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Chapter 13: The Campaign's Tale
25 scenes, 3,013 lines
1. Quiet is the River Bank
125 lines
Did you see the bandits?
Not even a sign; just some chipmunks.
*sigh* Think we should take a rest, Lieutenant? Sun's beating down, and we need to get the horses watered.
We've gone quite a way farther than the assigned watchpoint. Even if we can push on, the horses can't. Never exhaust your horse, remember.
Fine. Take a break, team.
And Sergey, if you shine the light off that telescope into my eyes one more time ...
The last thing you'll see is a missile to the face. Understood?
Ahh. Understood, Lieutenant.
Lieutenant Lilya retracts the telescope and hands it to Sergey. She hops off her horse and pulls a handful of oats from her saddlebag.
*neigh*
The horse snorts as it eats, then nudges Lilya's neck affectionately with its nose.
Hey, soldier, you want some more?
Just as she reaches for more feed, Sergey leans in.
This your first time riding this horse, Lieutenant?
Yeah. He's a hungry fella.
*chuckle* No, he's just greedy. Uses the same trick on all the new riders. If he wants something else to eat, he'll have to find it himself.
Oh, little liar, you heard him. No more oats for you. Go get some water.
Lilya pats its neck a little harder. Denied another bite, the horse lowers its head before giving Sergey a dejected snort.
Leave him to me, Lieutenant.
Another soldier steps forward, unfastens the flying broomstick from its saddle, and leads the disgruntled horse down to the river for a drink.
Lilya sets the broom down beside her. In the unseasonably warm air, she catches a dry scent, sharp with river water and wormwood.
This feels wrong, doesn't it? It really shouldn't be this warm. Ever seen a November like this, Lieutenant?
Yeah, but on the other side of the world. This is weird for sure.
Usually, the snow would be thick by now. But this feels like early autumn still.
The newly enlisted cavalryman lifts a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, then points to the river, its surface glowing with a greenish light.
The Don would usually be frozen over in the shallower parts, too. We'd be able to walk right over it.
The meander's just a little farther. Bereggrad would be too, if we could just cross it.
You been to the city?
The city. To the people of this steppe, these words mean Bereggrad.
Yeah. To go to the Foundation branch. Delivering letters, dealing with procedures. *sigh* Annoying stuff like that.
Oh, speaking of letters, my townsfolk sent some back from the front. Seems they're on their way home.
Sergey shakes his head, seemingly unhappy with the idea.
What, they beat on you or something?
Why'd you say that? I couldn't be happier to have them home safe.
It's just ... It should be farming season, but they'll come back to find nothing to farm.
He squats down and grabs a fistful of the grass beneath his feet.
The weather was just right last year, but something went seriously wrong. It grew fast, tall too, but didn't make any seed at all.
Our summer harvest was a complete disaster. The barns are almost empty. At least they won't starve to death at the front.
But Manus Vindictae could strike at any time out there. Probably safer for them to come back.
Do you think the Manus will reach the Don?
Hard to say. The main force is in Western Europe for now, but the Manus are like rats. Who knows where they might show up next.
The young Cossack scratches at the few thin hairs on his upper lip—the boy's best attempt at any kind of moustache.
Ugh, I swear I did more fighting during training than in actual service.
All I do is wait around for orders, and this one's just stupid. "Find out where the bandits are hiding." Are you serious?
You're telling me we have to find just a few dozen people who only come out at night somewhere in all this forest? They may as well have us search for a needle in a haystack.
Hm. So what do you think real war is like?
Oh, I know what it's like. All the men in my family have fought on the battlefield: my grandfather, my father, and my brother.
He dodges the question, fixing his eyes on the flying broom Lilya always carries.
Next ford's a few kilometers off yet. Why don't you just fly over and take a look?
It'll be a heck of a lot faster. Be able to return to camp before dark.
Red 38 isn't fueled by grass like one of your horses, and its flight time is measured in minutes, not hours.
Or are you trying to keep me grounded if we get into a fight?
I know! Why don't you teach me to fly a broomstick and apply for a new Su-01ве? Then we can take turns scouting.
Oh, I'd love to see your face when you fall from the sky, but I'd rather not tell your commander that his cavalryman broke a leg flying my broom.
*chuckle* It's not like you're any better. If it weren't for Colonel Sternova, you'd have gone face-first in the dirt your first day on a horse.
I, on the other hand, was regularly riding from my village to Bereggrad with sacks full of beets at half your age.
Broomsticks aren't horses. And if I catch you sneaking in to steal it at night, you're a dead man. Got it?
You're right to warn him, Lieutenant! Sergey's been stealing since he was a kid.
The cavalryman returns with the horse just in time to join the verbal beating.
Just last year, he tried to nab our fishnet. My grandpa caught him, of course. Nearly broke Sergey's hand when he wrestled it from him!
Hahahahaha!
The other cavalrymen burst into laughter as Sergey's face flushes beet red. He turns away but barks a hasty rebuttal.
Shut up! It's not like he ever used it anyway.
But he can't stop the taunts. The cavalrymen take obvious delight in dredging up his old scandals one by one.
Damn it! Stop making things up about me! Ugh, I can't stand it here!
You know what? When I get back, I'm going straight to the commander to get transferred to the Prisklonnaya company.
You mean the fifth company? Isn't their commander your old rival in love?
Even louder laughter erupts from the Cossacks.
Heh!
Ignoring their rowdy banter, Lilya lifts her gaze to the heavy clouds drifting beyond the river like white fortresses floating in the sky.
Dry, warm air sweeps across the plain, driving the floating castles forward and tugging at Lilya's sweat-soaked hair.
Tsk, already sweating. This heat's not normal. No one in the Foundation got the time to look into this?
Maybe they'll send Vertin? That wouldn't be so bad.
Her eyes are drawn to the merging line between earth and sky—a view she could never have seen from the Foundation, hidden away in the mountains.
Then, along the slope, black figures burst into view, tearing ragged gaps into the horizon.
Hm? Sergey?
Someone call me?
Me. You got the telescope, right? Hand it over.
What's that, Lieutenant? I can't hear you!
I said—
Urgh!
A bullet tears through Sergey—the price for a moment of carelessness.
Damn it!
Ah, ah! Ahhhhhh!
Before the cavalrymen can even react, Sergey has collapsed onto his back. The plain explodes into gunfire, screaming horses, and panicked shouts.
Among the chaos, Red 38 roars to life.
Lilya kicks off, circling low to draw the enemy's fire.
Bandits! Across the river! Sasha, get Sergey behind the rocks!
The rest of you, cover fire in this direction! Empty a clip, and mount your horses!
C-Copy! What about you, Lieutenant?
I'll take a little trip to their rear. Stand back! Wouldn't want to swallow my exhaust!
Seconds later, the battle-tested Su-01ве soars a hundred feet in the air, effortlessly carrying its pilot over her enemies.
Alright, let's see what you got.
The brief exchange of fire ends quickly under air superiority. The riverside grows quiet again.
Lilya hovers above, keeping a bird's-eye view of the area.
Two bandits down, last three heading north. Looks like they're taking cover in the woods.
Only one injured, and Sasha's with him. Nothing to worry about there.
Rest are headed to the ford. They can deal with the downed two.
Lilya turns in the direction of the fleeing bandits.
I'll find their hideout.
The shadows of the trees may veil the ground below, but they cannot stop the eagle that soars above.
Most of the yellowing leaves have been swept away by the autumn wind, leaving their slender branches thrusting out in all directions, like a sparse web strung up into the sky.
Come on. Can't you run faster? Wasting my time.
For a pilot accustomed to the high speeds of the Su-01ве, this hunt is closer to herding livestock.
A black cloud explodes beside her ear.
Then another. And a third. Hundreds of tiny metal fragments slice countless cuts into her clothes.
Triple-A? How the hell did they get that?
She drops down, flying so low that the tips of the branches nearly catch her as she presses on toward its source.
Just a little closer. Let me see what you're hiding in there!
Bare branches slice her view into fragments. Black smoke smears everything dark.
But her determination grants her a fleeting instant, just enough for her to catch sight of a small glade where an anti-aircraft gun stands.
Gotcha!
She pulls the Su-01ве upward, driving it into the heavy clouds at a near-vertical angle.
Weapon's not from this era. No way bandits could get their hands on it. Yeah, there's no mistaking the model.
Automatic anti-aircraft gun 37—AZP-37. It's Zeno.
Need to report this to the commander. Vertin will want to know, too.
*eek-eek-eek*
Huh?
Her broom's been hit. It's failing.
No, no, no. Not now, buddy! At least get me clear of the woods!
It's too late. She's already pushed the broom beyond its limits. She's falling fast.
2. The Eternal Autumn
132 linesDownstream of the Don, on a stretch of flat meadow, a camp rises from mud-packed earth and stacked logs. It's no grand fortress, but it's enough to shelter an army at rest.
Zeno cavalry commander Ivan Ivanovich Burakov stands, tall and broad, watching the recruits drill their formations.
...
Commander.
With her usual brief greeting, Zeno cavalry chief of staff Sabina Sternova approaches.
Yes, Sabina?
You've left the war room. Any commands?
Just catching a breath. That stuffy air will be the death of me.
Besides, a little more time among the pups won't hurt. Keep their spines straight and their commanding officer's face in their minds.
I think they know your face already. After all, many only joined the cavalry after you gave that speech in the village.
Ah, Tamarovka. Tell me, Sabina, did the pups bring any news?
From Ms. Galina? She's fine. She says she wants to see you again at your convenience.
There are no great rides ahead for now. I'll find the time to visit her.
*sigh* If this Golden Famine continues to gnaw at us, the Don will be no home for her.
No winter, no crops ... The steppe has turned her most brutal. I will find a way to persuade her to leave.
We reported the famine to the Foundation long ago, but there's still no sign of their investigators.
This is far from the heart of the war, and with the Foundation so short on manpower, we're just dust on their boots.
Messy hoofbeats burst from the camp entrance—the familiar sound of bad news.
What's wrong?
Out of the way, rookies. Wounded incoming.
Yeah, don't you hear his whimpering? I could almost cry.
At the rear, tied to a horse's back, sits a wailing injured boy.
Sh-Shut up, Sasha! I got shot, for God's sake, shot!
Argh, it hurts. I'm never going to walk again.
The soldiers quickly clear the way for the reconnaissance team. Lilya dismounts first, followed by the rest of the team, except Sergey.
Leave Sergey to me, Lieutenant. You should report to the commander.
On it. And find a way to shut him up before the whole camp's forced to listen to the wails of his great military feat.
She turns to see the commander striding forward.
No need to hunt me down, Lieutenant. What news?
Bad is what. Broomstick's broken. Won't be flying until I get the parts to fix it.
But it gets worse. We have a situation, sir. And I think it's a big one.
To the war room. You too, Sabina.
So, the bandits have Zeno AZP-37s and arcane-guided VT fuse anti-aircraft guns.
You swear it, Lieutenant?
Yes. We practiced how to dodge anti-aircraft shots with these kinds of guns when I was a trainee. Loaded with training ammo, of course.
There have been no reports of missing weapons, and we're not carrying any AZPs.
The chief of staff, keeping the entire supply chain in mind, quickly rules out several possibilities.
Then those weapons came from an outer source, and like as not, they have more of them.
An outer source ... Impossible through air, and all land and water routes are under our surveillance.
And there's no reason the locals wouldn't know about any hidden bypaths they might have used.
I can't think of any way of transporting mass weaponry and personnel without drawing attention.
Then we look to the hand that fed them. Who would hold Zeno weaponry besides Zeno itself?
Manus Vindictae? They might've captured them on another battlefield and given them to the bandits here.
Yeah, the Manus. That would save us some brain juice. But I don't think that's likely.
Do you know how many humans there are among the bandits? Any Manus would blast them all to bits before they gave them so much as a pistol.
Plus, these guys ran as soon as they suffered a loss. There's no way they're under Manus Vindictae's control.
There is a possibility we're ignoring here: Igor's rebels.
For a second, the faces of the Cavalry Corps's leaders freeze. Even the candlelight seems to stop flickering. Only Lilya seems immune to it.
You served under Igor, didn't you, Commander? He's more than capable of transporting personnel and supplies in unconventional ways, right?
I have to correct you, Lieutenant.
You're right. While under Igor, I saw his arcane skill in use. He could slip men and guns through stone as if it were air.
Well, good news is, Igor cut ties with Manus Vindictae after the ritual in Antarctica. So whether it's him or them, we only need to deal with one.
News like this cannot lift the iron-gray shadows sitting beneath the commander's eyes.
If it is Igor, the questions only grow. Why bring this Gryphon Legion of his to Bereggrad, so far from the front?
Even if he seeks something here, why ride with bandits? He never stomached their filth before.
Is it supplies he wants? But the Golden Famine grips the entire basin. Or is this all by his hand?
His questions quickly trail off into agitated muttering. He stops himself before more can leave his lips.
I'll send word to headquarters. Intelligence should reach a more solid conclusion.
Sabina, double the patrols. I want eyes on the woods at all times.
Yes, sir.
Lieutenant Lilya, since horsemanship is not your expertise, you will remain at camp until your broomstick is mended. That's an order.
Lilya almost defends her riding skills but quickly swallows her words.
Alright, understood.
It's easy to find the field kitchen at this hour. The aroma of hot unleavened bread guides their rumbling stomachs through the maze of tents.
Right in time for dinner.
She glances at Sergey, who's standing among the other soldiers around a huge soup pot. He holds his bowl, talking between heavy mouthfuls.
... In that moment, I saw the bullet coming at me! I'm telling you, my amulet worked!
Gave me just enough time to dodge the hit to the chest. Still hit the leg, though. You have no idea how much it hurts.
Too bad it didn't hit your mouth.
H-Hey, Lieutenant.
His legs snap to attention, some cabbage soup spilling from the bowl in his quivering hand onto his fingertips.
Oh yeah, must really hurt. Still managed to drag yourself to the mess hall for some soup though, didn't you?
W-Well, of course! It'll take more than a bullet to take me down. Speaking of soup—
He raises the bowl in his hand. Inside, a few measly scraps of cabbage float around a single soaked scrap of bread.
Look at this stuff! We're soldiers, not rabbits!
Quit your whining. I know you've got some dried meat. Eat it.
Lilya grabs a piece of bread from the table and spoons herself a bowl of soup. The thin cabbage leaves sink to the bottom of the bowl like damp gauze.
Like everyone else, she dips the dry unleavened bread into her soup to soften it.
Sergey hands her some dried meat, then pulls a bottle from behind his back. The liquid inside is clear—seemingly harmless.
Here, have some, Lieutenant.
Not bad.
So, what was it? How come the bandits have something powerful enough to shoot you down?
Don't know how, don't know why. Nobody does.
Well, it isn't hard to guess. They're obviously going to rob the villages! Wait. This is bad. All the young and fit have gone to war. They won't be able to defend themselves.
For a moment, a dark cloud falls upon his face. But soon, it's lightened by another idea.
Hey, no orders this afternoon, right? Want to go fishing with me? I'm going to the river.
Now? You forget that bullet so quick?
I know a safe place where we can fish, and I've got the amulet! There's no bullet that can kill me. Trust me.
You're not going to tell me you're full after that sorry excuse for a soup, are you? There may not be any crops, but I bet there are still plenty of fish in the river.
Lilya checks Sergey's allegedly shot leg.
Weren't you just wailing about your leg a few hours ago?
It-It's no big deal!
He finishes the last of his food, drops the bowl, and jogs away.
"Shot in the leg." Pft. More like scratched.
The arid wind blows the needlegrass into a sea of rustling waves.
Neigh—
A horse's playground. But for a fugitive on a long run from the authorities, it's hell.
*sigh* Charon, how far have we gone since we left the road?
On the open grassland, one might travel for hours without seeing another soul. Among the endless waves of grass, it's easy to lose your way.
Fifteen kilometers southeast, perhaps less. Our speed is slower than usual.
Are you weary? Would you like to rest?
Um, maybe later. This doesn't seem like the best place for a break. Do you think this map is reliable? The one the cart driver gave us?
The cart driver?
...
Alright, I'll refresh your memory one more time, or should I say, for the millionth time.
It all started after we left Poland. Somehow, we got ourselves on a train heading east—the one full of Czechoslovakians.
Memories of you insisting they let us aboard the train because "you can avoid the soldiers in black in the East" come to mind.
Of course you'd remember that of all things. Anyway, so we got on the train, but before we could get too far, it was stopped by some group.
A fight must've broken out, because there were gunshots everywhere. It was utter bedlam, so we grabbed Andreas from the stock car and slipped away south.
Neigh ...
The warhorse seems grateful for the daring rescue.
That's when we met the cart driver I mentioned. He'd lost a horse.
So we made a deal: we'd lend him Andreas for the day, and he'd take us somewhere safe.
Then he has fulfilled his promise. This is indeed a peaceful and safe place.
Hardly! We're in the middle of bloody nowhere! If we can't find people soon, we'll—no, I'll—starve to death!
Charon lowers his head, troubled by his failure to consider the needs of the living. Andreas also turns his head aside. He can live off the grassland alone.
Oh, n-not to blame you two. *sigh* Forget it. Guess there's nothing for it but to keep moving forwards.
She lifts the messy, hand-drawn map again, squinting to make out the shape of a river among its chaotic lines.
He said we could find his niece in Perevoznaya by the Don River. But which one is the Don?
*sigh* If we're even going in the right direction, that is, or if this map is actually accurate. Um, Andreas?
Neigh?
Could I stand on your back for a minute?
Andreas lowers himself, allowing the girl to clamber onto his back.
Then, they both rise at the same time, Merel's feet trembling.
What are you doing, Merel? You could fall.
I-I'm fine. Just be ready to *grunt* catch me if I fall, alright?
Merel shakily detaches the telescope she picked up in some ruins from her belt and looks toward what she believes to be the east.
Where could it be? All I see is grass and trees.
Alright, other side, other side. *gasp*
Ch-Charon! Charon, I see rooftops! Right ahead! You—
Wah! Help!
She hops in excitement and, as expected, loses her balance.
3. Intersection
169 lines
You fell off your horse? Haha, I wouldn't worry. I bet even the mighty Ataman has fallen once or twice.
The young man in uniform comes to the tall, fruitless pear tree Merel is seated under and offers her a bowl of steamed rice mixed with wheat. She gazes at him longingly.
Here you are. Thanks again for helping my uncle with his cart. I know it's not much, but this is all we have right now.
I ...
She reaches out a hand, then pulls it back awkwardly.
I'm sorry. I thought I heard you had a strong harvest this year.
The past few years were good. It's true. People had to leave to fight, but the land still blessed us.
But this year has been strange. Certainly the winter. Soon after planting, the wheat grew wild. The fields are gold, yes, but there's no grain.
Even as he speaks of the failed crops, he still hands the bowl to Merel.
Eat. You look starving. I've enlisted with the cavalry. There will be plenty enough food for me there.
The cavalry?
The Zeno Cavalry.
...?!
Merel forces her cry of "Zeno" down, lowers her head, and begins to eat.
The young man turns toward the shadow that has been hiding behind the tree.
Are you sure you wouldn't like any food?
I need no sustenance. Thank you for sharing the little food you have left. How may this kindness be repaid?
Ah, no need. I'll be leaving soon, and there's no work to do right now.
You have a beautiful horse. Wish I could have one as lovely as him. Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm not asking for him.
Alexei.
A commanding voice stops the new recruit mid-sentence.
What are you dawdling for? The team is leaving. Who are you talking to?
Just two refugees, sir.
The conscription officer steps forward, his eyes lingering on the strange man covered in white cloth.
Refugees? From where?
F-From Poland. I was looking for a friend there, but because of the war, I couldn't find ... um ...
She stammers, blinking wildly over her clumsy lie.
Fortunately, the officer is too distracted to notice her embarrassment.
Arcanists, aren't you? We could use your talents in the Zeno Cavalry. Room, board, and meals provided.
Apologies, sir. I am only a wanderer. There is no desire to join any party within me.
A-And I-I don't have any talents at all, officer. Sir, I can't even hold a gun.
Another lie erupts from her—another bid to escape desperate times. But the conscription officer takes no interest.
Then you'd better leave soon. This place is crawling with bandits.
Bandits?
Brigands, raiders, ruffians. You didn't bump into any on your way here? Lucky dogs. Though you can thank the Cavalry Corps for that.
But even with our efforts, the situation's been getting worse. Somehow, they've got new weapons. We might be facing a serious battle.
Even all this way away, there's still fighting?
The flames of conflict burn everywhere. This is why I'm asking you to join us. Zeno needs new blood if we're to ever know peace.
If you change your mind, come to our camp. It's downstream of the Don, past the city.
The conscription officer turns around. Just then, a dozen newly enlisted Cossacks gather behind him, standing in the little groups of those they know.
They show off their new uniforms, competing over who takes better care of his horse and whose shashka has the most legendary history.
Quit milling around like chickens and form rank—
Sir!
A fully armed cavalryman gallops in from outside the village, plunging himself between the panicking ranks of recruits.
Half of his body is smeared dark with blood, the horse beneath him snorting heavily.
Bandit cavalry incoming. The size of a platoon! What do we do?
Can you still ride?
Yes, sir!
Then hurry to the sich and report this. The rest of you form a blockade. Do not allow the bandits to enter the village.
Sir, yes, sir!
The conscription officer scans the area. The unsettled young cavalrymen, enlisted less than half an hour ago, look to him as if he is their only savior.
Rookies, there is no escape! Turn your back to the enemy, and they will take the opportunity! Take up your weapons! Protect your families!
The boys shake off their scared looks, leaving their huddled groups and shouldering their weapons, albeit a little clumsily.
What? Bandits?
As Merel's mind goes blank, she feels Charon press the reins into her hands.
Let Andreas take you. Leave here, Merel.
What? What about you?
"I'll just run off when danger comes." That is what you said. Do not waste any more time.
I don't even know where to—
Downstream of the Don River, like the officer said. Now go.
Andreas! I-I'm slipping!!
Neigh—!
She clings to the horse with all her might as he charges at full speed. She can't even spare a hand to draw her weapon and fight back.
Don't let her get away! Fire!
A series of crackling gunshots blasts past her on all sides.
Ah! Run, Andreas, run! I'll hold on. Go!
Neigh!
She can't cross the Don! Spread out and surround her!
What? The-The Don?
She gathers her courage and opens her eyes, only to find a broad river blocking her escape.
Oh. Oh no!
Her mind goes blank again. Andreas can only slow down before the rushing water.
She's slowing down. Don't shoot. You might hit that beauty she's riding.
I'll take her out, and I'll get the horse.
Aaargh!
It's like a hammer has struck her arm. She loses her balance and falls to one side.
Dark, freezing water swallows her in an instant, followed by the piercing pain of a bullet.
No. Don't ... *gulp*
The shimmering light through the water above turns dark.
Commander.
The chief of staff enters the tent.
Speak.
The commander's voice is hoarse, yet Sternova delivers her report without pause.
Perevoznaya is lost. We don't know the details of the situation, but it's surely devastating. The refugees said they saw a huge smoke cloud coming from the village.
At least three settlements have been attacked. The survivors say the weapons employed were unconventional.
...
The villages struck are all upstream from here, northeast of Bereggrad. I suggest we quickly position the main force here, here, and here to seize advantageous terrain.
The chief of staff points out the positions on the military map spread across the table, only to find the commander's focus is elsewhere.
The heavy air closes in around Sternova. She falters.
Sir?
Headquarters has spoken.
What did they say? They wouldn't interfere with the Cavalry Corps's tactics, would they?
We withdraw from the Don in two weeks. We will engage Manus Vindictae in Hungary next month.
Her military instincts prevent her from making sense of this order.
