by guilt, I look knowingly towards my wife, having anticipated the fiery message in her eyes. The silence, barely a hindrance in conveying her outright refusal.

It may be an arrow into the abyss, but giving reason to the proposal might sway her thoughts. "I have to do my part, for our kin and home."

'And for our daughter too,' I silently add.

"I h-have told you what these beings are capable of, the visions. Everything..." she pauses, breath wavering with each intake. "...so why do you insist? You've given up that way of life for me, for us." The feeling of her hands on my shoulders, fingers grasping at the fabric, and seething glare directed at her beloved. Me.

It would have been so easy to decline, to let the warriors decide the future. But seeing myself running away from the threat of an attack, is not the way of a leader. Till this day, even if I have not completed my training, I still swore the sacred oath.

"To protect you and Lumina," I say, resting my head on her shoulder, wanting her comfort as tears of frustration prickle my eyes. This was a hard decision, but I can say it was the correct course of action.

Throughout the embrace, a cold feeling settles within me. It is hard to deny that spark of fear as I think back to the warriors of the unknown beings. Just the descriptions alone meant these warriors are unlike anything in the history scripts.

Their armor, shrouding their features in a veil of anonymity that seemed... inappropriate for an upstanding warrior. A shudder runs through my back as an unsettling image briefly paints my eyes. All the more reason to stand beside my warrior kin.

With renewed determination I remove myself from Maira's embrace, cementing my decision in this moment. My eyes look into her's, now hardened against the emotions that hid within her green swirls.

"After she is done with her teachings in the Church Of Life, meet me at the docks, I've already sent a messenger bird to my sister, so she will be expecting you two on Vallen." I leave no room for argument with my tone, she slowly nods eyes downcast, as if accepting shameful defeat in combat.

"Just please come back to us... it's all I ask."

I hold back the grimace, holding my face firm from the onslaught of negative emotions. "I will, I will be home when the tide is right." A half-lie, if only to reassure my beloved.

But still a lie, there is no certainty in war or battle.

Her last words ring clearly in my head as I cast her one last look, needing to say a goodbye, only to notice her back turned to me, fingers clenched into a fist. The words make it to my throat, to be caged in my lips from hesitation, a muffled grunt the only thing to survive.

I turn my back to her, gently closing the door behind me. The warmth of the sun welcomes my senses back into the lively, if a little stiff ambiance of the village. To my right, further down the stretch of houses is a group of children, expressions betraying their ignorance to greater dangers. Smiles and laughter between them.

'Hopefully that continues...' I thought wearily.

The only changes to the everyday scene before me is the sight of Grand Cabal warriors on the streets, from the simple soldier to a lone Pathfinder caring for her deadly collection of arrows, tipping them in lethal toxins if the dark purple flask is anything to go by.

They were ready. Trained for this, to never let our homes fall again.

As dusk approaches, so did the time to move. With that in mind, I will my legs to hasten. Among the pavements and houses, glowstones begin to light up, their yellow rays soft and cold unlike the departed sun, unable to warm my spirits.

======
-1852 Military Hours
-Sonarai Village, Townhall.

"With our sentinel divisions, we should have the ground control we desire if we are forced into battle." A commander says, colour marking him as part of the 3rd Warrior Contingent.

Scattered papers regarding various battle plans and unit counts are neatly arranged across the table, each belonging to their respective commanders from the army's four contingents.

A hand roughly comes down on the table, drawing attention to its owner. "What of their bladed-winged dragons? Reports from Sonarai's Head Bishop says it was these things that slew the Island's Sentinels, granted they were ancient... but still. We need an answer to them."

"I've seen them, they look less like dragons... and more like an insect, like a dragonfly with their long sleek bodies." A pathfinder adds his thoughts in, pointing to the rough sketch done by him.

"I'd imagine it to be agile because of that, so our archers need to dip their arrows with Remurian extract. Aim for their bladed wings.

"It works faster than poison and will tire them out, easy prey for the rest of us," he reasons, stabbing a dagger onto the drawing's perceived weak points for emphasis.

With his speech concluded, the Pathfinder renews his vow of silence. Arms folded, dagger sheathed underneath cloak, and eyes ever watchful through the shadow cast by his hood.

Being seated near the Marshal himself, I was privy to the subtle change in his expression as each person voices out their suggestions. Some were considered, while most were rebuked for being too much of a risk.

But this one is well thought out, and I can see this aiding us.

Deciding to add my input, I whisper to my friend. "That might work, this is the best one so far." With no mounts of our own, this could be the only way to even the battlefield.

"I will take that into consideration, hopefully the Sonarai stores have enough of them for our archers. Requesting a fresh shipment from the core Islands will take three days, at least. I won't delay our actions any longer." The Marshal concludes the discussion, garnering a handful of nods.

"If that is all, start the final preparations. Recall the rest of the Pathfinders, sound off the order to the contingents. We move shortly to meet our visitors."

