833 P.C. [Post-Collapse]
The days grew colder, the nights longer. Still, the Ciondian War waged on, impartial to troops whose stiff feet bled in the cold, or families burning the last of their coal, praying for one more night before the frontlines engulfed their homes. If war had any decency, it'd at least offer them warmth in death. Of course, it had none. And those who waged it, somehow, even less.
Including Zayne Riven. He'd never stop hating himself for that.
Dust clouded the air in tiny grains that pattered against the windshield with each gust of wind, dulling the world outside. Zayne craned his neck to check on the rest of his squad trailing them in the convoy, most laughing and chatting as if without a care in the world. Yet a few stared out in silence past brown-tinted windows. Young faces with jumpy eyes and pale skin.
Now Zayne understood why his mother lamented that war was fought by children. He'd first set foot on the battlefield at seventeen, not realizing then how young he'd been. After seven years of war, he felt much older, but one day he'd look back on this time in the same way. And things kept getting worse. Ever sincehis father authorized fast-tracking soldiers two years ago, kids as young as fifteen left home to fight in the territories. As the Phaedra's second in command, his old man possessed the power to push back against the emperor. So, why not?
Zayne squeezed the letter he held. He knew why, didn't he? This message said it all. The Phaedra and his father acted in desperation to crush the uprising, no matter the inevitable escalation in bloodshed. No matter that they'd use the young as fodder for their war. And damn them for sending this to Zayne right before a mission.
The first line turned through his mind again and again.
It’s time.
The brutal plan to crush the uprising once and for all had begun. Their emperor, the Phaedra, spent years planning this operation, obsessed with uniting the empire in time for the historic summit coming in three years. For the first time since the Collapse, when the wealthy escaped Earth, the alliance of oceanic colonies planned to open diplomatic relations with the rest of the world. The Old Ones left more advanced medical technology down below, and the Phaedra didn't care how many he needed to sacrifice to lay claim to it. No one wanted war criminals at the summit, but if he ended the war and twisted the narrative to look like the hero, then he may get all he wanted.
The rebellion against the Phaedra never stood a chance of success, but the territories showed no signs of relenting. Their coalition—the United Armed Forces—gained little ground, and yet they held their own in the war against Ciondo. The empire remained trapped in deadly stasis.
Zayne wanted nothing to do with the cruelty of this war, nor any escalation prior to the summit. Even so, this letter told him that when he returned home, his father expected him to take charge of a branch of this abhorrent operation.
Too bad for them, Zayne had plans of his own. Plans to destroy the Phaedra from within and crush him like he crushed their people. Not that he could let anyone know.
It's time.
“No one's slept.” Zayne’s breath fogged the window. He batted away the sound of his father's voice. He needed to focus on today, no matter the importance of the letter and the upcoming operation. If he lost sight of his squad, he’d fail them, and these people were his responsibility. His war. “I don't like a change in mission under these circumstances.”
“We’re taking the injured into town.” Their medic, Brock, sat back, scratching his dark whiskers. The ends of his curly hair crept out from beneath his helmet. “Our division won’t be called for reinforcements at the bridge unless things go wrong. We should be fine.”
“Keep an eye on Graves.” Zayne looked at their newest private in the rearview mirror. The black band tattooed on his bicep, marking him a soldier of Ciondo, had hardly dried before they’d shipped him to the territories. At least Graves was of age, not one of the fast-tracked boys.
“Starting off in your squad is hard,” Corporal Edwards said with one hand on the wheel, her golden hair hidden beneath her cap in a bun. She sighed. “He knows your father might notice him.”
“We'll get Graves killed if we coddle him.”
Edwards shrugged in a sign that Zayne shouldn't be so hard on the younger soldiers for fearing his family. For centuries, the Rivens served at the side of the Phaedras, viewed as vessels of their divinity. But that was all bullshit. Graves should learn to focus on survival, not status.
A groan rolled from his lips, and Brock glanced at him with searching light brown eyes. His friend never missed when something deeper bothered him, so he turned away to face the window.
The city materialized down the road like a wildflower growing in the nothingness of the fields, its homes and buildings swarming the river that cut through the countryside. If Zayne blocked out the smoke rising from the east, it looked like a normal day for the people who lived here.
His earpiece buzzed with his captain’s voice. “The city is clear.”
His body felt heavy as his squad followed after most others through the town, keeping formation in the residential neighborhood. Apartments lined the gravel road in evenly spaced rows of identical buildings, save for a variation of brown, red, or yellow paint. Shingles hung from a roof to his right, while a doll covered in mud lay abandoned outside a door. Did a child lose their favorite toy while rushing to evacuate the city? His nieces loved their dolls so much. If one of the girls lost one, they'd cry too hard to sleep.
Zayne tightened his hold on his gun.
Scattered patches of grass crawled up from beneath the gravel in the only evidence of life in the city besides their division.
War painted over all the normal.
SEIZE YOUR LIFE
How?
Sights like this conjured those fiery words written in the sky, and how her emerald eyes burned with its glow. He never rid his mind of her. His contacts reported on her, so he knew she survived, but that didn't tell him what he really wanted to know. Whether she was safe. Whether she stayed alive—felt alive—in the midst of a regime bent on breaking every last soul in the empire.
He averted his eyes from the mud-covered doll and the reminder of innocence. What would she say if she knew what was coming? That the end was upon them?
