The wagons slowed as Garren paused at the top of the hill, waiting for Kaval before proceeding. The driver, who had kept his back to his passengers the entire journey, turned his head slightly, tracking Kaval’s movement as he passed. Then, as if sensing eyes on him, he glanced back, meeting Alar’s gaze for the briefest moment. His face still held the same uneasy, distressed look, but there was something else beneath it, an edge, a faint determination that was laced with hesitation. He said nothing, turning forward again as quickly as he had turned back, but Alar kept watching.

The driver’s fingers fumbled into the pocket of his worn, gray-patched pants, retrieving what looked like a small wooden chip. He pulled it close, resting his hand on his leg, and rotated it between his thumb and forefinger. Then, for the third time that day, Alar felt it, a pulse. A faint ripple of mana, far weaker than what he had sensed from the mage, but unmistakable. Alar wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been watching. No one else seemed to. The driver tucked the chip back into his pocket, exhaled slowly, then regripped the reins and urged the horses forward.

Alar’s focus stayed locked on him. The man had waited for the riders to pass, choosing his moment carefully, making sure no one was paying attention. Why? He had pushed mana into the chip, but nothing had happened. At least, nothing Alar could perceive. Was it something to do with the horses? The cart? A signal? He didn’t know. But something in the driver’s demeanor unsettled him, especially after Kaval’s warning. And that slip of the tongue, about their “future” as refugees didn’t go unnoticed. Alar tensed, hand brushing the hilt of his knife to make sure it was still there. Then, slowly, he started shifting toward the back of the cart, knowing that he needed to act before it was too late.

The cart reached the top of the hill, and he could see the small valley below. To the right were a few single-story houses, nearly identical to the ones scattered throughout the farmland they had passed, their thatched roofs and rough stone walls blending into the landscape. Small plumes of smoke rose from a few chimneys, thin and pale against the teal sky. A narrow dirt road wound between them, leading toward a fenced pasture where a handful of animals, something like goats, grazed on the barren land without much concern for horses and carts passing, or the happenings below.

But to the left, stretching toward the looming walls of the capital in the distance, the land darkened. The open fields gave way to scattered outcroppings of jagged, rust-colored rock, some worn smooth by time, others broken and splintered as if they had been torn apart by recent violence. The ground was uneven, marked by spots of barren dirt and patchy grass, and it seemed like the lush greenery behind them had hit an invisible wall that new life could not effectively cross. A few warped trees, their branches thin, stood hunched and twisted, their sparse leaves a dull, muted green that barely caught the light.

And then there were the pods.

Three of them, large and broken, lay in a small grouping in the valley below like fallen beasts, their hulls cracked open and leaking trails of smoke into the air. The closest had buried itself halfway into the ground, its hull torn open, as if something had wrenched it sidelong just before it made impact. Around them, figures moved, not quite in a panic, but hesitantly gathered in clusters, forming a loose defensive circle near the center of the wreckage. Some stood with their backs against the broken hulls, and others positioned themselves behind pieces of debris, their heads turning constantly as they watched what appeared to be soldiers arrayed before them.

On the far side of the wreckage, a line of people in dark armor stood waiting, their weapons glinting in the light, giving them an eerie sheen as the two suns in different positions made the shadows bend and bounce off the metal at odd angles. Some carried spears, some held bows, others swords. A few, more ominously, held no weapons at all, their hands instead carrying short staffs like Kaval’s or in some cases what looked like wands or other one-handed equivalents. Mage-soldiers, Alar realized. And standing apart from them, near the front of the formation, was a figure wrapped in deep crimson robes, the color popping out against the dull landscape.

Alar exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the edge of the cart. He had thought, maybe, that things would make more sense once he saw the others. That there would be some clear path forward once he laid eyes on the higher-ranking members of the descent crew. But looking down from the edge of the hill at what awaited them, he realized the only certainty left was that none of their plans would matter.

Both groups below turned and focused on the wagons as they came over the hill. Alar spotted the Commander and Lieutenant towards the front of the small group, the Lieutenant holding her coilgun tightly in front of her, even though Alar was almost certain that the weapon wasn’t functional, and the Commander speaking animatedly to another man in blue that Alar did not recognize. As they neared, the Commander ended his conversation and slowly made his way over towards the approaching wagons. He had made it about halfway to them, attempting to move quickly through the broken rock and rubble, when a vibration spread through the air and a sharp female voice seemed to echo throughout the small valley.

