“I see. I recognize this.”

  Vertan raises an eyebrow back to Lym as they approach his cabin in the woods.

  “You do?” he asks. “How?”

  “When I stood up from my landing, I found you falling unconscious when I looked over to your direction. I traced your direction back to your home.”

  “Why didn’t you just leave me there, then?”

  “I thought your location was remote and far from help. I traced your direction back to the roads of which you came.”

  “And—and how did you do this?”

  “We all leave traces. Smell. The particles from your boots. Imprints on the environment.”

  A moment of anxious silence from Vertan.

  “If you are worried,” says Lym. “I doubt the people looking for us will have the capabilities to execute what I described.”

  “But, why did you do all of this for me?” Vertan asks.

  “Would you rather I have left you for dead?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “I already killed more than I can count just before that. Saving even one life was refreshing.”

  Lym looks onwards as she continues moving forwards. Vertan remained stuck in thought for a moment.

  Just before that?

  Stepping up to the front porch, the powered armor suit seemed to instinctually return to invisibility, momentarily distorting the air around it before disappearing entirely. If one listened closely enough, just barely perceptible to the ear, it could be heard its sounds and footsteps as it patrolled, guarding the perimeter.

  Opening the door and coming into the cabin, Vertan had since repaired it with more durable materials, fortifying it with treated glass. Aside from this, it remained the same humble cabin the same way as it ever was before.

  “Speak nothing of this,” says Vertan. “Not even my mother knows.”

  “She will kill you?” asks Lym.

  “No, worse,” says Vertan. “What I am doing out here is very illegal.”

  “So you are a criminal?”

  “What? No—okay, I’ll explain in a bit, step aside for a second.”

  Obliging, Lym steps back and allows Vertan to swing the stove out from its position, revealing the staircase underneath. Motioning to her to follow, the two descend down the steps and close the stove shut behind them.

  “How interesting,” comments Lym as she scans the vast basement. “Very many weapons. You are like my people in some ways.”

  “Your people?” asks Vertan. Once again, mention of her kind and people. “What are they like?”

  “Vigilant,” Lym answered.

  She immediately begins moving towards Vertan’s workshop tables, in which he had in all manners experimented with modifying various weapons and other instruments to serve different purposes. Vertan quickly followed suit, still paranoid that she may damage something, an anomalous event would occur in his safe haven, or some other obviously bad thing befalling him. No amount of proof before him that this was indeed a living breathing person could completely clear his mind of this anxious paranoia.

  As usual, nothing happens.

  After a few moments quickly scanning her eyes over all his tools and instruments, she looks up and quietly produces from her dark robes a foreign looking device, presumably, her suit’s navigator. It appeared in some parts severely damaged and scarred.

  She once again spends another few moments quickly scanning between the tools, instruments, and technology strewn about the table in analysis with her device before once again looking up and turning to Vertan.

  “Not preferable,” she clarifies. “But it is possible. This should do.”

  “So the tools and technology I have on hand here should allow you to fix your navigator?” asks Vertan.

  “Correct.”

  “And this would allow you to track your gunship back down and get you home?”

  “Correct.”

  “Why can’t your suit do that? You can’t fix the corrupted file?”

  “No.”

  “And what if this happened to your gunship as well?”

  “It should not—there is a better chance at survival for it with the way the gunship is built.”

  “And if it did anyway?”

  “Then I am stuck here.”

  Vertan nods.

  “How long would this take you to repair this thing to working order?”

  “With your tools, the fastest I can manage is at least one month. To be careful and diligent, I would prefer closer to two months.”

  “One to two months? You can’t manage any faster than that?”

  “Can you find my gunship in one to two months? Without bringing suspicion to you?”

  “I—I suppose not.”

  “You have my gratitude already. Allow me to do my work, and I will be on my way without any more worries to you.”

  Lym sets her device down and scans the rest of the room for a moment. Coming over to one of the many flickering holoscreens, she quickly skims through Vertan’s work.

  “Hey, um, what are you doing?” asks Vertan. “What are you going to do with that information?”

