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From her position on top of the scorching hot rocks, the creature that went by the name of Formora fought through her third attempt at reaching mental clarity. Her muscles were clenched, her pale arms were tightly wrapped around her chest and her sharp nails dug deep into her skin.

The entity that was known as a spirit extended its tendrils throughout her feeble attempts at defense, consuming the memories that she threw against it with an alien hunger, while at the same time forcing its own will upon her. It had no words to use, nor had it any language in which it communicated. Instead, it forced sensations and feelings so utterly bent and wrong on her mind that her sub consciousness had no choice but to find words in its own, limited language to assign meanings to them.

And it had already taken her free speech from her.

On occasion though, actual words would slip through. The entity had used the word "ring" a lot during the first days of infestation, after it had subjugated her body to its will. It had forced its alien mind onto hers for so long, invaded her most private sanctum so deeply, that she could no longer differentiate between her memories and its.

No, Formore went. Enough.

The entity didn't "went" anything. It overruled her thoughts and forced her body to calm. To stop kneeling on the rocks and unclench her muscles. Healed the bad burns on her body that the entity had revealed to be caused by plasma, whatever that was.

No, she knew what it was. The same as "Halo" and "Covenant" and "ring": beyond her ability to comprehend.

Its prey was long gone. The beautiful dragoness had escaped with both her Rider as the elven girl, much to her relief. But it was just a matter of time; deep down within herself, Formora knew that she wasn't completely opposed to the entity. She too wanted the Rider, but for different purposes. Someone whom she couldn't rip apart limb by limb was hard to get by…and in her life, ever since she had been chosen as a Rider at the young age of twenty, she had been forced to treat others with the utmost care.

It was how she had fallen to the Forsworn; the promise of someone she could hold without having to fear breaking them. Someone she could touch, not having to fear ripping through their skin. Such persons were unique, and exceedingly-rare.

The entity cared not for her wishes. It wanted the "Spartan" for something else. It did involve the race that she had once belonged to, and it involved fire and death and brimstone. It had shown her images that her mind had been unable to process; memories that she could not even picture. It was what it wanted and she did not understand.

Forcing Formora to get back to her feet, she thought of a new way of appeasing it. Allying themselves with the human girl "Elva" had been one, but allowing the dragon to save her Rider out of the cave had most definitely not been one. And allowing herself to be beaten by a youngling, barely out of the crib? That was something that she herself did not find appeasing. Had she still had anything resembling an ego left, she would have sought vengeance against the girl.

But with the loss of identity came wisdom, strangely. Wisdom and a burning need for something akin to an ending. A positive one that, if not for her, could at least mean something for the other people here in the testing grounds.

But she knew that something like that was impossible. The entity would not allow anyone to leave alive; the "Covenant", the "UNSC" and even the "Sangheili" would not leave this world alive.

And had she known what those words meant, she would have pitied them.

No. She already pitied them.

The Sangheili oversaw the evacuation of the elven populations, as far as that was possible with their small group. There was one of them for every group of twenty elves, taking control with an air of command that seemed like it came naturally for them.

It pained Arya to see her people being reduced to refugees, forced to flee their own forests. It was not fair. Even the Empire had never been able to fully penetrate Du Weldenvarden and now…they had lost. They had lost their one remaining home. What did that make of her race? Would they face extinction like the dragons? How many had survived these attacks? How many were still stuck in their cities, fighting and dying?

They had gathered in a large open area near Silthrim, where they were waiting for the rest of the contacted elves to join them. The Covenant occupation was concentrated to the west, so they would all flee to the east and…she didn't know what then.

Arya just wanted to close her eyes and sleep. Ignore the war, the enemy and everything that was taking her life away from her. She was so tired…

At least one more dropship of the Sangheili had landed, dropping of another group of the warriors. Joining those warriors were two of the most massive creatures Arya had ever seen in her life. She had been about to lean against Eragon and attempt to rest, but their sight piqued her interest. Riled her up.