A sharp inclination of voices meet the Marshal's demand, voices resolute and brimming with determination.

"As you order sire!"

"Your will compels us."

The commanders of the four Warrior Contingents make their way out of the townhall, green capes fluttering in their wake. I soon follow in their footsteps, alongside the Marshal himself and the lone Pathfinder.

Looking up, I see the last traces of the sun on the brink of departure. A barely discernible shade of red on the horizon, about to be washed away by the deep blue of an early evening.

Glimmering stars take their place in the sky, thousands of them each as beautiful as the next. A lingering smile graces my features at their timely appearance, I still wonder what they are.

"Ready yourselves, break into your formations!" My ears bring my attention back to the present, watching the commanders oversee the gathering of their warriors, the footsteps increasing in tempo as the contingents prepare to march off.

War Banners are held high above a sea of armored pauldrons, representing the Islands of Serei, Furien, Kallen and Gursia, from which the four contingents hail from.

Dauntless protectors of Elven Kind.

Over four hundred souls are with us, and I pray each and everyone of them returns alive.

"Blessed is the Crystal Herald, a beacon to the faithful," I mutter a prayer, the words lost to the sounds of marching warriors. It really is happening.

The only thing on my thoughts was of my wife and daughter. The boat is sturdy enough against a storm, but I still worry for them.

Until they reach Kallen, they are on their own. Lonely, their only companion being the scent of the ocean, and each other.

But as with all things in the past, I cannot change them.

Time passes swiftly, and before long, the formation reaches the outskirts of the village. A border between familiarity and uncertainty, shrouded in the approaching darkness I still carry on. The gleaming eyes all around mark the usage of magic, breathing colour and light back into the vision of each warrior.

Undaunted by the darkness or anything else, the four contingents push on. Eyes now tempered like the finest steel, and expression resolute.

Through the forests, and across a graceful river, lies the sole reason for their depature.

The visitors...

======

-0532 Military Hours
Tartarus Base

Squinting my eyes at the airfield, I try to discern the activity currently taking place. The white utilitarian lights coming from the base's power grid helped in that regard, allowing me to pick out the general shape of a few people right beside a V-280.

The strobe lights blink in a predetermined pattern as the pilots start up the aircraft's engine for operation, the individual rotor blades eventually blurring into a mess as it continues to spool up for flight, the only one to do so amongst so many others.

Seeing this in person was the final straw in my doubts, Tartarus command was not kidding when they said they will ask for assistance from the Euralians.

How exactly they will accomplish that, I don't know the specifics. A few conclusions can be drawn based on my experience with them, but this isn't something my mind will entertain. There is nothing concrete about their plan, no certainty factored into the end result.

We are really that desperate to find answers, the only option that might help us.

I release a sigh, breaking the tension across my shoulders. My thoughts went back to the Rift, now synonymous with the strongest shade of black I can think of.

With dawn about to break in less than an hour, I decide to head back to change. Along the way, the silhouette of the Valor flies overhead, mission taking it and her crew directly to Drossal.

My time alone did little to ease the cloud of worry, but every bit helps. Every stray thought leads back to the notion of possibly being stuck in this world. To maintain a level head with this festering line of thinking is easier said than done.

"I see you're done outside," a voice calmly says, my eyes instinctively up and about searching for the source inside the Residential Building Module.

Looking towards the right, I see Douglas adopting an amused look, arms folded as he remains seated already decked out in full combat attire, helmet resting squarely at the table in front of him.

"What's the schedule like today?" I ask him, opting to stand while waiting for his answer.

"Little on the tedious side, we're to fill in for the six guys that went away for that mission to Drossal. They're military security, so it's up to us to compensate for their absence."

"No outfield patrols and recon then?" I have to confirm this, just for the sake of it.

Douglas shakes his head, "None, command wants to leave that to the drones, keep everyone away from the Red Zones until further notice."

"I see," I say, not in a hurry to add to the conversation.

Collecting my thoughts on the matter, I continue on, "what do you think's going happen when they come here?"

"Not my place to speculate," he briefly pauses, formulating a more structured response. "I really don't want to think too much about Faction Alpha if you don't mind, too early in the morning for a headache."

Respecting his wish, I shift the topic away. "Where's the rest?" It was clear straight from the start Douglas isn't at his best, no reason to push his buttons.

"Changing, which reminds me," he puts on his helmet, securing the straps, "it's almost 0600 hours, you also need to change right now. I'll wait for everyone outside, come on."

"Right." I check the time, which currently reads 0544 hours.

Before leaving for my equipment, I decide to do one more thing. "If you need to talk or anything, you have my attention alright," I say, placing a hand on his shoulder for emphasis. "The same goes to James and Robert, we all have your back."

