-0343 Military Hours, May 10th
-Visegrad Island, Northern Coastline

Four days have elapsed since our supposed capture by the locals. Things were dull and empty without the added stress of the mission parameters to bring out my very best. There was no immediate reason now to skirt around the edges of the settlement, or to gather further Intel on the remnants of the former outpost's infrastructure and equipment.

It all has been dealt with, now the only thing left on our agenda is to secure the military survivors of the taskforce. They were on the Island directly south west of Visegrad, just waiting to be brought back to Tartarus, they'll only have to wait a little longer.

"I don't like the attention they're giving us," James mutters under his breath, signaling me with a nudge on the side. "Looks to be gossip of some kind, doesn't sound to be positive. They could be planning something."

I shake my head in dismissal, following his gaze to the Elven soldiers on the far right. "The Taskforce killed well over a hundred of their soldiers during the assault, could just be related to that. Don't think they ever got over it," I say, staying firmly on the side of neutrality.

"Possible, I'll see how it goes. Hopefully it's just that," my companion answers, committing back into his role in covering our rear, weapon positioned against the dark curtain of trees further inland.

"It should be," I comment, ending the brief discussion on a discreet note.

Relations with the Elves were sour but thankfully non-hostile, owing to our actions in trying to clear our names of any perceived crimes. Considering the situation, I was happy for my team to escape with cold glares and the occasional look of outright resentment. It could have been worse.

We've done our fair share against them, certainly nothing on the scale of Taskforce Anvil, but enough to warrant some well deserved hate. Several fatalities can be attributed to our action against their ship called the Ethornai, the civilian vessel still bearing the scars of our high intensity assault.

The naturally occurring tempo of the waves crashing against the shore muffles the idle thought as I shift my attention away from the starlit horizon. Eventually, my eyes gravitate back towards the Elven soldiers, so I shift slightly to better accommodate them within my field of vision.

Even if they insisted on accompanying us to the coast, they were actively disassociating themselves from us at every opportune moment. I can hardly fault them for that type of reaction.

It was only natural given our actions against Visegrad as a whole, the Taskforce inclusive. We never should have ventured to this Archipelago in the first place, even for the sake of exploration.

"Assuming they're still on schedule, the Valors are set to arrive within half an hour," a voice abruptly shatters the monotone silence.

I force down the initial response to turn to the source, already aware of the owner's identity.

"Keep your scopes up. As soon as they make landfall, the pilots have to be briefed to the new plan ASAP," I answer with my eyes back on the ocean, squinting them to pick up even the slightest hint of a silhouette across the field of stars.

Deciding the response did not fully cover my thoughts, I continue on. "They're in the dark about what we've done so far, so expect some initial confusion. A general rundown on what we intend to do should suffice."

"Hopefully they've brought enough juice," Robert promptly answers, night vision device residing over his visor. "We could be facing bingo fuel if we aren't careful. Reserves are bound to be tight on Tartarus, even with Jupiter Contingency grounding all expeditionary flights."

I spare him a glance, following up on the remark.

"In any case, Visegrad Outpost still has those fuel tanks. That's around a hundred litres worth of aviation kerosene," I say, shedding his doubts over the Valor's rate of fuel consumption. It was not much, but the amount was worth noting at the very least.

"That's a good call. Not blowing it up with the rest," James cuts in with an approving tone, weapon shouldered in semi-alert position, still covering our rear from any approaching wildlife.

No kidding. I internally comment, wanting to keep up the professional facade. Sparing a hopeful glance at my watch, a sharp wave of disappointment tugs the corners of my lips down. Only fifteen minutes have elapsed since the last check on it.

Further down the line, I decide to forego the occasional glance at the time. Waiting was more difficult than anything else, time seemed to pass slower if it wasn't being compressed by furious activity.

The ambient rustling from my own breathing resounds inside the tight confines of the helmet, that is something I could also do without. The background noise was an unnecessary distraction to the scene playing ahead.

The coastal waters are clear and tranquil, the waves assaulting the shores before retreating to form an endless cycle. The view is the very definition of tranquility, almost enough to hide the reason why I find myself here.

