Manifest Fantasy

Armstrong Base, Grenden Plains

November 30, 2024

Henry woke naturally, the wisps of his dream fading away. What was it about? He remembered Sera being in it, her laugh echoing in his mind, her smile fresh in his vision. Whatever they were doing, it felt… right. He hadn’t felt this way in years, since his freshman year girlfriend at the Academy. He wished he could remember, but the details slipped away like smoke.

He stretched, savoring the crisp morning air seeping in through his window. Somehow, the soreness in his shoulder was almost completely gone. He rotated it, checking to see if it really was healed. Impressive. If Kelmithus started a spa back home with that healing massage technique of his, he’d probably be rolling in the dough.

Grabbing his phone, he checked the time – 0700 hours; 7 AM local. The sun was just beginning to rise outside, its golden light piercing through a scattered array of clouds. White specks floated downward. Snow? Guess it was finally that time of year. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to trudge around the cold, but at least it was beautiful.

His stomach grumbled, a reminder of yesterday’s quick dinner. Yeah, he didn’t have much to eat last night – just a small bowl of rice with cav and turvon, made in the style of beef and broccoli. After coming back and going through a quick debriefing and checkup, he was ready to collapse in his bed. The same went for the others, even Ron, despite his excitement over ‘progressing the main quest’.

Henry sat up, the memory foam mattress shifting beneath him as he swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He reached for his slippers, the plush fabric a welcome barrier against the cold concrete floor. No point in subjecting his toes to frostbite this early in the morning. He stood up, stretching his arms overhead until he felt a satisfying pop in his shoulders. Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have done that.

The sunlight filtering through the window cast a warm glow on the room, belying the chill outside. The snow-covered landscape almost looked like a winter wonderland. The base looked different, the usual greys and greens replaced by a blanket of white. It reminded him of those little model villages his mom used to collect, all pristine and perfect. He wondered if the snow would slow down operations today. Probably not. The eggheads had assured them that the vehicles could handle a little frost. After all, the conditions out here were much more forgiving than the blistering heat and coarse sand of Groom Lake. All Henry knew was that he'd have to break out the thermal underwear.

He padded over to his private bathroom, relishing the convenience of not having to share with the rest of the barracks. One of the perks of being a captain, or perhaps one of the amenities the military offered to keep morale high on an alien planet, he supposed. He turned on the shower, letting the steam fill the small space as he brushed his teeth and let his mind drift off to breakfast.

The mess hall had promised a special treat today: waffles with labradorite syrup, a Garethian delicacy that tasted like a cross between maple and blueberry. He'd been skeptical at first – who puts rocks in their food? – but after one bite, he was hooked. They cleared even his favorite French toast. He hoped they hadn't run out already. He'd seen how Ron could put away a stack of pancakes – or in this case, waffles – like it was his last meal. However, based on what happened last time, Sera could probably take the throne from him.

As he rinsed off, he heard a commotion outside. He quickly toweled off and threw on his clothes – a comfy hoodie and a thicker pair of jeans, enough to stave off the cold – before peering out the window. He felt a smirk coming on, eyes widening at the captivating sight. The Sentinel Lindwyrm was being hauled away on a massive flatbed truck, its limp form dwarfing the vehicle. A pair of UGVs flanked the truck like an honor guard, peeling off as the truck neared Dr. Perdue’s lab.

Henry shook his head in amazement. Even dead, the creature was intimidating as hell. He remembered the battle from yesterday, the way the Lindwyrm's scales had shrugged off their bullets like they were spitballs. Even their TOW missiles weren’t enough. If it hadn't been for that clutch save from the Apache, they might have been Lindwyrm chow.

He watched the procession until it disappeared around the corner, then grabbed his keys and headed out the door. As he walked down the hallway, he couldn't shake the feeling that yesterday's mission was just the beginning. The Locator, the Ovinne Mountain Campaign, the escalating tensions with the Nobians – it all pointed to something big on the horizon. He was sure he’d be seeing them a lot more in the near future; they must’ve figured out by now how critical Gatebuilder sites and technology are.

