~April 28th, 140 AH~
~The First and Last Terminal~
She saw him from the far end of the garden, while she stood next to her largest painting. He was alone, and wore an earnest look that made her self-conscious of her own sorry demeanour.
The earnest look settled into one of gentle reassurance the moment their eyes met, and she felt her own mortification grow as she watched him hasten toward her.
“I’m glad to see a familiar face,” he said with a gentle smile, then turned his attention onto the painting itself. Words failed Asena then, for her own centrepiece—the pride and joy of her fledgling artist’s career—suddenly seemed woefully inadequate under the scrutiny of her stranger of a fiancé.
“It’s an expressionist piece,” she said breathlessly, trying her utmost to remember what she herself loved so much about the painting. “Um… this yellow bit is a duck. These lighter strokes are the wings of a butterfly. They’re, um, swimming on a pond. Well, one of them is swimming. And the other one is—”
“Searching.”
Moments passed between them at the speed of eternity. Asena felt as though time itself had stopped moving, only to realize that it was she herself that had been frozen in shock.
“What did you say, Zelen?”
“Sorry if I’ve said anything weird. It’s just… to me, it looks like the butterfly is still looking for something. Something the duck tried to help it find, and maybe they got close… but not quite close enough. Somewhere—or maybe someone—with whom the butterfly truly belongs. Inherently. Effortlessly. Eternally. And maybe that’s okay. I mean, I’m sure belonging is nice and all, but there’s also something to be said for searching. Don’t you think so?”
Zelen smiled his gentle smile, and Asena held his gaze. But she wasn’t seeing Zelen. At least… not this Zelen.
She understood then. That there was still a part of her that hadn’t moved on past that awkward girl at her disastrous debut. A part of her that had remembered and expected this scene to play out differently.
A part of her that was still stuck inside the darkness of Terminal One. Before all the light she’d uncovered had forced her to reckon with the true shape of her reality.
Asena Shiranui slowly, and almost reluctantly, opened her eyes. Instead of the darkness of Terminal One, she found herself in the dim blue glow of an Eidolon’s cockpit. Inside her model M-024. The cockpit was quiet and still, save for the slight vibration of the transport vehicle in which the Eidolon was presently ensconced.
Slowly, but more urgently now, Asena attuned herself to her immediate reality. She was part of the convoy that had sortied for Operation Victory: 47 Eidolons all told, the total combined force of the survivors among the Reiter Regiment and the Apfel Alliance. A paltry number compared to the roiling mass of obsidian the convoy now headed towards, but it was also the last and best humanity had to offer—and all united in their belief of [THE POSSIBLE].
Asena moved her head, as much as her Nexa-Suit allowed her to, scanning her HUD for status updates on her convoy mates. She immediately stopped, wincing as an increasingly familiar pain shot through the base of her skull.
Now a good two months into her trial by fire as an Eidolon pilot, the fabled headache had visited her too, likely to stay for good. So far, it hadn’t proven to be much more than a nuisance: just another in a long list of physical ailments that were part and parcel of her chosen career change. It was just as well then… that this was likely to be her last day on the job.
Indeed, it should also be the last day for the 46 other pilots that travelled with her now. If everything went according to plan, this time tomorrow, everyone in this convoy would’ve left their metallic prisons far behind, free to live, grieve, love, rebuild—the way humans were always meant to.
Everyone?
Asena waited for her headache to settle… and listened. She listened to the vibration transmitted from the carrier. She listened to the faint buzz of Anamnium and the mechanical whirring of a live Eidolon. She listened to the beating of her own heart—to the rise and fall of its rhythm.
She then flexed her fingers against her bound wrist. With careful and deliberate movements, she scrolled the console until one name on the callsign list was highlighted. She hesitated, then opened a private channel.
“Kingfisher, this is Dancer. Radio check, over.”
“Dancer, this is Kingfisher. Reading you loud and clear, over.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
A pause. Faint static. Then both of them burst out laughing at the same time. And laughed and laughed, with neither fully cognizant of just what was so funny about the first—and last—by-the-books radio check the two of them had ever exchanged.