“The remainder of your crew has been brought to you safely. Now, we can continue to discuss the nature of your surrender.” The voice did not yell, and the words seemed to be spoken almost softly, but the volume seemed to be magnified, and the sound echoed through the entire area as the sentence ended.

Commander Engle paused his approach, and turned back towards the figure in red, who he apparently knew to be the source of the voice, and responded.

“I want to ensure they are all ok!” he shouted back, but he did not continue his approach. Instead, he stood where he was as the wagons gradually rolled forward, slowly entering the area where the pods had landed. Kaval, Garren and Teara passed him first, Garren giving him a look of what Alar could only describe as disinterest, while Teara looked down on him with a smug smirk that made clear that she found the man’s actions pathetic. Kaval on the other hand seemed to avert his gaze slightly as Commander Engle focused on him, but said nothing as he passed.

As the wagon neared, Alar got a better look at the Commander. His posture sagged with exhaustion, his face tight with defeat. His eyes swept over those gathered in the wagons, nodding at the ones he recognized. When they passed, Alar caught sight of a fresh gash behind his ear, blood trailing onto his shoulder, a sign their landing had been even worse than his own.

By the time the last wagon passed, the Commander turned and started to make his way back toward the Lieutenant. She hadn’t moved, her hands still locked around her weapon, her glare fixed on the soldiers ahead.

The wagons slowly halted to the side of the wreckage, near a waist-high wooden fence that bordered a small, plowed field. Around four houses or outbuildings nestled against a small hill on the other side. The soldiers stood in front of them, with Garren and the other riders positioned between them and the rest of the crew, also facing the soldiers and the woman in crimson robes, her figure silhouetted against the massive, looming buildings of the capital behind her.

Alar’s mind was racing. He had considered jumping out of the wagon at about half a dozen points over the last few minutes, but he knew that if he did he would be caught or killed by one of the mages or bowman after only a few steps. The robed woman had stated that they would discuss a surrender, and while that was obviously not ideal, it did mean that their intention was not to immediately kill everyone. This was corroborated by the fact that Alar was pretty sure that if they wanted to, they could have killed everyone already with little effort. Alar had no intention of surrendering, or as Kaval had put it, “not resisting”, but he had yet to find an opportunity to act. He had no real weapons, no knowledge of how to wield the power humming within him, and no allies beyond a crew that Alar was almost certain had no real attachment to a random civilian that had only joined their party less than a day prior.

By now Commander Engle had rejoined Lieutenant Forning near the front of the group, and after whispering briefly to her, he spoke.

“As I have said previously, we have no ill intentions toward you, or your Empire. We are refugees, and I don’t see any reason why we should need to surrender when we have shown no interest in violence or conflict.”

“And as I have said previously, this is not a negotiation, we do not accept you as refugees from whatever planet you claim to have fled, and we suspect that you act as spies for Othwyn, and are attempting to infiltrate the Empire and proliferate your war against us from within” the woman shot back, her voice still soft, but cold and malicious as she continued. “We have extended our kindness to you by reuniting you with the others from your party, now cease this useless discussion and surrender.”

As she spoke, Alar could not help but notice the wagon driver glancing around distractedly. At first, he thought the man was simply nervous or scared, having found himself in the middle of a conflict that was unrelated to him, but when the woman said “Othwyn” his head had quickly snapped forward, before he intentionally looked back down and away.

“You call this kindness? Dragging them here just to lock them away?” the Commander half shouted, anger now present in his voice.

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“The Empire of Dravash does not take prisoners. You will be given the honor of servitude to the Empire” she said, her tone still cold.

“Slavery then?” Commander Engle, now shouting, shot back.

“Or death” she said simply.

Commander Engle paused, but before he could speak again, Lieutenant Forning, still clutching her coilgun, shouted over him and stepped forward.

“We have a ship in orbit with thousands of soldiers and weaponry more advanced than anything you have ever seen! Release us or there will be –“

CRACK.

