Thea watched Karania draw in a shaky breath, visibly wrestling her emotions back under control as she took a moment to steady herself. She could feel her friend’s grip tighten, and then release just enough for her fingers to stop trembling.
Then, Kara finally forced a small, wavering smile as she turned towards Thea, though it never even got close to reaching her eyes, which remained dark and clouded.
She let out a sigh and waved off Thea’s concern with a quick flick of her cybernetic hand, but her voice—usually so firm and sure—came out as an uncharacteristic mumble.
“It’s nothing, really. Just… too fucking messed up, that’s all,” she murmured, the words barely audible and far from her usual confident tone.
Thea blinked, momentarily at a loss for how to respond.
She wanted to say something, anything, to reassure her friend, but this—this was something new. She’d never seen Karania seem so… vulnerable.
To Thea, the whole incident in the recording appeared as little more than a minor oversight, the sort of error absolutely anyone might make under the circumstances.
But as she glanced at Kara’s face, she saw a deeper conflict there, something that made her friend’s words feel strangely heavy; that she couldn’t quite parse.
Her mind raced, trying to find the right thing to say, but she felt thoroughly out of her depth.
Interpersonal conversations, especially ones like this, were still completely unfamiliar territory for her. On Lumiosia she had only really talked to Thomas or James on a regular basis, neither of which had ever really shown her any emotions like this.
She could clearly sense that there was something more behind Karania’s reaction, a weight that went beyond the momentary lapse on screen, but she had no idea where to even start.
“Kara, it’s okay… It was just one mistake,” she ventured, the words sounding uncertain and hollow even to her own ears. “We all make them.”
But even as she said it, Thea knew it sounded too hollow, completely inadequate for whatever was weighing so heavily on her friend’s mind.
Despite that, however, Karania’s eyes softened a bit at Thea’s attempt, and she gave her hand a light squeeze.
"Thanks, Thea," Karania said softly, her voice carrying a note of warmth that managed to break through the tension between them. A small, fleeting smile touched her lips, but Thea saw the pain that still lurked just beneath the surface.
It was unmistakable, a quiet hurt that her words hadn’t managed to reach.
‘Why is this so fucking hard?!’ Thea’s thoughts churned with frustration. ‘Kara always knows exactly what to say or do to help me, and now that she’s hurting, I’m just sitting here like a clueless idiot?!’
The bitter taste of self-reproach filled her mouth.
She’d tried so hard, ever since joining the UHF, to make strides in understanding people, in connecting with them on a deeper level, but it felt like there was still an insurmountable gap in her knowledge—a gulf she simply couldn’t bridge, no matter how much she tried.
‘Maybe… maybe I could ask the Sovereign for advice…?’ she wondered, recalling how the AI had helped her navigate her first bonding experiences with Kara. But the memory of Kara’s clear stance on the Sovereign’s overreaching role crept in from their conversation last night, making her reconsider. ‘No, I can’t. Kara wouldn’t want that—she didn’t want me relying on the AI’s help unless absolutely necessary. This is something I have to handle myself… I think.’
But that left her grasping for solutions. Maybe she could talk to Corvus?
Out of everyone in Alpha Squad, Corvus was by far the best at handling people, after all.
He had a downright uncanny knack for knowing just what others needed to hear, even better than Kara sometimes. But going to him felt like she’d be exposing a part of Kara she knew her friend was trying to keep hidden, keeping her pain private.
‘Would that be a betrayal of her trust…? Going behind her back to ask for help she didn’t ask for?’ Thea’s chest tightened as she considered the implications. ‘Or is it just me she doesn’t want help from because she knows I’m terrible at this…?’
Glancing briefly toward Corvus, she caught him already watching them out of the corner of his eye. His gaze was discreet, almost invisible to anyone but someone with her levels of Perception, but it was there, carefully attuned and already aware.
Before she could decide whether to signal for his help, Kara’s hand tightened around her own, pulling her focus back.
Thea looked up, surprised to find the familiar brightness in Kara’s eyes once again, as if the momentary lapse had never happened.
“I’m fine now,” Kara said, her voice calm but insistent. “Thank you, Thea. I’m okay now. I really am okay.”
Her gaze was steady, a gentle reassurance that seemed more for Thea’s sake than her own.
Thea held her friend’s gaze a moment longer, searching for any hint of lingering hurt, but Kara’s expression had settled, her composure restored.
