"It is a far, far better thing I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest I go to than I have ever known."

Marilin felt nothing. Her mouth moved on its own, reciting a line that she had seen so many times when she was young, the cold mist of her breath forming a cloud of pale white that snared the air around her. Last breath, she thought, before her end. How ironically pragmatic.

The Spirit Strider cocked its head strangely, much like a bird that had only just realised it was being watched. It's fingers tensed, flexing on the handle of its giant sword- something that Marilin looked at intently, thinking it as perhaps, something that could save her. Something inside her told her that the Spirit Strider had noticed, even though it had not moved a millimetre.

The racket on the outside of the street had not stopped- still the air was filled with screams and shouts, each little voice wanting their say in something that they seemed to have no part in. Marilin imagined it as a festival, except one that was permeated by hatred and disgust instead of happiness. It had been a long time since she had been to a happy festival, anyhow. Now it was sunset- still. She has felt that she had been here for the last century, caught in a mental bind, when the events endangering her life had only been uncovered in the last few minutes.

A low hiss whipped into Marilin's ear, almost inaudible to any other person except one acquainted with Spirit Striders, who would recognize it in a heartbeat. She put one foot forward as she faced the giant with determination which she didn't know stemmed from stupidity, or- stupidity.

---

Marilin remembered once- when she was a child- what it meant to speak up in a world cloaked by oppression so thick it felt as if it could be cut with a knife. It had been a chilly Shinevaarean morning trip to the food stamp office- a rarity for her, as she rarely left the house due to her frail condition. She was clothed in coats far too big for her, hanging down almost to her feet, inside a large woollen shawl that was older than herself and meant to protect against the bitter cold that drove so many to despair. She clutched her mother's hand through layers of gloves, as if it were a beacon in an unending downpour of confusion and the insufferable cold.

There was already a ragged crowd gathered in front of a little shed- no semblance of order, no lines, no groups- simply a congregation of people, equally desperate for the assurance that tomorrow was a reality and not a bleak dream.

In the snow piled courtyard, there was a ruckus of noise, something which Marilin remembered her mother mentioning was unusual in the usually silent and grim procession.

"My, my… my grain!" A shallow voice rang out in the silence, buffeted by the constant wind. "No…no, no…why me?"

"My grain? Your grain?" The callous laugh came from what looked like the ringleader in a group of women, face covered by a thin veneer of mock compassion. "This one is so, so nice, eh? Don't worry, mister- I'll be feeding my son with this. He'll become a soldier and serve the nation, while the cripple you have at home is better off starving than being more of a burden!"

The man, kicked to the ground, contracted as a volley of hits and the unstoppable onslaught of the cold drove him closer to nothing but death. His sack of rations, spilled, was hastily picked up by passers-by. The crowd reminded Marilin of the black birds in the summertime that cackled around the carcass of a stray that had died the previous night.

"That's right," jeered another woman in the crowd. "Stay there. We'll be taking your rations to feed our children. Better off this food be used on people who will be useful, not you useless do- nothings hiding in that hole that you call a library."

"Oh, we must save the books! Pass the knowledge of the past to the future!" another voice mimicked in a crackly voice, from a figure that Marilin wasn't tall enough to see. "Stop it, old man. Your useless books are nothing but cooking fuel for my stove."

Another poorly-aimed kick turned the man over, emptying the contents of his knapsack to the sheet white ground.

"Oh, by the heavens!" The same ringleader again, Marilin thought. "Cooking fuel!" A gleeful laugh followed as the women scrambled to pick up the books and sheaths of paper that had fallen to the ground. Books, books of all colours, sizes, thickness- treasures- cleaned, hoarded and saved, only to befall a fate in the greedy tongues of some fire.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

"Stop."

Marilin's voice was only heard from an absence of almost all other sound, as gazes slowly, but surely, levelled to her direction.

"If you can't appreciate them, give them to me."

A fleeting expression of shock was replaced by a cackle and a grin as the group of women threw up their hands, or turned around and laughed. Marilin's mother tugged on her hand. Hard.

"Oh my, oh my! Such big words for such a little girl!" sneered the woman. "Your mother must be so proud of you!" She faced Marilin's mother, whose face remained stoic, face betraying nothing. She returned to Marilin, finger aimed accusingly. "Didn't your mother ever teach you manners? To not disturb your elders? To not question authority? Foolish child!" She turned around, foot swinging around to trip Marilin over in the process.

"Arrogant girl."

Marilin dared not to reply, her mouth full of snow and dirt. Her only comfort came from the man still writhing in the snow, who she imagined would be smiling. Her happy thoughts, however, came to an end as her mother fished her up from the ground, dragging her home in spite of her bloody nose. Without the rations.

