There was no glory in the first shot.

  Only a tremor,

  a brief spark between skin and steel.

  The body fell without a sound;

  it was the silence that made the noise.

  More came after.

  The screams, the burning earth,

  the voice of a man who did not know how to die.

  I remember all of that, but not the reason why.

  Sometimes I think the weapon

  was never mine,

  that I borrowed it from a tired god

  who no longer knew the difference

  between justice and habit.

  I fired,

  and the air split like a broken oath.

  The fire embraced me

  and left me whole, which is worse than dying.

  Now every bullet carries my name,

  every wound, my reflection.

  And though the hands adapt,

  the soul never learns.

  Blood dries.

  Sorrow doesn’t.

  The camp woke slowly beneath a violet-gray sky, with no real sun, just an endless dimness. The crystals of Tau Ceti IV jutted from the ground like giant blades, gleaming with a damp sheen that seemed to breathe with the wind. Every now and then, one vibrated with a sharp hum, a sound that blended with the harsh whistle of the breeze and reminded the men that the planet was never at rest.

  Kael stepped out of his tent, fastening his campaign jacket. The icy air burned the exposed skin of his hands, forcing a breath out of him. The ground, littered with crystal fragments, cracked under his boots with a brittle snap, as if he were walking on dry bones.

  Rudolph Tent sat on a dark rock at the edge of the camp, patiently sharpening the blade of his bayonet. Behind him, dying campfires released faint smoke that the wind quickly swallowed. When he saw Kael, he lifted his gaze just enough and smiled with a calmness that contrasted with everything around them.

  “You slept little again,” he said, stating it like a fact.

  Kael huffed.

  “The map doesn’t erase itself just because you close your eyes.”

  Rudolph slid the stone along the metal with a slow screech.

  “The map? Or the balmoreans? You were more tense than usual last night.”

  Kael took a few steps, eyes fixed on the distant crystals pulsing faintly.

  “I don’t get used to having them nearby. Every time they smile, I think about… solving the situation somehow.”

  “And yet, they’re our allies,” Rudolph replied calmly, returning to the blade. “I suppose it’s not easy for you.”

  Kael let out a dry laugh.

  “Sometimes I think it’d be better not to be here… and then I think I’m insane for thinking that.”

  Rudolph watched him in silence for a few seconds, while the wind whistled through the crystal formations, producing a deep tone like a distant organ.

  “I don’t think you’re insane, Kai. I think what’s happening to you is perfectly normal.”

  Kael didn’t react. Rudolph continued, “You could always return to court and rub shoulders with nobles.”

  Kael sighed. That life felt so distant, so ridiculous now. Like a bizarre dream buried in the years.

  “After all this… I can’t go back. I doubt they’ll welcome me after we allied with those pigs,” he said, glancing toward the balmorean camp.

  Rudolph nodded, as if agreeing.

  “Did you talk to Aeryn about how you’re feeling?”

  Kael stiffened. Just hearing her name hit him like a sharp memory. He tried not to think about how broken their marriage was. He couldn’t allow himself that now.

  “Yeah. If you can call ‘talking’ spending half an hour fighting a signal that keeps cutting out.”

  Rudolph set the bayoneta aside and rested his hands on his knees.

  “As long as you can still see each other, it’s something. And did you talk to her about… this?”

  Kael pressed his lips together, watching one of the largest crystal columns flicker with a sudden green glow, like a heartbeat buried underground.

  Rudolph waited before adding, in a lower voice:

  “I’m telling you because I know you, Kael. Don’t let this eat you alive. Not the balmoreans, not command, not guilt. You were always better when your head was clear. And if you’ve chosen to be here, if you want to be here, we need you at your best.”

  Kael turned his head slightly toward him. He didn’t answer right away; only the distant crackle of crystals and the murmur of soldiers waking filled the pause. Finally, Kael fastened his breastplate and muttered:

  “You’re right. Thanks, Rud.”

  Rudolph smirked and resumed sharpening the bayonet.

  “Don’t thank me. Thank life for giving me this unstoppable wisdom.”

  They both laughed. Kael felt the expression strange on his face.

