A hymn of devotion—voiced by the hundreds. The war emblem's bright gaze looms over us all as we recited our final oaths. We now stand as freshly minted sorcerers in service of Queen and Kingdom. All of us vowed to defend, cherish, and honour above all else, the name of Euralia.
I feel a flush of pride, fervent as the cheers of those around me—fellow initiates, friends, soon to be divided to the Kingdom's many eastern fronts.
A resounding horn unfolds across the mage-school's stone-etched plaza. As one we rise, together an armoured legion of silvers and reds, the royal emblem freshly seared into our chest plates.
This sacred right to carry the Kingdom's crowned regalia, is finally mine.
"Thank the heavens," I quietly murmur as the Headmaster concludes his tirade, thus formally ending our graduation.
Representatives from the various military cohorts soon circle around us like drakes to a feast. We are soon broken up, ranked based on arcane affinity, and urged to stand behind our new regiments.
Friends and fellow cadre-mates quickly bid their farewells to each one, often with tears, and I am no different. Names I often forget, but never a face.
This is the beginning of three years in service, for good, or worse. The next few days blur together, until time is but a meld of arduous marches and cold nights as my new regiment sets back east.
I vowed to always hold dear my time in the mage-school. The memories are fresh, like dew upon sunrise, but it will all be cast aside on one faithful dawn.
A lone messenger, battered by the elements, rides onto our encampment. Her armour is dented, her crimson cape shredded at the shoulders. She reins her steed to a pause and dismounts.
Grime and sweat clung to her as she brought forth grim tidings, voice weak—wavering, but taut with urgency. "Border posts-attacked, set ablaze. Yhunian soldiers, fringe east-too many," she said.
Many gasped upon hearing it, and some called for swift vengeance. Weapons are drawn and a tide of voices clamoured as the Regiment's Lord Captain's fist rose, his expression resolute, eyes tempered with the same thirst for vengeance.
All training halts as decreed by the Lord Captain. A silent aura falls upon the encampment as wares are stowed and weapons, supplies, and herbs are gathered. The keepers helped where they could, and by the brink of dusk, we stood ready to leave.
We marched out once again. This time to war—for Queen and Kingdom. For Euralia.
======
-Norsera Forest
Nature's soft hymn slowly fades amidst the rising trotting of hooves. Yet another procession destined to bolster what remains of our defenses across the El'Norin River. It remains to be seen if a paltry force of a mere two hundred women and men is enough to stem the tide.
"Herald guide them," I pray, shrouding the thought behind veiled lips as the cavalry force departs from the safety of these walls.
The Yhunian doctrine is cunning—a cursed blend of insipid tactics. Nowhere is safe. A heavy silence falls upon the town, as though a plague had pruned her citizens. Torches line the battlements—each roughly ten paces apart, casting long, trailing shadows to each soldier that prowled its empty streets.
The morning is young, and dawn has yet to fall upon the land. Beside me stands my cadre. Four others of equal affinity—four whom I trust my life with.
We now stand before our Lord Captain, summoned by the call of first muster. His searing gaze bears down on us, as though to deliver penance for crimes committed whilst the rest of our kin gather in the general plaza.
"To our south, somewhere in the old growth forests, scores of caravans from the 6th Eastern Provisioners have gone missing, only to be found slaughtered. Women and men alike, dead," the Lord Captain intones, scepter gleaming at his side.
"What is our task," I inquire, awaiting his judgement.
"Stalk the main path leading from Drossal to our deserted encampments. This... vile savagery bears the taint of Yhunian subterfuge."
"And we are to be sent alone?" Oswill says with perhaps a slight bitterness to his tone.
The Lord Captain waves him off with a scoff.
"There are other soldiers already on the hunt, but they lack sorcerers. With the rest of the Cohort already sworn for today's counter offensive, I only have you lot to spare. Anything not bearing the regalia and colours of our Kingdom shall be treated as an enemy. Seek out these wretched spies and kill them where they stand," the Lord Captain concludes with a raised fist.
None dare break the silence. "How long would you have us prowl?" I ask on behalf of my cadre.
"For at least a week," he answers.
I nod, accepting fully our new task on behalf of my cadre. "It shall be done."
"Good hunting," he replies.
With a hand over my chest to bestow a salute, I bid the Lord Captain my last regards and turn away.