The urge to close my eyes to fully experience the serenity tugs at me slightly, and I briefly consider the option until the silence is abruptly taken away.

"Guys, hold up. Got something in visual," Robert says, a hand up to grab our attention. "Positive... positive confirmation on approaching aircraft. IFF puts those two contacts as Valors. They're roughly nine kilometers out." He directs the specifics to me, standing up from the soft gravel.

"Looks like they're here," Douglas chimes in.

Finally. I breath out a sigh of relief, getting my senses back into action.

"Keep tracking them, be ready to pop the flares. I'll inform our guests right away," I say, breaking away from the rest of the team.

The initial relief wears off once my legs are on the move. Consciously keeping my index seated on the trigger guard, I proceed on with a hint of trepidation lining my every step.

Loosening my shoulders to alleviate some of that tension, I keep up the pace towards the Elven warriors on the far right, watching for any blatant displays of hostility as a precaution. It takes only a moment for any given situation to descend into chaos.

As expected, I find no hints alluding to any sign of retaliation. The soldiers only shoot guarded looks in my general direction as I approach, their eyes glinting with caution as the idle chatter amongst them dies down. Obvious frowns adorn their partially concealed faces, and I could tell it was not just because of unsettled grievances.

I continue towards them unfazed in the slightest, ignoring their unfavorable glares to the best of my ability. My boots dig into the loose particles of sand, leaving shallow imprints along the gravel coastline.

Stopping just shy of one the soldiers, I give him a small nod letting the act filter through the language barrier.

It will arrive soon. It basically means. Hopefully these men understand that enough at the very least, that the wait is now over.

The unnamed soldier stares at me, a hilted sword underneath an arm. He reluctantly steps aside, gesturing his free hand towards the liaison further ahead, the same illusive commander from that faithful day, fully decked in trimmed cerulean armor of the highest quality and decorum.

"I suppose your airships are set to arrive?" The Elven commander says, an expectant look over his face.

I confirm his suspicions with a nod, pointing at the distant Valors for good measure. "That's correct. Get your soldiers ready. As we've discussed, no weapons," I say, placing a grave emphasis on the last part.

"No weapons," he replies, reiterating the conditions with an accepting look.

"Popping the lights, stand by," James alerts us with a yell, retrieving a signal flare from his Utility Pouch.

A muffled clink follows as he activates the hand-held flare, reeling it back for a toss. Throwing it at an angle, the trajectory guides the now active flare onto the uneven clearing, illuminating the coastal terrain in a deep field of green as smoke sizzles up into the air.

In response to the signal, an unfamiliar voice chimes in on open comm frequency. "Outrigger-1 to Fireteam Desert, visual on your flare. Standby for touchdown, recommend you steer clear of the landing zone. Clearing looks to be a tight fit for two of us, over."

I hold a hand up to my temple, flicking the switch backwards, changing the radio's output settings from local to open communications. "Desert Team Actual, Outrigger-1. Copy your last Mike, out. "

I switch my focus to the surroundings, signaling everyone away from the illuminated clearing, Human and Elves. "Get clear, get clear."

Tracking the two aircraft, I monitor the approach through night optics to follow their progress. Strobe lights now active overhead, the pair slowly descends with their rotors in horizontal positioning. The resulting downwash heavily stirs up loose particles of sand, casting a dusty haze of green in the final seconds of their approach, landing gears already deployed in anticipation.

I look towards the locals to check up on them, noting the universal silence across the small crowd of twelve, their eyes appearing fixed in a trance. A few held onto their weapons with both hands, the stiffness radiating from their postures indicative of a mixture of fear and confusion.

"We definitely got their attention," Robert says, following my gaze.

Douglas shrugs while answering, voice muted of emotion, "Not surprising at all."

The awkward tension solidifies as I wait for the pilots to disembark. The added presence of the elves would be especially jarring to them, considering this would be the first time they would be seeing them in person. It is not underneath my notice to presume that may be why they are more than a little hesitant to make their exit.

