-1147 Military Hours
-Tartarus Base, Eden Pass

The day is quiet, and I did not know what to make of it. Almost six hours into the shift and the only thing worth even mentioning was a small flock of wild dragons passing overhead around the first hour mark. I look out beyond the fence again and briefly wonder whether this would be the day when we would have to contend with another assault.

It could happen again on a short notice. Just being complacent would be a death sentence. These thoughts kept me going even at the height of boredom. I was tired, but did not lack in motivation even now at the tail end of my shift.

James sends out our last report over comms as I walk through the entire length of the fence to inspect for gaps and check its structural integrity. It takes only a minute to finish the inspection owing to the narrow passage.

Within the final minutes, the next shift arrives right on schedule to relieve us.

"Anything out there?" one of the soldiers asks, gesturing past the fence.

I shake my head. "Only that brief flyby early in the morning. Since then, it's a clean streak."

"Good, always love that," the Corporal pauses and motions to me and James, "they're waiting on you two in Ops—else they won't start."

"Beats babysitting those ungrateful cripples," James says as he leads off through the gorge, slinging his rifle behind.

"Think we can finally agree on a new location?" the other sentry asks.

I shrug, not feeling particularly optimistic about this upcoming discussion. There was a lot to skim through and previous sessions breaking into this topic revealed most had a unique definition on what constituted an ideal base of operations.

"Don't get your hopes up too soon," I answer with a frown.

Clean access to water is certainly universal, but beyond that, the list differed between each person. Selecting a place where everyone could agree on is bound to take some time.

"Anywhere but here man," the trooper jokingly retorts, and sees us off.

"He and I both," James cuts in after we leave the checkpoint to the two. "You have no idea what's it like dealing with their injured."

I look to him and scoff. "What happened this time?"

James shakes his head. "Just a couple of stubborn assholes, nothing I can't handle. I try to be nice, went through a few rounds on them and they still insist on being hard."

He pauses and lets out a chuckle. "They're a lot worse than my late Grandma back when I had to look after her. And she had dementia."

"That's a first, God rest her soul," I say, reflecting on what I know about that woman—Hera.

In earlier times, James had made a few scant references concerning his Grandmother. Most were fond memories, shared with the team during the many downtimes we had in-between missions. 

I had no regrets learning this much about his past. For all the quirkiness the man possessed, life dealt him the short end of the stick.

We continue onwards until the gorge opens up on both sides, occasionally making short banter as the mountain range wraps around us. Snippets of sunlight breach through the clouds, masking the terrain in soft gradients of green and gold.

We pass by several prefabs, keeping mostly quiet. The mood quickly falls as we both stop to reflect on the damage the base had sustained.

I drop my gaze, noting a handful of small shimmers embedded in the dirt. A frown quickly forms.

The spent bullet casings still littered the ground even after the initial housekeeping.

The entrance into the Operations' Wing is left opened and unmanned and I take it as an invitation to step inside.

"I'm guessing they're using the same room," I say and lead on.

James closes and locks the door behind us before following. "Nice of them to leave it open," he dryly remarks.

I frown, also peeved by this lapse in security. "Could have left someone here," I pause, and ultimately decide to let this go, "but never mind."

"Maybe they've started already?" James muses and walks ahead.

I look over several rooms before skipping past them. "Maybe."

Just as we navigate past a hallway I pick up the sounds of bickering behind a partially opened door. After issuing a few knocks, we both enter. The discussion immediately halts and everyone from the command team stops to look our way.

Davis is the first to address our arrival. "Sorry we started without you. We wanted to kick things off without wasting anymore time."

I wave his concerns off. "It's all good, where are we at?"

"Just finishing up the recap from yesterday," he supplies.

"If there's too nothing important, you can just move ahead." I glance over the command team, stopping briefly on all three to gauge their opinion.

"It's nothing new to you both," Fred remarks from across the room, arms folded.

Davis gestures to us both. "Take a seat, then I'll continue."

I shift over to an empty chair and pause, taking a moment to remove my helmet before sitting down. James likewise chooses to an empty spot across the table as Davis turns back to the projector and its contents.

The operative composes himself and resumes, gesturing at the short list. The contents are simple and based off existing surveys conducted during the initial weeks, well before I had any business in New Eden.

Attached to these locations are general descriptions such as notable features, distance from Tartarus, and in the case of two sites, derelict structures that strongly suggested the places had once been inhabited long ago by an unknown culture.