I ... I don't understand, sir. Bandits are killing and robbing civilians in higher numbers than ever, and we've just been told to leave? Are you certain headquarters is fully aware of the situation?
They are more aware than any of us. Intelligence gave their conclusion. We've stumbled upon Igor's army.
Then they should send reinforcements, end the rebels once and for all, not ask us to run away with our tails between our legs!
There are no reinforcements. Manus Vindictae's army marches on the Foundation headquarters as we speak. The front is under immense pressure.
Don't forget that our mission here was to recruit new blood to bolster headquarters defenses.
As for Igor—he cut ties with Manus Vindictae after Antarctica. They say some kind of bargain was struck, though the terms remain unknown.
Since then, the rebels have crossed no blades with either the Foundation or Zeno. The Joint Committee wants to keep it that way.
So, they want us to leave so we won't fight Igor?
Correct.
To hell! All this time, the Foundation, especially those Hawks, has been belittling Zeno for Igor's betrayal, yet here they are, still trying to stay in his good graces?!
Politicians, Sabina. For them, the two don't clash.
Politicians, ha! I'm sick to death of the conniving bastards! To hell with the Foundation, to hell with those ridiculous bird parties, to hell with Irinei, and to hell with—
Sabina.
The hint of warning in his tone fails to stop her.
—Their lapdog, Lilya! "Air support"? Don't make me laugh. I know why they sent her!
She's both Zeno and Foundation. Her file says "loyalty guaranteed after investigation."
She's a surveillant! A Foundation babysitter monitoring you, me, everyone, so the Don doesn't become the next São Paulo!
It's an insult! A humiliation! Zeno should never have to yield to those so-called Hawks!
Colonel Sabina Sternova! Have you lost your senses?
His gentle warning proving ineffective, the commander turns to harsh reprimand.
...
Do you accuse Lieutenant Lilya based on proof? Or only because of her ties to the Foundation?
I ...
The commander purses his lips, his jaw grinding as if he were chewing on a piece of steel.
He bends down, draws out a crumpled letter, and passes it across the table. Sternova takes it, her brows knitting together.
"Ivan, Irinei's people have done it. Zeno's fate is inevitable. I write this letter only as a reminder from one friend to another."
"The Joint Committee is tightening its control over Zeno's military operations. Every commander stationed outside of HQ must be accompanied by a liaison entrusted by the Foundation."
"You were once Igor's most trusted subordinate. For that reason alone, the Hawks were planning to torture you during the trial."
"All I could do was assure the Committee of your loyalty and assign the least capable liaison to you—the flying witch."
"I'm sure you've heard this title before. She has no interest in politics, never writes reports unless forced to, and, in many ways, shares your temperament."
"That said, ensure you strictly follow every order, both from Zeno and the Foundation. We must be smart."
"The burden on you is much heavier than you realize. Do not embarrass us. Somme."
The letter is set down. Silence falls.
After a few heartbeats, muffled shouts carry through the canvas. The Cossacks are struggling with a fierce horse.
I ... I'll begin preparations for the withdrawal, if that is your order.
The commander lets out a long, weary sigh.
*sigh* Orders are to assemble all cavalrymen in Bereggrad. We hold the city for two weeks. Then, we withdraw.
We're withdrawing anyway. Why risk the two weeks?
For the safety of the Timekeeper.
The Timekeeper?
We've contacted the Cavalry Corps in the Don River basin. Lieutenant Lilya's communication device was damaged during the battle, but she has returned to her post safely.
That's a relief.
However, according to her report, it's all but confirmed that Igor's rebels have shown up at the Eastern Front.
Vertin, is it possible to delay your plans to travel to Bereggrad? A conflict is highly likely to break out there.
There's no need to hide intel from the trusted few.
Creius privately conveyed to me a message about Urd. It said there's some information to be gleaned about her in Bereggrad. I'm not sure how dependable it is.
But since it concerns Urd's whereabouts, I have no choice but to go.
I appreciate you sharing the source of your information with me, but, Creius?
Madam Z betrays a rare look of surprise.
Before the Antarctic Operation, he was just a liaison of the Foundation's military department, responsible for communication and coordination between the Foundation and the Zeno Task Force.
He got promoted after we entered this era, but ...
All information held by the Foundation concerning Urd is strictly controlled, only accessible to the authorized few.
And he's not one of them.
More likely than not, this information came directly from the Hawks. They're using you to obtain information they can't legally acquire themselves, and Creius is their intermediary.
Locating Urd has been my primary mission since the eighth "Storm."
A mission that may prove useful to the Foundation, don't you think?
If this information really does help you find Urd, then yes, it would be good news for everyone, no matter their affiliation.
But in the Hawks' eyes, you'd owe them one. They might hold this over you if and when the time comes for you to choose a side.
What's more, the expansion of Team Timekeeper was spearheaded by the Hawks. It's only natural that people are starting to doubt the Timekeeper's neutrality.
Madam Z's voice is gentle but persuasive. She sincerely hopes the young lady before her will not be drawn into the whirlpool of politics.
I know you have no political inclinations, but the Hawks are creating an image that you're working with them.
I'm not saying this to stop you, Vertin. I simply want to keep you abreast of what's happening inside the Foundation.
Thank you, Madam Z. I'm ready for whatever lies ahead.
Please accept my official application to travel to Bereggrad.
Only by stepping into the flood can one uncover the secrets hidden beneath the water.
I see.
After the Joint Committee's admonition, Admiral Somme ordered the Cavalry Corps to prioritize the safety of the city. Bereggrad should be safe for a time.
What's the Committee's attitude towards Igor now?
Igor is the enemy. However, reports from the Western Front state he's no longer working with the Manus.
We're currently re-evaluating Igor's motivations. That said, the Committee does hope to avoid making enemies. Our relationship with Zeno has become somewhat fragile since the real war began.
Permission granted, Timekeeper.
Pack your bags. I'll have Sharon deliver the paperwork to Sonetto.
Thank you, Madam Z. I'll do my best to return before the war breaks out.
As she turns, a soft sigh comes from behind her.
*sigh* You always follow your own judgment, Vertin. A precious quality in this era. I hope it never changes.
4. Beneath the Silence
140 linesHey! I got something! Sasha, come give me a hand!
Not far from the camp, Sergey has been watering the horses while he fishes, undeterred by the danger brewing across the steppe.
The fishnet he failed to steal last year ended up in his pack before he left home. Old Somov put it there himself.
Got it! Dear Lord, this is heavy!
Must be a big one. Come on, Sasha, put your back into it.
The two young men, children of this very river, use all their strength to drag the fishnet to the riverbank.
Have you ever caught a fish this big before?
Never! The fish done all the growing this year instead of the crops?
Just a bit further. Grab tight. On my mark. One! Two! Three!
They stumble back as they finally haul the net ashore.
Go check it out. I dare say even my grandpa has never seen fish so big.
Sergey runs to the net and untangles the cords like an expert.
*cough*
That's not a sound a fish would make.
Huh? Thi-This is—
*cough*
What kind of fish is it, Sergey?
Sasha hurries over to join him.
I'll be damned! Sasha! It's a person?
A person? Have you lost your mind?
*cough* Help. Help me.
Damn it! Hurry up, will you? It's a living person! We have to take her to camp!
Hmm?
The sound of dozens of horses neighing at once echoes from somewhere far away.
Andreas? Charon? Where *cough* where am I?
Warm, dry air sweeps across her cheeks. She hears the crackle of burning willow sticks.
You're awake? Try getting to your feet.
Ergh. My head's spinning. I can hardly ...
Whoa, whoa, easy now. Just try and take a few steps. It'll help, trust me.
Merel doesn't know how she gets to her feet. All she remembers is swaying as she somehow pulled herself upright.
I ... What is this place?
Relax. You're in the Zeno Cavalry Corps camp. It's safe here.
Z-Zeno? Oh, you've got to be kidding.
That name is like a hell-bent killer pursuing her to the ends of the earth.
Sergey doesn't notice the unusual panic that grips her. To him, she's simply a frightened lost girl.
Merel looks around and sees a soldier in a different uniform walking toward her.
Sergey, I heard you found a girl.
No. It can't be ...
We fished her out of the river, Lieutenant. She just woke up.
And you just brought her straight into camp? She's obviously not a local. What if she's a rebel spy, huh?
Sure, she's not a local, but she doesn't seem like a bandit either.
Lilya steps closer and stares at her for a long while.
Hm. Fair enough. What's your name?
I—
She falters before she can say the false name she created. Under Lieutenant Lilya's piercing gaze, the girl loses the courage to lie.
M-Merel.
Merel? Not from around here, then. How'd you end up in the water?
I, uh, I came seeking refuge near the river, and then, I ... I was chased by some people—bandits or something.
I tried to escape, but I fell off my horse and into the river.
Hearing her tale of misfortune, Lilya shakes her head helplessly and turns to Sergey.
Send her somewhere safe after she recovers. We'll decamp tomorrow morning, station in Tamarovka for a day, and then head to the city. Commander's orders.
Really? That's my home! I can visit my aunt and uncle! I can sleep in my own bed for a night!
You'll have to apply for leave to do that. You eaten anything, Merel? We still got some canned meat from the Foundation.
Canned meat ...
The temptation of canned meat outweighs all fear of the Foundation. She swallows her saliva.
After the lieutenant leaves, Sergey returns to his usual complaining.
Too bad I only caught you today, huh?
Um, s-sorry?
Don't worry. It's not every day you fish a person out of the river, hahaha. Oh, by the way, you can stay at my uncle's when we arrive in Tamarovka if you like.
It's no Winter Palace, but it's better than a tent, that's for sure.
You live with your uncle?
Yeah. Father died at the front four years ago, and my mother was sick—lost her two years later. My aunt and uncle took me in.
I do have to do farm work to earn my keep, but that's no big deal.
How about you? Where are you from? You said you're a refugee. Where's your family now?
I ... I ...
The girl stares at the empty ground before her.
I don't have a family.
Even the ever-slippery Sergey loses his smile. He can't help but think of that winter when his mother lay dying.
An, um, orphanage took me in. I grew up there.
Are there many locals in the cavalry? Like you?
Yeah, most of us actually. Back when Zeno first got here, there were only a thousand people. The Cavalry Corps didn't even exist.
When the famine struck the steppe, and even potatoes wouldn't grow, the cavalry gave us food and shelter.
So I thought, maybe it wouldn't be too bad to join them. At least then I could save some food for my family.
But you've enlisted in an army. You'll have to fight.
But I haven't had to yet. And everyone's alive and fitter than ever. Isn't that enough?
Friends already, huh?
She precisely tosses a can of meat into Merel's arms.
Nothing for me, Lieutenant?
Too slow. Got to get it yourself now.
Merel, silent among their chatter, stares at the Foundation symbol on the can for a long while.
Finally, she slips her index finger under the ring and pulls the can open. She lowers her head and sips the oily gravy.
There was a time I thought you would lead us to the eternal. I thought you were like me—a man with ambition, a leader worth following.
But look what you've become. A coward.
You buckled while I stood tall. I have far excelled you, Igor, and the world will worship me for it.
He whips out his pistol, aims at the tall figure blocking his way, and pulls the trigger, only to hear the faint click of the firing pin.
No mortal can transcend eternity, Krutov.
His opponent calmly draws his shashka.
Your arrogance has gone beyond your means, turning you cruel and foolish. How disappointing.
You can't kill me, Igor. You—
...!!
Shouts, gunfire, curses, as men shove past one another and hooves kick up an almost scalding dust.
Bring everyone here! Separate the arcanists from the humans! Zeno's captives in their own line! Move it, slackers!
...
He wakes from his restless dreams. Incense still lingers in the air around him, the hateful scent of henbane clinging to his nostrils.
Useless. I knew that witless ritualist was not to be trusted.
General Krutov.
As if having foreseen that the man in the tent would awake, an oddly dressed ritualist slips inside.
You have awoken, yet the incense has yet to fade. I suggest you return to your dreams until you're capable of overcoming your nightmare.
Enough of your riddles and trickery. Why are you here?
Captives. The first batch has arrived.
Then you do as we agreed: Take the arcanists and leave the rest to me. What part of that do you not understand?
There is a peculiar individual among the captives—an Awakened. We didn't discuss how to deal with them.
An Awakened. Those can be particularly useful. What do you know of it?
Thanks to the knowledge bestowed by Her, I was able to glean some insight. Though, I'm surprised to have encountered it here.
It seems the human fools named it after a mythological deity, as if by doing so, it would somehow render it capable of resting their sinful souls in peace.
Interesting. Take me to it.
Between the thudding of sandbags hitting the ground, bursts of gunfire echo through the camp.
...
Having already given his life to the tragedy of this age, Charon has already sensed what is happening around him.
He wants to leave but cannot move. Not long ago, a ritualist scratched a series of symbols beneath his feet, binding him to the spot.
Charon, is it?
He senses the approaching footsteps only when they are already close, then turns toward the voice.
Why did you kill those who surrendered?
Well, too many mouths to feed. There isn't enough food across the entire Don to keep everyone alive through the winter.
You could have set them free. They were only civilians. They would cause you no trouble.
Civilian implies civilization—civility, wouldn't you say? The Cossacks are barbarians. Setting them free would only bolster my enemies. I will not take the risk.
...
Charon lowers his head in silence. It seems there are no words left in him.
Intriguing. Just as the ritualist said. Tell me, are you able to foresee a man's death?
The shadow of death lingers over these grasslands. Countless will die in a killing driven by starvation and hatred. That is what brought me here.
Krutov looks off to the edge of the camp, where the yellow pasture grass bows gently on small rises.
Gunfire crackles again, along with the sound of something crashing to the ground.
A shadow, you say? I see a man walking the grasslands, the dead nourishing the soil. He stands amid a bountiful harvest. I am that man.
Your "shadow of death" means nothing. What I need is a precise prophecy, one for a single man, for me.
I cannot do such a thing. Nor is there any desire to.
I am offering you a chance, Awakened. Serve me and my army, and I will spare you the ritualist's hand.
Ritualist?
Krutov gestures toward the binding ritual beneath Charon with his chin.
This is her work. She tells me you dispelled another incantation cast by her kind on a human soldier.
She's desperate to tear you apart and see how you did it. Some special arcane skill, she claims.
Trust me. What she will do to you is one thing you do not want to foresee.
Manus Vindictae.
Ah, so you can see some specifics. Well? What is your decision?
No. Neither your enemy nor your ally. There is nothing I can do for you but bury the dead.
Krutov fixes a sharp gaze on Charon, as if he could tear through the cloth covering his face with sight alone.
Difference of opinion, hmph?
Why am I surprised? You're just like the rest of them. One bad decision after another!
His cursing seems to be directed at some invisible onlooker rather than at Charon.
And I am left to right their wrongs. It seems only I can.
I gave you your chance, freak.
5. Strange Gazes
171 linesThousands of warhorses carrying fully armed cavalrymen travel to Tamarovka, their heavy hooves pounding the dirt road into hard-packed earth.
The Cavalry Corps's reconnaissance team reaches the village first. The villagers are on alert, eyeing the soldiers from their doorways.
You heard, Merel? A Foundation big shot's coming to the village. That's a first!
Big shot? Who?
Merel unconsciously reaches for her mask, suddenly realizing that she lost it during her escape.
Not sure, but the commander needs to welcome them personally. *sigh* Forget it. None of our business.
Natash—huh?
As they pass a nearby house, Sergey seems to spot an old acquaintance in a doorway. He leans forward to greet her, but she shuts the door in his face.
The hostility radiating from the onlookers in every direction makes Merel want to curl into a ball.
Um, Sergey, isn't this your hometown? Why are they staring at you like that?
I don't know. It's not like I've made that many enemies. Just one or two at most.
Anyway, let's go meet my uncle. See that house with the iron sheeting? That's our home.
Merel follows his finger to a house with a blue iron-sheet roof. A man holding a cane stands in the yard.
Sergey takes off his hat and excitedly waves it in the air.
Uncle Petro!
The old man only strikes the ground with his cane. His heavy blink seems to say, "Don't start, boy."
What's going on?
Maybe something happened? Should we go ask him?
Sergey never expected his return home to be so dispirited. His uncle pulls him aside. Merel follows behind.
What's wrong, Uncle Petro?
You tell me! Did your commander say you'd fight those bandits or not?
Of course!
When?
That-That I don't know. It's a military secret!
Word is you're going to the city—the lot of you! So where does that leave the rest of us, hm? The villagers need protecting too!
The young man can't think of an answer. He can only stand in awkward silence. The uncle sighs and grips his nephew's shoulder hard with a slim yet powerful hand.
Alright, Seryozha, I understand. Everything's packed and ready to go. Come, we're leaving to your cousin's in Petrovka.
Uncle Petro! Could you just tell me what's going on? I'm not deserting Zeno!
Sergey shakes off his uncle's hand. The old man's neck flushes red with embarrassment and anger. He turns and glances at Merel.
It's fine. She's a friend.
The cavalry is leaving us here to die. And the refugees from upstream—they said there are tens of thousands of bandits up there.
I don't know where they all came from, but your cavalry's nothing compared to that, right? You'll never fight them all off.
And keep this quiet, but the kolduny left and joined the bandits!
What?
Tch-tch-tch! They said they'd punish anyone who stands with the cavalry when they return.
He watches the Cavalry Corps soldiers passing by the village entrance.
If you can't fight them off, they'll burn the village to ashes. So, are you coming with us? Yes or no?
I see Lilya.
A small group of reinforcements makes its slow advance across the grassland. A transport team carrying guns and artillery rumbles close behind.
Hmm. That must be the commander of the Zeno cavalry beside her.
The Cavalry Corps officers awaiting them ride out to the head of the team to guide them to their destination.
Before the commander can reach them, an old friend steps forward to greet the Timekeeper.
Captain! Why did the Foundation send you here? Isn't exactly the safest place in the world right now.
I applied for it. There's something I need to find in Bereggrad.
Don't give me that look, Lilya. Madam Z approved it.
Alright, what Z says goes.
I'm glad to see you safe and sound, Ms. Lilya. Your message had us worried.
Hah. The Foundation seriously needs to update their communication devices. At least, make them bulletproof.
The commander approaches as they chat.
Timekeeper.
Commander Ivan, it's a pleasure to meet you. If you could, a brief walk-through of the situation in Bereggrad and the surrounding areas would be most helpful.
Of course. But tell me, where did that company behind you spring from? I received no word in our communications.
The commander's eyes settle on a small detachment within the reinforcements, about a hundred soldiers strong, led by a red-haired knight.
The knight notices him, too. She dismounts and steps forward.
Vice Admiral Burakov, I am the medic of the Foundation's special unit "XII." Behind me are the soldiers returning from the front lines and our field medical team.
Every one of them is willing to enlist in the cavalry and join the fight against the bandits.
Good to know.
Go to Colonel Sabina Sternova. She will see your men settled.
Yes, Commander.
The knight leads the special unit away.
Follow me, if you will, Timekeeper.
Intelligence has spoken: the scattered bandit forces are converging upstream of the Don. They carry Zeno weaponry, though their identity is yet unknown.
Most likely, this is Igor's doing, though we've kept clear of them thus far, as headquarters ordered.
Villages have been plundered. Many have fled downstream, yet most cling to their homes.
The commander lifts his eyes from the map, still deep in thought.
Zeno has ordered the cavalry station in Bereggrad until your mission is complete. We ride at dawn.
Many of your cavalrymen are locals from the era. What do they think of Igor?
What happened in São Paulo is classified. To them, he's a warlord like any other.
We do have a controlled route to the city, but Timekeeper, are you certain you wish to enter? The rebels could strike at any moment.
Yes. I'll complete my mission quickly, hopefully before any conflict arises.
I see. Then tell me the details of your mission so that I may lend my hand.
There's a place in the city called the Amber Room. It's said to hold an important clue about the "Storm."
Does it sound familiar at all, Commander?
Not the Amber Room in St. Petersburg, I presume. We're a long way off from there.
Then no, can't say it does. It seems I cannot aid you much in this.
The commander pauses, then asks the question that's been gnawing at him since the Timekeeper's arrival.
Timekeeper, may I ask: besides your "Storm" investigation, are you also here to deal with the Golden Famine?
We tried ourselves, but Zeno soldiers have little experience in arcane matters. We couldn't unearth the root.
I'm sorry. I didn't receive any information on that matter. But I'll keep an eye out for you.
I see.
The cavalry will aid you in any way we can. But with our strength as it is, I cannot guarantee the safety of Bereggrad.
I'm not sure how much it will help, but I heard reinforcements are on the way.
The newly formed Flying Witch Company will arrive soon, along with a new broomstick for Lilya.
Lilya suddenly perks up.
Zeno reformed the Flying Witches?
No, this unit belongs to the Foundation.
Lilya, Committee member Irinei asks if you'll serve as its temporary captain. What do you say?
Sternova gestures to a lonely, empty house.
We haven't seen the owner of this place for two years. The elder said you can stay here for a few days.
This is spacious.
If you ignore its decrepit state, it is a fairly decent place for a short stay.
Um, yeah. The stable in the yard still needs some fixing up, so the cavalry will have to take care of your horse, if you don't mind.
That would be kind of you. Thank you very much.
It's no big deal. What's one more horse to feed?
Sternova hands the key to Marsha and leads her horse away.
Just as Marsha is about to slip the key inside the lock, a rustling sound catches her attention.
Is that a rat?
Not the sound a rat would make.
A small black shadow vanishes behind the once-leafy elm in the corner of the yard.
She hears it again. She looks over to the same spot.
Who's there?
From behind the elm, a head peeks out, briefly meeting her eyes.
...!
This time, the shadow doesn't hide itself behind the tree but disappears in the glow of an arcane skill.
Vanished? Just like that?
This could be a threat. Marsha draws her weapon and moves toward the fading arcane light.
A shadow flashes past once more.
What? That was definitely a person.
A person sneaking in the shadows around the cavalry's station. Suspicious to be sure. A spy, perhaps?
*a strange sound*
Its direction is exposed again.
Turning, Marsha stares intently.
Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Is that a fiddler crab? On the Don steppe?
The knight runs toward the dubious fiddler crab at astonishing speed. Her heavy armor doesn't seem to slow her down in the slightest.
In its desperation, her opponent flees sideways toward the outskirts of the village.
But there is no escape. The knight is closing in on the crab.
Got you!
Forced into a corner, the fiddler crab snaps its oversized claws in the air.
Sssss, ssss!
Enough, shapeshifter! This is absurd! How would a fiddler crab make it out here to the plain?
And might I remind you that you're too big to be a crab?
Sss ...
The same glow returns, the light surrounding the fiddler crab bending and distorting.
It reveals the figure of a girl.
...
The newly appointed medic of the "XII" Squad locks eyes with her team's deserter.
H-Hey, nice to see you again. Heh.
Marsha steps forward. Caught at last, Merel squats down, covering her head with both hands.
D-Don't hurt me! I'll tell you everything.
You mean to say you plan to stay here until the war's over?
Well, I don't really have much choice. At least with the cavalry, I won't starve.
And if the "Storm" comes? What then?
I'll be fine. I took an Equilibrium Umbrella with me. And maybe in the next era, I'll find a safer place to stay.
Her face sinks.
Oh. Oh no. I lost it when the bandits chased me.
...
Oourgh!
The knight grabs her face with both hands, pressing her cheeks tight together.
Let go.
This is serious, Merel! Do you have any idea what they do to deserters? Do you think hiding with Zeno will prevent the Foundation from finding you?
I ... I don't know.
You may survive one "Storm," but what about the next? And the others after that?
Please ... Marsha ...
How will you know which era the "Storm" will take us to next?
Marsha ... Can't ... breathe ...
She lets go.
Honestly! What am I to do with you?