Karania gave Thea’s hand one final, comforting squeeze, her expression softening as she gestured subtly toward the stage.
Her lips curled in a small, knowing smile. “This one’s yours, isn’t it?” she murmured, a hint of teasing warmth in her voice once again.
Thea held her gaze for a second longer, feeling a pang of worry pierce through the distraction of the ceremony.
Something in Kara’s reassurance had felt… off.
Although Thea was far from being a natural at understanding people’s emotions, she’d spent enough time with Karania by now to pick up on the subtle cues in her friend’s behaviour.
The slight tension in her shoulders at all times, the way her fingers occasionally tapped in irregular patterns against her leg or in the air as though playing an invisible piano—Karania’s unique tells were usually easy to miss, but impossible for Thea to overlook by now.
But this time, it wasn’t just that.
Karania’s tone had an unusual repetition to it, a redundancy that seemed out of character. Kara, who was precise and exact with her words practically at all times, almost allergic to saying anything twice in the same way, was trying too hard to convince her that she was “okay”.
The realisation sank into Thea like a lead weight: Despite her friend’s calm exterior, Karania was struggling; a lot.
‘She’s putting on a brave face… for me,’ Thea thought, a wave of guilt and sadness washing over her. ‘She knows I’m terrible at this kind of thing and doesn’t want me worrying about her.’
It stung heavily to realise just how little she could offer Karania in return when her friend so often read her like an open book, anticipating her needs with a practised ease that Thea could never seem to match.
Out of options and resolving to play along for Karania’s sake, Thea returned her nod, hoping the gesture conveyed the silent support she couldn’t find the right words for.
Then, forcing herself to refocus, she turned her gaze back toward the front of the hall.
By the time she fully tuned back into the ceremony, Major Quinn was already well into her enthusiastic praise of the latest Gold-medal recipient.
Her voice carried smoothly through the hall, warm and full of praise, though Thea had missed enough of the buildup to still feel a flicker of confusion.
Her eyes drifted to the enormous screen behind Major Quinn, where the emblem of the award gleamed in crisp detail.
The design was unmistakable, even without having heard any of the introduction—a set of crosshairs centred over a small figure whose helmet appeared to be splitting open from a precise bullet hole. The back of the helmet was depicted mid-explosion, fragments of metal and visor frozen in the moment, emphasising the lethal accuracy of a true marksman.
Seeing the gleaming crosshair emblem flash on the screen, Thea felt her pulse quicken, a thrill of anticipation humming through her.
This was the kind of award she might actually make an appearance in—assuming, of course, she’d met whatever criteria the UHF had set for it.
“Yeah… maybe,” she murmured under her breath, more to herself than anyone else, as she tried to gauge her chances. Thinking back, the opportunities for sniping in her assessment had been limited, at least in the classic sense. She’d had a few long-distance shots, but most had been at objects rather than individuals.
The true “sniper” moments—long-range, critical targets—had been rare.
Her encounters with high-value targets had been anything but typical either.
The Stellar Republic Ace had cut her down before she’d even fully realised what she was dealing with, and the deadly Psyker-Duo had been taken out in brutal, close-quarters combat.
Neither scenario quite fit the textbook sniper role, where the objective was a single, distant target taken out with precision.
Just then, Karania’s voice drifted over, a soft and steady reassurance amidst her doubts.
“I think you won’t be in this one until the Recruit Awards,” she said, her words measured and confident. Thea felt a pang of mixed relief and unease at the unresolved tension between them, yet was grateful for her friend’s insight.
“Criteria for this one disqualify a few of your bigger moments,” Karania continued thoughtfully. “They’re focusing on distance and individual impact—just one clear target. But they didn’t say it had to be a person, so the stealth generator from the start or maybe one of the anti-armor cannons on the wall should count. I’d wager Gold-medal Recruit, maybe even Platinum, if nothing big went down on the western battlefield.”
Thea simply nodded wordlessly, not sure what to say.
She was harbouring doubt about being featured at all, still, but Karania’s unshaken confidence was almost overriding those doubts entirely.
Karania’s words rang true as the ceremony continued.
When Major Quinn finally announced the Platinum winner for the Surgical Strike award, it wasn’t Thea’s name that rang out, but that of another Marine entirely.
“This year’s Platinum Surgical Strike award goes to… Recruit Anders Holt from Iron Squad!” The crowd erupted in applause as a tall, lean Marine from the back row made his way up to the stage, his confident stride suggesting he’d expected this.
