It is done, my queen. The explosive detonated. The crew is no more.

Well done Lord Scieth. And the primes?

Both were marked clearly. If Vachir’s men are as well trained as they claim, the primes should be captured or about to be by now. I will speak with him shortly on the matter.

Finally.

***

Vachir stood at attention. Outside the vault entrance, the battle was winding down. The few surviving divers were being gunned down or captured. From the sound of it, he doubted any would voluntarily surrender.

As a prime of air, he could feel the presence and, in more extreme cases, the emotions of others. From outside, a mix of horror and fear permeated the thick walls into Vachir’s soul. They never saw it coming. Awakened were so rare, even a single death was a loss for all. He prayed some would see reason and surrender.

The enemy had been taken completely by surprise. The spy, implanted among them months earlier, had accomplished his task. As the attack began, Vachir had watched… and felt every pained emotion of the bewildered awakened.

The success of his carefully planned ambush should have comforted him, but unlike the prophetess, he took no pleasure in the deaths of others, awakened or otherwise. His mood was dark.

It was a tremendous blessing that he could feel anything at all. For reasons beyond his understanding, The Prophetess had chosen to refrain from placing her icy grip on his soul. He served her because she had ultimate authority over the governments of Southern Ruin and thus over him, a loyal general in the Free Citizens Federation.

He felt no guilt for having these feelings. He would mourn such things because no other awakened was free to. So many lost; many of them far too young.

Around him, an entourage of air awakened stood, also at their own, poorer version of attention. Unlike himself, their eyes were all the signature grey-white of the Prophetess’ brainwashed legions. Every choice they made, everything they saw, was subject to her ever watchful gaze.

A sharp squeal of metal on metal pulled Vachir from his lamentations as the vault door swung open. Turning a perfect ninety degrees to the right, he clicked his heels, and saluted the shadowy figure that emerged through the entrance.

Silhouetted against the fires and tracers still burning through the air outside, the hooded figure of the Prophetess’ second in command stood for a moment, unmoving. To his left, Vachir saw the group of air awakened prostrate themselves low. He was a military man, though, and thus was only required to salute a superior.

Vachir held his salute, waiting for the figure to move, or speak. He’s shorter than the last one, Vachir thought. He could feel Scieth’s gaze, much like the prophetess’. Vachir was the most powerful prime of air in all of Ruin though. If he could resist the Prophetess, he could resist her second. Blocking the parts of his mind he would rather keep secret, he held the salute.

After a minute, his arm begin to burn from the effort. Just as the pain was becoming unbearable, a white toothed grin appeared from behind the shadow of the man’s hood. “Greetings, Vachir. At ease.”

The relief as he placed his hands behind his back and relaxed his stance was tremendous. As the figure approached, Vachir began his report, “Lord Sceith, welcome to the Northern Vault. I’m glad to see you made it off the ship without issue.”

They began their journey down the long abandoned mine shaft. Sceith continued, his voice young and yet, ancient all at once. The sound of it slithered through the air, “The escape from the Liberator, as they love to call it, was simple enough. The sabotage, not so much. I’m just glad that damn nuisance is finally behind us.”

Their footsteps echoed on the damp rock wall, muffling the fading sounds of battle. As they walked, Vachir inquired, “How exactly did you do it? Sabotage the ship, I mean, and escape before the explosion?”

Sceith chuckled, “Some secrets are best kept. Let’s just say, I employed help.” Vachir knew better than to push the point. Sceith continued, “And what of the battle? It seems the ambush was a success.”

Vachir nodded, “Yes, my lord. The last of the awakened crew of The Liberator have been dealt with. We counted a few dozen of them at the start. Only a few survived the initial fall. My lieutenant reports a handful captured and the rest dead or dying. As for our own casualties-”

Lord Scieth held up a hand, “I care little for that. I’m sure they’re negligible.” Vachir stewed at Scieth’s statement, negligible my ass. Those are my men dying out there for the Prophetess’ personal vendetta.

He took extra care to hide his disgust from the constantly probing thoughts of Lord Sceith, and by extension, the Prophetess.

Sceith stopped and turned to Vachir. Somehow, regardless of the passage being well lit, the cloak always seemed to hide his face. I wonder what you look like under there. His superior raised his voice, “And what of Alia Rychist and the prime of earth? Where are they being held?”