His stomach growled like an angry bear as he made a beeline for the mess hall. He spotted Sera as soon as he walked in, her shock of silvery-blonde hair standing out like a beacon. She sat at their usual table, a heaping plate of waffles and sausages in front of her.

He secured his own meal before making his way over, dodging the obstacle course of half-asleep soldiers and overloaded trays. He plopped down across from Sera, flashing her a friendly smile. “Morning, sunshine,” he said. “I see you’re enjoying the local cuisine.”

Sera looked up and returned his smile. “Yup,” she agreed. She forked another piece, dousing it with rivulets of syrup as she shoved it in her mouth. “Forsooth, a far departure from the swill and rations common to long journeys. First ‘pancakes and bacon’, now these ‘waffles’... your food piques my interest. The pattern does remind me of a blacksmith’s forge, though the flavor is sweetly surprising.”

Henry supposed a waffle would look a bit weird to someone who had never seen one before. He reached for the carafe of coffee as he took a bite from his own plate. “Yeah, waffles are a classic back home. Just wait ‘til you try out the wonder that is chicken and waffles.”

Sera raised an eyebrow. “Chicken, as in fowl?”

Henry nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Fowl and waffles…? You surely jest. Such an unholy union sounds like the fevered dream of some sotted alchemist.”

Henry shrugged. She wasn’t wrong, honestly. “Yeah, to be fair, it does. Personally, I’m not too partial to it. I’m more of a French toast fan, y’know?”

“French toast? Whatever this ‘French’ may be, I’m certain it must taste extraordinary to captivate your palate so.”

Henry shook his head, waving his hands as if he could wipe away the misconception. “Oh, uh, French refers to a place, France. It’s a bit complicated since the dish itself is actually Roman – from Rome – in origin, but we just call it French toast 'cause French immigrants brought it to us.”

Sera tilted her head back slowly. “I… see… You Americans certainly have unusual ways about you. To name victuals for those who brought it rather than its place of origin? An odd sort indeed.”

“Hey, c’mon now,” Henry laughed, “It ain’t that weird. I bet it won’t take long for you to get used to it. Hell, you even started saying ‘yup’ and ‘yeah’ just like us!”

Sera’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. “Have I, now?” she asked, her eyes widening slightly. She looked genuinely surprised, like someone had just told her she could breathe underwater. She glanced down at her plate, tapping her fingers lightly on the edge. Yeah, she was definitely testing the words in her head, replaying recent conversations like looking through her mind’s chat history. As she did so, a slight frown creased her forehead.

He felt a slight chuckle bubbling up. “Yeah, you have,” he said. “It’s kinda endearing, lowkey. Makes you sound like one of us.”

She looked back up, meeting his eyes. There was a flicker of something there, quickly masked by her usual confidence and playfulness. Whatever it was, Henry could only guess. “Yeah, I suppose I have,” she agreed with a smile.

Henry took another bite. “Hey, at least we know you’ll breeze through your cultural awareness courses.”

“Cultural awareness courses?” Sera repeated the term.

Henry nodded. Did he forget to tell her about those? “Oh, right. Yeah, like I said yesterday, joining us has other prerequisites; it isn’t as simple as registering to join any other Party at the Guild, since we’re also a unit under the U.S. military first and foremost. Cultural awareness courses are one of the things you’ll need to take, y’know, to familiarize yourself with how we talk and our background in general.”

“Joy of joys. I can hardly wait to unravel the mysteries of your ‘bruhs’ and ‘gyatts’.”

Henry nearly choked on his coffee. Where the hell had she heard those? Okay, maybe he might’ve said ‘bruh’ a few times, but ‘gyatt’? He made a mental note to have a little chat with Ron later. “Yeah, maybe don’t put those on your flash cards just yet. Let’s stick to the basics, like uh, knowing what a TV is or how to use an air conditioner.”

Sera laughed lightly. “Come now, don’t be coy. Clearly this ‘gyatt’ holds mystical significance if your friend speaks of it so freely.” She waved a dismissive hand. “But very well, indulge me with your ‘basics’ first if you must. I shall bide my time to uncover the secrets of the ‘gyatt’.”

Henry set his mug down with a sigh. Oh, boy. Is this what Ambassador Perry warned against when it came to cultural contamination?

