Raid walked out of the camp, where Marcus stood waiting at the camp's boundary, marked by tall wooden poles firmly rooted in the earth. Typically, for short-term encampments of any size exceeding a few thousand were expected to have a wooden wall or, at the very least, a defensive ditch. However, this camp lacked both, partly due to constraints in time and manpower, but primarily because of its lack of purpose. If the enemy advanced far enough to encroach upon their camp, then the defense was already lost. Consequently, the sole feature on the camp's periphery was the boundary markers, placed early on to guide the soldiers in determining which sections required tree clearance for the establishment of the encampment.

"I didn't make you wait too long did I?" Raid asked.

"No," Marcus replied. "Just a few minutes I think, manageable. Where's Nova?"

"Sleeping. It's better if she doesn't attend anyway. We need her well-rested for the breakout."

"Combat?"

"No, she told me nothing happened. Her runner went missing though. Apparently he vanished on a checkup to camp."

"That's strange. Wasn't she assigned to watch the west end? I don't recall any breaches occurring there. Our main concerns have been focused on the south and east."

"It's a bit unclear at the moment. It could be accidental, or an infiltration. But I find it hard to believe the Imperials could advance this far without our notice, especially since they tend to create chaos wherever they go. Who knows… perhaps the Imperials decided to remain hidden and the runner stumbled upon them. The situation worsens day by day Marcus. I wouldn't be surprised if our western side starts to crumble now."

"Was the missing runner reported?"

"Yeah," Raid replied wearily, stifling a yawn. "I should've slept earlier; didn't get enough damn sleep. Let's get this over with. Are you ready? You seem ready."

"I wouldn't be here if I weren't. Carter and Nolen already made their way there a while ago."

Raid and Marcus began to walk side by side, heading north, deeper into the dense forest. They were on their way to an area called the Ver Den, a particularly foreboding section of the forest, known for its dense canopy that swallowed the majority of daylight. At night, it was said that the Ver Den rivals the abyss itself, a disquieting notion for those who harbor a fear of the dark.

"Do you think this plan will work?" Marcus asked, absentmindedly resting his left hand on the hilt of his sword. He scanned the thick woodland, seeking trees with carved crosses on their trunks to serve as his guiding landmarks.

"What? The breakout? We don't have much of a choice, do we? If we stay here any longer, we'll die," Raid replied, nimbly ducking beneath a low-hanging branch that nearly struck his face. "I think it's a sound plan."

"You place too much trust in that girl Raid. It's unwise."

"What does that have to do with her? It's a good plan. Don't dismiss a sound idea just because you happen to dislike the person behind it. I don't understand why you dislike Alice so much, she's a good person. You've seen her grow up with us."

"Never trust someone with silver eyes. You should know better. They are people with the blessing of Essen."

"Essen is beyond dead Marcus. None of his remaining temples even worship him any longer. And if he still exists, if ever, then there is little he could do with no followers. He is where he belongs, gone and neglected like the rest of the Old Gods."

"But she still has his blessing," Marcus frowned.

"And how does that matter? Within the Sundahelm, the only place that scorns the Blessid is the Anyi, a place now lost, mind you. Let's be honest, you only dislike her out of spite. A spite for a crime over two and a half centuries dead. If that's the only good reason you can give me, then I am not convinced," Raid argued.

"That crime…" Marcus fumed. "Killed thousands of our people."

"And our people are gone," Raid stated firmly. "We're wanderers now. Remember that. And if we live long enough to have descendants eventually they consider themselves of a different clan. The Anyi won't rise again. Even if we reclaim our heartland it would be nothing but a successor clan. Marcus, I already see myself as half-Rose. I fight for the Rose, swore my loyalty to it. While I still see the Anyi in me, I lack the memories to attach myself to it. And the few I do have I'd rather forget."

"How can you say that?! Half-Rose? That is not something I ever want to hear from an Ashern like you. You are Anyi through and through. You carry our artform, our knowledge and our culture, and if you insist on the death of our clan then remain yourself a wanderer. But never see yourself even considering the heritage of another."