They stood higher than the Brutes she had been fighting all day; twice as high as any human. It was armoured everywhere but its stomach, back and neck, clad in dark blue plates of steel that looked too heavy for a living being to carry. They looked like walking weapons; their left arm was a massive shield and their right one an equally-massive gun, with green orbs attached to it.

The ground shook as they thundered across the terrain, taking one large step for every two or three steps their Sangheili comrades took. They were a sight to behold, like a dragon would be to a besieged army. Allies of the highest quality, mighty enough to best the strongest foes.

Hope. What Spartans were supposed to be for humans.

Eragon shifted and watched the two aliens march across the terrain. He too was sitting on the ground, leaning with his back against Arya. His helmet lay on the ground next to him. "Hunters."

"What?"

"Hunters. The Fairth Spartan made. They could tear Kull in half, remember?"

Arya shook her head. "No. It's a fitting name though."

The two Hunters were the center of attention, it seemed. There were roughly forty elves gathered in the center, and every single one of them was looking at the warriors with the spines jetting from their back. But the two aliens did not seem to care; they strode towards Osna Ranamai, calmly waiting while he issued orders to his comrades in his growly, guttural language.

When he turned around, the pair straightened.

"Eragon," Ayra whispered.

The boy stirred. "Yes?"

"Many thousand elves lived in Du Weldenvarden. There are no more than four dozen gathered here."

"There will be others," Eragon replied. "Look at the edges; there are more coming in every minute."

True to his word, he pointed to the south, where a trio of elves was staggering through the perimeter. The Grunts spotted them and one of them waved, but they didn't get a response

"At least now we know where the other Sangheili went," he then said. "Look at them, Arya. They are gathering all the elves from the other places. Don't know how, but they do."

She rested the back of her head against his shoulder. "I'm tired."

"I know. We all are." He placed his arm on her leg and gently rubbed it. "We are going to win, Arya. Don't worry. Spartan's out there, directly fighting the Covenant. As long as he fights, we have a chance to win."

"Seventy years the Empire has been in control now…then the Starborn came and ended the fight within days. Things were looking up. And then the Covenant arrived."

Eragon nodded. "They dropped out of the sky and started burning everybody. That's the tale we've heard, but never actually listened to. We can do this, Arya. Just you wait."

She wrapped her arms around her chest, but didn't respond. She chose to watch the aliens that were helping them with no apparent reason. What did she know about them? Grunts and Hunters…the Sangheili had to be the Elites, with their swords that could cleave through elven metal in one move. Their black armour and shimmering guns…they had been responsible for the near-extinction of Starborn-mankind…yet the humans seemed to trust them. For what purpose?

The Sangheili brought in more refugees in the course of an hour. The Grunts kept up the guard, the Hunters kept patrolling the perimeter and occasionally, a strange vessel with a striking green shade would land and pick up thirty people before leaving again.

Arya rested her head against Eragon's shoulder. Being near him calmed her down; made her feel at ease. It was a small moment of peace in her heart, but she still cherished it dearly.

Unfortunately, it could only be cherished for a few moments before someone knelt down next to them and said, "alright guys, we got a plan, so listen up."

The elf sighed. That annoying accent could only belong to Sergeant Wallcroft.

"What is it?" Eragon replied

"Crane an' Meesters agree on this; we're royally buggered. Elites don't have more than a few dozen troops, while the Brutes get more reinforcements every minute. Luckily, we got this lot."

Lot?

"Pointy-eared spellcasters. If we can get 'em back to the UNSC-controlled areas, we can mount an effective resistance. Kind of like on the first Halo."

"What do you mean?" Eragon asked. Arya agreed with him on that one, though her interest was more aimed at the "Halo" part.

Wallcroft still had his helmet on and he looked somewhat odd with it. "I spoke with commander split-lip over there. He said that he has a few Phantoms ready to take the air. They've been dropping by already, you saw them? No? No prob."

He spoke hurried and jagged, like he wasn't really paying attention. Why was that?

"So uh…with that in mind…just gonna say it, you've got some AWOL's."

Arya blinked. "Excuse me, Wallcroft?"