“Ah…” Her teasing manner faded as genuine curiosity took over. “Might these ‘courses’ also include a sojourn to your lands? Sir Owens spoke rather highly of a ‘Six Flags’ – a venue for ‘hella fun rides’, as he so eloquently described.”

It was a bit optimistic, but he was sure the government wasn’t ready to risk leaking the Manifest Project by having an elf walk around back home. “Well, not quite. Maybe one day, though. I’m sure you’d love Six Flags.”

Sera smiled at the thought. “That would be interesting. What else is there?”

“Well, the cultural awareness courses are just the start,” Henry said. “You’ll also need to get trained on our weapons and combat tactics. That means firearms training.”

Sera nearly spat out her food. “Firearms?” She asked, eyes going wide, “You mean… your guns?”

Henry nodded.

Sera gave a disbelieving shake of her head. “Why, even the crossbow remains a curiosity naught but described in tomes. How am I to lay hands upon such exotic weapons as ‘guns’ when I’ve yet to experience loosing a simple quarrel – when I’ve yet to even lay hands on a crossbow?”

Henry waved his hand dismissively. "Nah, you'll be fine. Kel picked it up within a few days; you saw him using his sidearm back when we fought the Spiranids. We've got instructors who'll show you every step of the way: marksmanship training, handling and maintenance, drills, y'know. If anything, I think you'll be a natural."

Sera smiled, doing a complete 180 as a hint of red crept into her cheeks. "Why, I fain accept your praise. I even wager I'd surpass you, once I'm fully fettled by your courses."

There it was, that competitive streak. Reminded him of his ex, always trying to one-up him in Call of Duty. She never did, obviously, but he knew what it meant when a girl got that glint in her eye. He returned her smile with a smirk of his own. “We’ll see about that. Firearms are a whole different beast from swords and bows. From what I’ve seen though, you’ve got solid hand-eye coordination and reaction time. You’ll just need to put in the time at the range and get a feel for the weapons.”

“Then let it be so. It may not seem like it, but I’m no stranger to hard work.”

“Yeah,” Henry said, taking another sip of his coffee. Honestly, he almost forgot Sera was a noble. “I bet. Can’t get to Tier 8 without some form of effort, huh?”

“Precisely,” Sera confirmed.

“Well, on top of physical effort, there’s also mental stuff. Discipline, focus, adaptability.” Henry rubbed his chin, tilting his head. “Well, I’m sure you’ve got all that down as well – the basics, at least.”

Sera lifted her chin. “All things expected of a Knight of Eldlralore. It’s how we’re trained.”

Her comment reminded him of something. He’d always wondered about the inner workings of the Sonaran military, but he’d never found the right moment to ask. “Wait, so how exactly do Sonaran knights train?” he asked, popping another syrup-drenched bite into his mouth. “Walk me through it.”

Sera gazed at the ceiling, absently twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “It’s no mere trifle: first came grueling travails to temper our bodies,” Sera began. “Innumerable drills, full-tilt passes of sword on sword leaving many a wight sore. We drove our bodies to their utmost limits – honing strength, swiftness, agility.”

Henry nodded. It all sounded familiar – except, of course, for the sword sparring. “Sounds a lot like our basic training. Lots of running, push-ups, basic exercises.”

“This was but a start, however,” she continued. “Such training would have been adequate for simple levies or militia. Unlike them, mastery of physical enhancement magic was required of us. You’ve seen it before: the use of mana to increase strength and speed beyond normal means.”

Henry nodded. He knew exactly what she was talking about – knights in full armor leaping like Olympic athletes, Kelmithus dashing faster than a man his age really should, and Sera herself blitzing through the Spiranid Queen like a superhero. “Yeah, some crazy shit, I’ll say.”

Sera laughed. “In a sense, I suppose. After such fettling, a knight could cleave iron with a single blow or outstrip a sperrot’s wingbeats without pause.” She laid her fork down. “In fact, we were also bade to maintain these enhancements, while casting magic – at the same time!”

It sounded difficult, and Henry could imagine that it was probably impossible for most people. It didn’t help his understanding that he had only ever seen Sera do it. “Damn, no wonder you made it look so easy.”

