Underneath the howling wind, she continued into the night. Her footprints behind were washed away by the falling snow, and the wooden rifle on her back froze to her combat uniform. Ahead of her—at least another 300 meters—a shinning light caught her gaze. The steady golden glow broke through the horizon and dared to peer over the mountains.
Stopping under a towering evergreen tree, she raised her head, a single lock of silver hair fell from the hood covering her head. Letting out a heavy breath, she snapped her head to the left as the snow beside her was disturbed by a high velocity projectile. Far in the distance the report of a gun firing reached her ears, and within an instant she collapsed to the ground withdrawing the rifle from her back. She laid flat against the frozen snow, waiting, watching the distant plains for those that wished to kill her.
More and more bullets landed around her. It was only a matter of time until the shooter had a lucky respite.
Gently pulling the rifle from under her torso, she pointed the weapon downrange.
Following a short breath, she adjusted her position on the ground before scanning the horizon with the metal post sight. Her pounding heart swayed the post of metal as she scanned left to right, anticipating the chance of facing a large group of hostile infantry. Her shaky hands struggled to pull the frosted safety behind the bolt, and her mind raced faster than she could keep up with.
Stray shots tore into the trees behind her, sending snow over where she laid. Catching a mere glimpse of one of the shooters, the princess sunk lower into the snow and pushed her left hand forward, using the frozen water as a stable platform. Her finger just hovered over the trigger. From the distance she was firing, there was a need to use her magic, to devoid the surrounding area of life and mana.
A pulse of energy shot out from her heart. It encapsulated the rifle in her hands fracturing the surface and sending bits of wood and metal into the snow beside her. The art of nullification was to prevent destruction, to stop death. However, humanity had long discovered that the ancient art could easily devoid a person, or a place of mana, part of the very fabric of life.
Within the chamber, the bullet was reinforced with a line of pure mana, and a collection of volatile particles rested at the very point of the bullet. Using what the princess knew as ‘atomic’ theory, learned from the Rangers, she applied the same logic of splitting an atom to her magic and had created what they called a “weapon of mass destruction”.
One final breath. The trigger was compressed into the rifle.
As the noise of the world was drowned from her ears, the princess could only watch as the purple-gold projectile snapped to the hostile’s location in less than a single second. Following instantly, a large explosion emanated from the ground engulfing the three rifleman that had tracked her.
The shockwave of the eruption sent clouds of snow, dirt, and red mist over the fields. Chunks of the men that were firing at her both were sent far from where they once were and scattered amongst their firing positions.
Unable to hear anything, Lecca slowly rose from the snow. She patted her body and slung the rifle once more behind her right shoulder. The princess held no emotions as she continued down the hill beyond the great forest. Any concern she had was for the heir that was conceived between her and Mike. Even the most stray of bullets could have caused major issues for her child, let alone the stress she was under marching to the capital of Yondel.
Two hours passing would lead to dawn. She had been travelling all night. Trouble had brewed from the gunfight, and Lecca was moving at double time against the freezing cold winter storm. The parka she was provided by the army paratroopers was well coated in a layer of snow, and she fought to keep the hood up over her head as the blasting winds slammed into her body.
Earlier Lecca had been underground, and within her unit, only three were able to reach this forgotten place. They did not separate through death, but only Mike and Rook were able to follow her through a connected relay underneath Viridis. Within the last hour alone, a splinter of army troopers, those thought to be under the Federation’s command, began to hunt them.
Stopping in the center of the expansive fields, Lecca looked around at the overwhelming white that concealed the once golden shards of grass and wheat. Removing the rifle and slamming into the iced snow below her feet, she leaned against the wooden stock and fell to her knees. Spouting from her mouth, a mixture of stomach acid, bile, saliva, and trace amounts of blood fell melting the uppermost layer of the white powder in front of her. “We have your back princess!” That was the lie that Jamie, James, Kendrin, Saws, and even Rook to and extent told her. She had already lost her Rangers—Reclaimers both to the Reaper and mere separation within the Federation, and even no she remained isolated, far away from Mike, her lover, her hero. The Staff Sergeant had been lost in an intense firefight mere hours ago. Explosions, bullets, magic, chaos. Where is he? Was all she could think of as she clutched her abdomen feeling the warmth of her child.
Through blurry vision, the princess fell onto the snow as the remaining acid and bile dripped from her lips. The harsh cold bit at her extremities, and she was slowly losing motor function in her hands. Just from the corner of her eyes, she could see the crimson red ground being covered in the white falling from the heavens. Covering her red-tipped fingertips, soot, dirt, and snow created a coat of filth on her skin. Her face was much the same. And a small streak of water washed away the sins.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Sniffing, and wiping the wetness from her face, the princess once more stood in the snowfall.
“Alpha Company, what’s the status on the hunt for Princess Leccamaradel?”
“Hunter squadron last engaged her at point 1-5.”