The soldier looked around and replied, "Absent without leave, but that's not the right thing to call it. Ehm…I've been talking to Yaele, and she told me that not all elves are like this…loving nature, gentle and noble."

"They're a race, of course they will have different personalities and habits," Eragon pointed out.

"Yeah but…this is a thing. Listen, there is a group of sadistic little psychos running around and they have pointy ears. Something like a sect, or a cult."

"You suspect my kin of betrayals?" Arya coldly demanded. Throughout this war, the steadfast ability of her kind had been one of the things to inspire confidence into her. She would not stand by idly while someone insulted them.

"I recall a tale of a group of people calling themselves the Forsworn? An elf-Shade rampaging around the battlefield, knocking our Spartan on his tin can?"

…the ODST had a fair point, much to Arya's annoyance. "They were started by Galbatorix, a human."

"Yes, I get that. Listen to me Arya; an elf cult. Running around somewhere. Between the Covenant and the Empire, we've got evil elves trying to ruin us. We're not amused."

"I can relate," Eragon said. "I wouldn't want to fight an elf either."

Wallcroft sighed. "You're both so thick; you don't get it. The Elite knows too and we're taking drastic measures."

Arya got upright. "What do you mean?"

"We're going to get as many of these elves to the UNSC fallback-location as possible. We uh…are recruiting every able body to the defense of that location. Dwarves, elves, urgals. Everything. That includes you and the royal family."

"That's the drastic measures?" Eragon asked. "I was expecting something worse."

"Yeah, well…" Wallcroft undoubtedly took a look at Arya. "The ladies' got a temper too, and I come from a place where talking about a rebelling splinter group is…generally frowned upon."

"I don't think I want any details yet."

"Too right, mate. We're staying here until we've passed off at least a hundred elves. Then, we leave it to the Separatists."

Wallcroft stayed true to his word. While they all worked on securing their perimeter and keeping as many of the Covenant's scouting parties away as possible, more of the native population showed up. Wounded, hurt, traumatized, often wearing that expression that Richard Meesters had called the "thousand-yard-stare", an indicative of "shellshock" and traumas.

It wasn't that far off from what Arya could see. Her kind, which had never actually gone to full war since their resistance against the rise of the Empire, knew nothing about the horrors that fighting could bring. It was a good thing that none of them believed in things like honor and glory, but they had grown stale. Without creativity, without inspiration, nothing. It seemed that the loss of the dragons had hit them harder than they had thought.

Arya wondered if she suffered from that too. If her changes of personality and occasional moments of downright fatalism were caused by the degeneration of her race.

Eragon looked at her, perhaps recognizing what she was doing, and said, "You know, I've always hated it how I was forced into this war against the so-called "evil empire". They killed my uncle, but that was a personal deed committed by monsters. Now that I think about it, fighting a well-established government for something like that seems…like a waste."

"Even after the crimes committed to you?" She asked.

"I will still hunt those two Ra'zac down for what they did. But even so...everybody fought the Empire for political reasons. Dragon Riders, betrayal and nations…it seemed so odd to me."

"And now that the Empire is no longer a threat?" Arya then said. "I heard that this Covenant razed Dras-Leona to the ground. Destroyed the keep, the religions practiced there and all the civilians."

Eragon frowned. "Who said that?"

"Wallcroft and Yaele, before he came to speak to us. It seems that the rituals there sparked their conversation about this cult of ours."

"They do seem to stay close to each other. Do elves take it that personally, having their lives saved?"

She nodded. "We do. I never forgot what you did for me when you saved me from Durza and killed him. I never will. With our people, having one's life saved creates a special bond between the savior and the saved." Smiling, she added, "Epics and romances were based on this part of our culture. I never liked them, though. They were too unrealistic."

"And now that we are fighting an evil group for our own survival, allying with all the races in the land, romantic thoughts are even more unrealistic?"

"Not necessarily. It does add a certain…feel…to working together."

In the distance, Sergeant Crane kicked a Grunt away from his rifle, which he had placed on the ground to inspect on one of the wounded. The elf in question laughed at his antics, and asked him something. Arya didn't bother to listen to them.

