//Report: Park, Taewon.

//Ilha de Maracá, Amapá.

//Brazil.

//Decommissioned orbital tether.

//Designation: "Sky's End".

//Resume log.

The smell of sizzling meat and warm bread filled the air, mingling with the ever-present scent of oil and ozone that had once clung to the Firmament. The makeshift café was perched on an outcropping overlooking the cavernous depths of the tether's immense foundation, its rickety tables and chairs arranged in uneven rows beneath strings of warm yellow lights. With the kitchen tucked in the back behind a makeshift bar, a low metal railing was the only thing separating diners from the drop below, where bridges and catwalks stretched like tangled veins through the complex.

A ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, pushing warm air around the space, while a salvaged television mounted above the bar flickered with a grainy news broadcast in Portuguese. The audio was low, but the scrolling ticker at the bottom of the screen cycled through headlines—something about supply shortages in Recife, unrest near the Venezuelan border, and a report on increased corporate patrols near the Amazon.

At a table near the edge, we ate.

I could feel the weight of the last few hours settling in, exhaustion creeping into my bones now that the adrenaline had faded. The food helped. Plates of rice and grilled fish, fried plantains, thick slabs of flatbread—hearty, simple, and delicious. I wasn't sure how Viktor's people kept a steady supply of ingredients down here, but I wasn't about to question it.

Sam was already halfway through his meal, shoveling food into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in days. Haneul and Sora sat nearby, their voices low as they spoke in Korean, the occasional quiet laugh breaking through the hum of conversation around us.

Maria had locked her prosthetics into a seated position and leaned back, arms crossed, chewing thoughtfully. Beside her, Calican picked at his plate, taking a tentative bite of the fish. I watched his eyebrows raise, first in astonishment, then excitement as he began to eat with almost as much ferocity as Sam.

Beside her, Reina had one boot propped against the edge of the table, her chair tilted back just enough to make me nervous. She was nursing a drink, a half-smirk on her face as she watched Calican and Sam eat like starving men.

I glanced toward Tio. He sat at the end of the table, gaze distant, one hand resting on the rim of his plate but not eating. It wasn't unusual—he'd always seemed the quieter type—but there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before.

"You good?" I asked.

His fingers tapped once against the table. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

Tio didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked out past the railing, where the lights of the Foundation stretched in all directions, endless pathways winding through the depths of Sky's End. When he finally spoke, his voice was low.

"Halifax. The soldiers. Even if I didn't see them first hand, it seems pretty clear they weren't your run of the mill mercenaries." He brushed a strand of grey hair away from his eyes. "Those black mechs were something else. All my years and I've never seen anything like 'em."

"You're worried because they're unique?" I frowned, attempting to understand his rationale.

"Unique is nothing," Tio replied. "From what we saw at your old base, you dealt with unique every mission." He leaned in closer. "What scares me is that they looked brand new. Factory-fresh models. This is only just the beginning."

I picked at the last of my fish, mulling over his remark. I remembered the cloaked negotiator, Eulogy, and the behemoth that was Cenotaph. At Yamantau we'd all seen some of Axion's ground forces first-hand, but their soldiers had been different.

"There's no good answers to anything right now," I admitted. "But thanks to you, Maria and Grey Eyes, we get a chance to try and find some."

"Fair enough, kid," Tio smiled. "We'll certainly do our best."

I took one last bite of my fish before standing up, carrying my empty plate back to the bar. Somewhere behind me, I heard a chair screech against the floor. As I placed the dish back on the old wooden bartop, Sora approached from my side, doing the same. Without a word, she set several collected plates on the bar and turned to me, staring expectantly.

"Now?" she inquired.

"Now is good," I replied.

We stood in silence for a moment, listening to the chatter of the group at the table and the sounds of movement from the kitchen. What did we say? Where did we start?

"Sora," I breathed, "Listen, I—"

"I'm a deserter."

The words didn't register for a second—I felt my brain spin as I tried to parse their meaning.

"You're..." I attempted. "You're what?"