“Of course! Though, I shall admit, the first efforts were… assays of chaos, to put it mildly. One of our tasks was to launch fireballs accurately at wooden targets.” Sera lowered her head slightly, hiding a smile. “And… I loosed an errant fireball mid-leap and accidentally singed my own tresses into cinders.”

Henry snorted. “No shit? How’d that turn out?”

“Well, let’s just say I sported a rather daring coiffure for a span thereafter,” Sera smirked wryly. “From that incident sprang forth the sobriquet by which I am now known.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Like, your adventuring nickname? Like Kel as the Arcane Scholar?”

Sera nodded.

“Wait, hold on now,” Henry grinned. “You can’t just tease it like that without telling me. What kinda nickname did that earn you?”

Sera did a double take, her cheeks flushing. “You’ve not heard of it?”

Henry shook his head. “Nah, not a single whisper.”

“Hmm…” Sera crossed her arms.

“C’mon, everyone already knows,” Henry laughed. “And besides, I’m bound to find out at the Guild.”

Sera rolled her eyes. “If you must know… I became known as the Queen of Cinders.”

“Queen of Cinders, huh?” Henry rolled the words around. “Sera Sindis, Queen of Cinders…”

Sera gave a sigh that hinted at exasperation, but the smile beneath spoke otherwise. “Oh, must you tease me so?”

Henry raised his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, it’s actually a badass nickname. Shit goes hard, honestly. Very hard.” As Sera’s features softened in response to his statement, he ventured further, “Wait, is that why you always use ice magic?”

“Hah! A seer now, are you?” She sat back. “Well, perhaps you are. I do avoid using fire magic, despite my acumen.”

That gave Henry a thought. According to what he’d learned about magic from Kelmithus, magic was based on a caster’s visualization of the phenomenon they want to materialize. That’s why most mages had to use verbal casting – for example, to put the image of a searing flame and burning heat in their minds. Experienced casters – or simply, people with solid imagination and understanding, didn’t need to do this. So… what if one were to increase said understanding through science?

“Y’know… Maybe we should include some science classes with the cultural awareness courses.”

Sera looked up as she pierced the last waffle bite on her plate. “Science classes? You speak of the natural philosophies? What for?”

Henry dismissed the proposal. “Just a thought for now; even the General couldn’t give approval. But if they do, it’ll certainly be better than learning about whatever nonsense Ron is teaching you.”

The sound of Sera’s laugh was dangerously intoxicating. Henry’s heart drummed in his chest, starting with light taps before turning into solid thumps. Any more, and he feared his eyes would pop out of their sockets and turn into hearts like a fucking cartoon character.

Staring at Sera, Henry couldn’t help but wonder how things would be moving forward. Sure, she wanted to join and they’d probably have more moments like this, but one question kept nagging at him. “Say, I remember you mentioned your distaste for Parties – internal strife and whatnot. What changed?” Noticing her shift in posture, he followed up, “Not that I’m complaining, but you did say you were more of a lone wolf type, right? Solo adventurer?”

Sera narrowed her eyes, her smile flickering like a candle in the wind. Something dark passed behind her eyes, there and gone again in a blink. “Ah, yes. I did say that, didn’t I?”

Henry only nodded. He didn't know what else to say, or if he should say anything. Sera hesitated, but he could see her gathering her courage. It was plain as day; she knew just as well as he did that real cohesion started here. He wouldn’t pressure her, but she had to be able to do at least this much if she really wanted to join them.

“I suppose the present serves well enough as any,” she started, taking a deep breath as she prepared to recount her story. “I became an adventurer not long after receiving my knighthood from the Royal Academy of Sonara. A few of my fellow newly-minted blades and I formed a Party – we called ourselves Hot Silver.”

It was an interesting name, probably having something to do with fire magic and silvery hair, but he didn’t pry. He nodded, allowing her to continue.

She sighed, her face looking like she was reliving the good times, before it all went to shit. “When we formed our Party, we decreed a core rule – whosoever contributed most should also reap the most. At the time it seemed a prudent creed, you know? Drawing our ambitions to ever greater heights of glory. We started at Tier 5, youthful, reckless. Our quests were easy, perhaps even fun, I daresay.”

