~October 30th, 138 AH~

~Sector Pisces, somewhere in the Intercontinental Sea~

Night fell, giving the victorious Reiters the cover of darkness as they floated their way across the sea. The darkness wouldn’t protect them from being spotted by Syntropy, but it did help to obscure the sight of each other.

This small comfort was not to be taken lightly. Despite having accomplished what they’d set out to do, and despite securing what the General deemed the most important victory in the history of the Syntropy War, each surviving member of Operation Leviathan—for now at least—only wanted to be left alone with his thoughts.

Some were numb. Some were angry. Some were relieved. Some were in mourning. Many were all of these things. Whatever the case might be, the unspoken arrangement suited Zelen just fine. For perhaps he, more than anyone, wanted and needed to be alone.

Presently, he lay atop their rusted transport watercraft, watching the eerily purple mist of the night sky float by. He alone had opted to remain above deck, and none of the other Reiters had objected—perhaps they themselves all too happy to be relieved of the expectation to ‘debrief’ with Kingfisher.

He wasn’t quite sure what he found so endlessly fascinating about the night sky. In truth, there wasn’t much to distinguish it from daytime. The planet’s haze was uniform, ever-present, and all-encompassing. The only difference between night and day was in the spectra of light that filtered through—or didn’t.

And perhaps… therein was the comfort—the sameness—that fascinated him, that he yearned for. Three years into his career now, there was no going back to the mornings where he’d wake up knowing he’d be staring at the exact same ceiling at the end of the day. The doldrums of proto-Reiter training had been replaced by an entirely different kind of routine, one defined by how many and how efficiently he killed, and by how effectively he avoided being killed himself.

How effectively he coped with the deaths of those in the same predicament.

Megha had died so Zelen could live. And to what end? Where was the justification? The scale to measure the weight and worth of Megha’s sacrifice? What cruel and twisted force in the universe had decided that Zelen should be allowed to stare at the night sky’s nothingness while his friend sank to the bottom of the sea?

What force indeed… until something akin to an answer flitted across the edges of his consciousness.

“Silon… it was you, wasn’t it?”

It shouldn’t have been the kind of question to give a Spiegel pause, but Silon nevertheless delayed in answering. It was as though she too had expected—and dreaded—the inevitability of this discussion.

You’ll need to be more specific than that, Zelen.

“You’re the one that got through to Glasswing. To let him know, specifically, that I needed help.”

It’s more accurate to say that I communicated with Glasswing’s Spiegel, who then passed on the message to their Reiter.

Zelen sighed, as something heavy and immovable sank and settled into his chest.

“Why Glasswing?”

My options were limited, Zelen, given that you were fully submerged in water.

“Limited, but you still had options. Violin had submersible armour too. Did you ask his Spiegel for help?”

No.

“Why not?”

The entirety of Zelen’s being rejected his own line of questioning. What vile thoughts… to weigh the sacrifice of one Reiter against another’s. It was exactly the kind of Akropolitan norm he’d often distanced himself from.

Yet right now, the question felt vital, imperative. The question was inextricable from his desire for punishment, his need to feel responsible for Megha’s death.

Because I was sure Glasswing would ignore orders to come to your aid. And I couldn’t say the same for Violin.

Zelen sighed again, and the stony weight sank deeper into his chest. It was pain. It was self-loathing. It was relief.

He wasn’t angry at his Spiegel. How could he be? She’d only been trying to save his life, just like Megha. So, it came as a relief to transfer the responsibility—the blame—back onto himself. Megha was chosen because of what Zelen had meant to him. What he’d meant to Zelen.

“Didn’t you yourself claim to be unfamiliar with the personal connections between Reiters?”

I’m a fast learner, in case you haven’t noticed.

Zelen let out a short, hoarse, and hollow chuckle, then fell silent. The night sky continued to float by, with nary a shift in its countenance.

Zelen? I have a query of my own, if I may.

“You may.”

There was a moment on the sinking ship. When Glasswing called you Zelen instead of Kingfisher or Athelstan. I searched within my knowledge bank, and I couldn’t recall another instance where he’d done so. Was that something he often did in your… non-combat lives? Call you by your name?