"A deserter," Sora repeated. "Earlier, on the dropship, you asked me if I could request aid from Korea. I can't... because I left."

"I don't understand," I breathed. "When? Why? Your service was everything to you!"

"No!" Sora snapped. I flinched, expecting anger, but to my astonishment I felt her hands on my shoulders instead. "God, no," she breathed. "You are everything to me, Taewon. After mom... following in her footsteps felt like something I had to do." She stared up at me now, and I felt something well up inside me, a feeling I'd been repressing since Yamamtau. All of a sudden I was ten again, and she was in full uniform, walking out the door.

"You left me behind," I exhaled.

"I know."

"With dad," I pressed. "Which was worse than alone." It was suddenly freezing in here. My arms shook with the cold.

"I'm sorry, Tae," she whispered. Her grip on my shoulders loosened. "I felt that if I didn't join the Haechi program, I was dishonoring her memory. I know you felt the same way, but when you didn't make it in I had to choose."

I was ten and alone and twenty-one and falling from the sky and all at once I was here with my sister, all at the same time. I felt the tide rising inside of me, tears leaking like the first drops of water at the edge of a dam.

"Then what happened?" I breathed. "Finish the story, noona."

"Then one day I woke up and realized that I'd made my choice for her sake, not yours," Sora sniffed. "But... she's gone, but you're still here. And you needed my help."

"So you left?"

"Not at first," Sora replied. "Not immediately. SPEAR had been on our radar for months, but we were forbidden to intervene. We had enough of our own problems fending off Satori Enterprises at the borders, but so many of us felt that we would be of better use here." She wiped a tear from her eye. "You cut ties with command, Tae," she continued. "You haven't seen how insular and uncaring it's gotten back home. It's like everyone's forgotten how to be anything but hostile to anyone outside our borders."

"So then, when you showed up..." I mused.

"I lied," she finished. "To you. To Jackson. To your General. To everyone. The soldiers I brought with me were all squadmates and fellow pilots who felt we weren't doing enough. But they're all the help I had." She wasn't looking me in the eyes anymore, and I saw tears speckle the concrete floor. "But after the Firmament... it's just Haneul. Aerum, Joon, Min-seo, all the others... they're all gone."

"Sora..." I couldn't breathe. It was like relaxing a muscle—all the anger, the resentment, the tension I'd been feeling seemed to release in one motion as I wrapped my arms around her. It wasn't gone entirely—perhaps it never would be—but in that moment it was enough to move past the pain.

Sora's grip on my shoulder drifted around my back, and she returned the hug, holding me close.

I wasn't ten and alone. I wasn't falling from the sky. I wasn't freezing atop a godforsaken mountain. I was here, with the sister I loved, and that was enough.

"Sora..." I attempted. It was hard to breathe again, but for a different reason. "Ribs."

Her eyes opened. "What?"

"Ribs," I squeaked. "Ribs!"

"Oh!" She released me and I stumbled back, trying to hide how much her embrace had hurt my injured chest. It was a good kind of pain. We laughed together, and everything felt better than it had in a long time.

"So what happens next?" I asked.

"Honestly? Hell if I know," she smiled. "But that's kind of nice. I was thinking that after—"

"Uh, guys?"

Sam's voice drifted over from the table. I hadn't noticed at first, but the chatter from the group had mostly ceased now, and as I turned back toward the table I could see that everyone was busy staring at us.

No. Not at us—my gaze drifted upward, above our heads, to the television mounted over the bar. It was an old, dusty flatscreen, possibly pre-war, but it seemed in shockingly good condition. To my astonishment, on screen I could see the faces of my friends.

The footage was grainy but steady, filmed from a vantage point within a large crowd pressing against the barricades outside of what appeared to be a courtyard of some kind. The camera jostled slightly as its operator fought to keep a clear line of sight, but the view was unmistakable—a dropship bathed in brilliant floodlights, with an immense building looming in the background like a monolith of steel and glass.

