The world woke gray and cold, every rock breathing mist. Air heavy with iron dust and the low hum of runes cooling from the night's ward cycle. The camp's perimeter charms still glowed faint blue under frost, fading as the sun's first thought touched them.
Brenda knelt near the ridge, one hand resting on the earth, feeling for vibrations through her storm-sigil gauntlet. Sirone checked the ward posts. The rest of the squad moved in quiet rhythm—armoring up, tightening seals, and loading fresh mana cartridges into rune-rifles that whined softly as the crystals aligned.
I stood at the mouth of the hollow and rolled my shoulders. The ache in my arms reminded me that healing wasn't finished. Fine. Pain kept the edge honest.
Apricot hurried over, her rifle slung awkwardly, tail twitching.
"Captain," she said, eyes big. "You won't disappear again, right?"
"Not unless the world tries very hard."
She smiled—small, relieved—and ran off to help Nekro anchor the shadow relay.
Brenda rose, dusted frost from her knees, and met my gaze.
"Extraction in fifteen. Northern spine, four clicks through narrow ground. We'll have company before that."
"Good." I nodded once. "We move in two squads. You keep the center and maintain barrier coverage around Dea. I'll take Rin on the high flank and test whatever's stalking us."
Her eyebrow lifted. "…Captain."
"Relax. You will take command afterward; I am only expressing my intentions for now."
She gave a faint smirk but didn't argue.
I unhooked the Federation field bag from my side and tossed it to Sirone.
"Mechanical inventory unit. No mana use required—take it; you'll get more out of it than I will."
Sirone caught it and gave a short nod. "Useful."
From the ridge came her voice again. "Eastern mist's moving wrong—scouts, at least a dozen."
"Then we start early." I raised my voice. "Squad! Break camp, formation delta-three. Mana levels under sixty; save the big casts for when they hurt first."
They moved instantly—no hesitation, no question. That rhythm was something I hadn't realized I'd missed until it sang again.
[North Ridge Trail]
The canyon spine wound narrow between sheer drops and jagged shelves. Rune-light shimmered in the rock cracks, remnants of ancient binding spells older than any of us. The mist thickened with mana residue; it shimmered gold when touched by motion.
We moved single file—Brenda in front, Dea roped and flanked by Olivia and Sirone, and the rest spaced for crossfire. Rune-rifles hummed, sigils flickering down their barrels as they charged.
Brenda halted and knelt again. Her gauntlet sparked once.
"Tracks. Light armor. Not beasts—Federation magitech infantry. They're trailing our scent through the wards."
"How many?" I asked.
"Two platoons, maybe more. They're trying to box the ridge."
"Then they think they're hunting," I said. "We'll show them the food bites."
A half-smile ghosted across her face. "Your call, Captain."
"Rin, Chinada, with me," I ordered. "Brenda holds command in the center—stagger the rune-rifles, layer barriers between fire waves."
Orders transmitted through link crystals sounded like whispers echoing through bone. The squad moved.
[Upper Ledge]
Rin reached the shale lip first, breath fogging, illusion veil sliding off her like dew. She pointed downslope. Across the canyon, faint glimmers moved—Federation sigils, blue and cold. At least three dozen soldiers setting storm lances, their armor runes pulsing in sequence.
"Too many to sneak by," she murmured.
"They're lining up for a crossfire," Chinada added, lightning rifle already shouldered. "Wind's in our favor. Distraction or annihilation?"
"Both," I said. "We break their line before Stacy's ships reach the LZ."
I pressed two fingers to the crystal on my collar.
"Brenda. They're building a wall on the high ridge—three units, lances prepped."
Her answer came steady. "Copy. Lower team ready. Give the word."
"On my mark."
Rin pulled a rune-bead from her belt—a small sphere etched with illusion glyphs. She kissed it once and tossed it into the air. It split into six silver copies of us that darted across the ridge screaming false sounds. Confusion bloomed below. Blue bolts chased phantoms.
I moved from cover, blades drawn. The demigod weapon sang, thin and bright. The first Federation soldier didn't even turn fully before the arc cut through his runic core; the glyph on his chest shattered, and his armor collapsed in on itself.
