At the train station of Halice, Major Dreven Vorgai stood along the edge of the train tracks, waiting.

He’d eschewed his helmet. He was confident in his forces clearing anyone for miles around who could be a threat, and it had been too long since he had felt fresh air untainted with the stench of blood, fire, and ash.

It would soon smell like that again. It was best to enjoy it while Dreven could. Already, he was taking too much time to do so.

Their five targets weren’t due to arrive till tomorrow afternoon, and already a week to prepare and make peace with the likely outcomes had passed for his unit.

Some of the soldiers under his command waited on the outer edges of the station, mainly concentrated around the village. A precaution but not a particularly necessary one. There was no one left in the village to hurt them. They just were there in case the Travelers arrived early.

They’d pulled easy duty on this one, having this much time to prepare in an isolated place. It’s why they’d been given a small unit to do it with. There’d be no division-sized attack to take out a handful of Travelers here, only a battalion. Not every group of Travelers warranted a force of that size.

The village had been remarkably peaceful since they had first arrived a week ago. Flown in on the backs of Wyverns. A new experience for most of them. He’d ridden on the back of one of the Great Dragons once, back when they had lived. Some supposedly still did, although if that was true or just their superiors not wanting to admit their deaths was a lively debate.

They’d set down during the night. Occupying the village had been easy. It had been untouched by war, and very few veterans had come from and then chosen to retire here. No trouble to handle, and they’d identified all the persons of interest here in the town.

One good thing about Travelers. They were such heroes that finding information on them was relatively easy in comparison to most others. They’d been the most prominent celebrities of Aetheria before the wars, cultural icons to themselves and the world.

What does it say when your cultural icons make their fame by the biggest monster they’ve slain? Not that there would be any more of that. They’d killed too many of them. All the ones nearby were gone. And even now, the most animal-like of the great beasts knew to flee from Travelers.

He considered the rail line stretching off into the distance. A strange town to have at the end of the line. A strange town in general. It should be dying since Aetheria's trade-based economy had faced the issue of no one left to trade with.

Instead, it was flourishing.

A conundrum. But one for another time. It wasn’t Dreven’s job to figure out why this town was doing well when the opposite should be true. He had another job and one that was likely to end with this place having more to worry about than it’s economy.

“Major, headquarters on the line for you. Captain Jaervin also said they wish to speak to you immediately!”

Ah. There went peace for now. Dreven turned to face the private who’d arrived to be his messenger.

The private’s most noticeable feature was his face. An eye was gone, the flesh around forced back like clay molded by a clumsy hand. The bone of his cheek and eye socket lay exposed. Improper healing. It's too often a reality these days. Beyond the skills of doctors and the abilities of their clerics. There was only so much power you could call from a dead god.

“Private, I congratulate you on completing the task to the best of your abilities. Consider my tranquility broken.”

“I apologize if my appearance has disturbed you, sir.” the private said, sounding hurt.

Ah. That was a mistake on his part. The soldier thought he was commenting on his face. Not all your troops have been with you for months now Dreven.

“Not your appearance, but your stench private,” He said.

“My stench, sure?”

“Commoner stench that offends the noble delicacies of us officers. Don’t you know a noble can smell a commoner from a mile away?”

The private looked at him in disbelief. They were likely staring at his brown-colored scales that denoted his lineage by their color and the substance that shared that shade of brown. Mud for a lineage of what most noble dragons would consider dirt.

“Your appearance isn’t what disturbed me, Private. Vorenz, right? Walk with me. The nobleman requires an escort back to his headquarters.”

He had already been back, and the private followed after a few seconds.

“I’m surprised you remembered my name, sir. I wasn’t part of your unit till a week ago.”

“I do my best, Private. However, part of it is that I saw your name recently. On the page of volunteers for the train station post.” That and the private’s face. He’d seen his fair share of wounds, many to the face, many who had died from more grievous injuries.

But someone walking around with half their face peeled back, a reminder of what had been torn from them? That was hard to forget.

“Yes, Major. Have selections been made for it yet?”

“Yes. You sound rather enthusiastic about it for what will be…” The Major struggled to come up with words to describe it besides the suicide mission. Then again, that accurately described the entire operation. “A very brief part in the operations private.”

“An important part, sure. And a quick one.” The private seemed to hesitate before adding “Quick enough that I don’t think I can screw it up, sir.”

Choosing certain death over performance anxiety? That was a first. Still, if the private wanted to get it over with, it’s not like the Major could blame him.

“You’ll be under consideration for it private.”

Disturbingly, the soldier perked up a little at that.

The private had a better chance than he probably imagined. The list of volunteers was relatively short. Too many soldiers with hopes of getting out of here, he supposed. He didn’t know why.

