The SIF crossbow stayed cradled in Avril’s arms as she descended into the cave. Carefully sliding down the side of the wall, she felt the rifle slung across her back rattle against the loose stones. Behind her she could hear Fritz and Levonne following in her wake. Maxwell’s squad gathered around Yelda’s body. Crimson blood pooled at their boots as they stood solemnly. Louis kept his head tilted downwards, his eyes closed, and his hand tight-fisted around his amulet. His lips moved, though they made little noise: only whispers of a prayer to the gods high above and far removed. Carefully, Fritz moved around the group and knelt down to examine the large machine in the center of the cave. Levonne, however, joined the 79th’s mourning circle. Cautiously, she placed a hand on Chestnut’s side. The bear jerked as her hand met him. He made low, mourning growls as he stood over Yelda.
Fritz tried to work quietly, attempting to open panels along the machine without causing a scene. When Maxwell finally joined the group, everyone kept their heads down. In the silence, it was hard to find the courage to move, much less speak.
“We should bury her,” Levonne spoke up. She cautiously scanned the grief-stricken faces of the 79th Vanguard. She wasn’t a part of their unit, though she understood what it meant to lose close comrades. Perhaps better than everyone else there.
“How?” Laëtitia locked eyes with Levonne, her sorrow interrupted by a bout of pragmatism.
Damien quietly chimed in, “Chestnut could dig a hole.” All eyes drifted towards the bear, though Chestnut remained silent. “You hear that? We should give Yelda a burial.” When Chestnut didn’t respond, Damien gave him a reassuring pat.
Laëtitia bent down, “Here, give me a hand Damien.” The two prepared to grab onto Yelda, but before they could touch her, Chestnut suddenly roared. Startled, the group collectively jumped back. Chestnut took a step forward to stand over Yelda. He aggressively snarled at anyone who dared to come near.
“Chestnut?” Laëtitia’s voice wavered. Small tears began to well in her eyes.
“Chestnut, please,” Damien tried to approach with an outstretched arm. However, as he came within reach, the bear snapped at him, nearly biting his arm off.
“Stay back,” Maxwell commanded. With one arm he held Laëtitia back. His other hand gripped his rifle that hung on his side. All around, the Vanguards watched Chestnut closely, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.
“Give the creature some space!” Fritz called towards the group. “I’ll need a few minutes to figure this out anyway,” the engineer practically grumbled to himself.
“Fine,” Maxwell released his hand from his gun, letting it hang on his side. “Everyone, take ten.”
Levonne spoke up, “Actually, can one of you come with me? I wasn’t able to take all of our supplies from the cavern.”
“We shouldn’t split up now that we know the SIFs are down here,” Laëtitia protested. “We’ll just risk another ambush, and now we’re down another man.”
“It’ll be a single run, back and forth,” Levonne explained, “if we move quickly it’ll be no more than a few minutes. Plus, we’ll need the supplies if we’re planning on marching to the city.” Laëtitia furrowed her brows. Reflexively, she turned her head towards Maxwell, seeking affirmation.
Maxwell sighed, then said, “Third Infantryman Levonne outranks me. She also has more experience than I do. If she believes it’s safe, then I cannot go against her word.” Maxwell looked up at Laëtitia to see surprise plastered across her face. The woman looked as though she was staring at an alien. “Go with her, Laëtitia. That’s an order.”
“Come on, we can grab everything together,” Levonne turned and began to climb up the steep wall.
══════════════════
“Your particular squad is… unique,” Levonne tried to break the awkward silence. She and Laëtitia had marched back to the collapsed cave entrance where the majority of the remaining supplies lay scattered on the floor. The two women had wordlessly begun to repack everything as efficiently as possible. Levonne would occasionally glance up at Laëtitia only to see a tightly clenched jaw combined with quick, efficient, robotic movements. Had she not known any better, Levonne would think she was standing beside a SIF.
“I had heard that the 79th were full of… interesting soldiers. But there’s an unusual amount of Agnir in your troop. It must be exciting,” Levonne hid the anxiety in her voice well, though it was impossible to tell if Laëtitia was picking up on it or not.
