His heart hammered against his ribs, thoughts scattering like dust in a whirlwind. Yet one thought pierced through the chaos: Survive. He could not let his emotions betray him, not yet. Maintaining the facade of calm, he schooled his features into their usual mask of composure, hiding his intentions from the others.
I did not know why I was thinking about it, but I was.
The thought echoed through his mind. Of course, he was thinking about it, ever since their leader, Commander Valerius, received that message – the one hinting at a traitor in their midst. The captain had not spoken of it, but Roric Vane felt the shift in his demeanor, a subtle tension that spoke volumes. The woman who branded him must have confessed. He had threatened her son's life if she refused to leave his left shoulder bare, the true Shackled-Sigil uncarved. Instead, the markings he bore were nothing but an elaborate tattoo, a lie she helped him weave into the Akashic Records, earning him a Thûl Classification. He had been cautious, but ultimately, she was the weak link.
He sat among his squadmates, head bowed, cocooned in his anxieties. He pictured the Runes etched upon their bodies, invisible beneath the stark white uniforms. Three ring-sized, black tattoos adorned each member on the right forearm, on the left, and at the nape of the neck. One bore an additional mark on his left wrist. And on each chest, a fist-sized tattoo pulsed with hidden power. His differed from the others', a mark of his LastBorn lineage against their Forgemasters blood. Yet on the back of each uniform, including his own, the symbol stood out in stark contrast.
Perhaps it was habit, the honed instinct to observe and assess a necessity for survival in his line of work. Alternatively, possibly his current anxieties fueled reckless thoughts, urging him towards a path he rarely trod. The intelligence he had acquired – the potential location of a Chaos-Shard – demanded a gamble, a deviation from his usual meticulous planning.
However, all those worries, the anguish, and observations faded as they exited the Nexus. A sphere of white light, a black orb at its core, materialized in the clear blue sky. And from it, they emerged.
Five figures, encased in a shimmering, transparent shield, plummeted towards the ground. Below, massive floating rocks, adorned with sprawling cities, drifted in the air. Roric Vane caught only glimpses, but glimpses were all he needed.
As the shield dissolved, the smaller markings on his teammates vanished, the chest tattoos shrinking to the size of rings. Gravity yanked them downwards, the rush of wind filling the silence as they fell towards the verdant landscape below – a paradise of lush greenery and ancient ruins, remnants of a civilization mirroring the architecture of the floating cities.
No one screamed. No one spoke.
Roric Vane surveyed his squad, their expressions mirroring his initial shock. But they were seasoned, these men, and they knew what to do. He, too, had a role to play, maintaining the illusion of obedience to the Shackled-Sigil, at least for now.
The BlackStones embedded in their pendants pulsed with a soft glow. Black dust swirled around them as their Sigils expanded, drawing StreamBreath from the stones and into their bodies. The Runes materialized on his forearms – a lifeline against the fall. They descended slowly, breaking the momentum without the jarring shock of rapid deceleration. Conservation of StreamBreath was crucial, especially now, with their BlackStones nearly depleted after their recent mission. He cursed his oversight, failing to recharge during the Ride. Yet, this misfortune presented an opportunity, a weakness he could exploit.
As they hovered a foot above the forest floor, deactivating their Runes and shrinking their Sigils, a silent understanding passed between them. Four pairs of eyes turned towards Barrett, the one who had led them to this Null-Field. The brown-skinned, dark-haired man, their comrade of ten years, met their gazes with innocent confusion.
I was lucky!
Roric Vane knew Barrett better than he knew himself. A good man, loyal and kind, his laughter a balm to Roric Vane's soul. Strong, perhaps the strongest among them, yet lacking the finesse required for intricate plots and deception. With Barrett at his back, Roric Vane had never once looked over his shoulder, knowing his friend would protect him without question. He was the only one who saw past Roric Vane's origins, accepting him without prejudice.
For a fleeting moment, Roric Vane's resolve wavered. He almost intervened; he almost spared his friend from the fate he knew awaited him. But he couldn't. His loyalty lay with the Aggregate, with his mission, with his desperate desire to return home.
Commander Valerius's gaze shifted from Silas, the pale-skinned, green-eyed member of their team, to Barrett, then finally to Roric Vane, a silent message passing between them. They understood, all except Barrett, his naivety blinding him to the truth of their landing place.
"Mili is not a Null-Field," Commander Valerius stated, his voice heavy with implication.
"So?" Barrett boomed, a flicker of defiance in his eyes.
Silas struck, a swift blow to the back of Barrett's head, sending him crumpling to the ground, unconscious.
The conclusion was immediate, a shared thought among them, save for Barrett. He had chosen the Nexus-Stream, activated the Way-Shear Rune, and led them here. Intentionally. Or perhaps it was an anomaly, an unprecedented error. Roric Vane alone considered this possibility, but dismissed it. He knew what the others did not: Barrett was innocent. This day had always been a possibility, but its arrival still caught him off guard. He had to adapt, to play his part, even as his heart screamed in protest.