Merel hangs her head, rubbing her reddened cheeks.
So, why are you here?
I was taking a group of Don Cossacks home and heard the Timekeeper was going the same direction, so we met on the road and traveled the rest of the way together.
Now that I have arrived, Creius has requested I stay by the Timekeeper's side until she completes her mission. Then I'll return with her.
Y-You're not going to bring me back to Creius, are you?
Marsha leans against a worn pillar, looking deeply downcast.
If only I could. But with Creius comes the Foundation. Either way, I'll be sure to bring you back. Running around alone out here is far more dangerous than anything the Foundation could do.
Merel knows there's nothing left she can do.
Does anybody else here know you, aside from me?
No.
The image of the young Foundation "big shot" appears in Merel's mind. She shakes her head, trying to erase those gray eyes from her memory.
I know the Timekeeper and Lieutenant Lilya, but I don't think they know me.
But Sonetto, Vertin's assistant ... I'm not so sure. We were classmates for a few years, but we didn't talk much.
I see. Stay close with me, then, and don't let Sonetto see you. It would be best if we solved this without any interference from a third party.
Paravyan and I may be able to plead your case, but if we're to have any chance of being successful, you can't run away. Not again.
Urgh!
A sharp noise breaks the silence, startling the still-nervy Merel. She jerks her head up but sees only a few swirling trails of condensation lingering in the sky.
What is that?
Marsha looks up too, but she shows no sign of alarm.
It's the Foundation's flight unit. They're here.
6. A Son's Confession
145 linesFaster!
Lilya speeds low across the plain, the newest flying broomstick model cutting a narrow V shape through the grass.
Lieutenant! We're losing sight of you!
Then you better learn how to get your speed up to 240 in five seconds.
A series of vague replies come through the communicator, their voices strained as they struggle to catch up to their captain.
But at this height, according to the manual—
The manual? Pft, that's for nerds! Are you nerds?
Move into split formation and prepare to climb! Brooms up!
C-Copy that!
Twenty-four Flying Witches follow their leader into the clouds above, slicing the sky in two with their vertical trails.
Hold altitude. See the targets by the river?
Yes, Lieutenant.
Good. Real enemies won't just stand around and wait for you to strike, but training like this can sharpen your eye.
Flank the target from both sides, avoid friendly fire, and dive!
*boom*
After a successful firing dive, the two flight teams effortlessly reunite in the sky. They rendezvous, hover, and merge into a single formation.
...
The howl of engines quickly drowns out the commander's conversation as the flight unit descends onto the open ground outside Tamarovka.
With her feet firm on the ground, Lilya passes her broom to her second-in-command.
Captain. Oh, Commander.
The swirling air around her sends Lilya's pristine uniform fluttering like a flag in the wind.
She walks straight toward the cavalry and Foundation leaders, who stand at the entrance of the village, observing the training.
New broom's nice. Rookies aren't too bad either. Only problem is, they rely on the tech too much. Should spend a little more time on their arcane skills.
Have to say, I never thought I'd wear a Foundation uniform. Wait. Don't tell me I have to follow the Committee's orders from now on.
Don't worry. You're still on Team Timekeeper. Your new uniform's just for easy identification while you're acting as flight captain.
Alright.
You have some time to sharpen your little birds, but conflict rides fast. Work quick.
The Foundation swore us enough fuel and ammunition for your entire unit and more besides.
You alone have access to it. No applications, no paperwork, just go directly to the quartermaster.
Nice. I'll make sure the rookies never step foot on the ground.
Mr. Irinei said that this is the Su-02ве's combat debut. He hopes to hear some feedback from you.
Well, it's faster, got stronger firepower and better maneuverability. Basically an all-round improvement.
Haven't used it for long, though. Any major defects you know of?
The price.
One 02 costs nearly triple the amount of an 01, or even more.
Who's paying for repairs?
Me. The Su-02ве assigned to you is the property of Team Timekeeper.
Okay. I'll do my best not to break it.
Noon descends. The sun hangs tilted in the sky, casting an unseasonable dryness across the grassland.
The aroma of simple meals drifts from the households. Whether in times of famine or prosperity, the plain scent of wheat is equally tempting.
That is all. Dismissed.
With the order given, the high-ranking officials outside the village drift away. Lilya turns to glance at the unit still holding position.
Captain, I need to go take care of the baby birds.
Alright. See you later, Lilya.
The temporary captain of the flight unit turns away.
Timekeeper.
Anything I can help you with, Commander?
Hungry? Come to my home for a meal, won't you? I'll send for your assistant too.
My mother's stew could raise a fallen horse. She would love for you to try it.
A simple invitation. Yet under the circumstances, its recipient perceives a subtle unease.
...
Sorry, I was just thinking about something. Do you mean to say that your home is in Tamarovka?
That's right. Will you come?
The commander pushes open an old wooden door, followed by two special guests.
Faint candlelight reveals a rope strung above their heads where dried vegetables and smoked meat should be hung, but now hangs bare.
Mama.
Vanyusha? Did you bring guests?
Good afternoon, madam. I'm Vertin, Timekeeper of the Foundation. And this is Sonetto, my assistant.
Oh! So you're the one—
The elderly lady fails to hide her surprise.
When Vanyusha told me there would be important guests joining us, I hardly expected them to be so young.
Oh, I mean nothing by it, dear. Just the words of an old woman. Honestly, Vanyusha, you must tell me if you plan to bring growing young ladies to lunch.
Ms. Galina gives a sheepish look at the cabbage soup, hard bread, and smoked fish before her.
We're just here for a simple meal, Mama. No feasts while others starve.
The meal looks delicious, madam. More than enough for us.
Ivan pulls out his mother's chair and helps her to her seat.
Timekeeper, Ms. Sonetto, sit, eat.
Thank you.
You will have to forgive me. This is all I have to offer at the moment.
Ivan takes a piece of rock-hard bread and softens it in the hot soup. His young guests follow suit.
You have food enough for the winter, Mama?
Oh, don't worry about me. Though, if things go on like this, who can say?
Ms. Timekeeper, are you here to end the famine?
Please, call me Vertin, madam.
As for this Golden Famine, I will try my best to give it a thorough investigation.
Caught between frustration and hope, the old lady lets out a sigh.
You should know, Vanyusha, many have told me to leave with them. But I have stayed, trusting that you will find a way.
Some of those fleeing south passed through the village. They said the attackers are different. They only take kalduny—arcanists—as captives.
Arcanists?
Yes. The poor things who refused to cooperate were beaten half to death before they took them. As for the humans, well ...
She simply shakes her head.
But Igor's army would've taken humans too.
Igor?
Sonetto, you must try this pickled watermelon.
A spoonful of sour, dark-red flesh is suddenly shoved into the chief assistant's mouth, stopping her from revealing any more.
Hm? O-Okay.
It really is delicious, madam. Quite different from any I've ever tasted. Might I ask how you made it?
Ah, it warms an old woman's heart to hear such things. Nothing special, really. Though many underestimate the importance of the barrel.
As Ms. Galina steadily shares her years-tested method of pickling watermelon, they leave behind talk of these troubled times.
The sounds of wooden spoons scraping against steel bowls mingle with chewing and swallowing.
...
The lunch finally ends in an uneasy silence. Leaning against the door, Ms. Galina says goodbye to her guests.
Apologies again for the poor meal.
Hush now. The meal was hearty, and our bellies are full. There are few stews better than yours.
Yes, it was just what we needed, madam.
After her son's reassuring words, the old lady finally closes the door.
I know you have questions, but this is not the place to talk.
Come. Walk with me.
Outside, layers of golden grass lap at the edge of the village like waves on a beach.
How could Ms. Galina be your mother?
The directness of this question adds a touch of chill to the unusually warm air. The commander smooths a wrinkle in his collar.
Timekeeper, you know the same pain, yes? To witness the "Storm" take away those you love. We all do.
If that face appeared again, full of light and life before your eyes, could you still your heart?
...
When I saw her again, she was no longer my mother, but a teacher with no children, devoted wholly to her students. She never once left home.
The reason for this phenomenon still remains unknown.
However, observations have shown that each of them has a complete memory, identity, and social relations. Their independent will is undeniable. We can't force them to be the person we think they are.
I know, I know. To speak of the "Storm" would only break her. She would shun me. But in time, she took me as her "child."
In the end, I have a mother again. That is enough for me.
I'm glad you figured it out.
Figured it out? Heh, the truth is the opposite, Timekeeper.
I chased Galina like a lost pup, hoping to find my mother in her.
And I did.
Her face, her body, every line and wrinkle—she is the mother I lost to the first "Storm," down to the gentle smile when she talks to me.
The commander takes several deep breaths to stop his teeth from chattering.
Think of it. Those you lost, standing before you again, only their clothes and memory changed.
Would you call them dead and gone? Would you not hold them close, praying memory returns?
It's hard to say.
I've never personally dealt with such a thing. Perhaps I'll have an answer if I do.
The commander stops his questioning and turns to the meadow bowing before him, withering amid abundance, stretching endlessly into the horizon.
It was on land like this that my father first set me on a chestnut mare and showed me the reins.
My mother watched on—afraid I would fall, no doubt. But she knew this was the way for every child.
For centuries, the Cossacks have lived by the steppe. She feeds us, she fights us. Rebellion runs free in our blood.
The steppe never changes, nor do her people. Sometimes, I find myself asking: Is this truly a false 1920?
You, Timekeeper, you have lived through many eras. We will never wholly understand one another.
From what I do understand, you are a survivor of the first "Storm." You've lived through all these eras too. I don't see the difference.
True. Yet I am marked by my hometown—my own time long before the "Storm" ever struck.
I was forged a Cossack, and a Cossack I remain, no matter the era.
And you, Timekeeper? Which era is your home? Even 1999 must feel like another world to you.
...
I do not belittle your path. I only say, losing time and home leaves a wound in the heart.
Politics aside, I respect you. You are the Timekeeper, the master of all ages and all people. Many consider you a savior.
And I? I am but a man with mortal ties. Zeno has every reason to keep me at arm's length.
This is all the old Cossack has to say. He adjusts his wind-blown hat and makes to leave.
Commander, wait.
Yes? What more is there to say?
I have no power to change your decision, but I have a mission here.
I need to know. Will you follow Zeno's orders and lead your army to Bereggrad?
I will see you safe to the city and stand with you in your mission. This I swear.
I understand.
Commander!
They turn back to see a figure rushing toward them, arms flailing.
Commander, what are you doing out here? I thought you were at home.
What's the matter?
Th-They got too drunk. A brawl's broken out!
7. Both Sides of the River
126 linesSeveral young men in Zeno cavalry uniforms surround the house, along with some boys not yet old enough to serve.
A boy and a girl are trapped at the doorstep. Judging by their resemblance, they're siblings. The brother is covered in blood.
Oourgh!
A cavalryman, poised to charge, stumbles back and crashes into the line of men behind him.
A knight stands at the circle's center, the only barrier between the cavalrymen and the two children.
Who's next?
This has nothing to do with you, outsider!
Another cavalryman steps out of the crowd, ready to fight.
Scatter!
One word from the commander immediately silences the cavalrymen.
They instinctively step aside, clearing a path to the house for him.
Commander.
The knight puts away her weapon.
Forgive me for bruising your soldiers.
I don't mean to interfere with the Cavalry Corps's internal affairs, but this incident could cause serious harm to people outside the military.
The commander raises a hand, prompting her to skip the formalities.
What is this?
Someone discovered a stash of unfamiliar weapons in these two children's house. It seems their uncle joined the bandits last night.
These children. They're from an arcanist family.
Yes. Some arcanist villagers fled upstream, claiming they would join the bandits and return to rob the others.
Some soldiers thought it prudent to do a preemptive strike.
...
The commander looks over his soldiers sternly. Their evasive eyes prove the knight's words.
Are you hurt?
No. They didn't harm me.
You've stopped the worst. Thank you, Ms. Marsha. Leave them to me.
Certainly.
The knight has no intention to fight. She packs her equipment and takes the cleared path to leave.
The commander approaches the young boy on the step. He appears to be below the enlistment age.
The commander tries to say something, but sees only refusal in the young boy's eyes. He gives a gentle gesture for them to enter their home.
He turns, still standing tall at the doorstep, and faces his men.
There may come a day when we cross blades with our townsfolk—a day none of us prays to see.
This war will scar us. It will scar our children, our children's children. The Don will carry our deeds for centuries.
Those who take up arms with bandits are our enemies. And we will answer with bullet and blade.
But their families will not suffer. They are our people, her people. No harm will come to them by our hand, else we become those we fight.
Then-Then what are we waiting for? Why are we stationing in the city?
We aren't city guards. We're riders! We should be out on the steppe hunting down the bandits!
R-Right. These are our homes they're destroying. How can we just stay in the city and watch them burn?
If the cavalry won't go, then we should go ourselves. Split up by village and defend our own!
Then the enemy will seize the chance, and one by one, the blood of you and your families will water the Don.
...
We fight for the peace of the steppe. If she is to flourish as she once did, then we must stand united upon her plains.
No more words on this. I forbid it. All those who brawled will be punished as necessary.
Now, go to your chief and get packed. The rest period is canceled. We ride in one hour.
An hour later, the cavalry leaves Tamarovka, where they have barely paused, to make their advance upstream along the river toward Bereggrad.
Thousands of cavalrymen make up most of the head of the marching column. Behind them follow a small number of infantry units and a long supply team.
Ah, so good you joined me at the vanguard. Interesting company, the two of you, what with all your stories from the west!
Pretty sure it was you who insisted on coming with us.
Heh. Reminds me of my days scouting for the Order. It wasn't an easy position to be in.
Sergey looks up at the sky.
Hm. At this rate, it'll be dark before half the Corps sees the city. Best we hop off and wait for the others to catch up.
The scouting unit clearing the way for the march dismounts on a gentle slope, taking shelter in the shade of a tree.
Careful, Merel. You'll break a leg if you dismount like that. Here, take my hand.
Having already dismounted, Marsha walks over and helps Merel off her horse.
Th-Thank you, Marsha. Finally a bit of a break.
Sergey, the sun will go down before we arrive? Then, we'll be transitioning to a night march.
Yeah. We were supposed to put up for a night in Tamarovka and leave at dawn. What kind of army starts a march in the afternoon?
Night marches come with considerable dangers, especially when we don't know the enemy's movements. What's got the commander so anxious?
He's a commander. He must have his reasons. Believe me. I know what it takes to lead a troop.
My great-grandfather was a general, you know. Fought off Napoleon side by side with the Tsar himself! Came home with a chest of medals, too. Shame my family lost them.
Without the taunts of his townsfolk, there's no one to rein in Sergey's bragging.
If you ask me, it's because of the Timekeeper. The sooner she finishes up whatever it is she wants to do in the city, the sooner he can send her on her way.
Sergey voices his opinion freely, not realizing that the person in front of him is a member of the Foundation.
Then we won't be stuck guarding the city, and we can finally show the bandits what's what. You know how dangerous they are.
What's the Timekeeper doing here?
You could always ask her. Aren't the two of you around the same age? Wouldn't you have been classmates at school?
Seriously? Can't we just drop this? Vertin was already the Timekeeper by the time I got there. I never saw her in school.
The SPDM—a school full of arcanists. It should be an interesting place.
Not as much as you'd think.
Everything we learnt was "for the benefit of humanity" and "the supreme mission of human survival."
Every day, there's a morning broadcast of the school motto in 12 languages, and the Student Handbook's thicker than the Oxford Dictionary.
Oh, and the fence? It's electrocuted! Can you imagine? 230 volts of electricity buzzing day and night! It's more like a prison than a school.
There was a rumor back then that a group of students managed to escape. People said it was the Timekeeper who organized it.
The Timekeeper? That's difficult to imagine. She seems very level-headed.
People were kind of scared of her. Apparently she was their leader.
Did she or the other children bully you?
Merel freezes at the question.
Not at all. Why do you ask?
I was bullied by someone of that type when I was in the Order.
Marsha speaks as if it were nothing more than a passage from a textbook.
I was about half the age I am now. As an arcanist, my physical fitness was poor before I received training from the Order.
Some older squires would give newcomers like me a hard time. We didn't stand a chance.
What's a squire?
They serve the knights and are usually candidates for knighthood. Newcomers take on menial tasks while they study the arcane skills of the Order. Those who master them become squires.
Wow, and you ended up a knight! Did you train thinking you'd go to war?
War ... I had always pictured it as something far off—a legendary battle of dreams and ideals.
Until it broke out. I'm no longer so naive.
...
You must've taught those bullies of yours a lesson, right?
Marsha's mouth curls into a mysterious smile.
*chuckle* Very few squires are granted knighthood.
Sergey, who has been listening along, cuts in.
Alright, rest's over. Back in your saddles. Better not let the team see us lounging around.
Sergey straightens up and checks that the saddles are securely fastened. The others follow suit.
You'll see Bereggrad once we reach the top of the slope.
He rides slowly toward the top.
Those were some stories. Didn't have anything half as exciting in my childhood. By the way, I can show you around the city if you've got time. I know it well.
There's a Turkish place that makes the best kebabs! Ah, but they might've fled already.
Leading the way, Sergey quickly reaches the top of the slope.
Behold! The Don's great—What?
Sergey pulls hard on the reins, stopping his horse just before the crest.
What's wrong?
Wait. Am I seeing things? Why are there so many people outside the city?
They ride up to his side. A dark crowd forms a wall across the Cavalry Corps's route to Bereggrad.
This is an army. They're blocking the entrance.
What? At this time of day?
Sergey, tell the commander to halt the march. Merel and I will stay and observe their movements. Go!
A-Alright!
Outside Bereggrad? Did you get a clear look? Bandits or other forces?
I ... I'm not sure. But they're definitely not bandits. There are too many of them and ... I think I saw armored cars.
Oh, and a banner, with a gryphon on it.
A gryphon ...
The commander's brow darkens.
Hold all regiments. Halt the advance and take the high ground outside Bereggrad. Do not engage.
Yes, Commander.
The temporary liaison rushes off. The commander turns to the solemn chief of staff and Flying Witch captain at his side.
A gryphon ...
Igor's banner.
So he's here, just outside Bereggrad, only half a day's march away.
Our orders are to enter Bereggrad. If Igor blocks our way or tries to attack, we have reason to engage.
But the city and its people may already be under his thumb.
If the upstream villages truly were pillaged by his hand, then he may threaten us with the lives of Bereggrad's people.
The commander's hand instinctively reaches for the gun at his waist. The cold metal calms his nerves.
Lieutenant Lilya, your unit will confirm the number and formation of Igor's army.
Retreat if attacked. Suffer no losses.
On it.
8. The Negotiators and the Judge
134 linesA shallow valley separates the two armies.
The wind stirs seeds and dust. The warhorses grow restless under the eerie silence.
I'll be damned. It's really him—Igor. After all this time, he just shows up here in Bereggrad? What's he trying to do, exactly?
Whatever it is, he should do it soon so we can end him. I bet he wants to take his chances against us too.
Not so fast. You know Igor parted ways with Manus Vindictae after the Antarctic operation.
Are you on that traitor's side?
He parted ways with us too!
The roar of broom engines on their return flight briefly drowns out the quarrel below.
Alright, alright! Quit your bickering! The flight unit's back.
It's all up to the commander now.
The commander lowers his telescope as he awaits the Flying Witches' news.
Lilya emerges from a whirl of dust stirred up by the Su-02ве.
Status?
It's weird. It's Igor all right, Triple-As and all, but they didn't attack.
I flew low, too, even looked eye-to-eye with the soldiers, but they still held fire.
As for the city, there's no signs of damage or Igor's men.
His soldiers are all outside the city?
Yeah. Got his main force positioned along the main road to it. It's like he wants us to see him.
He wants us to see him.
If he wanted to stop our advance, capturing the city would've been the best bet.
It's almost like he's welcoming us.
...
The commander raises his telescope again. This time, he spots a soldier riding out from Igor's army.
What?
The messenger crosses the ground between the two forces, drawing closer to the cavalry. His rebel uniform causes quite a stir.
That's—
Calm yourself, Lieutenant. A rider must assess the terrain before he takes to a gallop.
The commander holds fire. The messenger reaches the cavalry formation and approaches the commander, escorted by a guard.
Commander Ivan Ivanovich. It's been a while.
A long time indeed. What message do you bring, Ptolemy?
The messenger stares straight into the commander's eyes, intent on carrying out the mission entrusted to him by his father.
Admiral Igor wishes to talk with you and the Timekeeper, who's currently under your protection.
There's something important he wants to discuss, about Bereggrad, the Don, and the Timekeeper's mission.
Igor has the information I need.
Seems he knows why you're here. Though this could be a ploy.
Hmm. It's too dangerous for the Timekeeper to meet Igor in person. They should speak via communication device instead.
They could easily have reached us through such devices. Given this message was brought by one of his most trusted subordinates ...
I don't think it's negotiable.
What are your thoughts, Commander?
The commander finds himself the most unsure of his decision.
I want to know his purpose here, and him stationing outside the city does look like a gesture of goodwill.
That said, I shouldn't meet him in private. Word will surely reach the Joint Committee.
I understand your concerns. But either way, I'll meet him.
Timekeeper?!
I currently have almost no information on my mission. I'd like to know what he has to say, even if it's a lie.
The commander pauses to consider.
Our orders are to avoid confrontation. Accepting his request may be the way to do that. But ...
Whether I join the meeting is your decision.
Me?
The Committee will not question your motivations. If I attend, let it be by your bidding.
Then, if they question me, I will have my defense.
I see. I'll make the decision.
But how can we ensure the safety of the Timekeeper and the others?
Meeting Igor, huh? Take me with you, Vertin. I'd like to hear what he's got to say.
Alright. I accept Igor's invitation, and I request the commander join me.
To ensure the safety of both parties, I suggest we each bring our own bodyguards. Lilya will be ours.
You could use another, Timekeeper.
Sonetto, you're the only one who knows the details of the mission besides myself. One of us should stay in a safe place.
Relax. I'll bring Vertin back in one piece.
Understood. Please be careful, Timekeeper. I'll prepare a teleport disk for you.
So it stands. I'll send a rider to Igor's messenger.
We meet on the open plain, within striking distance of both sides.
<speed=2>In that space between armies, the air seems to tighten under the antagonistic stares of the opposing sides.
<speed=2>Tens of thousands of eyes are fixed on the few figures at the center of the valley. They walk toward each other across the open grassland.
...
Igor arrives first at the designated location and waits patiently.
He stands alone, not a single guard at his side.
I'm sorry that this is the way we meet again.
I feel the same, Igor. What did you want to talk about?
The rebel leader seems unfazed by his opponent's omission of rank.
After the last "Storm," you helped Moldir escape Antarctica and avoid investigation by the Foundation. You have my thanks.
She provided us valuable support. I simply returned the favor.
If that's all you got to say, then send a thank-you letter. Get to the point: what do you want?
Igor glances at Ivan, who watches in silence.
There are some matters I want to clarify.
Where you want to start? From the first time you put on the Zeno uniform? Or from São Paulo?
São Paulo. Let's start there.
To everyone's surprise, the admiral lets out the city's name. The sound of it almost stings.
The corner of Ivan's eye twitches.
Before I arrived in São Paulo, I struck a deal with the "dead" Arcana.
You communicated with Arcana after her death?
Yes. You witnessed the events in Antarctica. I trust there is no need to explain why I heard Her voice.
Death and resurrection are part of the myth She aimed to construct. I refused to become Her follower, but I desperately needed the reward only She could provide.
Arcana needed Urd to complete her resurrection ritual. What did you need?
A true shelter.
A "boon," a "hidden place," a "promise" from the Surpassing Excellence. She used many words for this little cube.
...