"Does carrying the culture count the grudges as well? Because our clan sure has a lot of unreasonable spite."

"Do you think we do so without good cause? If our forebears hated a particular group or persons with such scorn, then it is not without doubt they have dealt us great harm? It would be wise to learn the same then make the same mistake through kindness."

"Sure, I understand. What Ichor did was unforgivable. But let's not forget it was the Cala that ended our heartland. That is arguably worse no? But are we going to treat all the Cala's descendants innocent or guilty with almost irrational contempt? You can loathe them all still, but that wholesale hatred will never be justified. You're too stuck in the past, Marcus. It doesn't even make sense to damn all the Blessid for the crime of one to begin with. I know of no other clan that holds a better grudge than ours. And Alice isn't even a blessid yet, she hasn't taken the trial."

Marcus huffed, keeping his silence. When it came to his beliefs and heritage, often one and the same in his case. He becomes unreasonably stubborn in his ways, willing to listen but not hear as one often says.

"Come on Marcus, really? I understand you love our heartland, but you'd have to admit even this is too much."

"All I know is that anyone with silver eyes, blessid or not, is wicked. Even if said person hasn't done anything yet."

"That's years of indoctrination talking… You'd have to admit at least Alice isn't in your group of potential demons. She is even an oath sworn. That earns some level of respect, doesn't it?"

"One step away from Ichor the Fallen you mean. But I may concede, Alice isn't the worst of them, I'll admit."

"Don't you mean two steps? She's neither a blessid nor an oathbreaker, so quit it. And you speak as though she isn't your first and only encounter with a silver when in fact, she is. Silver eyes, especially true silver, are as common as jewels in a frozen lake. While I find your blatant prejudice distasteful. Now that you admit Alice isn't as bad as you think, I'll say we're making progress here."

"I haven't admitted to anything," Marcus grumbled.

"So much for progress…" Raid sighed. "How far are we? Are we even there yet?"

"Almost. The forest is already getting darker, don't you see?" Marcus gestured to the encroaching darkness. "The Ver Den isn't that far from the camp. Still, it isn't close either. Shouldn't be too long now; you'll know when we reach it. It needs to be a lot darker than this to be considered the Den."

Raid and Marcus silently ventured deeper into the forest. Despite the late morning hour, it felt as though the day was already drawing to a close. The further they went, the less light managed to penetrate the thick layers of leaves blanketing the sky above them. The trees in this area were ancient, given ample time to grow large and undisturbed. Their colossal branches intertwined, each covered in a plethora of leaves, engaged in an ongoing battle for sunlight. Here and there, slender rays of light struggled to pierce the darkness, granting them just enough visibility to navigate without external aid.

Carefully traversing a substantial root that rose half a meter above the forest floor, a small clearing, approximately 15 meters in width, unveiled itself before them. The clearing was occupied by a group of people, most of whom were seated around a modest fire at the center, while others were scattered throughout the immediate area. Raid recognized their uniforms, identical to his own. He swiftly caught sight of Carter and Nolen, the duo immersed in laughter and conversation by the fire. Clearly, they were busy bonding with their fellow knights.

"Looks like a family reunion," Marcus mused. "Those two haven't smiled much since the rearguard began. Worse yet now that our fireteam has dwindled down to three, at least that is when I inform them."

"What? What do you mean three? What happened to Liam?"

"Liam met his end down south, just an hour before sunrise. I didn't have the opportunity to inform you personally, so I sent a report instead. I assumed you had already read over it."

"I did receive it, but it remains unread in my tent. My apologies," Raid confessed. "But, Imperial knights have been absent since yesterday?"

"Oddly, his cause of death is unknown. He went to investigate a reported sighting, was already dead by the time they found him. The assumption is Imperial knights though, judging from the wounds and surrounding damage. From what I've been told anyhow."

"So it's safe to assume they're back. How comforting..."

"You didn't notice his absence?"

"I don't speak to him much. I trust him enough to keep my eye off him. I assumed he went straight to his tent and rested after his shift, much like Nova. I usually rely on you to inform me of any significant events I might have missed within the fireteam."