"All crew disembark, there's a change from the initial plan. Phase one is complete, two is currently in progress. We're going with the none hostile route, military survivors confirmed and are located on Gemini. Assault on that island will not be necessary," I declare through radio, giving them a push for good measure.

They finally disembark, pausing briefly to ascertain the surroundings before continuing to my position. Their eyes dart towards the locals, the awkward tension between the two groups painfully visible before I step up to take the reigns.

I proceed with the head count on the new arrivals, reaching a mental conclusion of four individuals. Two Pilots and their accompanying Co-Pilots, all appropriately dressed in military green flight suits, the tight-fitting and fire-resistant fabric closely reflecting their current generation counterparts back on Earth.

'Only the Pilots, no additional boots'. I muse, thoughts going on a short tangent about their place of origin, Tartarus Base. With our base of operations now likely housing a contingent of soldiers and scientists from Faction Alpha, I make a mental note to question them about the Euralians stationed on our home turf once an opportunity arises.

I go ahead and introduce myself, heading straight into the specifics to get them familiarized with our operational tempo. Intending to start off with a basic overview of the mission parameters, I was prepared to go over everything, down to the supporting details.

"2nd Lieutenant Simmons, Desert team leader. I'm here to bring you all up to speed about our deployment. So in the interest of time, I'm going to ask all of you to listen once, and listen well," I say, a confident voice lined with authority.

With assistance from the rest of my team, I relay the relevant information to the Pilots. Everything they needed to hear and understand on a need to know basis is thoroughly given, inclusive of a brief summary on the string of events that happened over the last week.

"We good on the flight to Gemini Island?" I ask, relieved to have the obligatory brief out of the way.

"Affirmative," one of the pilots say, a slight hesitation following before he continues, "just so you're fully aware, there's going to be a breach in protocol with those guys onboard."

"We'll need at least a few locals to verify our intentions. A liaison to be precise, no way around it," Douglas answers on my behalf, armed with a firm voice.

"Fair enough," the same pilot nods.

With the context of our situation now common knowledge, the crew of four went back into their respective Valors, going over the necessary pre-flight checks as per standard procedure.

I look towards the Elven group, visually signaling them with a hand motioning back and forth, the palm facing toward me, instructing them to my position. The universal gesture proves sufficient in getting their cooperation. They approach the Valors, some more daring than the others, their hands greedily reaching out to touch the cold exterior of the aircraft in what is likely fascination.

"These two shall accompany me on our voyage," the Commander informs, flanked by the aforementioned soldiers in scaled teal armor, pauldrons displaying the military insignias of their home islands.

"Understood." I nod, sparing the almost identical pair no more than a fleeting glance. Those three in general will be directly under my responsibility. Beyond an optimistic hope to see everything go smoothly, I was also prepared to draw the line should they ever act out of turn.

Opening the side door on the closest Valor, I allow them entry into the aircraft's interior, glaring right at them through my polarized visor in fair warning. While the two escorts are unarmed, I can't throw away the possibility of them using energy manipulation physics where we would be most vulnerable. Up in the air.

Douglas gathers the rest of the fireteam, instructing them to take the row of seats across the Elven soldiers. He pauses to give me a quiet look before venturing into the interior. With everyone inside, I turn back to face the remaining soldiers outside, nodding slightly as a gesture of farewell.

Lowering their heads in uniformed silence, they thrust the business end of their swords into the sand, the act likely to be a customary display of decorum. Their odd gesture certainly was intended to convey a solemn respect, I know that much at least from past observations.

But like all things pertaining to the locals, I'll have to go out of my way to confirm it. The option for that unfortunately, is out of question.

"No time to sort that out," I muse, pushing away the thought.

Heading into the Valor, I close the fuselage door behind after securing a seat near the front of the aircraft. The interior tactical lighting represents a welcome change in the environment, allowing me to put aside night optics, my eyes quickly adjusting to the dim red that I was more than accustomed to seeing in night time operations.

"Last man in," Robert yells out to the pilots, tone distinct over the increasing roar of the engine.

I exhale a sigh of relief, leaning back against the metallic framework of the aircraft, aware of the dull strain on my back muscles. Two weeks lugging around a rucksack containing everything needed to support a short-term deployment would do that to even the most physically capable operative.

