The Beginning of the End

The sound of popcorn kernels crunching between Aranea’s teeth reverberated through her skull. She tasted salt and stale oil and little else. She’d have been happy to ascribe the underwhelming flavor to dulled senses―gods knew how long it had been since she last slept―but honestly, the popcorn was just disgusting. It was almost impressive in a way. Who would have thought the City on the Sea could boast food so repulsive?

　In any case, it was obvious now why the popcorn had gone virtually untouched. A wry smile crossed her lips. During the cleanup, they’d found bags of the stuff, along with tins of chocolates and cookies that had similarly been spared a watery fate. They’d been picking over the remains of a street vendor’s stall, and the owner of the place, an absolute saint of a confectioner, hadn’t uttered a word of discontent as they handed out the salvaged merchandise to little onlookers―kids who hadn’t made it out of Altissia, but who’d somehow survived the devastation.

　While the other treats had disappeared quickly, filling hungry young bellies, the popcorn remained. But the bags were sealed, and it didn’t seem right to throw away perfectly edible food, so Aranea had taken the stuff back with her, only to realize later how contemptible it really was.

　Her location wasn’t helping. Popcorn was a snack best suited for movie theaters and amusement parks, for times of fun and relaxation. Not so much for scarfing down while sleep-deprived in the cockpit of an imperial dropship.

　Theaters and theme parks. Aranea sighed. There weren’t many of those left in Niflheim. Nor were there the audiences or visitors to fill them. There was a time when such diversions weren’t unusual, back when the empire still had a shred of dignity to its name.

　When had her country gone so far downhill? As Aranea pondered the question, words from her childhood floated to mind.

　At this rate, what’s going to become of the empire?

　The emperor is acting so peculiar these days.

　She’d overheard plenty of comments like that when she was small.

　Never was there a more wise and just ruler. But now . . .

　A sigh had accompanied those words.

　His Radiance is the ruler we’ve always adored. It’s his advisors. Fools to the last. They’re the ones to blame.

　I say it’s the military. Too much ambition at the top. All eyes on the borders and none at home.

　Another sigh. Such was the mood that permeated her earliest memories of childhood. Still, the city had been brimming with life at the time, and to a child the decline was not yet apparent. There were playgrounds for her and the other children to enjoy, and the adults had their own favorite haunts, places for a quick drink or a long, leisurely glass.

　By the time she’d taken up the life of a mercenary, the playgrounds were vanishing, their old equipment deemed unsafe and carted away. The emptied lots lay dormant for a while, before being repurposed as armories or stockpiles. Theaters and athletic fields were the next to go, and then the neighborhood shops. Trade in stylish clothes, trinkets, and other luxuries vanished almost overnight. Children’s toys and picture books grew rare. In short, if something wasn’t an absolute essential, it became all but impossible to find.

　Still, the empire continued to speak of itself in terms of grandeur. New territories were being annexed all the time, and soon Niflheim’s rule would span all of Eos. It led one to wonder why imperial subjects endured such spartan lives. There was endless talk of glory, yet little glory to be had at home. And it was unlikely things would ever improve―any sum that found its way to the imperial treasury was quickly funneled into whatever bizarre experiment the military researchers dreamed up next.

　To be sure, those experiments had endowed Niflheim with unparalleled might. But it was hard to think so highly of them now that legions of daemons led the forward assaults. It was hard to feel eager for progress when it came at the price of endless accidents and disappearances. When personnel at some far-off research lab vanished without trace or official inquiry, that was bad enough. But when the public never heard a whisper about it, something was rotten. The government had an iron grip on the flow of information, and it wasn’t hesitating to squeeze.

　It’s his advisors. Fools to the last. Which frowning face from her childhood had foreseen this? Who had possessed the prescience to assert that the empire’s troubles would result from its military ambition? She wondered what they might say now about the sorry state of their homeland today . . . if they were even still alive.

　Aranea sighed.

　Or rather, she intended to sigh. Instead, it came out as a yawn. From her two o’clock came an echoing yawn, and from her ten yet another. Biggs and Wedge sat ahead of her, equally bleary-eyed and begrudging the handfuls of popcorn they downed.

　Even if they had attempted to get a decent sleep, they would have been thwarted by the constant vibration and earsplitting rumble of the magitek engine. It was the last sound you wanted around you when you were trying to relax. Of course, relaxation wasn’t exactly advisable while operating an airborne dropship. So the three of them continued their battle against exhaustion, with victory always an uncertain prospect.

　Sleep wasn’t even a particularly formidable enemy. Aranea had fought it countless times before. Rather, the problem was the current means of doing so. It took every bit of her willpower to cram the next fistful of disgusting popcorn into her mouth. If she’d had any other options, she’d have sealed the popcorn away in an airtight container and thrown it into the furthest corner of the cargo hold. Thirty years without having to endure the greasy reek of synthetic butter again would have still been far too soon.

　Wedge gave a small grunt; they must have been drawing near Gralea’s airspace. They’d be on the ground in minutes, back at base, and it’d be mission complete for the Third Army Corps’s 87th Airborne Division. Nothing unusual to report. She swore to herself that would be the extent of her debriefing. If the brass were expecting any more detail, then tough luck.

　Biggs was counting down on his fingers in an exaggerated manner. Three . . . Two . . . One . . . When he reached the end of his count, he stopped and turned around.

　“Congratulations! We just set a new record for overtime logged.”

　Ah. So that’s what he’d been doing. That was Biggs for you―eyes on the inane. It was typical for him to pay attention to absurd little details and trivialities, though he always claimed there wasn’t anything trivial about them at all. Aranea had to admit that the man’s quips had eased more than a few tense situations, and that he could be relied on for the three of them to share a good laugh.

　“We’re on hour thirty-six since this mission started,” he added. No laughter accompanied his comment this time.

　Aranea rubbed a finger against her brow and replied, “Hits you like a ton of bricks, doesn’t it? I think I’m about done with assignments where they won’t even give us a damn break.”

　Thirty-six. Hearing the actual number only made the exhaustion weigh heavier, something she wouldn’t have guessed possible. Recalling the events of their record-breaking mission was even worse―every second they’d spent in Altissia was one more tiny weight dragging her down.

　The situation was hard to wrap one’s head around. “Recovery efforts,” they’d been told at the briefing, “from the damage caused by the Hydraean.” Even once they were on-site, it was still difficult to comprehend. The once beautiful City on the Sea was devastated. The buildings with their ornately decorated walls were now nothing more than piles of stone and mud. The covered bridges had collapsed, their supports snapped and roof peaks jutting from the water. Even neighborhoods that had escaped the brunt of the Astral’s rage were still ruined by flooding.

　They’d spent the entire time without sleep or even breaks, cleaning up debris and pulling submerged gondolas and assault craft out of the water. The gondoliers had managed to escape. Those manning the assault craft hadn’t been so lucky. Each ship that was winched from the water had the bodies of its crew members still inside.

　“The troops don’t seem too happy lately,” she heard Biggs say. “Lot of ’em are startin’ to wonder if command thinks they’re disposable.”

　“No different than one of their toys,” Aranea replied. “Just a number on a report. Same as a magitek trooper. Or a daemon.”

　An MT or a daemon could be force-marched until its strength gave out, and it would never utter a word of complaint. But the soldiers on the recovery effort were living, breathing people. They tired. They needed sleep. They couldn’t shovel muck and lift debris forever.

　And it was hazardous work to boot. The majority of Altissia’s citizens had been evacuated and were safe outside the city, but Aranea and the others were still reeling from the scale of the casualties racked up during the Hydraean’s rampage. They’d all lost friends and comrades, and the conditions were shit, so it didn’t seem out of line to drop a complaint or two. Or three. Or four, or five, six, seven . . .

　“Even lower than that,” Biggs intoned, without so much as raising an eyebrow.

　“Lower than what? Lower than a daemon?”

　“You think I’m wrong?”

　“Nah,” Aranea shrugged. “You’re probably right.”

　She’d have been hard-pressed to argue anything else. Unlike the MTs and daemons, which were still relatively expensive to produce, mercenaries came cheap. Find the ones desperate for their next paycheck, scoop them up for next to nothing, and throw them at a low-level problem. That was the logic of the top brass. They didn’t even bother trying to hide it anymore.

　“Still, work is work,” she added. “I’ll see the job done, but . . . I gotta tell ya, I’m pretty sick of military life.”

　Aranea gave another sigh that transformed into a yawn. Biggs and Wedge soon followed suit. It was a bizarre little song sung in round, with yawns instead of words.

　“Too tired to get worked up about it, though,” she grumbled.

　She had to hang on only a little longer. In less than a minute, familiar sights would roll into view below, and then they’d be prepping for landing. After the devastation they’d witnessed in Altissia, the run-down landscape of Gralea might as well have been paradise on Eos.

　“Fancy a taste to celebrate a job well done?”

　A flask was thrust in Aranea’s direction.

　“I’ll pass, thanks,” she said with a small wave of one hand.

　She figured she could probably down a bit of the stuff, but she also knew full well that alcohol wasn’t what she needed right now.

　“I’m more interested in a nice, soft bed right,” she added. Clean, starched sheets with that delectable stiffness, and a firm pillow with just the right amount of give. Space to stretch out her arms and legs to her heart’s content. Bliss.

　Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of a distant explosion and the violent pitch and roll of the ship. Suddenly, the world was upside down. Biggs’s flask went flying, and just after it, a flurry of popcorn fluttered through the air like snow. The ship’s shrill alarm hammered on her ears.

　“Close call on the port side,” Wedge’s voice came from directly above her. Aranea realized she was sprawled out on the deck.

　“What do you mean ‘a close call’?” Biggs demanded. “We’re in imperial airspace, aren’t we?”

　Questions later. Actions now. Rubbing the sore spot on back of her head with her left hand, Aranea sat up and reached for the comm with her right.

　“All units scatter! Evasive maneuvers!” she barked.

　“Roger, evasive maneuvers.” The reply rolled in from several voices in succession.

　Aranea climbed to her feet, her mind already focused on their next steps. With any luck, they’d have bought themselves a moment of safety. Now it was time to figure out what the hell was out there.

　When it came into view on their screens, her eyes widened. The thing was massive. They could see it wading through the capital’s skyscrapers on its two gargantuan legs, orders of magnitude larger than any of the daemon-based tech they’d seen before. Regardless of its size, its imperial origin was as clear as day. “Just what we needed,” she said. “Another big-ass magitek armor.”

　Biggs chimed in, “I’ve heard about this thing. Think it’s called Diamond Weapon. Or somethin’ like that.”

　The name didn’t take long to place.

　“So this is what they deployed in Insomnia.”