"It does?"

"Yes. I do not know how we will attain victory, but I have learned to place my trust in people."

Eragon smiled too. "Wren and Ranamai working together, Spartan wrecking the enemies' forces?"

"No. I meant you, Eragon. I am confident that you and Saphira will prevail over these trials as well. Do you not miss her?"

"I do," Eragon confirmed. "But she and I made a promise; we will never allow our feelings to harm us when we are separated. We both survive the best if we can focus. That, and I am not completely alone."

Arya closed her eyes and leant against him again. "Let us never separate, not even after this war ends."

He softly touched her hair with his hand, and said, "Never."

The Phantom arrived again to pick up more elves, including the male who had laughed at Crane's antics. Arya didn't quite understand how these Starborn had changed their lives so much, but just for a few fleeting moments. After that, she remembered. If one looked at a problem from one side for too long, the problem became harder to solve. If one then looked at the same problem from a different perspective, they would find a solution. The wars in Alagaesia were the problem, and the Starborn were the different way of viewing things.

Their continued cooperation would be the solution.

Arya gently rested her cheek against Eragon's, before whispering, "I want to have a moment of peace, when we get back to the Starborn. A moment to recover, mourn, and rest. A moment without being interrupted."

"I will make sure that nobody shall bother you."

She sighed and patted Eragon on the back of his head. "I mean you and I, foolish one."

"Ah." He blushed. "Apologies."

"Don't you worry. You are still young."

"So are Crane and Wallcroft. And Spartan. Saphira and Aeraleth."

"Yes, but I would not invite those to a moment of peace, would I?"

"I don't think so."

The Hunters eventually returned, their shields smeared with alien blood. Their return proved that the Covenant was bearing on their position and that they had to leave soon. But not before Arya planted a small kiss on Eragon's forehead and telling him to watch himself, should they be separated once more.

Of course, the silly boy couldn't muster a proper response. And for once, Arya did not care. Her kind might not consider the monarchy to be that important, but she was a princess. He should be flustered by her.

The Sangheili commander was addressing some of his warriors in his own tongue. Then he turned around to face Arya's mother, who was watching him with a mixture of uncertainty and interest. "It seems the humans survived the Brutes' onslaught and are still resisting. Very much like them. Our ships arrived intact and your people have received their orders."

"Know that my kind will not follow all the orders they receive," she said. "We may be few, but we still have our pride. We will not blindly obey."

"As expected," the Sangheili replied. "No leader would send their troops to someone else's command. But without their inherent ability to shape the world, this battle is lost. It will be futile to even attempt it if you are not willing."

"I have ruled my people for more than a century. I am willing to do what is necessary for their future."

The alien nodded. "Very well. The humans have taken heavy casualties, as the capital of your Surda has been destroyed. We will stage our operations from the mountain sides, where the Brutes cannot reach us easily. Your people may very well be their last hope."

Islanzadí curtsied, strangely enough. It seemed that even she understood the magnitude of the trouble that they all found themselves in.

It struck Arya as odd that the Sangheili spoke of "their hope" and not "our hope". Why was he here? How had he found this place with his limited troops and what had happened to the so-called "Forerunner" temple? She really wanted to confide into this massive creature, but she couldn't. She couldn't trust him.

Only when the last of the elves that arrived in the rendezvous position were picked up in the Phantoms did Arya understand how few of her kind had made it out. There had been many thousands of elves living in Du Weldenvarden…and the total number who had escaped via these Sangheili drop-offs did not exceed the hundred.

Sure, most of them could have escaped to the east, but…that idea was not very realistic. It had better become realistic though, as it was her only one.

It was mostly quiet in the Phantom dropship. As was usual with her kind, no elf spoke their thoughts or voiced their concerns. Some of them silently wept, others stared at the vacant air. How many of these people had become the lone survivors of their Hall? How many had lost their families? This tragedy was worse than anything the Empire could have ever done to them. Worse than what the collective might of the Forsworn might have done to them, had they chosen to ravish their forests. This was a tragedy that none of the elves had ever thought possible, and as such they were unable to cope.