  Behind them, the first sounds of the camp rose: boots on gravel, young voices lighting new fires, the snap of rifles being checked. The day was barely beginning, but Tau Ceti was already making itself felt in every vibration of the ground.

  A booming hum cut through the air. Both men looked up: a ship was descending slowly from the violet sky, outlined against the dimness. Kael instinctively reached for his rifle. Rudolph stood quickly, eyes fixed on the object.

  The ship was unlike anything Kael had ever seen: sloppy rivets, metal plates welded on as if torn from other vessels, and yet decorated with golden ornaments on the doors, absurd, theatrical luxuries clashing with the ship’s overall shabbiness.

  The entire camp stirred, men rushing for weapons and fires dying out as if trying to hide. Kael narrowed his eyes, chest tightening.

  “What the hell is that?” he whispered.

  Before anyone reacted further, a towering figure moved between the ranks: Roq, his expression carved from stone and his voice firm.

  “Easy. Settle down. They’re the reinforcements sent by Devouir.”

  Kael kept his gaze on the ship, distrust radiating off him.

  “Reinforcements? Sir, that thing looks like it was built out of garbage.”

  Roq didn’t look at him.

  “We don’t always have the luxury of choosing our allies.”

  The ship touched down with a metallic roar, and Kael couldn’t shake the feeling that, on this dawn, things had just gotten worse.

  The morning air still smelled of stale smoke from extinguished fires and the mineral dust that vibrated with every murmur from the crystals. Chuet stood in formation, his back straight, though his muscles felt unresponsive. What unsettled him wasn’t just the rare order to line up ceremonially, it was that Rudolph Tent was no longer the one organizing them.

  Standing before them was Constantina Dull, her expression hardened but her eyes betraying the same surprise he felt. Her commands were crisp, correct, unwavering… yet it was clear she hadn’t expected to assume that role so soon.

  Chuet exchanged a quick look with Diemano, who muttered under his breath:

  “Since when is she in charge?”

  Div Kut hissed for him to shut up, but Garran grumbled with a grimace:

  “Since someone felt like rearranging the pieces.”

  Tension crackled down the line. No one understood the change. No one understood anything.

  Beyond the camp, the balmoreans watched in silence, rigid silhouettes against the purple horizon. They didn’t mingle, didn’t comment. They stared like men evaluating meat at a market, and that only tightened the knot in Chuet’s stomach.

  Before them, beneath the violet dawn, stood the newcomers. They didn’t look like ordinary soldiers.

  They were the Blue Stars.

  Chuet recognized them immediately. His blood turned cold.

  The formation stayed firm, but he felt Diemano’s muscles tense beside him, heard Div Kut’s uneven breathing, the grind of Garran’s teeth.

  The men and women of that company had nothing ceremonial about them. Their uniforms were frayed and patched countless times, but all carried the same electric-blue symbol: a distorted five-pointed star that looked more like a scar than an emblem.

  Many bore real scars across their faces: slashes through cheeks, brows, lips. Their skin was leathery and dry, their eyes sunken, some missing eyelids entirely. A couple had brutal metal prosthetics, barely functional, like trophies from old wounds.

  None of them smiled. They looked like animated corpses forced to keep fighting out of inertia.

  Chuet’s knees nearly buckled when one of them passed his gaze over the line, its left eye replaced by a humming red lens. Another had dark tattoos spiraling over a shaved scalp, inscriptions in languages Chuet didn’t recognize, as if spelling curses.

  “It’s them,” he whispered.

  Diemano heard him and paled.

  “You sure? Are they Firemen?”

  Div Kut frowned.

  “Firemen?”

  Diemano nodded.

  “Firemen. They don’t enter a place without setting it on fire.”

  Div Kut closed his eyes for a moment, as if wishing he hadn’t heard. Garran muttered a curse. Even Constantina, rigid at the front, seemed to recognize them: her clenched jaw was a barely contained wall.

  In the distance, the balmoreans watched in silence. They didn’t laugh or whisper. They simply observed, coldly attentive, as if even they considered the Blue Stars too dangerous to joke about.

  The silence held until Doshen Roq appeared, his expression grave, voice dry. Chuet disliked that man. He was their superior, of course, but something about him set Chuet’s nerves on edge.

