The stars burned cold above the town. From the rooftop of the old inn, laughter and flickering firelight spilled into the night like echoes from a different time—a time before war.

  Plates clattered. Boots thumped. Bottles clinked. The rooftop had become their table, their tavern, their celebration.

  The crew sat in a wide circle, surrounding a barrel-turned firepit. The flames danced and hissed in the breeze as food sizzled over makeshift spits, and strong drink passed from hand to hand with no care for rationing. They had earned this. Every last drop of it.

  Keira sat cross-legged beside Caelan, her sniper propped carefully against the wall behind her, as if it too were part of the conversation. She was halfway through describing every intricate part of the weapon’s custom grip and heat-vented scope when she noticed Caelan wasn’t really listening. He was watching the fire, face half-lit, eyes distant.

  "Hey, Captain Idiot, what’s wrong with you today? You keep drifting off." She gave him a gentle nudge to the side.

  Caelan snapped out of it, laughing a little. "Sorry, Keira. Honestly, just been thinking about stuff," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  Keira leaned in closer, quietly rubbing her head against his arm and saying, "When you’re ready to talk, let me know, big brother."

  He leaned his head gently on top of hers and whispered back, "Thanks, sis. Couldn’t do it without you."

  She laughed, giving him a little nudge. "You goddamn bet you couldn’t."

  Milo and Aidan were on the far side of the firepit, locked in a fierce drinking contest—each trying to out-chug the other while Veyra, not missing a beat, bonked their heads together. "So what are you two whispering about?" she called over to Caelan and Keira. "Are you not going to introduce us to your new friend, since we all got dragged out of bed to save your asses?"

  Caelan piped up, grinning, "Aw yeah, so everyone, this is... wait, what’s your name again?"

  The woman, still quietly sipping her tea, looked up and shrugged. "I don’t really have one, sorry." She cracked a small smile, glancing down. "People usually just call me Red, or Gold Eyes."

  Braen beamed at her, leaning over. "Aww, you tiny little cutie—we can’t be calling you that. Didn’t your parents give you a name?"

  The woman shook her head, eyes dropping to her cup. "Wouldn’t know. I’ve never met them."

  Caelan rubbed the back of his neck and groaned, "Well, damn, I feel like a jackass now." The woman rolled her eyes. “Do you only know swear words, you idiot? Maybe try asking someone their name before you kidnap them next time.”

  Keira took a sip of her drink and chimed in, "Yeah, how do you think he found me?"

  Caelan looked horrified. "Please stop saying stuff like that; people might actually think I’m some kind of creep."

  Takeshi, not missing a beat, threw in, "Honestly, he’d be the worst kidnapper in history—lets his supposed victims bankrupt us every second week."

  Before anyone could react, Keira and Milo were right in the woman’s face, and both their jaws dropped. Milo gawked, "Sis, do you see this?"

  Keira, grinning, added, "Well, duh! Say, lady, are your eyes actually sparkling right now?"

  Half-confused, the woman answered, "Yes... they sparkle."

  Milo and Keira looked at each other, grinning, and started jumping up and down together, shouting, "Teach me! Teach me! I need this in my life, god damn, teach us!"

  Aidan marched over, grabbed both Keira and Milo by the collars, and dragged them back to their spots with a deadpan, "Sorry, miss—these two can’t help themselves."

  Milo protested, "But I need to know!"

  Keira just pouted, "You just couldn’t handle how cool I’d be with sparkly eyes, you sore loser."

  Aidan, rolling his eyes, shot back, "Your words sparkle enough, sis. I think that’s more than the world can handle already."

  Braen, still grinning, leaned forward and asked the woman, "So, did the rest of the people on your world have eyes like that?"

  "Not really. I never saw many people outside of the warlord’s camp," the woman said quietly. "And most of the time, if I did, they were already dead."

  Caelan perked up, genuine interest in his eyes. "Damn, warlords? That must’ve been crazy. What was that like?"

  Keira nudged him, stage-whispering, "Captain, remember when you told me I should tell you when you’re doing that thing… Well, you’re doing it again."

  Caelan’s face fell. "Aww shit… aww, darn, sorry—I know you don’t like swearing. Sorry, I’ll shut up now." He hung his head in mock defeat.

  The woman actually laughed, soft and surprised. "Don’t worry. I get what you mean. But what was it like… Well, it was a little different for me compared to everyone else."

  The woman looked down at the fire, shadows flickering across her face. "Well... I sort of had a name once. I wasn’t like the others from my world. Most of them had reddish skin—mine was pale. I never really fit in. I spent the first twenty-nine years of my life there, and in all that time, I never saw love or kindness. It just... wasn’t a thing people gave freely."