Rin danced through smoke, mana-knives slicing runes rather than flesh—she knew it crippled the enemy's channels faster. Chinada braced, rifle sigils glowing bright violet, and sent a volley of condensed lightning into the nearest storm-lance. The shot detonated its battery, chain-reacting down the ridge in a line of pale explosions.
Below, Brenda's voice: "Delta strike, now!"
From the canyon floor, our squad answered in light. Sirone's rifle thundered white arcs; Olivia's barrier walls bloomed and shattered to redirect spellfire; Mia's healing glyphs lit the smoke like fireflies around wounded shadows. Brenda herself charged forward, twin storm-blades whirling, every strike cracking with thunder as she cut through the first platoon's barrier field.
The canyon became a storm of light and dirt.
The Federation line folded fast but not fast enough. A low hum built above—a gunship, rune-propelled, engines glowing blue-white. It screamed over the ridge, storm-lances swiveling to lock onto Brenda's position.
"Captain!" Sirone's voice flared in my earpiece. "Air support incoming—heavy type!"
"Keep your ground!" I answered. "Rin, with me—Chinada, find me a charge focus!"
Chinada tossed a grenade the size of her fist.
"Overload core—unstable. Two seconds after activation, run."
"That's all I need."
I jammed the core into a rusted mining conduit half buried in the rock—an old imperial relic laced with dormant runes—and drove my ice blade through as a wedge. The demigod weapon shivered, not channeling, only guiding the surge through its body like a lightning rod.
The ledge flashed white. The conduit erupted, its charge leaping to the gunship mid-turn. Engines coughed and split, and the craft folded into the canyon like a broken wing. Fire climbed the cliffs, red and gold. Wind flattened us to stone.
Rin laughed, breathless. "Out of practice, Captain."
"Still works."
My arms burned, but my stamina held. The veins pulsed hot from the reflex, healing already while crawling under the skin. The glass charm on my wrist stayed cold—internal magic only; the world didn't notice.
We slid down the slope as debris rained. Below, the Federation ranks broke—half retreating, half trying to regroup around surviving storm lances. Brenda's formation carved straight through them, using Olivia's barriers as moving walls. Toma's earth pulses cracked the ground; Sarian's flame-glaive turned soldiers into silhouettes. Apricot's puppets darted in the dust, cutting comm-crystals from armor; Nekro's shadows swallowed the fallen whole.
"Push to the choke!" I called. "Leave no stragglers behind us!"
The narrow pass opened to the high plateau. Sunlight finally broke the mist, flooding gold across the rock. Two Black Ops transports sliced through the cloud ceiling—wings sleek, hulls humming with quiet authority. The wind carried the low pulse of their engines long before they appeared. Although they were silent compared to human craft, I could still feel the pressure tremor in the air.
'We really need to get Mom to fund quieter ones,' I thought.
Brenda raised a crimson flare; the rune burned a vertical line that pulsed once and burst into signal light. Engines roared in answer. Wind tore at cloaks as the first transport descended.
Sirone pushed Dea forward.
"Cargo first."
Dea caught my eye as she reached the ramp—recognition flared, quick and unwilling—then half-anger, half disbelief. She froze for a breath, like she hadn't expected me to be real. Then she went inside.
Brenda shouted over the storm, "All aboard!"
The squad filed in pairs, movements automatic now. No one left behind, no one unaccounted for. I waited until last, scanning the ridge. Far away, the Federation survivors regrouped, too late, too few.
Rin jogged back to grab my arm. "Captain. Orders?"
"Board. We're done here."
She grinned. "About time."
We climbed the ramp. The hatch sealed, engines flared, and the canyon dropped away beneath us—smoke curling like old breath.
Apricot slumped beside me. "We made it," she whispered.
"For now," I said.
Brenda stood near the cockpit, storm-blade sheathed, eyes on the clouds. "No casualties," she said, voice steady. "No unnecessary heroics."
Her look toward me held the mutual acknowledgment that leadership wasn't a competition—it was balance. She knew the mission's terrain; I'd carried the strike. It worked.
The ship banked north, dawn breaking full over the desert. Below, the wreck's glow cut a scar across the rock brighter than dawn.