  “Nothing,” replies Lym. “You told me to say nothing of this. I am only curious.”

  “How do I know that I can trust you on that?”

  “Because I am acting in gratitude for your hospitality.”

  “Fair.”

  “And I have not killed you already.”

  “...Right.”

  “Coalition. How interesting.”

  “Yeah, they’re a mess, aren’t they?”

  “So that’s what they are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Different from how the library portrayed them.”

  “Of course it would be.”

  Lym moves to quickly scan over the bulletin boards, the other documents, disks, and drives. In another few moments, she had analyzed everything, and was in the process of skimming through Vertan’s manifesto when she paused in hesitation.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  This scared Vertan a little—he hadn’t seen the woman pause like this before.

  “Aru?” she says.

  “Hm?” Vertan stutters.

  She reads through the passage again.

  “You met Aru?” she asks.

  “Y—Yes, I have,” stammers Vertan.

  Her eyes scan through the page, running an analysis of everything that happened in that single instant. In that fleeting moment, Vertan could make out an emotion flash across her face.

  “D—Did he mean something to you?” Vertan asks.

  Lym remained silent.

  “I remember,” continues Vertan. “That he said your name. I didn’t know what it meant at the time.”

  Lym continues to stand there, staring at the page.

  “When you first came here and said your name and homeworld, I recognized it immediately—”

  “He was my brother,” says Lym.

  A stunned silence between the two.

  “I—I killed your brother?” stammers Vertan.

  Stupid! Why did you say that?

  “I sense your anxiety,” says Lym. “It is fine. I know nothing was personal.”

  Vertan breathed a sigh of relief.

  “We were not expected to survive our mission,” stated Lym. “We were already condemned. What was important was that we fulfilled our parameters, so that we can be redeemed in death.”

  “Mission?” asks Vertan. “You two were on a mission?”

  “Correct.”

  “Wh—what were you two expected to do?”

  “Eliminate the enemy’s strongest logistical hub. Or as you know them, the Coalition. I took orbital operations while my brother took surface operations. We worked in tandem.”

  Vertan’s mind for the moment raced back to those fateful hours on Thoma, the planet going dark, the internal and orbital structures of the world giving way to destruction in systematic order, the gateways and pillars simultaneously collapsing each time.

  That was them?

  “Th—that was you?” says Vertan. “You were there?”

  “Up in orbit, yes,” says Lym.

  “What happened, then? I mean, you survived and all.”

  “I was pulled through the last transporting structure prematurely, so I assume the fuller mission had failed. I landed here right afterwards, and we met then.”

  “Wait, how long ago was this for you?”

  “Several weeks ago.”

  “It’s been several years for me, now.”

  “It happens. Time and space can be messy.”

  A moment of silence from Vertan.

  “You said mission. Why?”

  “We are at war.”

  “War? So there is a war, then?”

  “Always has been.”

  “Between who?”

  “Them against my people.”

  Vertan slams his fist down onto a nearby table.

  “I knew it! I fucking knew it!” he exclaimed.

  Lym turns to raise an eyebrow.

  “You are acting like we discovered something,” she says.

  “Nobody calls it a war here,” says Vertan. “Nobody anywhere does. After so many years, I finally have proof!”

  “The Coalition does not consider this a war?”

  “They never once have. They made up a whole name for the operation. ‘Special Expeditions’, they called it. Like it’s some kind of opportunity they’re giving out to the underprivileged like they’re saviors.”

  “I am confused. The Coalition has always declared a war before in its history. Against terrorism, for peace and security, and so on, according to the readings here. This war is no different to us. Why call it an ‘expedition’?”

  “That’s what I don’t know yet, but this is a start. They likely have something to hide about it.”

  “Hm. I see.”

  A moment’s thought.

  “Lym?”

  “Yes?”

  “So it is true then?”

  “Always has been true. Only now, I understand the enemy better.”

  “You keep saying ‘always’?”

  “Correct. My people have known only war for millions of years.”

  “Millions of years? But this operation has only been around for eight decades.”

  “Time flows differently depending on the dimension and universe the war is waged in.”