Her smile faded. So this must be where it all went to shit. “But ere long, our core rule begot corruption. Lucan ad Darnath, our vanguard and appointed leader, saw his mind clouded by greed – as did Tancred ad Velen, our archer. They vied for rewards, heedlessly rushing ahead into peril, placing valor – if such a term could even be used to describe their actions – before caution.”

She continued, “There were two others in our party – Livia ad Riena, our mage, and Raulin ad Felsmond, our scout. We voiced protests against such folly, yet Lucan scorned our counsel.” Her voice took on a sour, mocking tone as she spoke his name, like it left a bad taste in her mouth. “The daft knave dismissed it as minor annoyances, complaints against ‘rousing competition’.”

She made air quotes around those last two words, scoffing. Henry nodded along and gestured for her to continue. “I thought his foolishness bearable – a grave error in hindsight, one that I should not have overlooked. As we reached Tier 6, we took on a quest to scour the Baranthurian ruins skirting the town of Lorranius. Careful reconnaissance ere engagement – such was our plan.”

“But no sooner had we breached the ruins than Lucan espied a Mitrhil golem – a prize whose components are worth tens of thousands of lumens to alchemists and smithies.” Sera gave an awkward smile and a lifeless laugh. “I suppose it would be strange coming from me, but delusions of glory possessed the man. He charged the golem forthwith, sundering our formation and abandoning poor Livia to exposure.”

Sera’s voice turned bitter. “If we had followed our plan and allowed Raulin to scout the chambers, we would have known of the four other golems hidden away. They awoke as Lucan struck the first golem, and we were set upon from every quarter whilst out of formation. Poor Livia was the first to suffer Lucan’s folly, and her ribs were shattered by a strike that came from nowhere. To preserve our lives, I grabbed Livia and called out our retreat.”

A typical rock golem, as Henry could recall, weighed about as much as a car. These mithril golems? They probably weighed as much as a small truck. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like getting a direct hit from one, much less surviving it. “And what happened to Livia? Did she turn out alright?”

Sera nodded, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. “By the grace of Sola, she narrowly escaped a killing blow. Unlike you, Lucan hardly cared. You know, the first thing he said to me as we emerged from the ruins was a curse? He raged at me for ‘robbing his glory’, for the failure of our quest. Only when I pressed did Lucan deign to ask Livia if she was okay – as but an afterthought to slake his wounded vanity.”

“Damn. Sounds like a real fucking dickhead,” Henry commented.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Sera said, finishing the last of her waffles and draining her cup. “Well, that proved the final insult. I could no longer suffer his reckless egoism endangering our lives. I admit, we all sought glory from our efforts – achievements to mark our success and bring honor to our families. His methods, however, were rash.”

Henry shook his head slowly. He could imagine how bad it must’ve been. If the Delta guys acted like that Lucan asshole, putting glory before the team, well… there wouldn’t be any Delta guys left.

Sera gave a weak smile. “Glory rings hollow for those interred before their time. What use is renown for one who cannot revel in it?”

Truer words had never been spoken. Henry raised his mug. “Amen to that.”

Sera clinked her own mug against his before continuing the story, “I departed Hot Silver that very night, seeking solace among other Parties in hopes of finding true fellowship and common cause.” A shadow passed over her features. “Alas, it was a fool’s errand. Each new venture proved as vexing as the last: the same petty squabbles and selfish ambitions that had rent asunder my former companions.”

“That bad, huh?”

She shrugged. “As if fortune had become allergic to me.” Her smile returned, so it must’ve been a sign that she didn’t have terrible experiences with the other parties, at least. “The first Party I threw my lot in with following Hot Silver’s demise? Why, none other than the self-proclaimed Tier 5 ‘Hellscorn Blademasters of Obsidian’ – an absurd moniker if ever there was one.”

Henry coughed. It sounded like something a high-school edgelord would come up with. “The Hellscorn Blademasters of Obsidian, huh? Yikes.”

