Blue strobes washed the rain, and the two of them were still there—locked in a hug in front of the station doors—when Mark shouldered through the ring of rifles.

  It was just after three in the morning. The car park was otherwise empty—no bystanders, no curious windows—only the hiss of rain, the hum of strip lights, and a CCTV eye winking red above the doors.

  He approached carefully. “So… is this her? Where did she come from?”

  Keira thumped a fist against Caelan’s jacket. “Didn’t you tell them yet? Do I have to do everything for you?” She pivoted to Mark with a bright, sarcastic smile. “Well, duh—I walked right past you idiots. Shit, forgot what it’s like being around base?level people.”

  “Please don’t call them that,” Caelan sighed.

  Keira turned back to him, grin widening. “Guess what, motherfucker—it’s time.”

  Caelan lit up like a kid at Christmas. “Oh fuck, I almost forgot—shit—” He bounced on his toes, shaking his hands. “Woo. I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”

  Keira fished two steaming cups from her jacket. “Say it, asshole.” She pressed one into his hand.

  “Sis, you know I fucking love you. Now give it,” Caelan said, eyes already on the cup.

  They dropped to the wet concrete and sat cross?legged amid the knots of armed officers, as none of it mattered.

  “To the Revolutionary Army,” Keira said, raising her cup.

  “To the Revolutionary Army,” Caelan echoed, tapping hers.

  They sipped in unison, eyes closed, breathing the steam. A beat of quiet lived there in the rain.

  “Oh my god,” Keira blurted, eyes flying open. “I’ve missed hot chocolate. Fuck—so worth it. Yours?”

  “This is honestly amazing,” Caelan murmured. “I could melt right now. Damn coffee, you evil demon—you’ve got me wrapped round your little finger.”

  “You sure it can’t be better?” Keira teased.

  “Honestly, I don’t know how—” He noticed the cigarette between her fingers and choked on a laugh. “Aw, sis—you’re honestly going to make me cry.”

  “Just one,” she said. “And I won’t tell Solara.”

  “Deal.” He took it, snapped his fingers; a neat spark kissed the tip alight.

  Several rifles began to twitch. Mark lifted a palm. “Hold.”

  Caelan took a single blissful draw. “Oh yeah. That’s the spot.”

  Keira nudged his shoulder. “One victory cigarette. Then never again. Deal we made.”

  “Deal,” Caelan said. “One last morning—coffee and a smoke—for the first time in a hundred and thirteen thousand years.” He took a single slow pull and handed it back.

  Keira plucked it, hissed it out in a puddle. “Done.”

  He exhaled, the smile going small. “Thanks for remembering for me.”

  Fiona eased up beside Mark, rain ticking on her jacket. “Sarge, are we just going to watch these two idiots drink coffee all night? I’m tired of listening to his crap—”

  Before anyone blinked, Keira was in front of her, the muzzle of a pistol resting in the notch of Fiona’s throat. Her voice went flat and cold. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? That’s the Captain of the Revolutionary Army. Speak to him like that again, and you won’t live to speak of it.”

  “Drop the weapon! Now!” rifles screamed, swinging toward Keira.

  Fiona smiled without looking away. “Better do what they say if you want to get out of this.”

  Keira’s mouth twitched. She… flickered. A scatter of clicks and hollow clatters erupted around the circle—magazines vanishing from weapons. Officers stared at empty hands and emptier holsters.

  “My magazine’s gone!”

  “Where are the backup mags?”

  “Even my sidearm’s empty—”

  “Don’t worry,” Keira said, almost cheerful. “I put those bullets where they belong. If you’re trash, that’s where your bullets go. Check the bins if you really want to take a shot.”

  Mark dragged a hand down his face and looked at Caelan. “Can’t you do something?”

  Caelan sighed. “Fine. Master Sergeant—stand down. They’re a non?threat.”

  Keira pressed, just once, the muzzle into Fiona’s skin, then lifted it away and spun the pistol back into her holster in a single neat motion. “Yeah, I know. Just thought it might speed things up if they knew what they were dealing with.”

  Caelan glanced at her holster. “Thought you blew all your ammo in the final battle?”