A deep noise burst through the valley, it sounded like a mix between thunder and a log popping in a fire. As he heard it, he saw a dark ball of flame erupt from the robed woman’s hand and fly impossibly fast towards the Lieutenant. It didn’t move like Alar thought fire would, but with speed like a bullet, the ball striking the Lieutenant in less than the blink of an eye. Her body erupted backward, the flame not engulfing her but completely decimating her left side and cauterizing the flesh instantly before it vanished upon impact. There was no scream of pain, no reaction. One second the Lieutenant was stepping forward, shouting, and in the same breath she was lying on the ground a dozen paces behind the Commander, absolutely lifeless.

The valley was silent for a long second, the weight of the moment too heavy for voices to initially break through. Then, in an odd crescendo, shouts erupted from the gathered crew members, a mix of shock, bewilderment and fear. Alar felt a jostling of those within the wagon, and he allowed it to push him even further back into the rear, eventually settling against the back wall. The source of the movement was the Ensign, who had jumped from the cart and began screaming out, but the words were inaudible to Alar amongst the other noises and voices. The movement, however, was distinguishable, as until that point, no one had attempted to leave the wagons that had carried them there. He moved forward, clearly trying to make his way towards the Commander and the rest of those gathered below. Maybe it was to feel safer, or less isolated from the other leadership, or maybe it was simply stunned shock, but regardless, he moved forward, half walking, half jogging towards the crewmembers below. He had taken about a dozen steps, passing the horses and beginning to make his way down a small embankment when -

WHUM.

The sound of wood and metal cleaved thickly through the air, a whirring sound like the wings of a giant bird cutting through the screams and shouts.

Alar, behind the dozen or so people still in the cart, did not see the start of the movement, only the finish.

The spear lifted, but it was not thrown. It was gripped near the base, as far from the flat, pointed metal tip as possible, then whipped downward, but held onto, in a movement that looked like someone skipping a stone across a pond. The tip ripped down and forward, the unmistakable sound of cracking bone and torn flesh mingling with the rush of displaced air. He saw the flat, triangular spear blade pass through the back of the man’s head like it was made of paper, a single movement before the Ensign crumbled to the ground. Garren finished the swing, before pulling the spear back towards him, staring down casually at the second corpse with indifference.

The screaming and chaotic murmurs died down as quickly as they had arisen, the silence that had gripped everyone after the first death now becoming absolute in the wake of the second. Alar’s eyes flicked between the two corpses as a hot anger rose in his chest. He had not known either of them well, and if pressed, he would have admitted he even disliked the Ensign, but that did not make it sit any easier. Their deaths settled over him like a weight, not with fear or grief, but with something sharper, something restless. It was the callousness of it that bothered him most. The way their lives had been ended without hesitation, without ceremony. He watched the blood pool around the man in front of him slowly, and as he did he felt the muscles in his arms and legs tense, the anger building and seeming to fuel him.

“Commander, your surrender” the robed woman said, not reacting in the slightest to the corpses or stunned silence of those around her.

The Commander, who stood frozen in the same spot he had been speaking a moment prior, looked up towards the woman and hesitated before speaking. When he did, his words were ragged and broken, like the reality of the situation was too much for him to handle.

“H..How… Why would you…” was all he could get out, the syllables collapsing on top of each other in a jumbled heap.

As he spoke, Alar noticed movement in the corner of his vision. The wagon driver, who Alar had been keeping a small portion of his attention on this entire time, was looking towards the grouping of houses and buildings on the other side of the fence and plowed field. His gaze focused on something for a brief moment before he released the reins, dropped his chest low and began sliding down off the side of the wagon. As he did he turned his head towards Alar and the rest of the wagons occupants, his eyes meeting Alar’s as his feet touched the ground.

“Get down.” He mouthed silently.

But Alar did not need him to. Like he was moving purely on instinct, Alar stepped his leg over the rear wall of the wagon, grabbing the collars of the two people in front of him as he did, yanking them forcefully downward as he pulled his other leg over the side and dropped to the ground. Their knees buckled instantly, collapsing them to the floor of the wagon.

Then chaos erupted.

A shriek tore through the air. Alar looked up and saw at least a dozen arrows come from the direction of the houses, shot in a high arc and descending rapidly towards the group below. They weren’t aimed at the crew, however. Instead they landed in a crash amongst the dark soldiers, taking them by surprise and sending them stumbling back in confusion. Shouts erupted as several of the armored figures fell, their bodies twisting with the force of impact. Some arrows embedded themselves into gaps in the plate, while others struck with an unnatural power, sending sparks of energy crackling through the air before detonating in bursts of light. These weren’t ordinary arrows and seemed to carry palpable magic, each impact rippling through the ground like a miniature explosion.