Through the chaos, the broadcast captured the moment the dropship doors hissed open. The crowd surged forward, restrained only by the firm line of armored security officers. The moment the first figure stepped onto the ramp, the cheers swelled into an almost deafening roar.

It was surreal, watching from this distant bar as my former squadmates descended the ramp, their postures wary, their expressions caught somewhere between exhaustion and disbelief. Their figures were stark against the backdrop of the city—their dust-streaked armor, their sweat-matted hair, the grime of battle still clinging to their skin, caught under the artificial glow.

Jackson, as usual, was first—he scanned the crowd warily. He'd ditched his SPEAR jumpsuit for white athleticwear that looked almost tailored to his narrow frame. His brown hair was matted, but longer than I'd ever seen it before, and the first shadows of facial hair had been cast across his jawline.

Amani was next—clad in the same white uniform, she moved cautiously, her head low, her hand gripping tightly onto Jackson's sleeve. It was shocking to see her move with so little confidence—was it the crowd that had her worried, or something else?

Kedrick followed close behind, smirking at the cameras like this was just another job. Though his dark skin was dappled with dirt and he looked run ragged, he knew he was the star of the show and seemed to drink in every cheer.

The person who followed next was unfamiliar to me—a thin man in a red blazer who played to the spectacle, throwing up a lazy salute that sent the already fervent crowd into another bout of cheers.

Next was Lucas, ever the natural, who lifted a fist triumphantly, soaking in the adoration. I missed our chats, but seeing him alive was the best news I'd received all day.

Doctor Dan Stonewood, steady and unfazed, merely nodded once before making his way past the crowd. He moved with a limp now—had that always been the case?

And then there was Laura. To my astonishment, she looked the most different, clad in a burgundy dress and smiling at the cameras. I'd met Laura, but this was someone different. Someone prepared for the public eye.

As my former squadmates made their way into the building, a news anchor's voice buzzed over the footage, speaking in firm, confident English as a ticker played back the captions in Portuguese.

"Tonight, Saint Corp Plaza is alive with celebration as the heroes of Spear Squadron return home from their first mission. For the first time, the world sees the faces of the warriors who led the charge against Axion's final offensive, saving us from the might of Project Themis. But who are these enigmatic pilots, and what role will they play in the future of the Iron War?"

The feed cut back to the crowd, where dozens of signs were being waved, some hastily scrawled with names, others with painted images of mechs I recognized. Finally, the feed cut to another unfamiliar person—a brown-haired man clad in an immaculate three-piece navy suit. With his perfectly manicured appearance, trimmed goatee and winning smile, it didn't take an on-screen caption to tell me who I was looking at.

The cheering swelled as the man raised a hand in greeting, flashing that perfect, practiced smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice smooth and clear, carrying effortlessly through the square. "My name is Michael Sanviento, and I am the CEO of Saint Corp. Tonight, we do not just welcome home these pilots—we welcome the future."

The crowd erupted again, and he gave them a moment to cheer before continuing.

"For too long, this war has been waged at the whims of those who see people as nothing more than numbers on a balance sheet. Axion Industries, Savant Systems, Satori Enterprises—empires built on the blood of the innocent, waging war not for justice, not for the people, but for control."

Sanviento's expression hardened, just enough to sell the outrage, before softening into something more hopeful. "But no empire lasts forever. And tonight, we stand at the dawn of something new."

He turned slightly, gesturing toward the building where my squadmates had disappeared. The camera followed, lingering for a moment before snapping back to him.

"These pilots, these survivors, have given everything to hold the line against tyranny. They fought back against Axion's last, most desperate bid for dominance. They risked their lives not for profit, but for each other. For all of us."

His voice rose slightly, passion bleeding into the carefully measured words.

"And Saint Corp stands with them. Saint Corp stands with you."

Another swell of cheers. He let it roll over him, a man basking in the energy of the moment.

"We are not here to replace one corporate warlord with another. We are here to be different—to break the cycle. To forge a future where peace is more than an illusion dangled before the desperate. A future where innovation serves humanity, not just the highest bidder. A future where the heroes who bled for our survival are not cast aside when the dust settles."

