~April 27th, 140 AH~
~The Waystation of Sorrow and Sleep~
On the morrow of mankind’s worst defeat in the Syntropy War, Akash Varana counted his blessings as much as his losses.
Both were on full display, stretched out before him in the Caverns’ main concourse, as well as within the vibrant constellation that was his own [ALLIANCE] map. Presently, the Nexus-bound signals of his map mirrored the physical world almost perfectly, as wounded and exhausted Sehers rested amongst anxious Essentials. The survivors, to a one, had been worn down by the horrors of the last 24 hours, and remained frightened of what was to come. But more importantly, they were, to a one, alive.
In the end, Akropolis’s mass exodus had proceeded… about as smoothly as anyone could’ve hoped for. There’d been losses to be sure—hundreds of men, women, and even children they were forced to leave behind. But for the most part, the civilians had acted in ready concord with the military personnel tasked with organizing and guiding them toward the Transit Gates. Asena’s early warning had been key, of course, but Akash also had to give credit where credit was due. The Joint Forces, under Ghata Vakta’s leadership, had stepped up when it mattered. Made good on a 140-year-old promise… though perhaps not in the way any Akropolitan would’ve envisioned it.
One of the more heartening pieces of news, at least as far as Akash was concerned, was that the Foothillers had also made the journey, safe and sound. The word was that Sarnai Tenger had been the one to round them up and whip them into shape, long before anyone from the Apfel Alliance could’ve reached them. Their survival, as well as their hasty re-integration into the larger society, such as it was, had been one of the few silver linings upon clouds of despair. For here in the Caverns, everyone stood on the same flat ground, no matter which part of ‘the hill’ they’d descended from.
By far the trickiest part of the evacuation had been the transport of Spiegels from the basement beneath the Eidolon Hangar. Akash still broke into cold sweats just thinking about the whole harrowing venture.
After a rushed consultation with the on-site Kurators and Gaertners, it’d been decided that the Spiegels would be, at least for the time being, kept inside their sustainment units, for their own safety. No human technology, whether built by Akropolitans or salvaged from the Caverns, had been designed to maintain and carry these monstrosities over several hundred klicks. The feat was only made possible with liberal improvisation, tireless efforts from the Sehers already involved in the Spiegel Program… and loss of life along the way.
In the end, exactly 22 of the decommissioned Spiegels had made it into the Caverns with vital signals still intact. The job wasn’t done, of course, and even now, JF Kurators and Gaertners worked around the clock to stabilize the makeshift facility and devise solutions on how to eventually ‘wean’ the Spiegels off their sustainment units.
Akash himself had mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, he was grateful that the Program’s support personnel were finally putting their expertise toward helping arguably the worst victims of the Syntropy War. On the other hand—well, best not to think about it too much. Better to count the blessings as much as the losses.
Besides, the Joint Forces were no longer the only ones involved with the Spiegel’s welfare. Lucinia Mauri had been the first among the Alliance Gaertners to volunteer her services, and she’d also brought along a new friend, an Essential woman called Ruhua, as her assistant. And the last time Akash walked through the facility, he even spotted Sarnai Tenger, pacing briskly amongst the sustainment units and, incredibly enough, barking orders to the Sehers as if she was in charge of the whole operation. Akash had to marvel at this, just as much as he wondered how much of her own daughter the Foothiller woman was starting to remember. For now, however, he thought it best not to prod…
Of course, none of this would’ve been truly possible were it not for… the Syntropy themselves.
All of Akropolis had held their breath as they left behind their home of 140 years. Amidst a veritable pandaemonium of conflicting and compounding emotions, chief among them had been fear. Fear that the Syntropy would prove too many, too massive, and too relentless for humanity to make good on their escape.
And yet, all of Akropolis had watched as the Syntropy converged around the languidly moving shadow of the Mothership. The Syntropy army twisted and churned, an ever-shifting vortex of death and obsidian… but they also stayed home, never straying too far from the Leviathan that was the eye of their storm. All this had allowed the human convoy to make their southward trip in relative safety—though at no point did any of them feel truly safe. Perhaps they never would.
Only the most optimistic and oblivious of Akropolitans could believe that this was the end of it. Akash as well as many among the JF leadership still scrambled to prepare defenses and plan their next move. They might’ve been granted an unexpected reprieve, but the Mothership still flew—now southbound to the Caverns.
Humanity had neither the means nor the will to run and hide forever. Sooner or later, they would have to fight… take the enemy head on. Sooner rather than later…
And that was why Akash Varana couldn’t stay idle, even as he counted his blessings and losses. Presently, he stepped out of the dilapidated doorframe of his makeshift quarters and into the concourse proper, ready to dedicate himself to his next and all-important contribution to mankind’s survival. Before he could, however, a gentle hand on his arm stayed his feet.
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He looked to his side, startled as if he’d seen a ghost. In a way, he had seen one… for standing beside him now with a sorrowful and still uneasy smile was none other than Opal Varana, his wife—if he could still call himself a husband.
“Where are you off to?” she asked, in a voice that, for twelve long years, Akash had heard only in his dreams. It was an innocent enough question, but it was also one that carried the weight of twelve long years.