This was the part Vachir was dreading. He’d faced many horrors on the battlefield and come out stronger, smarter, better. But, the wrath of Her Highness was legendary. As her right hand man, Lord Scieth could summon the same level of ire and, when the mood struck just right, exceed it.

Gathering his courage, he spoke slowly, careful to keep his voice from shaking, “My lord..I’m afraid both are missing. We suspect -”

Icy fingers were around Vachir’s throat before he could continue. Vachir held a good twenty centimeters over his superior, yet, he was still lifted from the ground effortlessly. Through blurred vision, he could see the man’s hands were not actually upon his skin. An cold and unseen force was suspending him in midair by the neck.

Lord Sceith’s voice was poisonous, “Missing? You had a single task to complete. Capture the primes! I even marked them for your soldiers. They should have shone like beacons. How could you fail at such a simple assignment!?”

Vachir could feel the life leaving his body as the powerful man’s projected grip tightened, some from lack of oxygen, the rest from the Sceith’s inherited powers. He could fight back, but much like the Prophetess’ fits of rage, he knew the moment would pass, hopefully.

Finally, Lord Scieth released his death grip. Vachir slumped against the wall, coughing, struggling to fill his lungs with precious air. After another few seconds, he composed himself. He was a general, respected among his soldiers and honored on many occasions by his government. Yet here, he was reduced to a helpless marionette in this man’s hands.

Struggling to salvage the situation, he spoke. This time, he couldn’t hide the shaking in his voice. “My lord, the search continues nearby. It’s entirely possible they’re among those you can still hear out there fighting. If not though, the markings you left on their bail wing bags are easily spotted through our dark goggles, and so far, nobody’s seen them among the dead.”

Dark goggles were tinted brass goggles with extremely thin dark crystal lenses. The unusual device allowed the wearer to see markings and materials invisible to the human eye. Lord Scieth, masquerading as a crew member, had lined both bags with a layer of clear paint, which was unseen by natural light but stuck out like a beacon through dark goggles.

The ground teams, each fitted with dark goggles, were given strict instructions to avoid firing on the pair and to take them alive at all costs. Her Majesty had other plans for them after all...

Lord Scieth was growing impatient as he paced the tunnel, “Then where are they? They couldn’t have just disappeared.”

Vachir nodded, still coughing and rubbing his throat, “No sir. They couldn’t have. It’s possible they veered off course. Or, they could have escaped to -”

“No.” Scieth shook his head. For a moment, his voice changed pitch. He almost sounded like a normal man, “Captain Alia Rychist would never abandon her crew. And Jim? He’d likely go after poor little Sasha on a chance the boy survived your ambush. I spent enough time embedded amongst them to learn that much.”

Lord Scieth’s tone was eerie. Two distinct voices spoke in unison. The result was oddly ethereal.

Vachir couldn’t see his expression, but he suspected Lord Scieth was deep in thought. Finally, the dark figure reached a conclusion, “They must be nearby. If she’s alive, she’ll come to rescue her men. Have your men comb the mountain base and surrounding countryside. Until they’re found, we must assume they’re alive. If they’re dead, you will share their fate.”

Vachir saluted, weakness still causing his hands to shake. “Yes, sir. It will be done.”

They began their descent again, deeper into the mine shaft. Behind them, the group of air awakened followed, careful to keep their heads down in the presence of the next best thing to the Prophetess herself. Vachir broke the silence, inquiring, “And what of the survivors, my lord? We caught a handful. None older than twenty. Practically children.”

The Prophetess’ second in command waved away their fate with a simple gesture, “Kill them. They made their choice and chose to stand against the Prophetess. We don’t give second chances to traitors.”

Vachir shuddered at the thought. During the ongoing wars between the Warlord Alliance and the Free Citizens Federation, both sides avoided killing prisoners when possible; Choosing instead to ransom the captured for money, other prisoners, or any number of things.

Killing unarmed men and women was cruel, not to mention against the articles of war. Not that Her Highness cared for such things.

The Prophetess allowed the Alliance and Federation to quarrel among themselves as long as they kept their agreement to hand over any awakened citizens to her. The trenches bordering the short stretch of “no man’s land” between the two nations were the furnace by which every recruit was refined into a soldier.

Chancing that he wouldn’t fire Scieth’s rage again, Vachir interjected, “Sir, if I might make a suggestion; If Captain Rychist and the earth awakened are alive, wouldn’t it be better to keep the prisoners alive as well? Didn’t you say she would come for them? Also, one of them might be this friend of the earth awakened, Sasha.”