Tartarus is at the very least, maintaining a semblance of order and routine even after the arrival of the Euralians. Coming directly from the pilots, that fact was comforting, releasing that small knot of worry from my mind.

'It couldn't have been easy cooperating with the Euralians,' I thought as a jolt of inertia pushes me against the seat, signifying the moment of lift off.

The ground quickly retreats from my vision, giving way to an open field of stars in a sky likely devoid of activity.

There is only us, and the other Valor amongst the cold expanse of the night. The monotone drone from the rotors serves as the ideal ambience to lower my guard for a much needed mental respite.

"We'll get those men back in good shape, you can count on that," a voice declares over local communications, the encrypted frequency in line with my own.

"That's good to hear," I quietly respond through radio, attention locked on the Elven escorts seated across me. The unarmed pair seemed rigid, grasping the seats as an anchor of stability, their unease evident underneath the dim red of the onboard tactical fixtures.

Their Commander did not sport that look. If anything he was as composed as the rest of my men, regarding the experience as what it actually is, only a mundane journey that happens to take place in the air.

'Just a little while longer.' I frown, thinking of the ones still listed as missing. Most of their names escape me, but not their faces and rank.

It is finally time to get them back, whatever is left of them. Even if it's just one survivor, it still makes this all worth it in the end.

======
-0752 Military Hours
-Vallen Island, Northern Waters

The morning glare blazes across my vision as I peer through the window, the yellow rays accentuating the natural beauty of an ocean stretching underneath the pale morning sky. Coming into focus across the horizon, is a thin slice of land protruding just above the distant blue waters. There it is, that damn Island.

"Gemini Island up ahead," I call out, pausing briefly to turn back to the aircraft's interior layout. "We're almost there."

The obligatory silence remains even after the remark, the tension preventing anyone from breaking the ice as we continue on further into Elven territory. Taking in a deep breath to settle my nerves, I let time take its course as a blank expression sits firmly on me.

"Vallen," a cold, rough voice remarks. The vague tone catches my curiosity as I stare at the Elven Commander in newfound confusion. There he goes again.

"What about it?" I ask, taking a cautious approach to the conversation. It could be relevant information, or just a reminder of something I already knew.

"This Island, its true name from our language. I implore you to use it instead of that misguided label. Use that namesake, at least when we arrive," he answers, words accented as he sends a subtle glare my way, eyes glinting a strong shade of green.

Seeing no reason to refuse, I oblige while rolling my hidden eyes in irritation. "Noted."

Every time the designated operational word for that Island reaches his ears, he is sure to voice out his concerns. It almost made me wish he could not understand us. I still fail to see the relevance of using the appropriate name.

I lean forward, elbows digging into my knees while speculating about the various theories that could possibly answer the question repeating inside my head.

'What was it about the name Vallen that made it so significant?' I muse, the question presiding over my thoughts over the next couple of minutes.

Proceeding as planned, the two Valors soar over the target Island's north eastern shores, heading further inland to the major population centres. Looking at the landscape down below, the signs of civilization is immediately apparent.

Buildings and open pastures dot the local terrain, the suburban infrastructure likely able to support a sizable population of at least a few hundred souls. Across the rolling meadows further south, cultivated crops grew over several acres worth of farmland, the rich fields of brown and green almost a blur due to the cruising speed of the Valor.

Passing by the rural sector, the squadron of two carry on deeper into the Island, the lead pilot announcing any changes to our heading as a way to keep us updated. This is uncharted space, the first for me and my men.

No amount of preparation and advanced Intel could truly counter the variables that inevitably comes from stepping into the unknown. That fact troubles me more than it really should, the underlying worry elevating my pulse above the usual norm.

The aircraft banks slightly to the left, the small shift in gravity immediately accompanied by the voice of a pilot through the speakers overhead, taking my mind away from the weight on my shoulders.

"Main city in visual, slight course correction to the left. Nothing to worry about," the Pilot says, relaying the following information through a professional facade. "... current altitude four hundred feet and descending. Seven kilometers to target, ETA just under three Minutes."