Is it familiar to you, Timekeeper?
The material's similar to the Tear of Comala.
The origin is the same, but their function is different.
Igor clenches his fist, and the black cube disappears.
Why make a deal with Arcana if just to avoid the "Storm"? The Foundation already provides you shelter.
When you learn of Urd and the Amber Room, you will understand why I cannot trust the Foundation's promises. They have chosen a perilous path.
The name, mentioned too many times of late, plucks at a golden thread in her mind.
You know about the Amber Room too.
I know what led you here—Urd, Amber Room—the words appear together. But whoever gave you this intelligence likely knows little more than that.
Bereggrad is not a large city. But without guidance, you will never find the Amber Room, even if you turn it inside out.
Fortunately, its location is not a secret to me.
Because I was involved in it all.
How much more do you know?
No more questions. I am no longer bound by the Foundation's confidentiality rules. I can lead you directly to the answers.
Igor gives them space to consider the deal, then turns to the cavalry commander, who has not spoken a word.
Ivan, I know you care deeply for the Don. I admit some responsibility for the looting of the upstream villages.
Then it was you?
It was Krutov.
Krutov? Hah. He or you, what difference is there? He betrayed Zeno at your side in São Paulo. He follows your orders.
Not since Antarctica. With the new era, Krutov has taken his own path. We have some differences of opinion.
The Manus deal was a one-off, but Krutov wants more.
He believed our reward should be greater, that receiving only a small black cube was like pleasing a child with a toy.
A traitor among traitors. Guess people do get what they deserve.
Sharp. You're right. I should've known that without Zeno, his desire would grow beyond my control. I will take the blame for his madness.
And for the Zeno soldiers you killed in São Paulo.
I will not deny it. And I will atone.
But I must first stop what Krutov has done to the Don basin.
I trusted him—trained him under my command—but failed to see his inflating ambition. I did not snuff it when I had the chance.
In the end, he built an army, from my soldiers and weapons, and from the Manus and other sources.
In this era, our relationship has become rancorous. He hopes to snatch the "boon," and I hope to end this matter once and for all.
Then he and his bandit forces now belong to Manus Vindictae.
He works with them as an ally, not a follower. He has not undergone the mask trial. Likely his arrogance is the reason.
Whether he has joined the Manus or not, it matters little.
These differences of opinion among you rebels are the cause of the Don's suffering. If an ounce of duty is left in you, end it. Quickly.
I will launch an attack on Krutov when the time is right, but the battle will be hard-fought.
The admiral frankly admits the trouble his army is facing.
I'm sure you already have some information, but Krutov is more powerful than you think.
Zeno weapons, Manus troops, the backing of Don warlords—he has them all. My army alone cannot defeat him.
That is why I ask your cooperation. With the Cavalry Corps, we will outnumber them. We will have the advantage.
...
Igor's words are like a shashka sunk into the mud, waiting for the other to pull it free.
Across the plain, tens of thousands of soldiers still face one another in tense silence.
Are you sure you know what you're doing?
I'm sure. And I hope I have proven my sincerity.
This serves all parties. You will bring peace to the Don, and the Timekeeper will learn what she seeks of Urd.
If you agree, everything will be settled within a week. You have my word.
The sunlight is fading, so is our time. I hope the deal can be made now.
9. White Night
147 linesUnder the cover of night, the Zeno Cavalry Corps resumes its march toward Bereggrad.
The Gryphon Legion holds position by the main road to the city. Both armies remain on high alert.
Alone on the fields comes the slow crunch of two pairs of heavy boots.
It must have taken some convincing, especially with Sternova. She's rarely easy to sway.
I swore it would bring peace to the Don. Sabina objected, of course. "Once a traitor, always a traitor." Her exact words.
She's right.
Igor pulls back his sleeve. A circle of neatly inscribed symbols glows faintly on his scarred arm.
The arcane incantation customized by Zeno for every arcanist commander, preventing the misuse of arcane skills.
Never thought I'd see it again.
Your arcane skill can vanish an army in an instant. I must take precautions.
Ever cautious. Good. Though, I'm surprised you still remember how to write it.
I knew a day would come when I'd need it. I never thought it would be for this.
The commander has no desire to pursue the topic. He looks away.
Keep your promise. The Hawks are circling. They will devour me and Somme if given the chance.
I know the Foundation wants no conflict between the cavalry and me, and the Timekeeper must have promised to vouch for you. Her words will not go unheard.
Were it not for the Timekeeper's mission in Bereggrad, they would have ordered you to leave the Don immediately. No two-week buffer.
How did you learn this?
I do not need interception to know what the Joint Committee thinks, provided their membership remains unchanged.
You're a Cossack, so they sent you here to recruit new riders. For the same reason, they do not want you stationed here in your hometown.
...
Don't speak like you know me, Igor. You and I are no longer brothers.
Demotion, imprisonment—no matter what they hang upon me, I will do what I must to defend my home.
Igor's eyes follow the river upstream to Bereggrad's low rooftops gleaming beneath the starry sky.
We were born and raised on this land. We both bade farewell to our families that day, leaving Bereggrad and the steppe for the cold walls of Zeno.
On a fine day, you can make out the church spire from here.
The city is not as large as it was in 99. Back then, we could easily see the suburbs too.
Many things are different. All this will be washed away in time. Do not put too much weight on it.
But the steppe remains unchanged, and so do her people. The smell of grass and dirt is no different than at the century's end.
I still cannot trust you. Krutov is but one stain on the Don. There are many more to be blotted.
The Golden Famine will strip the steppe bare. Her people will either starve or leave.
Most will have to live off their food stores. Some poor folk have none at all.
What does the Foundation believe to be the cause?
They haven't investigated. The Foundation is stretched thin. The steppe is not worth their focus.
Hah. Our best hope may be the next "Storm." If it is kind, the Don will wake as she should in the next era.
Igor lets Ivan's almost cruel joke pass.
This heat is the result of an arcane ritual.
A ritual? Bending the weather over the entire lower Don? How can it be done?
Commander!
The messenger's shout cuts the conversation short.
He runs up to them and bends over, hands on his thighs as he attempts to catch his breath.
Yes?
The messenger's breathing is unsettled, not from weariness, but from sheer fear.
He turns to the Zeno rebel leader with a curious expression on his face.
Igor ...
He mumbles something imperceptible to himself, gradually steadying his breathing.
And the moment he straightens up, he whips out a pistol.
This is for Alyosha!
Hrgh!
Igor staggers back two steps and drops to one knee.
The messenger's trembling hand throws the shot off course, denying the bullet its deadly purpose.
After a brief moment of shock, the commander lunges forward to seize the messenger's wrist.
Soldier! What do you think you're doing?
He forces the messenger's face to the ground. He tastes the dirt of his home with every word he roars.
Alyosha, my brother. You killed him!
You killed him in São Paulo!
Why did you do it? Because he wasn't an arcanist? Because he wouldn't help you cozy up to the Manus scum?
No one answers. Besides his struggling, the night returns to silence.
Your commanders may execute any soldier who sabotages the army's strategic goals as a traitor. This is Zeno law.
...
Igor rises slowly and grips the military identification tag hanging against his chest. A dent remains where the bullet struck.
He is as calm as the silent nights of the Don. He steps forward and kicks the fallen pistol away.
Let him go.
This is my army. You have no say here.
Not far off, a few warhorses neigh. Torches quickly light up the dark like streetlights.
Let go of me!
The messenger struggles free of Ivan's grasp, rolls down the slope, and vanishes into the marching column. One by one, the torches go out.
Damn it!
The commander fires several shots but hits nothing.
...
Father!
Igor's ever-loyal son rushes over.
Burakov, don't even think about protecting that bastard.
Igor raises a hand and turns to the commander.
I'm letting it go, and so are you.
Many of your cavalry have long served Zeno. They will protect him. Pursuing this will only undermine morale.
Nothing matters more than unity in the army. I taught you this.
Your cavalry must be united—brothers and sisters on the battlefield. This is what they are: a family.
After a few deep breaths, Ivan returns his pistol to its holster.
The hatred of those who once trusted you, a bullet to the chest, Krutov's betrayal, a "home" soon to be aflame ...
Remember what you have wrought, Igor.
I can never forget.
About the ritual that caused the Golden Famine.
It was Manus Vindictae's doing, composed of multiple rites. Their goal is to expand west. First the Don, then the Dnieper.
Soon, millions of square kilometers of land will grow no crops. All of Europe will face hunger.
What sort of ritualist has the power to change the weather over such an area?
Remember, Ivan, our enemy is a resurrected "deity."
With Ptolemy's support, Igor makes his way down the slope.
Keep breathing.
The ritualist lifts a censer above her head. Colorful fumes spill from its veins.
...
They creep around the bound captive like a gaseous myriapod.
Urrghh ...
Ahh—
...
Krutov raises an eyebrow of contempt at the horrifying display.
Is he dead?
The ritualist gives the censer a wave. The fumes rush back inside in an instant.
I overestimated the human's mental capacity. Next time, I won't make the same mistake.
Why not bring them to the Iceberg? Or do you aim to monopolize the fruits of the experiment?
Every glorious achievement is Hers.
The ritualist's answer is vague. Krutov waves a hand, signaling a soldier to drag the body away.
I have no time for your little experiments. My army departs for Bereggrad in two hours.
Bereggrad?
The news clearly catches her off guard.
We will eventually conquer the city—plunder it of its wealth and vitality. But departing now, you say? There were no such orders from the Iceberg.
Starvation will be our enemy's end.
She entrusted me an army and the power to deploy them. Now that Igor and Ivan have met, they are sure to head to Bereggrad. I must stop them.
The low growl of engines rolls in. The transport unit responsible for heavy weapons is departing.
My army is ready. This is my chance to eliminate Igor for good.
If you won't give me the "boon," I will take it myself.
The loss of one rite will affect the efficacy of many others.
If the weather cools and winter returns, our attack on the Eastern Front will be jeopardized. Our entire project will be delayed.
Your privilege has its limits, General. You and your followers will accept the trial. It is only a matter of time.
Watch your tone, Ritualist. You never asked Igor and his men to wear the mask. You have no right to ask us.
He presses his gun against the ritualist's forehead. But she doesn't flinch. She grins.
Igor is a weak, indecisive coward who doesn't dare face his true desires. I am greater than he will ever be.
Do you think a gun to the head will scare me? Death is but a return to Her embrace.
She will resurrect all arcanists—clarify our deeds. I will die with Her name on my lips.
Krutov lowers his gun.
Monsters.
...
He looks on as one of Krutov's soldiers drags a fresh corpse from the camp.
For the man who is already dead, this moment feels closer to withering.
How many more will die for this?
...
The soldier glances at him. Without a word, he lowers his head and walks away. Charon feels a stronger pressure closing in on him.
They die because of you, Charon. The decision was yours.
Charon turns back.
If joining you will teach you to respect life, then, I will do so.
But it is unclear what difference my choice will make. These people will still die by your hand, only for another cause.
I am not so deranged as the Manus. I simply value efficiency.
If you are not one of them, if you detest their behavior, why do you work for them?
They work for me. These lunatics know nothing of military tactics.
They simply point in a direction and let their entire force loose.
Krutov pauses.
What similarity could I possibly have with them?
You both start wars, bringing destruction and bloodshed wherever you walk.
*scoff* Our purposes are different.
It doesn't seem so different to me.
A pity you have to go. It's rare I meet someone worth more than a few words of conversation.
Charon fails to grasp the implication behind Krutov's words. He only sees a soldier approaching with a black horse.
Andreas?
Neigh ...
...?
Before he even realizes it, he is bound with rope by the two soldiers behind him.
Why do you bind me? The ritualist has already limited my movement.
I have other plans for you.
10. Legacy of the Era
142 linesBereggrad receives the thundering hooves of the cavalry in dead silence. It's as if the city has been deserted.
Yet the soldiers sense the stares—frightened, alert, resentful—peering through every rusted doorway, every shattered stained-glass window. They settle on the weary warhorses, on dust-stained uniforms, and on the black barrels of their guns.
What are they so scared of? The cavalry's here to protect them.
After all the chaos—letters from the front, soaring prices, bandits, Bereggrad is worn thin, even afraid of its own shadow.
*sigh* Just like the people of Tamarovka.
The commander looks up at the shuttered windows around him, then turns to the shadows hiding in the alleys.
You didn't keep the cavalry's orders confidential?
Igor walks beside him. From time to time, he presses against his ribs, where the sting of the gunshot still echoes.
Word always gets out.
Then the citizens must know that you will soon withdraw from the Don. With no one left to protect them, they have lost all faith.
They do not know why the cavalry comes. I'm certain their minds are filled with the worst possibilities.
They think you will plunder the city, no doubt. That's most of what they have faced since this began.
I see. I'll find a man of standing. Fyodor Petrovich, perhaps. And convince him we bear no ill.
People don't understand what they cannot see with their own eyes, and you cannot tell them about the Foundation or Zeno.
In the darkness, several citizens lurk with weapons in their hands. Not one of them escapes Igor's eyes.
They have already formed a militia, preparing for the worst. All we can do is remain discreet and avoid adding fuel to the fire.
We must end this quickly. Deal with Krutov. Captured or killed, it doesn't matter. Destroy their ritual, and return the steppe to what she once was.
And aid the Timekeeper in her mission.
One week, Igor. That was your word. Do not forget it.
I suggest we entrust the ritual issue to Lilya's flight unit.
They have the element of surprise. An aerial strike will give the Manus little time to react.
Already done. The coordinates you gave are with Lieutenant Lilya. She's working on an air raid plan as we speak.
I will leave Bereggrad to you. The Timekeeper waits for me at the church.
What she seeks is in a church?
Lilya brings her broom to a stop outside a church.
This church is unremarkable among the many others in Bereggrad—medium-sized and without a distinctive dome. Only its position sets it apart. It stands on higher ground, giving it a clear overlook of the golden plains.
What kind of church is this? Place is abandoned.
Captain, I don't know what you're looking for here, but you got to take care of yourself, especially ...
As she glances over, she spots Igor approaching from afar.
I will, Lilya. Have a good flight.
Never had a bad one.
Though smashing into the vice president's office would make it a little better than the rest.
It's a farewell in Lilya's own style. But she doesn't leave. Instead, she fixes her gaze on Igor.
Lieutenant Lilya, my interests do not conflict with the Timekeeper's. The coordinates I provided are correct. We're on the same side.
I am not worried. If you dare to lie about this, you're not leaving the city alive.
Lilya steps forward, directly squaring up with the rebel leader.
But no matter what you do, now or in the future, I'll never forget what you did in São Paulo.
I'll live through this war, and I hope you do too, so I can walk you to the judgment seat myself and see you punished for everything you've done.
She meets his eyes head-on, like an eagle locking onto its prey.
And if the court doesn't sentence you to death, I will.
Meeting Lilya's eyes, Igor understands that this isn't a threat but a declaration.
He doesn't confront her, but he doesn't avoid her gaze either.
Lieutenant, I know what I've done. I see the faces of those I sacrificed more clearly than anyone.
A suffocating stillness settles across his face.
I look forward to my judgment day.
So do I.
Lilya mounts her broom and takes off. Igor watches as she rises into the sky and rejoins her squad.
He lowers his head.
Let's go, Timekeeper. What you search for is underneath the church.
Underneath?
As eras change, so do landmarks. There was a time the Amber Room was buried beneath a market, even.
The church's cellar is deep, near the periphery of the Amber Room. Ptolemy led the digging of a simple tunnel between them.
Just as they are about to set off, Sonetto lets out her anxious hesitation.
Timekeeper, are you sure you want to go down there alone?
It's alright, Sonetto. Only Igor and I are allowed in the Amber Room. That was the deal.
You and Marsha can just wait for me here.
The road down is not long, but the darkness of the suffocating earth devours any sense of time.
...
Guided by the lingering scent of gunpowder from Ptolemy's excavation, they move toward a faint point of light in the distance.
What's that light ahead?
The lighting system my men built before.
Before? When they dug the tunnel?
Earlier than that.
The light grows brighter, revealing an unexpectedly complex structure as they pass through the entryway.
...!!
It appears to be a vast subway station or some grand theatrical stage.
Whether or not an ode has ever been sung here, this is clearly not something that could have been built in this era.
A metro station. Looks like Cold War period. What's it doing here?
It's because of the Amber Room. The range of its "Storm" immunity expanded, covering this station.
The immunity range expanded. So this isn't the center of the Amber Room?
Of course not. There was a metro station here when the Foundation and Zeno built the laboratory.
A laboratory built in collaboration between the Foundation and Zeno?
There is still some distance to the Amber Room. Let's talk on the way. Much remains to explain.
Now they've entered the subway station. The aged Zeno traitor finally seems to shed the veiled wording in his speech.
The Foundation and Zeno have worked on many projects together of many security levels. I am now free to talk of them.
After the second "Storm," several Zeno generals and Committee members requested my military support for a research project on the "Storm."
At first, I thought it was similar to the Changeling project. Shady, perhaps, but not too harmful.
That project still caused harm to tourists at the Green Lake Campsite and the surrounding residents.
This is nothing compared to what the Amber Room did.
After I joined the project, my orders were to station on the outskirts of Bereggrad and build a military zone to protect the underground site.
At the same time, the Foundation asked for a thorough review of all soldiers who served Zeno after the first "Storm" but did not appear in any 1999 records at headquarters.
Were they not registered?
No. Their records were flawless in each branch across the world. But compared to headquarters' records from 1999, anomalies were found.
Some had similar resumes and ranks but different photos from those filed in headquarters, as if their identities were stolen or replaced.
Zeno also encountered people whose faces matched the archive but whose names were different, with no connection to Zeno at all.
Sound familiar, Timekeeper?
Yes, Mr. Duncan in São Paulo. His appearance matched an acquaintance of mine, a man I saw dissolve in the "Storm."
I was tasked with locating these abnormalities and bringing them to the Amber Room. For what purpose, I did not know.
The guard there confided to me that people looked different after leaving, as if no longer themselves.
Did you ever consider finding out what was going on?
No. Back then, my faith was firm. I wholeheartedly believed in the Foundation's vision of peace and honored my duty. That is to say, I followed orders.
That led to my deepest regret. After the sixth "Storm," they brought in Urd.
...?
The Foundation found Urd that long ago?
Specifically, those leading the Amber Room Project did. By order of the Pax House, all information on the project was sealed.
The two subsequent "Storms" came suddenly. During that time, something happened to Urd, something different.
During one "Storm," she escaped, but the secrecy of the project left us without manpower to find her.
This is what led to her multiple disappearances in the following "Storms."
She could've stayed in the safe zone, couldn't she?
Indeed. From my view, the Foundation only searched for her to cover for their mistakes.
I remember well the last time I saw Urd. It was on a vast land, dangerous, barren, much like the Don steppe.
In Antarctica?
That was Doctor Dores. I talk of Urd.
When I saw her in São Paulo, I knew her at once. Both by her appearance and by her unique calm bravery.
But Doctor Dores was not the woman I knew in 1999. She was lost. A soul trying to reclaim memory and identity.
In other words, the last time you saw the Urd you knew was before the first "Storm."
Correct. In 1999, the year the first "Storm" rose rain from the earth. This is the second event I want to tell you about.
At that time, our army stood ready in Kazakhstan for a war none had ever seen before.
Ms. Urd, the army is combat ready.
Thank you for letting me know, Admiral. At the moment they start the ritual, they'll be their most vulnerable. I need to be close to its center at that time.
Understood. You know what you're doing. I believe in you.
Their defenses are weak. There's no need to worry, Ms. Urd. Everything will go smoothly.
I'm not worried about myself. I'm worried about her.
You mean your daughter?
Yes. She's still too young to understand all this.
The SPDM will take good care of her.
The Foundation made the same promise. I suppose it's the only way.
Manus Vindictae held its first space-time ritual on December 31st, 1999.
If they had succeeded, that ritual would have brought time back to the Blank Era. Antarctica was their second attempt.
The results were much the same. The "Flood" summoned by the ritual was incomplete and turned into the first "Storm."
Footsteps echo through the long-sealed subway station, drawing them ever closer to the heart of the secret.
I promised Urd the operation would go smoothly, but I lied. Neither Zeno nor the Foundation had any idea how powerful the Manus's defensive ritual was.
The situation was desperate. We had only one order: advance, regardless of the casualties.
When the "Storm" rose, it swallowed the details of the war. Yet the weight of it haunts me still—the grief of sending my soldiers to die.
Like the flame of a candle, they were extinguished in an instant.
If it weren't for the "Storm" blurring my memories, I would've left Zeno and the Foundation far sooner.
The subway station ends, and ahead of them lies a broader space, where white light and air pour in.
Then, what ultimately led to your betrayal?
Igor halts and turns toward an obscure door at the corner of the hall.
We've arrived.
It's carved from the same smooth marble as the surrounding wall, its outline only perceptible on close inspection. Unobtrusive, unremarkable even, but ever so mysterious.
It was the Amber Room Project. It showed me the Pax House's arrogance.
By now, I don't know which shows less respect for life, the Foundation or Manus Vindictae.
I once thought that we fought and sacrificed for a firm conviction, to bring a bright and peaceful future.
But I can fool myself no longer. The Pax House may aim to build a peaceful future for both humans and arcanists, but their means are no longer justifiable.
And, with Arcana as She is, this is a war for gods. How can we stand—let alone claim victory—as mere mortals?
How I wish to have a god on my side, Timekeeper.
There is an almost pleading note in his voice.
What lies in the Amber Room, I cannot fully say. Data fragments, Ms. Urd's words, whatever it is, she wants you to have it.
Destiny has seen it survive several "Storms," waiting for this hour, for you.
This is a door only you and Ms. Urd may open. Go. Walk through it.
I'm still not sure if you're telling the truth, but thank you for bringing me here, Igor.
11. The Defender's Oath
119 linesHow are you feeling, Ms. Urd?
Just as I have the many other times I've sat on this chair. And must you insist on calling me by my pen name?
Urd is your real name. If you want to find the true you, you need to accept it.
But I'm just a journalist, an occasional writer on hippies. Urd is simply a pseudonym for my submissions to a certain magazine.
I still don't understand the purpose of this experiment. Your claims of "world peace" sound no different from many of my interviewees on the street.
She's ready.
Vessel ensoulment test number 13, begin.
Vertin?
Mum?
It really is you, my child.
It's been so, so very long. You're slighter than I'd imagined, but how wonderful it is to see how you've grown.
Why are you here? This isn't reality. I can feel it. Where are you really? Where can I find you?
Don't cry, my child.
This is but a moment from the past. I can only tell you what has already happened.
Was the ensoulment successful?
Not quite, but it's the closest we've ever gotten. Amazing, all previous subjects couldn't bear the side effects of the experiment, only Urd—
State the conclusion.
Yes, sir. Urd's true personality may have briefly returned during the 13th test.
We know this because of the disappearance of the Amber Room. That is to say, for a few seconds, the Room became unobservable. All feedback signals were cut off.
My assumption is that the Amber Room traveled into the future during that time.
The future? Why? For what?
...
Only time will tell.
...
Timekeeper.
Timekeeper?
Er ...
Timekeeper! Are you awake?
Whether it's the ground beneath her or herself that is shaking, she can't tell. With the clamor of noises around her, it's as though she's just been thrown into a hurricane.
Sonetto, is the Timekeeper alright?
She's awake!
Sonetto, Marsha?
Her mind still lingers in another time while her eyes struggle to grasp where she truly is.
What's happening? Is Bereggrad ...
Krutov launched a surprise attack on Bereggrad an hour ago. Some bandits have broken into the city under the cover of their air force.
The cavalry and the militia have formed a defense. Igor went to contact his people for reinforcements. We need to get you to safety as soon as possible.
