"To Commander Astraxion Stromveil, Officer in Charge, 7th Frontier Unit, Fort Windbreak. From the Household of Lord Valerius Stromveil, Head of Family and Loyal Servant of the Imperium."
She paused, a barely perceptible inhale.
"The Household has been made aware of the casualties sustained during Operation Ridge Sweep, notably the losses of Kael ver'Soren and Miren of the Commons. While the sacrifice of soldiers in service to the Imperium is regrettable, analysis of the after-action report indicates a critical failure in threat assessment and unit deployment, originating from command-level decisions."
Eryndra's hand, hidden in the folds of her skirt, clenched into a white-knuckled fist.
"This failure reflects not only on your command, but on the discipline and reputation of the Stromveil name, which you continue to bear. It is the judgment of the Household that your focus is compromised. Your prior record of… unconventional choices in personnel," —here, Astraxion's gaze flicked infinitesimally towards Xylon— "and your noted inattention to logistical formalities, suggest a mind distracted from its martial purpose."
The words were precise, surgical. Each one a needle dipped in ice.
"Therefore, you are hereby directed to undertake a liaison and reconnaissance mission to the Valtheris Sky Dominion forward outpost, Zenith's Reach. You will assess their new skirmisher-class skiff patterns and report on any cooperative opportunities against the Chaos Beast tides. The mission is classified as low-priority intelligence gathering. Duration: ten days. You will depart in forty-eight hours."
Astraxion's voice grew quieter, but no less steady. "This assignment is intended to provide a change of perspective and allow for reflection on the core responsibilities of a Stromveil officer. The Household expects a thorough and professional report upon your return. Do not disappoint us further."
There was no signature. Just the embossed family crest at the bottom.
Silence descended, heavy and suffocating. The "reprimand" was a masterpiece of political cruelty. It blamed her for the deaths, questioned her competence, and then exiled her on a meaningless, time-wasting mission to a foreign nation's outpost. It removed her from her unit, from any chance to redeem herself in combat, and sent her to play diplomat where she had no training or inclination. It was a slap disguised as an opportunity.
Astraxion slowly placed the vellum back on the table. She picked up the data-chit. It would contain the official mission parameters, codes, and access protocols. She held it as if it were a live explosive.
"Eryndra," she said, her voice now holding a faint, tired rasp. "Prepare my travel kit. Standard field gear, plus formal dress uniform for diplomatic protocol."
"Commander," Eryndra began, her mask cracking with anguish. "This is—"
"An order from the Household," Astraxion finished, cutting her off. She finally turned, and the full weight of her grief and humiliation was visible in her eyes, just for a second, before she walled it off again. "We will comply."
"I am coming with you," Eryndra stated, it was not a request.
"You cannot." Astraxion's reply was gentle but absolute. "Zenith's Reach is a Valtheris military outpost. Their Aether-field regulators are calibrated to Sky Dominion frequencies. Your collar… it would react poorly. The medical risk is too high. And as a non-combatant attached to the Imperium, you would not be granted access. You will remain here."
Eryndra looked as if she'd been struck. The chain on her neck seemed to grow heavier, a physical symbol of her powerlessness. Her eyes glistened with furious, unshed tears. "I cannot protect you there."
"I know." Astraxion reached out, her hand hovering near Eryndra's arm before dropping back to her side, as if even that small comfort was forbidden by the room's new, official chill. "Your duty is here. Maintain the house. Oversee the unit's administrative tasks in my absence. And…" Her eyes shifted to Xylon. "Ensure our guest continues his integration."
The assignment was a dismissal. A ten-day reminder of her place. Xylon's mind whirled. The Valtheris mission. In the game, this was a side-quest that happened later, after the second Chaotic Beast War. Its early arrival was another butterfly effect of his presence. In the game, the mission had been uneventful, a bureaucratic footnote. But now… with the family's active disdain behind it, and Astraxion's shaken state, it felt like a trap.
"Commander," Xylon spoke, breaking his silent observation. Both women looked at him, Eryndra with surprise, Astraxion with weary curiosity. "The mission parameters. May I see them?"
Astraxion hesitated, then handed him the data-chit. "The reader is in my study."
Xylon took it, the cool crystal smooth in his palm. He walked to the study, the two women following. He slotted the chit into the data-pad on her desk. Maps and text scrolled across the screen. Zenith's Reach, a spire-like structure built into the peak of a floating mountain in the contested airspace between Imperium and Valtheris territories. Mission details: observe, record, liaise. No offensive actions authorized. Transport provided via a Valtheris escort skiff.
It was, as billed, low-priority. Boring. Insulting.
But as Xylon scanned, a detail snagged his memory. A piece of game lore, buried in a codex entry about Valtheris. Their outpost regulators use harmonic Aether-dampeners to stabilize the volatile wind-energies of the high altitudes. Prolonged exposure to these dampener fields can, in rare cases, cause temporary Aether flux in visitors, mimicking low-level static discharge.
An idea, wild and desperate, began to form.
He turned to face them. "You said I need to become more than a witness. A factor." He looked at Eryndra, then at Astraxion. "Take me with you."
Astraxion blinked. "That is impossible. You are not cleared. You have no rank. You are a civilian under observation."
"As your aide," Xylon pressed. "A personal attendant. You are a Commander of the Aetherion Imperium on a diplomatic liaison. It's not uncommon for officers to bring a civilian aide for logistics and record-keeping. My ident-chip, while temporary, grants me Imperium affiliation. My complete lack of Aether signature might even be an advantage in a high-Aether environment—no interference."
"He is untrained, unknown," Eryndra said, but her voice lacked its usual finality. She was calculating.
"I am also a null reading," Xylon said, echoing Lyn's warning. "The political officers will come asking about me. If I'm here, I'm a problem for you, for your household. If I'm with you, on an official assignment, I'm under your direct command and oversight. It looks like you're responsibly managing the anomaly."
Astraxion studied him, her tired mind working through the logic. "The Valtheris will question it."
"Tell them I'm a specialist from a minor family, attached to your staff for cultural exchange. My null Aether is a unique trait under study. They'll find it curious, not threatening." He was spinning fiction, but it was plausible fiction. The seven nations were intensely curious about each other's capabilities.
"And your purpose?" Astraxion asked.
"To have your back," Xylon said simply. "To be an extra set of eyes. To… to make sure you come home." He couldn't say the real reason: that this boring mission had, in the game's original timeline, hidden a secret. A minor subplot involving a Valtheris officer selling corrupted Aether cores to Chaos Beast sympathizers. It had been a world-building footnote, but it had turned deadly for a minor character. If that plot was still active, and Astraxion stumbled into it alone, in her current state…
Eryndra was silent, her gaze burning into the side of Xylon's face. The conflict in her was visceral. The thought of Astraxion leaving without her was a physical agony. The thought of sending this unknown man in her place was a torment. But the thought of Astraxion being alone, isolated, and vulnerable in foreign territory was worse.
"He speaks sense," Eryndra forced out, the words tasting like ash. "A tactical allocation. Your protection is the priority. My presence is impossible. His… is merely improbable."