  Roq stepped between the row and the newcomers and spoke like someone announcing an inevitable sentence:

  “These men will be your new companions. We expect your cooperation and professionalism.”

  Nothing more.

  Chuet swallowed hard, his heart hammering. In that moment he understood something had changed forever. They weren’t reinforcements, they were a reminder that war had no bottom.

  It wasn’t Rudolph Tent giving the orders that morning. It was her. And though she kept her voice firm and her posture severe, she felt the weight of every stare pressing on her.

  Chuet’s lips were tight, as if holding back questions he knew he shouldn’t ask. Div Kut, still youthful, looked uncomfortable in armor that seemed too big for him, like a child dressed for a funeral. Garran muttered curses under his breath. Diemano’s gaze jumped between her and the horizon, as if expecting something to explode at any moment. Hishio and Yolanda, more seasoned, stood upright, but Constantina recognized the same doubt burning in them that churned in her own stomach.

  The ship that had descended at dawn still rested at the camp’s edge, a rust-eaten monster patched together with mismatched pieces, absurdly adorned with gold details. And in front of them stood the newcomers: the Blue Stars. Constantina watched them the way one watches a beast that might leap without warning. Scars crossing entire faces, brutal metal prosthetics humming softly, dark tattoos invoking curses. Their uniforms bore no honor, only survival.

  Her battalion stood rigid, but she felt the tension like a wire about to snap. Chuet swallowed too often; Diemano muttered again about “Firemen”; Garran spat an insult. No need to ask: everyone had heard the stories. They were called Firemen because they never entered a place without burning it down.

  Then Kael Durnan arrived. His presence alone, hard, worn, silenced the murmurs. Constantina hated that. Hated people who imposed themselves simply by existing. He moved and spoke as if the place belonged to him and the rest were expected to feel intimidated.

  Durnan walked among them with a slow, assured step, as if he had already weighed the consequences of everything he was about to say. He lifted a hand briefly.

  “Dull. With me. Bring your people.”

  The order left no room to breathe. Constantina felt her stomach tighten but nodded, obeying. She imagined spitting in his face. Few allies provoked such distaste in her.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  She gathered her group and followed him to a side tent where the wind seeped through the seams with a harsh whistle. Inside, the light was dim, heavy with the smell of damp leather and ash. Kael stood with his arms crossed. At his side, Rudolph Tent looked composed, as if nothing could unsettle him.

  “Listen closely,” Kael began, his deep voice bouncing off the narrow canvas walls. “From now on, Rudolph will be our spokesperson. He will be the voice of the squadron before all units and troops.”

  A murmur rippled through them. Constantina lifted her chin and silenced it with a single glare.

  “And you, Constantina, you will be the squad’s new hand. Discipline, coordination, morale: all of that falls on you.”

  For an instant, the world shrank around her. She felt the rush of blood in her temples, the crystal hum outside blending with Kael’s words. She hadn’t asked for this. She didn’t want it. But it was hers now. And if she failed, she’d drag all of them down with her.

  Kael unrolled a map on a makeshift table stained with charcoal and sweat. He pointed west.

  “Before we cross the ocean, we need to sweep the mountains. There are hidden passes. We can’t leave resistance behind. You’ll make sure discipline extends to our guests.”

  Constantina swallowed.

  “Our guests, sir?”

  Kael met her gaze, pinning her with it.

  “The Blue Stars. They’ll go with you. We can’t leave such a small squadron loose, and we’re certainly not leaving everything in their hands.”

  Silence thickened inside the tent. Chuet clenched his jaw. Diemano opened his mouth, then shut it. Garran stomped once on the ground in frustration. Div Kut lowered his eyes, fear still visible. Hishio and Yolanda exchanged a quick look. Constantina felt the ripple of collective rejection, but Kael gave no room.

  “This isn’t a request. It’s not a favor. It’s an order. And it’s on you, Dull, to keep everyone in line.”

  She nodded. Her voice stayed firm, though inside, the crystalline ground felt like it was vibrating beneath her boots.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Kael nodded and left the tent, Rudolph following him.

