Worlds Away

Prologue

Voices.

Children's voices.

Before he had even opened his eyes, he heard them – laughing, shouting, screaming, not in horror, but with joy. He was not a father. He was a man of war. It felt like years since he had even seen a child, and yet as heard the echoes of their teasing and playing, he felt himself, for the first time in what seemed ages, to be at peace – assured that this was what he'd been fighting for all along. This was why he had spilled so much guilty blood – so the blood of the innocent could be free, far from war and death. This was what he'd given his life for; what he knew he'd give his life for again.

His eyes opened. The voices continued to echo through his mind, but he saw no one. Instead, barren trees stood before him and around him, their leafless branches stretching out as if reaching for the last remnants of life. The grass beneath his feet, too, was dying, tainted an empty brown that did not promise a future.

"Mama!"

He looked up, searching for the voice, and out of the corner of his eye a white light passed behind a tree. He felt himself being pulled from within, and suddenly he realized he was running with all of his might in the direction that the light had gone, feet pounding on the dying grass, eyes seeking frantically to find the one who had called out.

"Mama!"

The second voice altered his course. Still, he saw nothing but the trees as he rushed past them and the gray skies heavy above him.

"Go, child."

He paid no heed to the branches that clawed him as he tore through the forest. Something inside him urged him on and refused to let him stop. He had to reach them. He had to save them.

The trees ended, and he found himself standing on an open hill, looking down towards what seemed to be a village, though not like any village he'd ever seen. The homes, so few and all so very small, were scattered here and there, not in any particular order or fashion. The people, clad in brown and gray robes of the most basic cloth, stood outside, looking onwards towards a darkened horde, descending from the opposite side of the village. And instead of children's laughter, shouts of terror filled his ears.

As the thatched roofs began to burn below, he realized that two children, a girl and boy, were next to him, both sitting on a horse far too large for either of them to ride. Together, they stared, not at the village, but at him. And not just at him, but through him. They needed no words to make him see that he could have stopped this. None of this needed to happen. As the fire began to consume them, he knew that he had failed.

He woke, and found the world familiar.

Shepherd had known dreams like this ever since his experience with the Prothean beacon on Eden Prime over three years ago. But they'd never before been so vivid, so clear. Before, his dreams could have been described as ambiguous visions. Now, he could smell the very air within the dream.

Perhaps that was what happened when you've just watched your world burn from the viewport of a ship with a destination thousands of light-years in the opposite direction. Maybe that was just a little too much for the mind to handle.

He pulled himself up and sat against the back of the bed, running his hands over his head. Even though the fight on Earth had been brief, he felt like he'd been run over by a Mako. No doubt the crew felt the same way. Shepherd knew that half the battle right now was keeping their spirits up. They had families, loved ones back on Earth – loved ones that simply were not going to make it. And deep down, he knew that they weren't going back to Earth right away with the full strength of the Citadel fleets. It wasn't just Earth that the Reapers were after. It was the galaxy. And people don't tend to sacrifice their own homes for the safety of another's. Nothing personal. It was just human nature.

Or…alien nature.

However you wanted to put it.

He looked over at the display on his desk, the faded numbers pushing blue light into the darkness of his cabin. Twenty minutes until they reached the Citadel. Five minutes until Joker notified him that they were making their approach. Ten minutes until he walked the deck with a crew that wanted to be in an entirely different solar system, but couldn't.

As he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and forced himself to his feet, he hoped to God someone on the Council would listen.