Thea forced a small smile, clapping politely as Holt accepted the medal.
The room hummed with energy, and Thea couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment of not being up there, receiving this very same applause.
Karania might be right about her being featured later, but it didn’t soften the sting of seeing somebody else get celebrated in a category you should be good at.
Thea turned her attention back to her thoughts, her mind whirling as she searched for a way to address the unspoken tension between her and Karania.
If Kara was hiding her pain for Thea’s sake, then Thea needed to find a way to reach her without making it worse.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
But how?
The answer continued to elude her, gnawing at her with every passing moment.
Major Quinn’s voice carried over the clamour, introducing the next award. “And now, we turn to those who embodied the spirit of resilience and unwavering care in the heat of battle. The Emperor’s Touch award is for the medics who not only saved lives but made a critical difference in the outcome of their missions. The criteria focus primarily on the number of lives saved and Marines brought back into the fight, as well as the impact the ones you have saved have made with the lives you have granted!”
Thea barely registered the announcement, as she was too focused on the thoughts inside her own head. She didn’t even consider that Karania was going to be part of this award any time soon, likely pocketing an Assessment award, at the very least.
Her attention only half-tuned to the Marine who rose to collect the Platinum Medal a couple minutes later.
“Recruit Dalia Reyes from Hawk Squad!”
The recipient, a short, muscular woman with sharp eyes and a confident gait, strode confidently up to the stage, but Thea barely registered the applause that filled the hall.
The sound felt distant, as if muffled by invisible walls, while her gaze drifted back to Karania.
Kara sat beside her, poised and collected, her face betraying none of the earlier vulnerability that Thea had caught.
But Thea knew better. A month ago, she would’ve missed it entirely.
Now, however, after countless hours spent together pre-assessment and during the missions, she’d learned enough to catch Karania’s earlier slip-up, and the fact that her friend was far from okay.
She took a quiet breath, finally making up her mind.
‘I need to do something.’
Karania had been her rock, always steady, and this was a rare moment for her friend to need the same in return.
Glancing to her left, Thea tried once again to subtly catch Corvus’s eye, but without alerting Kara.
She had waited, stealing a look here and there, hoping for a random moment when Corvus would turn her way throughout the ceremony, each award met with the crowd’s applause, but throughout the entire Emperor’s Touch award, he hadn’t looked her way even once.
‘Alright, no other choice then,’ Thea thought somewhat ruefully.
She would’ve preferred not to have to rely on this option, but with time pressing on and her natural impatience taking over, she made an executive decision. Her cybernetic fingers moved almost imperceptibly as she accessed her datapad nestled in her pocket.
Without looking, she typed carefully, relying on the mental map of the keyboard she knew like the back of her hand. She had no way of contacting anyone specific this way, not without looking, but for what she wanted to achieve, she didn’t need to.
She just needed to type it.
It was a simple message; but one that needed neither target nor to be sent in the first place.
[Sovereign, get Corvus' attention]
They were, after all, still inside the DDS.
The Sovereign’s AI was bound to be watching everyone and everything; especially Thea, if the whole meeting with Councillor Lumis had been any indication. For the AI, it would be an absolute child’s game to check the message that Thea was writing out on her datapad, even without it being sent to anyone.
After all, the AI was the DDS.
Taking one last glance at Corvus, she felt a flicker of hope—and almost immediately, her faith was rewarded. Corvus abruptly turned his head in her direction, brows furrowed as though he’d been hit by an odd sound or brush of air.
His eyes landed on Thea’s and he raised an eyebrow, to which Thea simply replied with an intent stare.
‘Please understand…’ she prayed internally, hoping that Corvus would—
“Thea, what’s wrong?” she suddenly heard Corvus’ voice inside her own head mere moments later and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He had understood her intent fully and without delay.
Not only was Corvus the only person she trusted to give her sound advice, but he was also the only one she could ask without risking anyone else finding out about it.
“First, this conversation never happened,” Thea said, her voice low and steady as she kept her eyes on the podium, careful not to glance back in Corvus’ direction, past Karania. Any slip in her composure could be noticed by her. “Second, how do you… how do you help someone when they’re sad or angry? Like, how do you talk to them and make them feel better? You’re the expert on this kind of thing, so I need your advice.”
There was a pause that felt far too long, and Thea’s heartbeat thudded in her chest.