We have our orders now, that alone will be our strength as we venture into the hinterlands. Sentries from the town's paltry militia open the decayed gates for us, and we are soon on our way.
The twin moons' silvery glow cascades upon the lands, bright enough to cast shadows—weak as they are, across sparse fields of wheat and the beaten, serpentine path that would soon carry us to our destination.
What remains of the town's ambience quickly fades into memory. Only silence remains to shepherd us to our journey's end. Cold winds and hushed steps echo across the dark veil of night.
Sephra pauses mid-pace, her expression now taut with worry. Her cape flutters as she turns, stopping as we trek onwards along the beaten path.
I usher the others to halt and move back to where the Mender stands, following her lingering gaze. She sighs, voice humbled to almost a whisper.
"The prisoners captured yesterday, they were also found in the south. Just off the main road if memory serves," the Mender remarks, running a thoughtful finger beneath the cleft of her chin, "We may expect enemies of such kind, whatever they are."
I place a hand on the Mender's shoulder, offering what insight I can. "All the more reason to be wary in those woods. I heard our wardens say they spoke in vulgar tongues," I pause, casting aside the thought. "Come now, we have our orders. For Queen and Kingdom."
Sephra sighs and returns with me to our cadre. "Of course—Queen and Kingdom."
We then continue on our way, making good time across rolling hinterlands until the path takes us into the depths of Nor'sera forest proper. The sun finally emerges, yet its welcoming glint and warmth is snuffed by the thick canopy above. A sense of tension grows the further we went.
Brief shadows and false movement are everywhere—always in the corners, under every shade and crevice. It is easy to see why the enemy would choose this to be their hunting grounds. The woods are scarce, and remnants of parched soil and scorched trees mark the sites of past skirmishes every so often.
I clutch my scepter closer, willing just a tinge of magic onto it—just in case. It would take but a moment of weakness for any would-be attacker to spell our demise. If there is an enemy amidst the vast swathe of green, I must stand ready. Better to assume enemies lurk in the midst for our safety.
To that end, I vow to strike first and leave nothing to chance. The Kingdom is beset by war, that alone is reason enough.
======
-1722 Military Hours
-Grid A15
Reception is spotty—barely a two, but even that is being generous. Still, the message is clear. We are to be recalled immediately. The mission is too dangerous to warrant an extensive search. At least the command team has a few sensible minds in their ranks.
I stand up, making sure the surroundings are cleared before rallying both teams. "Primary exfil's roughly eight kilometers out. We'll do one more sweep before calling it."
"We'll take that far end," Lieutenant Sullivan announces as he takes his men away.
After spotting, and bagging away a few more items, we finally close the scene and leave. That haunting video repeats itself in my head. Those are actual people, but different—aggressive, and more than a little exotic.
Some parts of the footage make certain traits apparent. Their fair complexion, the pale-bleached hair, even that woman's striking violet eyes, evident only for a short moment, falls well under my notice.
Twenty minutes pass as we slog through a largely monotonous tangle of trees and foliage, making steady progress towards our destination. Both teams make the unanimous decision to completely bypass several previous sites and avoid any potential encounters.
The delays take a significant toll on our progress. An hour passes. A quick look at the time shows we are barely on schedule. By this point, sunlight begins to fade and the first hints of evening gold filter through the canopy in brief snippets.
Two more kilometers brings us within thirty minutes of our pre-assigned landing site.
Douglas brings up a fist. "Let me check our heading again. Got to make sure we're in the pipe."
"Make it quick," I relent, stopping to instruct the rest to form a basic defensive perimeter as my Second-In Command pulls out a small compass and his own copy of the map.
I take up position and resume my watch, noting the dense pounding within my chest. Darkness creeps in from the periphery, engulfing large swathes of the surrounding forest.
It may have just been the nerves, or the fading light. Either way, this place is losing its charm, fast.
Douglas finally looks back up, pocketing his items. "Magnetic north on this world's a little fuzzy, but readable. We're on the right track."
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I nod and stand up. "Alright then let's go, light's dipping fast."
After a few minutes, an abrupt snap resounds from the rear. I stop and turn around. Right behind sits the same endless sprawl of trees.
"Hear that?" James comments and sinks to a knee.
"Could be the local fauna," I answer, keeping in mind the various animals catalogued by the garrison's research teams across their many excursions.