How long was I down there? 15 minutes, right?
15 minutes? Timekeeper, you ... you've been gone for almost 12 hours. I just brought you back above ground.
...
Timekeeper, sorry for asking so soon, but are you able to move?
Yes, I'm fine. Just give me one more minute.
Alright. Here's the situation: Krutov's vanguard has occupied part of the outskirts.
Though this church is currently within the safe zone, it won't be for long. We need to retreat a few streets back.
Ten minutes ago, a small force cut off our retreat. I'll attempt to break through a route connecting us to the militia's stronghold.
Wait for my signal, Timekeeper.
...!!
The knight's trench club proves an effective weapon in the cramped alleys of the city. It isn't long before Marsha has cleared a path.
Timekeeper! Sonetto! This way, quick!
Timekeeper, please hold onto me.
Alright.
Even with half her weight on her, Sonetto manages to cross the open danger of the main street with astonishing speed.
At the other end of this alley is the area under our control. The Cavalry Corps will escort you out of the city to a safe place.
Aren't you leaving with us, Ms. Marsha?
I'll take you to the commander. But after that, I'll stay in Bereggrad until the enemy is repelled.
The wreckage of a warplane shot down just moments ago by Igor's anti-aircraft guns lies lodged in the dome of a church.
Before that, several shells had been launched into the militia camp, hospitals, churches, and residences, setting the hard-kept peace ablaze.
Friendlies! It's friendlies! They're back!
Merel lowers her binoculars and calls for the militia guarding the street fortifications to clear a path, allowing the three young women to fall back into the rear formation.
The commander strides forward at the sound of her voice.
Are you alright, Timekeeper? You don't seem well.
It's okay. I'm not hurt. Just a bit dizzy.
The Timekeeper hasn't eaten anything for over 12 hours. Her blood sugar might be the problem. I'll take her to have some food.
I see. When you finish, take her to the sich outside of the city.
This fight will not end soon. The city is no place to linger.
Yes, Commander. I'll take her away as soon as possible.
Make it so.
The commander nods and turns to the knight waiting nearby. Merel is standing at her side, unnoticed until now.
And you. You swore to stay in Bereggrad.
Yes, sir. I can join the militia rescue team. Many medical staff in the city cannot defend themselves.
Good. Medics of the Cavalry Corps and Gryphon Legion will stay as well. You'll aid each other.
Of course.
I-I'm coming with you, Marsha.
Fine, but do as I say.
Okay.
The commander looks around for Igor. The two leaders agreed to stay in the city.
Igor is standing nearby, still holding a telescope, his gaze fixed on the city gate.
He doesn't move for a long time.
What do you see?
Beyond the gate lies only the vast golden plain.
I know Krutov. If this is his declaration of war, he will not stop at bombs and bombers.
What? You mean ...
It's coming.
The grass bows low as black galloping hooves carve a path straight to the city.
A cloth-covered rider bounces limply on the horse's back. He carries a blood-smeared javelin, like a Roman priest riding toward Carthage.
A messenger bearing a declaration of war. Hm. A classic move.
A pity the man doesn't know how to ride.
The messenger does not grip the reins. He jostles and sways, like an ominous banner battered too strongly by the wind. But the black horse only gallops faster, pummeling straight for the gate.
That's ...
By the time the messenger arrives, the cavalry have already formed ranks, guns trained on him.
But the messenger reads no declaration of war, nor does he throw the bloodstained javelin.
He only slides from the horse and crashes to the ground, his shattered form laid bare. The horse rears and lets out a mournful whinny.
Charon? Andreas?!
I-Is that really—
They finally realize who it is. They rush to the gate, charging through the ring of cavalrymen.
...!
The instant Merel lays eyes on Charon, she crumples to the ground, her arms wrapped tightly around her head.
No. Don't—!
The cavalry barely manages to hold formation as the warhorses shy back, champing and stamping their feet. They, too, can smell the stench of "death."
Something isn't right. Don't get close, understood? Don't look at him! Merel, come to me!
She lunges to Merel's side and drags her behind cover, blocking her view of Charon.
The cavalrymen scatter as wave after wave of nauseating howling washes over them.
The guards at the city gate have no choice but to fall back. Entry to Bereggrad lies wide open, filled with nothing but the stench of "death."
*deep breath* Someone needs to take Charon to an enclosed space.
I suppose I'll have to give it a try.
Just as she has done countless times before, Marsha draws a deep breath and stills her emotions, paying no heed to what may happen when she finally releases whatever fear she is soon to face.
She gives Merel a gentle pat on the shoulder and steps out from behind the shelter. She walks toward the abyss of "death," looking directly at Charon's fallen body.
The fear in her amygdala is severed, just as promised.
What lies before her is barely recognizable. It isn't a body. It's a shattered, indescribable shell.
It is only by virtue of the blood-soaked ropes that he has managed to maintain any semblance of a human form.
With his coverings gone, and freed from the constraints of a complete form, "death" seeps out from beneath Charon's clothes.
The soil beneath him visibly darkens, the air around it swallowed in a heavy fog. Krutov has brought a declaration of death to Bereggrad.
...
Yes, Charon? What is it?
Marsha leans in close in an attempt to catch whatever sound his ruined body is still able to give voice to.
12. Life and Fate
92 linesHe does not feel pain as the living do, but it has left its mark all the same. He must have endured unimaginable torment.
His bodily structure is too fractured to store his arcane energy. The leakage is worsening his condition.
Charon's body is held together in an unnatural way. Like a man crushed a thousand times, his fragments no longer fit together as they should.
How could the Manus do such a thing?
Why? He's got nothing to do with any of this.
Merel stands with her back to Charon, her shoulders hunched and trembling.
I should've gone with you, Charon.
Charon now lies on a stretcher. Silent and contained, like a black wall behind them.
Merel finally saw Charon's arcane skill for the first time. Vast and hollow, like death itself.
No ...
Merel. Merel?
Marsha, *sniffle* I ...
She instinctively turns to her, but Marsha grips her shoulders firmly, holding her back in place.
Don't turn around. I think Charon wants to tell you something.
What? What is it, Charon?
Merel ...
*sob* Charon, I'm sorry! It's all my fault!
With a single word, Merel's words come rushing like a river breaking its banks.
You protected me, walked with me all this way, hid me, kept me safe, and ... and after all that, after everything you've done for me, I left you there all alone!
If only I weren't such a weakling, if only I were brave like the others, I could've taken you with me, saved you for once.
But ... but ...
It's all my fault. I'm useless. I should never have left you behind. If it weren't for me, you could've ... you could've ...
*whimper*
The words choke in her throat before they can be spoken.
No, Merel ...
Charon finds a chance to piece together his broken speech.
No. I can't. I can't run away anymore. I shouldn't.
I should never have run in the first place.
If I'd just gone back to the squad, if I hadn't asked to go with you, if ...
*whimper*
Merel is too overwhelmed to speak.
A pair of hands gently wipes the tears from her face.
Hush now. How are you supposed to help me fix Charon up if you keep crying like this?
...
Don't forget what we need to do.
Charon will be fine. As long as we can restore the vessel of his consciousness, he'll recover.
I'm the only one who can look at him right now, and I need a reliable assistant. Only the two of us can help him. Do you understand?
Yes. *sniff* Right. I understand.
Then take a moment and wipe your tears.
It won't be an easy task, but it'll soon be over.
Just follow my instructions and give me what I need when I ask for it. Can you do that, Merel?
A boy steps onto a fallen stone pillar, the wreckage of the warplane in the church behind him.
It's been shot down, yet it still seems to posture in defiance—a grim reminder of how fragile this city is.
We will not be victims!
We will not be victims!
One by one, people gather around Fyodor Petrovich, quickly forming a tight circle.
Save Bereggrad! Hand over Igor!
Hand over Igor!
More and more voices join the chanting.
The rest of the residents linger at a distance. Some whisper behind covered mouths. Others lift anxious eyes to the sky, searching for bombs that may yet fall.
The chanting crowd clambers over the street barricades, only to be halted by gun barrels before the fortifications of the city defense headquarters.
Stop! Don't go any further!
Stand aside, kid. I need to talk to your commander.
You can tell me. I'll pass it on.
Sergey feels a shove from the side.
Hey, I know this man. Let me talk to him.
The Bereggrad militiaman climbs onto the fortifications, standing taller.
Fyodor, take your people and turn back! Or are you here just to cause trouble?
Still standing strong with the cavalry, are we, Dima? Don't you know how many have sided with us?
Them? Pah, just little sheep following any dog that barks at them!
You idiots! All we have to do is hand over that Igor, and Krutov will leave us be! The choice is obvious!
You're the idiot! They're bandits! You can't trust a word they say!
And this Igor? Who is he?
No one here has ever even heard of him. It's no skin off our back to hand him over. You cavalry said you wanted to protect the city. Now is your chance!
If Krutov has some personal issue with Igor, then I say they solve it themselves on the steppe!
You don't know what you're talking about. The drink's pickled your brain. Just look at your nose.
You've got no say here anyway. So shut it and go home.
A cacophony of boos erupts from the crowd.
Or you can use your enthusiasm to fight off the bandits and get our market back.
The commander turns from the window.
Tell the first battalion's commander to evacuate the citizens trapped outside. Just a few sharp soldiers. Don't worsen the situation.
Be careful. No misfires. Fyodor won't dare start a real fight. He'd sooner roll in his wealth than die.
Yes, Commander.
Sternova leaves at the order.
You taught Krutov well, Igor.
He has driven a wedge between us. Old-fashioned, but effective. He knows we need both the militia and the citizens to hold Bereggrad.
One whispered deal, and half turn against us.
He will do anything to bring me a humiliating death.
Why? I never warmed to him, true, but I had no inkling his hatred ran so deep.
Igor falls silent, as if fishing his thoughts from the depths of a dark pond.
Like me, there was no turning back for him after São Paulo. He can only continue down the path he has laid.
Since the deal with Manus Vindictae, he has resented me. He claims I shorted him for his sacrifice.
He also believes our break from the Manus was a grave mistake. He wishes to wrest more power from them.
But I never promised him power; I promised him a chance at survival. Still, he calls the "boon" a sacred thing that will grant him the power of a god.
Krutov took my choice as weakness. Now, he is obsessed with proving that his path is the right one.
He wants to kill me, to take the "boon," to prove his worth to the Manus.
We can take advantage of this.
Outside, arguments between the cavalrymen and citizens rise and fall along the street.
One thing is certain: this decisive battle will not be inside the city. We cannot stay here long.
Let us leave together, Ivan. We will discuss our strategy on the way to camp.
13. Farewell Letter
114 linesSo, you're saying you devised this plan with Igor?
Sternova stands opposite the commander, the map table between them. Agitated, she shifts the markers representing the military forces back and forth.
The commander glances up at her. Her words are minimal, but her stance is made clear.
Put the gryphon down, Sabina. We're all in the same boat now.
Sternova raises a hand and sweeps the wooden gryphon to the edge of the table.
I'm not questioning your orders, but I will state for the record that leaving our back wide open to Igor is too risky.
After dark, the cavalry will advance upstream with minimal gear to launch a surprise attack, cutting off Krutov's supply lines.
It makes sense. Our riders know the terrain like the back of their hand; this will allow us to capitalize on our superior mobility.
But we would be leaving the right bank, the forest, the sich, and even Bereggrad exposed.
We're throwing ourselves into the old lion's mouth and praying he won't bite!
You're right. We'd be exposed. But a coalition without trust wins nothing.
You've seen Krutov and his army. Neither the Cavalry Corps nor the militia can meet his air power or artillery.
Bereggrad would be rubble if not for Igor's anti-air guns.
...
Her thoughts drift to the poorhouse, its dome half-destroyed in a bomb dropped during their withdrawal from Bereggrad.
The Gryphon Legion is well-equipped, but they're thin on numbers and supplies. They will hold cities and forests best.
Let them guard the city. Our riders will flank the enemy by night. Both Igor and I agree on this.
But ...
She knows the commander has reasons, yet the smoke of South America still hangs heavy in her memory, casting an inescapable shadow over this coalition.
I hear your concerns, Sabina.
He picks up the wooden gryphon and sets it down on the sich.
When the operation begins, Igor will come to our sich. All his communication will be monitored.
How? I doubt our operators can tap his lines so effectively.
There will be no such need. On our return from the city, I asked Igor to use only our lines for the operation.
He agreed.
...
Sternova nods hesitantly.
I see. Still, I'll be keeping an eye on him.
Your scrutiny is welcome, Colonel Sternova.
The rebel leader enters the tent, his presence tightening the already frayed nerves of the chief of staff.
Under Sternova's piercing gaze, he places a document on the table.
What's this?
All the information I have on Krutov: his background, academic record, military experience, psychological profile, and a registered list of his arcane skills.
The information comes like rain upon a desert. Such clear proof of good faith silences Sternova's worries. She silently agrees to allow the collaboration to continue.
Thank you. We know little of Krutov. I'll be sure to read this before we begin.
Under the high noon sun, blurred shadows fall across the canvas wall of the tent.
Hm? Who's that gathering outside?
I saw some officers discussing something in camp. It may be them.
Let us hear what they have to say, Sabina.
This is ...
Just as Igor predicted, there is a group of officers standing outside the tent.
Their hands rest along the seams of their trousers, their faces each wearing a complicated, cautious expression.
Why are you out here jabbering when you should be making preparations?
The leader of the 5th Regiment takes a small step forward and delivers a textbook salute.
Commander, I am here to make a request of you. On behalf of the men, sir.
I'm listening.
He draws a deep breath. The goatee upon his chin trembles slightly.
As you know, many of our comrades have homes nearby—families. We formally request a half-day's leave to visit them.
I swear to you, sir. Not a single rider will shirk their duties. We are Cossacks, true, ready to shed blood on the battlefield.
We were born soldiers of the steppe, just as our fathers were, and theirs before them.
We know that not all of us will live to see the rising of the sun tomorrow. So, if we have a chance to see our loved ones ...
He clenches his teeth. Facing the commander, the speech he prepared seems to have slipped from his mind.
So he simply remains silent. After all, the most important request has already been made.
...
The commander clasps his hands behind his back, his gaze sweeping over the rows of Cossack military caps.
The soldiers follow his eyes. No one dares break the silence.
Then, he waves a hand.
A half-day. No more. Go see your families.
A bittersweet cheer erupts from the soldiers.
The feeling spreads quickly throughout the camp, the other soldiers soon learning of the commander's answer from the rising fervor.
Anyone who fails to return to the sich before nightfall will be branded as a deserter. Do I make myself clear?
The cavalrymen disperse to the tune of "Yes, sir" and "Thank you, sir." The commander lets out a long sigh and meets Sternova's eyes.
Will you be paying a visit to Tamarovka?
No.
He shakes his head.
There is much to prepare. Come. Let us return to it.
The commander sets a pile of blank letter paper on the table and pushes it toward Sternova.
Pass these papers to any soldier not going home. Tell them to write a letter if they wish.
Sternova's gaze darkens. She glances at the commander, to Igor, and back again.
Then, at last, she nods. She gathers the paper, turns, and leaves the makeshift meeting room.
Not the wisest choice—sending them home just before a major operation. Their families will plead for them to stay.
But they will return. All of them. You share their blood, Igor, you should know this.
And a Cossack will do anything to protect their home and family. The embrace of those they fight to protect will only sharpen their resolve.
The commander pours himself and his temporary ally a cup of dark tea spiced with pepper.
Maybe you think you know them, but they know little of you and even less about what Zeno expects of them.
They will be sent to other battlefields, away from their homes. Their homesickness will be a liability.
They knew what service meant when they enlisted. Though, I cannot say if they are truly ready to leave their homeland behind.
Homeland ... Every war is fought on someone's home, yet its name is used to forge the young into unbreakable soldiers. It seems you still understand this.
But tell me, Ivan, why don't you go to Tamarovka? The roads should still be safe.
...
Ivan lifts his cup and takes a sip.
Or is it that the Don of this era is no home to you? Are you afraid to tell your soldiers the truth?
The commander adjusts the collar of his uniform, searching for a way to change the subject.
Ha. I don't answer to you anymore, Igor. In fact, you're one of mine now. You should join them.
Join them? What do you mean?
Write a letter to your loved ones.
The unexpected proposal renders Igor silent.
Krutov bears a grudge against you. It is clear. If we fail, he will show you no mercy.
So, anyone to bid farewell to? Or is this era truly just a fleeting wind to you?
Igor drinks the hot tea in one gulp. He rises and pulls on his coat.
I'll leave you to your work.
After this battle, Igor, I hope never to see you again.
Taking a few sheets of letter paper from the commander's desk, Igor steps out of the tent.
The commander remains standing, as if waiting for something to arrive. Soon, the radio linked to headquarters chirps its alarming tone as expected.
Vice Admiral Burakov, is the Timekeeper safe?
Yes. She says her mission in Bereggrad is mostly complete.
Good. We'll relay this to the Foundation Committee.
With that settled, your orders are to pull the Cavalry Corps from the region, effective immediately.
Immediately? We were given two weeks to secure Bereggrad.
A warlord and his bandits, aided by Manus Vindictae, have been running rampant on the Don. We are working to neutralize this threat before redeployment.
Manus Vindictae's forces are concentrated on the Western Front. Our manpower is already stretched too thin. We can't afford to hold the Don River, not while there are more important strategic goals.
The decision is set. No two weeks.
Five days, that's all I ask. We will resolve the threat here and ride to Hungary without delay.
And how do you plan to "resolve the threat"? With Igor's rebels?
...
Did you really think you could hide your coalition with Igor and his traitors? Irinei only turned a blind eye for the Timekeeper's sake.
But the Timekeeper has finished her work, and you are still collaborating with them.
Are you prepared to face the Committee if they demand an explanation?
...
Vice Admiral Burakov, do you read me?
Ivan Ivanovich, you understand what I'm saying, don't you?
You'll obey orders, or you'll face the consequences, Ivan!
To protect our home and kin. That is why I stand with Igor's rebels.
That will be my only answer to the tribunal.
14. The Night Before War
108 linesSonetto steps outside, looking out over the endless grassland and to the sky beyond. The afternoon wind rushes from across the steppe, carrying an unseasonable dryness.
It gently rustles through her hair. The weariness from her relentless schedule, the weight of the coming war, and the tension she bears from her responsibilities are, for a brief moment, faintly eased.
Greetings, Ms. Sonetto.
Mr. Igor.
Their greeting is awkward, yet it doesn't stop the tough old admiral from leaning against a tree not far away. He gently closes his eyes, as if listening for something.
How long has he been standing there? Sonetto swallows the question before it reaches her lips.
What are you doing out here?
There's a sound as the wind brushes over the grasslands. I find it eases my mind.
Sonetto focuses in on the same sound. After a moment, she resumes her questions.
You're here for the Timekeeper, is that right?
Is she still resting? What she saw in the Amber Room must have impacted her greatly.
Aware of the old man's special status, Sonetto tightens her grip on the wand hidden behind her back.
Footsteps crunch through the dirt behind them.
For the time being, yes, until Krutov is defeated.
I owe you an apology, leaving you in the Amber Room for so long. My troops needed their leader when Krutov attacked.
Think nothing of it. I was prepared for the risks. Besides, Sonetto and Marsha were there to help me.
What did you see there, in the Room?
An overt question.
A fear older than memory floods her vision. After a few deep breaths, reason slowly returns.
Urd
An experiment
A white room
I believe it was Urd. She seemed unsure of that herself. There were others there trying to convince her of her own identity.
She was being put through some kind of disturbing experiment, and for a brief moment, she caught sight of me. She walked towards me, then vanished.
I saw other things, too, but they were blurry and fragmented.
The video clips? Then they didn't take their devices with them when they evacuated after all.
No, whatever I saw wasn't footage.
I have to enter the Amber Room once more to make sense of what I saw.
Igor falls silent for a moment, then shakes his head.
I advise against it. There are still skirmishes being fought in the city. No one can guarantee the church will stay safe for long.
The Cavalry Corps is preparing for a surprise assault tonight. Lieutenant Lilya is in the field trying to locate and destroy the Manus's rites. Your assistant will be your only protection.
You're too important, Timekeeper. If your presence in Bereggrad were exposed, the Manus will throw everything they have into capturing you.
I cannot afford to let anything jeopardize our battle plan. You must stay hidden from the enemy until it is safe.
...
Ms. Sonetto, I don't question your capability and devotion, but Bereggrad is a potential battlefield. It's too dangerous.
Good point. I'll be sure to return to the Amber Room only after you've defeated Krutov.
It will be done soon.
A soldier came to me earlier today. He seemed to think a Foundation member would have a higher chance of surviving the battle and asked me to deliver a letter to his brother on the Western Front.
What about you, Mr. Igor? Did you write anything?
Igor lets out a sigh so faint it almost goes unnoticed. Clearly he is trying to conceal something.
I know someone who would be deeply upset were you to die here. She intends to end your life with her own hands.
Igor rubs his temples and gives a helpless smile.
Lopera. Does the Foundation still keep her?
You could say that. She isn't allowed to return to her position as a soldier yet, not until Zeno's review is finished.
Igor nods, signaling he wants to hear more.
She's made somewhat of a life for herself at the Foundation. Made friends and got into some trouble.
They've assigned her an instructor to work on her dice game obsession.
Pera, so typical of her.
There's something I'd like to know, too.
Ask away.
Commander Ivan invited me to his home in Tamarovka for a lunch. A lady hosted us.
He introduced her as his "mother," but something seemed off.
She is indeed Ivan's mother.
Then, did Commander Ivan request shelter for her from the "Storm"?
Yes, a request made not long after their reunion.
Igor folds his arms across his chest, frowning.
Not even the most capable diviners could have predicted the advent of the "Storm." As you suspected, Ivan's mother, like most at that time, was reversed during the first "Storm."
Some time after that, Ivan rediscovered her. He told me that he knew it was her from the wrinkles on her face and her tender smile.
He was certain that, by some miracle, his mother had survived the "Storm" and returned to him.
An improbable scenario, don't you think, Timekeeper?
...
A familiar coincidence.
One day, I'll uncover the truth about the "Storm," for everyone's sake, for my mother.
Igor doesn't answer. Instead, he fixes his gaze on the rolling waves of grass.
Night falls over the steppe.
Amid the chaos of pounding hooves and shouting voices, Sternova lifts the tent flap.
Colonel Sternova, is the Corps prepared to ride out soon?
Yes. Our forces are assembled. We're ready to go.
As for the Gryphons, three of their air defense squads have been stationed in Bereggrad, while the rest are heading to Vysokogorye, the mountain north of the city.
Is Igor marching with his army?
No, both Igor and Commander Ivan will stay at the command post in the sich.
I'm here to check on you at Lieutenant Lilya's request. She said you're good at slipping away and making people worry.
Sonetto suppresses a laugh before deftly steering the conversation elsewhere.
Three squads. That's all the city has for air defense?
That and the militia. With our reduced numbers and the danger of street battles, we have to rely on the support of armed citizens.
Outside the tent, the agitation has only continued to build. The commander's orders ring out, half-lost in the swelling noise.
Timekeeper, for your own sake, I suggest you leave the Don. Or at least make sure you bunker down someplace safe.
I'll take my leave of you now. Commander Ivan is about to rally the troops.
Beneath the night's sky, a hushed yet fervent atmosphere settles in. The soldiers' fighting spirits render them restless.
To think I get to fight a real war! God! My hands won't stop shaking!
Keep your head on straight, you idiot, or you'll get yourself killed. There's nothing romantic about war!
I've fought alongside many soldiers like you. Dreaming of glory, victory, and the praise of our people when we returned home.
But I returned alone. The rest died on some godforsaken battlefield, along with their dreams of glory. I visited their graves before I left. Hope their spirits are with me.