  Keira placed a finger to her lip, mocking innocently. “Whoops—silly me. So I did.” She drew the pistol a half?inch; the chamber clicked empty. A few rifles lowered.

  “Stand easy,” Mark said, and muzzles dipped.

  She skipped back to Caelan, plucked up her cup, and took another sip. “So what are we doing now, then?”

  They drifted back toward the station like it was a walk in the park while officers scrambled fresh mags and fell in behind. Mark and Fiona paced a few steps back; Caelan and Keira didn’t hurry.

  “So—the final push,” Caelan said as they walked. “Did it go as planned? Please, for the love of God, tell me I looked cool at least.”

  “Pfft. You’re too old to look cool,” Keira said. “But yeah—Ravon cried like a bitch. Hey, you two have that in common.”

  Caelan bumped her shoulder. “Shut up. Bet I was cool as fuck.”

  They stepped into the interview room.

  “And here’s where I’ve been hanging out,” Caelan announced.

  Keira whistled. “Love what you’ve done with the place. Wait—where’s my chair?”

  “Asked them to get you one, but they were too busy acting tough,” Caelan sighed. “Just grab one.”

  In a blink, a chair slid in beside his. They sat and immediately started swinging their legs like kids.

  Armed officers filtered back in, weapons levelled; Mark and Fiona took their seats.

  “I’m starting to see there might be more truth to what you’re telling us than I thought,” Mark said calmly.

  Caelan waved. “Please, mate—don’t take it personally. This whole situation is insane.”

  Fiona slammed her palm on the table. “Can you get to the point already? Why are you here, and what do you want?”

  Caelan didn’t even look at her. “Right—this is Mark, and that’s Fiona. Annoyingly, I think she’d get along great with Solara.”

  Keira grinned. “Shit. One of those people. Anyway—nice to meet you both. I’m Keira Langston, Caelan’s little sister.”

  Fiona hit the table again. “What is actually wrong with you two? Don’t you understand we have far more important things—”

  “Fiona, calm down,” Mark cut in.

  “We have a missing child case,” Fiona snapped. “And we’re sitting here listening to these two and their fantasy rubbish. Let’s get real.”

  Caelan sighed. “Fuck’s sake. Fine—wait a second.”

  Without seeming to move, a file was suddenly in his hand. He passed it to Keira. “Master Sergeant—do your thing.”

  Keira stood, already sighing. “Understood, Captain.”

  She vanished.

  Mark stared. “Where did she go—what was that?”

  Caelan counted under his breath. “Five… four… three… two—”

  Keira reappeared beside him and set a fresh coffee on the table. “Mission complete, Captain.” Rain ticked off their jackets onto the tiles.

  Caelan glanced at the clock. “Nine seconds. Not too bad, Master Sergeant.”

  Keira’s smile went smug. “Did you expect anything less from me?”

  She had a younger girl tucked under her arm, a hot chocolate in the kid’s hand. “Don’t worry—you’re safe now.”

  The room erupted—shouts, chairs scraping.

  “Everyone, calm down,” Mark barked. He blinked, then softened. “Wait—is that Megan? Where did you find her—how did you—”

  Keira exhaled. “I went room to room across the city until I found her. The shady bastards who had her are in your cells.”

  Fiona rounded the table, wrapping the girl up. “Are you alright? You’re safe—you’re with the police now.” She lifted her head, voice sharp toward the hall. “Medical to the front desk, now! And someone phoned her parents.” She tucked Megan under her arm and steered her toward the door.

  At the door, the girl turned and waved. “Thanks, big sis Keira.”

  Keira’s grin went wide; she waved back with both hands. “See you around—let’s grab hot chocolate sometime. Get home safe, yeah? Bye.”

  Mark watched Caelan, unblinking, while Caelan high-fived Keira.

  “What’s really your goal here?” Mark asked, voice low. “None of this makes sense. What are you after? This is… impossible.”

  Caelan grinned. “Wasn’t joking—it’s completely batshit. But before we get to that—hold on.” He turned. “Status report, Master Sergeant.”

  Keira snapped to attention beside him. “Yes, Captain. Operation Day Zero is proceeding exactly as planned. Objectives zero-zero-one through two-six-four are complete. Executing Variation Echo per standing instructions. Estimated time to completion: two hours, Captain.”