  They were left alone, the echo of the order ringing in the air. Constantina looked at each of them: young faces hardened by force, a mix of fear and restrained fury. And she knew her duty wasn’t only to obey, it was to keep the fracture beneath their feet from splitting open.

  “It’s on us now,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

  Outside, the Blue Stars were sharpening knives and checking explosives with calloused hands. And Constantina understood that, from that day on, nothing would ever be the same.

  The noise of the camp faded behind them. Constantina had brought her squad to a secluded corner where the crystalline formations rose like crooked teeth from a buried giant. The wind whistled less here, and the ground hummed with a low vibration, like a hidden heart under the stone.

  She stopped and gathered them in a circle. Six pairs of eyes were fixed on her: some respectful, others doubtful. She felt the weight of that silence. Not long ago she had been one of them. Now she had to lead them.

  “Well,” she said at last, crossing her arms to hide the faint tremor in her hands. “You heard him. From today on, I’m the squad’s hand. I won’t lie to you: this isn’t what I expected. But if they gave me this role, it’s because they believe we can handle it.”

  Diemano gave a small nod, unenthusiastic. Garran let out a grumble that could have turned into an argument but didn’t. Yolanda and Hishio held their veteran seriousness, watching her in silence. Chuet stared at her as if searching for a certainty he couldn’t find in himself.

  Only Div Kut broke the tension.

  “So do we have to call you ‘madam hand’ now?” he asked with a nervous grin.

  A few chuckles escaped, more from tension than humor. Constantina looked at him. He was still so young. His uniform hung loosely on him, and there was a trace of na?veté in his expression, like someone who still believed this would all end soon and they’d go home.

  “You call me Constantina. Same as always,” she said, firm but not harsh.

  Div Kut nodded, relieved, fiddling with the strap of his rifle like a restless child.

  “What does change,” she continued, sweeping her gaze over all of them, “is that we work together. I don’t care if the Blue Stars think they’re superior or have more scars. We’re going to follow the order, sweep the mountains, and come back alive.”

  Chuet raised his voice, uncertain:

  “And… if we don’t all come back?”

  Constantina felt her throat tighten, but she masked it.

  “Then at least we return knowing we did what was right.”

  Silence stretched. The crystals’ hum filled it.

  Finally Garran spat on the ground and muttered,

  “Then your orders better be better than your speeches.”

  Constantina didn’t respond. She held his gaze until he looked down. Then she drew a slow breath and murmured, more to herself than to them:

  “They’ll learn to trust me. Whether they like it or not.”

  Div Kut, still wearing that nervous grin, raised his hand like he was in a classroom.

  “So… what do we do today, boss?”

  The question sounded louder than intended. Constantina looked at him, and for a moment she saw him for what he was: a lost kid masking fear with childish gestures.

  “Today,” she said, letting her voice harden like stone, “we start marching.”

  The sky remained a violet-gray slab over Tau Ceti IV, and the wind carried the crystals’ vibrations like a muffled choir. Kael watched the Blue Stars from a distance, every movement of theirs imbued with a disordered energy that seemed intentional: rough laughter, spitting on the ground, knives sharpened so loudly it sounded like a challenge.

  Rudolph approached, rifle over his back, wearing the calm that defined him.

  “You don’t look happy, Kai,” he said without irony.

  Kael kept his eyes on the newcomers.

  “I don’t like this. I don’t like having them here. Or depending on them. I’ve seen filthy armies, Rud… but this is different. This is rot.”

  Rudolph didn’t answer right away. He studied the Blue Stars, then exhaled.

  “You can think what you want, but if Devouir sent them, it’s because he thinks they’re useful. And we’re in no position to reject reinforcements.”

  Kael shot him a sideways look, a breath tinged with restrained fury.

  “Reinforcements. You call them reinforcements like they’re soldiers.”

  Before Rudolph could reply, a shadow fell over them.

  Cruger.

  The leader of the Blue Stars had a face carved by deformity: the entire left side looked melted, as if devoured by fire years ago, the skin pulled tight over metal braces that held it in place. The eye on that side was just a clouded crystal. The right eye burned with a sickly blue, full of life, devoid of humanity. His mouth slanted downward permanently, making every expression look like a grimace.