"Out of fifteen candidates, we've narrowed it down to five. This is based on the requirements we previously agreed on yesterday. Now, starting with the nearest—"

He runs through several pictures and slides, refreshing us on the key aspects that would have made their respective locations suitable for long term habitation. They all satisfy the basic requirements and each came with their own unique charm.

After concluding the forth candidate, Davis presents the final location. "It's the furthest, but also the most promising in terms of resources and amenities."

The room becomes hushed. Everyone is transfixed on the projected scenes. The last one is easily the most intriguing of the bunch, and certainly the one I suspected would win over the majority.

"Site Four," the British Operative intones and tears his gaze away from the screen. "An ancient city—abandoned since God knows when, and according to the latest anthropological surveys, is totally uninhabited. Then there's this," he pauses, and moves to the next slide, bringing up several images that are new to me.

"Haven't seen those before," James highlights as he removes his helmet. "So what gives?"

Davis turns back to the projector. "Expedition two mostly. One of those assholes went against regs and made a personal copy of all the images and videos their team took during their stints on the coast."

"Where did you find it?" I ask and turn to face the operative. 

Davis answers after scoff. "Found the drive yesterday night. It was tucked away inside a shoe up on hab' two. Belongs to a certain Lucas Garcia, of all people."

The name eventually clears a fog in my head and I perk up with a question. "The dumbass that tried to smuggle a few indig' contrabands back to Earth?"

Davis scoffs and waves it off. "Allegedly," he emphasizes. "But knowing that bastard it's probably true. Though that's way off what we ought to be discussing."

Fred steps in and skirts around to the front. He folds his arms and keeps a tight lid as he takes over. "I've already spoken to Second Squad. We all agree on Site Four. Even with the possibility of encountering those bastard blondes again, that coast is our best option to live a... relatively decent life."

He pauses, and lets his shoulders sag. "We have to go into this under the assumption that we will be operating in New Eden indefinitely. We shouldn't expect reinforcements, nor hold out hope that the Rift is going to go back to the way it was before. I don't like to keep false hope alive, but... that's my opinion."

"Same here," James answers with a far off look. "Just want to... we've done all we can here."

"Jerome?" Davis turns to me with an expectant look. "Thoughts?"

I sigh, and give an honest excerpt. "I'm more concerned about the indig' under our care," I divulge. "For sure we're packing up, but we still need to come up with some sort of guideline on how to deal with them."

"Hopefully nothing that involves shooting," James briefly quips, "no matter how much they've fucked us over, we have our standards."

"We can save that for later," Davis affirms, pointing towards the images still plastered on screen, "First, we get this over with."

The others nod, and the tangent stops right there. The next hour passes with all five pitching in to build the schedule on our relocation. Time is short, and the sooner we leave, the better.

At the centre of this would be the associated logistics. Food, water and other basic necessities are in decent enough supply and would be prioritized over anything else. Those would be followed by medical supplies, wherein James takes a particularly strong stance on.

As the senior-most Medic in charge of the reconstituted garrison, the operative's word is equivalent to the law.

"I won't accept anything less than a full roster. If there's discrepancies in numbers, find out why before writing it off. We can't afford to leave any medical assets behind," James details, to which everyone nods.

I pitch in with a sudden thought. "They're as good as gold now."

The topic then heads back onto the various potential sites. Differing opinions clashed as everyone takes a turn to build up a strong case for their preferred location, which in turn would be countered at some point by at least one person.

At one occasion, the discussion almost escalates into a heated argument. The voices intensify. No one is willing to budge and I am no exception in giving my own perspective on what is arguably the most important decision for years to come.

After what seems like over half an hour, the shouting subsides and everyone comes to a clean consensus. We had our own views, but understood being divided would benefit no one.

Thus, Site Four it is.

Davis gathers the final word and shuts off the projector. "Any objections? Just to be sure we're all on the same page." 

Silence envelops the room. No one raises the issue after all is said and done.

"Good. As of now Site Four will be our future base of ops," Davis concludes and flashes a weak smile. "Needs to be built from the ground up, but it'll be beachfront property. Can't go wrong with that."

James cuts in, armed with his usual flair. "No shit, I mean look at that. Ripe for the taking too."

I scoff at the unexpected remark. It is moments like these that keeps me going. Earth may be lost to us, and we may only have memories of what it held, but we can still count on one another through this. That alone, is reason enough to move forward.