Arya was no longer surprised by the capabilities of the vessels that were built outside of their world. This hovering vehicle with room for even more individuals than the ones the Starborn used…it now just seemed normal to her.

How could their kind ever have found peace in this land, let alone beyond it? They had been blind to their own world, so they could have never understood it. The seclusion from the forests had become their undoing.

Suddenly, the thought that everybody had put their hopes on Eragon to defeat the Empire seemed laughably silly. Not for his abilities, which had improved beyond the expectations of most people. No, what seemed so incredibly foolish was what would happen if he had died or, miraculously, succeeded in his task. If he had died, the Empire would have conquered the land. And it would have been united to oppose this Covenant threat. And it would have burned for its troubles. And if Eragon had succeeded somehow…how would one ever tie the loose knots back together? How would the races have ever recover what was lost? Nothing would be the same anymore. It would have been a fool's errand to try and divide Alagaesia again.

Just like that, the arrival of the Starborn was the only logical consequence. Victory and defeat would have both ended in disaster. When Starborn humanity descended upon their world, their chances and endings had all expanded beyond the imagination of the wildest dreamer. Alliances, friendships, possibilities.

But even that was doomed to fail. For all the beautiful and amazing things that the Starborn had to offer, it was all for naught now that the Covenant had followed. Gods of evil, even though there was no such thing as a god. They burned and destroyed all that had been built, like it was their sole destiny to do so. What point was resisting if there was no future? What use was fighting if it would only result in more pain?

Arya knew not. There was so much that she did not know. Her people were left shattered, their home destroyed.

Sergeant Crane chuckled quietly. It did not go unnoticed. "Thousands of years ago," he said, even though nothing asked him to elaborate on his twisted humor, "back on Earth, there was this massive volcano eruption. All the millions of primitive humans were reduced to a small group, maybe thousands large. They recovered and took the stars."

No one responded. Crane was stared at by hopeless, accusing and condescending eyes.

"Now, that happened without things like…magic or…people appearing from the stars. Imagine how it would go if that happened here?"

"We once had thousands of lives existing in Du Weldenvarden," one elf said. "Look around, human. This is a time of mourning, not spreading idle hope."

"Crane," Wallcroft quietly muttered. "Not now."

"Fuck that. If not now, when? You know what I see when I look around/? Genetic variety."

"I –what?"

"A healthy human can produce a million genetically different sperm cells. Independent assortment of chromosomes, crossing over –let's not forget random fertilization."

Some of the females had some very indignant looks on their faces. What was Crane doing?

"Speak English?"

"Come on. Everybody knows the tale of the panda bears and the Galapagos turtles? White Rhino's? Species can be saved from as many as a dozen individuals, if they are heathy and willing."

"Did you just compare a hundred refugees to zoo animals? While they are mourning the probable destruction of their race?"

Thoughtless dogs.

"No, I am comparing hundreds of refugees to zoo animals while proposing how to save their race. Now the good book is full of shit. You don't seed a species from two individuals. But with even a hundred living members, an entire species can be easily saved."

"You're full of shit. No way that's possible."

Crane crossed his arms, standing against the purple bulkhead without a care in the world. "Sergeant Crane is full of shit. Mister Crane, graduated in biology and holding five years of teaching-experience under his belt, is not." He paused. "Was not."

"You were a teacher when shit went down?"

"One of the best. Minored in genetics as well. We win back Alagaesia, and we can help the elven race survive this."

"You're forgetting one thing, you autistic bastard. There are still thousands of lives to mourn, whether they can be replenished or not doesn't matter. If your bloody wife died, you can still get a new one, but that won't bring her back, now will it?"

Crane fell silent, and did not speak again throughout the rest of the journey. His words left an odd impression on Arya. She wanted to break his legs for his thoughtlessness, but she also wanted to question him about that whole thing about a new future. Could the Starborn really restore a race? Could they do it to the dragons? And if so, how? Teachers were treated with respect in their culture, but that was apparently not the same with the humans.

