Bang! The body of a Confederation soldier crumbles, falling on his back as the rifle drops out of his hands. Wisps of smoke float up from his forehead, slowly fading into the dry, hot air. Around him, slumped over behind rocks, are other soldiers, their lifeless bodies still tense, fingers occasionally still twitching. Fragments of pebbles are lodged inside them, puncturing arteries and fracturing bones. The sturdy rocks, supposedly their places of shelter, are riddled with tiny holes, burnt cracks just barely forming around the holes.

“That should be all of them,” Tarak reports through his comms, “Our area is clear.” He looks at his rifle, the muzzle smoking from the rapid, concentrated fire earlier. It’s taking a toll. He had tinkered with it a few weeks before heading out into the battlefield with Rasu’s permission, increasing the output of energy per shot and thus creating more concentrated beams, making it more of a sniper rifle than a standard one. Still, such custom fixes come with its own risks, and he soon found the rifle to be more prone to overheating. It would be a wonder if it survives the next few weeks.

“As expected,” the voice of Rasu responds, the sound buzzing slightly, “Have some rest. Both of you deserve it.”

“How long do we have to wait until a counterattack?” Tarak asks, “We have been so-called ‘strategically retreating’ for months now.”

“The preparations are complete. We only need an opening.”

“And what opening will we see when we are outnumbered at every front?”

“Have confidence, Tarak. We won’t be falling back for long.” The comms cut off, leaving Tarak silent, facing the newly created graveyard in front of him. Kavlina sits quietly nearby, a pile of pebbles at her feet as she examines the blade of her knife, wiping the dust away with a fallen leaf.

“What day is it today?” Kavlina asks, beads of sweat dripping from her neck.

“We’ve been holding out in this post for at least two days, possibly more, since the thirtieth day of the third month, so I think it’s now the first day of the fourth month?” Tarak answers with a hint of uncertainty.

“That explains the heat.” Sighing, Kavlina stands and approaches the enemy corpses, salvaging their belongings before piling their bodies together in a ditch. One by one, she carries the enemy’s helmets to their temporary bunker, placing them in rows like trophies. She counts them, marking each helmet with a light scratch of her knife.

“Forty seven,” she concludes, turning to Tarak. Huffing in the shadowless day, he shovels the dirt and soil into the ditch, filling it and leaving only a wide, short mound, marked with the rifle of one of the dead. Forty seven deaths. Forty seven families broken. Forty seven individuals snatched by the war.

“Did you ever think about these soldiers, Kavlina?” Tarak mentions, “Behind each helmet, there is a face not very different from ours. At least, there was a face.”

“I hadn’t thought about them before, and neither will I begin now,” Kavlina answers, “They are the enemy. They deserve to be killed by us, and us by them. That is all.”

“You have a point.” Munching on the rations he had just acquired from a dead soldier, Tarak returns to the bunker, taking a seat on the dirt roof as Kavlina scrapes off the soil from her armor. Since Avalel disappeared in battle, their conversations have never been beyond several sentences in length. It is more or less their fault, really. They see each other as comrades in war, nothing more. For Squad Rasu, the soldiers whom they had fought side by side since they became fully-fledged soldiers, they have either perished at the front lines or removed to strategic duties alongside Rasu himself. There was no mourning, only a nod when they received the news of dead comrades.

As for Rasu, he has become entirely different since the battle of the Pass. A brilliant general, but isolated and grim. Despite his open disdain for the government, he still leads the troops on, commanding them with not fiery words, as he may have done in the past, but in simple, horrifically accurate commands. Any who even detach slightly from his orders found themselves either killed or maimed by the enemy. He is no longer the energetic, charismatic squad leader they knew, but an intelligent, somewhat crazy, but heartless general.

Kavlina remembers the mass of propaganda in the days immediately after the battle, a desperate attempt to calm the people’s hearts. She remembers a certain poster of their weapons against the mob of the Confederation. She remembers the portraits of Rasu dotted across the city of Thille, citing his past achievements for the New Rule. However, none shocked her as much as the depictions of Avalel himself, the soldiers heralding him as the protector of the Pass and a courageous, albeit tragic sacrifice for the New Rule. They had managed to salvage a few photos of Avalel before battle, his young yet mature face brimming with determination, displaying them to the people of the New Rule. They marketed, advertised him as some sort of hero, saving the lives of many soldiers, and indirectly, preventing Thille itself from immediate destruction. They even released what was supposed to be confidential footage from several soldier’s helmets, recording every moment of Avalel’s barrier protecting them from the line of fire. To Kavlina, Avalel has become some sort of savior, idolized by the soldiers and admired by the people, instead of the orphaned, supportive friend she has grown used to for four years.

She didn’t understand then. Why Avalel? That is, until she received news of Rasu’s rift with the civilian government. To use Avalel as the focal point of the propaganda campaign out of spite was quite stupid. It could’ve been Rasu himself, who took over the armies in an injured state and still managed to organize a strong retreat. It could’ve been Bairuel, Rasu’s dear friend, using his subtle, unsung heroics as Rasu’s primary pillar support. It could’ve been any of them, but Rasu had to choose Avalel.