"No kidding," I say, as the smile finally leaves. "But, I'll have to see if it's as good as the researchers make it out to be."

"That's as good as vacation," James interjects with a chuckle. "I'll take it."

After a few more minute of banter, Davis finally concludes the meeting and we head back to our stations, ready to disseminate the command team's decision and subsequent set of instructions to the rest.

I briefly stop and stare at the anomaly that started this all. A blackened sphere, once the beating heart of our base.

It was just over a month ago that the fireteam first crossed over onto this world through that awful thing. I reflect on the fact for a moment before moving ahead, turning away from it.

Our days in Tartarus are numbered. A small part of me will dearly miss this place, this final link to a life of normalcy I once had.

But alas, I owe it to myself to keep moving forward. And I did, without regret—mostly.

No use crying over spilled milk.

======

-2242 Military Hours
-Tartarus Mess Hall

It is just after dinner, so this will be as good of a time as any. I step inside and observe the handful of Euralians lounging about, all segregated together on one end of the mess hall. Almost immediately the sound of voices dies down and a few turn toward us.

Robert nudges me on the arm. "We're not exactly popular huh."

"We might be if they know what we're planning in the next few days." 

I grab the pendant still draped around my neck and sigh. It still is not easy maintaining a neutral demeanor around them. A handful of them were genuinely nice, but they were the exceptions rather than the norm. It is those few I am counting on to serve as intermediaries for the big revelation.

Sweeping through the faces, I pause on one of the medics. She returns a confused look before shying away, poking mindlessly at her meal with the spoon. The woman is one of those exceptions, though communications are always a hassle given her tendency to ignore anything that did not involve her line of work.

"That one, you sure?" Robert asks.

I shrug. "Maybe, worth a shot."

The woman quickly perks up as we approach, and seemed ready to dart off to another seat before I stop her.

"H—healing?", she timidly asks.

"No," I say before quickly regretting it.

She picks up her plate and stands up, beaming back an apolegetic look while moving away.

"But hold up, just wait. Here me out." I bring up a hand to stop her from leaving.

Undeterred, she quickly retreats to the other side. The others watch but make no move to intervene on her behalf.

"Way off the mark." Robert leers at her, undoubtedly disapproving of her actions.

From within the crowd, someone else stands up. The chair's legs rattle as it slides back. At first glance, with her back turned, the slender figure is all I could register.

The woman turns around. Her unassuming figure, and meek posture quickly gives way to an identity and a troubled frown as she speaks.

"T—the warriors and menders want nothing to do with you," Anja murmurs, her lips pressed into a hard line.

The former palace retainer gathers her wits and looks me in the eye. A rich shade of purple, stunning and incredibly vibrant. All too easy to get lost in. And all too dangerous to get used to.

"B—but, I can take the reigns," she says, finally looking away, hands naturally poised at the front. Again, with that manner of speech.

The soft, pleasant chime of her voice lingers in my head. "Outside, come on." I gesture towards the exit, anything to avoid the distraction that is her physical appearance.

Robert leads the way and I follow suit. We both stop just outside, away from the ambient light offered by the building. The retainer moves past the doors, and with a slight rustle of her hair, steps willingly into the night.

She pauses and lets out a soft breath, rich purple eyes wrapped in an inquisitive look. "What do you wish to talk about?"

I take a moment to formulate the answer. "Are you aware we're leaving this place."

She nods. "Yes. Every mender and warrior knows—and it has been as such for a time now."

"They won't need to wait long, we'll be closing shop in three days," I pause. As expected, she flashes a look of surprise. "We've settled on a location, which I won't disclose for security reasons, so this is the real deal."

Robert cuts in after nudging me on the arm. "Their rooms too," he promptly reminds.

I nod, and turn back to an astonished Anja. "Have the rest lined up outside the triage at eight hundred hours tomorrow. We'll be conducting an inspection of your living quarters provided and will be confiscating anything we deem as valuable from those rooms.

"This will include, but are not limited to portable lighting sources, personal clothing, ad hoc tools and equipment, and any other assets we have identified as such. Basically anything owned by us."

Anja takes a step back and answers. "I—"

I stop her from answering. "If you don't get half the things I listed, doesn't matter. Just relay the instructions and make sure everyone is lined up tomorrow. Have Inora assist if you need it, or if failing that—just ask for me. 