“I mean, Damien can make his weapon change shape and form and the way that Yelda dug through solid stone and brought Chestnut back to life, it’s fascinating. I don’t suppose that you-”
“No,” Laëtitia responded curtly, though she didn’t pause in her packing, much less actually turn her head or eyes towards Levonne.
“I see… I’m sorry, I’m sure you get questions like those all the time.”
“I do.” Levonne stopped to look up at Laëtitia. The woman continued moving, no action or facial expression betraying any hint of the emotions the girl had shown whilst standing beside Yelda’s body.
“You’re a lot like Maxwell, you know?” At this, Laëtitia’s face lit up slightly. She threw a nervous glance towards Levonne, though quickly returned her eyes to the task at hand. Sensing a chink in Laëtitia’s demeanor, Levonne pressed slightly.
“You just seem to have a similar attitude towards work, that’s all. He’s very serious when it comes to everything, even when I explicitly instruct him to relax.”
“I think it’s just… the correct worldview,” Laëtitia finally responded. “When you’re in the Vanguard, every mission is a gamble to see if you even survive. By the time a mission’s over, there’s probably two or three left standing for every hundred that were deployed. It’s…”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“It’s hard, I know,” Levonne’s hands stopped moving, at least on purpose. She was crouched down with one hand holding a bag open and the other grasping a breaching charge. She watched as the bomb shook with the tremors in her hand.
“Is it true?” Laëtitia fully turned her head to face Levonne. Levonne was surprised to see tears streaming down her face. “Is it true that by the time you make it to Infantryman everyone else you’d deployed with will have died?”
Levonne stared at Laëtitia, too stunned to respond. Her mind began to race, retracing the memories of men and women who she scarcely thought about in years. She recalled the first squadron she had been a part of when she joined the 78th Vanguard. Her mind then raced forwards to the second squad, then the third, the fourth, fifth, and the sixth. So many names and faces flashed past her eyes. She then saw the SIFs jumping onto the train. She watched as heads flew, muzzles flashed, and blood spilled all around her. Her knuckles whitened as she subconsciously began to grip the explosive in her hand.
“Yes,” she finally responded. Her own voice now dejected and monotone. Laëtitia buried her eyes in the crook of her elbow, desperately trying to hide the tears. Levonne merely sat still, letting the muffled cries echo across the cave.
“At least… that was how it went for me. Although… maybe it doesn’t have to. Statistics… are just guesses. Predictions. I’m sure if you look at all the data there’s outliers. Not everyone dies, otherwise there’d be a lot less Infantrymen, right?” Levonne’s question hung in the air, neither Laëtitia nor her could accurately answer it.
══════════════════
Maxwell turned to Louis, who remained by Chestnut. The sniper stared at Yelda’s body, whispering to himself. Maxwell could just barely make out the words that Louis kept repeating, “I’m sorry.”
Maxwell stormed over to Louis, and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. Despite the gesture, Maxwell’s grip was strong. He pulled Louis a few steps away from the bear and the rest of the soldiers. He then spun Louis around and made sure their eyes were locked.
“What the fuck happened?” Maxwell spoke in a harsh whisper, though his eyes were burning with menace. Beneath his mustache, Louis could tell that Maxwell’s gritted teeth were the only thing keeping his tongue from cutting Louis apart.
“One of the SIFs snuck up on me,” Louis did his best to avert his gaze, lest he be blinded by Maxwell’s fury. Though as he tried, the grip on his shoulder only tightened.
“It knocked me down into the cavern,” Louis continued, “The other one went to get reinforcements while the others surrounded me.”
“Why didn’t they kill you? The UBM rarely leaves survivors. Why weren’t you killed on the spot?”