Without the ability to generate a Seal of Binding or sufficient StreamBreath to safely contain Barrett, only one option remained. A logical choice, one that none could refute without drawing suspicion upon themselves.
We were all aware of it.
Roric Vane's assessments were rarely wrong. He knew what was coming, and in that drawn-out second, as he awaited Commander Valerius's pronouncement, he wished for the impossible.
I did not want to do it.
"Barrett was a traitor," Commander Valerius declared, his voice demanding confirmation.
Roric Vane maintained his composure, forcing a nod of agreement, his mind racing.
"Silas. Crack his neck."
Silas, the most ruthless among them, simply nodded.
Roric Vane has carefully constructed facade crumbled, his heart plummeting into an abyss of sorrow. He focused on the anger, on the justification – Barrett's betrayal, Silas's cold efficiency, the opportunity for vengeance.
Silas knelt, removing Barrett's pendant before twisting his head with a sickening crack. Roric Vane's focus shattered. The sound, the smell of burning flesh as Silas ignited Barrett's body with blue flames, turning him to ash – these were things he would carry forever. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain present, to formulate his escape plan.
Commander Valerius, lost in thought, was his key. Despite his suspicions, Commander Valerius still relied on Roric Vane, his judgment clouded by paranoia and the stress of their discovery. He would make mistakes.
"Roric Vane," Commander Valerius's voice was strained, "do we have enough StreamBreath to Way-Shear?"
"No," Roric Vane replied truthfully, then added a calculated lie, "but enough for one of us to leave the atmosphere and seek StreamBreath access. I recommend Lysander, with enough for two Akashic-Key triggers. He can Ride home for help, while we contact Archivist Thorne or seek local technology. Two paths to survival."
They all knew the risks of sending him, a LastBorn, the only one capable of recharging BlackStone. Nevertheless, their suspicion outweighed their logic. Lysander, the loyal husband and father, stepped forward, unknowingly volunteering for a suicide mission.
Roric Vane transferred StreamBreath from Commander Valerius's BlackStone to Lysander's. Then, with a single leap, Lysander activated Aegis-Veil and Stride-Flash, vanishing into the sky, leaving only a blur in his wake.
Commander Valerius, following Roric Vane's suggestion, used one of the remaining Akashic-Key charges. One remained.
"Captain, did you reach Archivist Thorne?" Silas asked.
Commander Valerius, his eyes vacant, nodded silently. Roric Vane assumed new orders had been given, secrets he was meant to keep.
"Run!" Commander Valerius commanded.
And they ran, scattering in different directions.
Roric Vane headed west, marking the paths of Commander Valerius and Silas. He would track them later, the old way. For now, he only had to worry about two. Lysander was as good as dead, leaping towards a fate he did not deserve.
For two hours, Roric Vane ran, his destination the colossal structure he had glimpsed upon arrival – a mile-high pyramid, its smooth, black surface reflecting the light of eight suns. The city surrounding it, a perfect square, was dwarfed by the pyramid's immensity. Above, four giant, white spheres hung suspended in the sky.
This Plane was an enigma. Eight moons graced its sky, impossibly close yet exerting no gravitational pull. The eight suns defied logic, their proximity failing to scorch the land. It was unnatural, a place of hidden power.
But such wonders were secondary to his immediate concerns. He needed to contact the Aggregate to utilize the remaining Akashic-Key charge. First, he had to eliminate Silas. Two tails were too many.
He found Silas as expected, running towards the city. Roric Vane made his presence known, and Silas, following protocol, commanded him to kneel.
Silas approached his belief in the Shackled-Sigil's power was evident in his relaxed posture. Roric Vane waited until the last moment and then struck. A slap to the ear, a jab to the throat, and finally, fingers piercing Silas's eyes. He fell, his scream silenced by the brutal assault.
"I am not a slave," Roric Vane said, the words tasting of freedom on his tongue. "And my name is Saix Varr, not Roric Vane."
He snapped Silas's neck, a pang of unexpected sadness flickering through him. He had not anticipated this, the strange grief that followed Silas's death. Perhaps it was the brutality of the act, or perhaps a lingering sense of camaraderie despite their circumstances.
Two hours later, he found Commander Valerius. The once proud leader, now a broken shell, crawled on the ground, his mind shattered, his sanity sacrificed for duty. Roric Vane understood. Commander Valerius had feared capture, feared the extraction of the vital intelligence he carried. He had traded his memories for a Heretic's Rune, a desperate act of self-preservation.
Roric Vane ended his suffering with a twist of his neck, a final act of mercy for the man he once respected. He looked up at the endless sky, his isolation a heavy weight upon his shoulders.
I am stuck here.
Trapped, alone, he had to disappear among the Unawakened, to pray that Cassia, his handler, his friend, would somehow find him. He uttered a desperate plea, his voice swallowed by the vastness of this strange world.
"Cassia, please find me."