  Caelan leaned back, swinging the chair once. “Fuck—bang-up job, Master Sergeant.”

  Keira flicked him a lazy two-finger salute. “You know it. Someone has to do all the running around while a certain idiot sits and tells stories.”

  “Shut up—you loved it,” Caelan said.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  “Fuck yeah, I did.” She fished a phone from her pocket. “Look at all the photos I got.” Swipe, swipe, swipe.

  Caelan leaned in, horrified. “Keira, it says there are over twenty thousand photos. We’ve only been back for just over an hour. The shit, sis.”

  Keira grinned. “Just wait till I put them online.”

  Caelan went pale. “Executive order: all Revolutionary Army members are forbidden from social media. No exceptions.”

  “The shit. No—screw you, big bro. If I want to post, I will.”

  He sighed, the humour draining a notch. “Sis—serious for one second. We can’t risk anything getting out that we aren’t ready to reveal. Hold off for me, the now. Please.”

  She groaned. “I hate it when you use that card. Fine—for you. But you owe me two.”

  “What do I owe the first one for—never mind. You’re probably right.” He patted her elbow.

  Keira patted his head, smug. “So glad I’ve got all three of my brothers house-trained.”

  Mark cleared his throat. “Can we get back to this? What is it you actually want? Is there any point to this story?”

  Caelan turned to him, apologetic. “Sorry—we get like this. Simply put: if we can save someone from danger, we do it. If we can leave a place a little better than we found it, that’s a win in my book. And whether I’m on Earth or not, there’s a lot of danger on its way.”

  “So what—you’re saying this Revolutionary Army you’re part of… Do you save people? Like heroes or something?” Mark asked.

  “You need to understand the place we just came from—”

  “And where is that, exactly?” Mark pressed.

  “A time-dilated pocket,” Caelan said, “between reality and the void of reality itself.”

  He rubbed his jaw, then shrugged. “We’re not heroes. In the Immortal Emperor War, the stronger they got, the bigger monsters they became. The things people felt allowed to do were… horrors beyond your worst nightmare.”

  He looked back at Keira, then to Mark. “Fuck it. Let’s get to the next part—the most important day of the entire war.”

  The day that changed everything—and set the path for everything that was to come. The day we arrived at Virelith. The day I formed the Revolutionary Army.

  Keira tipped her chin, grin sharp. “Hell yeah—you better remember how badass I was that day. Did you spend half the day drunk?”

  Caelan snorted. “Small details, sis—and for the record, I was pretty hammered.”

  Commanders remaining: 1,776,448,245,269

  Followers remaining: 58,007,618,595

  Days elapsed: 5,545

  Eliminated: 12,765,893,380

  They followed the paved road through one of the forest zones, boots ticking on dry stone.

  “We’ve been on this damn road for a day and a half,” Aidan groaned. “Who the hell built this, and why is it so long?”

  Milo hopped in front of him, walking backwards. “You know we can’t really pull off the ‘pretend to be each other’ bit anymore. Ever thought about a diet, bro? If you carried your own bag, you might lose the extra few pounds.”

  “You know I stress-eat, Milo. Be quiet.” Aidan lifted his hands, pleading. “Sis, can you beat his ass for me?”

  “MILO,” Keira warned. “I’m going to show you Cap’s Mach Punt again if you don’t say sorry.”

  Milo just grinned up at her—Keira was riding on Garron’s shoulders like a kid. “Says the fourteen-year-old ten-year-old. Ooh, look at me, I swear all the time now to impress Captain because I secretly fancy him.” He giggled. “Gotta catch me if you’re going to do anything about it!”

  He bolted to the front of the line.

  “Oh, he’s done it now,” Aidan muttered.

  “The fuck do you think you’re talking to, Milo?” Keira shouted. “Get your ass back here! Garron, put me down—now. I’m going to beat him half to death.”

  “No can do, little miss,” Garron said gently. “I hurt you. Not until you’re better.”

  “It was my arm and face, not my legs, you idiot!”