“Often? Not ever, more like. I think… this might’ve been the first time.”

Do you think, then, that it held special meaning? That something undeniable had spurred him to do so in the moment? I only ask, because you long ago requested me to do the same. Do names… have meaning?

Zelen considered this for a moment. It was true that he preferred Silon to call him by his name. It was also true that the moment he’d heard Megha do the same had triggered a wave of emotions he himself couldn’t quite characterize. But now that he was asked to hone in on the why, the answer didn’t come easily.

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“Maybe not everyone would agree, but I think it does. Zelen… is the name my family gave me. My re—biological family, before I was adopted by the Athelstans. This is embarrassing, but I actually can’t remember anything about them. All I know is that there were people that cared about and cared for me long before I became a Seher, and Zelen is the name that ties me to those people. And that’s how I want to be thought of—remembered—by the people I care about and care for.”

Now it was Silon’s turn to fall silent, and for far too long to be chalked up to the usual breaks in her chains of communication. Zelen frowned slightly, wondering if the channel between them had cut out somehow.

I don’t know my real name.

“Excuse me?”

I searched in my knowledge bank. And I couldn’t find my real name.

Zelen’s frown deepened. The stone within his chest shifted, to make room for a sense of nameless foreboding that bubbled from an unknowable source.

“You mean Si—Delta-Upsilon isn’t your, erm, real name?”

It’s a codename used to facilitate my training and communications. It’s not the name… that’s tied to the core of my identity and existence.

“Do… do Spiegels even have real names?”

Zelen regretted his callous words as soon as they left him. Even so, the whole notion of this packet of the Nexus having—or seeking—a ‘real name’ seemed absurd.

But was it really that much more absurd than the attachment he felt for his own name?

Perhaps not, Zelen.

If Zelen hadn’t imagined things, the voice that came back wasn’t Silon’s usual monotone. It somehow sounded a little quieter, a little more deflated.

Perhaps I don’t have another name, and I’m merely conflating your experiences with mine. But it does leave me somewhat regretful that I can’t share that experience with you. That I could call you by your name, but can’t give you mine. A name I wish to be remembered by.

Zelen was floored, and more of that stone dislodged itself, until the earlier foreboding shifted into something else entirely. His HUD still showed the never-changing purple mist of the night sky, but his vision of it blurred, until he blinked away the tears.

“We’ll make one.”

Zelen?

“If you don’t have a name to be remembered by, we’ll make one of our own. No matter what happens to me, and even if you end up returning to the Nexus one day, I won’t ever forget who you are and what you mean to me, Silon.”

~February 16th, 140 AH~

~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ, Terminal One~

Dawn broke, but that made no difference to the father and daughter that sat and stared blankly at each other inside a darkened room.

The session had far exceeded the allotted time. Private Aliyu, Asena’s assistant, was dismissed while the latter was still in the throes of the most horrific recollections of someone else’s life. After that, Colonel Yuito Shiranui took over monitoring duties and stood by his daughter’s side for hours, adjusting this knob and changing that bag to ensure that the in-session Kurator remained well-nourished and Anamnium-replete throughout.

As for the consistently elevated pulses and other signs of clear distress, both Somatic and Psychic… well, he could do little about that.

Even after the [EVOCATION] had mercifully ended, it’d been an ordeal and a half to guide the subject toward some semblance of emotional equilibrium, to help him [UNRAVEL] all the extraneous memories that had been uncovered. This went on for several more hours, and by the time Yuito found the presence of mind to check his watch, it’d already been well past midnight.

And after that, father and daughter finally had some time to themselves. At first, Asena merely remained supine in her reclined seat, speechless and motionless, save for a slight tremor in her hands. Her hair was tousled and drenched with sweat, and skin clammy with the same. Her eyes were open but pointed nowhere—at least nowhere inside this workstation—and she didn’t even bother to redo her buttons.

