The will of the brave paves the path of the future.

This quote had origins that extended to years before the war.

It stood a doctrine of relentless duty that permeated every soul. Each individual knew these words before their name—taught that complacency is the greatest of sins. The children of the Southern territory, raised in tandem, aware that a failure in progression meant ancestral guilt.

One’s sense of duty is not a mere suggestion but a binding oath, etched into the very fabric of their being. Every passing century, their duty became more ingrained, more unyielding. The inhabitants of the south, Ankh-Ra and Ke Chiné alike; compelled to purge their circles of any hinted complacency.

A drive that existed with fanatical glee.

Though a failure to uphold drew no consequence, the desire for perfection resulted in it being personally policed. For it, the civilians thrived on the cycle of self-vigilance. A testament to the complex mixing of community and the lack thereof.

For those of the south the statement evolved from that of motivation to that of survival, morphing into an excuse for the unadjusted to go on without mourning. A line of alterations that have been forgotten by the fallen, but for long living Ankh-Ra like Kamet, the original meaning remained the foothold of his decision making.

Being an elder to even the Astras he had seen conflicts carry every reason.

From minor territorial disputes, down to the planetary split that led him to Garig.

He remembered the days when the disagreements between the Astras and Titan kind were young. Back to when mortality was an expectation of all sentient beings.

A scuffle born as a result of individual dispute.

Both races picked their sides with tribalistic reasoning.

At the time everyone believed that a resolution wouldn’t be far behind. Days turned into weeks; titans were imprisoned and tortured. Weeks turned into months and every race was forced to pick a side. Months into years and the world was divided into North and South. Garig once the only remaining haven now made a warzone.

Two millennia gone—there have been lives born and lost without knowing the silence of peace.

If he knew that the disagreement would devolve the planet into a state of perpetual bloodshed; he would have done the future a service and killed them both.

For much of recorded history, Kamet lived unaffected by the marching of time.

Now with most of his comrades gone or dying, his resilience began showing signs of erosion. The weight of his duty, once a source of strength had turned into a crushing burden. A responsibility that made his moonlights long and his sunrises endless.

The faces of his fallen friends haunted his daydreams, their eyes faintly glowing with accusations of betrayal as he lived beyond their perish. Each day, his own eyes grew darker, and the bronze of his skin became less dense as the cycle of inner turmoil completed another revolution.

There was a time when he fully believed that his people could stop the war, there was a time when he was part of the alliance and became an ambassador for the Titans. He had felt no greater joy than when the Astran Empire agreed to settle the territorial dispute of Garig.

For those twenty years of ceasefire, he believed that this was truly the end.

Yet everyone aligned with the peace talks was massacred in the Blood River.

All but him, a relic of both periods of peace, lived in a world of barbarians on both sides.

Kamet bundled his thoughts, drawing coherence from the silence of his leader's chamber. In the corner of the room sat an unkept bed. The custom-made structure made larger than most homes on the outskirts of the capital. Of course, to fit the frame of their leader, they needed to make it scale.

Even though titans needed no rest or nourishment, his subjects were more than happy to honour the request. The involved parties seemed to channel the only thing greater than their desire for perfection: their questionless loyalty.

Kamet’s eyes drew attention to the back of his leader.

A figure once revered as a symbol of revolution. He stood on the balcony, overlooking the capital. This was an image that Kamet walked in to see many times. Hours are lost mulling over the everyday lives of the civilians below.

This was the being that convinced the Ankh-Ra to join the southern territories while the war was young. This very Titan was the living embodiment of defiance against oppression and a voice for those who lacked the spirit to speak.

As the last titan south of Garig, he now lived as the embodiment of a broken spirit. The reincarnations of his comrades scattered about the world, unable to reach out to him.

Kamet stared at the scarred titan. Even with his darkened skin, he could see gashes and wounds under nightfall. Within those cuts existed the many defended lines and souls saved, honoured by the sacrifices of the brave.

As the eldest living Ankh-Ra, he knew not of a soul braver than the one referred to as the Sky Lance.

Yet, here in the tower, the two old souls stood imprisoned by their sense of duty.

“Riiza,” the Ankh-Ra general called out, the sound of his voice ricocheting off the walls.

The titan kept his words to himself. He continued to occupy his time with silent observance, his gaze wandering over the moonlit valley.

Kamet decided to continue anyway, “I received news that our informant was spotted. They claim that their identity is unfounded—I’ll be organising a strike on the coast so the North will be preoccupied.”

His echo died out and returned the chamber to its undisturbed silence.

Still, no answer came. Kamet’s patience, though fraying at the edges, remained tightly bound by an iron will. Each passing moment drew itself thin, like a taut string on the verge of snapping, yet he held his composure.

“I’ll be in my office with Hovus,” he paused to sigh, “you know if you feel like some new scenery.”

He turned on his heels but was stopped by a deep humming sound.

“The stars,” Riiza began with a level tone, but the sudden shaking of the walls betrayed his countenance, “each one of them overlooking the south; they bear a connection to its people.”