“I’m not going to disappear again,” he said in what he’d hoped to be a light tone, then immediately regretted it, when he saw an unfamiliar worry cross a painfully familiar face. He quickly added, “Just to the infirmary, love. I still have… a patient that requires urgent attention.”
More than one, in truth. But with him now was a whole team of JF Gaertners to help share the load. To allow him to pour all his focus and Reserves on one patient alone. All that and more he would confide in Opal in long overdue time, as they tried to pick up the pieces of their former lives. Yet, for now, he still had a fight on his hands.
Akash’s assurances hadn’t fully loosened the knots on Opal’s brow. She tried, uneasily, to put on a smile again as she asked, “Couldn’t you stay with us just a while longer? It’s just… you and Kiran have barely had a chance to talk.”
Akash nodded with a sorrowful smile of his own—counting both his blessings and losses. “How is he?”
“The same. I’m sorry, Akash, but I don’t think he’s quite forgiven you.”
“And I don’t expect him to,” Akash said quickly, even as a lump formed in his throat, “at least not yet.”
Unlike his reunion with his wife, seeing his son again after twelve years had been like meeting a stranger for the first time. Kiran was fifteen now, and looked uncannily—cruelly—like Akash himself. The boy was a living breathing reminder of all of Akash’s failings… and of all that he still had to fight for.
And that was why he couldn’t fail. Never again. He squeezed Opal’s hand on his arm, then gently helped her lower it.
“I won't promise that I’ll make it up to you and Kiran both,” he said in his usual even keel, as the lump in his throat settled back into his chest, “not after everything I’ve put you through. What I can promise, though, is that I’ll try my damnedest. And right now, that has to start with me finishing what I started.”
Opal held Akash’s gaze, even as the uneasiness of her smile loosened into wry resignation. But sorrow remained in her hooded eyes, as she squeezed his hand in turn before letting go.
Akash turned his back and resumed his march into the concourse. He still felt his wife’s eyes on his back—and his son’s silence beyond the doorframe—as he stepped through crowds of weary yet restless Akropolitans.
Even now, after twelve long years, Akash Varana still didn’t know if he’d made the right choice. Abandoning his family. Turning his back on a city and institution that had nurtured and protected him all his life. Inciting civil war…
And for what? For the Syntropy to turn everything to ash anyway? What had been the point of it all? Had there been a point? A point to the suffering? A point to the losses?
Akash gritted his teeth, and forced himself to count his blessings. He thought of a young woman who’d found the strength to fight back, not only against the tyranny of man, but also against the worst the Syntropy could throw at her. He thought of a novice general who, in the moment when his people needed him most, had answered the call—had found it in himself to make a different choice from that of all his predecessors.
And now, they were two of his most important [ALLIES] in a war effort that had never been more focused and united in its purpose. Akash had to believe that his own choice from twelve years ago had paved the way. Despite all the losses, he had to count also the blessings—the little wins along the way.
The infirmary, predictably enough, was the busiest it’d ever been. Patients spilled onto makeshift beddings on the floor. Staff in tattered uniforms ran to and fro amidst the controlled chaos, finding a measure of calmness in the shared imperative of their tasks. The whole room buzzed with a kind of aetherial electricity, as a generous supply of Anamnium emitted its faint blue glow from within crisscrossed tubings.
Akash stepped through the chaos, exchanging nods and hurried greetings with colleagues he passed along the way. Then he entered an alcove on the far end, one that had been segregated from the rest of the room using stacked crates and a jerry-rigged curtain.
There, Zelen Athelstan lay upon a folding cot, sound asleep—the last of the blessings Akash had to count.
The young Reiter had remained unconscious, despite the absence of physical injury or any other neurological deficit, since the moment Akash had retrieved him from the Vulkan Coast. He looked, for all intents and purposes, like someone in the midst of a peaceful sleep, save for the slight furrow that creased his brow.
But Akash had been treating Zelen for well over 24 hours now, in the short moments he could spare amidst the unfolding chaos. And every time he ventured into the young man’s Meridians—tried to dilute if not entirely wash away what was ailing him—he’d come away trembling, drenched in sweat, and utterly terrified by the sheer enormity and density of Zelen’s pain.
How was it possible that one person—a boy no less, barely in his twenties—held so much concentrated suffering within his narrow frame? And yet, Akash already knew the answer. For this particular boy wasn’t just ‘one person’, was he?
For Zelen Athelstan was a living breathing reminder of all of humanity’s suffering… and of all the possibilities still left to them.
And now, it was up to Akash to unlock those possibilities. To ready a young man—as cruel as it was—for one last battle.
Asena Shiranui had offered her help, of course. That was just the Asena thing to do. But as was the Akash thing to do, he’d refused, knowing that the Kurator had long outgrown her adolescent attachment to Zelen. She now had her own battles, ones only she could fight.
Whereas this… this was a job for a Gaertner and the accursed Einkunst that had hounded him all his life. Hounded him with responsibility, with choices, with blessings and losses. Well… it was high time he did something useful with this curse of his. After all, wasn’t he—and the rest of mankind—long overdue for a win?
With a trembling hand that remembered well the enormity and density of a warrior’s pain, Akash Varana reached out to his last and most important [ALLY].