　A magitek armor with enough destructive force to lay waste to the Crown City overnight. No doubt whatever hangar the empire used to store it was equipped with an extensive array of restraints and precautions. Yet here it was, loose in the imperial capital. It just went to show that no amount of planning could account for everything. Perhaps they hadn’t foreseen how powerful the thing really was. Maybe it had grown anxious for a bit of freedom and tore its way outside.

　At any rate, based on the current imperial response, it looked like there wasn’t much hope of getting it back under control. Conventional MAs surrounded Diamond Weapon on all sides, laying into the hulking giant with everything they had. It was clear they’d given up on any attempt to secure the daemon-infused monstrosity. They were out to destroy it.

　Closer inspection revealed the plating on Diamond Weapon’s upper arms and chest was already stripped away, exposing its innards. Though command referred to it as a magitek weapon, it still writhed like a beast in pain, roaring, swinging its massive arms and stomping its feet against the ground with the impact of each new volley.

　Aranea couldn’t get over the size of the thing. Even its actions were massive. Each of its movements sent nearby high-rises shaking and crashing to the ground. Its path through the city was marked by a trail of empty craters where entire blocks of buildings once stood.

　Diamond Weapon roared again, and this time a segment of its head began to glow. It was a big red orb-like protrusion that looked like some kind of bulging tumor. “Cores,” the researchers called them. The cornerstone of daemon-infused magitek design.

　The bulbous core grew brighter and brighter. Then there was a great flash, which condensed into a wicked red beam. The beam started at one end of the imperial combatants below and swept across the field of battle, mowing down one MA after another, until the ground forces were no more. Aranea would have kept staring in rapt horror, mouth open in shock, but for the weapon’s next target: the beam flicked up into the air, streaking toward the airborne division’s inbound ships.

　Messages from friendly craft bombarded the comm.

　“Incoming enemy fire!”

　“We’re hit!”

　“Jerk 1, Jerk 2, damage critical!”

　“This is Amigo 2. We’re taking heavy damage!”

　There were more shrieks of terror than status reports. Airships were spewing flames, plummeting from the sky. More lives being snuffed out. More comrades lost. She felt the slow pulse of anger rising in her blood. “Come on, boys. We’re going to take Tiny out.”

　She kicked her seat and headed back toward the cargo hold. Biggs hollered after her, the confusion in his voice shading into full-on consternation. “Uh, Lady A? That’s just the sleep deprivation talking, right? I know you don’t mean it, ’cause that would be crazy.”

　Of course she meant it. And sleep-deprived or not, she wasn’t crazy.

　“Maybe this is all just a dream,” Biggs continued. “Someone tell me I’m having a bad dream.”

　“Then it’s time to wake up. Let’s go.”

　Her head felt like it was made of lead, and her body was desperately crying out for rest, but what they were seeing on the viewscreen was all too real, and someone had to stop it.

　“Wedge. You’re on helm,” she ordered, as she grabbed the Stoss Spear in one hand. Her longtime companion. One faithful, piercing point, rigged up with a magitek engine for enhanced performance and output on the battlefield. Here was a bit of magitek she didn’t mind.

　She adjusted the frequency on her comm and sent a message to all ships in the 87th Airborne. “Listen up, people! I’m gonna need you all to stay on this thing as long as you’re able. Got that?”

　She received several replies of “Roger,” plus Biggs’s comment of “Lost her mind, I tell ya.”

　And with that, Aranea threw open the hatch and dove out.

　The wind roared in her ears. She saw the capital’s ramparts directly below. Gauging her altitude by eye, she made slight adjustments to the Stoss’s inertial dampener. One straight dash along the wall would be enough to bring her next to Diamond Weapon, and then it’d be goodbye, Tiny.

　But a crosswind blindsided her. Suddenly thrown off course, she lost the timing for the Stoss’s retrofire. This wasn’t going to end well. By the time she realized where she was going to land, she was only a split second away from crashing into a storehouse. She felt the shock of the impact and heard the splintering of the roof materials. Then there was darkness and the smell of dirt.

　Using her spear and free arm, she shoved away the rubble surrounding her. Finally, light and fresh air were hers once again. She looked up as she pulled herself the rest of the way from the wreckage muttering, “Well, that was graceful . . . ”

　The roof now boasted an impressively large hole. The light streaming in revealed a silver lining to this little debacle: at least she’d ruined a military storehouse rather than a civilian one.

　“Daemons. I really can’t stand ’em.” She sighed.

　Like them or not, she’d still have to deal with them. She stood and brushed the dust off her armor.

　“Let’s get this over with.”

　And thus began the single worst day of Aranea’s life.

The complete destruction of the imperial capital. Those were the words that flashed through her mind as she assessed the damage. That’s how bad the situation looked. From her position atop the rampart, she saw flames and black smoke rising from every corner of the city, as well as countless collapsed buildings and sunken roads. The shadows she observed darting among piles of rubble were almost certainly daemons. They weren’t particularly large, but their sheer number would make them a nuisance to deal with.

　She caught the sound of a looped recording playing on one of the public announcement speakers mounted throughout the city. “An evacuation order has been issued for all areas of the imperial capital. All civilians must proceed to their designated refuge stations.” The voice cut out at irregular intervals. This particular speaker had probably taken a beating.

　Just as the thought struck, a splintering sound echoed from the same direction as the speaker. She caught sight of a large daemon ripping through a building, and she muttered, “Lucky for him, I’ve got bigger issues to deal with first.”

　Diamond Weapon was the priority. If that giant monstrosity couldn’t be stopped, Gralea would be annihilated. It’d be like Insomnia all over again. Wouldn’t matter how much of the rabble she mopped up if the biggest threat remained.

　“Lady A? You read me?” Biggs’s voice crackled over the comm.

　“I read you,” she responded, then broke into a sprint along the rampart.

　“’Fraid we’ve had a bit of an unscheduled landing,” Biggs said. “We’ll get her back up in the air, but it’ll take some time. How are things on your end?”

　“I’m managing.”

　In truth, she felt surprisingly good for having body-slammed a roof. She was a bit put out that the threat of sleep still loomed large despite the wake-up call.

　“You got any way to check if the aerial safety net system is still up?” she asked.

　Between the dismal state of the roads and the daemon infestation, she wasn’t going to get anywhere fast at ground level. All the time in the world wouldn’t have been enough to reach Diamond Weapon if she had to scramble over rubble and dispatch daemons one by one. It’d be a lot quicker if she were able to jump straight from the rampart to a building, and from there continue rooftop to rooftop.

　“Looks like you’re in luck. The system’s up and running,” came Biggs’s reply. “Jump to your heart’s content. No need to worry if you botch a landing up there.”

　“Roger,” she said, then made a leap for a nearby rooftop. Biggs’s intel was solid: her jump overshot the building she was aiming for, but she felt the net activate at her feet. She took a second bound, which propelled her far enough to catch the ledge of the adjacent rooftop. Thank the gods for the net. The system had become standard on high-rise rooftops some time ago, back when the empire still cared about things like safety during routine maintenance tasks and creating alternate evacuation routes. Today, it looked like the net would be keeping her alive.

　Of course, considering the current state of Gralea, who knew how long the system would remain up. It seemed wise to keep moving, and to be quick about it. The Stoss would keep her alive in case of an actual fall―or another fall, rather―but the daemon situation down on the streets wasn’t going to change anytime soon. Engagements with the enemy would be best kept to a minimum.

　All in all, the plan seemed straightforward enough―until the flying daemons showed up.

　Aranea winced. “Oh, great. So now I’ve gotta deal with you all, too?”

　Too bad the safety net, for all its ingenuity, never accounted for the possibility of something unpleasant flying up from below. It would activate to keep Aranea from falling, but it wouldn’t serve as a ceiling to keep the flying daemons at bay.

　“Well,” she sighed, “let’s get this over with.”

　She flicked the Stoss’s output to max and flung herself high into the air. At the apex of her ascent, she angled her spearpoint straight down at one of the pursuing daemons. The momentum of her fall drove the weapon deep through its body. Then a step on the antigravity field. Another jump. Fall. Impale. Repeat.

　With the daemon corpses still skewered on her spear like a kebab, she swung the Stoss in a wide arc, cutting another flying creature clean in two. The corpses soon vanished in a cloud of dark miasma.

　“I really can’t stand daemons,” she muttered.

　Aranea straightened up and resumed her rooftop trek. In the city streets below, she caught glimpses of rogue MTs thrashing about alongside the daemons. The control system normally keeping them in line must have been put out of commission.

　She grimaced. “This is what they get for building an army out of those things.”

　An MT or a daemon could be force-marched until its legs gave out, and it’d never utter a word of complaint. But while that might make for a convenient, low-maintenance army, the second there was any trouble with the systems keeping them in line, they’d transform from assets into threats. An army of living, breathing humans might require rest and food, and they might complain when conditions were poor, but at least they could be reasoned with and wouldn’t go berserk at the slightest provocation.

　“And an army of humans won’t start slaughtering their own countrymen for no reason,” she murmured.

　She spotted a human corpse, head clearly smashed in not by falling debris but by an MT fist. It unsettled her, and she quickly averted her eyes.

　But the scene sparked a question in her mind. Diamond Weapon wasn’t the only one running amok. The standard troopers were out of control, too, and on top of that, there was the sudden daemon infestation. It seemed a stretch to call all the whole shitstorm a coincidence. Sure, Gralea saw its share of daemons. One or two might pop up in a neighborhood, only to be eradicated or contained in short order. But they never appeared in numbers like this. What she saw now was a far cry from a couple of daemons gone unnoticed while the military had its hands full with Diamond Weapon.

　She’d heard that the research facility spawned its own daemons these days, for ready availability during experiments. Maybe that could explain the numbers; they could have all escaped from the facility. But for that to happen right at the same moment when both Diamond Weapon and all the MTs went haywire?

　“Wait. What if . . . ” she began. The idea that occurred to her was disturbing in the extreme . . . but it didn’t seem beyond the realm of possibility. She felt a shiver run down her spine.

　The comm interrupted her thoughts. It was Biggs.

　“Repairs all finished. We’re headed your way to provide support.”

　“Thanks. I could use it.”

　For each rooftop she crossed, she didn’t seem to be getting any closer to Diamond Weapon. It looked like the creature was moving in random directions, and closing in on it was proving to be a more difficult task than she’d anticipated.

　“Wandering around like some giant three-year-old lost in a department store,” she sighed. She’d looked after a child about that age once, in the distant past. The memory somehow had floated to mind, prompting the comparison.

　The monstrous entity turned again, now moving in the general direction of the residential district. She needed to hurry. If she didn’t close the gap and put a stop to the thing soon . . . She shuddered. The most densely packed section of the city, it was almost certain to be filled with residents still struggling to evacuate. Perhaps they could use the cannon on the dropship; rain some lead down on Diamond Weapon and chivvy it along a different path.