“I don’t know. I… I managed to duck behind the console there. Fired back at the SIF. Vivoran must’ve-”
“Of course,” Maxwell took a step back, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“I’m just saying sir-”
“I don’t want to hear it, Louis. You’re not alive because of Vivoran, you’re alive because of Yelda,” Maxwell pointed back towards the rest of the Vanguards. “She gave you her life. Without hesitation. If you want to give excuses for anything, tell her.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Next time, make sure to watch your surroundings and avoid being spotted.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Good. Go take watch.” Without another word, Maxwell turned away to check the others for injuries.
Louis sulked away and settled himself in the dark cave passage that the SIF brought reinforcements from. He stared into the darkness. Even to Avril’s less skillful eyes, it was obvious that he was merely feigning the act of keeping watch. His eyes were glazed over, and his hand remained not on his weapon, but wrapped around the pendant of his necklace. Slowly, Avril approached. Her steps were deliberately soft, quiet enough that she couldn’t hear them over Chestnut whimpering as it stood over Yelda. Nevertheless, as she got closer to Louis, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side; he said nothing but still knew that she was there.
“Who were you praying to?” Avril asked quietly. Louis blinked, his eyes still staring into the darkness before him.
“Vivoran.” His voice was monotone, like the act of responding was a struggle in itself.
“And that is…” Avril awkwardly tried to prompt Louis to answer. When he didn’t, she nervously added, “Sorry I just don’t fully understand Archonism, like at all. My parents weren’t particularly religious or anything.”
Louis let out a tired breath. His whole body suddenly sagged slightly forwards, with his shoulders slumping, his head drooping down, and his knees slightly buckling. Avril moved to catch him, thinking that Louis was about to collapse. However, her arms merely hovered around him, as the man gritted his teeth and stood back upright.
“Are you okay?”
“Skill,” Louis abruptly replied.
“What?” Avril tilted her head slightly, her arms still awkwardly outstretched.
“Vivoran. The Goddess of Skill, Vivoran.” Louis replied. Avril blinked once, but slowly lowered her arms as she nodded along. Louis continued, “All the gods have their own domains. But for me, I could never connect with their messaging. Hest, Justin, Poiure, and the rest of them, they’re all talk. They all talk about ‘freedom’, ‘luck’, ‘heroism’, and other platitudes. When you pray to them, you pray for an answer to your problems. ‘Make these roads safe to walk.’ ‘Let me have a good start at this new job.’ ‘Give me the strength to get over this tragedy.’ All of those were things I’ve heard people pray for. But people still hate their jobs, half the continent has murder machines running around, and people still just…” Louis stopped himself. He could feel his heart racing in his chest and a pounding in his skull. He didn’t even realize that the others were watching him from the opposite end of the cavern. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a worried expression across Avril’s face.
“Vivoran,” Louis tried to speak slowly, “Vivoran teaches us that the answer to our problems is within us. It’s not about whether heroes exist, whether we embody freedom, or if we’re just lucky. Anyone can be any of those things. But skill? Vivoran reminds us that it is not the duty of the gods to provide us answers, but rather it’s their duty to be reminders of the way we find those answers. Vivoran is a reminder that any problem can be solved with your own skills. You don’t need to hope for an answer to appear, you make your own with what you know.” Avril cracked a slight grin as she listened to Louis.
“Doesn’t the morning prayer say something like, ‘Vivoran, guide my hand’ or something like that?” Avril asked.
Louis shook his head, “Vivoran, may our hands be steady and confident in the work we train for.” He recited the verse from memory. “It is not asking Vivoran to show us how to accomplish something, but rather asking that we be kept mindful of the skills we have and the skills we need.”
“I see. But didn’t you say something earlier about Vivoran guiding your bullets?”
Louis hesitated to answer, though he brought his hand back towards his necklace. Eventually, he managed to speak, “Sometimes, when I’m doing things, it’s like I do better than I expect. It can be anything really: shooting, mechanics, running, cooking. Even when I’m not consciously thinking about it, I just… do it perfectly.”
“...you cook?” Avril asked. Louis’ cheeks lifted, ever so slightly.
“Yes, though I’m not the best.”
“That’s fine. When we get back, cook something for us, and I’m sure Vivoran will help you make it.” Avril returned Louis’ smile tenfold.
“Sure. When we get back.”