With a melodramatic roll of her eyes and an embarrassed sigh, she continued, “I should have known just by the name alone. Their leader fancied himself some dread warlord reborn, addressing us as mere ‘initiates’ with titles like ‘Bladekeeper’ and ‘Flamebearer’ as he parceled out roles.”

“I’ll not soon forget the day our scout misstepped and found herself ensorcelled by some relic’s protective wards. When she emerged with a smudged face and charred hair, our fearless commander demanded to know what ‘profane forces’ had dared strike her down. Her reply? ‘Erm… my own arcfire, Lord Blackheart?’”

Sera chuckled alongside Henry, shaking her head. “Needless to say, their fanciful bravado swiftly lost what little luster it once held in my eyes after such incidents. The ‘Hellscorn Blademasters’ amounted to naught but a troupe of self-important buffoons play-acting at genuine heroics.”

Henry finished his own meal, leaning back in his chair. “Makes you wonder how they even hit Tier 5 in the first place.”

“Precisely!” she exclaimed enthusiastically, like someone finally understood her. “Which is why I could scarcely believe what I was hearing from their blustering mouths. Anyway, if you can believe it, the next sorry lot I fell in with made those blades look like the Guild’s Exalted Paragons in comparison.”

Henry furrowed his brow. “The Tier 10 Club?”

Sera nodded. “Steel Dawn, they called themselves – though ‘Dull Ember’ would have proved more apt. At the helm sat their commander, one Varric Hamspag, a commoner and Tier 7 warrior who lacked not for ego despite his Party’s lacking…”

Sera tilted her head as she searched for the right words. “How shall I put this? Whereas the Hellscorns suffered from overinflated ambitions, Steel Dawn seemed wholly bereft of aspiration beyond Varric’s own selfish aims. Oh, the others postured well enough at being capable blades; they were either Tier 5 or 6. But any quest rewards or glory to be had, their leader insisted on keeping the lion’s share under one pretext or another. ‘A leader’s tax for guidance provided’, or some such drivel.”

It was a good thing Ron wasn’t here to hear all this; he would’ve gotten his adventuring dreams crushed. “And let me guess, the other Parties were more of the same?”

Sera sighed, giving a rueful nod. “If not incompetence, it was greed. If not that, it was brashness. For all their talk of glory and renown, these Parties achieved little of lasting worth. How ironic that their obsession with accolades resulted in accomplishing nothing at all.”

She raised her mug at Henry. “But you… there’s nary a note of boastful pretense, nor meaningless pontification in your words or tone. You cut straight and true. And… your Party has true potential, promised by your outre methods and weaponry.”

He wondered why Sera wanted glory so badly, even after her experiences with such parties. “Yeah, in that case, let’s see what the General has to say.”

Sera got up from her seat, lifting her empty tray. “Of course. Lead the way.”

Henry pushed back from the table. Despite the ups and downs of their joking banter, there was an earnestness to her words. For all her snark and bravado, the Queen of Cinders seemed to want… what? Validation, maybe? The way she spoke about her failed Parties, it was like she’d lost something deeper than just a chance at glory.

He considered asking her, some half-formed question about her past on the tip of his tongue. But then the chatter in the mess hall just so happened to die down. In that lull, he caught a voice that snapped his attention like a rubber band.

“... fucking got Jankowski. Arrow to the shoulder. Completely shattered his fucking collarbone, man.”

His head swiveled toward the source – two men from Zulu-9, seated at a table. Just one look at their faces was all he needed to know what was going on. To say they were upset would probably be an understatement. He glanced at Sera, seeing her reaction. She slowed her movements, inching an eyebrow up.

The taller soldier paused, spoon hovering over his meal. “Huh? Fuck you mean, Jan got dusted?”

The shorter soldier answered. “Nobian wind snipe. Came from inside the fucking tunnel and turned his shoulder into fucking nothing. Thank God some of the Sonaran researchers were healers…” He trailed off. What should’ve been a hopeful comment instead had a lingering uncertainty to it.

“But?”