"Acknowledged," I say, setting my eyes over to the three elves sitting across, the bright teal of their armor radiant under the sun's exposure through the windows.

"We're close," I announce to the Commander, briefly looking in his direction.

"Good," he simply replies. He leans toward his two escorts, passing along a set of instructions in their watery language, the pair nodding attentively as they listen on.

Following closely with the unfamiliar string of vowels and consonants, I pick out several instances of the word, Leentar. The city fortress that lies ahead seems to be the main focus of the one-sided conversation, the hushed and almost urgent tone capturing my interest for the final stretches of the flight.

As the ground approaches, I position a hand on the door handle in anticipation, looking out the window to spot the other Valor descending roughly twenty meters away. So far things are going as I have hoped, that is a good sign.

The jolt as the aircraft touches down shoots up my spine as I force the locking handle upwards. The mechanism quickly disassociates itself from the side door as I pull it open, offering a clear view of the unfamiliar city outside.

The sharp outlandish feel of Leentar is made evident as I sweep my eyes across the various districts surrounding the impromptu landing zone. The buildings are predominantly domed, sporting large banners across their rounded tops, the walls supporting them ashen grey from decades of exposure to the environment.

Exiting the aircraft, I place my boots firmly onto the concrete-like material beneath, noting the full extent of the city's development. The level of organization is vaguely familiar, that I admit. But everything else failed to register as such.

'It was just as they described,' I thought, briefly admiring the cityscape at the expanse of spatial awareness. Moving between the crowded stalls and domed houses, the Elven residents of Leentar went about with their routine activities, passing by the various wares on display, the tables rich with an assortment of goods.

From mundane assortments of local fruits to the exotic glint of jewelry, the competing shops all fielded an impressive array of choices, all aiming to attract any would-be customers with varying levels of success.

While an impressive sight to chew over, I discard my admiration in favor of more immediate concerns.

I point a stern finger at the two Valors, words directed specifically at my Second-In command. "Stay here with Robert, look after the Valors and the pilots. James will be with me, anything difficult comes along, hit us up on comms," I say, reverting back to a professional façade.

"Likewise on your end, the pilots are ready for any given scenario..." Douglas returns, his voice lacking that distinctive resolve.

The man really did his best to hide the pain, all of us knew he was greatly impacted by the Rift's sudden closure. It was an unspoken rule to never mention his wife and daughter, some things were better left unsaid. None of us were tied down, so we can never really emphasize with how he truly feels.

"Stay safe," I sigh, placing a hand on a rigid shoulder, receiving total silence from him.

"Shall we proceed? Your fallen brethren are within the spires of our Citadel." Walking towards us, the still as of yet unnamed commander beckons us with a gesture.

"Lead the way," I reply, ready to get on with it.

"Then we depart now," he declares, heading away from us, his escorts forming up on the sides.

"That's the cue I guess," James affirms, tilting his head at the departing group of three.

"Definitely," I quietly agree, trailing on his left as we speed up to catch the Elves, leaving the other half of our team to carry out defensive posturing around our small, but secure area.

Heading through the unfamiliar twists and turns of multiple alleys and corners brought up multiple interesting observations of the city, including more of those sculpted stone automatons. Each one can be considered an outright oddity, the armoured giants defying the conventional physics that governs our home... Earth.

"Just like the ones on Visegrad look," James announces, pointing a finger to the left. "Right at that intersection, between that column of buildings. Definitely the same design."

Mirroring his gaze, a strong glint of recognition fills my eyes as I dissect the major details of the statue from head to toe. A crystalline representation of a women, regal in pose and expression, a staff fixed on her hands. The obvious features further solidified the theory that the Elves were connected to the main continent, and somehow shared the same exact idol of worship as the Euralians.

"More evidence that the researchers were right," I remark, giving the inanimate statue a final look over before continuing on. This was no coincidence for sure.

Even if it seems an outright improbably, the mounting evidence only supported it. The Euralians were the ones responsible for the genocide of the Elves, they adopted their way of worship, at the cost of driving them to the brink of extinction and forcing them away from the main continent.

