Where am I?

I remember fighting that unknown bulwark at the school. Then getting stabbed while saving Holt. The bayonet went right through my V-18's armor. After that I sat down, and ...

I can't really remember anything else. I was bleeding though. Bleeding heavily. Its just like what happened six years ago. I did something that I was not supposed to do. I didn't owe Holt anything. My life would be much easier if she just disappeared, but I went on to save her anyway. Taking on her burden. Paying the price of compassion. Iros must be laughing at me right now. Or would the Goddess of Mercy say that I had made her proud? I don't care either away. I wish I had never drawn Iros's gaze upon me in the first place. Things were so much simpler when the Divines and I would correspond through an Operator.

My eyes open, and I realize that I am lying in a field of gold, a veritable sea made out of wheat gently swaying in the wind. In front of me is a small altar, with a painting of a blond twin tailed girl dressed in overalls covered in muck enshrined within. The girl's eyes shine with good humor and her smile is filled with warmth. The backdrop of the painting is a farm, and the girl kneels in the dirt pulling out sweet potatoes, not caring about the hard work or the fact she is getting her beautiful face all dirty.

Serusha, goddess of the land. Working tirelessly to keep the land fertile and our harvests plentiful.

I hate her.

Not because Serusha did anything to wrong me personally. I never really had a deep connection with her, despite the goddess being the patroness of my family. The only time we would communicate would be during the twice a year trips my family would make to the transmission station in the Citadel, where we would put in the usual prayers to the Goddess. 'Great Serusha, please protect our crops and grant us a big harvest'. That would be our prayer just after the seeds were planted. Once the crops were taken in, we would be all 'Oh thank you Great Serusha, thank you so much'.

Serusha generally held up her end of the bargain. The harvests from my family's were bountiful. We were basically swimming in golden wheat every year. I credit Serusha for something else though. A crash course in market economics.

The more there is of something, the less valuable it becomes. And with Serusha blessing not just my family's farm, but almost every other farmer, our produce was getting worth less on market every year. It was getting to the ludicrous point that the Leader had begun giving away food for free in the Citadel. There was just so much grain, vegetables and meat available. Fish was a different matter though. The Citadel was land locked so all ocean produce had to be imported.

We really should have just given up the farm and become fisher folk instead.

Anyway, I was too young to really work any of this out on my own at the time. All I knew is that every year, the treats we would buy from the stores at the Citadel would be less and less. The clothes my family wore would grow ragged from being mended too many times. And my parents along with the other villagers would hold increasingly tense meetings with the priestesses from the Cathedral.

My feet take me across the fields of gold and I see several priestesses marching around the our family's land, praying with barely contained intensity. As a girl, I thought the priestesses looked stupid when doing this. The expressions on their faces were meant to be solemn, but I got the impression that the whole lot of them looked constipated and badly needed more fiber in their diet. I hadn't realized the significance of what was going on at the time.

.....

"They look like they need to take a dump daddy." I say. My father just shushes me in response. The other villagers and their families are gathered around us, looking on in silence. Eventually the priestesses complete their circuit around our patch of land and the Lay Mother Superior approaches us.

"It is done." the Lay Mother says, "That's the last field consecrated. The Fallen will not be able to spawn over the fields for at least a few more years."

"Thank you Lay Mother." my father offers her hand to the priestess who accepts it in a firm shake. We all remember what happened to the neighboring village when they decided not to keep up with the consecrations. The Fallen airdropped straight into the fields and began their rampage. The Militia and Valkyries arrived soon after and drove the Fallen back, but by then, more than half of the village was dead.

"There is a question of your contribution to the Cathedral though." the Lay Mother's voice trails of meaningfully.

"We can't pay in cash." my father mutters, "You'll need to accept payment in kind."

"I understand." the Lay Mother nods sagaciously, waiting for my father's offer.

My father sighs in relief, "Help yourselves to our harvest. Take as much as you want."

"Crops alone cannot support the Cathedral." the Lay Mother shakes her head sadly, "You know that as well as I do, sir."

"The price will rise soon. I guarantee it." Father insists, "Just hold on to the produce for one, maybe two months."

"Have you forgotten what happened to Johnson?" the Lay Mother immediately hushes Father, "I'll forget what you said just now, but please, no more of this kind of nonsense."

It's as if an electric shock passes through Father and the rest of the villagers. Everyone remembers Johnson and her family. Its the whole reason why father became the village's representative. Johnson owned the largest plot of land in the village and every year she would bring in the biggest harvests. One day, in the town hall meeting, she claimed to have figured out a way to solve all our financial problems. There was a big hub dub and all the adults were locked in the hall for hours on end debating Johnson's idea.

When the meeting was over, mother and father ran back to our farm and began pouring kerosene over most of our harvested crops. They even got my siblings to join in while I was looking on in the background, too small to even lift the canisters of fuel. The process was repeated throughout the village, families burning their crops, leaving a tiny remainder to be shipped off to the Citadel for sale.

