Kera took her seat on one of the many stools arranged in the underground stronghold’s briefing room, and felt small.

  During those last days, she’d entertained some fantasy of herself as a real soldier. She had seen real combat, when Virgil had taken the hit during the shelling. And she’d worked alongside real soldiers, who in turn seemed to perceive her as one. She’d even dared to wonder if she might deserve her rank of ‘sergeant.’

  But as so many grizzled veterans of the Imperial Guard filed into the chamber, then, and took their seats around her — as so many bodies filled the surrounding space, making her breathing short and choked, and her heart pound in her ears — she felt like a fool, for indulging such a fantasy, before.

  Virgil was only halfway alike those people, himself. And still he was so much more suited to fill that seat than she. But he was still bedridden, and so she was there in his place, as their squad’s representative.

  Daring to peek at the crowd again, Kera spied her old classmate Theodora, as she had in passing a handful of times since coming to the stronghold. They locked eyes, and Kera bristled twice over.

  Scraping metal plates grew louder as the last seats filled. Captain Tanhkmet made his way to the head of the congregation, and there at the front fell onto a stool of his own with a tired weight.

  The Captain waited for quiet, and his grave features soon brought a hush to the gathered officers.

  “Greetings, officers of the corps and the Guard,” he began. “Thank you for your attention.”

  He took a deep breath, gathering strength.

  “I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that… times… have been hard,” he said. “I have nothing but respect for you all, and your perseverance. The same goes for the rest of our comrades, throughout the complex. In the face of unspeakable horror, and disaster, and confusion — you have carried on. I’m proud to have been your captain. Today, I’m hoping to bring you some answers. Regarding everything that’s occurred in the last weeks. And also, maybe… a way forward.”

  He swallowed.

  “The forces of a human society, from beyond the shores of Setet, have come to our lands,” said Tanhkmet. “Human beings, from across the ocean. Indeed, such peoples exist, and they are responsible for the events of late. Including, I must believe, the fate of Atum-Ra.”

  Murmurs rippled through the assembly, of bewilderment and further speculation. Others weathered the news with a more nonplussed, resigned acceptance.

  “My understanding is that these foreign invaders landed first at Hilomnos, gaining full control of the city in under twenty-four hours. They have since occupied territory comprising at least twenty percent of the eastern provinces, likely more.”

  He gestured to an officer standing by his side, who affixed a map to the wall behind him. The murmuring swelled.

  “Furthermore... Furthermore—” said Tankkmet, as he clawed back control. “It is apparent that this enemy has knowledge of our language. By air, they have dispersed messages to us. And their messages… instruct us to surrender.”

  Stunned silence met those final words.

  “Considering recent events… Considering the… absence of the imperial family… in the face of weapons like those used against Atum-Ra…”

  His clenched two gauntleted fists.

  “It is my belief… that we have no other choice.”

  The collective weight of all that had happened, and was happening — the exact nature of what their captain just said — collapsed over all them.

  But… he couldn’t do that, Kera thought.

  How could he?

  The captain would rather give up, than avenge Atum-Ra? Just because those who’d murdered its citizens had asked nicely?

  The first of the others were coming to their senses, anger and disgust replacing their shock. Already, cries of disbelief were rising back, in dispute with Tanhkmet’s pronouncement.

  But only she was standing, Kera realized.

  She alone faced Tanhkmet, the first to have bolted upright, among all those assembled.

  The captain waited, a deep sadness behind his eyes.

  She’d been about to say something, she realized. She might’ve even made some sort of noise.

  But Kera then was frozen. Not just by his attention, but that of all others present, too. Time had returned, and the world spun.

  His mistake was so obvious. If what he said was true — it was so clearly wrong, to surrender.

  But she couldn’t speak, as if a sudden wind had pulled the breath from her lungs.

  And so she could do nothing but push her way out of the chamber, even as the other officers at last erupted into open rebellion with Tanhkmet and one other, and the suspended instant came to end. She could only run, seething and embarrassed and confused and gasping for air.

  * * *

  Theo watched in awe as Iumatar stormed out of the meeting.

  At once, dozens of other officers had risen a moment after her, up in arms and trying to protest with the captain. Tanhkmet’s lieutenants had been first to intercept them with counter-arguments, fomenting a noisy, chaotic shouting-battle. Others who shared Tanhkmet’s view scorned Iumatar as she departed, but she didn't seem to hear them.

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  Theo was left stranded, as fighting worsened around her.

  Rosy-cheeked with red-hot indignation, Kerauna had been. Uncaring of herself, as she made her simple protest clear. And in that way she’d put Theo’s own outrage into real action.

  It had been an unrestrained and awkward bravery, but she had to admire it all the more for that. She’d never known that Iumatar had it in her. She’d always seemed so quiet, in the classes they’d shared in the academy.

  Theo thought then of the academy, years past, and mistakes like her friendship with Pallas. Why was it only so obvious to her then, how pointless things like ‘career’ were, compared to what really mattered?

  Instinct tugged at her.

  She stood, following after Iumatar, sustaining only Tanhkmet’s wordless observation as she did.

  * * *

  It was bright outside, and Kera’s eyes stung. From the stronghold’s entrance, she trudged up and around the outcropping that surrounded the mouth of the complex.

  At the top of the hill she let herself collapse on the gentle reverse slope. There at last the air began to truly fill her lungs, once more. For the time it took her to count down from three hundred, she lay unmoving on the blackened earth, and caught her breath.

  Only after reaching zero, with her breathing half-steady, she sat back up.

  In the near distance, to the north, a jagged gray expanse interrupted the uniform dry and burnt savanna. The ruins of Atum-Ra.

  So be it, she thought then, if they were all to surrender.

