It’s so quiet, Kavlina thinks.

They’ve made it back, back to Thille. As they descend from the transports, they only receive looks of pity, sadness… and a hint of anger. Around her are hundreds, even thousands of fellow soldiers, yet every single one of them only holds the same face of embarrassment and shame. Some of them are lacking a leg, others an arm, and still others unrecognizable, their face tightly wrapped in bandages, masking their grief.

At the front is Rasu, his injured eye wrapped in bandages. He has already somewhat recovered from his exhaustion, using only a crutch to assist his weakened body. However, he is no longer his energetic, childlike self, his unkempt hair drooping down, covering his gloomy face. Ignoring the alien stares and quiet gossip, he only stops when the President himself, behind him several members of the Assembly and a host of the soldiers’ families, stands in front, directly blocking the exit of the hangar.

“Is this how a general should behave?” the President asks demandingly, “Small, insignificant, with no dignity?” Around, the stifled laughter of several onlookers can be heard.

Behind Rasu, the soldiers tense, irked by the direct offense against their commander. Kavlina, relatively unscathed, fights the temptation to reach for her knife. Rasu, sensing the unease, raises his arm as he straightens his short body, staring menacingly at the President.

“I never expected for the President himself to welcome us all!” he suddenly breaks into a smile, to the surprise of everyone, before falling, his body caught by Tarak.

“The President means for you to stand tall, General Rasu,” Ipela, standing amongst the crowd, speaks. Struggling, Rasu brings himself up again, hiding the shaking of his body.

“You need some rest,” the President sighs, “Every single one of you. You all have suffered too much.” He turns to the spectators. “Is this how you treat the survivors of a catastrophe? A losing battle they fought just to protect your empty brains?” he roars. Frightened, the entire hangar goes silent, with only the whimpers of a few, their emotions overwhelmed by the sight of the defeated soldiers.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to turn things around,” Rasu solemnly apologizes, “Nor was I able to even gather the corpses of the dead.”

An old woman, her hands holding a small child following behind her, approaches Rasu. “You killed my son, commander,” she hisses, “My grandchild lost his father. Are you going to be held responsible for that?”

“Whatever the punishment, I’m willing to bear,” Rasu replies softly, not even daring to stare into the face of the woman.

Crack! The clear sound of a slap reverbs and echoes through the hangar. The woman lowers her hand, looking onto Rasu’s reddened cheek. “This is enough,” she shakes, “You’ve done your best to protect my son, after all.” Sobbing, she embraces Rasu, her tears trickling down Rasu’s armor, the droplets dyed with red as they travel. Unable to hold back their emotions, the others too cry, weeping for their lost relatives and comrades, weeping for the regrets they have, weeping for the imminent destruction of their lives.

Spontaneously, the soldiers trudge forward, embracing their families, sobbing as they comfort each other, crying from relief or mourning. No one truly cared about the result of the battle, only that they and their families are alive. Kavlina and Tarak stand silent, surrounded by the torrent of emotions, yet are outwardly calm, unmoved by such a scene. Between them is a gap, where Avalel would usually stand, but there is only empty space now, a void in their minds and hearts.

“Let’s go,” Tarak motions, leaving Rasu to the support of the other soldiers of the squad before slowly walking away from the crowd, “We deserve some rest.” Slipping away from the mass of people, they change into civilian clothing before exiting the hangar, returning, finally, to the city of Thille.

Outside, the streets are filled with people, the density not far different from inside the hangar. Yet the people aren’t here to sympathize with the soldiers, nor are they welcoming the soldiers home. They are standing completely still outside the hangar, in their hands signs of varying colors. Their heads are lowered, their faces covered by scarves or masks. It is a strange sight to behold, but they no longer cared.

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The hangar’s great doors open, the President leading the thousands out. For some reason, his expression seems to be surprised at the mass of people gathering at the door. Immediately, the people raise their signs, waving their arms in unison. Even passerbys, previously ignoring the strange crowd of people, stop and observe this peculiar phenomenon.