“Their status? Is the kingdom assisting?”
“Negative, Hunter squadron is negligible. We assume they are all K.I.A.”
With chattering teeth, Lecca turned up the volume on her radio.
A looming shadow remained far away, but within the next thirty minutes she would reach her next destination.
“Commander, permission to speak?”
“Send traffic.”
“Why are we even hunting our own? They’re OMFS aren’t they?”
“Acting president’s orders. With the princess’s survival of flight 2-16 we have probable cause that she and the foreigners were saboteurs. That’s punishable by death in times of war, understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
--
Her thoughts went back to Mike. She knew that Mike had engaged a splinter of soldiers along the Frontier. Even for him, the odds of surviving the firefights all throughout the forest were slim.
“Princess Lecca, here,” a young man said as he handed her a poster.
“Ah yes, providence,” she replied.
“Providence?”
Lecca was not one to travel with personal effects. Yet, reaching into her parka, she removed a slim piece of paper, a white and black photo. “It reminds me of this,” she said, handing the picture to the young man beside her, “Look.”
Holding the photograph with a confused gaze, the man flipped the paper over as he read the words written on the back. “To the Reclaimers of the world,” he said with a small smile.
With the paper, the man stood at the edge of the great wall overlooking a once glimmering city. He rested his back against the broken remains of a small wall. “This place is a graveyard.” Was all he could muster with his falling eyes. He was like the others she had come across. Their bodies were caked in mud, blood, and soot. And the soldier’s golden hair was soiled by a bloodied bandage lazily wrapped around his head.
“President Harding,” she mumbled to herself. “When will you stop this?”
Upon arriving at the city at the break of dawn, Lecca had made her presence known to a local garrison station at the border. Hours in thought had led the princess to trust nobody. The Federation had standing orders to eliminate her and the Reclaimers, and Yondel wasn’t afraid to get their hands dirty, and would write off her death as a casualty of crossfire.
“Reclaimers,” she let the word escape. From the princess of her nation, the word “Reclaimer” was now elevated as a position far beyond her birthright. Unbeknownst to the warriors, they were the heroes of two countries. From their involvement in stopping the attack upon Ignis, and coordinating the defense of Bishmark, they left behind a grateful people. Their name and legend would spread, beneath a wave of death and trauma.
The OMFS had part in playing up their legend. She had worked enough with the agency to understand that “Reclaimers” were something to use as a political tool. The federal security agency had its roots in executive protection, but in the Zivaland Civil War, it had turned to subterfuge and espionage to achieve its mission.
Despite the constant attack the federal branches of government found itself under daily, the domestic agency, Lecca knew was more than capable of expanding operations to foreign intervention and overstepping the bounds of the NIA. They were curt. She could say that with certainty.
Looking to the destroyed jewel of the kingdom, a twinge of guilt stuck her heart. Lecca had known that the Federation would escalate matters to start this conflict, but she also knew that Yondel was looking to stretch its influence to places it couldn’t control.
Within the walls, what could be described as a busy day was simply an understatement. On the southern side of the large sprawling city, a makeshift medical station remained bustling with activity. Two wagons pulled in from the center of the city. Soldiers and civilians alike rushed to the first wagon full of injured, maimed, and deceased bodies. The medical staff available were few and over cumbered with responsibility.
Snapping over the edge of the wall, a gust of wind struck Leccamaradel.
She held her silver hair as she looked up to the unending sky. Amongst the growing orange light afar, white lights coated the fading blue and black night pallet. She could just make out a streaking light as it crossed the heavens in the blink of an eye. A shaky breath escaped her lips.
As her eyes widened and her amazement grew, she could just make out a hollow reflection under heaven.
A young child.
The brightest of smiles.
What was the brightest of stars.
One tear…
--
It was a mess—three hundred dead. The Office of Military and Federal Security had deployed their very best. And alongside them, heroes of a different time, a different world.
Mike Randall. What meaning did that name have?
Above him the falling stars of night gave way to the soleil of morning. The Staff Sergeant stood alone once more in a place that had long forgotten his name, face, and identity. Why had he sent his men ahead? To return to their own people—he was not one of them. All he had left to do was storm the grand tower not so far away. He had nothing more than eighteen bullets left for his revolver. Anything else that he had came to this world with was long gone.
And for the love of soul, her life, and the future, he would undertake this honor of fixing everything.
Turning around to face the sprawling forest behind him, he shifted his feet in the snow as he turned back. Changing course was nigh impossible.
Feeling a heavy weight in his heart, water escaped his eyes.
He could pray. And he did.
He could laugh. And he did.
He could smile. He didn’t.
Through blurry vision he spotted a group of five soldiers meandering through the snow.
Reaching under his cloak and in his leather holster, Mike removed a silver weapon and held it by his side.
“I love you.”
“I love you!”
“God—”
It just took a single bullet.
“I love you.”
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