Ashes of Quiet
The icy breath of winter had begun to settle over Arkhelm, blanketing the industrial fortress-city in a misty gloom. Months had passed since the Deathfront conflict, and in the aftermath, the once-proud T.E.R.O.S.A. stood fractured. With the number of surviving elite soldiers whittled down to only a handful, Commander Strategos made the controversial decision to halt all offensive operations indefinitely. The priority was to rebuild strength, heal wounds, and prepare for the inevitable return to battle.
Elian wandered the snow-laced streets with his scarf wrapped tightly around his face, his breath fogging the air. He'd taken to visiting his sister, Sylvie, daily. Her recovery had been slow but steady. Her body bore the scars of the last invasion, but her spirit remained unbroken.
On this particular day, Elian found Sylvie propped up against her pillows, sketching the battle with trembling hands. When she noticed him enter, her expression brightened.
"You always smile like that when you see me," she teased.
"Of course. I've got the strongest little sister in Arkhelm," Elian replied, sitting beside her. "And the prettiest."
They laughed quietly, and for a brief moment, the horrors outside seemed to disappear.
Their peaceful moment was interrupted when Lyra entered the room, hands clasped behind her back and eyes cast down. She still wore her Requiem Order jacket, though she hadn't been on a mission in weeks.
"Fyre. We've got recon duty," she said briskly.
Sylvie smiled knowingly as Elian stood up. "She's always like that, huh?"
"Only when she likes someone," Sylvie whispered with a mischievous grin. Elian's face flushed, and he hurried after Lyra.
The pair trekked across the city on a surveillance route, silently observing strange patterns in beast activity and gathering intelligence from merchant informants. As the day wore on, the chill between them slowly thawed. When they paused at a quiet overlook of Arkhelm's glowing furnaces, Lyra finally broke the silence.
"I've been meaning to thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For defending me… against my sister."
Elian turned to her, his expression softening. "You don't have to thank me. You're not alone, Lyra."
She looked away, clearly uncomfortable. "That's the problem. I've always been alone. I made peace with it."
"Then maybe it's time you stopped being at peace with loneliness," he said, his eyes searching hers. "You're part of something now. Even if it's just this small, broken team."
For once, Lyra didn't respond with sarcasm or distance. She simply nodded. But her heart fluttered in a way she hadn't known was possible.
---
Meanwhile, Captain Sheane spent his days walking the barracks and training new recruits. His arm was still recovering from a deep wound, and he moved with the stiffness of a man who had nearly died.
Commander Strategos would often join him in strategy briefings and intelligence updates. Their meetings had grown longer, their silences more comfortable. One evening, after discussing the failed prototypes of a new pulse rifle, Strategos turned to him.
"You're pushing yourself too hard."
"I have to," Sheane replied. "There's no room for weakness. Not with the team in pieces."
She looked at him carefully. "But who carries you when you break?"
He paused, caught off guard by her words. "I… haven't thought about it."
"You should." She walked past him, brushing his shoulder with a touch that lingered longer than it should have. "Even soldiers need someone."
Their growing bond remained unspoken, but even the junior officers could sense the unspoken thread connecting them.
---
Far beyond the walls of Arkhelm, beneath the scorched surface of the Deathfront, Kael and Thorne trained under the watchful eye of Xerath. The once-kind Kael now wore a manic grin, his hair wilder, his eyes devoid of the warmth they once held. Thorne, quiet and brooding, had grown stronger, his physique hardened by relentless battle.
Both had undergone rigorous mental conditioning. Their loyalty to Xerath was unwavering, their hatred for the Requiem Order fed by lies, manipulation, and pain. When Kael crushed a dummy shaped like Elian under his clawed hand, Xerath smiled.
"You will all return to Arkhelm soon," Xerath said. "And you will destroy everything you once loved."
Kael bared his teeth. "Let me be the one to kill him."
"Patience, Kael. Every story ends best with betrayal."
Thorne said nothing. But deep in his buried consciousness, a small ember of the old self flickered.
---
Back in Arkhelm, Elian stood on a rooftop with Lyra, watching the stars.
"You ever wonder if we'll make it out of all this?" he asked.
"Every day," Lyra replied.
"I don't want to lose anyone else."
Lyra hesitated, then placed a hand on his shoulder. "You won't lose me."
Elian smiled, wide and warm. "Then I'll hold you to that."
She looked away, cursing the butterflies in her stomach.
"Stupid idiot," she muttered.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
They stood in silence as the wind howled above, two broken warriors clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, peace could be real—even for a little while.