"Well I'm telling you now," Marcus said, his voice filled with sorrow. "He was a good kid. A true shame."

"When do you plan to break the news to them? They were rather close to him."

"Soon, once this meeting concludes. We're in war, deaths are expected. They'll get over it, like with the others."

Raid's eyes searched, scrutinizing every person he saw until he spotted a pair of figures standing silently near a tree at the clearing's boundary.

"There she is," Raid said.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"Who?"

"Lead Sergeant Fae. Come, let me introduce you to her. It would be bad if you failed to recognize the lead of our strike package."

Slowly, they both made their way to Iris and Waylen, their every footstep rustling through the trampled leaves. As they drew closer, Iris turned to face them, her lips curling into a welcoming smile. But Raid's response was a subtle grimace, an expression at odds with the warmth that Iris exuded.

"Ah, Raiden," Iris greeted, a hint of anticipation in her voice. "I see you've finally arrived. That's good; I have something important to discuss with you."

"Does what you have to say have anything to do with why you're smiling and being so formal?" Raid replied.

"You don't like being called Raiden? Isn't it your proper name?"

"I don't like it when you call me Raiden. It always means you have something unsavory planned. But before you say anything, let's get all the basics out of the way before you proceed to kill me or something. This is Lead Sergeant Marcus Anyi Fable of the 3rd Knights Fireteam. Nova's male and more responsible counterpart, if a bit hot-tempered. Marcus, this is Lead Sergeant Iris Rose Fae of the 76th Knights Squadron, or should I say Spearhead Strike Package now? Seeing as, you know, both of our units have merged for this breakout. Anyways, Iris here is Nova's less responsible and more petty co—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Iris hissed.

"Umm, It is an honor, Lead Sergeant Fae," Marcus saluted, casting Raid a disapproving side-eye.

Iris dismissed the formality with a wave of her hand. "There's no need for salutes, Sergeant Fable. We hold the same rank. I am pleased to finally meet you, Nova speaks highly of you."

"Iris," Raid said. "Apologies for jumping in Marcus but I have to ask. Where's my salute? After all, I outrank you."

"What salute?" Iris said curtly.

"My salute."

"It doesn't matter."

"You just said it mattered."

"You must've misheard."

"No, I didn't. I clearl—"

"You did," Iris asserted, her voice slightly harsh. "Sergeant Fable, thank you for coming. Why don't you join the group around the fire and get yourself familiar with my squadron. That is why we're all here after all. Let's do well together for the breakout. I would like to have a word or two with Officer Raiden here if you don't mind."

Marcus nodded. "I'll be leaving then. You two enjoy yourselves."

"What's there to enjoy?" Raid replied.

"Here, take this," Iris said, slamming a piece of folded paper into his chest.

Raid snatched the paper from Iris's hand and swiftly unfolded it. His eyes narrowed with suspicion as he deciphered the title, 'The Defensive Full-on Assault of the 14th Line, Breakout,' written in bold letters. For a moment, he questioned his own comprehension skills and read the title once more.

"What do you think?" Iris asked.

"I think whoever named this is an idiot."

"I am talking about the plan dimwit, not the title."

"Iris… What am I looking at?"

"Do you have any idea how much I've been holding back my unit this entire battle?" Iris replied in sudden excitement.

"Your unit or yourself?"

"Raid, let's tear them apart."

"Oh no. Iris, let's be reasonable. You may have forgotten. This is a breakout, not a battle, we're not trying to win, but punch through."

"Exactly. I was thinking the same thing, we're going to obliterate them."

"Dear lord…" Raid groaned. "You proposed this plan, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Iris beamed. "Look, I don't see the problem here. I mean, the end goal hasn't changed. We just need to breach before their reinforcements arrive to stop us, right?"

"Right…"

"So… what if we were to, you know, conveniently destroy their entire line before said reinforcements arrive?"

Raid's face twisted. "Okay… but hear me out. I think It's crucial that we do not lose sight of our goal. The safe escape of our core is the primary concern here."

"I absolutely agree with you, and that's exactly why we're going to make sure there aren't any of them left to stop us."