It was only when the Phantom touched down that some of them spoke up again. It was mostly acquainted elves attempting to help others get to come to terms with what had happened. At this moment, they needed a leader. Arya really hoped that her mother could keep them all focused on what needed to be done.

Still, she wondered if the tactless, insulting manner of speech that was normal with Spartan was the same as Crane's. If their disregard for the dead and their uncaring methods were caused by the nonstop horrors of their own war, desensitizing them for the rest of the world? If so, it had to be impossible for them to return to civilian life again. It had to be impossible for them to be normal people again.

It was a side to the Starborn soldiers that she had not yet considered. It would explain a lot, but it would also make room for more horrors than just the Covenant. How did this happen? What was needed for a person to be broken down like that? Time, or experiences? Those did not correlate together, but both could prove disastrous. Her own experiences of torture had never left her, and they most likely never would. If it were to happen again, she would surely break. Was that how it started? The road to not caring anymore?

If so, what was the rest of the human race like?

The new camp of the surviving forces was…it did not leave a good first impression. She recognized the location though; in-between the Beors, there was a large valley which held the Beartooth River and lake. It seemed that the Starborn had not chosen to take their refuge in the actual valley, which had severely limited their ability to place down structures and guards. Which fool had instructed them to camp on the ridges of the mountains, and not down in the valley?

Upon closer inspection, Arya noticed several small caves and positions from which a fighter with a ranged weapon could wreak havoc amongst the ones in the valley. Almost all of those positions were taken by a Starborn soldier with a rifle.

The puzzle clicked together and Arya nearly sighed with relief. She had forgotten to take the Starborn weaponry in mind when she had looked at this position. There were dozens of good ambush sites, with good cover and a quick escape route. The few structures that had been placed near the river were all dedicated to gathering water and having it transported quickly and Arya even saw the red shape of Thorn, Murtagh's dragon, take off with a large crate that had to be filled with water. So Murtagh was here too? Was he safe? Had he already been saved from the king's grip, or had the king died? Had the Covenant attacked more cities than Dras-Leona?

To take in the new refugees, a small group of soldiers had been assigned to escort them to the new "HQ". All three of them looked like ODST's, only different. Their suits had a more purple hue to them and their helmets were sleeker, with smaller visors. Their arms looked more advanced too. They all had the Covenant plasma weapon as a sidearm, and blue grenades attached to their belts instead of the black ones.

"Welcome to Bravo site," one of them said. "Name your numbers per race, wounded and medical needs."

Sergeants Crane and Wallcroft took the lead here, while Richard Meesters hung back near the others. He did not look well at all.

"Elf: twenty-seven," Wallcroft said. "Human: three. Rider: one. Do the aliens count?"

"Negative."

"Then we're good to go," Crane took over. "No life-threatening injuries. Got a soldier who had an emergency-treatment to a Spike-wound, but I don't think it worked…a few elves have plasma wounds and I think some of them need a shrink."

"Only one psychiatric on site and she's occupied," one of the strange men replied. "Come on; we're Oscar Mike."

Again with the strange words that did not make sense. They sure liked their code-words.

It did not take Saphira long to notice the return of her Rider. When she did, she swept down with enough force to knock several people backwards and Wallcroft straight on his back. Yaele helped him upright while Crane immediately aimed his weapon at her.

"Please refrain from harming the Delta Charlie," one of their escorts spoke without even bothering to look at what was going on."

Crane was not convinced. "The what?"

"Let me guess," Wallcroft said with an annoyed tone. "Draconic creature?"

There was no response from the soldiers. The elves however, were alarmed by the sudden appearance of a dragon, as they too stepped back and took to observing her. Had these elves been at the Blood-oath celebration as well? It would explain why there was no lethal response, but…they looked far too alarmed to be familiar with her. Perhaps they were just tired?

Saphira did not seem to care. She knocked her Rider to the ground and nearly crushed him with her body, in her joy to see him again. It was a sight that filled Arya with content as well; after all, this war had not yet ended all joy and pleasure in life.