The streets of the town were empty. Most of its residents were gone, and most of his troops were nursing hangovers, the rest on the perimeter. He’d ordered the alcohol they’d brought to be distributed when the preparations were complete. They’d served that and a feast of the best of what remained in Scaveria last night.

A two-story building on the main road served as his headquarters, specifically under it. Passing through the surface sentries, exchanging salutes as he made his way down to the basement, then further down into the tunnels they’d dug since arriving here.

Despite the small size of his reformed unit, they hadn’t skimped on specialty equipment. Earth mages, drills, and other aids had carved a network of tunnels under this town, giving them plenty of room to work with and hide from.

After about a half-hour trek, they’d reached the reinforced metal box nearly two hundred feet underground, serving as his headquarters. Enlisted communications personnel waited about a few manning phone lines, but most were just waiting. They’d laid phone lines over most of the town, and unless an Electrician had joined their target’s ranks, that’d be secure enough communications.

The single captain in the headquarters threw a lazy salute as the Major entered, the other hand massaging the side of his neck. Malvan Syvoski, still barely healed up from a dagger to the throat on the bridge.

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“Mal. Is your wound acting up?”

“Just an itch, sir. It has been nice and quiet since you took your stroll. The only news is Sergeant Soulclaimer has claimed a tower and refuses to move from it. I decided it was best just to leave her up there. Oh, and the general wants you on the line when you can.”

The Major restrained a sigh, looking up at the solid metal ceiling to about where the only tower in town was.

He had no idea how the name Soulcaimer had come about. Her squads tended to die with her as the only survivor, but she’d never shown any powers related to the soul. In the end, someone had said it once, and it stuck.

Regardless, having Yarrow stuck in the Belltower of her own accord would be to their detriment. She was one of the few members of the unit in the mid-levels, capable of posing a threat to the Travelers. Well, at least damage them.

A couple of others in the unit could do that individually. Only a few.

He would talk to her. She’d been his subordinate for a long time. But later, for right now, there were other issues to handle..

“What about the townspeople?”

“Secure, last I checked. You want me to disturb them again?”

The Major shook his head. “No. Let’s not frighten them any more than they have been. Leave them be for now. Just make sure they have enough to live if we aren’t able to retrieve them on scheduled.”

The former occupants of Halice being secure were all he needed them to be for now. The brief interviews with individual residents hadn’t been the most fruitful, except one, and for now, his use for them was at an end.

He drummed his finger on the crate, then looked down, finally noticing the contents of the opened box. Grasping a bottle from amongst the straw, he popped out the cork.

“Mal, why is there an entire crate of,” He paused and took another whiff of the spirits. “Aetherian whiskey? In the middle of my quarters?”

“Imported before the war, sir. I can assure you it’s not loot or contraband!” Mal replied cheerfully.

“Not on your pay, to be sure. Too expensive for your salary. Whose is this? I won’t deal with a portal opening up so the Field Marshal can get his booze back, am I?”

“Technically, it would be General Quaretz, sir. I noticed that his store was seemingly left behind in the middle of our evacuation from Trost and decided protecting such a rare cargo took priority, sir.”

Had he smuggled it out during the siege?

“And why isn’t it with the General, since it is his property?”

“Thought he was dead, sir!”

“He was at the same briefing we were discussing the operation, Mal.”

“Thought it was General Trieste, sir. Those two share so much in common, so few differences between them.”

“Yes, so few. Gender, age, number of eyes, color of scales. I can see how you could make the mistake. Mal, you didn’t replace any important supplies with this, did you?”

“None, sir. I simply noticed you had also decided to bring in liquor yourself and simply decided to join you in the endeavor.”

“That was approved liquor pulled from official stocks, Captain,” The Major said, using his subordinate’s rank on purpose. Mal had always been a smuggler at heart but was horrible at it. If some member of high command found out and decided to…well, to be fair at this point, what would they do? Relieve him of his command and have him walk across the entire breadth of Aetheria to face court-martial?

They hopefully wouldn’t consider opening the portal for that. High Command generally wasn’t that petty or stupid.

“Next question, why is it still here? This should have been distributed last night.”

“Reward for the troops after we are victorious, sir.”

“Victory?”

“Completion of the mission. I imagine it counts, either way, sir.”

If they failed the mission, none of them would be alive to have a drink after its failure. How many of those bottles had Mal gone through?

A private nervously coughed, pointing towards a phone lying on her desk. He’d almost forgotten.

“Oh, before I take the general. My footlocker? Really?”

“Last place people would look. Also, you’re too indispensable to be removed from the operation if it was found there.”

Ah. Of course. “We’re talking about this after I talk with the general. I need you not to be drunk for this one Mal. ”

Mal didn’t bother with a reply, and Dreven went over to the desk, picking up the phone.

“General. Sorry to keep you waiting. Guessing this is just a courtesy call?”