  “See? It’s not so funny now, is it?” Veyra said, hands on her hips. “All those times I asked for help, and none of you did anything—”

  Braen reached to scoop her up. Veyra shot a side-eye like a thrown knife. “I will put a hole in that hand if you touch me, Braen. Try me.”

  “Aw, why? You’re so small and easy to carry. I don’t want your little legs getting tired again,” Braen said, unbothered.

  “Don’t need to be so mean, our little cutie,” Braen added to Veyra. “You can just say no.”

  “I say it every time,” Veyra snapped, “and you still pick me up for some damn reason. And everyone other than Garron over there is tiny to you, we get it.”

  Up ahead, Caelan, Takeshi, and Solara had been leading. Milo streaked past them. Takeshi was mid-ramble about the properties of the scrap bars from that emerald monster and how he should have first dibs to make things out of them.

  Caelan and Solara ignored him.

  “What the hell is happening back there?” Caelan called, turning. “Fuck me—the last person who ran past said it’s like a zone or two away.”

  Solara arched an eyebrow. “That’s one.”

  “Fuck me, man—”

  Solara smiled and slapped his left arm, full force. The crack sounded like a whip. Everyone stopped.

  “Owwww! That’s my bad arm, the fu—”

  She slapped him again.

  “OW—what the hell, Solara?”

  “Extra training wasn’t keeping you inside the two-day swear limit,” she said sweetly. “This seems much more effective.”

  Caelan gritted his teeth. “Fiiine. No more swearing today—shit.”

  She smacked him again.

  “That’s not a swear word, Solara.”

  Solara dead-eyed him. “In my book, it is now, since I don’t like you saying it.”

  From up the road, Milo shouted, “Guys! You’ve got to see this!”

  The trees thinned—and the road spilled them into a clearing. A city sat there like a square-cut jewel, running perfectly square. The skyline rose above anything they had seen since awakening here, as if someone had planted their flag proclaiming this as their own without question.

  They all stopped.

  “Okay… that’s actually cool,” Keira said, softer than usual.

  Solara’s eyes were fixed on the walls, calmly stated, “Four approach gates. Clean fields of view. It looks like a two-watch rotation on the north gate. Someone built this to last. Do you think they found it this way?”

  Takeshi whistled, impressed despite himself. “Funding, planning… and a ledger I want to read. I mean, in the time we’ve all been here, how did they pull this off? Those walls must be at least fifteen metres minimum.”

  Garron set a palm to the outer stone. “This will hold. The spread of the towers around the outer walls would take a lot of manpower to keep operational.”

  Veyra folded her arms, satisfied. “Finally—a wall that knows it’s a wall.”

  Caelan didn’t answer. He stood very still, watching the line of people easing through the nearest gate—carts, cloaks, the quiet order of it. A single tear slid down his cheek.

  Solara touched his shoulder. “Caelan—are you alright?”

  He didn’t answer. He just broke into a slow jog that became a run, pack thumping, a ridiculous grin widening as he pelted downhill.

  Keira dragged a hand over her face. “Aw, fuck—not again.”

  Milo groaned. “Please don’t tell me—”

  “I hate it when he does this,” Aidan muttered.

  Solara straightened, deadpan. “Well, congratulations, young lady—that’s officially four hundred hours of additional training you now owe me. Also… what in the stars is Caelan doing?”

  Milo burst out laughing. “Bro, did you hear that? Solara called sis a ‘lady.’”

  Aidan snickered; Keira pointed at both of them from Garron’s shoulders. “When I get down from here, you two are mine. And I don’t get it, but he says it’s something an American would never understand—the beauty of a perfectly formal queue. I think he’s batshit.”

  Solara shook her head, disbelief giving way to curiosity. “You could’ve told me anything about Caelan, and I wouldn’t be shocked. But this? I need to see it.”

  Down at the foot of the hill, Caelan skidded in behind a cart, folded his hands, and beamed like a saint among sinners—first in line to be last in.

  Fifteen minutes later, they were still inching forward. Caelan bounced like a kid at Christmas; Solara stood just behind him, hands neat at her back.

  Veyra groaned. “My legs are tired.”

  Braen reached to scoop her up.

  “I swear to God, Braen—touch me and die,” Veyra snapped.

  Braen only smiled and straightened.