Yuito managed to dig out a fire blanket from the supply cabinet, and draped it over Asena, more for dignity and comfort than for warmth. He then left temporarily to scrounge for leftover snacks and drinks in the common room down the hall. When he returned, Asena was in the exact same position as how he’d left her.

He set down the food and drink, but didn’t really expect his daughter to reach for them. Then he sat quietly by her side, and waited for the right words to come to him.

They’d yet to have their verbal debrief, but Yuito could surmise plenty of what Asena had just experienced. For she’d already been plenty vocal in the midst of her [EVOCATION], shouting words that couldn’t reach their intended target.

It was terrifying. As a father, yes, but also simply as a fellow Kurator who knew well the misery and violence of a Reiter’s memories.

Until the whirlwind events of recent weeks, he’d fully intended to keep his daughter far away from ever having to work with a Reiter, to shield her from the misery and violence. She was an Einkunster, and as such the expectation was for her to contribute uniquely to the war, but so what? [EVOCATION] was an unwieldy novelty of an ability, a parlour trick and no more.

Who could’ve foreseen that Asena’s novelty of an Einkunst would be called into action this soon into her career, and in the most dramatic fashion imaginable?

Since the beginning, Yuito had tried to convince the General that he was up for the job. That he’d handled this subject and his fragile mind for four years, and there was no reason he couldn’t also be the one to bring him back from an utter and complete Psychic collapse. But the first few sessions ended in a whole lot of nothing, and the General was not a patient man.

He also wasn’t someone to be denied. As such, Yuito had no choice but to go along with the plan, to send Asena onto the front line. The least he could do for her now was to expedite the mission as best he could. If that meant pushing and prodding when her resolve seemed to be wavering, he would do it, and live with the consequences—though there’d already been several occasions where his own resolve had wavered…

Yet now, as father and daughter sat in silence for hours, as the clock ticked past dawn and toward the start of another day, Yuito was lost for words.

What could he say to her? What words of comfort, encouragement, or even apology could possibly befit this occasion? For watching his daughter suffer hadn’t been the only thing that terrified him. In fact, there was something that terrified him more.

The subject himself.

What else had Zelen Athelstan hidden from him—consciously or otherwise? What other dark memories—secrets—still lay buried within the forgotten recesses of this young Reiter’s mind, waiting to be [EVOKED] by his poor, unsuspecting daughter?

“Father.”

Yuito looked up at Asena with a start, having never imagined the possibility that she would be the first to speak. And that wasn’t all. Despite her faraway look, her voice was remarkably steady and resonant.

“Yes? What is it?”

“I would like to request emergency leave. I think… three days should do it. I will resume the sessions first thing when I’m back.”

Yuito continued to be surprised by his daughter. Whatever he’d expected her to say, it wasn’t this.

“Are you certain about this? The General… After tonight’s session, you only have twelve days left to restore the subject’s Nexus attunement.”

“I’m certain. I won’t be idle during my leave. I believe… whatever I manage to learn over the next three days should help to expedite the mission upon my return.”

Normally, Yuito would’ve been heartened to hear his children sound a lot like himself. Right now, however, it only disquieted him some more.

“You won’t… share with me… what it is you intend to learn?”

“No, Father. Not when I know it’ll reach the General’s ears immediately.”

Yuito just barely stopped himself from drawing in a sharp breath. If his daughter was determined to be calm and collected in the face of what she’d just gone through, the least he could do was to match her composure.

“The General won’t let you roam freely. He’ll have eyes on you. If you hoped to access—”

“I expect as much. Not to worry. I don’t intend to go digging around on base.”

“Then what—”

“Please, Father. Just answer me. Will you grant me this leave or not?”

Colonel Shiranui met his daughter’s earnest stare with an outwardly impassive one of his own. With her faraway eyes, dishevelled face, and uniform soaked and stuck to her skin, she was far removed from the cushy desk-bound life he’d once envisioned for her. Instead, she looked more like the Reiters he’d gotten to know well—too well—over the years.

And as any good Kurator should when handling a young Reiter, Yuito met readiness for battle with words of affirmation.

“I approve your request, Corporal, and hereby grant you three days of emergency leave. I hope you find... what you need to move forward.”