He took a step closer to the crowd, as if speaking directly to each person watching from the square, from their homes, from across the world.

"This is the beginning. The first step toward a world where might does not make right, where the sins of the past do not define the path forward. But we cannot do it alone. These pilots, these heroes, cannot do it alone. So I ask you, all of you—will you stand with us?"

The crowd roared. The broadcast caught glimpses of raised fists, of people chanting, of signs now being waved with even more fervor.

The roar of the crowd faded from the broadcast, and as Sanviento continued to wave to the crowd, the anchor's voice filled the broadcast.

"Bold words from Michael Sanviento, CEO of Saint Corp, as he positions his company—and these celebrated pilots—as the vanguard of a new era. But can they truly change the future of the Iron War, or is this just another chapter in a conflict without end? Only time will tell."

The feed flickered out of existence, and I turned to see Tio holding a remote.

"That's enough of that," he remarked. "We have things to discuss."

I exhaled slowly, unsure how I felt watching it all unfold. Most of my friends were alive, as Sora had assured me, but seeing them stand as champions of Saint Corp was a worrying outcome. We'd fought so hard to bring down one totalitarian corp, and now they willingly worked for another? They didn't know what I knew—that our information from Gabriel had been tainted from the start—but there had to have been more thought put into this decision than blind trust and optimism.

I stepped back toward the table and took a seat at one of the ramshackle chairs, my good mood numbed by the revelation.

"This is good news, right?" Sam probed. He pointed his fork at Sora, who had just joined us back at the table. "You heard General Mallet's command too, didn't you? Find Michael Sanviento. Well, mission accomplished."

"I wish it was that simple," Sora sighed. She leaned forward across the table, brushing a strand of black hair away from her face. "I am happy Jackson and the others are alive, but I'm willing to bet they're exactly where Gabriel wants them to be. In enemy hands."

"Enemy hands?" Sam retorted. He let his fork drop to his plate with a clatter. "We don't even know if Gabriel is really part of Saint Corp. He could be playing them like he was playing Axion Industries as Hesiod—an infiltrator."

"It's a corp," Calican remarked. "All corps are inherently evil in some way or another, by the very nature of their existence. No exception." Sensing the surprised looks of everyone around him, he reddened, stabbing at his fish sheepishly. "Hey, I may be privy to some black market deals, but that doesn't mean I trust my clients."

"We can't prove anything about Saint Corp or Gabriel until we have the information necessary to do so," Maria deflected. She straightened upright, unlocking her legs and lifting to her full height. "I don't trust them either, but that's not enough to pull the trigger."

"So where do we begin?" The question came from Haneul, who sat near the far edge of the table. "How do we even start to figure this out? We can't take aim until we know who to aim at."

"So you take stock of your ammo first," Reina called. She tapped the stock of her rifle. "You're all gung-ho to help, but you just got here. If you're going to fly off and die in a ditch based on just a hunch, you need to reassess your skills as pilots."

"Take stock?" I frowned. It occured to me that I didn't know the first thing about tactics outside a battlefield—during my time with SPEAR I'd led squadron seven into battle, but our actual objectives had been predetermined by someone higher up and passed down to us.

I missed Martin—he would've known what to do.

But he wasn't here. I had to take stock.

"Tio," I called, "what did you get off the phone from that pilot, Andros?"

"Less than you'd think," Tio sighed. "As promised, none of it was encrypted, but the information provided was so bare-bones that it's hardly anything about that bastard you didn't already tell us. Basic orders from Hesiod, commands, things to say to manipulate Blackwell, even some battle tactics used." He raised one eyebrow. "The only thing of note were a handful of names—a list of Axion higher-ups that Andros needed to be careful around."

"Did you look into them?" I pressed.

"A little bit," he replied. "You'll have to forgive me, I'm not exactly a whiz with computers, but from what I could see they were mostly old money folks with a ton of titles and whatnot. Probably investors."