When the laughter finally died down, it was Zelen who spoke first, “Was there something you wanted to tell me, Asena?”
“More like something I wanted to ask.”
“Shoot.”
Pause. Static.
“I don’t know if there’s any Reiter etiquette about talking about a mission like it’s already over, but I just… I’m worried that if I don’t ask now, then I’ll never—”
“Go ahead, Asena. You can say anything to me. You know that.”
“… Zelen, have you… have you given any thought to what you’ll be doing after… after all this is done?”
Silence. Vibrations.
“… You know, it’s funny, but now that you mention it… I can’t say I have. I guess I’ve got a bit of tunnel vision at the minute.”
Silence. Static. Chasm.
“You said you wanted to fight for our future.”
“Yes.”
“A future where we can rebuild a home. A home for Makiri to come back to. A home where Akash can fulfill his vision. A home in which to honour our dead, lost, and long-suffering. You still believe all of this?”
“Yes. Whole-heartedly.”
“And… where are you in that home, Zelen?”
Silence. Static. The ripples in a duck’s wake. The vibrations of a butterfly’s wings.
“… I don’t know.”
“You don’t know… or you can’t say?”
“…”
At some point, Asena was visited by a truth. Not question, not speculation, not even premonition. An inevitable and incontrovertible truth.
It occurred to her that this would be the last she would remember of Zelen Athelstan. Not his surprisingly narrow frame. Not his gentle and sorrowful smile. But this. A disembodied voice, filtering through a headset and floating amidst the darkness of a metallic prison.
Just the way Asena had known him best.
Asena let out a long, steadying sigh—in lieu of a sob. She would not cry. Not anymore, and not for this. But even as she realized fully and incontrovertibly that Zelen had outgrown their relationship as much as if not more than herself, she still cared for and loved him enough to reach out—one last time.
“You know you’ll always have a place,” she spoke quietly, knowing full well the futility of her self-imposed mission. “In Akropolis… or whatever our new home might be called.”
“I know.”
“You know that there are people who’ll love and honour you. Myself included. You’re not alone anymore. And never will be again.”
“I know.”
“You know…” Her voice shuddered for the first time, against her will. “You do know there are people who’ll miss you dearly… wherever you think you might be going.”
“… I do.”
Asena stopped. She knew the futility of her mission, and besides which, there was another mission for which she needed to save all of her Reserves. Perhaps, at a time like this, tunnel vision was exactly what she needed.
“… Was it you or Akash that I was telling this to? About this… line in the sand?”
“What’s that, Zelen?”
“Sorry, Asena. I'm finding it more difficult to keep all my memories straight. I was telling Akash—god, feels like lifetimes ago now—about my Einkunst and its limitations. Like there’s a line in the sand, and no matter what I try, I can never grasp the shape of the world beyond that line… without everything around me breaking down with it.”
An awkward girl at her disastrous debut. A future that changed its shape, even as it was being dreamt into reality.
“Well… I think I found it.”
“Found what?”
“The way to cross that line. To grasp the world that lies beyond my limitations.”
“… Is that where you’re going?”
“Hm?”
“The world that lies beyond your limitations. Is that where you’re going… after? And that’s why you can’t stay with us?”
“… I—”
Their futile conversation was interrupted then, as an urgent message from the general channel overrode all private frequencies.
“All units, this is Raven Bravo. Dense packet of Syntropy activity detected to the northeast, bearing… zero-two-niner. I say again, Syntropy activity ahead and fast-approaching, bearing zero-two-niner.”
And just like that, Asena acquired the tunnel vision she’d earlier craved. For this was one mission she couldn’t fail, no matter how futile.
“This is Tripod. Acknowledged. All ground units adjust your course accordingly. Alright, boys… and girls. This is the big one. Stay frosty, and above all, stick to the plan. Right, Kingfisher. I understand that plan starts with you?”
When next Asena heard Zelen’s voice, it came through on the general channel. A warrior’s voice, but distinctly Zelen’s. Polite. Earnest. Hopeful.
“This is Kingfisher. Acknowledged. Ophis, on me. We’ll fly ahead of the Ravens and form the vanguard. It’s time you and I drew a new line in the sand. Together.”