A month had passed since Stefan and his two companions crossed over the Marius Mountains in the Black Shield’s desperate last-resort attempt to enlist additional help. After that, any connection they had to their northern homeland was suspended. Jay had concluded that the possibility for their communications to be intercepted and tracked by the Titanians was very high, so they would have to be on their own until they returned. That meant no one had heard from them in one month, and that streak would continue for several more. Despite the ongoing battles, now slowly concentrating in the Glacial Lands, Leon Bernard was hardly worried for his friends. He knew they could all stand their ground should the need arise, and his contract with Stefan made sure he knew that the boy was alive. The only way a contract could break was if one or both people who agreed to it had died, and Leon would’ve felt deep within him if Stefan was no longer breathing. That, and he was still very much able to use the Reserve Stefan lent him, despite the hundreds of leagues between them.

The young man finished preparing new wrappings on the stump of Black Shield soldier who had lost his arm recently. If Crafts and pilots were available, the man would’ve quickly been transported south to his hometown and started his transition back to civilian life, but all available resources were on the battlefront, only miles away. Leon could hear the barrages of machine guns and feel the trembling of the ground from his field hospital, manned by no less than 20 medics and assisted by whichever soldiers were free. Leon walked his comrade past the flaps of his tent, where a cool breeze washed over him. Permafrost still covered the ground at this latitude, but it was warm enough that it did not warrant a jacket. A good sweater was sufficient. Still, as he saw smoke billowing off of the horizon, he shivered. The war had recently taken a turn for the worst, its severity and intensity multiplying severalfold overnight. There was no explanation for this, other than a huge change happening in the Titanian brass.

There was truthfully very little any Terran, even the Black Shield, could do to change the momentum of the war. Every meaningful shift was carried out by the Titanians, who were the wielders of strength and power. Everyone knew that Shimajima reinforcements would give them a hand, but continued fighting would solve nothing. Only deep dialogue would, yet not a single Titanian messenger had come from the heavens offering peace or even a slight reprieve in their centuries-long period of terror and suffering against the Terrans.

Grandpa, could you have ever imagined this? he thought to himself as the fighting lingered incessantly, just beyond his view. Felix had to have seen more than his fair share of conflicts—from the skirmishes between northerners and southerners in a once undivided Yeupis, to the violent raids and attacks stemming from Titanian guns and drones. Yet Leon was sure that none of them had ever come close to the brutality this war had seen. Injuries Leon never even thought were possible were being rushed to him nearly daily, and although Stefan’s Reserve helped him tremendously, the weight of seeing his own comrades and innocent civilians suffering so greatly was heavy on his heart. In whatever little downtime he had, he would reach into his pocket to grab an item that soothed him. Unfolding the piece of paper, just seeing the handwriting on it brought a smile to his face.

Dear Leon,

It has been a few weeks since I last saw you. I’m not sure why, but I felt compelled to write this letter to you. Maybe a servant cannot bear to be without their master for too long, but whatever the case is, I wanted to speak with you. Jay had me sent to the border region, but since the fighting is moving to the extreme north, I’ll probably be reassigned over there in the very near future. I feel like I’m wasting my ability here. I only shoot down a few stray patrol jets and drones that cross over the mountains, but I find no fulfillment in doing something so minor. There’s no denying that there’s something special about me. Ever since the battle in the Barrens, our comrades have been comparing me to Kallista Laine. We all know how great of a shot she was, but being put on such a pedestal is more than I’m comfortable with. I feel more complete fighting alongside many others, not just a few. I realize I’ve always stood out from everyone in the Black Shield. I don’t want to stand out, I want to fight alongside our comrades. I know they might not feel ready to accept that I’m different from them, and to tell you the truth, I have to admit that I’m much more similar to them than I previously thought. You helped me realize that, Leon. I’ll forever be grateful for that. Please, write me back at the soonest opportunity. I must know how you’re putting up with this.

Yours faithfully,

Vivian Andel

Reading the letter again brought joy to Leon. Vi had once been the ghost of the Black Shield, a soldier who was as reclusive as she was shunned. She was practically a machine made of flesh, but Leon’s nurturing and encouragement over the past few months had pushed her into displaying something that more resembled feeling. Leon knew that she was still apprehensive about interacting with other soldiers, but it made him feel good that she at least had that desire. All he wished was to see the smile underneath that black mask she always wore, to see the human she was hiding away. But that would come with time. He still didn’t know why she was the way she was and how it happened. He wanted to write all his feelings out, from the dread he felt almost constantly to the fleeting moments of hope he had, but in the week since he had received the letter, he didn’t have the time to respond to it. His focus was purely on trying to rescue both comrades and civilians alike, forcing him to push his emotions aside.