It was no wonder they still held immense distain at even the mention of them.

Deciding to let the topic fall into obscurity, I continue trailing behind the Elven group, silently admiring the city's reasonable architecture from a practical standpoint. These things were built with defense in mind, and it was clearly reflected in their utilitarian, yet elegant style of construction.

The constant hustle from the ongoing residents added to the scenery, their secondary physical characteristics always there to remind me how removed I am from the notion of home. A glance at my companion also confirms my suspicion, our thoughts are closely mirrored, if not mutual.

We are the foreigners, never meant to set foot here. All of this, because someone from Cygnus Station command authorized that deployment to Visegrad. That nameless individual was indirectly responsible for all the deaths incurred by Taskforce Anvil.

As we head deeper into the inner portions of Leentar, I set my mind up for one singular purpose, removed of any distractions. The mission, first and foremost. Get the survivors back, and return to Tartarus, plain and simple. No more of this mess.

======
-1735 Military Hours
-Vallen Island, Fortress City of Leentar

Weaving through the day, with the only company being that of life menders, my days were long and weary. Though my spirit has recovered, the dull echoing pain within my bedridden form still lingers.

The ointed silk bounds tightly to my chest, hiding the aching wounds from sight. Beneath them, scars from the nightly battle, against those warriors from distant lands, their weapons cruel as they are loud.

A shadow moves beyond the curtain, its footsteps light, and tempo familiar. Brushing aside the azure curtains, a certain Life Mender walks into the healing ward, her features glazed with weariness, hands clasping a new bundle of healing silks.

"A change of bandages I presume?" I weakly begin, expecting a swift nod from the seasoned Life Mender.

"Not yet," Mira answers, placing the folded silk beside my bedstead, locking her gaze with mine. "Cabal Marshall Gareth is here to see you, it concerns the... humans. Perhaps the same ones you battled against on that ship, jaded soldiers of darkened metal. The foretold heralds of change."

At the mention of that fateful day, anger and confusion fill my spirit in equal measure. My heart stammers at the sudden rush of unwanted memories, those last moments of deafening cracks and the great searing pain on my chest after. Against what they wielded, it mattered not my proficiency with the noblest of weapons, the sword.

The curtains part to reveal the familiar figure of my old friend, concern awash in the hidden corners of his gaze. Face dark as the waters after dusk, he sets a firm hand on my shoulder leaning over me.

"Feros," he begins softly, speaking not as a Grand Marshall of the Sovereign Island's armies, but rather a friend. "Blessed I am to know you survived the raid on the Ethornai."

"I will leave him under your watch," Mira moves to the curtains with a knowing look, "... it seems you have much you wish to discuss in private," she says.

"That I do, Life Mender," he replies.

"Than I shall leave you to it," Mira swiftly departs, her duties guiding her to others still wounded and or worse. Victims still of the brutal affairs from Sonarai, just like me. The ones who were lucky to see another dawn.

"Is it not your place to be at the forefront with the ones from beyond the ocean?" I swing my legs over to the edge of the bed, cradling my chest in a hand to dull the aching throb.

A moment passes in utmost silence as I wait for my answers to be sated. A sigh escapes the Grand Marshal's lips, weighted heavy with duty and weariness.

"That I am," he replies, eyes cast deep into mine. "The ones who raided the ship, four of them have returned from the distant northern mainlands. They are here in Leentar, at the Citadel Spires, I have seen to that. These warriors are different, more experienced, more noble even as they thread the path of battle and duty."

I look away to ponder over the worth of his answer, focusing solely on the haunting line. "Noble even as they thread the path of battle and duty," I repeat as the faded remnants of my time with the Crystal Herald crawls back from the depths of memory.

It was frightening to hear the last words echoed by my old friend, as it was a reflection of Vierra's own... muttered by one of her shattered spirits. A fated discussion with whom I worship whilst ensnared in the bastion between life, and the eternal lands that lay beyond... it was there I heard it.