I-I went home too, to see my girl.
You didn't promise you were going to marry her after we win the war, did you?
No, I ... I didn't say anything at all. I just looked into those beautiful eyes of hers. She understood the rest.
We knew it could be the last time we'd see each other.
Alright, that's enough, lover boy. Commander Ivan's about to give his speech.
Attention all troops! Call the roll!
Strong, unified voices rise from the formations, joined by the thunder of horses stamping the ground.
All soldiers have returned to their posts, sir. I knew there were no cowards in the Corps.
I expected nothing less.
Listen, riders! You've seen the ruin Krutov and his bandits have wrought.
You've seen those black-hearted cowards burn Cossack homes and kill our kin.
I'm going to cut off that clown's head and hang it in my backyard!
The young voice sparks a burst of laughter. Then fists and shouts of approval are thrown into the air.
You've seen them rob and trample our land, our people, and our dignity!
You've heard them laugh as they slaughtered our people and our children wept!
But today their villainy ends. Why, my brothers and sisters?
Because we—the Cavalry Corps, riders of the steppe, children of the Don—will stop them in their tracks!
We will grind them to dust and ride home victorious! For the steppe! For the Don! For Cossack children yet unborn!
Today, we destroy the enemy and reclaim our home! Forward!
Ura!
This land, the great mother of the Cossacks, trembles beneath the vigor of her sons and daughters.
At the commander's order, the cavalry formations make their march, the scouts at the front lifting their torches high.
The flames of glory burn bright, setting the curtain of history ablaze.
15. Dust Between Fingers
109 linesThe militia camp is full of makeshift beds, sheltering the many civilians injured in the warlord's raid. The wails of pain echo in every corner.
Still, they've managed to set aside one private room.
...
Merel rises from her chair for the thirty-third time, pacing around the only bed in the room to check on the patient again.
The patient no longer oozes "death," yet she still can't bring herself to fully look at him.
Her gaze drifts aimlessly, toward the single basement window, the grain of the wooden chair.
A smudge of chocolate at the edge of the cloth catches her eye.
This Awakened has an unnaturally low body temperature, so low that even in Bereggrad's long autumn, a piece of chocolate wouldn't melt.
...
Could someone have used fire? Can fire even hurt Charon? Had her friend been turned over flames like a roast pig?
Merel?
Merel feels guilty for the association, but in her franticness, her thoughts keep jumping around.
A shiver runs through her, as if her own hand had struck the match to the kindling.
Merel?
Ah, oh!
Charon, you're awake!
She turns her face, quickly wiping away a tear, then hurries to Charon's side to help him sit up.
H-How are you feeling? Are you thirsty? Are you in pain? I'll go get the painkillers.
Charon shakes his head slowly.
He has no need for water, and the medicine in the ampoule makes no difference to him. Besides, the body beneath his bandages has almost healed.
Oh, right, Marsha cut your cloak when she was patching you up. Here, I found a new one for you. Do you like it?
Merel is desperate to do something, anything, for him.
The cloth covering the "death" beneath shifts as if a breeze has just disturbed the air in the sealed room, muffling Charon's next words.
No. I owe you a lot. What I did was wrong.
Her "no" is both a denial of him and herself.
I'm an arcanist trained by the SPDM and the vigils. I even fought a little in Antarctica. I can fight, I can. But I didn't.
We could've escaped together, if I hadn't run away.
A horrifying thought grips her.
I should never have forced you to take me with you in the first place.
If I hadn't been so desperate to run off from the "XII," you'd still be tending flowers in the graveyard back in Montpaix, instead of ...
...
Death's call had grown heavy in the East. The path forward was clear.
So long as Krutov's atrocities grew unchecked. This was inevitable.
He tries to comfort her, but she is like a cracked cup, no longer able to contain her emotions.
I-I'll go get Andreas. I'm sure he's missed you a lot.
Perhaps escape is one way to heal wounds.
Charon doesn't stop her.
The streets of Bereggrad are barricaded with quilts, leftover firewood, and by the people who have refused to leave the city.
Women speak in low, anxious voices about what will come of this unusually warm autumn and about family who are now far away.
Hmm. I'm pretty sure the stable's around here.
Young lady. Young lady.
The tender sound of an old voice draws Merel's attention. She turns to find an elderly lady sitting in the shade beside the road.
Um, are you talking to me?
Yes, young lady. You were in Tamarovka, yes? Sergey said you were the "fish" he and his friends caught from the river.
Heh. If it weren't for them, I probably would've wound up in the stomach of some big fish.
Speaking of which, the soldiers have left already, right?
Ah, so you don't know either.
The lady's face falls.
I saw you with those Foundation people. I thought you'd have some news from the inside.
*sigh* Ivan sent his men to bring me to Bereggrad. He told me it would be safer there under the protection of the militia and the Foundation. He promised to take me to Zeno headquarters once he's back.
Ivan? Wait, you don't mean Ivan Ivanovich, do you? You're his mother?
I am, dear. Though a child doesn't tell his mother everything, I'm sure he has his reasons. I've grown quite used to it.
But, every time he suggests taking me to headquarters, I feel sad for the friends I made in the village and the red carnations in my little garden that soon they'll all vanish.
The old lady's sorrowful words make something inside Merel give way.
Young lady, tell me, are we heading into another era?
...!
Merel nervously clutches the belt at her waist. She tilts her head, avoiding Ms. Galina's watery eyes.
I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about.
No, no, I should apologize, young lady, not you. I shouldn't be saying such things.
The old lady gently takes Merel's shaking hands in her own.
I'm just an old woman. Sometimes I don't even know what I'm saying myself.
Come now. Lift your chin and smile, young lady.
...
Do you think there's still meaning in this kind of life?
It's like I'm trying to catch something, but no matter how hard I try to hold onto it, everything I do, every friendship I make, will just be blown away, like dust.
Well ...
Ms. Galina gives the kind of nod only someone with many years behind them can give and guides Merel to sit beside her.
I was in a coffeehouse in Khreshchatyk, Kyiv, watching the Salyut 6 space station launch.
There was a marching band outside rehearsing Праздничная увертюра—the Festive Overture. As the piece moved into the exposition, I saw Ivan push aside the drum major and run straight toward me.
God! He barged into that coffeehouse so fast that he nearly shattered the door.
And the first word from his mouth was "Mama!"
Ms. Galina breaks into a soft laugh.
So, did you believe him? That he was your son?
Her smile grows, and deeper lines appear at the corners of her eyes.
Did I believe him? I called the police three times.
The first time, I told them I was being harassed. The second time, that he was a scammer.
What about the third time?
The third time, I told them Ivan was a lunatic who claimed to be a time-traveler and should be committed to a sanitarium.
But, every time, he was quickly bailed out by Zeno or the Foundation.
He'd loiter around my building, holding a rusty tin box he claimed held "legacy items" I left behind. The nerve of that boy! I was still alive and well!
What was in it? Did you see?
Half a homemade cookie and a photo of the two of us. A photo so clear that it couldn't possibly have been produced in my time.
He spent months following me to all sorts of places around Kyiv.
One day, outside my building, he told me how I planted red carnations on the windowsill at his childhood home, but none ever bloomed.
At the tailor's, he said that whenever a button fell off his clothes, he'd send it home for me to mend, and I would sew two buttons with irises on them.
She speaks slowly, the story she tells gradually becoming her own. Her eyes are filled with wordless emotion.
I didn't share those memories, but over time, I grew attached to them all the same. Now, when I think of them, there's a bittersweet pricking in my bones.
She leans down, gathers a handful of dust from the ground, and lets it fall into Merel's open palm.
You see, young lady. The wind does blow away the dust.
She helps Merel spread her fingers.
But focus. Do you feel anything?
I feel it slipping away, leaving me behind, as if it's destined to happen.
Exactly, you felt it.
The excitement as the rocket soared into the sky, the surge of inspiration from the trumpet's cry in the Festive Overture, the heartbreaking ache in my chest as Ivan spoke to me of his mother ...
These fleeting moments ... I felt them and imprinted them deep into my heart.
...
So then, the meaning of all this isn't in what we leave behind, but in what we feel as we go through it?
A spark lives for its light and warmth, not for the ashes it will leave behind. Don't you agree?
What's your name, child?
Merel. Merel Van der Veer.
My dear Merel, every one of us is destined to return to dust, so why not feel as deeply as we can while we have the chance? Feel every one of our memories, bitter and sweet.
Savor and cherish each sparkling moment, even if the "Storm" washes you away one day. Because, even if you no longer feel them, someone like my Ivan will.
She stands.
Where are you going?
To see what help I can offer, and to create more memories of this time before it's gone.
Merel watches her disappear behind a barricade. She moves with the strength of someone half her age.
And she looks down at the dust still trapped between her fingers.
16. Mercy
141 linesYou seem to know a thing or two about training horses. Impressive.
Kids these days don't appreciate riding like they used to, complaining that the stables stink. Ungrateful brats! Forgotten the foundation of Cossack life, if you ask me.
Merel brushes her companion absentmindedly.
Oh, it's got nothing to do with me. He's been a good boy since I met him in—
*neigh*
Andreas lowers his head, breathing warm, wet air against her neck.
Hey! Watch it, Andreas!
Merel scrambles to wipe the damp spot with the back of her hand. The young militiaman laughs.
Hah. Look at him. He's your horse all right. Shame. Thought I'd get to see him shine on the battlefield.
He pats Andreas on the neck and hands the reins to Merel.
Well, take him away then, before I change my mind.
Merel nods, leading Andreas away with a solemn air.
Thanks for taking care of him. I'll come clean up the stable for you once the battle's over.
Sure, if we're both alive by then.
The militiaman waves her off.
Alright, see you—
...!
A black uniform crashes into her field of vision.
You leaving, or what? You know I'm serious about taking Andreas to—
The militiaman had only meant it as a joke, but the reins are thrust into his hands regardless.
I'll be back in a minute!
Merel holds her breath in an attempt to slow her heartbeat. She can't be spotted.
Black uniforms. But how did they manage to sneak past the militia?
One instinct screams at her to run. Another quieter urge pulls her toward the sound. Each step feels like wading through a swamp.
This is fine. You're fine. Just a few Manus soldiers. You don't have to follow them. Just go check if there's a breach in the barricades.
You'll just slip past, easy. No need to fight. And if they spot you, just shapeshift your way out of it.
The ground at the end of the alley is tacky, as if soda had spilled and dried there.
Her boots lift with a soft sticky sound with every step, like a mouse tenderly moving its way through an old glue trap.
What are you doing here?
...!
She spins toward the voice, and her nose collides with something hard as iron. She scrunches her face.
Ourgh. Anyone ever tell you you're built like a tank, Marsha?
The knight pulls a faded, starched handkerchief from her pocket and presses it to Merel's bleeding nose.
Hold still. The bleeding will stop soon.
The militiaman at the stable said you went this way in a hurry. What's wrong? Shouldn't you be with Charon?
I was going to tell you Charon was awake again, but something's happened.
Manus soldiers—they're here! They were gone in a flash, but I saw them go into that alley with my own eyes!
That's why I came here, to check if there's something wrong with the fortifications.
You're sure it was the Manus, not bandits?
Absolutely! There's no way I'd mistake those uniforms.
This is bad. Good thing you didn't do anything reckless. But what you were doing is more than dangerous enough, don't you think?
Merel just rubs her nose. Marsha pats her head, then scans the narrow alley Merel pointed out.
That alley? But the exit has been sealed off. The militia even made sure the windows on the sides were locked tight. It's a dead end.
Crushed moss and lichen lie underfoot—a rarity in the city, but in forgotten corners like this, life will find a way.
A scrap of gauze lies in a damp corner.
Hmm?
This blue-black liquid ... I think I've seen it seeping from their masks before. And there's blood.
Slightly oxidized, but the loss looks heavy. Some of them must be seriously injured.
Hmm, smells like carbolic acid. Unusual for the Manus to use it on wounds. They prefer natural salves.
You can usually only find disinfectants like this in large medical facilities. Wait. They must have been to one recently!
What? But, how?
They must have used some trick to get in unnoticed, but there's little point in dwelling on it now.
There are two big medical facilities in this district: the nearest one, Pokrov Children's Hospital, and the Sanatorium two streets down from here.
Merel, I need you to tell the militia and the Gryphons to send men to both locations. The Manus soldiers you saw could be hiding there.
Understood. What about you?
I'll go check on the kids at the children's hospital. I have to make sure they're safe.
By a shattered window, a nurse shelters a group of children huddled in a corner, their arms in plaster and their heads bandaged.
Why won't you let the children go? You've already taken all the medicine. What more do you want from them?
Tsk. Didn't I already explain this to you, human? I'm bringing the newest generation of arcanists back to their rightful home.
If it's a hostage you want, take me instead!
She spreads her slender arms wide behind her, like an umbrella over the children. Her nose is bruised and her lip is split, but her eyes are steady.
You're not worthy of even that, human filth.
The officer lifts his gun and smashes it down on her head in an attempt to force her to her knees.
The nurse staggers but stays on her feet.
Then I won't yield to you, and neither will my children!
Soon, the riders will come and crush all you invaders!
The officer signals. A masked soldier moves to grab a child.
Don't you dare touch him!
The nurse throws herself forward, knocking the soldier down.
She lands blow after blow. Even when her fists are raw and split, even when his mask slips off, she keeps fighting.
She doesn't see the pistol aimed at the back of her head.
Nastya!
The shot and the children's cries echo as one as she falls to the ground in front of them.
Marsha wipes away the useless sweat and tears from the corners of her eyes, grips her trench club, and presses herself into the shadow of a pillar.
Manus Vindictae ... They're really here.
No signs of children in other rooms, and the adults are all gone. The Manus must have gathered every child they could find in here.
The soldiers in black spread through the hall, kicking down doors and taking even the smallest of supplies.
Only one officer stays, his gun still trained on the group of children as he moves toward Marsha's hiding place.
They have been abducting arcanists from the villages, but to think they'd even lay hands on children.
Alright, ten steps away from me.
Five, four, three ...
*thud*
She lands a heavy, blunt strike cleanly on the Manus officer's skull.
Wh-Who are you?
Don't worry, little ones. I'm a doctor from another hospital. I'll take you to safety. Just stay close to me, and follow my instructions, and we will get through this together, alright?
Maybe it's the smell of disinfectant she carries, or that they're accustomed to following a doctor's instructions, the children trust her quickly.
Alright.
Hey, it's gotten a little quiet, don't you think? We should go check on the boss.
The soldiers halt their search, turning with weapons raised toward their fallen officer.
Come. Get inside!
Marsha crouches down and guides the frightened children into a small storeroom behind the stairs. She slips in last, swiftly closing the door as footsteps approach.
Will Nastya be okay?
Marsha has no answer to this question. She takes off her cloak and drapes it over the children's heads.
I need you to stay here in this room and be completely quiet no matter what happens. Like a game of hide-and-seek, easy. Can you do that?
Y-Yes.
She rubs their shoulders through the cloak and slows her breathing to steady her own racing heart.
Her arcane skill smooths her frayed nerves, returning her focus.
Merel will bring help soon, but there's no telling how many Manus are here. The best course of action is to hold this room.
Are you in there, sir?
We'd better get going before Zeno and the militia find—huh? Sir? Sir?!
In the shadows, the soldier finds his commander on the floor.
Damn it! Those little brats knocked him out! They can't have gotten far. Search the room!
It doesn't take long for them to find the sealed door.
Door's locked. Call everyone over; we'll smash it open and drag those brats to the ritualist!
...!
The door shudders under a heavy blow. The sound of cracking white ash wood splinters among frantic shouts.
Ms. Doctor, I ... I ...
Shhh. Keep your voice down. We're playing hide-and-seek, remember? We can't get caught by the baddies.
B-But I'm scared. And Nastya ...
Hey, have you ever heard any stories about knights?
Well, Papa once told me the story of a legendary Cossack called Ilya.
My brother brought home a book from Moscow. It had twelve knights in it.
I'm sure both stories are wonderful. But I have a story about knights to share as well, and I bet none of you have ever heard it.
What happens in it?
It's a wonderful story too. But you need to promise me you'll stay in this room, and I'll be back soon to tell you all about it. Deal?
Deal. But where are you going, Ms. Doctor? You'll come back soon, won't you?
Of course I will! A promise is a promise.
Just be good, every one of you, and wait for me here.
Before the next strike comes, she flings the door open and quickly closes it behind her.
In a secluded monastery perched atop a high, snowy mountain lived a group of mysterious knights.
Their swords glittered like gleaming silver when they fought across the frozen fields, their helmets and pauldrons coated in dazzling white frost.
One winter, the snow fell heavier than ever before, burying every path in the valley beneath a thick white blanket.
Amidst the snow, a little girl had lost her way. She wandered all night seeking help and shelter, but all she found was the endless white around her.
At sunrise, having used every last ounce of her strength, she collapsed, leaving a small hollow in the snow.
Just before she froze into a little popsicle, a figure appeared, gleaming even brighter than the pale landscape.
What's this? A girl?
...
O merciful Lord, I thought it only a stray fox.
It seems my trip to the valley must be delayed. Come, child, lean on my back and hold my hands. I shall take you back to the monastery and get something warm in your belly.
Worry not. I shan't have you die on me.
Thanks to this kindhearted knight, the girl survived. To her, the monastery, which nursed her back to health, seemed like an impregnable fortress that even dragons dared not approach.
After years of training, the little girl grew to become a capable knight, just like her rescuer that winter night.
But then, war ...
War found its way to their once secluded fortress, and she, along with her fellow knights, was called to the battlefield, forced to fight. And after taking one life after another, doubts began to grow in their hearts.
They were welcomed to the glamorous halls of the royal palace and praised for their skills, their slaughter. But for these noble knights, those words were not praise. No, they were wounds to their dignity and honor.
We were fighters, yes. We raised banners and wielded swords, but we weren't ...
We were never meant to kill.
I hear someone, in that room. Marsha? Is that you?
We'll know once we blast this damn door down. Come on, men!
Three, two, one, push!
Oh, oh, God. Marsha, you're hurt. And all these kids ... Hurry, she needs medical help!
17. The Cavalry
129 linesThe enemy's turned tail! Let's ride them down, Sergey!
From horseback, the rider has a clear view. Upstream to the northeast, a few black figures are fleeing.
Th-They're running? Are you sure?
Sergey pushes through the grass and stands on his tiptoes, straining to see where his comrade is pointing.
Course I am! The moment those cowards saw us coming, they scattered like scared little rabbits! Left their heavy guns and supplies right where they stood!
Wait, where the hell's your horse gone?
Sergey flushes red.
I-I'm not sure. All I know is something flew right at my forehead, and before I could think, I'd swung my shashka at it.
I don't even know what I hit. Next thing I knew, I was on the ground.
That's one way to end your first charge, Sergey.
And to think you were whining about not getting to charge in first. Well, looks like you'll be waiting a while longer, haha.
Hey, wait. Take me up on your horse. I'm not missing out on our victory.
He presses his way through the tall grass, finally reaching his friend's horse.
Stop right there, all of you!
...!
A rider on a tall horse cuts off the chase. The old Cossack sits straight, his goatee trembling as he speaks.
Sasha, Sergey, all of you, stop your pursuit!
But they're on foot. We can still catch them if we go now.
This order comes from the commander himself, so do as I say, or I'll haul your disobedient asses straight to his feet!
Fine, fine! But, why? You've fought all kinds of battles, Yuri. What do you think?
The main force probably hasn't caught up with us. We would be exposed to a counterattack if we move too far ahead.
But what about the stuff they left behind? Are we just going to ignore it?
For now. It is not like the ravens will swoop down and snatch them up.
Then, shouldn't we just grab their weapons first and then wait?
We have been fighting for hours. Head back to camp. Catch a breath and a bite to eat while you can, for you and your horse.
They will rotate another unit in later, after the scouts confirm whether the front is secure. Let them have the bother of retrieving the enemy's supplies.
What? But we found them fir—
And you think that means they belong to you, huh? Are you a Cossack or a bandit?
Sergey freezes.
I-I'm no bandit.
Then stop thinking like one. Leave the supplies for now. We must return to camp.
But my horse is gone. I need to find him first.
Stop your whining now, sonny. I spied your horse wandering off toward camp.
What? He ran back without me?
The men and horses rest. They sit and lean against one another, looking weary.
Here, drink this, or use it to clean your wounds.
The old Cossack moves among the riders with several canteens in hand. He makes his way to a grassy slope.
Hey, watch your step, Uncle Yuri. You nearly stepped on my foot.
Sergey rolls over on the ground. The old man offers him a canteen.
Here's yours, sonny. Cleaned it three times myself. Drink up and be grateful.
Sergey reaches for it and winces.
Agh! *gasp* I didn't feel anything after I fell off my horse, but now ...
The old cavalryman's goatee twitches. He takes a seat on the grass beside Sergey.
Your first taste of battle. How does it settle with you?
His voice is gentle now, not as sharp or scolding as it was on the battlefield.
Well, it's not what I imagined.
Having seen war for the first time, Sergey's naive excitement has faded.
Everything's different when it's real. Couldn't hold my gun steady. Just fired at everything that moved until my ammo was spent. I'm not even sure I hit anything.
And your shashka, Sergey?
Yeah, I got a few with it. I thought it would be simple, like cutting a knife through bacon. But I can still feel it—how the blade shook when I struck their ribs, the sound as I pulled it out of their chests.
Amid the snores of his countrymen, Sergey keeps his voice low.
I think I'm going to hell after I die, Uncle Yuri.
The old Cossack tosses the nearly empty canteen into Sergey's lap.
Oy!
What did you do that for? I'm drenched.
Heh! To rinse your thoughts. You're a koldun, remember? You were not allowed into their so-called "heaven" in the first place.
What would "heaven" look like to you, anyway?
Hmm. It'd be a place where smoked sturgeon hangs in rows from the beams, and the air's thick with the smell of my auntie's chicken-and-mushroom pies.
Every night, the beautiful Madam Astakhova would sing. My friends and I used to sneak down to the village square just to catch a glimpse of her.
And our horses would roam free on a lush green steppe, and a river would run through its heart—a river that never floods and never runs dry.
Oh, isn't that ...?
He suddenly recognizes what "heaven" he's describing.
Yes, the Don steppe. Our eternal homeland. Where we were born, and where we will always belong.
So sharpen your shashka and ready your rifle, faithful guardian of heaven. Only we will, only we can, protect it.
A firm clap on the shoulder brings him back from his thoughts.
Go for a walk. Practice your aim. And be sure to refill everyone's canteens on your way back.
O-Okay.
Mumbling, Sergey takes the canteen and jogs toward the river.
Hmm, how can I become a sharpshooter like Uncle Yuri?
Sergey lifts his rifle and tilts his head to aim.
A moment later, he lowers it, frustrated.
Something's wrong with my stance. If I hold the gun like this, the horse will throw me off again.
How does the colonel do it? She won the Zeno Horseback Shooting Contest three times in a row.
He tries again and closes one eye, picturing himself a star on the steppe.
Sit up straight, Sergey. Relax your buttocks. Stay steady.
Yeah, that's it! I think I've got it now!
A few ants crawl across his sights.
Hmm?
He rubs his eyes.
They're not ants. They're people.
Damn! It's Krutov's men!
Enemies! Enemies atta—ugh!
Sergey's tongue sticks fast in his mouth.
Hmph. Look what we've found. A koldun.
Those arrogant Zeno fools. How could they assign a gifted arcanist like you to such trivial chores? And so young. Can you even use that thing properly?
Urh. Urgh!
Sergey answers the ritualist's taunt with action.