　The comm crackled again. A hint of panic had entered Biggs’s voice.

　“We’re seeing civilians still in the city. Loads of ’em!”

　Damn. It was one supposition she’d have been happy to be wrong about. Soldiers should have been on the ground, directing people out of the city. Instead, the imperial idea of an “evacuation” was to loop a message over emergency speakers. And now even that pathetic bit of assistance was vanishing. Daemons and rogue MTs were putting the blaring speakers out of commission one by one. No wonder the city was still full of civilians. She paused on the rooftop she was currently on to assess the situation.

　“What do we do?” Biggs asked.

　“Well, we’re not leaving them to fend for themselves.”

　“Right, then. Time to do a few favors,” Biggs said. “Boy, are they gonna owe us once this is all over.”

　“You two round up the people on the ground and see them to somewhere safe. Send the word out to the other units to give you a hand. I’ll take care of Tiny myself.”

　They’d spent endless hours in Altissia cleaning up wreckage and recovering the dead. It had been devastating work, and she wasn’t eager to replay that scene. These residents were still alive. They needed help getting out of the city. It was work a hundred times more preferable, even if it came with more risk.

　Aranea took a running start, fired up the Stoss’s engine, and was back on the chase, flinging herself toward Diamond Weapon. No sooner did her feet hit one surface than they were leaping toward the next. Then, finally, she was leaving the tops of buildings behind, this time jumping onto the elevated ring road that encircled Gralea.

　Diamond Weapon was finally in range of the Stoss.

　“Y’know, for a big fella, you sure do get around a lot,” she muttered.

　The city had already suffered enough; it was critical to minimize further damage. A quick immobilization would be key, and the best way to do that would be a single clean shot to whatever component controlled the thing’s actions. So if I was a giant magitek armor, where would I keep my brain? she thought, scanning the massive form. The core on its head seemed as likely a target as any. Even if the core didn’t have a control function, taking it out would at least neutralize a major threat. The scorched remains of the imperial ground forces were a testament to that.

　“All right, Tiny. Time for your spanking.” Aranea steadied the Stoss, ready to deliver a quick, sharp thrust to the core, when the roar of igniting thrusters drowned out every other sound. A wave of incredible heat washed over her, and she threw an arm over her face to shield it from the blast. Then the ground was sloping away beneath her, and she was sliding, tumbling downward along with a collapsing segment of the elevated roadway. In one corner of her lopsided, shaking, sliding view of the city, Diamond Weapon blasted off into the sky.

　A second later, the sliding was replaced with the gut-twisting sensation of freefall. Aranea frantically angled the Stoss and engaged the retrofire, using the momentum it generated to right herself. A brief touch of boots to ground, and then she was flying upward again, and not a moment too soon. The beams of the sagging roadway split, and tons of concrete smashed into the spot she’d just leapt away from.

　She scanned the city as she completed her arc through the air. Diamond Weapon was now atop Zegnautus Keep, right at the center of the capital. Infuriatingly, its flight had preempted her attack by seconds.

　“You all right down there?” Biggs asked.

　She recalled giving an incomprehensible yell as the road had begun to collapse. Oops. Biggs must have caught it over the comm. He was probably wondering what on Eos was going on.

　“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. How are things over there?”

　“We’ve rounded up all the civilians we can find.”

　“Any safe place around here you can put them?”

　Even as she said that, she knew there wasn’t. Licks of flame danced in every quarter, and daemons stalked the streets like they owned the place. After such rapid deterioration, there didn’t seem to be a single safe place left in Gralea.

　“We might have to fly them out of the capital altogether,” Biggs said.

　“Sounds about right.”

　Who knew how many dropships they had left or how many evacuees they’d be able to carry? Aranea ran a quick mental count. Even assuming the best-case scenario, the situation seemed dire, and she doubted it would get any better.

　“What’s your current location?”

　“Right up alongside Zegnautus.”

　It was a smart move, as long as Tiny didn’t change its mind and head back down. Building codes in the areas adjacent to the Keep had always been strict. No high-rises nearby to interfere with takeoff and landing. Better visibility than the residential district, too. They wouldn’t have to worry about being caught off guard by daemons or rogue MTs. It was a good place to gather the evacuees until they figured out what to do with them.

　“Got it. I’m heading your way,” she responded.

　And Zegnautus Keep was exactly where Aranea wanted to be, too. Diamond Weapon was up there, and it was finally standing still.

She found Biggs and Wedge among the empty lots at the base of the Keep. With them, several other troops were gathered, one aboard an MA on daemon cleanup duty, and another attempting to soothe a wailing child.

　Biggs had referred to them as just “civilians” over the comm. More precisely, they were all children. The oldest looked like she’d maybe just hit double digits at best. It might have seemed strange to find only children and no adults, but Aranea had experienced something similar before. The adults must have seen to the children’s safety, then gone to try to hold off the daemons and MTs. She felt sure of it, remembering voices from the distant past.

　Daemons are coming! Get the kids into the shelter!

　You wait here, understand? Be extra quiet.

　Aranea bit her lip.

　“How about Tiny? Still up on his perch?” she asked, forcing herself to sound cheerful. This wasn’t the time or place for melancholy.

　“Seems ready to go to roost,” Biggs said.

　For an enemy positioned like that, the standard tactic would be to approach from above. But she wanted the dropship ready for a swift withdrawal. They’d be better off keeping the ship prepped and ready down here, in case it was needed. She sighed. That meant she’d be hoofing it through the Keep’s tortuous hallways and dealing with its elaborate security measures, the kinds of things that made you want to throw your hands in the air and give up. But it was the only other way to get to Diamond Weapon.

　“Biggs, you keep leading the evacuation. Wedge, I need you down here running support. Keep the dropship hot in case we need it. Copy?”

　A child’s wail preempted either man’s response. Aranea turned and spotted the crying boy. She walked over and placed a hand on his head. He was depressingly young. Young enough to be clinging to his mother’s legs. No comforting words came to mind―to offer them now and stay his tears might only prove more cruel once the day was done. Based on the city’s current state, there seemed little chance his parents were still breathing.

　Still, little chance was a world of difference from none. Aranea ruffled his hair, then crouched down to look him in the eye.

　“Listen up, little man. Right now, we’ve gotta concentrate on getting away. Don’t cry just yet.”

　The child’s nose ran. He sniffled and wiped tears away with the back of one hand. Aranea’s chest burned. It was unforgivable, making a child of such tender years sob like this. She hated the military for leaving him in this situation―and she hated herself for being part of the organization. She gritted her teeth and turned back to her men.

　“Let’s get this show on the road already. We need to transport these kids out of the capital. And there might still be other survivors roaming the streets. Pick up whoever you can on the way out.”

　“Roger,” Biggs replied. “Be careful, Lady A. No telling what you’ll be up against in there.”

　She nodded. She was no stranger to the Keep, but her visits had been restricted to only certain sections. Many had been off-limits, their purpose and contents classified, and the details of the structure’s layout had been barred to her. Rank notwithstanding, the clearance her mercenary status gave her was about as useful as spit in a rainstorm.

　“I’ll be counting on you, Wedge.”

　With her beloved Stoss holstered securely at her back, Aranea set off to brave the Keep.

Inside the elevator, Aranea’s battle against exhaustion raged on. If the lift had gone from the ground level all the way to the top, it would’ve been a safe bet that she’d be sound asleep by the time the doors opened again. But even on this relatively short trip to one of the intermediate levels, she found herself slumped on the floor, the doors at her back, when the elevator dinged its arrival.

　Thus, after the doors slid open, her dramatic entry into the Keep was a moment spent splayed out on the floor, admiring the ceiling.

　“Damn . . . I really need to get some sleep.”

　At this rate, she was worried about nodding off during the confrontation with Diamond Weapon. Aranea raised both palms and gave her cheeks a hard slap.

　“Wish I could find a place to splash some cold water on my face.”

　The Keep did her one better: over the hallway speakers came the unsettling voice of Chancellor Ardyn Izunia.

　“Citizens of the empire,” Izunia said. “I thank you for the great kindness you have shown me. And thus it is with deep sympathy and regret that I make this announcement. For today, you see, the illustrious history of your beloved homeland comes to an end.”

　Sleep’s tenacious tendrils were instantly gone. It seemed the chancellor was speaking not only to the occupants of the Keep, but to the entire capital below.

　“My, how unfortunate that His Radiance never managed to produce another heir.”

　What was that supposed to mean? An entire nation had to end because the throne sat vacant?

　“That creep could use a good smack in the face.”

　Irritation lent Aranea’s legs an unexpected new burst of strength. Her heels slammed against the corridor floor faster than ever.

　All things considered, Emperor Iedolas Aldercapt was a man of little fortune in terms of family. Thirty-five years ago, his empress bore him a son, only to lose her own life shortly thereafter. From what Aranea had heard, the woman’s constitution wasn’t up to the strain of childbirth, and the delivery took a toll from which she never recovered.

　The emperor might have been loath to spark a debate about succession, or maybe it was simply out of love for his departed wife, but in any case, Niflheim hadn’t had another empress. It was a decision that would haunt Iedolas years later, when his sole heir perished on the field of battle.

　Izunia carried on over the PA. “In truth, your dear emperor desired life everlasting. He would have liked to reign over his domain for all eternity.”

　Hmph, Aranea thought. No heir, so instead just eliminate the need for one. What a ridiculous notion. To be human was to await death. With a fool that blind at the helm, it was little wonder their nation had drifted so far astray.

　“Being the magnanimous individual that I am, I offered to help,” Izunia continued in his singsong way. “I cast a little spell on him.”

　A spell? That didn’t sound good―not least of all if it came from hands as sinister as the chancellor’s. What was Izunia implying?

　“But I’m afraid he’ll soon learn that immortality carries a price.”

　Whatever this spell was, it was clearly something better left undone.

　From what Aranea had heard, Ardyn Izunia had shown up in the empire thirty-four years ago, and rumor said the man’s appearance was all but simultaneous with a shift in the emperor’s character, from selfless statesman to selfish despot in a few years flat. Some people had tried to give the emperor the benefit of the doubt, asserting that the tragic loss of his beloved empress had been hard for him. But Aranea wasn’t above pinning blame on the man they now called Chancellor.

　The only talk that circulated about Izunia suggested that he was up to no good. If someone got on his bad side, they were gone, with no explanation and no clues. All the while, the taxpayers’ hard-earned money was constantly funneled into his unsettling projects. Perhaps that alone wouldn’t have made for much of a story―such decisions were the prerogative of any ruler―but what really bothered Aranea about the man was one particular rumor she’d heard. Apparently, Izunia held some sort of sway over the daemons, or worse, he might be capable of spawning the things himself. The soldier who told her as much swore up and down that he’d watched it happen with his own eyes. Even if that wasn’t true, it was an indisputable fact that the empire’s understanding of the daemons had improved by leaps and bounds since Izunia’s arrival.