"Might be the locals," Robert counters and moves to stand beside me. "Recommend we sweep our tail just in case."
I nod and gesture ahead. "Fan out, teams of two."
Both teams quickly converge to face the potential threat, forming into pairs as soft clicks issued from several guns. I raise my index past the trigger and flick off safeties. Even if there are no indigenous, I did not want to leave myself open to whatever is making that sound.
Everyone settles into the arrangement, taking turns making their bounds while the others cover their advance. A few stay behind to provide flank and rear security. I point ahead to cue Robert to take his first bound, keeping overwatch as the operative sets off.
He rushes ahead and drops to a knee after concluding his short bound. "Looks clear, go," he announces, weapon sweeping across the front, his finger perched on the trigger.
"Moving," I sound out, and begin advancing. A slight unease pulses through me. Everything looks the same, and there is still no sign of whatever made that noise.
I sweep the entire front again, eyes straining against the growing darkness. Just as I am about to call off the advance, a flash red of perks up through the murk.
"Everyone, hold. Got visual on something, sixty metres, ten o'clock, at least one," I raise the alarm over on the channel, desperately chasing that streak of movement.
It is there for just a moment—that unmistakable flicker of red. Faint rustles emerge from the darkness, confirming my suspicions. We are not alone. I inch back behind cover and listen to the growing rustling, index finger curling over the trigger.
"Roger, contact ahead," Douglas whispers over comms, his voice strained.
Several armoured figures rush out from the periphery, the visor immediately painting them as potential hostiles with a thin orange outline.
I barely had time to fully register the encounter before a bright orange glow fills my line of sight. Instinctively pulling back, the blinding orb races across my shoulder impacting a tree behind and turning it into a charred mess of splinted wood.
"Contact, hostile contact!" Saber's team leader hollers as gunfire ensues.
I snap back, drifting my weapon to the red outlines the visor now classified as hostile entities and return fire. Pulling hard on the trigger, the rifle kicks back into my shoulder. Three short bursts chatter out, the shots racing towards the rushing crowd of silvery-crimson only to tide against an iridescent shield.
I stop firing and move back into cover, gingerly exposing only enough to maintain a decent line of sight with the enemy's sudden, and unexpected means of defense. The barrier's form is incorporeal—a golden, protective sheen standing unfazed against our ballistic retaliation.
"No effect!" Someone else yells only a few metres behind.
Each consecutive shot leaves behind concentric ripples on its blended surface, impacting with a resounding thud. It somehow is tangible, even if it did not look the part.
At the sides, faint blue tendrils connected the strange barrier to the ornamental scepters carried by all five of the enemy—a choice of weapon I previously observed from that video depicting the final moments of a now defunct expedition six.
Clean streaks of fire surge out from the locals, indiscriminately hitting trees and foliage alike, the ensuing flames quickly growing to paint a hellish glow.
The visor quickly compensates, dimming down the flames and restoring a semblance of clarity as I listen to the growing callouts bouncing inside my helmet.
The channel is a hotbed of frantic voices with both teams attempting to establish a coherent plan of action, first by identifying the number of hostiles. As confusing as the fight is, the concept remains the same—it is them, or us.
"I count five!" Douglas yells past the initial shock.
"Watch the heat!" I instruct over the chorus of weapons fire, issuing another short burst onto the strange barrier. Thick smoke billows out from the scorched foliage, slightly obscuring the new contacts as I zero in on their figures.
I squeeze the trigger again only to watch the bullets fall completely against the shield. Concern mounts as similar callouts registers over comms, the voices surging with growing frustration. In-spite of that, the chatter of gunfire remains constant.
A bright streak of light cuts past my vision. Dull pain erupts on my shoulder, inciting a brief wince out of me. The pain is manageable, and quickly becomes negligible as the heat of adrenaline fills me.
"Jerome's hit!" A voice hollers just as a reassuring hand lands on my shoulder.
I look back, meeting the black sheen of a visor. Douglas shoves hard and puts me firmly behind cover. "How bad?"
"I'm... I'm good, still fit to fight!" I shake off his concern and direct his attention back to the front, shifting an inch to give him room to safely take up position beside me.
I continue firing until the rifle is spent, then tilting it briefly to inspect the ejection port. Open as expected. After slapping a new magazine in, I rise and pan behind, exposing the bare minimum to establish a mental map of everyone's positions relative to the enemy.