  She glanced up briefly, then looked back into the flames. "But for some reason, the warboss kept me close. Not as a fighter, not really. He used to have me on body cleanup duty. After the battles, I’d be there, dragging what was left of people off the field. Maybe he thought it’d break me, or maybe I was just convenient. Either way, I stayed useful."

  She took a shaky breath. "Even when I did everything they asked—cleaned the blood, obeyed every order—I was still treated like an animal."

  Her voice trembled now, the edges of it cracking. "Most of the time, when I wasn’t being dragged behind the warboss, I was locked up in a cage. They kept it right on the edge of the compound—far enough that no one had to hear me cry, but close enough to throw things at me if they got bored."

  The firelight caught the shimmer in her eyes as she looked down, a single tear slipping free, tracing a line down her cheek. Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup in her hands. "I stopped asking why a long time ago. It didn’t matter. I just… existed."

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  Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "We didn’t get names. Names were for people expected to live."

  She hesitated, then slowly turned, brushing her hair aside to reveal the back of her neck. Inked there, faint but unmistakable, was a black tattoo—angular, blocky, and cruel in its precision.

  "They gave us these," she said, her voice cracking. "So they could scan our bodies when we died."

  Her eyes flicked up, shimmering with grief and rage. "I used to have to do it... for the children. The ones who died in battle. I'd clean them up. Drag their broken bodies. Scan the marks. Line them up like debris."

  The silence that followed was suffocating.

  She looked around at the fire, the faces illuminated by its glow, and for a moment she didn’t seem broken—just exhausted. Haunted.

  But not alone.

  She took a slow sip from her tin cup before continuing, her voice low and steady. "When I was about five, I met another girl my age. We were stationed near a field of flowers—bright yellow, always just out of reach. She said they were called Solara. So, she started calling me that. Said my eyes reminded her of those flowers—close to beauty but never able to touch it.

  She used to sneak over when she could, visiting me at the cage when the guards weren’t really paying attention. She’d talk about the outside world, describe things I’d never seen—colors, smells, laughter. Sometimes she’d just sit with me in silence. That was enough. Just having someone there who didn’t look at me like I was that broken thing to stay away from.

  She made the cage feel less like a prison. Even just for a little while."

  She paused, her jaw tightening. "One morning, I woke to screams. I remember sitting up in the straw and pressing my face to the bars, trying to see what was happening. I started to worry—something felt wrong."

  Her voice quivered. "Then someone came. I thought maybe it was her, the girl, but it wasn’t. A man walked over, didn’t say a word, just unlatched the cage and lifted it like I weighed nothing. Carried me straight to the center of the compound."

  She swallowed hard, her hands beginning to tremble. "The warboss was there. Whipping her. Over and over. He didn’t even stop when he saw me—just looked at me and laughed. ‘Do you think you things deserve names?’ he yelled. ‘You are nothing more than bodies to load into the cannon.’ And then he struck her again. ‘Nothing more than a payday I’m waiting to cash in.’”

  She looked up, meeting each of their eyes for a heartbeat. "I never saw her again. And after that... no one ever tried to call me anything again."

  Keira, without warning, clambered over Caelan’s lap, muttering, “Move it, Cap.”

  Caelan yelped, “Ow, get off of me—Jesus, Keira!” but she ignored him, landing right in front of the woman.

  Keira stuck her hand out, her usual bright grin unwavering. “Hi, I’m Keira Langston. Nice to meet you, Solara.”

  Solara blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the suddenness, but started to reach out—then Keira yanked her hand away at the last second, only to wrap both arms around Solara and tackle her in a full hug. Keira murmured, “Solara, huh? That’s a pretty cute name—even if you won’t tell me the secret to your sparkly eyes.”

  Solara froze, stiff and awkward for a heartbeat, but Aidan called over, “She’s not going to let you go until you hug her back, you know.”

  Solara looked up, a little helpless. “Seriously?”

  Milo, lounging on the other side of the fire, laughed. “Yeah, Cap was the same to start, but she broke him easily enough.”

  Slowly, Solara relaxed and, almost shyly, wrapped her arms around Keira in return. She whispered, “Thank you.”

  Keira popped back up, beaming, and shot a glance at Caelan. “So, Captain—she making her wish now or what?”

  Caelan, eyebrow raised, grinned. “You know she hasn’t asked to join yet, Keira. I can’t force her, you know the rule.”

  Keira only smirked, sticking her tongue out playfully at Solara. “Yet.”

  Takeshi cleared his throat, stretching out his legs. "You know, I’ve been thinking. If Keira ever paid us all back for what she spent on that damn sniper, I might finally have enough scrap bars to build a few extra grenades."