　However, she couldn’t deny that research on the creatures and their uses had already been going on for some time previous to Izunia’s appearance. The man spearheading Niflheim’s daemonic research, Chief Verstael Besithia, had been secure in his position for years before Izunia showed up.

　That left her with slim evidence at best, but still the suspicion lingered. Izunia carried on, traipsing through imperial affairs in his disarmingly carefree way. And Aranea could never shake the feeling there was something else lurking behind that ever-present smile. She was sure the man had other intentions, and he was damn careful never to give any hint of what they might be.

　Aranea continued her sprint, hoping to leave the foreboding thoughts behind. To the end of the corridor, up the elevator to the highest floor it would go. Down the next corridor and up again. And again. There was a rhythm to it, along with a constant frustration about why whoever designed the place couldn’t have built one damn shaft all the way to the top.

　“Well, don’t keep them all waiting,” the disturbing voice sang again over the speakers. “Don’t you have any last words for your beloved subjects?”

　Last words?

　An image formed in her mind of what Izunia was up to and who he was with.

　Next came a different voice. It trembled as it spoke.

　“Sol . . . heim . . . ”

　It was a voice Aranea knew well. She wished it had been another.

　“The sun of Solheim . . . will rise once more . . . ”

　This final, hoarse whisper trailed off, replaced by an anguished groan. Aranea stopped cold. Then the groan faded away, too, and there was nothing but silence.

　After a moment, a sad murmur sounded over the comm.

　“Lady A? Was that . . . who I think it was?”

　She hadn’t heard Wedge speak full sentences over the comm in days or more. It seemed a fitting sign of how disquieting the broadcast had been.

　“Seems like it.” Her reply was brief, almost curt.

　What the hell had happened? And what exactly was this “spell” Izunia had mentioned?

　She was making her way toward the last elevator―the one that would finally see her to the top of the Keep―when she felt compelled to take a slight detour. The current floor would have a surveillance room. The Keep’s security cameras might shed some light on what had occurred.

　She was retracing her steps down the corridor when another thought struck her: why the hell was security so light? She’d crossed paths with a few rogue MTs, but they’d been random encounters. It had been easy to lurk in the shadows and wait while they passed, or to run up behind them for a surprise takedown. The things used to be stationed at every door and hallway. If they’d all gone rogue, the Keep should have been crawling with malfunctioning troops. What had happened to them all?

　Based on numbers alone, one explanation seemed logical: the Keep was the source of the rogue MTs rampaging in the city streets below. But given the structure’s winding layout, how had unprogrammed MTs made their way down to the city in unison? It would take far too much coordination for a bunch of malfunctioning machines.

　She spoke the conclusion out loud. “Someone must have led them out.”

　It was the only way the puzzle pieces fit together. And based on what she had just heard, it seemed obvious enough who the prime suspect was. It didn’t take a detective to figure out what had happened.

　“Not a soul in sight,” she said with a sigh on entering the surveillance room. It should have been manned by several MT control officers. Instead, it was eerily quiet. Clearly, the human officers charged with monitoring and managing the Keep had been run out―or worse.

　Aranea flipped the switches for every camera in the Keep. The room’s monitors flickered to life, filling with square after square of footage as the security cameras came online. She couldn’t see a single human officer across the entire display.

　She found the camera for the throne room on the top floor and selected its feed to enlarge on the main screen. Her fears had been spot-on.

　“By the Six . . . ”

　Any further words eluded her. Sprawled across the rich, leather-upholstered seat was a body, bent backward as if snapped at the spine. Its skin was black as ink, its eyes wide open, with trails of ebony tears still glistening on its cheeks. But despite the discoloration and disfigurement, there was no mistaking His Imperial Majesty Iedolas Aldercapt dead upon his throne.

　That he was dead was quick enough to ascertain, but the means of death was less so. Whatever had happened to the man, it wasn’t anything within the normal bounds of human experience. His robes hung in shreds from his shoulders. That the emperor himself seemed to have clawed at them with enough force enough to rip them apart hinted at the extent of his agony. It looked like Ardyn Izunia’s spell was as poisonous as the man himself.

　Aranea bowed her head in a brief moment of silence, then flipped the surveillance system off. It had cost her a bit of time, but at least she knew the truth. Now she needed to focus. A certain weapon of mass destruction awaited her. Time for a charming rooftop date.

　“The only good daemon is a dead one,” she muttered, dashing back to the end of the corridor and into the elevator.

　This time, no trace of sleep haunted her. The moment the elevator reached the top and a crack appeared between the doors, she jammed her way through. She was already halfway down the final short corridor when she heard them fully open. She vaulted up the stairway and positioned herself in front of the door leading outside.

　“Hope you’re ready to die,” she growled.

　With the Stoss Spear clenched in one fist, she kicked open the door, only to pause in confusion.

　“Huh?”

　Nothing. The vast expanse of Zegnautus Keep stretched out before her, but there was no trace of Diamond Weapon.

　She cast her gaze upward and finally caught sight of it, high in the sky, suspended from what looked to be an imperial dreadnought. The weapon’s rampage seemed to have ended. It hung limply beneath the airship, completely still.

　“Are you kidding me?!”

　The airship’s magitek engines roared, and it began speeding away, bulky payload in tow. Aranea returned the Stoss to its holster.

　“Unbelievable. Lost it again.”

　Far below the receding dreadnought, she saw dozens of dropships, many engulfed in flames. A great horde of flying daemons swarmed them, occasionally slamming into a hull or flitting in front of a ship to bar its way. It seemed almost playful, but the results were decidedly not. The pilots veered, slamming into friendlies, and then more ships were up in flames. Several of the burning craft were in downward spirals, trails of black smoke marking their descents. Aranea found herself reminded of a fireworks display she’d once seen as a child and then grimaced at the irreverent comparison.

　The ground toward which the flaming ships plummeted was itself a sea of fire. Explosions flared, buildings toppled and gave rise to new gouts of flame. The empire was crumbling. For Aranea, the truth had yet to sink in. She’d come to terms with the fact that her nation was in decline. The play was in its final act, and any reasonable mind could see that. But it was still jarring to have the curtains drawn so suddenly.

　“Such a waste. Wouldn’t you agree, Commodore?”

　Once more, she heard that unpleasant voice, this time coming from right behind her. Imperial Chancellor Ardyn Izunia.

　She’d always suspected that everything somehow traced back to this man and his actions. She had thought it was largely a matter of incompetence, that his failure to carry out the duties of his post had set the empire on this course. But now it seemed the truth was so much worse. Who would have imagined him explicitly orchestrating the downfall of his own nation? Here he was on the rooftop, nonchalantly watching the giant magitek armor being carried off into the distance. He had to be the one who freed Diamond Weapon from its hangar, who set the facility’s daemons loose on the city, and who carefully marched the MTs down from Zegnautus Keep before sending them rogue. All to destroy Gralea.

　“Truly, such a dreadful waste,” he repeated.

　Aranea’s hand flew to the Stoss’s grip. By the time she spun to face him, the spear was out, leveled point-blank at his face. No human being would be able to dodge at that range before she’d managed a thrust.

　“Oh dear me. Do watch where you point that thing.”

　The tone of Izunia’s voice was light, mocking. Then he darted forward. His speed was unnatural. By the time she realized he’d sidestepped the point of her spear, his attack had already hit her. Something slammed into her flank with enough force to send her flying. She landed on her back, then felt another blow drive the air from her lungs. She had no idea what kind of weapon had delivered the hit. All she knew was that it had knocked the wind out of her. Her back and shoulders spasmed, and she began coughing violently, unable to stop.

　With great effort, she managed to right herself. Still, the coughing continued.

　“Anyone ever tell you that you hit like a baby?” she finally managed.

　Izunia looked on, amused. They’d just been at point-blank range, but now the man was half a dozen spearlengths away. What kind of weapon did he wield that could fling her around so easily?

　For his part, the chancellor didn’t seem interested in fighting. He turned his back on her, gazing at the airship as it glided off into the distance.

　Between lingering coughs, Aranea spoke. “What’s your plan for Tiny?”

　She didn’t bother asking if he was the one issuing its orders. Diamond Weapon was up there, being carted around by an imperial dreadnought, and Emperor Iedolas was dead. Who else was around to give the command?

　Izunia turned once more to look at her.

　“Just sending it off to have a little fun,” he said with a wink. He pulled a bright red apple from one sleeve and began tossing it into the air. Why the hell he was carrying a piece of fruit around, she could only guess, but the apple wasn’t the only red she saw.

　“To Tenebrae,” he added.

　“If you’re out to take over the empire, why attack Tenebrae?”

　“Who said anything about taking over? Look at the place! It’s in a dreadful state. Daemons everywhere.” Izunia gave an exaggerated shrug, then brought the apple to his mouth for a loud bite. Aranea longed to escort him off the side of the Keep.

　“So you just want to see it all burn?”

　“Emphasis on all, my dear. Every last thing on this miserable little star.”

　Hardly any time had passed since he had destroyed Insomnia. Today it was Gralea. Tenebrae would be next.

　“I always figured you were insane,” Aranea said. “I just didn’t realize you were this crazy.”

　Suddenly everything was absurd, and she hated it all. She couldn’t believe how many years she’d allowed herself to be ordered around, to toil for the sake of this fool who was dancing mad. She was disgusted with herself that he had been able to evade her attack so easily, that he had struck her down in a heartbeat. She hated that she was his subordinate, serving under his command.

　The mad fool took another bite of apple. He seemed terribly pleased with himself.

　“I wonder if His Highness is already aboard the train?” he mused aloud, clearly referring to Prince Noctis of Lucis. Or rather, with the youth’s father now departed, King Noctis.

　Noctis. Right. She’d spent a night not too long ago guiding the prince and his buddies. They’d all enjoyed a little stint of spelunking at Steyliff Grove, at the order of the same man who stood before her now.

　Just then, the comm broke in.

　“Lady A!”

　“Biggs. You all right?”

　“A-OK. Our passengers are all nice and cozy, too.”

　She felt a flood of relief pour through her. It was the best news she’d had all day.

　“Plenty to eat on this thing. Medical supplies, too. Only problem is the course is locked in, and we can’t make any changes, not even a single turn. The vehicle’s on autopilot, as it were. But don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll make do.”

　“Say again about the autopilot?”

　“Hey, nothin’ for you to worry about! We’re on a superexpress. Nonstop ride. Leavin’ the capital far behind!”

　An autopilot that wouldn’t turn off but also didn’t pose an immediate problem. Superexpress. Nonstop ride.

　“Don’t tell me. You’re on a train.”