Together, they moved higher up the mountain. They walked past what looked like a detached gun turret, a half-destroyed vehicle and several scouts. Already were there some of the Grunts and Sangheili wandering around, hindering and assisting with the tasks they were assigned to respectively. Eventually they encountered a large tent made out of a heavy-looking fabric, suspended around metal rings that jutted out from the ground. It looked more like a massive tunnel than a tent, in any case.

Troops came to assign to split the gathered elves in groups; they separated the wounded from those that were not and divided the unharmed ones into "cells". Those were groups of three or four members who were the closest together. They were then escorted to several places where they could put their skills to the best use.

Wallcroft and Crane were no exceptions. While Richard was taken away for a medical check-up, those two were reassigned to border duty, following a pre-determined path to watch out for Covenant patrols.

Only Eragon and Arya were allowed inside of what had to be the command tent. Islanzadí, Os Ranamai and a familiar man with spectacles were already inside, discussing their next course of action. The queen was the first to notice that there were newcomers, after which the two males turned around as well.

"If it isn't the battle-couple," the man remarked. "Welcome to the new world. You already know these two, and my name is First Lieutenant Mason, acting commander of the UNSC forces in the absence of the Captain."

Arya noticed that one individual was not present. "Where is Spartan?"

He did not grace her with an answer. "I won't lie to you; our situation is bad. Our last active drone indicates that the entire western front has been taken over by the covvies, from Carvahall to Aberon. It's a matter of time before they start swarming through these mountains as well. Eragon, Arya, you two will most likely run medical duty."

"But we can fight," Eragon protested. "Surely you would need us on the front?"

"Don't question orders, kiddo. To survive here, everybody needs to do as they are told when they are told. Now because you and Murtagh are the only ones who can communicate closely with the dragons, I understand that you want some clarity. You two are no marksmen, so you will waste ammo with your shots. However, you can use magic, which is why you will use it. We have hundreds of evacuated civilians, human or dwarf, who need medical attention stat."

What did he mean, the only ones? Did Spartan not count?

Eragon smartly saluted. "Sir."

"Where are Orik and King Hrothgar?" Arya asked her mother. "Nasuada and Ajihad?"

"Hrothgar decided that the dwarves with us would not follow human orders, after what happened," the queen replied. "Orik and he relay the orders and direct them. They attempt to tunnel to the underground cities, which would give us even more time and room."

"And it would trap us like roaches underground," Mason added.

"That is not my position to say. Ajihad is working on directing the forces of the Varden and Surda and take inventory of their wounded and dead. Nasuada directs the urgals."

The Lieutenant crossed his arms. "They sure do their heavy lifting each day. Officer, are these the last of the evacuees?"

The Sangheili turned to face the human. "They are. Some of my troops have stayed behind to direct the other elves to the east, but the main force is now stationed at this outpost."

"Good. We still can't reach the Captain and without the supplies in the ship, we're as good as dead."

"Did your vessel possess so many vehicles then?" the queen asked.

"We did. The circumstances of our missions meant we needed lots of toys to put to good use, experimental or not. That's not relevant now; Arya, the medical tents need more healers. Eragon? I might have something else for you. We're low on ammo, but there might be other ways. Look for the fabricators; they are turning the metal weapons and equipment into cartridges. Gather up a few elves while you're at it."

"Yes sir."

Arya nodded. "It shall be done."

"Good. Be quick about it; we can't keep the Covenant off our backs forever."

ONI Field Agent Night followed the Jiralhanae closely through the scope of his Sniper Rifle, approximately seven-hundred meters away. "Night here. Target confirmed; War Chieftain."

"Copy that. Can you make the shot?"

The Brute bellowed at a little Grunt before wandering off again, disappearing behind a crate of arms that a Phantom dropship had just dropped off. "Negative. Be advised; I have sights on another weapon crate. Looks like half a dozen plasma rifles."

"Copy your last, we're Oscar Mike. What's the situation?"

"I got eyes on six Grunts and three Jackels. Scratch that, four Jackels. No armour or air in sight."

"One approaching."

"Two, maintaining contact."

"Four, in position."

"Three, overwatch established."