  “Isn’t there any way to go faster? Why is it so long?” Veyra complained.

  “Not happening,” Solara said.

  “What?”

  Solara turned to them all, smiling ear to ear. “I totally get what he means. Honestly, it feels like a dream come true—order, conduct. I hope it never ends.”

  “Garron, stomp her—she’s gone native!” Keira yelled.

  Garron chuckled. “For such a nice young woman, you’re feisty. I see why you’ve survived here so long.”

  Keira grabbed a fistful of his hair. “Who are you calling aggressive, you old fart?”

  Garron laughed—but in the same breath, they all felt the tension drop like a stone.

  “Captain, please—calm down. Not again. You don’t even have a weapon,” Aidan hissed.

  Milo slid up behind Caelan and stage?whispered, loud enough for all of them to hear. “Go on, Captain—who the hell do they think they are?”

  A team of heavily armed men shouldered past, carrying a large crate with air holes punched along the sides.

  “Was that a tail?” Caelan murmured, squinting.

  He blinked, let the breath go, and straightened. “Aw, don’t worry about it. Looks like they’ve got some kind of pass—doesn’t count as queue?skipping. It’s all good. We’re next anyway.”

  He bounced once, delighted. “So much fun. Best. Day. Ever.”

  The guard cupped a hand to his mouth, voice flat with boredom. “Next!”

  Caelan practically bounced into the arch. “Aw, that was amazing.” He turned to the guard. “Question, mate—has anyone ever tried to just… smash through this thing?”

  The guard didn’t look up from his clipboard. “Wouldn’t recommend it unless you fancy a chat with Commander Ravon Dask—slayer of the White Terror, and, as of this afternoon, the Red Demon of the Forest. Central plaza.” He flicked a glance at them. “How many in your party and what’s the pur—oh my gods, what is that?”

  He was staring at Garron. Garron stared back, blank as stone. The guard gulped.

  “Don’t worry,” Caelan said cheerfully. “He’s a big softy.”

  The guard swallowed, went back to the page. “I’m too sober for this… Right. The gate fee is fifty grams of scrap bars per person at peak times. Further information can be found at any of our many Service Information Centres throughout our glorious city of Virelith.” He sighed under his breath. “Who writes this crap?”

  Caelan shrugged off his rucksack to dig for payment.

  Solara’s eyes lit. “Look at this. I wish we had something like this—beautiful order, clear procedures, properly prepared paperwork. Is this heaven?”

  “NO,” the entire line behind her chorused.

  “Not even a few basic rules?” Solara tried.

  Keira gave her a death-glare. “We’ve talked about this.”

  “Hold on,” the guard said, frowning at the emerald-tint alloy ingots in Caelan’s hand. “What in the stars is this? I’ve never seen scrap bars this colour—they’re always silver.”

  “Got it off a monster we killed the other day,” Caelan said.

  “What do you mean, we, Captain?” Takeshi chirped. “You were too busy making out with your massive boyfriend to help.”

  Caelan ground his teeth. “Will everyone stop joking about that?”

  “Yeah, Takeshi,” Milo added, far too innocent.

  “I heard you back there,” Caelan warned, pointing at him. “Any more of your shit and I’ll lock you in a cupboard with Keira—see what happens.”

  “SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!—wait, are her eyes sparkling?” the guard barked, colour rising. He rubbed his temples. “Never mind, just walk through one at a time. Guest line over there—the registry artist will take a quick likeness for our records in case we need to reach you. Inns are around the outer walls. And please—pick one far away from me.”

  They spilled past, still bickering, and paused long enough for the most creative charcoal portraits they had made that week.

  As they stumbled through the arches, Virelith unfolded—orderly streets on brick-laid roads, buildings near-uniform at eight storeys, but each with some small flourish: a carved lintel here, tiny balconies spilling herbs over the street. Planters boxed young trees; pennants clicked on their poles. The noise was day-to-day, not war—barrows squeaking, a bell marking the quarter hour, voices bartering under awnings.

  A city map stood beside it under glass.

  Solara spotted a beautiful framed map and sprinted toward it with a delighted squeal. “Ehh—it’s so well laid out. Shopping districts, blacksmiths, and even a tea shop. We need to go there right now. Cael, scrap bars, now.”