　“Bingo!”

　Aranea had a bad feeling. There were only so many lines extending from the capital. And of those, fewer still were in any sort of operable state.

　“And let me guess. You’re headed for Tenebrae.”

　“Bingo again! You’re on a hot streak today, Lady A!”

　Biggs let out a big, bellowing laugh. Aranea wanted to clutch her head and scream. Their evacuees were out of the frying pan and speeding straight into the fire.

　“Listen, Biggs, I hate to be the one to tell you this,” she said, “but our friend Tiny’s taken to the skies. And he’s headed the same way you are.”

　“Ha ha h―Uh, sorry? Say again?”

　“Tenebrae’s next on the docket for Diamond Weapon.”

　Biggs’s tone soured. “Can’t say I saw that coming,” he groused.

　And she couldn’t blame him. Who could have guessed that the giant magitek armor would bother going all the way to Tenebrae to “have a little fun”? It was a plan that could only come out of the mind of a madman. Like the one standing before her now.

　“Wedge!” she called out.

　She wasn’t about to let the children she’d saved run straight into the same danger as before. First, she needed to chase down that train.

　“Wedge! Do you read? Where are you?!”

　An agonizing moment passed before the terse reply “Dropship.” She sensed the tension in his voice.

　“What’s your status?”

　“Being chased. Swarm of daemons.”

　Aranea groaned. She knew she should be thankful for the simple fact that their ship had not been downed or destroyed like so many others. But the ship already being up in the air meant that her plan wouldn’t make it off the ground. It would’ve been so simple: Wedge would fly up to her, she’d hop on board, and the two of them would go racing after the train.

　“Uh . . . Is this thing on?” Another transmission crackled through the comm, this one from Biggs, though it wasn’t for her. “Attention, all passengers. We’ve got a bit of a, um, situation.”

　The reception was poor, and it was hard to hear him through all the static, but he seemed to be making a general announcement on the train.

　“It looks like the brake lever’s snapped. There wouldn’t happen to be anybody on board with a tube of industrial adhesive, would there?”

　Biggs’s words were a little slurred. He’d clearly had a nip or two, which Aranea wasn’t the least bit surprised by. He had a tendency to crack under pressure. Normally optimistic and composed, he’d grow skittish and fretful when the going got tough. He was aware of the problem himself, but nonetheless he often went for a swig of liquid courage when larger threats loomed. Today, though, the alcohol didn’t seem to be helping.

　Aranea glanced up to find Izunia watching her with a thin smile on his face. He’d been listening to the entire exchange, and it seemed to amuse him.

　Irritation surged through her. “You know what you could use? A good beating.” She struggled to her feet. “How about I put you down and stop all these damn daemons once and for all.”

　She’d hoped her words might bring the slightest hint of dismay to Izunia’s face. That alone would’ve been cause for celebration. But the man didn’t even give her that.

　“Why not try? I’ve even got a little prize for you, if you manage to best me.”

　Izunia extended the apple toward her. The gesture and his grin made her sick. The jagged bite torn out of the apple was turned in her direction. Deliberately, she assumed.

　“Afraid I’m not much for sloppy seconds,” she said, swatting his hand away and stepping past him. She took a glimpse over the edge of the Keep: still the same cityscape painted in flame and smoke below.

　“And anyway, we have more pressing business,” Aranea continued. “I think my subordinates and I are just about done playing soldier.”

　“Is that so?”

　“Mind if we tender our resignation to you? You know, seeing as His Radiance isn’t with us anymore.”

　“I suppose I could oblige,” Izunia said. “What prompted the decision, if I may ask?”

　Aranea was surprised he hadn’t figured it out for himself. She thought she’d made it obvious enough.

　“It’s simple: I really can’t stand you.”

　She winked, then dove off the edge.

She was hurtling through the air when Wedge’s next transmission arrived.

　“Think I can shake ’em. Train line?”

　He’d apparently kept an ear on her conversation with Biggs while outmaneuvering the daemons. Good. This would get them in position to chase down the runaway train.

　“On my way now,” she replied.

　As the ground rushed up toward her, Aranea engaged the Stoss’s retrofire to brake her descent. Her landing would be perfectly timed. Or at least it wouldn’t be a wipe-out.

　“Oof!” The air left her lungs as she slammed into the ground, a wave of pain rushing from the bottom of her soles to the top of her head. She’d lessened the impact somewhat, but that didn’t mean it was a soft, comfy landing. In any case, she was still alive, and that seemed about as good as she could hope for given the distance from the top of the Keep to the ground.

　All she had to do now was sprint the remaining distance to the rendezvous point. But as if fate were determined to deny her any imminent victory, no matter how small, the comm crackled to life again.

　First there was just static. Gut-sinking static. Finally a voice came through. “Aranea!”

　Of all the times . . . She was ready to throw back her head and start yelling curses at the sky.

　“Where have you been?! You have a job to do! Stop messing about and help fight off these daemons!”

　Loqi Tummelt. Arguably the most annoying man in the entire imperial army, if not the entire world. Sure, making commander in his early twenties was a real achievement and implied he had some talent, but as far as Aranea could tell, he produced more noise than actual results. And gods, he was always so uptight.

　“It is the duty of all a nation’s people to defend the homeland!”

　How did one pair of human lungs manage to produce that kind of volume? It was like a direct assault on her eardrums. She flicked off the comm―no time to deal with Little Lord Hotblood―and focused on sprinting with everything she had. Anything less wasn’t gonna cut it in a chase after a superexpress train.

　But Loqi wouldn’t let go. As she neared the train line, she heard his voice again.

　“Aranea!” This time it blared over a loudspeaker rather than the comm. He’d apparently stuck to her the entire way, like stink to a chocobo. She cursed herself for not thinking to turn off her coordinate data when she silenced the comm. Too late now.

　She turned a corner, and there he was in his giant, obnoxious armor. Blocking her way in all his MA-X Cuirass glory.

　“Some guys just can’t take a hint, huh?”

　She was tempted to lay into him out of sheer frustration but managed to keep the venom in check. Of all the times to make a nuisance of himself, why had Loqi decided to do so now? Before she could think about it any further, there was a loud boom. Reflex propelled her to safety before her thoughts caught up with her body. A crater was smoking in the ground just shy of where she’d been standing. The Cuirass was firing on her.

　“What the hell are you doing?!” she shouted.

　“I would ask you the same!” his reply boomed. “Do you expect me to stand idly by in the face of your dereliction?!”

　Her head was throbbing. The MA’s speakers were too damn loud and the situation too damn ludicrous. The whole day was a shit sundae, and Loqi was the cherry on top.

　“All right,” she snapped. “You wanna play? Then let’s play.”

　She drew the Stoss and thrust it at the Cuirass. If her words wouldn’t make him back down, she’d let her spear do the talking.

　Her spearpoint slammed into the cybersuit’s left leg, rocking it off balance. She followed immediately with another thrust. The quickest way to put the MA out of commission was a concentrated assault on one leg. But several thrusts later, Loqi still wasn’t going down. It was a damn testament to the custom plating he’d rigged his armor with. The maneuverability of the Stoss was unmatched, but for all it excelled in that regard, it lacked in raw power. She was going to have trouble delivering a finishing blow to a heavy opponent like this.

　And her mounting exhaustion wasn’t helping. Hour thirty-six. At this point, her overtime hours were racking up overtime. If she didn’t finish this quickly, she might not be able to finish it at all. Just as she began to mull this distressing new realization over, she heard a shout.

　“Look out! Above you!”

　The voice came from the MA’s speakers, but it wasn’t Loqi. He was young, but not that young.

　Aranea looked up.

　“Oh great,” she muttered. Loqi’s cry of dismay came in unison.

　A winged daemon was incoming on a steep dive. Aranea leapt to meet it with the Stoss, skewering it through the middle, only for the corpse to explode off to either side. The Cuirass’s guns seemed to have found their mark, too.

　In any case, the daemon was dead. Attack averted.

　“Looks like you owe me one, Blondie,” Aranea drawled, right atop Loqi’s haughty assertion, “You do realize you’d be dead right now if not for me, yes?”

　And all of a sudden, the whole situation seemed utterly ridiculous. The world was falling apart, and here they were, squabbling over battlefield credit like a couple of green cadets. Aranea felt the fight drain out of her with that realization, and she holstered the Stoss. Just as the spear clicked tight in its catches, the cockpit of the Cuirass popped open. Apparently, their little two-step wasn’t over. Loqi seemed to think their coincidental timing just as absurd as she did, and she found herself laughing along with him.

　“It seems my accusation was unwarranted.”

　“Finally figured that out, huh?”

　Took you long enough, she was about to add, but stopped short. Loqi wasn’t alone in the cockpit: he held a small girl in his arms. Her presence solved the mystery of who had shouted the warning earlier, but it also posed an even greater one―who was she?

　“Tell me, then,” Loqi asked. “Where are you headed in such a rush?”

　“Got some business to take care of in Tenebrae.”

　Loqi carefully lowered the girl to the ground. “I suppose it’s all that’s left to us now.”

　“What do you mean?”

　“The last safe haven in the empire.”

　“For the moment, anyway,” she responded.

　Pretty soon, they wouldn’t have even that. Diamond Weapon’s flight and the impending danger surged back to the forefront of her mind.

　“We never should have used daemons in the way we did,” Loqi said. “Now it seems we’re finally paying the price.” His words possessed an edge of self-derision.

　Aranea couldn’t have agreed with him more.

　“And I’d wager that this nation was set on the path of its own destruction the very day that man arrived in the capital.”

　The chancellor. Perhaps Niflheim’s fate had been sealed years ago, well before she and Loqi were born. Perhaps the moment Ardyn Izunia had stepped onto their land, welcomed with open arms, this end had been inevitable.

　“We could use an extra hand in Tenebrae, you know,” Aranea found herself saying.

　Loqi sniffed. “My place is here,” he replied, “in the heart of the empire to which my life is sworn.”

　What a time to be harping on that, she thought. Maybe that was what marked the difference between a former mercenary and a soldier born to the role. To Loqi, this was his heritage. House Tummelt had proudly provided Niflheim with generation after generation of officers and leaders. Maybe that was a thing worthy of respect in its own way. Not that it made it any easier for her to comprehend.

　“If the capital is to fall, then I shall go down with―”

　“I wanna fight, too!” the girl interrupted.

　She looked to be about seven, maybe eight. She seemed healthy, and her eyes were bright and inquisitive. Even at a glance, Aranea could easily perceive the confidence and willpower the girl carried within her.

　“No. Out of the question,” Loqi replied.

　“But I can help! I’ll beat up the daemons with you!”

　“Listen to me,” Loqi said. “I am taking great pains to see to your―”

　“I never asked you to,” she pouted.