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“Medic Bernard! You’re needed!” a voice called as an ambulatory Craft whizzed quickly to the grouping of medical tents Leon was situated in. His resolve hardened at the mention of his title, a testament to the devotion and high honour he held his profession in. It had an open top and two seats at the front, and the bed had two benches, in between which was a single stretcher. Besides the driver, another medic was sat on one of the benches at the side. Leon asked no questions and quickly grabbed his toolkit from just inside the tent he’d just left before jumping into the back of the Craft just as the Craft started to accelerate. As the plume of black smoke grew larger and larger, Leon had to ask what the situation was.

“The combat forces have just repelled a bunch of Titanian Crafts. They were targeting a tent city full of refugees. The way the reports went… we don’t expect many survivors.” the other medic, Detlef, spoke.

“They attacked a tent city?” Leon raised a brow.

“Yeah, I know,” Detlef agreed with his friend’s surprise. “Mr. Bakken first thought they were only hitting locations that were important to us. He calls it scorched earth. But these camps full of refugees… they aren’t strategically important to us at all. They’re hitting innocent people for no reason.”

Airstrikes were unheard of to Terrans until halfway through the ongoing war against the Titanians. To hit heavy, fast projectiles at sites instantly was never seen before. The Titanians had always used sheer strength and numbers to try and overwhelm Terran resistances, as if they were not multitudes more powerful than the ones they subjugated. The volume of the now-completely senseless attacks, their arbitrary targets with no justification, the brutality and lack of mercy they employed was indescribable. It warranted new words to describe everything it entailed.

“All we can do is react,” Leon sighed. “It just frustrates me how inferior we are at this stage. This can’t go on any longer. We need something besides the fighting. Something to push us towards stopping all of this.”

Leon’s friend had a jaded expression on his face as he stared into the space between his knees. After a split-second examination, Leon realized his mind was somewhere else, somewhere unrelated to the impending uncertainty they were soon to face. Even as the fumes of burning canvas and wood began to invade their noses, Leon was so preoccupied with something else that he ignored the smell.

“Is it normal to miss someone I’ll never see again?” Detlef asked, noticing that Leon was concerned about his friend.

“What do you mean? Who are you talking about?”

Did he mean one of their hundreds of comrades that they had lost in the months of fighting? Or a family member that did not make it to one of the few tent cities sprawled across the Glacial Lands?

“I’m talking about a traitor,” Detlef answered bluntly. “Someone who’s still alive and breathing, but one I have no chance of meeting ever again.”

A traitor? Leon knew he was talking about one of two people.

“Which one is it?” the slightly younger medic asked.

“Her,” he answered as the Craft began to slow. “Klaudia. You never knew it, Leon, but she really loved me. She really did.”

The two medics were whisked out of the vehicle by their combatant colleagues before Leon had a chance to reflect on his friend’s words, aiding in trying to pull out injured souls from within the rubble. Or, they attempted to. Corpse after corpse, body part after body part was extracted from the ruins as in the near distance, missiles continued to rain from the sky. A couple had landed in the area of the tent city once again, very nearly harming the rescuers as they worked tirelessly for hours, the attention drawn from them as their comrades pushed away the Titanian jets ceaselessly. What kind of new weaponry was this? A few survivors had been pulled out, but most passed on soon after reaching safety. This was a result of their bodies being pushed against the frigid ground beneath the rubble, hypothermia exacerbating their injuries exponentially. The Titanians knew the climate of this vast, endless region well and used it to their advantage. That was why they wanted to regroup there so greatly and restart their ground invasion.

Amidst the danger of the peripheral battles around them and the labour of pushing through copious amount of destruction, Leon would eventually hear a sound he had almost given up hope on hearing.

The cries of a child, a boy he realized, as he pulled him out from the arms of his unmoving father, who had sacrificed himself to keep his son alive.

Leon realized that this was the only time that the weeping of a toddler was a good sign, as he hauled the little boy onto a stretcher, quickly shuttling him away in the ambulatory Craft.