Saber team is holding position on the right flank, far enough that they assaulted the locals from a considerably different angle. Though their distance also meant they are out of earshot.
"Lieutenant!" I call out over comms, "your guys, on your team channel now!"
"Will do, standby," the operative hollers back, holding his fire and turning around to bounce the instructions to the rest of his team.
After probing through several options, I quickly settle on a plan that is simple to relay and execute. I reach up to the knob at the side of my helmet, tweaking it slowly to run through a range of channels, the visor's display reflecting the specific frequency in real-time.
I pause after finally hitting Saber team's own designated frequency, wasting no time in voicing out my impromptu plan of attack. "Cut east, get to their flanks, pincer them in a crossfire. We'll try our best to keep them pinned here!"
"On it," the Lieutenant quickly replies. The operative pulls away with his team and fade into the foliage as I instruct my team to keep up the pressure.
The strange barrier finally shows signs of breaking, first cracking at the edges before spreading to the centre. "Think we're starting to chip it!" James yells, voice barely audible over the constant thundering of weapons fire.
"Roger, I see it," Robert announces. The cracks quickly sweep across the glossy sheen until a huge piece falls off with a resounding crack.
A feminine shriek cuts through the air coinciding with a partial collapse of the strange barrier. One of the locals stumble a few steps back, turning left as though to engage a new threat before collapsing—limbs splayed.
I sink my aim and line up a shot at the writhing mass, staying on a knee and releasing a short burst to test the unknown barrier's integrity. The first few shots impact the shield on its left, chipping off huge chunks with each blow. Each piece flickers and shatters like broken glass, then fades out of existence before ever hitting the ground.
The next burst ensues, violently tearing into the fatally wounded soldier center mass. Thick blood erupts from her chest, and with a final jerk, goes still. No longer a threat.
"One down," I sound out, directing my attention back to the four remaining, still highly dangerous targets that needed to be dealt with.
Two more turn left to engage. Only then did I note the distinctive thundering of gunfire from the east. Both teams relentlessly hammer the enemy's position in a brutal crossfire, turning the sudden ambush on its head.
Enemy return fire—literally in this case, sharply diminishes until there is none. Another body drops with a resounding thud as a voice hollers to report another confirmed kill.
"Cover me!" Douglas stands up, weapon tucked to his chest and dashes towards his next bound.
He picks a spot just ten metres ahead and drops into prone, his rifle immediately online to hammer the enemy's position. The occasional flash of tracer rounds from his weapon trails outwards, revealing his intent as they impact what remains of the faltering shield.
"Good effect on centre," another operative calls out from my right before renewing his violent tempo.
The remaining locals begin to retreat behind their faltering curtain, their figures crouched, no longer retaliating with their unknown means of attack and instead raising their hands in surrender. I force myself to relent on the trigger, scrutinizing the remaining three still alive in spite of the odds.
"Cease fire, I say again, cease fire!" I announce.
"Come again?" Robert questions over comms.
"Cease fire," I reiterate, expecting a few to voice their disagreements. Thankfully, there are none. Everyone complies, and the chatter of gunfire slowly fades to nothing. Robert opts to keep his finger on the trigger, seemingly unconvinced in the slightest even as the locals issued the unmistakable sign of surrender.
Cold silence fills the emptiness. The indigenous soldiers cower in place, arms still poised high above their heads, weapons tossed aside as they eased the last of their struggles. Fires crackled in the aftermath and was the only persistent fixture in the ambience as three sets of violet eyes glared back.
"We've got them in our sights. Sullivan, get your team behind them," I say.
"Copy, moving now," Sabre's team leader answers.
I stand up, taking tentative steps towards the survivors. Their bitter looks glower back through the gray haze. Those violet eyes, filled with obvious resentment, speaks on their behalf in the place of words.
"Assholes," I frown, already forming a grim first impression of them. I advance closer, stepping around the two bodies and the pool of blood that formed around where they fell.
Saber team stops behind them. Three of its operatives move up and grab the survivors by the shoulders, shoving hard to set them on their knees.
"Don't move!" A furious operative snaps before rearing a leg to kick one of the unarmed locals in the back.