Kamet continued, “each star, a symbol of power—daylight, a symbol of invincibility.”

Riiza turned around, meeting Kamet with eyes that glowed an unnatural amber, casting a shadow over a featureless face. The glow seemed to pulse with a life of its own, illuminating the titan with a ghostly radiance.

Kamet felt a twinge of annoyance as Riiza’s eyes bore into him, their luminescence conflicting with the air of quiet concern. Those lidless eyes capable of piercing the very essence of one’s being, held their power in check with a measured restraint.

The giant being of pitch-black seemed to materialise beside Kamet, his presence both imposing and enigmatic. Towering over him, the leader’s form was a void against the dim light, absorbing rather than reflecting the surroundings.

Riiza moved with fluidity, almost ethereal, as if he were a shadow given life. Kamet could feel the weight of his gaze, though no physical eyes were visible—a sense of restraint emanated from his very core. The air around them grew still, charged with an unspoken tension, as if the world itself held its breath in his presence.

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“There is a star missing,” Riiza spoke, the sound of his voice feeling as though it were planted directly into Kamet’s head, “how are we a man down when contact is the lowest it has been in twenty years?”

“A human child crossed the river,” Kamet held his features taut as he recounted the report, “he took the life of our own, before being subdued.”

Riiza straightened his frame, extending the height difference between the two, “subdued?”

“While trying to relocate him, the boy was thrown into the water,” Kamet sighed at the incompetence of his group. They were charged with the request because they were careful, yet they slipped up with something trivial.

“The informant followed to ensure he lived. This happened eight days prior. No requests for an audience since.”

“I hope that child is truly alright. No animal should be punished for the mistakes of its owner,” the titan stared off at the balcony, “what news has twenty-two brought for us this time?”

“Since our last meeting six months ago, they have infiltrated the upper ranks,” Kamet was quick to say, “it is only a matter of time before we locate the reincarnations; once we have this done, Garig will be one.”

Riiza nodded, then drifted away, eventually forming a silhouette on the balcony. He took up his position, which was famously maintained day and night. With it, finally, the world took a refreshing breath and returned itself to life.

This very being and his victories were etched into the scars of the planet. Each triumph a testament to his indomitable spirit. Yet, these same victories became the shackles that bound him, a relentless reminder of the path he could not forsake. His honour, once a beacon of greatness, now served as a chain, pulling him inexorably towards inaction.

Him and his kind, viewed by the Astran Empire as a relic of a bygone era, were judged without mercy by those who sought to erase his legacy. They saw only the remnants, but his people knew of his sacrifices and fulfilled promises.

It was the sole reason they could not allow him to fall. This desire to keep him safe, made itself the spine that held his semi-imprisonment upright. They would prefer to fight alongside him, as they did in years past. Sadly, eras come to an end, and acceptance stands as the final stage of grief.

Unfortunately, the final stage did not imply that grief ever came to an end.

Still, as long as Riiza stood, the path of the future remained paved.

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Kalmet had lived through three incarnations of Hovus and could fondly recount the days that he served as a mere bookkeeper, in the group. That was over a millennium ago, with the prior collection being murdered by a riverside.

When every move towards peace met an advance of subterfuge and false promises, there were real joys to look back on.

Hovus were the ones who led the south towards unity with the Astran Empire. A group of stubborn diplomats that never took no for a valid answer has now subjected themselves to meetings of apprehensive leaders controlled by fear and indecision.

He found them in his office, sitting on the floor too busy bickering to notice his entry. This was a scene he spectated for almost twenty years. Mere toddlers compared to him, each fueled by a desire placed on opposite sides of a graph.

There was Yokan, son of a human mother and Ke Chiné father, a seasoned warrior made herald of the frontline and its soldiers. Afterall, who better to fight the largely human army of the North than one of their own.

Debating him, his previous wife, Kuali an Ankh-Ra. Her territory lay east and extended to the archipelago of small islands unaffected by the war. She was a born pacifist, who Kalmet believed would serve the Titan Colony better as a diplomat than as a military adviser.

Zlara, a Ke Chiné woman. She dressed herself as a diplomat but existed as the mind behind the plans for espionage. She made herself the leader of the southern territories and became the symbol of her people. The one who called for this meeting, sat in silence most of the time.

Lastly, the youngest of the four, an Ankh-Ra of the Vogus formation, is a rarity of his kind, Isan. He was of the west, and unlike his comrades, who had lived for centuries, the Ankh-Ra boy lived just over two decades. He was old enough to taste peace, but conscious enough to see his loved ones taken from him.

The elder Ankh-Ra cleared his throat to gather their attention.

They snapped into silence, laughing as they scrambled to rearrange their seating, eagerly making room for him in the circle.

Kalmet dismissed the gesture, folding his arms as he watched the display with a measured indifference. He took the time to meet each of their eyes.

“Speak!”

As expected, Yokan was the first to engage.