  Caelan hooked two fingers in the back of her collar and gently towed her off the map. “Accommodation first. Then we can explore.”

  She let herself be dragged, still muttering about leaf grades and water temperature.

  They passed inns in the outer ring, and everyone had an opinion.

  “That one has a bar!” Milo pointed.

  “Nope—too many people,” Caelan said, already walking.

  “Aw, please—this door is big enough, I won’t have to duck,” Braen tried.

  “Not big enough for all of us.”

  “Is that a pool?” Veyra tugged his sleeve. “Please, Captain. Pretty please.”

  “Nope. I don’t want to live next to people who dive-bomb. You can visit later.”

  They were angling along the inside of the east wall when a small stall of flowers caught Caelan’s eye. Jet-black hair, thin frame; the woman behind the table was arranging stems by colour. As they drew level, she spoke without looking up, voice gentle.

  “If you’re hunting an inn that fits your lot, follow the narrow path behind the gate. You’ll like what you find.”

  Solara, still in Caelan’s grip, kept mumbling about how many teas she could afford per week.

  Caelan sighed, lifted her like a parcel and passed her into Braen’s waiting arms. “Catch. Carry her until she snaps out of it. All of you—go check the path.”

  They shuffled toward a copse of trees hemming a side gate; Caelan turned back to the stall with a smile.

  “Thanks for that. Hey—any chance I could buy, say, five bunches?”

  “Of course,” the woman said, finally meeting his eyes. Her mouth quirked. “And for the record, Cael, I sell bouquets, not bunches. I’m guessing they’re for the women in your party?”

  He laughed. “Yeah. They deserve something nice now and again. And thanks for the tip.” She handed him the first bouquet—wildflowers bound with twine. “This one’s for the short girl,” she said.

  “Damn, that’s gorgeous—she’ll love it.” He took it—then his expression sharpened. His fingers closed, light but immovable, around her hand. “Now, why don’t you start by telling me who the fuck you are?”

  “I simply wish to make a peaceful living while I spend my time here,” she said softly.

  “Cut the crap,” Caelan murmured, still smiling. “There’s no way you heard her call me that from back there. It’s nearly a mile.”

  She tried to ease her hand back without breaking eye contact. “Sir, I simply wish to sell my flowers. That is all.”

  He let go, the easy grin sliding back into place. “Doesn’t matter. We can talk shop later.”

  “I’m here every day,” she said, composed again, “if you ever wish to speak about flowers or their arrangements.”

  She passed him the rest—five tidy bouquets, each a little different. Caelan dropped a small bag of scrap bars on the table.

  “This should cover it.”

  “This is far too much,” she said, startled. “I can’t possibly—”

  “Keep it,” Caelan said. “Get yourself something nice. On us.”

  He turned to go.

  “One more thing,” she said, reaching under the table. She brought out a single red rose, almost absurdly perfect, dew-touched and thornless, wrapped it in paper with careful fingers, and held it out. “I’ve only seen one like this since I arrived. Please—take care of it.”

  Caelan’s brows lifted despite himself. He accepted it as if it were fragile. “Thank you. I promise I will.”

  He jogged after the others, bouquets under one arm, the wrapped rose cradled in the other. “Well, that was weird,” he muttered, half-smiling. “Ah, fuck it—I’ll deal with that later.”

  They had slipped into a tree-lined side path where the wall kinked. Three old beeches and a stubborn pine shouldered together, half-hiding the view beyond. Caelan lifted his head to shout—

  “So is there anything back here— holy shit. What is that?”

  The path opened onto a stone inn that looked ripped from a fantasy novel—mullioned windows warm with lamplight, slate roof dark and clean, ivy trained neatly up the corners. A well-kept garden quilted the front—herbs, low flowers, a tiny apple tree with its branches tied. Off to the right, under a timber awning, sat a circular stone fire pit, embers breathing, with benches and chairs in a ring.

  Caelan stopped like he’d been pulled on a wire. “Damn,” he breathed. “It’s perfect.”

  The fire pit ticked. For a heartbeat, all of them were very quiet.

  “Mine!” Caelan said, before he knew he’d said it.