　“And yet I am duty bound to do so. I must give everything I have to see to your safety, and to―”

　And to the empire’s, he’d undoubtedly planned to say, but this time Aranea was the one to cut him off.

　“Enough. What is this, a battle of wits, loser takes all?”

　Both Loqi and the girl turned to look at her.

　“Tell me, Blondie. How well can you pilot that thing when she’s in there with you, crowding the cockpit?”

　Loqi fumbled for a response.

　“And you, kid. Come talk to me in about a decade if you’re serious about killing some daemons.”

　The girl’s lips tightened. Aranea saw something she recognized in the expression. She’d probably made the exact same face, a long time ago. In fact, she would have been right around the same age. That was when the daemons had shown up. A whole pack of them, ravaging the only home she’d ever known.

　The children had been quickly herded into the village church and told to hide in the basement. To stay there and keep quiet. Then the adults―Aranea’s parents among them―readied their weapons and prepared to fight.

　I wanna go, too! I can help! I can fight!

　She’d shouted after them, desperate not to be left behind. She had felt it in her bones that once her parents walked out that door, she’d never see them again.

　No. Out of the question.

　It was exactly how one of the adults back then had responded, tone firm but face betraying anguish. She knew it had been one of the villagers, and she could remember the voice, but beyond that, few details came into focus.

　Ha. Let’s talk about it when you’re a decade older.

　It was her father who had said that.

　Listen to your father, her mother had added. Wait here. The younger children need you. Look after them. Understand?

　The gentle firmness of their expressions cut off any further protest. As Aranea watched them go, it took everything she had to fight back the tears.

　“I don’t know who the kid is to you, but I take it she’s important,” she said to Loqi, back in the moment.

　The girl stood with Loqi’s great mantle wrapped around her, enveloped in its folds. There was little risk of anything penetrating the armor plating of a heavy MA like the Cuirass, but as the suit jerked around, an extra occupant in the cockpit could easily end up being buffeted against the hard interior surfaces. The thick fabric of the mantle was probably Loqi’s way of keeping the girl uninjured.

　“I am under the direct orders of His Radiance, to be executed with utmost discretion,” Loqi proclaimed. “My duty is to secure this girl and ensure her safety.”

　“Seems like a pretty good reason to get her the hell away from this war zone,” Aranea responded. “You ever think of that?”

　When Loqi had lifted the girl down from the cockpit, he’d done it with great care. He held the girl like he was handling a piece of delicate glasswork. Obviously, she was important to somebody for some reason.

　“You can put your own life on the line, but you shouldn’t bet someone else’s.”

　Aranea glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, there were more daemons inbound. Flying ones, and too damn many of them. They were still in the center of the danger zone, and if Diamond Weapon was going to be stopped, she needed to get the hell out of there.

　Wedge came in over the comm. “Sorry for the wait.”

　Perfect timing. Aranea held a hand out to the girl. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s leave this fight up to our big, bold hero.”

　She heard the dropship approaching overhead, and then it was smoothly descending to their position. The girl stepped forward, uncertain. Aranea reached out and picked her up.

　She looked back at Loqi. “Let’s just say you owe me for this one too.”

　“Thank you, Aranea.”

　Granted, she was leaving the poor sap and his Cuirass alone with a boatload of daemons. That probably meant they were already even.

　“She is in your hands,” Loqi said.

　Aranea turned and gave what was probably the last imperial salute she’d ever give. Her resignation had already been tendered, and she was a soldier no more. If she hadn’t had the comm right next to her, she might have missed Loqi’s next words. They were soft but certain. “It has been an honor to serve with you.”

　Aranea held her salute, watching him, but made a point of giving him no verbal response. The dropship hatch yawned open, and she leapt inside, still clutching the girl. She saw Loqi returning her salute.

　“Tenebrae,” she ordered Wedge. “Let’s go!”

　Aranea closed the hatch and put the girl down in an empty seat. No more deaths today. Not the girl, not Biggs or the kids on the train, and not a single one of the people going about their lives in Tenebrae.

　Their craft shot forward. The last thing she saw below was the Cuirass, firing machine-gun rounds wildly into the oncoming wave of daemons. She thought she caught Loqi’s voice blaring over the MA’s speakers. The sun will rise once more. Glory be to the Niflheim Empire!

　She turned her attention forward. “Wedge, we’re gonna beat that monster into the ground.”

　It was the only way to save everyone. They couldn’t afford to fail.

　“This will be our final mission,” she added. “So let’s make it good.”

　The dropship accelerated into a sharp climb, shaking off the last few daemons hot on their tail, and they were on their way.

Once the ship was out of Gralean airspace, they set a straight-line course for Tenebrae. They passed over the white monotony of snowdrifts for a while, then the vast expanse of the sea, until finally they were above dark earth and forest.

　They skillfully dodged or shot down the occasional flying daemon. Fortunately, the things were few in number, so they couldn’t cause too much trouble. Most of their disgusting friends were probably still busy tearing up the capital.

　Wedge was uncharacteristically talkative during the ride. The man usually didn’t say much, but every once in a while the words came rushing out of him like water from a busted dam.

　“Wouldn’t have guessed it from him,” he said. “Loqi, of all people, signin’ off like that.”

　It seemed that Wedge had caught the commander’s faint message, too.

　“Sure isn’t something we’d ever catch you sayin,’” he added.

　“Damn right. Who talks like that?” she replied. “And to people you serve with every day. Honestly.”

　That was reason number two why she hadn’t responded when Loqi said it. Reason number one was a bit more macabre.

　“Stuff like that’ll jinx you,” Aranea continued. “It’s the kind of thing people say before they up and die.”

　Considering the situation they’d left Loqi in, letting his message go unanswered and presumably unheard seemed the optimistic response.

　Wedge started to say something else, but she cut him off, eager to leave the topic behind. “Wedge, how many times have I told you to cut it out with the garlic already? Could you please not eat that stuff when you’re aboard the ship?! It reeks in here! And not just of garlic! You smell like a half-empty beer bottle that’s been sitting out all day!”

　Normally, and in no small contrast to Biggs, Wedge was a man of few words. He was cautious and apprehensive by nature, but there were two things that could flip his switch: a situation that was looking dire, or a couple of drinks down his throat. Either would loosen his tongue and embolden his actions, the former in particular being exasperating―once he was going, he wouldn’t shut up.

　During their escape from Gralea, when Wedge had found himself stuck between a rock and a hard pack of daemons, he’d probably thrown back a few spirits to lift his own. You know, the normal thing to do when being chased by enemies, weaving through a dense cityscape at high airspeeds. And of course, no drink was complete for Wedge without his favorite snack: pickled garlic.

　But her lecture didn’t have much effect.

　“Wooo! Feelin’ pretty good right now!” he exclaimed.

　“Oh for gods’ sake.”

　“Yeehaw!”

　“Wedge, shut up. I’m serious.”

　Aranea looked over at their young passenger. The girl sat rigidly in her seat, her mouth firmly shut. It might have been unease or lingering shock or maybe just an attempt not to breathe in the stink of garlic and booze. With her mouth shut tight, at least there wasn’t any worry about her biting her tongue with a sudden movement of the ship.

　With her hard, blank expression, and wrapped up in Loqi’s mantle, she didn’t appear to be a typical cosseted little noble girl. Still, she was used to being picked up and held. Aranea had felt it when she had taken the girl in her arms. Whoever raised her had clearly doted on her.

　And what was it Loqi had said? Direct orders of His Radiance. What was that supposed to imply? Just as the threads were beginning to draw together in her mind, Wedge interrupted her thoughts.

　“We got ’em now! Tiny and the airship, dead ahead!”

　He glanced over his shoulder at their passenger. “Hang on tight, little lady!”

　Wedge slammed on the throttle. The force of the acceleration pressed them all back into their seats. As the speck of the dreadnought quickly grew larger on the display, Wedge started rambling. “The core on its head. That’s what makes it go. Which means all we gotta do is punch a hole in the core. The whole thing’ll go down. But there’s a problem. Up here it’ll be like throwing pins at a thumbtack. So we’ll have to knock the dreadnought outta the sky. Could pin ’im down for us. Keep things nice and local. And if we’re real lucky, we might get the whole ship to blow up in Tiny’s face. Wouldn’t that be a real show?”

　He didn’t seem to notice whether Aranea was following or not.

　“Wedge!” she yelled. “Focus! What’s the plan?”

　He sniffed. “We take down the ship.”

　“Got it.”

　It was all she needed to hear. She got on the autocannon control and started shooting, finger hard on the trigger. But the dropship’s firepower was no match for the dreadnought’s armor―Aranea could have fired the cannon for days and left not a scratch on the other ship’s thick hull.

　Wedge pushed the dropship into a nosedive, and then, with their stomachs still in their throats, burned into a steep ascent. It looked like he’d reached the same conclusion.

　“Lady A! Target the ship’s engines!”

　“I’m on it!”

　The second the dropship’s nose came up far enough for a target lock, she had the cannon on full blast. No need to worry about retaliatory fire for the moment. She could leave that up to Wedge. He’d be able to evade it well enough. Her job was to rip the dreadnought a new asshole.

　“Straight down the tailpipe!”

　“That’s what I’m doing!”

　They were in a race against time to stop the thing before it reached Tenebrae, and now, more crucially, before they ran out of fuel and ammo.

　Crash, damn it! Crash! she screamed internally as she continued firing.

　“Crash!”

　Or rather, she’d meant it to be internal.

　“Crash!” Wedge joined in.

　“Crash!” Now all three of them were chanting it.

　“Bad news, Lady A! We’re almost out of fuel!”

　She heard the panic in his voice. The ship jerked violently.

　“Crash, already!”

　“We’re going down!”

　They were slowly losing altitude, and now she was out of rounds. But luck hadn’t forsaken them quite yet. Not entirely, anyway.

　The dreadnought’s cannons fell silent. The incoming fire ceased. And then the mammoth ship was listing. Metal screamed and flames burst from the superstructure as the craft began its downward spiral, Diamond Weapon still dangling in its harness below. The lush forests of Tenebrae lay ahead of them.

　They watched as Diamond Weapon slammed into the ground. Dust geysered into the air and hung suspended, blocking their view. It was impossible to see what had become of the airship―or of the monster.

　“Did we get ’im?”

　Wind gently tugged at the veil of dust, and the dreadnought was slowly revealed. It lay on its side, half-demolished.

　In its shadow, something moved.

　They heard a piercing roar as Diamond Weapon rose from the wreckage.

　“Oh for the love of . . . ”

　Aranea slammed a fist against the gun controls. They had no ammunition left, and at this point they were running on fumes. Wedge was managing to keep the ship on a stable, if low, flight path, but there was no way he could coax from it the kind of mobility they’d need to fight a daemon-infused superweapon.