She means for our way of life to not stagnate into the ages, that I understood. The humans are part of her grand scheme, a physical manifestation of her will if there ever was one. I could never forget the revelations spoken by that fragmented spirit, nor the promise I made after my painful awakening shortly after.

"Why are they here?" I ask, approaching the need to have a sword at my behest.

"They seek only their fellow warriors, those that are still alive. These soldiers can see reason, though their ignorance of our customs leaves much to be discussed still. My guards are with them as we speak, no harm will stem from them whilst they are at the ready."

"The Herald wishes us to work with them," I sigh, pausing to let it be known clearly. "Though how... I am not sure."

Jirell removes his helmet, revealing a worn out face. "I know, the Seers have spoken of it, your wife as well. Their visions are unlike anything in Elven history, not even during the Great Retreat has it been this vivid."

"You visited Maira?" Though matters with the humans are of immediate paramount, I cannot help but shift the flow towards my beloved wife.

He nods. "There is a summit at the Crystal Pagoda, Seers from all of Vallen gathered to discuss. There will be more in the coming days, though they will also be attended by Cabal Marshalls and Fleet Masters from the other Islands. Their ships have already set sail, we have only to wait for their arrival. The matters they will cover... is one that will change the face of our history."

"It will be the rally of soldiers and sailors, is it not?" I rise up, steadying my feet against padded floor.

"I'm certain it will be, the Capital Island itself is sending their greatest vessels to Vallen. No doubt the Royal Flotilla will be led by the King's three children," my friend answers with a sigh.

"This is... not the change I was expecting," I admit, voice tempered with bewilderment.

"Our fleets have always been strong, as it should be as the final bulwark against extinction. Across the many seasons, there is always a fear that the ancient enemies would find us eventually. Through this fear, we stand ready with the numbers to return."

"This is reckless, if we sail and meet the Euralians upon the shores of our ancient homes, more soldiers would die. The coastal cities would be little more than shattered ruins and distant echoes of a time rife with suffering. A single soul is not worth even that," I protest vehemently, lips curled back in disgust.

He ushers a hand on my shoulder, a comforting grip of understanding. "My opinions are different. Still, I want you to join the next summit at the Pagoda, you are one of the few to have visions from the Herald, your consul will be heeded. I trust that you can provide an opinion."

"That I can..."

Slow as it may seem, my time with the Grand Marshal eventually draws near as Mira approaches my healing ward once again. Conversations left unfinished, my friend steps aside to make room for Mira as she strides up to me with a frown.

"As it not my decree that you stay in bed?" She yells, showing the wrath of a young lady, her tongue sharp as a spear's refined edge. "For the Herald's sake, you are injured still."

I bow my head in humble apology, seeking silent redemption from the woman who saved my life many days ago.

"In the coming days, Feros needs to be present in the summits," the Grand Marshall gestures at me, tone rooted in authority, "... I believe he is well enough for such an endeavor."

Mira shakes her head. "Your thoughts perhaps... but not mine. He needs more time to fully mend his wounds. I made an oath to his wife that he be cared for, nothing will lead me astray from that."

"The summit has need of me," I speak up, firmly and with full faith. "I can walk, your mending has been exceptional, that you can take pride in. This concerns a great scheme, one that could shape our future..."

The Life Mender sighs, brows creased and eyes slowly relenting. "Very well, but should your wife come to me in anger, I will speak of your insistence in leaving the healing ward. She cares greatly for you, I hope you understand that at least."

"... more so than words could hope to express," I say, thinking of Maira and the calm the thought of my wife instills within. She will visit the ward again at duskfall, I will not be there for her to see, that drives a deep wedge into my soul. With hope, she will not worry of me much.

"The metal shards dug deep into your flesh," Mira steps aside, kneeling to collect the ointed silks, "... be back here before dawn, your bandages still need my attention. I'll apply the new ones then."

"Thank you," I offer the young women my gratitude, brushing aside the curtains.

Stepping out into the fading afterglow of the sun's radiant gold, I take a deep breath to savor this moment of freedom. The whispers present in the wind, footsteps trailing from the noble citizens of Leentar, and fresh incense from the temples nearby. It feels invigorating.