The shorter soldier lowered his head, gripping his fork tightly. “But even with surgery and healing magic, the best the docs could do was put him in a fuckin’ COMA to try saving what’s left of him! The healers couldn’t fix the internal bleeding and trauma; they just don’t have the knowledge.” He raised his fist, as if preparing to slam it into the table, but slowly lowered it. “Fucking bullshit, man. The Nobians turn away Ambassador Beckett just to pull off this shit? The fuck did we ever do to them? They didn’t even follow the own Goddamn treaty they signed with the Sonarans! Makes no fucking sense.”

No protective magic, no advanced anti-ballistic plating. All he could do was pray for Jankowski. Henry’s hand reflexively went to his shoulder. It was hard to forget the sickening punch of that shaft boring though Kelmithus’ shield and his envirosuit.

Sera followed his gaze. A subtle furrow pinched her brow in an unspoken question: Should we…?

“Can’t wait til the tanks and bombers get here,” the other man said.

“Tanks and bombers? I can’t wait til the nukes get here. The Sonarans were right about the Nobians. These fucking animals don’t wanna talk peace, oh nah, but I bet they’ll fucking listen to fear. Fucking glass ‘em til they do, and if they don’t, then glass ‘em til we finish the fucking job.”

“Yeah,” his friend simply said, going back to his meal.

Henry shook his head, dropping off his tray before heading out. His jaw tensed as the soldiers’ voices faded back into the mess hall's ambient chatter.

After a few paces past the mess hall’s exit, Sera broke the silence. “Those men…” she began, hesitating. “They react as if this ‘Jankowski’... As if he were forever lost to them. Surely the healers can restore him, given enough time and care?”

Henry could hear the confusion in her tone. To her, healing magic was like a universal panacea. And for most Gaerrans, it probably was. Their bodies were stronger and above all, had integrated mana to work with. He let out a breath, considering how to explain it to her.

“If the efforts of our doctors and your healers could only manage putting him in a coma…” Henry shook his head slowly. “It ain’t a good sign.”

The realization seemed to click for Sera then. Healing magic assumed external, superficial damage, basic blunt force, or clean strikes from a blade – not that kind of internal large-scale trauma. Not only did the Sonarans lack medical expertise, but they were also accustomed to casting healing magic on bodies reinforced by mana. Henry could tell she got it from the slight narrowing of her eyes.

Henry explained, “Stabilizing Jankowski by inducing a coma – it’s likely a method of buying time. Trying to teach your healers about human physiology and anatomy before they apply more complex healing magic to him.”

Sera’s voice took on a somber tone. “And if they were to cast the magic too soon, I imagine it would fail to work?”

She seemed to understand a lot, even with what little information she was given. With a nod, Henry confirmed her concerns. “Yeah. Since magic is based on a caster’s understanding, there’s a chance of accidentally fusing bone fragments incorrectly, or regenerating tissue over debris, or missing certain parts because the healers simply didn’t know a specific part of the body existed.”

“I… see.”

Their walk fell silent as they continued through Armstrong’s corridors. She seemed antsy, still, like there was more on her mind. As they neared the briefing room, she finally spoke up. “I cannot help but dwell on what those men alluded to… These ‘tanks’ and ‘bombers’ they spoke of with such fervor. Weapons of immense devastation, I gathered? Much akin to your ‘Apache’ and ‘UGVs’?”

Henry shrugged. “Well, you could say that.”

Sera nodded, no doubt trying to guess at what Tier these new weapons would likely be. If Henry had to guess, it’d probably be Tier 9 for tanks and Tier 10 for bombers.

“And this…” Sera hesitated, “this ‘nuke’? Some sort of attack, I presume?”

Henry tensed his jaw. How should he respond to this? He quashed the initial impulse to deflect or rebuff her question entirely. Was this the sort of world that needed nukes? He really hoped not.

“Let’s just say it would be best if we never find out,” he said at last, reaching the briefing room’s door. “Well actually, if all goes well after this debriefing, you might be properly read-in before too long.”

He hoped his reticence was obvious enough for Sera to pick up. An arched eyebrow followed by a simple nod reassured him that she understood the boundaries. “Ah, I shall endeavor to have patience then. It stirs no small excitement, knowing I’ll soon see your recondite war machines unfurled before me.”

Henry allowed himself a faint smirk as he grasped the handle. “Well then, Queen of Cinders, let’s not keep the General waiting.”