Whatever it is he is feeling from being out of contact from his daughter and wife, I don't want to know. Douglas is a soldier and a son. But more than that, he is also a father and a husband. Two titles that I will never hold.

"Will do..." he agrees, head downcast and helmet masking his emotions.

Although I will never be able to empathize with losing contact with a daughter and wife of my own, I can say it can't be anything but devastating.

With one glance at his figure behind, I move away leaving Douglas to ponder about my words, its significance easily conveyed by a serious tone.

Going straight to my room, I lock the door behind me, heading straight to the closet holding my equipment. I begin to expedite the process of donning on my armor, frown tugging at my lips as the image of a black sphere crosses my mind.

A new day without contact with Earth is about to begin, and I have to move on. Everyone on this base has no choice but to do so as well, no exceptions.

Meeting up with the rest of my men outside, we begin moving towards our destination. North of the base, a collection of scientific facilities dedicated solely to the research of wildlife and objects of significant interests, currently the end point for our journey.

No words were spoken along the way, my mind compensating the silence with a few wondering thoughts. Nothing important to worth noting out, but still managing to drag my attention away from the unfamiliar constellation of stars.

"We're here, 0555 hours." James remarks breaking the silence, and by extension me from my random string of thoughts.

The early morning still casts a dark veil over the area, the lighting grid now mainly restricted to internal lighting within the buildings to reduce power consumption. Heading inside one of the buildings, I see several researchers moving about, clipboards stationed on various tables with an assortment of recovered artifacts.

A quick inspection on them reveals a label, 'Objective Spartan' all of them read.

Deciding that small bout of curiosity is enough, I avert my eyes back to the front meeting the eyes of an expectant looking man.

"Guard shift." He inquires, more of a statement than a question.

I respond appropriately, straight to the point, "Yes sir, filling in for the guys."

After being filled in on the specifics, the four of us split up and the shift begins shortly after. Regular patrols around the area for the sake formality, as well as overseeing researchers conducting activities out in the open, in the event a banshee or any other animal makes their inside the mountain perimeter.

Slowly the sun rises, eventually peaking over the mountains. A soft hue of yellow makes its way all across the sky, my visor filtering in the morning rays. The numerous clouds above carry a golden tint to their edges as they drift peacefully overhead, a perfect example of a morning sky in its golden hour.

The air was still cold however, but it will leave eventually. All things considered, while the sight is beautiful it didn't leave much of an impact on my boredom.

With nothing else to occupy my thoughts, I decide to move closer to the researchers, too invested in the artifacts to register my presence.

"What are those?" I ask, maintaining a respectable distance from the two.

"Sorry, but it's classified. Tier One only." One of them answers back, eyes never straying.

"Tier One, I have the clearance. United Nations SOG, Second Lieutenant," I bring out my classification and rank, hoping it is enough to sway them.

For good measure I continue with some additional information, "I've seen plenty during my time here, so whatever you're studying I might have an idea."

"You're bored enough to bring this up?"

"Unfortunately," I say, shrugging off the monotone feel of the atmosphere. To put it simply, guard duty isn't where one would find excitement.

"These are all from Objective Spartan, we're still digging through them. We've already got suspicions on who made them." A researcher remarks with his eyes glued to a clipboard, noting down important details regarding the array of items in front of him.

Following his example, I scan through the artifacts, coming to rest along a particular object, drawn to its crystalline figure.

"I know that," I point out, immediately recognizing it. A humanoid shape, made entirely out of crystals. It strongly resembles the objects of worship from the inhabitants on the Southern Archipelago.

"My men stumbled upon one of those things on Visegrad Island."

Both of the researchers turn to look at me, mild surprise evident on their faces. The lack of a response prompts me to further elaborate.

"I was temporarily part of Task Force Anvil, for defense and initial reconnaissance. Long story, can't be bothered to go into detail." I explain, keeping the specifics away from the conversation.

"It's alright we've read the reports, there's already a firm consensus about the people on those islands."

"Good to know." I say, stepping away from the two researchers. A long period of silence follows after as I monitor their progress with the artifacts, simply waiting for the time to pass by.

Visegrad Island....

Looking through my memory regarding that place, the first thing to come into my mind was the first encounter I had with the locals. A dense foliage, distorting my perception of the young girl as she held the disabled drone in her hands, curiosity burning in her eyes.

The debate is still out on who she is, if her clothing is anything to go by. Pure white, strapless sleeves on a form fitting corset-like dress. It was unlike the rest of what these people usually wore.

More extravagant... seemingly more important. It isn't relevant right now, but the identity of this girl festers at the back of my head. This is a question with no chance of being resolved.

Leaving it at that, I focus my attention back onto the present. Slightly miffed, but otherwise occupied with watching the sun continue its climb, I note the passage of a few other researchers and the occasional patrol of soldiers.

Most of their faces, I recognize.

I take comfort in that fact...

======

Push yourself, because
no one is going to do it for you.