"The Sovereign Islands have all pledge their allegiance to whatever comes of this summit," Jirell comments with a burdened voice, "... thirty thousand soldiers and sailors across the entire naval brigades, all ready to sail back to lands that were once ours should the word be given."

"I would not be able to take up arms so soon," I point out, wafting through the districts, our destination bound to a place yet known. "I'm certain Maira would do everything she can to stop me. My daughter and her would... never approve of me going along with such an endeavor... no matter how noble it may be."

The Grand Marshall releases a sigh, a frown growing on his lips. "Such a shame it is... to be weighed down by the wishes of others."

Deciding to ignore the brash statement, I weave in my curiosity. "What spurred the High Council to consider this?"

He stops to turn behind, head tilted up to face the imposing foundations of a distant citadel. "The human soldiers themselves, both the ones we've captured, and those who meant well in rescuing them. What they revealed about the Euralians is... intriguing."

"Enough to risk the lives of our warriors?" I counter back, stopping to lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes," He answers, sounding firm as an ancient pillar, "I believe so. We know their language, understand how they work and think. It is through my insistence that they be given a chance to atone for the Elven warriors they've slain. They did not waste such a gift, allowed the wardens to dig into their thoughts, to learn and be privy to the concerns of our ancient foes."

A uneasy throb fills my stomach at the unsightly details as I steer my thoughts away from the image of their minds being unwoven. The deep unease settles into my being as our path brings us against the gilded inner walls of the Pagoda, where ancient tapestries speak of tales and noble soldiers from the old mainlands, garbed in the rare metals that our islands could never offer in great abundance.

Glow Crystals light the ceremonial hall in a splendor of yellow and white, the colours arching from the unyielding pillars to the glistening plafond anchored high above. In this noble sanctuary, robed figures knelt before a monument of the Crystal Herald, their hushed prayers wafting in the wind as Cabal Marshals proudly gather amidst one another, their faces shadowed, and armor polished.

It is here the hushed voices speak, their words weighted heavily with pragmatic matters. Sowing battle plans of a campaign soon to be revealed, the Cabal Marshals wade through the solemn history of our past, refining the old ways of command and battle through faded scrolls and books, the only teachers in the art of war.

"Our future should no longer be dictated by the mandates of history. We've feared the Euralians for too long, believing they still wish to end our kind. Like a river's ebb, times have changed, the fleets are poised to sail us back to ancestral waters," one of the Marshals affirm, brows knitted together as he holds onto a scroll.

"We have the ballistae and cannons to bare against them. Our ancestors did not have those weapons, the armada will hold their own, and so much more," another continues.

Fellow Marshals rally to his side, praises and cheers erupting amongst them. In this place of worship and peace, these soldiers carry the drums of change into the walls of the temple.

"Vallen's Marshals have already pledge their support to the cause," Jirell says, "the others will follow suit. I'm sure of it."

"Do the humans know of this?" I ask, losing the last of my hopes of averting the tide of change that is to come.

"No," he answers, offering a short pause before continuing. "They will depart in two days time, and our ships, many days after. If by some happenstance they have a pact with the Euralians, we don't want our plans to be revealed. Until we hit the shores, we must have the edge of secrecy."

"This is a leap of faith," I say hauntingly, "no wiser than it is to step over a cliff's edge."

"The ancestors did the same, not knowing what lay beyond the oceans. It is only fitting we do the same sailing back. We will go into known waters, but facing dangers uncertain, and our grievances tested upon the shores of our ruined cities."

"A fair argument," I admit, folding my arms. While this grand scheme is not without its flaws, I can not deny the merits such a daring proposal could offer to Elvenkind.

This is the change we needed to break the endless song of solitude and stagnation. It only requires that we weave ourselves into the realm of duty, from soldier to captain alike. And if need be, offer our lives to the noble cause.

Like a fading mirage of the Great Retreat, Elven blood may be spilled upon crumbling walls and shattered homes. It is a hard truth to fully accept.

Sacrifices must be made to further the Herald's will, and we are all bound to it, one way or another. Elvenkind will return to face the Euralians, be it through words or steel.

===End===