Lord Scieth stopped. He considered Vachir’s suggestion quietly. Finally, he inquired, “How many did we capture?”

Vachir, summoning his air awakened abilities, concentrated his powers outside the shaft. From beyond the walls of stone, he could sense them, “Four, sir.”

Scieth’s voice was ice. “And are any of them our primes?”

Vachir knew where this was going, “No, sir.”

“Then kill them all,” Scieth commanded. The same sick pleasure that Vachir had encountered with Prophetess was in his tone.

Vachir sighed inwardly. Perhaps, at least, it’s a better sentence than a life of slavery to the Prophetess.

“It will be done, sir.”

***

Vachir slammed the door behind himself and collapsed into his office chair. Finally, Lord Scieth had moved on to other matters, leaving the general a moment to himself.

Down the hall, he could still hear the man’s eerie voice as he chastised one of his awakened servants for some sleight against himself. Their footsteps rapidly faded into the distance.

His office was sparsely decorated. Although he had over a dozen commendations and more medals than he knew what to do with, Vachir had chosen a minimalist decorative scheme.

On the wall was a fading black and white photo of a younger Vachir accepting his promotion into the FCF officer corps. Next to it, the flag of his home country.

Upon his desk, a pile of papers waited for him. The reward for decades of service? More paperwork.

Three sharp knocks rapped on the door. Slightly relieved to be distracted from the bureaucratic mess waiting for him, Vachir summoned his rescuer, “Come in.”

Inside stepped his second in command and closest confidant, Lieutenant Colonel Sandra Mason. As always, the short blonde kept her hair in a tight bun at the crown of her head, expertly covering it with the traditional short, grey Kepi all Federation soldiers wore while on duty.

The lieutenant colonel was in perfect dress uniform and clean as a first day graduate; testament to her near cultish adherence to military code and professionalism. Where Vachir was the ever introspective warrior poet descended from commoners, his auxiliary was the epitome of aristocratic discipline and poise.

After quickly closing the door behind her, Lieutenant Colonel Mason snapped her heels and stood at rigid attention. Her husky voice echoed across the bare walls of General Vachir’s office, “Lieutenant Colonel Mason reporting as ordered, SIR!”

Vachir shook his head, trying to clear the ringing of her last word. Gesturing to one of the two chairs opposite of him, he replied, “Thank you, lieutenant colonel. At ease and please, take a seat. There’s no need to stand on traditions when that door is shut.”

The officer reluctantly took her seat. Even when sitting, her body was a picture of military perfection. She sat. back straight, hands folded, staring straight ahead. Vachir smiled, “Sandra, relax, please, before you pull something.”

The woman raised a questioning eyebrow. “I am relaxed, sir.”

I’d hate to see what stressed looks like then. Vachir nodded and leaned back in his office chair. Staring at his mountain of papers, he sighed and turned back to the lieutenant colonel. “Report.”

The officer nodded and began, “Ninth Battalion reports light casualties, twelve dead and twenty seven wounded, most in Third Company where the majority of the enemy divers landed.”

Vachir leaned forward, “Considering nearly a thousand men, your entire battalion, were assigned to the ambush, yes, I’m sure FedCom would call those acceptable losses.”

FedCom was the common name for the Federation Command - military wing of the Federation’s democratically elected government.

Vachir thought back to the short fight a few hours earlier. “I wish it could have been zero. And what of the prisoners? I… sensed a few were captured.”

Mason cleared her throat, “Yes sir, four of them. None surrendered willingly, of course. All suffered various injuries from rough landings. That’s the only reason we captured them in the first place. All are being treated in the infirmary under heavy guard and restraint.”

An awakend’s hands were their most potent weapon. Captured awaken had to be tightly bound to prevent them for using their powers.

Vachir closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What he had to say next went against everything he believed in. “Lieutenant colonel, I want you to take them outside and have them executed.” The words felt foreign, dirty.

Sandra blinked, “Sir?”

“You heard me, colonel. And assign a minimal detail to the task. No need to demoralize the troops.”

Sandra Mason recoiled, failing to hide her look of disgust. “But sir, that… that goes against the articles of war, not to mention it’s morally -”

Vachir dropped his heavy clipboard on the metal desk. The gust of air sent papers flying. “Dammit, don’t you think I know that, colonel?”

The lieutenant colonel stared in confusion. “Then sir, why? It’s strictly forbidden to execute unarmed soldiers, pirates or not, without a military tribunal first. Even then...”