"Yell out the word 'translator' if you have to because we only have one of these. The ones guarding the prefab will know what to do," I explain, holding up the pendant for her benefit.

With a slight bow, she answers. "As you decree. I will do my best, but will make no promise as to their obedience."

"That's all we're asking, thank you."

Following the conclusion, she bids us farewell and quickly ventures back to her accommodations alone—one of the handful to be granted this level of freedom. A person like her shouldn't venture alone at night, though it's hard to consider that saying as relevant given the circumstances.

"You didn't touch upon her requests—thought we were supposed to close it," Robert points out as she moves out of sight.

"Don't need to. Inora already understands our position. Most of the guys have no issues letting them go after we officially decommission this place. Really no point in hauling them with us. But for her second proposal to join her country and getting us to teach them about our tech," I say, reflecting on that particular moment which never fails to raise a smile.

Robert leans in, thoroughly invested by the dramatic pause. "What about it?"

 "Said to her it was off the table, and also to go fuck herself." A brief flash of her bewildered look passes through me. What I would give to have that moment captured on screen.

A sharp laugh erupts from Robert. "And she understood that part?"

"Probably, girl's a quick study, so I'm sure the message got across. She never brought that up again since then," I reply.

"Good. Just can't wait to be free of these white haired freaks." Robert looks down at his wrist and turns around.

"Gotta run, shift's about to roll. See you at those rooms tomorrow." The operative ventures towards the narrow gorge, his steps audibly heavy as he trudges ahead.

"Alright, and stay safe out there," I say, closing out the discussion on a good note.

Now that Robert is on shift, and with no more upcoming duties for the rest of the night, I retire back to my room. Only a handful of portable lights remains operational after the move to conserve electricity. It is dark most of the way, and by the time I reach my room, I only had the sense of touch to rely on.

I turn over to stare up at the ceiling. The soft mattress molds beneath me and croaks slightly. I felt restless, unable to stop fretting over the next few days. Sleep remains an elusive concept for an hour—maybe two. But it finally came.

Just a brief respite, before reality comes knocking once again.

======

It is the third, and final day of our sojourn here. The mood is quiet, and even the Euralians seemed unusually pensive.

All twenty of us are gathered inside the Operations Wing, along with a handful of locals. Only three exceptions out of over thirty, all distinguished by their role in caring for our own wounded even though they did not fall under their obligations.

Everyone arranges themselves around the table in a loose circle. Resting at the centre is a camera, recently salvaged from one of the rooms housing our former adversaries.

It is branded, and sported a visually appealing look, easily marking it as one of those high-end devices. The sophisticated lens already puts it at a range of at least a thousand dollars.

I pick it up, and turn on the device. The screen jolts to life and displays a menu with both simple and advanced options such as exposure, focus, and image stabilization settings, and so much more.

Ultimately none of those are strictly relevant for what we would be doing. I slide across the menu and select the option to record a video, going forward with the settings already configured by its previous owner.

Once the red dot at the corner appears, I fix the camera at the person directly opposite of me.

"Form a line on my left, we'll start with Davis. Just don't exceed three minutes," I say.

Everyone but the aforementioned operative shuffles out the camera's line of sight. The three Euralians stood behind me, having already been briefed extensively on what to do the day prior.

With a click, the video begins. "You're live," I intone, keeping the lens centred on the operative as he composes himself.

He takes a moment to wipe a drop of sweat off his brows. Finally, with his eyes firmly centred on screen, he begins.

"17th May, 2046. This... message is intended to serve as a final report on behalf of Cygnus station. As of this recording, there's only twenty of us left within the New Eden Garrison. Our confirmed KIA stands at fifty two souls. With the rest being held hostage by the political entity we know as the Euralian Kingdom," Davis pauses and directs a stern finger to the camera before continuing.

"To anyone watching, just... listen to what I have to say—what we have to say," Davis announces and breaks eye contact. After a moment he picks up again, his voice now shifting to a softer tone.

"We have no means of returning back home, so this is it for all of us. New Eden, it's both good and bad. I've seen plenty of firsts in my time here and I believe I speak for everyone when I say that this world at its core, is an incredible opportunity."

A few heads nod at the sentiment. Davis pulls in a huge breath and continues. "To my Mum, Dad, auntie Jess, and Ashley. I'm definitely not coming back from this one, not to you guys at least. So I hope you all can look past that and live the good life. 