Somehow, the campaign worked. The people, formerly devastated from the defeat, now rally as they flock to volunteer themselves in the military. Seeing the Anapadeia with their own eyes, they no longer fear it or view it as a reminder of the monarchy, but the key to their salvation. In a few short days, Rasu had managed to unite the people under his banner, preparing for the inevitable attack from their enemies.

She only hopes his masterful use of propaganda will not be exploited elsewhere.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Kavlina finds herself muttering.

“What is?” Tarak responds, confused.

“Lel being hailed as a hero,” Kavlina states, “Even when he has completely disappeared.”

“If he had received this fame earlier, perhaps we could have gotten a promotion?” Tarak jokes.

Kavlina is silent, staring emptily at Tarak.

“Oh. That wasn’t funny, was it?” Tarak turns his head away in disappointment. They quietly eat their food, utilizing this small time and space of peace and tranquility. For them, it is merely another day of battle, the feeling not unlike a day for a citizen in Thille or Achien.

The sound of boots approaches behind them, thudding against the ground. As they turn, they find two new faces nervously waving at them, armed with the standard gear of soldiers. On the left is a man, his arms muscular, carrying a bag of supplies. On the left is a woman, her eyes narrowed as if she is studying the two carefully. Although by looks alone, they seem to be older than both Tarak and Kavlina, their stiff movement and the inconvenient placement of their weapons suggest that they are new, poorly trained recruits.

“Are you two Tarak and Kavlina?” the woman asks, hiding her anxiety.

“Yes. And you two are Farus and Nasais?” Tarak responds. He remembers reading through the basic information of another pair of soldiers coming to replace the night posts of two previously injured soldiers. They did not have particularly outstanding achievements, even in their civilian lives, but at least they can lessen his and Kavlina’s burdens ever since they had to cover both day and night shifts for a couple of days.

“Yes. We’ll be taking care of the night shift,” the man, Farus, replies.

“I heard you two were part of the squad that Avalel was in,” Nasais says, “Was he actually only sixteen years of age?”

“Yes, just a little younger than me,” Kavlina answers blankly.

“So brave already at such a young age…” Nasais’ mouth opens in awe, “Using such exotic and amazing skills too…” Her voice trails off.

“It’s what we all call ‘magic’, for a lack of a better word,” Tarak explains, “It’s very difficult to learn…”

“No it’s not,” Kavlina interrupts, “You just channel your surrounding energy into a concentrated spot and release it.”

“Are you sure?” Nasais challenges, “The footage from the battlefield seems to show only Avalel utilizing such skills.”

Calmly, Kavlina picks up a pebble from the ground. Throwing it up into the air, she suddenly swings her knife, and the pebble disappears, only a thok in the distance as a tree trembles, its trunk leaning back until it snaps, collapsing onto the ground. She blows onto the blade, removing the scorched dust from the metal.

“To imbue, to charge, to release,” Kavlina recites confidently, echoing the words of the deceased Taravi. “While you trained in Thille for basic combat skills, I have improved my utilization of the limitless energy around me.” Another flick of her knife, and a pebble grazes the left shoulder plate of Nasais, erasing a small chunk of metal from existence.

“Did Avalel teach you?” Nasais asks, stunned by the fearful demonstration before her.

“No, I simply taught myself.”

“Kavlina!” Tarak reminds her.

“Taravi did teach us, but only the basics.” Kavlina looks at Nasais, her tired, emotionless face unmoved by the irritation of Nasais. “I can teach you, perhaps,” she adds, “As I have taught Lel how to fight.” She smirks, bearing down on Nasais.

“You arrogant…” Nasais growls.

“Calm down!” Farus steps in between Nasais and Kavlina, dropping his supplies. “We’re here to help them, Nasais,” he says, “Not to argue with them.”

“She’ll never see the potential Lel once held, anyway,” Kavlina scoffs.

“Kavlina!” Tarak warns before turning to the newcomers. “I’m sorry for Kavlina’s attitude,” he apologizes, “We’ll head for a reconnaissance mission for a little while.”

“But your rest…” Farus calls out.

“That can wait,” Tarak replies quickly. He drags Kavlina onto her feet, grabbing his rifle before heading out into the dry plains, dotted with craters and littered with dead bodies. There are only a few trees in sight, the leaves hugging close to their branches instead of offering shade to the grass below. The Elyfesta dips below some low hills, finally giving them the cover and protection of night. Gradually, the bunker, just a small bulge in the land, disappears from sight as they begin their reconnaissance.

“What’s this for?” Kavlina asks, “We didn’t need this reconnaissance mission.”

“Your attitude is returning,” Tarak says, “You could say this is a walk to calm you down.”

“Fair enough.”

Tarak notices Kavlina’s sunken eyes, no doubt the consequence of a lack of sleep. Her mouth spitting out the ends of her unkempt hair blown in from the wind. Her filthy hands twirling, spinning her knife in boredom. Her feet slow, shuffling in the grass. In the dimming light, she is like a vengeful ghost in ancient folklore, wandering the plains, searching for someone to take revenge.