Without aiming, he swings his rifle toward the night's sky—
*bang*
The resting cavalrymen jump to their feet, their whistles cutting through the darkness as they press their thumbs and forefingers to their lips.
Curse you!
Children of the Great Mother of Resurrection, show your devotion to Her grand vision and the imminent brilliant Blank Era!
Gunsmoke filters the light as dawn breaks.
At every five versts, the maximum relay distance for cavalry field radios, the steppe is torn by gunfire and the cries of men and horses.
Thought you'd outflank me from the left bank and cut off my supply line? Ha! Ivan Ivanovich, I almost thought better of you.
Even in this era, cavalry have outlived their use.
Not far off, a Manus ritualist counts the night's catch, murmuring steadily to herself.
Eleven, twelve, thirteen arcanists in total. But the unit we sent into the city has gone silent. Already dead, likely.
The ritualist seems pleased. She nods and curls a finger.
Urgh!
An invisible chain seems to clamp around his neck. Sergey and twelve other captive arcanists are wrenched forward.
A deep cold starts to creep up Sergey's legs.
Huh?
He looks down. The earth has frozen hard from a chill conjured from thin air. It has glued his boots in place.
What's the meaning of this, Krutov?
Krutov straightens his cuff, looking annoyed.
You sent Manus soldiers into Bereggrad without my consent. This is far from the cooperation I was expecting.
To be absolutely clear, General, Manus Vindictae's soldiers are not under your command.
You insisted on diverting your main force to attack Igor, seriously disrupting our efforts in the region. Do you call that cooperation?
Those atrocious Flying Witches are flitting around destroying our rites as we speak. And I won't even speak of the arcanists we could've recruited if it weren't for the battles you sparked.
Hmph, soon, my army will reach the Cavalry Corps's sich. Igor will be forced out of his hole, his pathetic life will end, and his so-called "Legion" will crumble.
As for the rest of them, they're beneath concern. The Don will soon be under my control; after that, you can do whatever you want here.
Of course, our victory could be brought about even sooner with that "gateway." Just open it and teleport my men directly into the sich.
Hmph. It cannot be done until you pass the mask trial and earn the right to enter it.
Ah. These masks—a convenient excuse to undermine me. If you refuse to scratch my back, don't expect me to scratch yours.
My army will achieve victory, with or without your cheap tricks.
Pray, do as you please, General. Now, would you allow me to return these arcanists to Her embrace?
Krutov sniffs and waves a hand. The frozen ground holding the prisoners begins to thaw.
Deal with the injured humans while you're at it. They're no use to me.
My pleasure.
The ritualist pulls a bottle of smelling salts from her sleeve.
Blow till thou brust thy wind!
Bitter powder scatters on the wind, swirling and twisting among the captives.
...
Blood boils in their veins, their eyes, hearts, and minds tuning in to a strange rhythm.
Sergey's thoughts have never been so clear. A wild excitement grabs him by the neck, willing him to turn toward his captured commander.
Argh!
The ritualist's arcane skill strangles the scream in Sergey's throat. His face contorts, his eyes bulging red as if possessed by some beast.
In the red haze, his friends, his family, even his "heaven" all fall away.
18. The Pale Horse
79 linesThe flight unit makes a slow descent as they circle above the plains.
Hmm.
Their temporary captain remains lost in silent thought.
There was nothing at the coordinates Igor sent us. Do you think he lied to us, Lieutenant?
Achoo!
Those in the air sense the changes in weather before the creatures of the earth do. A sharp wind sends a shiver through their ranks.
The weather's gotten colder every time we destroyed a rite. I don't see why he'd only trick us with the last site.
Then what's going on? You can't move rites around, can you?
Beats me. How's everyone holding up? If it's too cold, we can fly low until we get on some extra layers.
They'd been waiting for those words. The white-clad Witches immediately lower their altitude.
*cough*
Her mouth falls open, her eyes wide as blood gushes from the hole blasted in her neck.
Her aircraft spirals out of control, flinging its lifeless pilot from its back.
Alpha Two!!
Lilya plunges into a near-vertical dive, catching the falling Witch before she hits the ground.
Rrrgh!
Alpha One and Three, break formation and stay low! Flush out the shooter.
Get a grip, the rest of you! Alpha Four, Five, and Six, pull up and stay out of range of those rats on the ground!
Lieutenant!
Alpha Four circles low, igniting the dry riverside reeds and revealing the black-clad forces hidden among them.
The Manus are gaining on us!
Lilya crouches and gently closes her wingmate's eyes.
She grabs Red 38 and stands, the fire of the burning reeds blazing in her eyes.
Good. They can watch as I tear them apart piece by piece!
She wipes the blood from her cheek.
Warm and red, from a pilot who had just moments ago been scratching her head in bewilderment. A whole life lost, just like that.
The Flying Witches descend, landing nearby.
Lieutenant.
A faint light returns to her dull, weary eyes.
Take her to Bereggrad along with Alpha Five. We'll bring her home once the battle's over.
The rest of us will keep looking for the last rite. Mission's clear: the Manus must be stopped.
I want everyone watching for threats from the ground at all times. We can't let this happen again.
She watches as the team forms up and rises again.
Only when they disappear into the clouds does she let out a deep sigh, her back sinking as she buries her face in her hands.
Hey, Captain.
Are you alright, Lilya?
Sonetto and I have been trying to contact you for the past hour.
*phew* Sorry, Manus rats kept me busy.
...
About 42 miles southeast of Bereggrad, my squadron was ambushed by the Manus. Alpha Two didn't make it.
My condolences.
A heavy grief and anxiety hangs between them, the silence only deepened by the moaning wind outside.
We've got some bad news of our own.
Around midnight, the command post lost contact with the frontline cavalry.
We haven't heard anything from Bereggrad either.
Scouts reported flares upriver. There may yet be survivors. A flight unit's eyes would tell us for certain.
I'm on it. What about the city?
Igor stands up from the sand table.
My soldiers are responsible for the city's defense. I will go there myself to assess the situation.
You promised to stay in the sich, Igor.
A promise I intended to keep. But as you can see, we're struggling on multiple fronts, and our enemy remains hidden.
We all know this coalition's collapse is imminent. We must act.
...
After a beat, the commander speaks.
I'll lend you a horse.
Appreciated, but I will need more than that.
What is it?
This.
Igor reveals the arcanum-suppressing runes on his arm.
Hmph, always offering a devil's bargain. Another clause in that twisted code of yours?
The static from the communicator fades, leaving the tent in a dreadful silence.
Not thinking of playing with your fireflies again, are you?
Bereggrad is unlike "that battlefield." Tens of thousands have stayed in the city. Raining fire from above will do us no good.
Heh. No!
He looks down at the jar in his hand. The fireflies inside flicker and flutter.
I will take action only at the right time and place. Our goals remain the same: to win this battle for everyone.
...
My horse, Sternova.
Commander ...
She silences herself, furrows her brow, and leaves.
The commander turns to Igor with a wry smile and taps the table with his knuckle. Igor places his arm on the spot.
With a drawn dagger, Ivan pricks the rune-inscribed skin. The blade glows with arcane energy, flickering like a candle in a draft.
That horse has carried me for years.
Blood wells up, flowing over taut muscle. But the hand holding the knife feels no pity.
Steady. Brave. A loyal companion. Give the command, and he will charge into hell.
The cold steel warms with blood as the gentle neighing of warhorses reaches their ears.
But he's not used to the water beyond the steppe. Make sure you bring him home.
19. Casualty Report
78 linesThey all know this aged face. He is the one who brought the gunfire and the one who now guards them.
The militia allows Igor to pass, even guiding him to where the Gryphons are now quartered.
I'm glad to see you still remember Zeno's teachings, Ptolemy.
When facing a bombardment, we move all vulnerable units under—
Silence. A row of bodies under white sheets.
On each pair of eyes rest two sugar cubes pressing their lids shut. Ptolemy sits behind them, shrouded in a dark shadow.
Father ...
How did they die?
His son stares at the ground, unwilling to show his face. Only his trembling hands betray his emotion.
Here's a written report. For your review, Admiral.
Igor does not take the bloodied papers.
I will hear it from him.
Raise your head, Ptolemy. Tell me your course of action as the commander of the city operation.
He speaks calmly, but it sends a chill through the room.
Y-Yes.
Around sixteen hundred hours yesterday, we coordinated with the militia and Cavalry Corps to eliminate several Manus infantry squads that had infiltrated the city.
I ...
I dispatched an ad hoc squad to investigate the source of the signal interference. Five arcanist infantry troopers and two technicians. Yaroslav Levchuk was the squad leader.
What else did you order them to do?
His father has torn away the veil. While shame burns Ptolemy's face, fear freezes his words.
I-I ordered them to sneak into the forest.
To find traces of Krutov at any cost.
...
And then, six corpses were delivered to the entrance of our base.
You allowed yourself to be blinded with hatred, Ptolemy. How can I entrust you with the Gryphon Legion if you can't maintain a steady hand?
I know, Father. I made a grave mistake. I will accept whatever punishment you see fit.
He pauses, the ache in his left eye socket betraying a resentment rarely shown in front of his father.
But Krutov ... I saw him! He was right there, hiding in the woods!
I was so close I could see that arrogant sneer of his, hear the incessant classical music playing from his tent!
You know what he did to me, to us!
Every time I hear that wretched name, my eye aches with unbearable pain.
A strange ceiling. A sharp, throbbing pain. Half the world has gone dark.
...?!
Agh, ah, medic! Medic! I need morphine!
They just gave you some, Ptolemy.
Moldir, what happened? Did our convoy hit a booby trap?
No, not a booby trap.
Enemies disguised as civilians were lurking by the farms you passed through. No one expected them to be hiding explosive Blazefuse cylinders beneath their clothes.
Right, right. I remember. My eye ... When will it be healed?
...
The retina in your left eye took a severe burn in the explosion. I'll see to it that you recover as much as possible. For now, just rest.
He understands what this means. He'll have to learn to fire from his other shoulder.
Is Captain Krutov alright? We were in the same car.
He only suffered a mild concussion, thanks to you. I doubt he would have survived if you hadn't pushed him off in time.
You should sleep, brother. I'll ask the medic to increase your dosage.
Ptolemy grips her arm tightly.
Did we win?
Of course. Father's strategy was effective as always. We destroyed the enemy command post. We took sector four decisively.
Good.
You need to rest too, Molly. And don't send for the medic. I don't need morphine anymore.
As we left Antarctica, I saw the documents those traitors tried to steal from your bag.
I learned what Krutov did—staging an assassination on himself, making it look like an enemy ambush—just to pressure the Foundation into approving the use of high-risk arcane weapons!
Killing me was part of his plan all along! I only survived because the assassin hesitated when I tried to save him!
Father, why did you keep this from me?
Anger would only cloud your judgment, as proved with your actions.
You will have your revenge, an eye for an eye. I promise you.
But now, you must bear responsibility for your mistakes and honor the sacrifice of your brothers.
They gave up past glory, identity, and every proof of their existence for us, entrusting the future into my hands.
Do you not remember what I told you after leaving São Paulo?
No more meaningless sacrifices. We don't leave anyone behind. You speak with my voice; you should remember this more than anyone.
...
I will, Father.
Ptolemy touches the bandage over his burning eye socket and nods, willing himself to remain steady.
What's that noise? I thought communications were severed after Krutov's assault.
We managed to reestablish a signal. It's been up nearly half an hour, but the only thing it's picked up is some bizarre enemy frequency.
The operators think it's some form of interference intended to jam our signals, so they've muted it.
You mean this noise is a signal from Krutov's army, from Manus Vindictae?
Well, in theory, yes.
Bring it up and unmute it! Now!
Yes, sir!
He cuts all the jamming signals at once and turns the volume to its maximum.
The "enemy radio station" crackles to life. Faint gunfire sounds in the background.
Falcon Six calling the nest. Falcon Six calling the nest. This is the 45th call. Please respond!
Huh? What? Is it connected? Command, do you copy?
20. The Last Defense
65 lines
Good to hear your voice, Admiral!
Is that Levchuk? You're still alive?
This is urgent. Enemy forces are marching toward the southern bank. Their armored convoy has already reached Tamarovka!
There are at least two armored divisions and one infantry division, plus three artillery regiments!
Roger. Good work.
The man on the other end collapses to the floor with relief.
The gunfire in the background sharpens. Igor hopes it's just his mind playing tricks on him.
Report your position, Staff Sergeant. A squad will be sent to your rescue immediately.
A long silence follows, then a soft laugh.
The gunfire grows closer, unmistakably so. Bullets seem to be tearing right past the receiver.
Have you secured your retreat?
...
Commander, I—Staff Sergeant Yaroslav Levchuk—have successfully completed my task.
Ptolemy pushes his way to the speaker.
What are you saying? Goddammit! Don't you die on me! I'm coming to bring you back right now!
Stop causing trouble for the admiral, you hear, Ptolemy?
Artillery begins to drown out the staff sergeant's voice.
It has been a true honor serving under you, sir. I have no regrets.
*beep ... beep ... beep ...*
As the gunfire swells, the signal is cut off.
Along with the heavy breathing of their comrade.
Reorganize the troops, Ptolemy. All units save the anti-air squads are to evacuate from Bereggrad.
Evacuate Bereggrad? To where? The safehouse?
The Gryphons bring the worst news.
The commander swallows his grief and feeds the casualty list to the coals.
In the solemn silence of the sich, he has already made his decision.
Tamarovka is the keystone of Krutov's plan.
If it falls, Bereggrad will face a formidable arcanist force with armored vehicles. If only we had cut off their supply lines ...
The Legion can launch a raid from inside Tamarovka. They won't see it coming.
Even if your Gryphons could strike the enemy undetected ...
The chief of staff paces the length of the sand table for the third time.
They won't hold long if Krutov keeps getting supplies and reinforcements. We have to cut them off, but how?
I saw plenty of soldiers standing out by their horses. Couldn't they—
They're only kids!
Sternova slams her hands on the table, scattering the markers.
All the grown men rode out in the first sortie.
Most of them lied about their age, just trying to get a good meal. Their hands haven't even been toughened by the reins yet. They're boys! Not soldiers.
Sabina.
The commander pats her back and ushers her out of the tent.
The boys stand in their oversized uniforms, rifle straps digging into their thin shoulders, shashka scabbards dragging against their soft legs.
They stand quietly, their throats working under tight collars.
Their silence suppresses her anger.
Do you understand what you're facing?
In all likelihood, you'll die on the battlefield. You'll never see home again.
Don't take me for a kid, ma'am! I'm a Cossack, like my brother, sister, and my parents before me!
Ura! The blood of the Cossacks—of heroes—runs through me!
...
We may be young, but our blood is strong. No Cossack fears the battlefield!
If it means losing a hand, a leg, or even our lives, we'll do anything, make any sacrifice, to protect our homeland!
...
Those familiar words strike her deep.
See, Igor?
These soldiers will drive those masked lunatics from the steppe.
Her future rests with the young. We old-timers have no right to shape this era.
The commander, eyes red, looks over these thin shadows.
Tell me, great riders of the steppe, will victory be ours today?
Victory will be ours!
We'll drive these madmen from our home!
Unbroken voices rise like the flow of the Don in spring, crashing into every corner of the sich.
The commander looks back, meeting the heavy gaze of the rebel leader.
Igor, this is our last chance.
His hands are noticeably quivering.
But no one blames him for it.
21. The Admiral and His Men
89 linesHeavy armor rolls into Tamarovka through the river shallows.
Treads grind the village's stone road to dust. The heat from the machines scorches the old willows by the bridge, the following rush of wind peeling the ash from them.
...
Sergey and the other captive arcanists are being marched to the village by the Manus ritualist.
Those who fought now feed the frozen earth. Silence and obedience reign.
Hey. What are you looking around for?
As the guns rumble past, an older captive hisses at Sergey.
Despite the ritualist's brandishing of her whip close behind, Sergey strains to look as they pass near his uncle's house.
I ... I'm from this village.
Oh. I'm sorry.
Hey!
Don't say things like that! I'm sure most of the villagers fled to the city before all this happened.
*crack*
She lashes at Sergey's back, tearing flesh. Blood runs down the grooves of the whip, coating the inscriptions in a shimmering scarlet glaze.
Keep quiet!
The pain renders him silent.
The blood-stained runes sever his link to pneuma, sending his arcane mind crashing to the ground and intensifying the pain.
The older arcanist supports him. They bend low together, another silent pocket in the procession.
Krutov steps out from an armored car, a heavy frown on his face.
I need hands to clear the sludge from the riverbank, or it'll slow our advance. Put some of these captured arcanists to work, understand?
It would be my pleasure, General, but I'm afraid they'll be of little use. Per your previous command, I have yet to put them through Her Benevolence's trial.
She glides her thumb over the whip's ridges, the coagulating blood smearing over the grain. She touches the inscriptions slowly, reverently, as if to confirm the channeling of some sacred affliction.
And to avoid complications, I've prayed for Her blessing to ensure their pneuma remains completely dormant.
Then, where on earth are you taking them?
Oh, just a small trip to the wilderness to harvest some hawthorn twigs, red carnations, holly leaves, and, if possible, a few devil's finger mushrooms.
If you need to hasten the march, I could provide you a shortcut by freezing part of the river.
You know such a skill?
It's no great feat, really, but it comes at a small price. The soil we stand on will be utterly infertile for three years.
So? Do you wish to drain the life from this place?
Hmph, as if I'd give a damn about some pitiful village.
Krutov lifts his chin to signal the ritualist to act.
We've already eliminated most of the Zeno cavalry, but their remnants will likely attempt to regroup and make another attack. We must take the battle to them before they get the chance.
Let the river freeze, and we will carve it as Igor's tomb!
She smiles a "yes."
As the whip is cracked, the air tears with a shriek.
A flight of pointed hats splits the clouds above, their trails streaming like banners.
It's Krutov. I spotted the bastard!
Lilya dips her broomstick, and the formation tightens into a sharp arrow behind her.
To me, Alpha team! Target confirmed at three o'clock from the dead tree at the bridge! Weapons hot!
The Flying Witches lower their goggles and dive like white shooting stars over the battlefield.
Let's blow them to hell!
Raven-3 Pyrodrake Phlogiston Incendiaries rain down on the Manus forces.
What?
After a brief pause, flames pour from the firedragons, crawling into the armored cars through their observation ports.
Aah! Ahhhh!
The black cage is engulfed in seconds.
The glow illuminates the bloodied faces of the captives. After a stunned moment, they break for the open land like wolves fleeing a burning forest.
The captives are getting away.
An officer fires at their backs, the whip gashes illuminated by the flames as they make their desperate bid for freedom.
Some fall, while others stumble on to the outskirts of the village.
Don't waste your bullets.
Krutov raises a hand, stopping the masked officer. He looks up at the white specks fading into the clouds.
There are only a few of these flying pests. Call the air units to take them down.
Where's the rest of your army?
Krutov points toward the hazy outline of the city in the distance.
They're marching on Bereggrad as we speak.
If you wanna capture Tamarovka, why not concentrate your forces?
Over half the Zeno cavalrymen are gone. When my men storm the city, they will crumble at my feet, and Igor will be mine.
Heh, let's hope everything goes as smoothly as you say. I'll be taking my leave now.
<speed=2>The officer turns, his foot sinking into soft, false earth. Fireflies rise from the liquid ground.
What's this?
A Baba Yaga ritual! Step away from it!
...!
You ...
It's been a long time, Krutov.
Charging headfirst, alone, into the wolf's den—your tactical brilliance continues to astound.
You haven't changed a bit, my friend. Arrogant and ignorant in equal measure.
He and Commander Ivan share a firm nod.
Move out!
The boys rear their horses, their shashkas and voices raised high to the sky.
The cavalry splits, charging down the clear paths leading out of the village. Their guns, blades, and hooves shatter the Manus forces.
They're heading to ...
As a former member of the Sentinel Unit, it takes him only a moment to grasp Igor's tactic.
They're going to cut us off! Third company, stop those riders at once!
Gryphons, pin down the Manus infantry!
Oh, Lieutenant Ptolemy.
Krutov smiles a cruel smile, as if mocking a cub that has overestimated its strength.
I hope you're not suffering too much from the pain where your eye should be.
F**king traitor!!
A bloody shashka cuts through the air.
Hold back, Ptolemy. It's not time yet.
Yes, Father.
Ptolemy's surrender widens Krutov's grin. He treads on the pride of his former squadmate with almost gleeful mockery.
Oh, what a pitiful boy. Can't even hold his gun steady without Daddy's help.
Another blade stops just three inches from Krutov's chest.
22. Elegy for the Don
132 linesThe red willow that has watched over the Cossacks for over a century lies fractured.
The ground that should have been firm and warm has turned to a sticky mire, trapping Igor by the legs.
...
Blood courses through his already throbbing veins as the power borrowed from Baba Yaga puts an almost unbearable burden on his mixed-blood arcanist body.
You've grown stronger.
Pinned like a hunted beast, he can only watch as the enemy commander approaches.
Hm. Admiral Igor.
Krutov stops a few paces away.
Still catching your breath from the teleport ritual?
Igor only glares, his chest heaving. Krutov knows this proud old lion will not plead, not even in his last moments.
Don't worry. I'll soon put you out of your misery.
But first, answer me one question.
He cocks his gun, lining it up between Igor's eyes.
Back when we were chained in the Bone Garden, you saved us.
What deal did you make with Baba Yaga—the old hag of death—to free us from slavery?
Or rather, what did you trade for those extraordinary powers that even Arcana was willing to bargain for? Powers that don't belong to a mixed-blood like you.
Just shoot already.
Still clinging to your secrets? Seems you too have lost yourself to the witchcraft of death, my old comrade.
Scorn and arrogance shadow every inch of Krutov's face.
Fine, then take your secrets to the grave.
Farewell.
A flash of sunlight glints in his eyes.
No. That's not sunlight.
What?
He instinctively looks up toward the light.
A Blazefuse cylinder is hurtling through the air, its active solution burning like a tiny sun.
*bang*
A one-eyed sniper fires, shattering it.
Ugh! Ah. Aahhh!
Scalding alchemical fluid splashes over half of Krutov's face, shrieks of pain mingling with the smell of cooking flesh.
Any morphine to ease the pain, Captain?
Freed from Krutov's incantation, the ground begins to harden again. Ptolemy lowers his gun and pulls his father up before his legs are sealed for good.
They stand side by side.
Thank you, Father.
Just as you predicted, in his anger, he dropped his guard. But I still think I should've aimed for his heart instead!
An eye for an eye. That was my promise.
He glances past Ptolemy's shoulder at the man he once fought beside.
Krutov kneels, his burned face buried in his hand, the charred skin sticking to his cold leather gloves.
No mortal can transcend eternity, Krutov. I already told you this.
The power Manus Vindictae offers is nothing but a poisoned chalice. Drinking it down will only lead to your doom.
No ...
I'm no weakling like you, Igor! I won't flinch from the pursuit of strength!
His whole body is quivering.
I won't make the same mistake you did!
Wait, what's he holding?
Between his hands and ruined flesh, a familiar dark mask appears.
Forgive my earlier ignorance, Your Holiness. From this moment on, I will eternally praise Your name.
Goddammit!
Ptolemy fires at Krutov, but the bullet hits a wall of ice before it reaches him.
Krutov shakes and murmurs to himself as he undergoes the trial. Ptolemy paces forward, readying himself to tear the mask from him.
I'll smash that mask to pieces!
No, stay back!
Igor grabs his shoulder and pulls him back. A sharp wall of ice slices through the air in front of him.
I hear it. I hear Your wise words! I should've listened to you long ago. I should've seen the truth of this world! Argh!
Krutov lowers his hands, the melted flesh of his face drooping like soft wax in sticky amber threads.