"In the event this message is discovered in the future, it is requested that our respective parts won't be inked out. We want these testimonies to remain, and that our next-of-kin be informed at least to some capacity—if applicable."

"Davis Hornsby, Sergeant, and Demolitions' expert for Fireteam Angel, out." With a crisp salute, and with his expression guarded, Davis concludes his part.

"Next," I solemnly interject. The next person steps in and replaces Davis. After shedding a few tears, the Lance Corporal begins recounting his ordeals and last wishes. Like Davis, he concludes after wishing his family and friends farewell and signs off with a wave.

The others take his place. Some opt instead to do so in multiples of two or three as in the case of those of German and Argentinian nationality respectively. They choose their native language. I understood the sentiment, and supported their choice.

Collins is next, and she had to be helped into view of the camera. She stands with a slight limp and starts strong with the grievances she had with the former Tartarus command team, even going as far as to insult the former head, Meagan Pierce over her decision to approve the venture to the southern archipelago.

There is no mention of family or even friends, just pure frustration that consists mainly of insults and complaints, most being in her native language of Spanish. Though she is on the shorter side, she makes up for it with an incredibly bold display of language and emotion—more than she ever showed in the brief time I've known her.

That is the best one so far, but all things must come to an end.

She stops once I call out the time, and shuffles out of view with a visible frown. With her head bowed, she leaves with the rest of her squad, her arm draped over the shoulder of one of them as support.

Only a handful remains. Now comes the most controversial part. I tense and call the three Euralians to step forth. James, Douglas, and Robert usher them forward as I begin the narration. 

"The documents and hand written accounts we would have stashed alongside this video would most likely paint Faction Alpha—also known as the Euralian Kingdom as an entity to avoid at all costs, and the sole reason for the near collapse of the New Eden garrison. I won't deny that sentiment, but it is important to note that they still can be reasoned with. Even after... all they've done," I pause after seeing Anja's concerned expression.

She really is one of those exceptions.

James takes over the narration after I give him the cue. He steps in and removes his helmet, keeping a fair distance from the women as he begins. "It's obvious they've got a keen eye on our tech. No surprise given the disparity in combat effectiveness. We stepped into this world at the wrong time."

He gestures to the women as they spoke in hushed tones. "Credit where it's due. Because of a select few such as these dumb whites, we're able to expedite our departure. Without them it would have taken longer for our injured to recover well enough to leave this shithole. Point is, the people aren't all that bad—just a few bad apples up top. Not too different from us really."

James stops with a shrug. "Yeah, that's all on my end."

I angle the camera at the Euralians. "You three are up."

Inora steps up with a hesitant look. She stares at the camera with pursed lips and speaks her thoughts in her country's native language.

"Had things been different, perhaps we may have stood beside each other in peace," she pauses, and looks to both Anja and the third person. "But alas, our Queen, thoughtful and wise as she is, sees only her army as the right weave of action. And so I am bound to it, no matter my thoughts."

That vibrant shade of conviction in her eyes disappears. Anja places a hand on Inora's shoulder and takes over with that clean, demure voice.

"I am a servant of a Royal household. And I admit to the Queen's faults."

Her expression sours. "We do what good we can, even beneath the Queen's decree," she says, bowing.

I nod, and proceed to give a rough translation. "That's good enough," I finish.

The video is well over an hour long. All that's left now is the final conclusion to wrap this all up.

I turn the camera around. "That concludes the report, thank you for listening. On behalf of the twenty souls still remaining as of this recording—this is the New Eden Garrison, signing off. Jerome Heinrich Simmons, Second Lieutenant, Desert team leader."

A short click signifies the end of the recording. I turn to the rest of my team and point towards the exit.

"Get them outside, I'll close up. Link up with the pilots and double check all essentials, we leave at fifteen hundred sharp," I say, briefly looking towards the locker specifically placed in the middle of the room.

"Don't be late," Douglas remarks.

He takes charge and leads everyone out. In a matter of seconds, they filter out leaving me alone inside the meeting room. All is quiet after the last footsteps faded out into the distance.

I swing open the locker and briefly sweep over its contents.

Over fifty reports and documents make up this stash. At the bottom sat the accounts of what happened immediately following the Rift's sudden collapse, considered by most to be the very start of our downfall. It was an approximate timeline from then up until today and should prove helpful to anyone looking to gather the full picture.