“End the war! Down with the warmongers!” they chant, “End the war! Down with the warmongers!” Hurriedly, the President’s guards form a ring around him, protecting him from any potential projectiles. Looking up, the signs’ messages are now clear, as Tarak silently reads in horror: This is not the peace we want! The President is a puppet! Disband the army! We don’t want the stupid war! Yet one stands out amongst the thousands of signs, like a stab into his already battered body: You all should’ve died at the Pass. A message of hate. So simple, yet so painful. He attempts to avert his gaze, yet despite his boiling hate, his head is frozen in place, his teeth grinding like gears in an old vehicle trying to start.

As the soldiers cautiously exit the hangar, they are greeted with the furious yells of the crowd, raising their signs ever higher. They cluster around Rasu, shoving signs in front of his face despite his wounded eye. “Don’t think you could fool us, so quickly usurping the position of a weak general!” one hollers, screaming into his ears. Tired, Rasu continues walking forward, ignoring the shouts of the protestors, the soldiers by his side clearing the path.

“Tarak, let’s go,” Kavlina tugs at Tarak’s shoulder, taking the lead and dragging him away from the crowd. Behind them, the crowd’s emotions begin to escalate, hurling insults at the soldiers, pushing against the guards desperately protecting the exhausted soldiers behind.

Just what happened to the city?

Passing by several other military structures, they only find more protests, the people waving signs and shouting in anger. Is this how we are greeted at home? Tarak thinks, controlling the hurricane of emotions inside him. He stares at Kavlina, her eyes blank and unmoving, as if the chaos around them is only an imagination.

“Forget those idiots,” Kavlina suddenly speaks, emotionless yet spiteful, “They don’t understand a thing.” As Lel once did. Silently, they continue walking, the same empty gap between them as they go on.

After a short walk, they finally arrive back at the dorm. Unlike the military barracks, harassed by the intense noises of the protesting, the dorms are considerably more peaceful, the noises more distant. After cleaning themselves, they quietly tidy the room, wiping away the dust that has accumulated during their mission. Unconsciously, they stare at the mattress, where Avalel had slept, his presence once so comforting and friendly.

Kavlina reaches for the mattress, her hands shaking as she folds it neatly, placing it by the foot of her bed. Blankly, she sits on the bed, staring into nothingness. She feels no sadness, no anger, no grief… nothing at all. Even Tarak, her friend and fellow comrade for months now, she senses no comfort from him… unlike Lel.

All of those dead corpses, those rotting carcasses on the battlefield. She might’ve felt a little pain or sadness from then, but what remains now is only a sense of emptiness. It’s not that she is evil, nor does she gloat over the death of those soldiers, enemy or friendly, but… she has simply become incapable of emotions since then. Since she realized they would be leaving Avalel behind.

She still remembers that initial shock. The announcement that they will retreat east, leaving any and all stragglers behind. She understood that as a rational and logical decision, and so did the others, but somewhere inside her hurts. That feeling of discomfort, almost as if she could feel every twitching of the muscles. She hasn’t felt this in a while.

“Avalel would’ve been cooking some food for us right now,” Tarak mumbles, “He’s not a good cook, but he had always insisted that Oriyun only brings him the raw ingredients.” His stomach rumbling, he settles into his own mattress, his hair still damp from the bath earlier.

Kavlina looks at her tangled hair, now reaching past her shoulders. She hadn’t realized this development. After all, it was Avalel who patiently combed her hair, and occasionally Tarak’s, tying a small braid for her every time. Somehow, it gave him some happiness. And as she had disliked to admit, she liked that presence, the soft tugging at some strands of hair, her good friend sitting by her side. Perhaps we only reminisce about someone when they disappear from our lives.

Without a word, she lies down and closes her eyes, just wishing for the long-awaited sleep, the escape away from reality. As her senses dull and she drifts into the unconscious, she hears the sniffling, the intermittent sobs from Tarak.

For the first time since her mother’s death, she feels a void inside her, like the emptiness of the night sky.