Vachir was stoic. “The orders come from above me. I’m compelled to follow them.”

Lieutenant Colonel Mason shook her head. “Who would give that kind of order, sir? Even I can admit, FedCom makes some questionable decisions from time to time, but to order the execution of unarmed prisoners...”

Vachir’s expression was resigned as he spat the words out, “The order comes from Lord Scieth.” He sighed again and braced himself for what was coming.

Masons face went grey. Her usual image of calm was cracking underneath the heat of anger. With voice as cold as ice, she asked, “Permission to speak freely, sir?” He knew what she was going to say. And he agreed. “Always,colonel.”

The lieutenant colonel stood from her chair. As she paced the room, there was silence, aside from the clicking of her jackboots against the natural stone floor. After a few moments of inner dialog (he suspected), she turned to him. Her usual poise failing.

“General… sir… Vachir,” It was quite unlike the colonel to address the general by his name, even when speaking in private.

She had his unwavering attention. “you and I have both sworn oaths of allegiance to the Free Citizens Federation. I can name at least a dozen major engagements and countless incidents in which we fought side by side against the Alliance, Cannibals, and mercenaries, just to name a few.”

Vachir nodded for her to continue.

“Never, never in our twenty years of service together have I known you to go against your conscience. You are a man of integrity and honor. It’s why the men and I follow you, and we would march with you to gates of hell itself, heads held high, but to kill prisoners of war without trial? We aren’t barbarians, sir. We… you are better than that!”

The lieutenant colonel quickened her pacing. Her voice lowered to a whisper, “It’s that… that bitch. She holds us all by the balls, pardon the language,” He wondered to himself, what language? Balls or bitch?

She continued, “And yet, we call ourselves the Free Citizens Federation? What a sick joke. If anything, the governments of the Alliance and Federation are all just p-”

Vachir held up his hands, “I know, I know, colonel. We are all puppets of the Prophetess, and freedom is simply an illusion. I’ve heard it all before.” And he had. On the streets of the capital, amongst the troops, almost everywhere he turned. Hatred for the Holy Land and everything they stood for still burned, even all these years since the last rebellion.

The worst part was, he agreed with them.

The last great rebellion against the Holy Land had taken place over two hundred years before he was born. His great-great-grandfather had fought in that war. Millions died as the Warlord Alliance and Free Citizens Federation set aside old feuds temporarily to band together in a futile attempt to halt the advance of the Prophetess’ forces against their nations.

The Prophetess, determined to enslave the whole of Ruin, burned a swath across the desert, conquering the southlands within a single year.

Even when both nations surrendered unconditionally, she continued to bomb their burning cities in order to “burn a memory in their public consciousness that will last a hundred generations.”

If it weren’t for those technophiles in The Protectorate, we’d all be in chains, Vachir thought.

The most recent uprising had been just fifty years ago. A shell of the first rebellion, it was confined mostly to civilians and was put down quickly by the Prophetess’ forces and the reluctant soldiers of the Federation.

“Sir,” The lieutenant colonel stopped pacing and placed her hands on his desk, “I have to ask, where does your loyalty lie? The Prophetess, or the Federation?”

His integrity was everything to him. He’d argued the limits of the Prophetess’ influence over the Federation military, but this was the first time it felt personal. Vachir shot upwards from his chair. The rusting seat slammed against the far wall and bounced against the ground.

For a moment, fear flashed over the colonel’s face as her commanding officer uncharacteristically lost his cool.

His words were whispered but held the venom of frustration behind them, “Look me in the eyes, Sandra. What color are they?”

The woman stuttered for a moment, “Brown sir… I-”

“And what color would my eyes be if I was a… slave to … the Prophetess.” The last words bothered him. Even to speak them, he felt dirty.

Mason replied, subdued only slightly, “Grey-white, sir.”

“THAT should tell you everything you need to know concerning my loyalty. I serve Her Highness because we all must, but my loyalty is to our people,” he finished, already regretting his outburst. The lieutenant colonel stared at her feet. Something was bothering her, in fact, Vachir could feel it. A decision to be made was eating her up inside.

The temporary rush of adrenaline was passing. With trembling hands, he grabbed his second in command by the shoulders, “I’m sorry, Sandra.”

There was a storm blowing inside of his Lieutenant Commander’s heart.

Vachir had always been careful to avoid exposing his men to his awakened powers. Everyone knew what he was, but despite their unyielding loyalty, such displays set them on edge. Awakened were feared across ruin. Some for their destructive potential, but most for their connection to the Prophetess.