Now an added camera sits at the very top of the stack, one final addition before being fully sealed off from the outside world. I am potentially, the last to set of human eyes to lay upon them. The thought is frightening as much as it is saddening.

Closing the locker, I engage the padlock and exit the room, shoving the key inside my utilities pouch while stopping by the door. Deserted consoles and communications equipment lay barren, useless. Even that familiar projector is left behind, considered non-essential compared to other assets.

It is an intimidating reality. We are alone, without support, carrying only the clothes on our backs—so to speak. And, by the late evening, hunkering down at the ruins of an ancient city we know was the site of an ethnic genocide. 

Not exactly an encouraging place to set our roots down in hindsight, even if it did happen a long time ago.

======

The downdraft intensifies, peppering me with a barrage of fine grit. All around, scores of voices holler over the gushing winds as the final shipments are loaded onto the four remaining aerial assets we had under our disposal.

Three Valors and a single Humming Bird is all we could operate. Despite capacity limitations, there was enough space for both personnel and cargo ensuring we could bring as much as we needed for the long term.

"Final load's in," James yells from the nearest Valor, handing his checklist over to one of its occupants. He steps off and slaps the exterior hull before pacing away.

"Jerome, this one's clear. Get her up!" Fred call outs with a wave. I nod as the troops inside close the doors on both sides.

"Venator-One, you're cleared for take off. Proceed at your discretion. Keep her steady for our wounded onboard—especially Isaac," I instruct over comms, urging the sole pilot of the aforementioned rotor-wing to take off.

The pilot acknowledges with a calm voice. "Received. Proceeding towards holding altitude."

Through the slightly tinted cockpit, he issues a salute as the rotors gather momentum, lifting the entire craft up and towards the clear, infinite blue.

The constant buzz of engines and comms chatter rapidly diminishes as the second and third Valor departs. They venture in a loose formation, heading south and disappearing behind the mountain's rim.

"Look at them, bunch of dumbasses," James pulls up to me. He gestures to the Euralians. A few still gazed above, squinting hard against the sun's glare—at nothing actually. One group gossips loudly among each other, now armed with a new level confidence after being told they no longer were our captives.

I nod, and shoot our pilot a brief look instructing him to delay our departure at least momentarily.

"Make it quick," he promptly says, leaning against the fuselage.

"First time for most of these guys," I shrug at James. "Can't say it surprises me."

There was really no obligation on our part to end relations on an amicable note, but we somewhat owe it to them after all the medical assistance they offered to us.

Inora stands alone with glazed look, far from the rest. She holds her gaze to the sky, looking like the very picture of serenity. The burdens and fears she willingly spilled over tearful eyes no longer weighed her down, and a soft glow now surrounds her.

She did not accomplish all the things she came here for, only the release of her squad and the survivors of that former assault force—supposedly part of a particularly brutal military sect stemming from the days when her nation was an expansionist empire.

It was complicated. All those prior interrogations marking those first days thawed the tension between us, and before I knew it, we both opened up and talked. It spiraled onto our personal lives and fears, as much as was possible in the days right up till now.

With each session, I learnt more about the enigma that was the Euralian culture. All the little nuances, their emphasis on honouring the past—be it good or bad, mostly the mundane things the reports did not acknowledge.

It truly is a tragedy, to know what could have been, had things just played out differently. Right now, it no longer is a stretch to consider her a friend.

I walk up to her. "Hey."

Inora turns to me with a calm look. She remains silent, but the frown disappears. Her armour glints beneath the sun—a polished silver with red trims. From the vibrant crest of her helmet to the dirt-caked shins of her leggings, she appears just like the very first moment we met. 

The cloak behind flutters as she holds up her left hand, closing the last few steps with me. "Unending thanks—for heeding my appeals. And for those insightful conversations," She says, her fingers extended and open in much the same way I taught her to.

I shake her hand firmly. They feel soft, and vulnerable. She returns the grip with a soft smile, and lets go. "What happens to them?" I gesture to those behind her.

"Back to our war I suppose," she turns slightly to face her companions, "likely to partake in the incursions onto Yhunian border towns—do I need to say the rest?"

"No, I know enough." What she implied is clear—razed houses and an abundances of fire and possibly innocent lives burned to death just for being on the wrong side of the border.

That is one caveat in letting them go, but that will be someone else's problem.

A wave of sadness runs through me as I continue. "Wish your Queen actually did something about that, instead of obsessing over our weapons."