"No." A lightbulb flickered on in my head, banishing the shadows of doubt. "I think I know what those names are."

"You're sure?" Sora frowned. "That fast?"

"I'm sure," I responded. I could feel the idea building momentum in my mind, a snowball pushed downhill that began to pile up with every passing second. Turning in place, I spun toward Maria, who seemed startled by my sudden fervor.

"Maria," I blurted. "Do you remember what I told you aboard Saci the other night? What Andros said to me about Hesiod's former identity?"

"I think so?" Maria frowned. "He told you that our foe had killed the original person acting in that role—Pierce?"

"Arthur Pierce," I affirmed. I turned back to the table at large. "We know that our enemy is filling the position of Hesiod, acting as an advisor to Axion's infamous Oversight Committee. So..." I pointed at Tio. "Who else do you think Hesiod would warn their agent to be wary around? The people in close contact who are familiar with the man that they were now impersonating."

Now both of Tio's eyebrows shot up, and he stared back at me with an impressed smile. "So you're saying," he breathed, "we have the names and identities of every member of Axion Industries' high command."

"Every single one," I smirked. "And who else would know how to track down Hesiod than the people that worked with him?"

"There's no guarantee they'll know anything," Sam replied. He tapped a fist against the table. "But if you think I'd turn down the opportunity to bring the hurt to the rich old farts who made Axion what it is, you'd be sorely mistaken."

"We can't go into this half-cocked," Sora warned. "The Oversight Committee aren't just rich, they're elusive. There's a reason their identities aren't publicly known—every would-be rebel with a silenced pistol would've come for them long ago. We need a proper plan."

"So we make one," I replied. "And when we're good and ready, we strike—behead what's left of Axion Industries, and in the process drag this Gabriel into the light of day."

"Hang on," Tio called. He raised one hand, staring down at me. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, Taewon, but the way you're talking sounds like you want us to go after them all."

"That's right," I replied. "We might be the only people in the world with access to a full list of every one of them. We can't let that opportunity pass us by."

"We aren't an army, you know," Reina called. She leaned forward in her chair now, far more engaged in the conversation than she'd been 5 minutes ago. "Most of the people here are civilians, and even the men and women with guns act as a defense force on a volunteer basis. We don't have more than a couple working mechs, either, and most are junk."

"I can help with that," Calican offered. He seemed cowed by Reina's stare, but when she didn't protest his smile widened. "It's what I'm good at—acquiring things. It'll take time, though."

"I guess we're really doing this," Maria smiled. She tapped her fingers on the table, matter-of-factly. "But I think that's enough plotting for tonight. You all need some rest."

"Oh, good," Sam chirped. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out, before pulling himself to his feet. "Because I'm absolutely down for this entire affair, but I'll be real, I was trying so hard not to yawn."

Chairs scraped against metal flooring as everyone collected themselves. Empty dishes clattered together, making a manageable pile, and small bouts of hushed chatter filled the silence.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?"

It was Sora—with no plates to carry, she stood to one side of the table, staring at me with worry in her eyes.

"I have to," I sighed. I turned back to the table, pushing in my chair. "It's my responsibility."

"Tae, I was planning your funeral."

The sentence shocked me out of my daze, and I turned to see Sora with tears in her eyes.

"When we thought it was all over, back on the Firmament, when everyone was celebrating, I was trying to figure out how best to honour you," she sniffled. She swiped a palm across her cheeks, drying her tears. "I just got you back, and now you're planning to start another fight you might not win."

"We're the only ones who can," I pressed. A shiver ran up my spine, but I fought back against the chill.

"That was how it felt with SPEAR," Sora pressed. "Where does this cycle end?"

I stepped forward. "Sora, I—"

"You weren't there at the end of it, Tae," she whispered. "We tried so hard. All those people, they tried so hard, and they still couldn't win. What's different this time around?"

Staring at my sister, I felt the chill fall away, and all at once something warm blossomed inside me.

"This time?" I smiled. "This time, we have each other."