  Veyra smacked him on the back of the head. "Is that honestly what you were thinking about while she was pouring her little heart out? Damn, why are all you idiots so one-track-minded? But yeah, that idiot should pay us back for being reckless again."

  Braen grinned, shaking her head. "Aw, little Keira shouldn’t have to worry about such things. Look how happy it made her."

  Across the fire, Keira had already started rambling to Solara about every single mod on her sniper, her eyes sparkling with pride. Milo and Aidan started dragging a barrel up to the group.

  Caelan spun around, eyes wide. "What the hell, guys? That’s the emergency good stuff!"

  Milo shrugged, deadpan. "We’ve been hauling this around for three years, Cap. If tonight’s not a celebration, what is?"

  Aidan grinned. "Besides, we’re loaded until sis finds something new to waste all our savings on."

  Keira piped up, "Hey, I heard that! Don’t make me tell everyone the goat story."

  Aidan immediately lowered his head, muttering, "Please not again. I hate that story."

  Caelan glanced over at Solara, voice lower. "Sorry, they’re all so hyper tonight. If it gets too much, you can head out."

  Solara just smiled, shaking her head. "No, it’s fine. Honestly."

  As the night finally got underway, the chaos mellowed into a familiar rhythm. Veyra was the first to leave, declaring her mandatory nine hours of sleep as sacred and stalking off with mock dignity. Not long after, Braen—who could handle any punch but never conquer the drink—passed out cold beside the fire.

  Keira, now fully drunk, started demanding backup dancers for her wild routines, which sent Takeshi bolting for the safety of bed. Aidan was always grateful that Caelan took over that particular nightmare—Keira insisted on at least two backup dancers, and Caelan, despite his protests, had become her regular victim.

  Before Keira could rope in more, Milo started clutching his barrel of newfound scrap wealth, rambling nonstop about all the things he was going to build. Soon, he and Caelan were doing their dumb, half-remembered dance routines, Solara just sitting back, smiling quietly, finally letting loose and sharing a few drinks with the group. She and Aidan watched in amusement as the others made fools of themselves, for once letting their guards drop entirely.

  It always came to an end, though. Milo and Aidan, as usual, finished the night with a final drinking contest—both nearly passing out, only to be dragged off to their room by Keira. She paused in the doorway, grinning at Caelan and Solara. “See you two idiots in the morning. Aw, and bro—say it, asshole.”

  Caelan just smiled and waved. “Love you too, sis. See you in the morning.”

  Caelan leaned back, swirling the last of his drink in his cup. "So, just us now. You want another, or are you calling it?"

  Solara spun her cup slowly, not looking up. Her tone was more direct than before. "When that man asked you to join today, why didn’t you help him? You could see he was desperate."

  Caelan paused, the bottle halfway to his cup, then set it down. "Because he wasn’t worth saving."

  Solara looked at him, brow raised. "Wow. Really? And what gave you the right to decide that?"

  Caelan shrugged, voice flat. "Yesterday, he went in there with fifty of his own followers. They must have been gone an hour or two, and when it was over, he was the only one who came out. Didn’t have a single scratch on him. Now, if he’d come back with that monster dead, I’d respect the hell out of it. But he didn’t even look like he tried. Instead, he comes begging the rest of us to do his dirty work while he sits back. Sorry, but I’ve seen plenty of people like that in here. If they’re that bad with a little power, imagine what they’ll be like with power from a god. Frankly, the fact that he ran himself out of this war makes my job a hell of a lot easier."

  Solara stared, a bit shocked. "And what about the others who agreed with him? You could’ve saved them—they all couldn’t have been that bad."

  Caelan’s reply was tired, almost sad. "Money-hungry idiots. Most of them just sit around getting shit-faced, making jokes about how cheap it is to live here, hunting once or twice a month. None of them would’ve made it far—not in any way that matters."

  Solara stood, stretching a little. "Sorry. It’s been a long day. I didn’t mean to come off so hard. I’m going to get some sleep. Oh—and thank you, Caelan. Tonight was actually fun. Keep them safe."

  She headed for the door. Caelan just nodded. "Sure thing. See you in the morning."

  As Caelan sat by the fire a little bit longer, muttering quietly to himself as the night drew to a close.

  After a few hours, as the fire had long since burned cold, Solara began to slip quietly out of the makeshift inn while the others slept. The night was cold and quiet enough to hear a pin drop. She made her way toward the forest’s edge, her steps quiet but echoing while she walked down the broken path.

  As she reached the tree line at the edge of the zone, Solara paused, glancing back where laughing and warmth still seemed to hold her back for just a moment. A small smile started to tug at her lips. Not the worst ending to a night I’ve spent in this place. Hope he keeps them safe. Then she turned, stepping into the darkness between the trees.