Heh. Heh. Mother of Resurrection.
With the hand-shaped mask cradling his eyes, a whirlwind of chilling air begins to spread from Krutov.
This cold, it's ... I see.
Krutov has passed the mask trial. That Manus ritualist must be hiding nearby. She's given him the power to contain the entire stolen winter on his own.
What? So that's why the Flying Witches couldn't fully stop the ritual. Who'd have thought Krutov was ...
Igor draws his shashka. It trembles in the sudden cold, frost forming in diamonds along its blade.
Inform Lieutenant Lilya at once. We've found the final rite.
Living ice swirls and bites at their wrists, climbing up their arms to their torsos. Only their red-hot gun barrels are able to fight it off.
Damn it! This bastard won't hold back the winter any longer!
Keep shooting!
Manus soldiers, one after another, throw themselves into the gunfire before they reach the collapsed Krutov. Soon, Krutov is submerged in a black tide of soldiers.
Ptolemy swings open his gun cylinder and empties the spent shells.
Damn it! Where'd he run off to?
Hey, Flying Witch! How'd those Manus scum appear all of a sudden? Did the cavalry all turn tail and run?
Shut your trap!
A flurry of condensation clouds from her mouth. The thinness of the stinging cold air has pulled her lower.
Lilya runs a circle around the battlefield, knocking aside some straggling enemies, before landing in a small clearing at its center.
The cavalry are chasing down whatever's left of Krutov's bandits. As for the Manus, I got no clue how they managed to disappear like that.
Must've used some kind of teleport ritual. The Alphas are looking for it now.
There were a lot of them, so the ritual site must be nearby, probably somewhere in the village.
If that's the case, the Alphas can't do much—too many buildings. You better have your men do a grid search.
How about we carpet-bomb them out?
What about the villagers, huh? What about your own men? Is your brain frozen?
A unit will be dispatched to perform a ground search, but they won't be as fast as you, Lieutenant.
She has no words. After a moment, she clicks her tongue and climbs onto her broom.
Based on the direction of their reinforcements, the teleport ritual site must be in the south of the village. Brrrr, freezing my butt off here.
Mm! Where is the damn thing? A whole army went through it. No way it'd just disappear without a trace.
Damn it!
Lilya squints as a glare from somewhere on the ground almost blinds her. She banks hard, just barely avoiding a roof.
She tries to hide in the clouds, but the glare follows her every turn.
I swear, if I catch the ground-duster who dares dazzle me right now, I'll give him a missile to the face.
...
Missile ... to the face ...
And Sergey, if you shine the light off that telescope into my eyes one more time ...
The last thing you'll see is a missile to the face. Understood?
Ahh. Understood, Lieutenant.
Sergey?!
She pulls down her goggles, drops lower, and searches for the light's source.
It's a pair of binoculars, half shattered, looking like a sorry children's kaleidoscope.
They're in the hands of a wounded young rider in Zeno uniform, looking just as tattered.
Hey! Lieutenant—!
He waves as he jumps, lively as a grassland hare, one hand pointed.
What's he pointing at? Uhm, the stable? Why?
There something in the stable? Wait! It's got to be Krutov!
She spots a limping Krutov being led into a stable by the ritualist.
I see them, Sergey! Stay back!
Ice and dust scatter in the explosion.
By the time Lilya lands near the ruined stable, Sergey is already digging through the wreckage like a mole.
Didn't I tell you to stay away? Krutov and that ritualist could still be alive down there.
No. It can't be. How?
Sergey climbs out, brushes himself off, and runs to the lieutenant.
The place is tiny, but I don't see them, not even a trace.
Tsk, they got away again.
Lilya kicks a small mushroom at her feet in frustration.
Probably used multiple short-range teleport rituals. Damn! Hopefully the Alphas find something elsewhere.
So, how did you end up here?
We can save that for later, Lieutenant. All that matters now is that I'm alive!
For a moment, I honestly thought that this would be it for me.
He almost stumbles over his words to get his next question out.
How are things in the city? What's happened to Commander Ivan and the rest of the Corps?
It looks like the bandits and the Manus are gone. What's going on?
Come on, tell me, did we win?
Lilya crosses her arms, not knowing where to begin.
She takes a long drink from a flask she hasn't opened in a long time.
*sigh*
Winter returns. And with it, the eerie silence of snow.
...
A distant sound answers for her.
Hollered voices, snorting horses, and the stirring of the long grass all echo on the banks of the shimmering Don.
They did what they could.
Some sins can never be redeemed. Yet, it is not too late to keep them from spreading, from taking root again.
For one's own sake, and for the sake of home and family.
Bare fists struck steel behemoths; soft flesh warded off fell sorcery.
Their brittle lives were laid down so that others might be spared.
And the living lift their eyes as the first snow falls.
Time finds its rightful course once more. Winter has come.
Luckily, we won, for this round, at least.
23. The Long Road Ahead
84 linesMy mission on the Eastern Front is over, but the battle that took place here has left an indelible impression on me. It still strikes me like lightning.
In the city of Bereggrad, civilians, barely knowing how to handle a gun, gave their all to defend their homes from bandits and Manus Vindictae.
Their unyielding defense of the city streets bought crucial tactical space for the Zeno Cavalry Corps and their allies on the field, allowing them to strike the enemy's main force without restraint.
Some lost their lives, but many more will live because of their sacrifice. I am certain those names will be remembered on this steppe forever.
As an aside, I ran into Charon here—what are the odds of that? It's a shame I don't have time to share more stories with you in just one letter.
I hope one day to tell you all about them in person. And don't worry about me, my dear Marianne: I'll soon return to the Foundation headquarters. I look forward to hearing from you.
That the only letter you want to send?
The knight folds her letter, seals it in an envelope, and presses the Foundation's wax seal on it with solemn care.
I would've written more if I knew you'd be delivering them personally.
If you're returning to the Western Front, please bring this letter to Montpaix. Someone there will pick it up.
Ah, you mean that Gargoyle girl, right? She's not hanging around Montpaix anymore.
Huh? Do you know where she went?
Can't say that I do, but I have run into her a few times since.
Hound looks as though a chill has just run up his spine.
First time was in Luxembourg. I was out looking for something when she decided to press the muzzle of her gun against the back of my head.
I thought she was still holding a grudge over what happened at Hill 299. I wouldn't blame her. After all, Creius owes her a hell of a lot more than a little thanks.
But turns out she just wanted to have a chat with a member of the "XII."
What did you talk about?
Something about setting rules. Said she doesn't mind helping out when her objectives overlap with ours.
On the condition that we share with her each and every piece of information we have. Must've been serious, right? Doesn't seem like the kind of person who appreciates a joke.
Maybe just your jokes.
Ha, could be. Anyway, I don't know her exact whereabouts, but finding her again shouldn't be too hard. I'm sure she wouldn't wanna miss your letter.
Thanks. So, why were you sent here?
Creius wanted me to do some "mopping up." Lucky me, always stuck with the chores.
Watching to see if the Zeno corps here shows any "unusual political tendencies" after the battle. Making sure they've cut contact with Igor. Oh, and Blackbird!
He pulls a document from his coat and hands it to Marsha. After a pause, she carefully opens it.
"Merel, head to the Don River region immediately. Cover your tracks and investigate the Golden Famine there. Creius. November ... 10th"?
That was before Merel's desertion. Then, she didn't run away after all?
Nah, the date's fake. Creius wrote up this "secret order" right in front of me after your report.
The seal on the signature hadn't even dried when I set out.
A little paperwork filed after the fact. Should be harmless.
I see. Are you sure you should've told me this?
Yermolai's face darkens unexpectedly.
We're on the same team.
If we can't trust each other, we'll all end up in the ditch when s**t hits the fan. Know what I mean?
You make a good point. Merel's still resting. Should I call for her now?
I-I'm here.
The deserter, spared for now by this "secret order," peeks out from behind Marsha with a sheepish look on her face.
Yermolai tilts his chin at her.
Your days of fluttering under a babysitter's wings have come to an end, Blackbird. You may be off the Foundation's hook, but I'm afraid some form of internal punishment within the squad is inevitable.
Internal punishment?
Hearing this, Merel takes a slow step back.
Don't think you can get away again.
Like catching a rabbit, the man pulls Merel out from behind the knight.
Naah!
Hey, go easy on her!
I'll be keeping tabs on her from now on, Marsha. Even got a tracking serum. Creius's order.
Tracking serum?
Yeah, goof-juice invented by some eggheads. Still in development, actually. Our little runaway will make the perfect lab rat.
I won't run again. Trust me. I swear!
Keep that voice down. You trying to tell the entire world you're a deserter? Or you looking for a taste of Dumbitter Potion?
N-No.
She bites her lip.
Marsha gives her a light pat on the shoulder.
Relax. I'll be traveling back with you.
*neigh*
Huh?
A black warhorse trots over from down the street, his old friend beside him.
It is good that you've returned to your friends, Merel. May your journey ahead be a safe one.
And thank you, Marsha. Tending to this broken body must have taken a great toll on you. I am sorry for any pain it caused.
Please, don't think of it that way, Charon. I can handle my arcane skills. I'm just relieved that you're back on your feet.
Gotta say, I was surprised to hear you'd made it out this way, gravedigger. Paravyan told me it was you who covered Merel's tracks.
W-Wait! Leave Charon out of this! I asked, I mean, I forced him to help me!
What's got you so worked up? All you did was follow Creius's orders and cover your tracks, right?
Umm, yeah, no, wait, did I?
Yeah, you did, and keep that in mind if anyone asks.
O-Okay.
Charon, struggling to follow the conversation among the "XII" Squad, gives up trying.
Life must flee death. It is our most basic instinct. Death is impartial, unstoppable. No creature should be punished for running from its shadow.
Sure, sure. Don't worry. I'll make sure our friend here stays safe and sound.
A small hope in this gray world. Now, there is more work to be done.
You're leaving again, Charon?
Why don't you join us at the—
"Foundation" catches in her throat.
N-Never mind.
I hope I see you again, Charon, though maybe not on another battlefield. I'd be happy to never see another corpse in my life.
I'll miss you too, Andreas.
Merel stands on tiptoes, wrapping her arms around Andreas's neck, and presses her cheek to his rough mane.
Goodbye, friends! I've made so many happy memories with you, well, aside from the drowning.
I'll miss you from the bottom of my heart!
Neigh ...
May our reunion come in a more peaceful time.
Leading Andreas by the reins, Charon makes his way out of the city.
They disappear into the winter grassland, returning to the long, hard road they must walk.
24. The Day of Departure
104 linesThe streets of Bereggrad are packed. The people hug and laugh, and the soldiers drink and sing to their hard-won victory.
But deep below the church, in a room from another age, there is nothing but silence.
...
The white marble chair is smooth and cold. The touch of a fingertip sends a distant call across time and space.
Is it really you?
Ah!
She sits, and a pain prickles through her skin, a pain that is not her own.
What have you been through?
Where are you?
Shh. We should let her get some rest.
...
Vertin.
Who are you?
We all walk our own paths, seeking our own answers.
But our paths will surely cross again.
Timekeeper?
...
She gets to her feet, tearing her from those memories and thrusting her back into the real world.
The footsteps that follow carry a note of caution.
This room had always been locked to me, but now ... Tch. It is blindingly white.
Mr. Igor.
I wouldn't sit in that chair. Not unless you know it to be necessary.
Urd sat here. I wanted to try it myself.
Find anything useful?
Some documents on the experiment. The person who told me about this room might be interested.
But if you mean to ask about Urd specifically, I haven't learned anything more than I did on my first visit.
You were there. What do you know about the experiments in this room? What did they want from her?
Her usually reasoned words come quickly, driven by her hunger for answers.
What did you do to her?
The things the Pax House did to Urd ... I'm sure you've pieced it together somehow.
After the second "Storm," the Foundation led an effort to build an emergency response system.
But after Manus Vindictae reared their head and in the wake of the vanishing of two eras, we realized no system could stop the "Storm."
We needed Urd.
And you tracked her down, only to find she'd become someone else, an investigative journalist, a humanitarian doctor, anything but the identity you were hoping for.
You tried every method to force that version of her, a blind woman you had no need of, into becoming Urd again, the one from 1999.
We, or the Pax House, believed that ...
No matter the nature of the "Storm," whether Manus Vindictae forged new psyches from the realm of souls or twisted the entire material world to warp memories on a universal scale ...
The key to every question about the "Storm" was tied up in Urd, the original Urd. The Loop Laboratory and the vessel ensoulment experiments conducted here were dedicated to finding that key.
Was that your goal to find her and end all this?
...
The old admiral closes his eyes, either to recall or avoid.
Igor, do you also want to return to the era before the "Storm"?
No reply comes. Igor moves to a corner as if searching for something.
Just as I suspected, they didn't have time to evacuate with these materials.
From a pile of disks, he lifts a white book as thick as a dictionary.
Take it.
It's heavy.
Its surface is as cold and hard as marble.
The weight of 43 souls combined.
...
The souls of those whose identities were "displaced" after the "Storm." I abducted them from all around the world—a way to regain my footing among the ranks.
I placed my trust, my hope even, in the Foundation, believing that these experiments would one day bring back the people I loved.
But you chose to walk away.
43. Each soul left behind a husk. I buried every one of them.
I've buried so many people since the "Storm." I've lost count. I stopped counting.
He takes the black cube from his coat and murmurs an incantation. It floats above his palm.
Arcana's body was annihilated, but Her presence endures.
Even with my modest lineage, I feel Her presence everywhere, at all times.
She bestowed on me a "boon" that let my army cross the "Storm." It worked, as She promised.
But after leaving Antarctica, the barrier that "boon" created could shelter only one person. I did still use it as a beacon to find a new sanctuary, but it cost us dearly in time and effort.
Meanwhile, Krutov seized the opportunity to wreak havoc along the Don.
A bitter smile colors Igor's face, and he stops channeling arcane energy into the "boon."
This is Arcana's mockery of me—the mixed-blood arcanist who dared mimic Noah.
But you managed to build your own ark, didn't you?
He gives a dry laugh that is neither a yes nor a no.
Then he sets the "boon" down on the white book.
When she reaches out to it, the ever-present threads pull taut, then fade into the air.
...?
You are the true savior destined to lead us from the flood. Take it.
Back to our deal, Timekeeper. I brought you to this laboratory as promised and told you secrets the Foundation would rather keep hidden.
Along with this "boon," I believe I have done enough to earn your favor.
What is it that you want?
Only that you consider me a partner in the future, so that we may help each other when the need arises.
I'm still the Timekeeper of the St. Pavlov Foundation. You're betting your life and freedom on nothing more than my favor.
Not my first gamble. I have confidence. You and I share the same enemy in Arcana.
...
There's another matter. Krutov has passed the mask trial. He is more dangerous than ever before.
We defeated him at Tamarovka, but there was no sign of his body.
So you're suggesting ...
Manus Vindictae lacks leaders with modern military training. I suspect Krutov will become key to their future conflicts with the Foundation.
Having left the Timekeeper to her devices, Igor slips past the street celebrations and leaves Bereggrad.
Father.
As you said, Moldir, the Timekeeper is unlike most of her colleagues.
A soft laugh comes through the communicator. The events at the South Pole are still fresh in her mind.
She is a truly extraordinary young woman. Based on my collaboration with her team in Antarctica, I'm sure she has prospects beyond the Foundation.
I hope your meeting brought something of value.
It did, to my surprise.
Recall all personnel on the field to the sanctuary. We need to accelerate recruitment and redeployment.
Moldir is temporarily rendered silent by the abruptness of this order.
Yes, Father.
Let the residents of any nearby villages join us if they wish. We need all the strength we can muster.
All of them?
Civilian or soldier, human or arcanist—take them all in.
The admiral answers with unwavering conviction.
And keep an eye on Ptolemy until I return.
And should I not return, command of the Gryphon Legion will be transferred to you.
Father?
Igor, standing on the bank of the Don, gives the old city one last glance and ends the call.
What's the rush, old man?
A gun muzzle presses to the back of Igor's head.
I've been expecting you, Lieutenant Lilya.
So you recognize that Ptolemy is a good-for-nothing bastard, then? At least you're a better father than you are a soldier.
But being a half-decent father won't save you from the crimes you've committed or the lives you've taken.
I said it before, I'll say it again: I will personally escort you to the judgment seat.
25. Crime and Punishment
139 linesRaise your glass to the Zeno Cavalry Corps!
To the Corps! To the Flying Witches! And to Bereggrad!
Oak mugs meet in a toast, golden liquor overflowing at their rims.
To everyone!
Hmm, this is nothing like the samogon we brew in the village.
Too fiery for you?
Not fiery enough!
He drains his mug and lets out a hearty laugh.
Hit me!
Lilya sits with the celebrants, cheeks flushed, but her eyes still sharp on the sich gates outside the tent.
When she sees the Gryphon soldiers leaving in twos and threes, she spits, picks up her broom, and strides out.
Where are you going, Commander? You're the star of this party!
Come on, quit with the titles. Lilya's just fine.
I'm just going to get some more drinks from the city.
Oho, flying under the influence? You sure?
Catch me if you can.
The engine flares orange. Her new broom, carrying Lilya and the name Red 38, shoots into the clouds and disappears.
The commander examines the trail toward Bereggrad with a puzzled look. Then he lifts the tent flap and steps inside.
Where's Lieutenant Lilya off to?
The city. Said she'll bring back more drinks.
Weighing the bottle in his hand, he lapses into silence.
I'm afraid there won't be any judgment for me, Lieutenant Lilya.
Oh yeah? What's got you so confident?
This war between Manus Vindictae and the Foundation will grind on for a long time to come. They won't give the order to arrest me until it ends.
The gun presses harder against his head.
An arcanist's skull is like any other. It has no defense against a bullet.
They might call us traitors, but still, our names and faces are listed as martyrs in Zeno's Hall of Merit. They know that others doubt, and they fear for their morale.
They know I still live, of course. Even so, the Foundation gains nothing from making an enemy of me, so long as I remain a potential ally.
The threat brings him no fear. He only answers her anger with measured calm.
And as a result of my actions in São Paulo, the rift between the Foundation and the various factions of Zeno has been laid bare.
Rift?
Zeno should have been at the front lines of this war with Manus Vindictae, yet the joint command sent them to the Eastern Front.
Lilya knows he speaks the truth.
Huh. So if the Foundation put you on trial, it'd be like they're spitting in Zeno's face.
She looks up at the sky despite herself.
The Flying Witches she put on patrol pass overhead. Their gray and white Foundation uniforms make them look like fluttering doves.
But the Pax House will intervene.
Even if their direct intervention would sever all trust between the Foundation and Zeno?
Sever all trust? How?
The last thing Zeno wants is to relive the shame of São Paulo. Likewise, the Foundation has no desire to reveal how deep their network goes.
If the Pax House intervenes, that delicate balance will crumble.
Wait, network? Do you mean the soldiers you "dealt with" in São Paulo?
Ten humans and four arcanists refused to join our rebellion.
Three were spies we had long sniffed out. As for the rest ...
Igor closes his eyes. He won't defend himself any further.
A trembling finger tightens on the trigger.
They fought together with you! Shared their canteens and rations with you!
You could've sent them off somewhere! Could've arrested them, knocked them out, put them to sleep! You had a million ways to pull off your rebellion without killing them!
You chose to murder them! Why?
The old man's breath doesn't hasten, but his chest heaves.
The Apostles Brotherhood was watching.
To reach a future free from meaningless sacrifices, some cost must be paid.
So, you used them, ended them so you could go on with the Manus!
You'll pay for what you did!
I've committed many crimes. I will not run from them. I will be ready to surrender my life when the day comes.
But it has not come. Until it does, I will continue to assist the Timekeeper. Her fight is only just beginning.
The wind drops and the grassland falls still. Only the young pilot's breath grows heavier.
She flings the revolver to the ground, the wild grass swallowing it.
Of all the goddamned arrogance! You're ready to die? No, your death won't fix anything!
What about everyone who decided to follow you, huh? What about Lopera? You owe her an explanation!
Damn it! You were right about this old fart, Ivan.
He's got a screw loose in the brain. Someone should send him to Mesmer Jr. to sort him out!
The commander steps out from behind a rise. Clearly he has been watching, unseen, from the start.
He studies Igor, searching for a trace of the past in his weathered eyes.
You are a madman, Igor.
Except Manus Vindictae, who else dares challenge Zeno and the Foundation?
And now, even the Manus march against you. Your Legion walks amid tigers.
Igor turns to his old friend with an unusual calm, as if he weren't sinking into a mire.
Amid tigers? No.
My Legion soars high above, like the indomitable gryphon.
My children will rend their foes with claws and guard their friends with wings, and they will bear the ark safely through the currents of time.
Don't flatter yourself.
Lilya spits.
Nothing you do will ever be enough to atone for what you've done.
Agreed. Still, none can deny his deeds in Antarctica and Bereggrad.
Antarctica ...
I heard from the captain that Ulrich bypassed the Manus troops thanks to Lieutenant Moldir.
That your order?
No. This was Moldir's choice. I did not intervene, true, but I cannot take any credit for it.
She mounts her broom. Before starting the engine, she looks back at Igor.
She points up at the Flying Witches in the clouds.
We'll be watching you. I will be watching you.
Igor responds with a slow nod.
A shapeless anger sits in Lilya's chest. She snorts and tears into the sky.
We were just like her once.
Young, unable to ignore anything we saw as unjust, compelled to personally right every wrong.
But we never put our lives on the line like her, did we? Ah, wait.
The scar on his brow moves with his smile. Memory does live in those old eyes.
You did.
So did you.
I never thought an old cat like you would change his spots. Not a change I favor, mind.
A river turns foul when it halts. We must all find our way to the ocean.
Igor steps toward the river, his boot spurs cutting lines in the soft mud at the bank.
I suspect you were the one that persuaded the lieutenant to leave her gun unloaded.
I owed you for what you did for the Corps.
The commander runs an agitated hand through his hair and joins Igor.
Got a cigarette?
I quit back in 99.
The famed commander of the Zeno Cavalry pulls a handful of grass from a nearby tuft.
Do you have any idea how many of my silly pups wish to follow you after Tamarovka?
I've found a place, somewhere big enough to welcome you and the Corps.
I'm not ready to have a bounty on my head.
But you spoke in this bounty target's defense. What did you say to Lieutenant Lilya?
I gave her a choice: end your life with a bullet, or let you live bearing the pain of your guilt.
Did you ever consider that I might just be a cold-hearted tyrant? That I feel no guilt at all?
We've all changed since the "Storm."
I read your letter, old friend.
No truth serum could tell me more than it did.
"I tarnished with my own hands the honor we once held dear."
"Molly, please tell Lopera that—"
A dark arcane glow appears by the letter. A shadowy mouth emerges from it, chews it down, and drags it into the void.
The jar in Igor's hand flickers. A firefly dims and falls to the bottom.
Really? Running your old bones deeper into the ground just to protect your privacy?
Ha, privacy. I thought you'd never heard of the word!
I didn't mean to pry. The soldiers were getting their letters. Yours was the only one with no name.
...
We ride out come morning. We all know that many of us will never return.
You still have a chance to come to the sich before we leave.
You want me to take those young soldiers in?
This was never meant to be their war.
Lilya's aircraft has left a lingering line across the sky.
They deserve to see the new spring.
Five days later
Located in a Foundation facility, completely confidential, and no field mission application required. You're more thoughtful than I expected, Timekeeper.
Let's make the most of our time, Mr. Irinei, before our absence draws unnecessary attention.
Then let's cut to the chase.
About the vessel ensoulment experiments conducted in the Amber Room laboratory.
What have you learned?
...
I managed to recover documents detailing the experiment's main procedures. However ...
I didn't find anything significant about Urd.