Finally, Corvus’s voice broke through the silence, cautious but direct, “This is about Kara, isn’t it? Did something happen?”
Panic flared within Thea.
She hadn’t wanted to give anything away, especially not Karania’s moment of vulnerability.
Thea was determined to protect her friend’s privacy, even from Corvus.
Rushing to cover her tracks, she blurted out, “No, no! No, it’s not about her. I’m just… ehhh… Curious, that’s all. Let’s just say you were sad or angry—hypothetically, of course. How would I help you? It’s just curiosity… for a friend.”
Thea’s stomach twisted into knots as she realised how transparent her lie was.
It wasn’t exactly like she even had a wide circle of friends, and the only person she’d been close to in the first place—truly close to—was Karania.
Thea could practically feel Corvus’s gaze and silent scrutiny from the left, and it took every ounce of her willpower not to bury her face in her hands or look over to gauge his reaction.
Her cybernetic hand, hidden from view, tightened into a fist, the cool metal digging into the palm as she fought the embarrassment of her own ineptitude.
She prayed Corvus would show the tact he was known for and overlook her truly horrendous attempt at subtlety.
A few moments later, while the ceremony continued on stage unabated, with applause and the hum of voices a distant backdrop, Corvus’s voice reached her mind again, careful and calm.
“Alright, let’s say it’s me then, Thea,” he began, thankfully playing along with her horrendous cover story. “Imagine I’m angry or upset. The first thing I’d want—no matter who I’m talking to—is for them to just understand where I’m coming from. Not to try to fix it, not to offer solutions, just… to understand. That’s the foundation. Without that; any further steps are immediately bound to fail.”
Thea absorbed this, her mind working to keep up with these downright alien concepts. “So… understanding why comes first; got it. But… What if they don’t say why? Like, how would I find out? I ask you, ‘Why are you sad?’ but you don’t say?”
Corvus seemed to sense her anxiety and genuine confusion, keeping his tone soft. “It’s about listening between the words spoken, Thea. People, even if they don’t outright tell you, will give hints. Voluntarily or otherwise. Sometimes, it’s in how they look, or the way they talk. Like if their words seem out of sync with their expression, or they hesitate—it might mean they want to say something but feel unsure.”
Thea nodded to herself, eyes narrowed as she thought this over. “So… I just wait? Let them speak and I observe, trying to find things that don’t quite fit?”
“Exactly. But, you can always offer them that opening, without pushing, as well. Say something like, ‘I’m here if you want to talk,’ or ‘I’ve noticed you seem a bit off.’ Those are gentle enough to invite them to speak without pressuring them.”
She was quiet for a moment, then asked, “But what if that’s not enough? Like, if they don’t actually say anything, and I can’t… What If I can’t get them to speak? Then what?”
Corvus’s tone held a hint of amusement as he responded, “Then, you’re left with your observations from earlier. It’s like when you’re scouting for the smallest signs of an enemy presence—you don’t have a full picture, but you piece together clues. Maybe an out-of-place boot print here, a tire-track there. They won’t outright tell you where the enemy is hiding, but it will give you an idea that they’re around, right? Sometimes, that’s all you can work with until they’re ready to share more. And remember, everyone’s different. Some need time. Some might just want silent company, or maybe some distraction. That last part is experimentation, unfortunately. There’s no one-size-fits-all, I’m afraid.”
Thea chewed over this, slowly piecing together the concept. “So… just be there. I don’t have to force it. Just… offer support until I can piece together the boot prints…”
“Exactly. It sounds simple, but it’s quite complex in execution and exceedingly powerful,” Corvus continued, as if carefully guiding her through each step. “If it were me, I’d want to know that someone noticed I wasn’t quite myself. And after that, I’d want them to respect if I wasn’t ready to talk yet. It’s like giving someone space, but with an open door.”
Thea nodded in understanding, her gaze distant, simply staring at the recording of whatever medal was being handed out at the moment without seeing, as she connected each point.
The concept seemed foreign, but considering that it was Corvus breaking it down, it had to be right. “And… if they do talk?”
“Then you’re just there to listen, no judgement. And if there’s anything practical you can do to help with what they’re feeling, you can offer, but not push. Sometimes people just want someone to sit with them in their pain or anger without trying to ‘fix’ them right away. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah… I think so,” she replied, her brows furrowed as she mulled it over. A question nagged at her mind, refusing to let go. “So, ultimately, it’s not about finding a solution, but about… making sure they feel understood? But if that’s true, how does that solve anything?”