A feminine shriek cuts through the air as it hits. The impact sends the woman forward, her body crashing into the earth with a resounding thud. She trembles, limbs flailing as the operative plants his foot at the side of her neck, her weakened voice echoing in frightened sibilance—the words utterly foreign.
"What's she saying," I step closer, staring down at the wide-eyed woman with a hint of animosity.
"Don't know," Saber's team leader returns, his tone rigid as he circles around the survivors. He pauses, and gestures to the remaining two locals still upright.
"Those two, down as well," Sullivan advises, to which I fully agree.
I point to both. "It'll be easier to search them for weapons if they're all kissing the dirt." A few nod and begin gathering around the two unarmed locals.
Violence erupts again. The two flinch and jerk back from each touch, doing their best to resist our attempts to restrain them. I clamp down hard on one of them, tightening my grip around the man's armoured shoulders. He shudders and twists, screaming at the top of his lungs.
Douglas steps around, presenting the butt of his rifle, and with a single violent swing, nearly knocks the helmet off his head. I use the opportunity to push the dazed soldier down, finally planting his body firmly on the ground as his wails diminishes to a whimper.
"Got the bastard," Douglas says, keeping him in place with a foot firmly on his back.
I look around, seeing all three subdued. Taking a deep breath, I step back from the group and take a moment to reassess the situation. Brief as the ambush is, there is still a possibility that others heard the commotion. That train of thought makes me reconsider our options—rather, our probable lack of it.
"Wait, we can't. I say we leave them," I say, pausing to register everyone's reaction to my sudden shift.
Several visors turn to me. The continued silence prompts me to elaborate further. "There's a good chance the commotion's attracted nearby indig' forces. We don't have time to sweep through their equipment."
"Fair enough," Lieutenant Sullivan acknowledges, "Can't really bring them back either."
"Yeah, we're not allowed. Current directives stand," I quickly recall, thinking back to the core takeaways from my team's initial briefing back on Earth.
Unless absolutely necessary, all instances of contact with indigenous cultures, under any scenario, should be minimized where possible. Such directives were drafted out of pure necessity given existing drone footage has shown that the locals are capable of feats which, even under the scrutiny of the garrison's best minds, has so far defied logical explanations.
Some attribute it to the inherently different laws governing this universe, while others simply deduced it to be an, as of yet unknown means of energy manipulation. Either way, the less we deal with them, the better.
One of the two women stares back up from the corner of her eye. Deep breaths filter out her parted lips. She is completely still, no longer giving resistance. A look of despair crosses her face. The violet blush of her eyes seems to dim, as though to fully acknowledge her defeat.
Her strained face is drained of colour. But even with the pale complexion, she still had a sense of radiance that was compelling—in a way that defied words.
Her lips quiver, then close shut as an operative from Sabre team kicks out her helmet. Soft, silken hair spills out below in an unnatural flush of white. It is almost glowing, even in the fading evening light. A soft gasp escapes from her as she looks away, burying her own face into the soil in response.
She is soon quickly pulled back up alongside the rest into a kneeling position. Robert and two operatives from Sabre team loom over them, awaiting the cue to deliver a quick strike to the backs of their heads.
One quick signal and three blunt hits later, all three are rendered unconscious. The bodies fall almost in unison, unceremoniously crashing down in a heap of armour and limbs.
James kneels and inspects each one, the team medic putting his weapon aside to focus fully on his assigned trade.
After concluding on the third soldier, he stands back up and nods. "All three are breathing fine. Best we beat feet while they're still out of it."
"Alright, let's go," I say, stepping away from the scene.
"Hell of an after-action report," Lieutenant Sullivan muses before leading the way, the others following behind in a loose file.
"It will be worse for both of us," I catch up to him and match his pacing, sensing the man’s frustration buried behind a professional tone. "We get through this first."
We both are the lead elements of our respective teams. That unfortunately meant most of the questions the researchers and staff officers would inevitably ask, will fall onto the both of us.
As such, it is in our best interest to recall as much as we can from this unexpected first contact.
I turn around one last time, spotting three distinct bodies amidst the foliage. The soft traces of their white, silvery hair stand out like a serviceman out of uniform. No matter where I glanced, that particular trait dominated the view.
Another brief flash of that woman's face sweeps over my thoughts. I wanted to know what she had to say, even if the language is one I could not understand. That personal encounter is brief, but tense—certainly one that would stay with me for a long time.
===End===