"I don't think we're talking about the same goal..."

"No, we absolutely are."

With measured steps, Marcus made his way toward the inviting warmth of the campfire. He paused briefly, casting one final glance over his shoulder. There, he found Raid immersed in a lively conversation with Iris, his expressive hands dancing through the air. It seemed to be a pleasant exchange, given Iris's radiant smile. With a subtle grin, Marcus continued forward, finally joining the cheerful group before him.

"Greetings," a knight welcomed, his tall, robust frame carrying the weight of years, drawn clearly as wrinkles on his weathered face. Long strands of gray hair cascaded freely to his shoulders, mingling with a matching beard. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Lead Sergeant Marcus Anyi Fable. Greetings, comrade."

"Ah, my apologies," the knight saluted. "I'm 1st Sergeant Miles Rose. It's an honor. I see you've met our lead, she gave you a warm welcome I hope?"

"Warm enough," Marcus replied. "If a bit impatient about something, at least that's what she gave off."

"It's the lack of combat, it's been driving her mad. Hot blooded to the core that one, best keep on her good side if you're wise."

As Marcus and Miles observed the lively gathering by the fire, they stood with arms crossed, watching with obvious boredom and disinterest. One knight displayed his sword to another, with the second boasting about the intricate engravings and the cost of his own, akin to children showing off their parents' wealth.

"They all look so young," Marcus remarked, his voice a little graft. "I thought the 76th was more seasoned."

Miles grinned wryly, further showcasing his wrinkles as he watched over them with an almost paternal air. "Before the war, that was indeed the case. But we're short on knights now. Experienced men were needed after the clan rushed to form new knight units, so my old comrades were transferred and replaced with these kids."

"You don't sound very happy about it."

"Just tired... and old. I've been around for too long to be babysitting kids in this blighted war."

"And how long have you been around exactly?"

"126 winters, bless my lineage. 127 if I make it to the end of the year."

Marcus in a moment of mild surprise, briefly gawked at him before a sense of embarrassment crept over. "Apologies for my rudeness Sergeant, I didn't know."

"Don't you dare start getting all respectful and shit with me. I'm made of the same stock as common hide. You don't have any sense of pride do you? I assumed someone with a name like yours would consider themselves my better."

"I may still be considered a noble to some degree. But that doesn't mean much with a fallen house. I'd also be stupid if I got over my own head as a branch descendant."

"Make sense... I guess. I never really learned how nobles worked so spare me this whole main, branch descendant bullshit. I'll never understand you pretentious fucks and never will. So, what about you? How many winters have you seen?"

"I'm 50 now. 51 in about a month, on the 34th."

"I see. That's good, you're still young. I'd introduce you to good old Vincent, a jolly fellow, but the insensible bastard got himself killed yesterday afternoon. He was only a few years older than you and a good lad."

"I wouldn't consider myself young. My aura is average, so it won't extend my life. I'll die like the rest, probably pass my eighties if I'm lucky. Ignore me if you find this rude Miles, but how come you're only a 1st sergeant? I assume your service has been long?"

"There's no special reason for it, and I didn't commit any crimes that stunted my career either. Choice is the reason. I prefer pure combat over administrative tasks. Another rank above mine and my axe will be replaced by a quill. A nightmare if you will."

"I understand. I also prefer my foot to ground with a sword in hand. You saved yourself the torture of literature. It's not a place for simple men, but I personally don't mind the written work."

"I can't really read, never learned the skill. So I guess the rank eludes me even if I wanted it."

“Don’t have too. We have scribes, many a officer don't know how to read.”

“But you're still required to try and learn to a degree, am I right?”

“Well, that is true. But it's not a bad skill to have. Many would see you younger.”

“I never needed it, never will. The art of literature is something only nobles ever needed, not men like me,” Miles said, before his eyes clouded with long forgotten memories. "I recall you introduced yourself with the Anyi name, yes? I never thought I'd encounter your kind again after my obligation. My condolences for your loss, Marcus, though belated. I can't even fathom the pain of losing mine. During my time in the Stellaris Watch, I fought alongside your brethren on occasion. They were strong and worthy of respect, leaving quite a deep impression on me. But I have to ask, where is your ashen hair?"