Inora sighs and looks back to me. "Sadly, her esteemed Majesty will not."

Several moments pass before I shift the topic. "Good luck, and please, when you get back to that trade city, make sure our colleagues are taken care of."

One final request—a measure of goodwill, before we part ways for good.

She returns an Euralian salute, a closed fist planted over the chest. "I swear on my blood," she firmly states, beaming back on a resolute tone.

"Good," I say. Just as the thoughts run blank, her arm slowly rises—just a brush of movement. 

Her eyes flitted shyly—darting back and forth as her hand draws ever closer. I watch, paralyzed—enamored even. Then I feel it—a gentle brush. Her open palm, almost lovingly draped against the cheek of my helmet. It feels wonderful—dangerously novel, but wrong. Incredibly wrong.

The sensation was lacking, but I find myself leaning into her touch. The only thing I could do is stare. That vibrant shade of purple never looked so alluring and full of conviction as it did now. It seemed endless, offering a million thoughts through the warm silence between us.

"Your heart, does not match your shell," she whispers, caressing gently. "I hope you know that."

She meant it, that was the dangerous part. I felt nauseous. Cold sweat pools out my back, the sensation akin to a cold wave. Was this what it feels like to be truly vulnerable to someone other than my own blood. The notion is terrifying, and shakes me to my bones.

I quickly take off the pendant, and grab her wrist, gently prying it away. Her hand slips and falls back to the side, and the pendant along with it.

"Goodbye," I say, refusing to look her in the eye—to fall victim to those gem-like pools of violet.

She answers, but her soft words are unintelligible. Just as it should have been. Inora steps back with a frown, her gaze sinking to the ornament now in her custody. With a nod, she looks up and beams back a smile—bittersweet as the corners of her eyes shimmered.

 "Sef'Sen," she murmurs, and steps away.

The Rotors of the Valor hums to life as the team gathers around the aircraft. Douglas begins the count as he hops onboard with James and Robert adding in as they both step inside.

"Last in," I call out, taking a seat nearest to the door. 

I send one last glance out towards Tartarus, feeling that pit of sadness swell within me. As of today, whatever we left behind is fair game to the locals. We brought all we could, destroyed what we could—no regrets.

"You owe us an explanation," James points a finger at me. He removes his helmet to reveal a wolfish grin and continues the barrage, "That Inora girl's a solid eight—quite the catch. So, what's the deal with you and her?"

"You were frozen back there," Douglas adds. Everyone stares expectantly.

"Didn't expect it. Not sure what to think," I pause, leaning forward to rest both elbows on my knees. Right now I was more confused than shocked at what she had done.

"Usually I don't judge, but that looked intimate as hell—what she did," Robert cuts in, arms folded with a suspicious look. 

The other two nod and urge me to elaborate to which I did after remembering to close the door. Honesty is the best policy. It is also my only option. "Wish I knew, but I don't."

She represented a vital link, which often meant constant interactions—almost always in a secluded room. It was only the two of us, no surprise a few ungainly rumours sprouted from that arrangement—practical as it may be.

I understood Inora better than anyone. Her fears, the regrets she carried because of being tasked with an impossible mission, and even her dreams of one day following in her father's footsteps of being an influential merchant on that one occasion. Likewise, she understood me just as well.

Maybe that was why she felt it was okay to do that, because the alternative seemed impossible. It couldn't have been that. I refuse to believe it for a moment.

"You'll miss her?" James questions. His tone is lowered slightly, losing that carefree edge.

"I might," I disclose, "like you said before, she's good—just under shit management."

"You're pretty much the only person she's talked to everyday," he highlights, holding up a finger for emphasis, "for one, I knew it was gonna end up somewhere—I don't blame you if you actually did."

"Hard stretch really, but yeah."

As I muse, the Valor lurches up with a jolt, and the ground falls away beneath. The pilot's voice chimes over the intercom. "Sit tight, we'll be approaching Site Four just after 1700 hours—local time."

I sigh, and lean back into the seat. After stowing my rifle on the adjacent rack, I close both eyes and let the slow pull of exhaustion take over.

My last thoughts are of her, especially those brilliant shades of purple that always seemed to shimmer brightest behind closed doors. Behind that façade of a soldier and team leader, was a gentle woman that had no business being this far out from her place of birth.

Maybe I might miss our interactions. Though that secret, will die with me. Good luck to her, wherever she ends up.