　“Wedge. I want you to head for Tenebrae. Stop Biggs’s train. There’s enough fuel left for that, right?”

　The fight against Diamond Weapon wasn’t over yet. She still had one card left to play.

　“Get the civilians out of the area. Evacuate whomever you can.”

　She stood.

　“What about you?” Wedge asked, his eyes wary.

　“I got a date with Tiny.”

　“Huh? But we’re all outta rounds. We don’t have any weapons left to shoot it with.”

　“Still got one left.”

　She slung the Stoss onto her back. “This helluva big shot right here.”

　Aranea patted the spear, her longtime companion of so many battles past, and offered up a silent plea. Don’t let me down now.

　She opened the ship’s rear hatch. The howling wind ripped at her body. They were close enough to Diamond Weapon now that she could make it. At this range she wouldn’t have to worry about being blown off course.

　She tuned the comm to the 87th’s general channel and wondered how many were still alive to hear her message.

　“Attention, all units! This might be the last thing I ever say to all of you, so listen up. I’ve resigned my command and the squadron is disbanded. As of today, we’re no longer in service to the empire.”

　From the cockpit, Wedge was yelling at her to come back inside, but she ignored him. She kicked off from the lip of the hatch, into a dive straight at Diamond Weapon’s head. The dropship, Wedge at its helm, continued to speed on toward Tenebrae.

　As she plummeted, she uttered one last quiet line into the comm. “I just want you all to know . . . It’s been an honor to serve with you.” And then her spear was out, and she was closing in on the target. Just a hair off her intended trajectory. Well within tolerance.

　“Hey, Tiny! I got a present for you!”

　The monster’s massive head was directly below her. The disgustingly colored tumor of a core on its brow was dull and lightless, thank the Six. She didn’t want to have to deal with the same lethal crimson beam that left Gralea’s ground forces a smoldering heap.

　The Stoss struck true, right into the core’s center. Diamond Weapon roared in reaction. At such close range, the sound was unbearable. It felt like it might rattle her skull apart. But with both hands on the spear, she had no way to cover her ears. The only thing she could think to do to get her mind off the pain was scream back. She fired the Stoss’s thrusters to dig in as deep as she could and yelled back at the monster until her throat was raw.

　She’d hoped that one dive might be enough, that she’d take out the core and be done with it. Unfortunately, the empire’s giant pet seemed to be engineered a bit tougher than that.

　Diamond Weapon twisted its giant body and tossed its head from side to side. Aranea clung to the Stoss, still lodged deep in the core. She flicked its controls, changing the spearpoint into a hook shape for an extra bit of anchorage.

　Even with that, she was barely hanging on. Her body was thrown up, down, left, right as the monster thrashed, the force of its movement making her as nauseated as a cadet on a maiden airship flight. It took all of Aranea’s effort to keep clinging to the Stoss’s shaft, and so her guard was down when Diamond Weapon swiped one huge arm up toward its head, as if swatting away an obnoxious fly. She was hurtling downward before she knew what hit her.

　She landed right in the guts of the downed dreadnought. Her back slammed against the hard armor plating―the same armor that had deflected all her earlier cannon fire. Her vision went white. The back of her head throbbed and burned. She thought she might vomit.

　But she couldn’t just lie there. She had to get up. Aranea gathered her remaining strength, trying to jump back to her feet. Instead, all she managed to do was to roll to one side.

　As pathetic as it was, the roll saved her life. One giant fist came smashing down beside her.

　Aranea stared, horrified, at where the monster’s blow had crumpled the heavy armor plating like paper. With a single strike, Diamond Weapon had inflicted more damage than the full, sustained firepower of an imperial dropship. This time, she stood. Gotta stop this thing, she thought. Can’t let it reach Tenebrae.

　She angled her spearpoint skyward and jumped high.

　“Never imagined myself going toe-to-toe with a giant magitek weapon,” she shouted into the rushing wind. “Just goes to show, you never know what life’s gonna throw at you!”

　Her spear bored into one of exposed areas in the monster’s midsection, and she silently thanked the ground forces for chipping away the armor on its chest and upper arms. The Stoss couldn’t generate enough altitude for her to reach Diamond Weapon’s head in a single jump, so it looked like she was in for some free-climbing. She hoped at the same time she might find a way to slow down the thing’s limbs.

　When she finally made it to the upper arm, she let out a frustrated grunt. The Stoss was planted firm and deep, but she was at a dead end. She couldn’t find any route to get higher. Worse, Diamond Weapon’s giant hands continued to flail at her. She leapt down, withdrawing to the safety of the ground to regroup for another attempt.

　“Let’s try that again,” she said. A high jump, and she made it to the chest, spear anchored deep. Another jump, and she scaled the upper arm. The shoulder was next, but in swooped a giant hand, swatting her away, and she was back on the ground, game reset.

　But she was getting the hang of things.

　“Y’know, it’d be real nice,” she began, leaping up once again, “if you’d just die already.”

　Diamond Weapon’s arm swept in. She jumped again, before it could knock her away. This time, she just might make it.

　“Hrrraaaugh!” Her war cry echoed as her spear drove into the core. She hadn’t connected right at the middle, but it was a solid hit nonetheless. She flicked the controls on the Stoss, transforming the speartip to its hook shape, and then she thrust in again. The spearpoint began to rotate rapidly, churning that section of the core’s rotten red tumor mass to mush.

　Her body lurched downward as Diamond Weapon staggered, her assault seeming to have an effect. She kicked one boot against the core, thrusting herself away from the monster before its arm could knock her down again.

　The ground was rushing up at her fast, but the Stoss was slow to respond, and she couldn’t change the spear’s mode back in time to engage the retrofire. The hard landing sent her tumbling across the ground. Diamond Weapon’s arm was overhead before she could get back up. So this was the end.

　“Almost had it,” she muttered.

　Granted, it had been pretty rash to take on a colossal superweapon while armed with a single spear. Still, she’d done her best. And her best hadn’t been too bad, she thought, shutting her eyes against her impending doom.

　But the blow never arrived. She heard a sound like machine-gun fire, and her eyes flew open. The arm should have been right on top of her, but it was nowhere to be found.

　Voices crackled over her comm. “Heads up, Lady A!”

　“Sorry for the wait.”

　Two magitek armors slammed down in front of her, machine guns rattling. She saw Diamond Weapon beyond them, its ass planted squarely on the ground.

　“Biggs! Wedge! What are you doing back here?!”

　What had happened with the train? Were the people all right?

　The answers came before she could ask. “Don’t worry! All the passengers were safely evacuated!”

　Wedge was the one speaking. He must have still been feeling the buzz of his earlier drinks. She could tell, even over the comm. She chuckled and stood.

　“All of them,” Wedge added, “except for one lout who wanted to come along and play hero, that is.”

　Aranea let out a snort. Biggs couldn’t even muster a comeback, so he changed the subject. “You two ready to put an end to this?”

　She lifted her spear in lieu of a spoken answer. Diamond Weapon was already struggling to its feet. No more time for banter. They had to get serious.

　“It’s almost down! We just need to give it one more push!”

　Biggs and Wedge laid into the monster’s plating with their guns, and she went after the parts left exposed once the armor was stripped away. If they could knock it back down on the ground, it’d be just a short jump with the Stoss. She’d be right between the eyes, perfectly positioned for a direct hit at the core.

　“Legs! Focus on the legs!” she shouted.

　She saw the muzzle flash of the two MAs’ guns, now pointed low. The plates on Diamond Weapon’s left shin came loose, and the monster’s hulking form began to limp. It roared and flailed, kicking up huge clouds of dust. Visibility went to nil. The monster’s temper tantrum had created a smokescreen that lay across the entire battlefield. Fat chance of finding the core down on the ground like that.

　“Biggs,” she shouted into the comm. “Got a favor to ask. How’s your throwing arm?”

　If the free-climbing part of the competition was over, maybe it was time for the javelin.

　Biggs caught on quick. “Good to go! Hop on!”

　Flung with the force of the MA, she was a missile on its way through the cloud of dust. When she could see again, Diamond Weapon’s face was right in front of her. She’d reached the apex of her trajectory level with the monster’s head. She opened the Stoss’s throttle to max, hoping to maintain enough velocity for the strike.

　“Just remember who started this,” she yelled as the spearpoint drove in. About a third of the core had been destroyed by her previous attack. Time to put the rest of the damn orb into the blender.

　She tended to avoid using the Stoss’s overdrive function, since it was rough on the machine, but if there was ever a time of need, this was it.

　“Open wide!”

　One more thrust. The spearpoint was wrapped in a red light that burned like flame. It spun at high speed, drilling deep into the partially destroyed core. She pushed hard, driving it deeper still. With the engine limiter off, the body of the Stoss was getting very hot, very fast. Her hands felt like they were being held above scalding water. Then came the acrid stench of her gloves melting. But she wasn’t going to stop. Not now.

　The body of the spear began to vibrate and grew hotter yet. Suddenly, the material at her spearpoint swelled into a white-hot bubble and . . . boom. The explosion ignited Diamond Weapon’s core and sent fragments arcing six ways to hell. Aranea didn’t even have time to rejoice. She’d been caught in the wave of the explosion, too, and now she was hurtling toward the earth, with no Stoss to stop her fall.

　“Lady A!” someone shouted.

　Biggs. The arm of his suit stretched toward her. A touching gesture, but it was going to fall more than a bit short if he’d meant to actually catch her.

　“We’ve got you!” Wedge yelled.

　Then the second MA was leaping onto the arm of the first, and Biggs sent Wedge’s machine flying toward her trajectory. Aranea stretched her own arm out, reaching desperately.

　“Wedge!” she screamed back.

　The moment the cybersuit’s appendage closed on her singed glove, the shock wave hit. Diamond Weapon’s explosion dwarfed that of her tiny magitek spear. She clung to the MA’s arm as they were slammed into the ground. The smell of burning daemon and scorched earth flooded her nostrils.

　A great big goodbye from Tiny, and all three of us going with it, she thought bitterly.

　And then she blacked out.

When she awoke to darkness, her first thought was, There’s no way that didn’t kill me. But she tasted grit in her mouth, and her face was pressed into stinking mud. She tested her arms and legs. They moved, but she couldn’t get up. She didn’t even know which way up was. There was little other choice than to flail her limbs and see where that took her.

　It was a bit like swimming in place. The weight on her back shifted, cueing her that she was facedown. She pushed down with her palms and knees. Her body inched forward. Again. She was crawling her way free, one laborious push at a time. The area before her eyes grew lighter.

　And then she was out of the mound of mud under which she’d been buried. She coughed repeatedly, hacking up the dirt lining the inside of her mouth with each convulsion.

　She turned in a slow circle, still coughing. The wreckage of the two MAs lay nearby. They were well beyond repair. Not too far off, she saw the remains of a big billboard.