Marcus winced at the question, the subtle contortion of his expression not escaping Miles's watchful gaze. Since a tender age, Marcus had always grappled with the looming presence of inferiority. Everything he grew to value, from his artform to his mastery, and eventually his reserves and skillset was unremarkably average. Leaving him perpetually yearning for something more. The burden of self-disappointment and lofty standards only worsened in later years when he witnessed a Des-Ashern teen effortlessly surpass him in strength and skill, a mere two years into their shared pursuit of the same artform. A feat that for Marcus, by that point, had required a decade of tireless dedication. He found himself continuously measuring up, an unrelenting desire stirring within him. To be one of them. Jealousy quietly took root...

Ashen hair, a once unexpected by-product of the selective breeding program his clan practiced. They chose only the most talented, the strongest perceived ancestry to produce individuals capable of practicing the unethical artforms the clan created. Artforms that would've otherwise killed or at least crippled any normal user. They sacrificed ethics and free will to a select few among their own in exchange for power and influence. The trait of ashen hair appeared early on, then quickly spread amongst them as the program continued. The trait showed no defects in their performance, and the aesthetic look made it very desirable. It got to a point that those actively in charge added ashen hair to the already strict criteria to further accelerate its spread to future descendants. Before long, their hair swiftly became synonymous with their identity, forging a permanent connection to the program.

By the time Marcus was born, all children born out of the breeding program were ashen. The Ashern were intended to be the perfect knights. Their bodies were stronger, more resilient, able to deal with more stress from artforms without repercussions. Finally, and most importantly, they were talented, their potential a lot higher as they were naturally able to store and use aura more seamlessly. The Anyi believed in the quality over quantity rule, giving the Ashern the responsibilities as the Anyi first and last line of defense, making up roughly 70% of the Anyi total knights just before its fall. This goes without saying that the Anyi Clan had the smallest knight core within the Sundahelm. Not much of a problem to an isolationist clan that rarely warred.

The Ashern, acclaimed as the Anyi's poster child and their exclusive export, represented a rare breed. Their numbers, even within the confines of their own clan, remained painfully scarce. The Anyi's stringent isolationist policies, sealed borders, and restricted access, permitting only the Ashern to venture beyond their boundaries for state purposes, contributed to a lack of reliable information. Consequently, misconceptions were bound to thrive about the enigmatic and seclusive nature of the Anyi and their ashen haired descendants.

"The Ashern numbered few in my clan," Marcus replied after a few moments of silence. "A minority in fact. A common mistake. You assumed wrong because only the Ashern are allowed to leave my clan's borders."

"What is it with you old men and huddling around each other like rats all the time?" Raid remarked, joining in from behind them. "Miles, good to see you."

"We only met yesterday for the first time kid. Don't start speaking like you know me."

"Fucking hell. Did you grow up in the same storm as Iris or what? Don't get pissy with me just because I ruined your poor little lunch. I was in a rush, following orders."

"Listen well kid. I don't like that phrase very much. I've seen the kindest men justify the most horrific crimes with that phrase. I was just following orders, they all fucking say..."

"You're going to consider spilt potato stew a horrific crime?" Raid scoffed. "Like I said yesterday, I apologised you old brick. And you even got a second serving, so there was no harm done anyways."

"There will be no harm done if you buy me a drink or two if we both make it to Vailiran. If it were anyone else who showed me the same disrespect, I would've already caved their head in."

"I counter. Only the first to pass out pays."

"Deal. And you better keep your word. I've never lost to anyone in a game of drink."

"Neither of you think a drinking game in Vailiran is a terrible idea?" Marcus chimed. "If either of you wrecks anything in your drunken stupor, they'll hang your ass from the rooftops if it means you'll pay for the damages."

"Certainly, that's something to worry about later. Isn't that right kid?"

"My pride is worth more than whatever shame comes after Marcus," Raid agreed.

Marcus sighed. "Well… fuck it. Do you have room for three?"