  Cruger spoke with a wet, abrasive voice, each word scraping out of him.

  “Captain Durnan. They say you’re one of the ones in charge here. I need to speak with your woman.”

  Kael raised a brow, jaw tightening.

  “What woman?”

  Cruger’s functional eye drifted toward Constantina, standing a few meters away with her squad. He pointed with a thick, blackened fingernail.

  “Her. The one leading your pups now. I want a word.”

  Kael clenched his jaw. He didn’t like how he’d said I want. He signaled with his head.

  “Dull. Over here.”

  She approached with steady steps, though she felt Cruger’s gaze peeling her apart. She stopped in front of him, not giving up an inch.

  Cruger smiled (or twitched) with that twisted expression that resembled a spasm.

  “So you’re the hand. You’ve got fire in your eyes. I like that.”

  He leaned in, too close, his breath reeking of stale tobacco and dried meat.

  “Make sure you keep your little lambs in line. If you don’t, I will. And trust me: I don’t like repeating lessons.”

  The silence thickened like coagulated blood. Constantina didn’t blink.

  “My squad answers to me. That’s enough.”

  Cruger let out a rough laugh that turned into a cough.

  “We’ll see.”

  He pivoted and stalked back to his ranks, which received him with reverent silence.

  Kael ran a hand across his mouth, as if wiping away the taste of the encounter. Then he turned to Constantina.

  “Rudolph will brief you on the operation. You march west with the Blue Stars, through the mountains. Just a sweep.”

  Constantina nodded, though she felt the weight of distrust clinging to her skin. She turned to leave, but Kael stopped her with a final murmur.

  “I know it’s not ideal.” He met her gaze, offering the closest thing to an apology he could give.

  She held his eyes a second, then nodded silently and walked away beside Rudolph.

  Kael watched Cruger’s back as he retreated to his unit. He felt he’d opened a door he would never be able to close.

  The camp rattled with boots on gravel and weapons being checked as Constantina approached the command tent. Rudolph was inside, standing with a small case in hand. He opened it to reveal an oval device glowing faintly blue.

  “It’s a tracker,” he explained, placing it in her palm. “You move your people in two hours. The mission’s straightforward: cross the western range, make sure there’s no resistance, reach the ocean’s edge. Nothing heroic. Just sweep and clear.”

  Constantina watched the map unfurl across the flat surface, irregular mountain lines, barely marked paths, black stains marking hostile zones. She swallowed, feeling the weight of the task.

  “Rud…” she said, voice lower than expected, “I don’t know if I can do this right.”

  He looked at her calmly, not surprised. He waited. She continued, breathing deep:

  “I see how people talk to you. With you, they feel comfortable. Like you’re their friend. They trust you. When I talk, it feels like I only make the air heavier. And I wish I wasn’t like that.”

  Rudolph smiled faintly, without a hint of mockery.

  “Constantina, in all my years, I’ve never seen anyone as fierce as you. That’s not flattery, they follow you because they know you’re unbreakable. That you don’t hesitate.”

  She shook her head gently, fingers squeezing the tracker.

  “What if that’s not the right thing? What if I’m just harsh and nothing more? Maybe I’m a good person… but that doesn’t make me the right hand.”

  Rudolph crossed his arms, meeting her eyes.

  “I’ll tell you something. Maybe I’m a good person, but I was never the best hand. Being friendly, approachable, liked… that helps, sure. But that doesn’t always save lives. Sometimes what saves people is someone like you.”

  Constantina looked up, surprised by the sincerity. Rudolph patted her shoulder firmly.

  “You’ll do well because you’re you. And that’s enough.”

  A brief silence followed, heavier than orders, true camaraderie, forged by war and not easily shaken. Constantina nodded, stored the tracker in her breastplate, and whispered:

  “I won’t let them down.”

  “I know,” Rudolph replied, half smiling. “You never would.”

  He patted her shoulder again and let her leave with the tracker secured. The cold air hit her as she stepped out, carrying the murmur of boots, the metallic scrape of rifles, and the clipped voices of soldiers preparing.

  She’d walked only a few steps when she heard it: the raspy crunch of a ruined breath, as if gravel filled someone’s lungs.