The war waging within Sandra Mason prompted him to break with personal convictions, “Lieutenant colonel… Sandra, as you know, I’m a prime of air. I try not to bring it up among non awakened. I know how much it bothers you all, but one thing I’m capable of is feeling the more intense emotions of others. Something is troubling you. I can feel it. It’s grating on you.”

His second looked up at him. “It’s just this senseless execution.”

Vachir shook his head, “No, colonel. It’s something else. A secret that, for whatever reason, you can no longer seem to hold back. Now, you aren’t obligated to tell me, but my intuition… my powers tell me you want to.” Sometimes, he hated himself for his gift. Using it on his own second in command seemed wrong. But, it was too late now.

Sandra was backed into a corner. He could feel the panic rising within. Trying to calm her, he tried again, “Sandra, we’ve fought side by side for over twenty years. I trust you with my life. Hell, you’ve saved it on plenty of occasions, and I believe I’ve returned the favor a few times myself. If you can’t trust me by now...”

Finally, his second in command relented, “General, there is something I need to tell you, but I’d be risking our friendship, my commission, possibly my life, and most importantly, the lives of those who’ve conspired with me.”

Vachir’s heart skipped a beat. Conspiring?

Vachir wandered to the overturned chair and picked it up. Setting it back behind his desk, he sat and motioned for Mason to do the same. “Talk to me, Sandra.” He could almost hear her heart beating out of her chest.

Through his powers of empathy, he felt her finally let go of the anxiety. It was a relief to him as much as her.

She began, still speaking in hushed tones, “Sir, there’s a revolution coming.”

Vachir couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Even a mention of revolution was completely out of character for his second in command, the absolute picture of order. He stared ahead, trying to hide his concern.

With each word, it became easier for her to speak. The weight on her soul lifted like a rising cloud. “For centuries, the armies of southern Ruin have been forced to operate under the heel of the Holy Land and its Prophetess. The FCF and Alliance kill each other in an endless blood feud while her Highness pulls the strings.”

Vachir remained silent as the lieutenant colonel continued, “We’ve been too busy fighting one another to see the real threat. Behind her high walls in Golden Spire, she sits, and waits, gathering her forces.”

Vachir interrupted, “I’d be remiss to remind you, I’m Her Highness’ liason to the armed forces of the FCF. If she were up to no good, I think I’d know. Well, actually, she’s always up to no good, I suppose, but you get what I mean.”

They shared a laugh. Vachir was happy to break the dark mood of their conversation. Even if it was only for a moment.

The moment passed, and Sandra Mason frowned at Vachir as she continued, “Yes. And I think I know how you’ve been kept in the dark for so long.”

Vachir crossed his arms and leaned back. “Pray, do tell, lieutenant colonel.”

His second in command leaned in. “Before I continue, promise me, what I say next doesn’t leave this room. I risk court martial for what I’m about to divulge.” Vachir considered her request… and the implications of even listening to it.

“Agreed.”

With a sigh of relief, Sandra continued her story, “For the past few years, I’ve been a member of a growing movement in the southern regions. We don’t have an official name. We just call ourselves The Resistance. The purpose of our movement has never been one of subversion of the state, but rather the destruction of the Prophetess’ hold over our nations.”

My most loyal soldier, an underground resistance fighter? How in the hell didn’t I see it?

His first impulse was to accuse her of treason and call for the guards. But he’d trusted her for years with his very life. Lieutenant Colonel Sandra Mason was a woman of deep convictions, a soldier to the core. He had to hear her out.

Had he been a few decades younger, the upstart youth in him would have jumped at the chance to involve himself in some greater cause. However, those years were gone. He looked like a man in his thirties, but being a prime, he was a good deal older. And wiser, he hoped.

She could see the wariness in his posture and quickened her words, “We believe your position as liaison is a farce. Her Highness keeps you as such, untouched by her mind control, to convince the military that she’s bridging the gap between awakened and the rest of mankind.”

The last of her reservations fell away as she concluded, “Dozens of resistance members died attempting to gather this information, but we finally got the proof we need.”

“What proof?”

“The prophetess is preparing a massive invasion, the likes of which the world has never seen.”

Vachir shook his head. “Invasion where? Who’s the target?”

The Lieutenant looked him dead in the eyes. “The Alliance, FCF, Protectorate...Humanity.”