The crimson-robed woman barely flinched, but her soldiers were in disarray. Some instinctively raised shields, others stumbled for cover, but the sudden assault had shattered their formation. More arrows rained down in rapid succession, coupled with other pulses of light and energy. From the tree line near the houses, Alar spotted figures moving in and out of cover, maintaining a rapid and coordinated barrage on the group below.

The Lieutenant had been dead for less than a minute. The scene had unfolded so quickly that it was difficult to comprehend. Alar crouched, looking for a clear path of escape when he heard the sharp, whispering hiss of steel behind him. He turned back and saw Teara, horse now turned toward the wagon, her curved sword sliding from its sheath as she focused on the driver, who stood with his knees bent to the side of the wagon, using it as cover. Garren and Kaval had already started riding forward, avoiding arrows and moving towards the attack, but Teara moved for the man, raising her sword as she did.

Alar shifted his feet and pushed off towards her. He had no conscious thoughts, no moral proclivity to protect the man or the other occupants of the cart, and if he had time to contemplate his actions, would have probably been better off using her focus on the others to start running and trying to escape. But he didn’t. All he felt was the same fury, and the heat of it ignited something within him. He took three sharp steps in her direction before he planted, using that time to pull the knife from his waist and grip it, blade down. He jumped off the planted foot, rising up and towards where she was seated in the saddle, sword now over her head. He had half expected to use the motion to elevate and drive his shoulder into her from below, stopping her swing or maybe knocking her to the side, but an energy coursed through the muscles in his leg and rocketed him far higher than he expected.

The horses flank was higher than his chest, but he cleared it easily, his legs kicking out sideways like he was hopping over a fence. He grabbed her by the shoulder with one arm, pulling her sideways, and with the other he drove the knife into her side, the blade avoiding the leather of her armor completely and entering just below her ribs. She gasped in pain as she was twisted, the surprise of the attack making her drop hard to the ground, not having time to react before she fell.

Alar landed in a crouch a few paces from her, his knife still held firmly in his hand but the blade slick with blood. He ran towards her, stumbling slightly as his own speed caught him off guard. He drove the knife forward in a lunge, but as he did she turned her body and swung her blade out weakly, forcing him to adjust partway through the stab to avoid being cut down. He slid sideways and backwards, pulling his torso up and out of the arc of the blade. He lunged forward a second time, this time inflicting a small cut on her shoulder before he was forced to again pull back as she countered, her blade swung back slower this time as she rose onto one knee, her energy clearly waning. Before he could position himself for a third strike, however, Alar felt the energy around him waver, and hesitated for a moment as the space around him seemed to darken. He saw dim shadows, almost like whisps of black smoke begin spinning in tight loops around her body, encasing her in a strange darkness that bristled with power despite her ragged, weak breathing. He was about to reposition himself for a strike, ignoring whatever she was doing, when she moved.

She didn’t move in the normal sense, not with arms or legs, but through space itself. If she had been in better condition, Alar was certain she could have run him through with her sword before he had time to even react. But, she was weak and exhausted, her movements slow and painful as she drove the blade forward, and Alar turned to face her.

Alar did not have time to turn the knife to confront her, it was in his far hand, away from where she had appeared, and he would need to rotate his entire body before having the correct leverage to strike back. However, Alar was not a swordsman, or a duelist. Back on Earth hardly anyone trained with bladed weapons, and you either had a gun, or you had nothing. So Alar used nothing. Reacting purely on instinct, Alar dropped below her swing and leaned forward, grabbing onto her rear leg in a blast double that would have made his primary school wrestling coach proud. They both rolled onto the dirt, their blades dropped and lost as their bodies impacted. He had intended to keep hold of her, to try to control her and gain advantage on the ground, but his newfound speed and strength again acted as a disadvantage as his momentum carried him too far and he released his grip as he rolled to a stop a few paces behind her. They both scrambled to their feet, her movements labored and painful as she clutched her side, but she still looked toward him with determination, and Alar once more began to sense mana shifting around her, and the shadows beginning to form again around her body.

Then she gasped, open mouthed and froze, a thin drop of blood welling in the corner of her lip for an instant before she dropped to her knees. Behind her the wagon driver stood, Alar’s knife in his hand as she slid out of his grip and face first onto the dirt.