  The very idea was revolting. She hated Tanhkmet for it, and hated more how she couldn’t help but understand his reasons. And how there would be nothing she could do to change Tanhkmet’s mind.

  The ruin’s presence dominated the whole view from where she sat. It was inescapable, hanging over all of them.

  It was her mother’s grave, she thought numbly. They were set to surrender to her murderers, and she hadn’t even visited her grave, yet, even though she was just a few dozen miles away.

  She picked herself up and began down the slope, toward the stretch of scorched pasture where a simple ad-hoc corral kept the garrison’s riding birds.

  But before she’d quite reached the stables, another officer crested the outcropping behind her, hurrying down to catch up.

  Kera drew back from the corral’s gate to face the newcomer. Theodora Belisarion came to an uncertain halt a few paces away.

  “...Uh… Hey.”

  Kera thought her old classmate had always seemed so suave, back at the academy. At least when Pallas wasn’t ordering her around. She found a certain jealous pleasure, then, seeing her put so off-balance by her mere presence, and so she let her stew in it, offering no reply, only crossing her arms expectantly. Even as her heart still thrummed, and she’d no idea what to expect.

  “I — I wanted to say that I respected that. What you did,” said Theo. She rubbed the back of her own neck.

  “You followed me out here to tell me that?” said Kera.

  She wasn’t even sure what Theo was even talking about. What had she done that was worthy of respect?

  “Well, and… I guess you just seemed… in distress… and so…”

  At that, Kera just couldn’t stop herself.

  “Yeah? I seemed in distress, then?” she said.

  The world was ending, for the gods’ sakes. But somehow, seeing their petty history in perspective only made the past hurt more.

  “Yes. You’re right. I should say that… I’m sorry,” said Theo. “About everything… I made a lot of mistakes back then. And… I can tell I hurt you, with some of my mistakes. I’m sorry, Kerauna.”

  Kera shook her head, pushing through the gate of the corral.

  “It's a convenient time to apologize, now, isn’t it?” she said. “Not like any of us have a career to worry about anymore, right?”

  Her stomach lurched with every word. But she said it anyway.

  She nodded to the lone patrol officer guarding the open stable, then found Horus in one of the pens. She fixed his tack and climbed into the saddle, careful with his scars but evermore confident in the routine each time.

  Theodora was still standing right outside the gate when she rode back.

  Horus examined the lieutenant with an eye of dark polished amber. Kera stared down at her, too, one last time.

  Revenge had already lost its sweetness. Theo no longer squirmed, but rather seemed resigned.

  Kera wanted to apologize, herself, then.

  But instead she only kicked the stirrups, and leaned in close to Horus’ neck, setting off for the ruins of Atum-Ra.

  * * *

  “Eleven o’clock,” said Thjali. Watching Roskvir scan the horizon with his spyglass, she indulged herself a long yawn.

  “Eleven o’clock?”

  “That rocky bit,” she said, rolling her eyes. “The main entrance is under the pronounced part of the outcropping. Don’t you see the ring of outworks?”

  “...Where, specifically?”

  “Gods, it's a flat plane. Was the trip really so taxing? It was less than a day’s flight, on that swift.”

  “I’m quite alright,” said Roskvir. “I’m just trying to make sure I understand exactly what you mean. Are you saying that those smaller stones are the outworks? It looks almost like a natural formation.”

  “Yes, the stones,” Thjali sighed.

  Roskvir inched forward in their defilade, squinting harder through the spyglass.

  “Alright, then yes, I see it. They’re intended to be semi-camouflaged, I assume.”

  “Well then we’ve seen it, haven’t we?” said Thjali. “Have we now been meticulous enough for your tastes? I told you, we’ve double overmatch in numbers and sjaeltak. Shall we go over the maneuvers one more time for you, too, or have you had your fill?”

  “No.” Roskvir glared back at her, collapsing the spyglass. “Your platoon will come around from the heights once mine draws them out of the fortifications. Trust me, I understood that part the first time around. I suppose it gives you some sort of sick pleasure to use me as the bait, once again, doesn’t it?”

  She permitted him a smile, in just the way she knew he found so vexing. He scoffed.

  Roskvir avoided her once they returned to their encampment, and spent his time familiarizing himself with the soldiers he was to command the next morning. But Thjali continued to observe him, even as he kept his distance. Most of the marines took a liking to him at once, at least as far as she could tell.

  He’d been off-balance that whole afternoon and evening, she thought. As if he would fall over at the lightest shove. Low-energy, perhaps. She never paid much attention to such things, but he was shedding that weakness then like a foul odor too strong for even her to ignore. And it spread like a disease, infecting her marines. Or perhaps, rather, the frailties of Roskvir and her men simply sprung from the same shared font; she didn’t care to investigate. Either way, it was pathetic. Just as Roskvir had always been.

  She wondered if the shogun had taken him to a sabbath. He was the type to be shaken by something like that.

  But no. It was much too soon. The shogun hadn’t known Roskvir long. He wouldn’t yet trust him.

  She decided to stop wasting her time. People like him were always being affected by something or another. Emotional rubbish wouldn’t worsen his performance in combat, anyway. At the very least, she put him above that. He would serve his purpose just fine when the time came. He’d already done half his part, after all.

  And of course, much of what made him so pathetic made him a good soldier, too. A good leader of men, at least. He’d be able to keep his prong of the attack engaged against an overwhelming enemy for much longer than any other sjaelsvabener commander she’d met. Even after he eventually realized something had gone terribly wrong.

  Still she watched him from afar, as he finished introductions with his section commanders. One marine’s troubled features warmed, she saw, put at ease by something he’d said.

  She couldn’t fathom why anyone would go so far out of their way to foster such impairments.

  “Every weakness contains within itself a strength.”

  Shusaku Endo