“Of course, major. I wanted to keep you in the loop since you’re stuck out there the longest. Negotiations with the Krilli went well. They’ll be launching an offensive of their own. And they’ve finally agreed to sign on to the Pact, assuming Trost is retaken.”

By stuck out there the longest, the general meant they were one of the few assault groups able to wait and prepare for their traveler targets instead of attacking as soon as they arrived. The relative isolation of their target wasn’t a luxury the other assault groups had.

“And the other offensives?”

“Less certain. Throwing troops at previously static fronts isn’t something popular with most other members of the Pact. They'll throw in their troops if they see success on our and the Krilli’s ends. If Travelers start dying in large enough numbers, they’ll test their fronts.”

The Pact. It was a fragile agreement, mostly done out of desperation as Aetheria had expanded further. They’d waged war on each other for much longer than Travelers had started arriving. Old grudges took time to die.

Few were still willing to offer more than military actions along their borders to coincide with the assault on Trost. The only material assistance had come from the far south, among some of their more ancient foes. Busrah had sent aid, mainly in the form of alchemical weapons.

He couldn’t blame the other nations for being more reluctant, given Scaveria’s actions well before they had become the target of Aetherea.

They’d been allies once, foolishly. Most of the metals used in their weapons had been mined in Saveria and traded across the river. They’d stopped once it became clear how far those ambitions went.

It might as well have been a declaration of war. Aetherea needed weapons and needed the metals to make them. The death of the Dead God, once the Deep God, should not have been the shock it once was.

Perhaps there had been some foolish hope the Aethereans would just stop.

“Major…you’ve gone dead on your line. Is there some disturbance?”

Ah, he’d retreated too far into his mind on that one. “No sir, just thinking on some things.”

“Just be sure not to do it during the battle,” The General replied peevishly. “Major, one last thing. I have a message for another of your officers. You wouldn’t mind passing it along, would you?”

“Not a problem, sir.”

“General Quaretz wants Captain Syvoski to know if he comes back and a single bottle has been disturbed or drunk, he will personally use the good Captain as the first shell fired out of Trost’s artillery if he retakes it. That is all.”

Ah. That sounded… precisely like the general. Worse, the threat might be carried out, which would be worrying if they had any actual chances of surviving. “Understood. I’ll pass it along. How furious is the general?”

“Very. Honestly, it might be doing some good. Keep his mind off things. He’ll probably cool off once some time has passed. Pre-op jitters. See you on the other side, Major.”

“See you on the other side sir.” Pre-op jitters would be underselling it. Quartz would be portaling into the city of Almania with nearly ten thousand soldiers to try and kill the Traveler Group called the Demons of Dragons Gate. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Syvoski was drinking one of the bottles as Dreven turned around. “High command have anything to say?”

“Quaretz threatened to convert you into an artillery shell if anything happens to his whiskey. You haven’t opened up any bottles besides that one yet have you?”

“Fifteen at various points since we’ve gotten here, Major!” Mal answered with a grin. “Artillery shell? I’d make a pretty poor one if he tried that.”

“Thickness of your head, maybe not,” Dreven muttered under his breath. “Well, at least you have two assured deaths awaiting you this month, Mal. Your little robbery has not gone unnoticed. The General will use you as an artillery shell if you don’t replace all of it.”

“Cheers to that,” Mal said before taking another pull of the bottle. “I haven’t even been sparing them, truth be told.”

Dreven frowned. He’d been around Mal most of that time, the Captain serving as his unofficial XO to Jaervin’s official one. He had not even approached being smashed during any of them.

“How much of it did you drink?” It couldn’t have been too much, Mal had been working as hard as any of them since they’d arrived.

“You misheard me earlier? Fifteen.”

How had Dreven not noticed this before? “Just don’t drink anymore till we’re finished. I’m not having you drunk during the operation.”

“You stuck me underground in the hospital. I’m not going to need to be sober.”

“It’s an order, Captain.”

A polite cough interrupted them, one of the enlisted manning the phones of the headquarters getting their attention.

“Telegram from down the line confirming their train is coming, Major. They just passed their last stop before an all-night ride to get here. Should be arriving at their schedule time. Do you want to cut the lines now?”

“Wait until they exit the train, in case they send additional messages. At least until we hook up the replacement underground.” And hope that any wires coming down the line weren’t encoded. They shouldn’t be.

They had lucked out with this town’s remoteness. A single rail line terminated here. A single telegram line. Magical forms of communication are minimal. They’d found a hedge wizard and a scrying bowl, both of which they had neutralized. Unless a Traveler escaped the initial perimeter, there’d be no communication.

Not that the rest of Aetheria would be able to respond. They’d be busy themselves. And Dreven held a certain worm to bait the hook keeping the Travelers here.

They only needed to wait for the Travelers to enter the trap.