======
-Ship of The Line Minen'Thra

Through countless days and nights, and amidst the constant ebb of the waves, the end is finally in sight. Islands came into view, small and barren with but a token of greenery. These are the first glimpse of our ancestral lands. Larger islands would surely follow if our old maps hold depth.

So much to rediscover. Our ancient heritage, cities, and traditions once lost during that great purge. As the wind billows with a salty tinge, I ponder across the vast ocean, hands resting aboard the warship's bow.

Home has never felt closer than it did now. Every sailor, soldier, and priest felt the same longing. It would soon be vanquished. The lands of Yantorai called to us. Across tides, shores, and bitter memories, it all has led to this.

I squint at the horizon, past the endless blue, yearning for the sails to bolster our speed. We are three days ahead of schedule, yet it is not enough. Not until we have weighed anchour, and the sails folded will I ever stop thinking of what the ancient Yantorai cities were truly like.

As the sun reaches its zenith, I stand upon the open deck, watching the soldiers of the Minen'Thra kneel before their commander. Over sixty strong just from this ship alone basking beneath the sun's glare. 

Their helms are absent. War paint covered all their faces, some simple, and others intricate. All adhered to the same light blue scheme that once was common amongst our ancestors.

The ship yawed, but they stayed unmoving. A simple training of the mind as I am told, to prepare these women and men for what may be an endeavor that would last many turns, and possibly unsaid battles.

Some are young, perhaps barely twenty turns old. One looks to me as I pass, but shies away just as swiftly. Remnants of youth still clung to him and I wondered if he had joined with a false age. His pauldrons seemed to drape upon his lithe frame, as did the rest of his armour—a truly fresh soul upon a gritty profession.

I felt his worries and make it my own. Does he regret this. Has the journey already rendered his judgement null?

"Priestess," the commander calls, and I heed it, skirting around his soldiers until I stood by his side. 

I send more glance back to that young man. He did not stare back.

"Follow me," he whispers, and we venture away from prying eyes. He leads first into the deckhouse and ushers me into a cabin.

Once inside, he brandishes a scroll from within his coat, eyes blazing with displeasure.

"The advance flotilla has weighed anchor at the Old Capital, all was well. But just this morning, we received word that two of their own had been captured," the esteemed officer pauses, brows furrowed.

I frown, and decide to take the reigns. "Is that why you decreed your soldiers intensify their regime, even though landfall is in seven days time?"

He nods, and hands me the scroll. I take it and inspect the parchment. Before unfurling it, I look up to him with a question in hand.

"You plan to send this message back?"

"We think they were abducted by the human-folk. We found a few abandoned camps within the city that had trinkets only they would possess," he reveals, "as of late, only your brother and the other Ship-masters know of this."

I unfurl the scroll and read its tidings. It only confirms my suspicions that our warriors are of the reckless mold. They would set forth a path of hate and despair should it be left to fester.

"Unacceptable," I raise the scroll, and tear it asunder right in front of him.

"The provincial mandate is clear. We are only to pave the way for the recolonization of the old cities, not seek a fight at the crest of our vulnerability. Those scouts may be alive. The humans are not fond of killing prisoners.

"Thus, by the power of the church vested within me, and the Herald as my witness you will not send forth this reckless message."

He pinches the crook of his nose. "Than what do you suggest, sit idle and let our own endure the whims of those... marauders?"

I narrow my eyes, impatience on the cusp of simmering. "Let wiser heads prevail. I will see what we can do once we have weighed anchor."

The commander relents and offers a softer look. "Let us hope then, that the scouts have not already taken upon it to hunt them down. They are allowed to act as they see fit."

I wince. Plenty could happen in just a single week. Never have I felt more powerless than I am now, caged within this vessel with leagues of ocean all around. It was no different than a prison. 

Then, I perk up with a small thought. "Appoint a small cadre of three, those versed in the ways of discretion and diplomacy. They captured our ilk, so I suspect they have an encampment within the city. Perhaps we could seek them out."

"I disagree, but I can sense you have already made up your mind. Very well," he sighs, voice growing weary.

"We have already jumped the sword once with them," I say, flaunting a grim tone. "I will not let that happen again, not on my vigil."

I do this for peace. And also, for that dear spirit. And the unfortunate foreigner who's image and memories it was birthed from.

Nothing goes to waste—be it blood, lives, or a fleeting chance at peace.

===End===

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