A few days later, we were woken up at the crack of dawn by the sound of jet engines. When mother ran out of the house to investigate, she was slugged in the face by a Red Rose Eliminator. The Red Roses stormed each and every house, dragging away the adults and bringing them to the town hall. Hours passed and as evening began to approach, the Red Roses built a scaffold just outside the town hall. Johnson and her husband were led out of the building and the Eliminators proclaimed that they had 'threatened food security'.

Both of them were hanged shortly after that.

Mother was led out next. Apparently she was one of Johnson's biggest supporters. She was hanged as an accomplice. I stopped paying attention after that as the executions continued.

When it was all over, Johnson's land was divided between the remaining villagers and father was named the new village representative by the Roses. He knew better than to refuse. But nothing was solved that day. We kept getting bountiful harvests, and we kept getting poorer.

And that was why the 'nonsense' as the Lay Mother Superior had put it, was being considered once again.

"Then what do you suggest?" Father asks the Lay Mother, as the villagers standing behind us shuffle their feet uneasily.

"The Cathedral can ease your burdens sir." the Lay Mother spreads her arms, "The divines grant life to your fields. We will accept life in return."

"No." Father says with surprising heat, his grip on my shoulder tightening.

"Kindness can take many forms." the Lay Mother says, "Your situation as it is now is untenable. They will be guaranteed a future this way."

"What kind of future?" a woman shouts from somewhere behind us, sounding close to tears.

"Laborers mainly. They'll be fed and clothed by the Leader." the Lay Mother explains, "Those that show promise will of course be meant for better things. Like the chorister of Haiwal for instance."

"Really?" Father exclaims in surprise.

"Really." the Lay Mother affirms, "I'm not guaranteeing anything, but the position of Haiwal's chorister is traditionally reserved for one of the levies."

"That's just one position though!" the woman shouts again, "What about the rest of them?"

"As long as they work hard and show potential," the Lay Mother nods, "they will be granted their rewards in due course. Far more than what you can provide for them here."

"We need them to help tend to the crops." Father objects weakly, clearly wavering.

"Some of them are too young." the Lay Mother looks meaningfully at me, "Can you survive long enough until they become of age?"

Father's hand lifts from my shoulder.

....

I accept the Lay Mother's proffered hand and she leads me through the fields of gold, away from Serusha, away from the village, away from my family. Is my life passing before my eyes? Am I dying? I follow the priestesses as we walk down a dirt path and the road eventually takes us to a building. An ugly block like construction, that stands in rude contrast to its rural surroundings.

The Garden.

The Lay Mother presses a yellow rose into my hand and gestures towards the door of the Garden. I walk forward and try the building's door. Its firmly locked but I am becoming used to the logic of this dream. I insert the yellow rose into the keyhole and turn. There's a click and the door smoothly opens, granting me entry. Its dark inside. Dark and stinking of filth. I hold my breath and take my first steps in.

There's a wet chopping sound coming somewhere in the distance, accompanied by an occasional sob. Fear trills down my spine. I remember this. I know this. I want to turn back, but my feet keep carrying me forward. The chopping sound grows steadily louder. I walk stiffly towards a set of stairs and soon I am standing on the threshold of a door leading to the basement. Another sob breaks the monotony of the chopping noises.

Let me go. I don't want to see this.

The door creaks open and I am greeted by the sight of a beast man sprawled across the ground, holding the body of a woman tightly, his fox tail twitching from the tension. Both of them turn around and shrink back when they see me, their faces obscured in the darkness, but I can see tears dripping down the cheeks.

But the pair is not what the dream wants to show me.

In the center of the room are a pair of Valkyries in full bulwark. One of them lies on the floor, bleeding from multiple wounds as the other slashes away at the body with her sword. Sparks fly as the blade slices through the bulwark and blood oozes across the ground. But the Valkyrie with the sword does not stop. She brings the blade down again and again and again, her chest heaving from tiredness, the motion drawing my attention to the pilot's name stenciled on the armor.

DUMA

The spectacle is interrupted by a clapping noise as a figure emerges from the darkness. An old woman clad in rags with a hood obscuring a face. Bony hands clap slowly at the show unfolding in front of us. A sibilant voice whispers in my head.

You do me proud Olivia.

"Get away from me!" I shout desperately backing up.

The old woman raises a bowl of dirty water as she continues to speak.

But your work is not done yet.

The water is splashed all over my face, icy cold, shattering the nightmare into infinite fragments.

Now awaken.

.....

"AAAHHH!" I shout, lurching up from the bed.

Holt who is seated on a chair by the side of my cot, snorts unhappily as her own nap is disturbed and regards me with bleary eyes.

"Huh. Lieutenant. Awake finally." Holt mutters, "A lot has happened while you were recovering."

"But first, welcome back to the land of the living."