“Lel is not some sort of supernatural being,” Kavlina finally says firmly, “I didn’t like how she is almost idolizing him, seeing him as some sort of perfect savior. That’s why I responded.”

“That’s rare for you to be so direct,” Tarak notices, “Are you jealous?”

“No.” Kavlina’s voice turns into a monotone, as if attempting to ignore Tarak entirely.

“Maybe, over time, you can prove your own ability to them.” Tarak smiles, amused at the reaction of his friend.

“I only wish for Lel to return to us,” Kavlina refutes, “Not as some legendary figure, but as our friend.”

“I only wish that he is alive,” Tarak says.

As they move forward and over another hill, they encounter a field of tall grass, reaching up to their faces, tickling their cheeks. Ruffling the plants, they begin to move cautiously, putting on their helmets and activating the sensors within their armor to compensate for their limited visibility.

“How far are we from the bunker?” Tarak asks, a map of the surrounding area appearing before his visor.

“Not far to our southeast. We can still make it back by midnight.”

To Tarak’s surprise, there is no sign of conflict in the area despite being only a short distance away from their bunker. The grass, although yellow at the tips and cracks easily with pressure, seems to be untouched for quite some time, leaving not even a little patch of empty soil. As they move forward, they can only hear their own movements ruffling the grass, their boots trampling on the dirt. The tranquility of the environment is too unnatural, lacking even the common squeaks and calls of nocturnal creatures.

“Don’t you think it’s a little eerie?” Tarak says, turning to Kavlina. Or at least where Kavlina should’ve been. Her boot prints disappear just as the height of the grass begins to wane, with not even a trace further. Tarak stretches his arms, wishing that it is but a hallucination, but there is only air and blades of grass.

“Kavlina?” he calls out in worry, but there is no answer. Suddenly, a hand reaches out from nowhere, grabbing him by his wrist. As he gasps in shock, the hand pulls him towards the shorter grass, exposing him to the flat plains once more. Tarak panics, grabbing the mysterious hand as he tries to free himself. Instead, he feels his legs being knocked off balance before an elbow or an arm presses on his chest, pinning him firmly to the ground.

“Kavlina?” he realizes, looking at the figure pinning him down. He relaxes, his frantic heartbeat finally slowing down.

“Did you not hear me?” Kavlina questions, “You were just standing there before me, looking around as if I disappeared.”

“But I didn’t see you!” Tarak protests.

“You couldn’t see me on this type of terrain?” She pats the spiky, populous grass below her, “The grass here doesn’t even grow beyond our ankles.”

Tarak looks at her in confusion. It is exactly the same grass he has looked at for a short while, but instead of emptiness, Kavlina is there. The environment is far livelier, the creatures all making a cacophony of sounds. It is almost as if he has entered into an entirely different world.

“Wait,” Kavlina says, “I’ll return to the tall grass for a short moment. Try calling for my name.” Standing up, she walks until she just faces the tall grass before turning around. She paces around, stepping in and out with her feet and seeming to observe something.

“You can call for me now!” she cries.

“Kavlina!” Tarak responds. There is no reaction from Kavlina, only a sort of light anticipation from her posture.

“Kavlina!” Tarak shouts, yet there is still no answer.

Finally, Kavlina returns, sitting down beside Tarak. “I’ve figured it out,” she announces satisfactorily.

“Figured out what?”

“Did you call for my name?”

“I shouted. Twice.” Tarak stares at Kavlina in deep confusion. Just what is she doing?

“As expected. I didn’t see or hear you from my position.”

“But I could see and hear you clearly from here!”

“Look.” Kavlina leads Tarak again, stopping just short of the tall grass. As she takes another step, a small ripple seems to emerge from her boot, creating little vertical waves in the air. Although her boot can be seen, even as she stamps on the ground, it is completely silent.

“There’s a barrier of sorts that divide here and the outside,” Kavlina concludes.

“How have we never noticed?” Tarak asks.

“It is in a wasteland, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the enemy has set up headquarters here.

“Should we continue onwards then?”

“If you want,” Kavlina sighs, “But it looks like we won’t be able to enjoy our sleep.”

They walk on, but their minds have already begun exploring the area. The sensors have not yet given any warning, but the two are already tense, their hands preparing to reach for their weapons. It is strange. A previously unnoticed barrier appearing before their eyes yet no reaction from any of their devices. The sudden change in the environment from a dead, quiet atmosphere to one brimming with life. Even the air is different, the inside of the barrier feeling fresher and clear of the stale taste of war.

“Look,” Tarak stops, pointing at a group of small huts in the distance. “Civilization.” He looks at the map, but there is only a display of an empty field in their area. There is not even a name. Even from that distance, Tarak could see the flickering flames from a torch of sorts, illuminating the immediate area,

“It is too odd,” Kavlina states quietly.

“Should we report this to Rasu?”

“It would help to have more of us examine this area.”

“Let’s return here tomorrow.” They turn back, pondering what they had just seen with their own eyes. Nearby, a half-buried stone pillar, lying on its side and camouflaged by the grass, lays silently at its resting place, a pale blue gem shining from its collapsed roof.