“It doesn’t solve the problem, Thea. That’s because there is none to begin with; not directly,” Corvus said, his tone carrying a blend of paternal patience and a hint of pride. “Feelings and emotions aren’t battles to win or objectives to complete; they’re experiences we simply go through. They aren’t problems for us to fix, but parts of life we help each other navigate. Nothing less, nothing more.”
There was a slight pause, and Thea could almost feel him choosing his next words with care. “You were right with your first thought—making someone feel understood can be a huge relief, more than most people even realise. But remember: Emotions are personal and unique to each person. If someone is angry, it’s not your job to tell them not to be. If they’re sad, don’t force them to smile. Your role is to sit with them in whatever they’re feeling, be present, and let them know they aren’t alone. That’s what really counts.”
Thea’s shoulders relaxed a fraction as his words sank in, a strange sense of relief settling over her.
The idea that all of this wasn’t actually a problem she had to face head-on, something to fight against when she didn’t even know what weapons were available or what the enemy truly looked like, was truly relieving. Up until now she had primarily tried to think of ways to make Karania not feel the things she was feeling; to try and fix whatever problem was causing the issues.
But that wasn’t actually what she even needed to do; she now realised.
She took a deep breath, feeling a newfound wave of confidence that was small but steady.
“Thanks, Corvus,” she said, her voice low but sincere, a subtle resolve woven into the syllables.
“Anytime, Thea,” he replied, his voice gentle and warm. “You’re doing better than you think. Just take it one step at a time.”
She allowed herself a small smile, feeling a bit less lost, even if she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d handle things just yet. But for now, it was enough to have a direction.
The image of a Platinum Skull caught her attention as the mental link between herself and Corvus finally died out.
Major Quinn’s voice resounded through the hall and the recording on the screen changed from the Platinum Skull, shifting to a battlefield scene drenched in the chaos of battle. “And now, the recipient of the Platinum Stellar Republic Reaper award, recognizing the most directly killed Duplicators—Tiberius Soren of Wano Squad!”
The screen came alive with footage showing Tiberius in the thick of combat, wielding an imposing battle rifle that looked almost too large for even an Offensive Heavy.
‘Not as large as my Caliburn, though,’ Thea noted absent-mindedly.
His precision was unmistakable; each shot rang out, striking down Stellar Republic soldiers with single shots left and right. When the fight closed in, the footage switched to him transitioning to a hefty automatic shotgun from seemingly nowhere, its rapid blasts cutting through ranks like a scythe through wheat.
The screen captured him moving through forests and broken buildings, eyes focused and unyielding as he pivoted between targets, sometimes close, sometimes extremely far away, but always unleashing devastation at a pace that seemed almost mechanical.
Thea couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.
Offensive Heavies weren’t typically known for their marksmanship, favouring sheer firepower over precise shots. But Tiberius was clearly different—he combined the raw power of an Offensive Heavy with a surprising amount of accuracy, even beating out some of the earlier winners of the Surgical Strike medals, showcasing a unique skill set that made his style distinctly effective.
“Recruit Soren’s exemplary performance on the battlefield,” Major Quinn’s voice echoed through the hall, commanding attention, “is a perfect example of the devastating efficiency an Offensive Heavy can achieve when blending sheer firepower with pinpoint precision.” She extended the Platinum medal to him, a striking piece emblazoned with a platinum skull at its centre, encircled by detailed engravings of shattered helmets piled like mountains.
“Remember this, Recruits: Experimentation leads to finding your unique edge,” she added, her eyes sweeping over the crowd with a spark of encouragement. “Uniqueness isn’t always a guarantee of success, but often, it’s where you’ll discover a strength no one else has. Don’t be afraid to try something new, to blend techniques, and make your mark.”
The hall erupted in applause, a wave of admiration rolling through the crowd not just for the Marine on stage but for the wisdom imparted by Major Quinn. Tiberius gave a stoic nod toward the Major, eyes steady and unreadable, before stepping back as the room continued to applaud, the thunderous sound reverberating in approval.
As Major Quinn moved the ceremony onwards once more, Thea took a deep breath and prepared herself for trying to put into action the advice she had just gotten and the insights she had gleaned.
It was time to try and be the rock for Kara for once—or at least a somewhat shaky, loose branch that wasn’t quite sure how things worked, but was trying its best…