He had a wide grin glued to his face; a tone of confidence set before he even uttered his first words. It was almost as though this very moment was rehearsed beforehand.

The others turned their attention to him, their expressions a mix of curiosity and resignation. They knew well that Yokan’s words would make or break what was to come. His eyes glowed with a shallow green, which contributed to the younger man being Kalmet’s least favoured representative.

“I’ve been discussing the attack with some of the formations on the front. They’re ready whenever you’re ready.”

"See, that’s the problem. They're ready when you’re ready,” his ex-wife mocked him, “if you attack anything remotely close to Remu, it’s automatically close to my state capital. If we provoke them from there, my people are wide open for retaliation.”

Kalmet reluctantly agreed, providing the woman with an expressionless nod, just enough to reassure.

An attack near a major Astran city would undoubtedly gain a significant response. Yet, he conceded that no territory should be sacrificed during a distraction. Especially not a city as prosperous as Sarab.

Such a trade was out of the question.

The room held its silence, as the reality of her words set in, hanging heavily over the heads of everyone else. The weight of their hearts seemed to deepen in response, as the others knew the plan would be executed if not for her concern.

Kuali continued, “I’m sorry, but maybe try something more central.”

That additional statement seemed to drag them out of the apologetic silence.

“There is nothing central, you seem to forget that they took that city from us, it’s the only city in the Astran Empire that exists south of the hemisphere,” Isan yelled, pointing at nothing in particular as he made his point, “God forbid those bastards call it Ré-Mu quite literally blood river in ancient speech.”

“But—”

"Look, Kuali, I understand,” Elara grabbed Isan’s wrist and lowered it to his side, “no one here wants to feel as though their people will be swapped in the process, but this is why we have these meetings. So, we can develop much-needed perspective.”

Elara returned her hands to her lap, her movements exaggerated and deliberate. Her eyes glowed a bright white as they scanned the room with a soft intensity. Each representative stiffened under her gaze as she searched their faces. An anxious murmur came from Isan as it was his turn, but he quickly stifled it when she lingered on him longer than the others.

She held her words, yet she captured the attention of her companions. Silently demanding their compliance as they awaited her next move.

Elara became well known for her unanimous selection by the people of the south, and each representative was acutely aware of the Iké she wielded. A balance so palpable that it could be seen, rivalled only by the energy commanded by the Titan's kind.

Her people, the Ke Chiné, were the only race native to Garig. They had lost the most, and for everyone who shared her race, she was seen as the continent's vengeance made into being. She lived as their hope, and it was a sentiment she used well in her diplomacy.

Despite the anxiety that simmered beneath the surface, there was an unspoken understanding of her authority. Her calm demeanour belied a storm of emotions, but her control remained absolute.

So, in this moment amongst the four, there existed no doubt as to who held the reins in this delicate balance of power.

“I’ve considered the drawbacks,” Kalmet cut in realising that Elara had completed her silent posturing, “I’ve flirted with the option of several smaller assaults just across the border.”

Kuali inclined her head in agreement. “A more measured approach could protect my state,” she conceded. “But that would spread our frontline thin.”

“You already know my stance,” Isan added, “those attacks will only delay the inevitable. If we don’t show those animals in the North that we intend to cause real damage, they’ll just hit us harder than we could ever consider hitting them.”

“Barrage attacks may gain attention, or if we’re lucky, we’ll rouse a distraction, but Isan is right,” Yokan decided to make his opinion known after much thought. “We have to come to terms with what is going to be a harsh rebuttal if we don’t incite fear. Any move we make concerning the Astran Empire needs to be significant, because the last time they were subtle, they took more than we had.”

“Put simply, this is a case where the motivation outweighs the method,” Elara mumbled, catching Isan’s attention, which proved to be an unkind gesture for all.

“You’re just saying that because your state is in the far south.”

The others paused.

Kuali chuckled and provided a calm “yes.”

Luckily, they seemed to move on just as quickly. Each turned their attention back to Kalmet for a resolution, even though they knew their words were cherished. His words would be just and final.

His hands found their way to his face and ran themselves down the side of his head before meeting at his chin. He let out a breath, emptying his lungs of the heat that occupied them. He had made decisions more difficult than this one, but such trivia bore no significance when every decision he made resulted in life or death.

For this, he knew better than to rush an answer, but the sooner they were able to distract the councils of the Astran Empire, the better it would be for “Twenty-two” to work unimpeded. That was the cornerstone of their current plans.

They needed to find the other titans and get them to the south.

Riiza housed Iké of destructive proportions but all it took was one lucky mortal with a bolt cannon and that would be the end of his race. Kalmet could not allow such thing to happen to the only family he had remaining.

He locked eyes with Kuali, hers fell as she quickly understood the outcome

“Sarab is the closest north, I allow you to erect the veil.”

Her eyes rose from the floor in shock.

“You need all the defence you can get, prepare the city for ranged warfare and the civilians for the worst outcome. Isan, Yokan and Elara gather your shock troops; we attack within the third moon.”