　The letters were stripped away or faded in places, but from age, not from the explosion. Tenebrae hadn’t been a hot resort destination for residents of the empire since before the occupation of Fenestala Manor.

　As for the sign’s message, it was an irony not lost on her.

　“Most relaxing stay of my life, huh? Could use that right about now.”

　She looked around. “Biggs? Wedge?”

　“Over here.” She heard a groan.

　Then another, pathetic moan. “Any chance I could get a hand?”

　Each voice came from directly below a mound of mud and rubble. At each, a small section of mud parted, enough for a single hand to pop out. The first was thick and rough. Biggs. The other, with its knobby knuckles, definitely belonged to Wedge. Aranea grabbed each in turn and helped the men pull themselves up out of the debris.

　“Looks like it’s mission accomplished, boys,” she said, with a long sigh of relief. Biggs and Wedge both coughed and spat on the ground, their saliva brown with mud and sand. They’d all been to hell and back, but at least they were still alive. The evacuees were safe, too. Aranea shook her head in disbelief. All’s well that ends well, I guess.

　A grin lit up Biggs’s face, and he cleared his throat.

　“I just want you all to know . . . It’s been an honor to serve with you,” he said, voice pitched an octave too high.

　Aranea turned away, hoping to hide her flushed cheeks. Seems they’d heard the little parting message she’d given during her dive.

　“She ever say anything like that before?” Biggs asked, nudging Wedge with an elbow.

　“Don’t think so.”

　“Those’re some pretty heavy words.”

　“Got that right. The kind of thing people say before they up and die on you.”

　Their skit finished, the two lapsed into a fit of chuckles.

　They’re never going to let me live this down, Aranea realized, her lips pursed tight.

　And they were still at it.

　“Hmm. Sky’s clear, but it feels like we might get a spot of rain,” Biggs jested.

　“Real thunderstorm, I reckon,” Wedge chimed in.

　“Ha ha, very funny. Now give it a rest, would you?”

　But her words were drowned out by a piercing shriek overhead. Daemons. Flying ones. Probably inbound from Gralea.

　Seemed about right, given their luck.

　“Well,” Biggs said. “Here comes our thunderstorm.”

　“I knew there was gonna be trouble,” Wedge added.

　They both looked at their commodore, with matching irritated looks on their faces.

　“Oh, what, so this is my fault?”

　But there was no time for the blame game. The three scrambled to the wreckage of the two MAs, grabbing anything that looked like it might serve as a weapon. They had to stop the daemons, keep them away from the civilians in Tenebrae.

　“When the hell are we gonna get some sleep?” Aranea groaned.

　It looked like the worst day of her life wasn’t quite over yet.

When they’d eked out a victory against the last pack of flying daemons, killing what they could and sending the rest scattering back the way they came, it was nearly evening. They made for the dropship, dragging themselves along, bodies battered and limp like old rags. They got the craft into the air, and then they were heading toward the people they’d saved in Tenebrae, the children they’d evacuated on the train, and the girl entrusted to them by Loqi.

　When they arrived, no sooner did the girl’s eyes fall on Aranea than they were filling with great big tears. It was another scene that seemed all too familiar, an unpleasant echo from a dark corner of Aranea’s past. Before she was even aware of her actions, she’d scooped the girl up into a tight hug and was walking over to settle on one of the benches, running a gentle hand over her hair.

　“I was so scared,” the girl whispered.

　“It’s all right now. You’re okay.”

　“Everyone . . . went away, or died, and . . . ”

　Aranea felt the small body trembling in her arms. She knew that fear. She knew that sadness. She wouldn’t have wished it on anyone else in the world, least of all the young girl before her now.

　She’d been so eager to wipe every last daemon from the face of the star, she’d not even been able to wait the full ten years to hit her legal age of majority before she joined the mercenary forces. And there hadn’t been anyone left around her to tell her to wait, to not be so reckless.

　But her life had gone smoothly enough, all things considered. She met Biggs and Wedge, gained new comrades in arms, and eventually made enough of a name for herself in the imperial service to earn a bit of rank. It had been rough when the empire started toying around with daemons, though. It didn’t feel right owing allegiance to an army employing the same monsters she’d wanted to destroy. She’d strayed a bit from her one great aim in life, but she went on nonetheless.

　“Tell me. What’s your name?” Aranea asked. It was a detail she’d overlooked in all the rush.

　“Sol,” the girl replied. “Solara Antiquum.”

　“Sol, huh? Not a bad name.”

　It had an air of dignity to it, bringing to mind that grand, ancient civilization the nation of Niflheim aspired to.

　“I want to be strong.”

　Aranea smiled. That was another thing she remembered herself saying, all those years ago.

　“Like you,” the girl continued.

　“Like me?”

　Sol nodded, her face earnest.

　“I’m not really that strong. I barely even managed to make it through today. Thought I might break down at any moment.”

　The girl paused, clearly processing the information, before asking, “Honest?”

　“Honest. It’s a good thing a certain little someone showed up to inspire me. What was that you said back there? ‘I wanna fight, too’?”

　As Aranea said it, she playfully tapped Sol’s nose.

　“Couldn’t let myself get shown up by a little pipsqueak like you.”

　Sol gave a bashful smile, and Aranea breathed a silent sigh of relief. It was the first smile she’d seen from the girl. It looked like she was going to be all right.

　When Aranea finally lifted Sol off her lap and set her down, a small sparkle caught her eye. It gave her a start. She hadn’t noticed the brooch before, thanks to the blanketing folds of Loqi’s mantle. In fact, she hadn’t noticed the girl’s outfit at all. Sol wore fine clothes, well-tailored and obviously expensive. The design of the brooch was more than just familiar: it was a symbol practically burned into the mind of any member of the imperial forces. The crest of House Aldercapt.

　What had Loqi said back there?

　Direct orders of His Radiance, to be executed with utmost discretion.

　The possibility had occurred to her, faintly, aboard the dropship. Iedolas had lost his son in battle several years ago. Officially, there was no heir to the imperial throne. The emperor was dead, and the line of succession had come to an end . . . unless there was a child nobody knew about. An illegitimate child born to the imperial prince.

　And her name, Sol.

　The sun will rise once more.

　Those had been the emperor’s final words.

　Maybe Iedolas hadn’t fully trusted his chancellor. After all, Izunia had that air about him, like he was concealing some kind of secret. Or a thousand secrets, more like. It would make sense if the emperor decided to keep quiet about his only living heir. When Ardyn Izunia had finally bared his fangs, the emperor must have given the order to Loqi to find and secure the child.

　“Listen to me, sweetheart,” she said.

　Aranea didn’t know where or how the girl had spent her days until now. But there was no question in Aranea’s mind that the people in Sol’s life had loved her dearly.

　“You’ve got a great big life ahead of you. Let’s see that you make the most of it.”

　It was what all of them would have wanted, from the people who’d lovingly raised her since the day she was born, to those who laid down their lives to see that she could live hers.

　Aranea hugged the girl once again.

Lady A, you seen the little miss?”

　“She took off a couple of hours ago. Why?”

　“She did?”

　“Yeah. Said she was meeting you two over at Beta Point. I guess if you’re here, she must’ve run into Biggs on the way. Give him a shout over the comm.”

　“I, uh . . . ” Wedge said, concern painted on his face. Something smelled like trouble.

　“I was just over at Beta,” he continued. “Biggs is the only one there. And I’m pretty sure . . . ”

　Aranea realized she’d been had.

　Hmph. Clever little twerp, she thought, as she recalled the conversation she’d had with Sol two hours ago.

　“I’ll be fine,” the girl had said. “I’ll be with experienced hunters. And we’re not even going that far. I don’t need Biggs and Wedge babysitting me.”

　“It’s precisely because they’re experienced that I want Biggs and Wedge along. Meldacio’s people have a job to do. They don’t have time to be looking after you.”

　“When are you gonna quit treating me like a child?!”

　“You want to go clear out daemons with the rest of them? Come talk to me in a decade.”

　“I’ve already waited a decade!”

　They had a lot in common. Aranea had thought so since the beginning. What she hadn’t counted on was raising the girl to be even more strong-willed than she was herself. But teens would be teens. They have to start lashing out at some point.

　“The life of a foster parent is a hard one,” she sighed, looking at Wedge.

　Aranea hadn’t had any parents left to rebel against when she reached adolescence, but she’d probably made life plenty difficult for the villagers and mercs who’d looked after her. Still, this wasn’t the past. For one thing, when Aranea was a teen, the world still had daylight. Things had been peaceful, more or less. A little girl playing grown-up among mercenaries had a decent chance of making it without getting herself killed.

　Now that Eos was locked in perpetual night and daemons roamed around wherever the hell they pleased, irresponsible decisions were more often than not served up with a nice, cold side of death. The fact that Sol was a few years older than Aranea had been when she’d started fighting didn’t bring any peace of mind.

　That was why, even when there was a whole group of hunters going out on a patrol, Aranea made certain to send Biggs and Wedge along. But apparently, Sol had grown sick of her little security detail. She’d cooked up a plan complete with fake rendezvous details to ditch them. This was a first.

　When are you gonna quit treating me like a child?! The girl’s tone had been defiant.

　“Never would’ve pegged myself as an overprotective parent,” Aranea said.

　“What’s overprotective about it? Parents are supposed to worry about their kids. Why am I even saying this? I gotta get out there. I gotta find her!”

　A slight smile formed on Aranea’s lips. At least she wasn’t the most overprotective adult in Sol’s life. That title belonged to another. Two others, in fact.

　“I gotta get a message over to Biggs, and then . . . Oh geez. Listen, Lady A. I’ll see you later, all right?”

　“Thanks, Wedge. I owe you one.”

　The man left in a fluster, and then, for the moment, Aranea found herself alone.

　“Guess it’s ’bout time to radio in the day’s report,” she told herself.

　But when she stepped over to the transceiver, she realized it was earlier than she’d thought. She still had some time, and an idea formed about how to burn it.

　“Hmph. How long has it been since I last made that?” she wondered out loud.

　There was one more can of beans left, and if she put some of that dehydrated meat to soak now, there’d be just enough time to reconstitute it. It’d be a little sparser than usual, and she’d be making do with only what they had on hand, but still, it would be a home-cooked dinner. Her famous cassoulet.

　More often than not, nights at the outposts meant eating straight out of a can. It was nice to enjoy a proper meal together every once in a while. There was always the chance that Sol wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, but if so, she could reheat and serve it again. Cassoulet was just as good the next day, if not better. Sol would come home to a clean bed and a big bowl of her favorite food―after she got an earful for running off on her own, that is.

　Aranea opened the little cabinet and began pulling out ingredients, humming as she set about the task.