  Cruger.

  The Blue Stars’ leader blocked her path with that impossible face: the left side a mass of hardened, wrinkled burn scars; the right carved with poorly healed cuts; the mouth twisted in a permanent grimace. One eye clouded, drifting on its own, never fully focusing.

  “I saw your little lambs,” he said in a guttural, mocking tone. “Kids playing at soldiers. They won’t last two nights in the mountains.”

  Constantina met his gaze without blinking. Inside, disgust burned up her throat, but none of it showed.

  “We leave in two hours. The sweep will be clean and fast.”

  Cruger tilted his head, clicking his tongue.

  “You’ll need my help. They’ll be useless to you.”

  Constantina tightened the tracker at her belt, her voice sharp and controlled.

  “I don’t speak to my squad through you, Cruger. They’ll hear what they need to hear from me.”

  He laughed, a gravel-dragging sound. He stepped aside, but his laughter followed her like a shadow.

  She didn’t look back. She walked with Rudolph’s words echoing through her mind, carrying not only her new rank but the awareness of men like Cruger breathing down her neck.

  Hand of the squad. Their leader.

  Her friends’ lives were now her responsibility.

  She would do whatever it took. She could not fail them.

  Kael had walked a few hundred meters away from the camp, far enough that the soldiers’ voices softened into distant murmurs, swallowed by the whistling wind. Before him stretched a perfectly still lake, surrounded by leaning crystal columns like warped guardians. The water reflected the violet-gray sky so clearly it looked like a fractured mirror disturbed only by faint ripples.

  Kael clenched his jaw. There was something cruel about such beauty. A place that, under other circumstances, would have been sacred, the kind of landscape that inspired hymns in the old temples of his childhood. And yet here he was, boots caked in dirt, knuckles tight against his breastplate, wondering how a planet this beautiful had become the stage for a war so degrading.

  His reflection stared back at him: an older man than he truly was. For a moment, he thought of Aeryn, of the absurdity of speaking through static and silence. A distant home, a collapsing marriage, and here he stood before a lake that seemed to mock all he had lost.

  Footsteps crunched over gravel behind him. He turned.

  Roq approached, his imposing stride framed by the gusts of icy wind tugging at his cloak.

  “I’ve been looking for you, Durnan,” he said sharply. “We need to align what we’ll present to the balmoreans at tomorrow night’s conclave.”

  Kael remained facing the water, back straight but eyes fixed on the shimmering horizon. His breath escaped in a long sigh, and for the first time he broke protocol:

  “What are we doing, sir?”

  The question hung between them, heavy, barbed. Roq narrowed his eyes.

  “We’re buying time and securing the cause. Why do you ask?”

  Kael turned his head, meeting his gaze head-on.

  “Because I don’t think we’re securing anything. Allying with the balmoreans, bringing in the Blue Stars…”

  He spat the last words like poison.

  “All of this reeks of betrayal. To the cause. To what we are. Is that what we defend now?”

  Tension thickened the air. Roq pressed his lips together, then smiled, a cold, surgical thing.

  “Maybe my mistake was giving you too much space, Kael. Enough space for you to confuse your role with someone who makes decisions.”

  His voice dropped lower, harder, personal.

  “You’re here to follow orders. Nothing more.”

  Kael held his stare, fury pulsing beneath his skin.

  Roq leaned slightly closer, delivering the final blow like a slap:

  “And if you want to philosophize about right and wrong, about purity of cause, then go back to your palace and debate the importance of drinking water in the mornings.”

  The echo of his words vibrated like the crystals around them. Kael’s teeth clenched, but he said nothing. He looked back at the lake, at the reflection fractured in the ripples.

  Roq turned and walked away without looking back.

  Kael stayed a few seconds more, heart burning, the bitter certainty settling in him: each passing day widened the chasm between what he once dreamed of defending and what he was actually defending.

  He knew there was no turning back. He had come too far, seen too much, been stained too deeply. He was close to something, though he didn’t know what, and going back would be more shameful than any defeat.

  Walking away now would mean admitting that everything he’d lived through, everything he’d endured, had meant nothing.

  And that was more unbearable than the war itself.