  The gravity of the situation began to weigh on Vertan, the same gravity that Lym carried with nonchalance. There are people out there waging war for countless eons.

  “The Coalition…what have you been fighting against?”

  “Extinction.”

  *****

  The gradually increased presence of Coalition law enforcement in the coming weeks came noticeable only to Vertan and Lym.

  Citizens increasingly began being questioned as to the whereabouts of anomalous and demonic presences. Public service announcements and relevant information began being spread through the news cycles, media, and social discourse. All felt a heightened sense of social community in protecting each other from this supposed threat.

  Vertan would scoff at such lies, and yet couldn’t help but feel that clearly, there is something they knew. The Coalition had announced the future arrival of federal troops. Already, law enforcement has presented themselves at people’s doorsteps, what would troops do even further? This can’t be good.

  They must have known and tracked Lym down somehow. There wasn’t a clear answer. If he had to guess, perhaps the surviving gateway back on Thoma all those years ago presented any possible data to retrieve.

  It was one of these days that Vertan and Lym had to go to town together; he couldn’t keep Lym in his basement forever. Lym by this point had managed to earn the love and respect of the local community, despite Vertan’s ire and preference for her to remain anonymous. Lym had argued this would be inevitable, and continued anonymity would bring further suspicion than the alternative.

  That’s when Vertan heard it.

  The sound of a device crackling and beeping.

  It was extraordinarily familiar—too familiar.

  Vertan looked down the alley way next to them and saw two law enforcement officers holding a Daero Counter, using a model not unlike the one he used himself back during his days as an Expeditioner.

  He knows what they are looking for. He knows that they are picking up a reading and following it.

  He knows that they are looking for Lym.

  “Lym,” whispered Vertan. “We need to go.”

  “How come?” asks Lym as she follows suit. “What’s going on?”

  “I saw some men in that alley way, they’re looking for you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve used that kind of device before. We used it to locate and retrieve ‘artifacts’. When I pointed it at your brother, it gave me back 100%. There’s no way they’re looking for anything else but you here!”

  “Oh, alright, got it, let’s move.”

  “Just stick close to me and walk normally, don’t raise any suspicion.”

  The two began making their way out of the square and down the streets, keeping an eye on the officers tailing behind them. To make sure, the two turned a corner.

  And another corner.

  And again.

  And again.

  “We took four corners, they’re definitely still following us.”

  “Should we split up?”

  “That would make us look more suspicious.”

  Speeding up a little, Vertan turns into an alleyway in an attempt to cut across to the next street and make his way towards getting out of the local downtown. He almost makes it to the end when two more law enforcement officers run into him. The ones behind him begin catching up. He is trapped on both sides.

  Lym is nowhere to be seen.

  “Oh, um, good day, officers,” says Vertan as he attempts to walk through. “Excuse me.”

  One of them blocks Vertan from walking away. One of the ones behind him in frustration finds that his Daero Counter is no longer ticking.

  “Stop right there,” the officer says. “This is a search. Please provide us with your identification.”

  “Can I have your ID, badge number, and a warrant?” asks Vertan.

  “We are not legally obligated to do so,” says the other one in front of him, a hand on the gun in his holster. “Do as you are told.”

  Begrudgingly, Vertan complies, producing his ID card from his coat. Not the first time, he thought.

  The officers inspect and look at the ID card.

  “Oh!” he exclaims in shock. “Mr. Vertan Zviedal! You’re a hero, thank you for your service. You’re good to go, be on your way.”

  And just like that, they began to depart. Vertan swore that he could hear one of them complain that there was in fact a person with him that whole time, and had disappeared at the last second.

  “Are you alright?”

  Vertan almost yelps and turns around, to find that Lym had once again appeared by his side.

  “God—could you stop doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  “The whole—you sneak up on me! Where did you come from? Where did you go?”

  “Several miles from here. Don’t worry, I kept an eye on you.”

  “In that amount of time?”

  “Yes.”

  “What, you can run fast or something?”

  “I suppose you can say that.”

  “Why didn’t you just take me with you?”

  “The whiplash would have killed you.”