---

"Never leave on a sortie without the battery for your point defence system fully charged. A single shell from an old-world tank could cripple you in a matter of seconds." She faced her adversary with a face of forced bravery, waves of regret forming inside of her almost immediately. "Disabling it, if this was a combat situation, would be the same as jettisoning your craft."

Relief rushed through her as her attempt at arrogance miraculously proved successful, producing a laugh over a speaker that was very, very much human. Although only two Spirit Strider units patrolled the entire city, her instructor had informed her that most of the time they were run on autopilot, leading to swift and brutal punishment for the slightest infraction. Human pilots, whilst not angels, were far more compassionate.

"Indeed, you are right." said a voice, tone surprisingly jubilant and cordial. "With ears and a mind like that, you will make the cut to become a pilot one day- no doubt."

A loud creak resounded through the air as the cockpit hatch slid back, revealing a male police pilot, brown hair falling in spikes down onto a face that Marilin could easily imagine if someone asked her to picture what an optimistic person looked like. Dressed in police garb with a white cloth tied across his head, covering his right eye, he did not seem so particularly out of place. One thing was for certain- even five meters up, with the hands still on the controls that could very well end her life, the single blue eye that looked at her made her feel at rest, nearly strangling any trace of fear that had been gripping her before.

"About before…don't worry about it. I'm not even on duty- this Strider just needs to be driven to the warehouse for the night, that's all." He flashed a grin at Marilin, still cheerful to the point of being uncanny. "Sorry if I scared you. I usually don't realise how dull I sound when I talk using the intercom, and some people take it the wrong way."

"Oh…oh…it's alright. I'm fine." beamed Marilin, relief and surprise flooding over her like rain during a typhoon. "It's quite alright, and…thank you." She patted down her clothes, flushed and in a hurry, thinking about how much of an idiot she looked like.

"Thank you for what? Oh, whatever." the pilot laughed uneasily, suddenly understanding just how far his little muse went for the person standing in front of him. "Bonjour, privyet, hello- I'm Alec. Sorry for springing on you like that- if I knew it would've shook you up that much, I wouldn't have." He leaned on the control panel as he gazed down, smiling so much in spite of the commotion in the background. "Here, let's shake hands, embrace, put stuff behind us, whatever is trendy right now."

"People have been shaking hands for centuries now." Marilin looked upwards, compounding on the useless thought of who looked more stupid in the current situation.

"Oh really? Ha…alright. Sorry, I've never been out of Shiinevaar, not once in my twenty five years. Let's just make up, shall we?" A deft movement caused the Spirit Strider to sheath it's sword and lean downward, it's hand positioned next to the cockpit. Alec popped out with a single thrust, showing Marilin a young man of slight build, uniform pressed neatly and badged adorned with a face full of pride. The most salient part of the figure, however, was the persistent smile that looked so permanent that Marilin thought Alec's face looked a little like a fashion prop. Police pilot? Rookie.

Alec extended a gloved hand, which like the rest of his garb, was immaculate. White, smooth and without a single crease, Marilin began to have speculations on how a pilot's clothing could stay so perfect after a few minutes, no less a full police shift that probably consisted of a few hours. They shook hands, scanning their tag with each other’s glove in the process.

"Student, huh? You look young. How many years in? I don't even think I learnt to remember the sound of a deactivating point defence system until right after I left the Academy…so you would be in your last year, correct?" said Alec, forcing a laugh. He coughed, realising suddenly he was monologuing.

"No…no…I'm in my third year, actually."

"What? No-"

Alec's inevitable cheery response was cut in his throat.

A ripple of gunfire- undoubtedly heavy arms- slashed through the cacophony of the protest. Alec and Marilin, both trained to be soldiers, reacted almost instantly, facing the source, Marilin pacing backwards and Alec re-entering the cockpit in a single fluid motion. The crackle of fire died almost instantly- the barrage had lasted no more than two seconds.

"Stay behind me." warned Alec, voice cut with a sharp tone that seemed very, very out of place in a supposedly optimistic character.

Marilin obliged, and the both of them slowly crept towards the entrance of the alleyway, soft boots splashing in puddles of dirty water and a pair of mechanical legs hissing as it groaned at the ground beneath it. Both tread in synchrony in the dark, confined space, never stopping as their curiosity wrested with their fear. Now there was no uproar, no screams, or shouts- now there was silence, emphasized solely by its previous absence.

What they saw as they exited the alleyway may have only lasted a few seconds, but both Alec and Marilin knew that it would last and never fade off the screens of history books.