"Night, sound off."

Field Agent Night pulled the trigger with a delicate and controlled movement, sending the 14,5x114 mm round through the alien's cranium. Its Power Armour did nothing to dissipate the sheer force of impact and the bullet tore through its skull within a fraction of a second, splattering dark blood all over the hot sand.

The others opened fire a heartbeat later, perforating the Grunts and Jackels with 7,62x51 mm cartridges that punched straight through their armour. The Covenant soldiers never spotted them, garbed in their desert ghillies as they were. They blended in perfectly with the dark sands of the desert around them, their positions only given away when they stood.

One last Jackel popped up from behind cover and Night send a round through its skull, smearing the sands with its head. The effects of a Sniper flechette were not pretty with the lightly-built heads of the Jackels. Even Grunts had sturdier faces.

"All clear, move up," Night told the team. The four soldiers who had hidden themselves in the desert as soon as the sun had started to set quickly advanced upon the ambush-site, where two proceeded to empty the weapon cache and stripped the bodies of all their valuables. Stupid things, he thought. Dropping that off like that.

Had these been Elites, he would have suspected a trap within the weapons. But the Brutes were just that; brutal monsters without a sense of tactics and ideas. To them, a trip to the mountains meant bringing more guns. Guns that now belonged to the increasingly-resupplying UNSC forces.

"Inventory check," Haze called.

"Seven Plasma rifles, six Pistols and four Needlers. Covvies were packing heat, too; at least two grenades per Grunt and at least three on the Brute."

That meant fifteen Plasma Grenades. One of those things was enough to flash-vaporize an entire squad of thrown right. They could use that. If the elves used their magic to prime and throw them at precise distances, they could obliterate entire armies.

"A shame we can't take the Chopper," Dusk said, before picking up one of the Plasma Grenades. "We could have used it to transport the goods."

Reaper grunted over the radio, before saying, "Remember Installation zero-four? Covenant set a trap using a transponder in a Grunt body."

"I still remember the Rubble, with tagged weapons," Undertow chimed in.

"That was then. Weapon-tags are easy to spot," Dusk said. "Let's move out. Desert will take care of the bodies."

They detonated the grenade on the Brute Chopper, turning the tank-sized bike into little more than a few shattered gears and molten metal. Another Operation completed. Night did not know how long they would be stuck on this world, but if they were to survive here, they would need weapons. Lots of them. And what better equipment to burn down Brutes than their own plasma weaponry? Not quite superior to the UNSC arms anymore, but there weren't a lot of experimental weapons on the surface yet. He had found the new 99 series 6 not far from where Graveyard had fallen, completely empty. Just as he had expected from the Agent; Graveyard had attempted to shoot the Brute even as the two of them had landed from roughly ten stories onto stone pavement.

Night had hoped that his friend had died on impact; struggling to move with all your internal organs smashed and perforated by crushed bones was one of the worst ways to go. Alone, afraid, in the worst pain of your life…he feared having to go out like that one day. He knew that he had a very big chance to go out that way either way, but…seeing it happen to Graveyard of all people was more than he could have handled.

Graveyard Shadeslayer, the first UNSC human to murder a Shade, let alone do so without injuries or preparations. And then he had gone and gotten himself killed, leaving Night in charge.

Night hated him for that. He wasn't cut out to be in charge; he had given the position to Haze. There was no better way to honor his best friend than to keep the team alive, no matter what the shrink had said.

The group retreated to the Beor mountains, where the dwarves were creating an easy-to-miss passage between the outskirts of the deserts to the Beartooth river. Where lots of angry people could get armed with good weapons.

It wasn't the first time that Night wondered if he should stay the same person. With each life that the Covenant and Insurrection took from him, he lost a part of himself. Sometimes he found it back with love, or things that made him feel joy inside, but more often than not he was left with this cold emptiness in his stomach. It hurt, too; kept him from sleeping, kept him from enjoying the company of others. Kept him from feeling at peace, no matter where he was. Death was always around him. If he no longer cared what happened, would he not be better off? If he didn't feel anything anymore, wouldn't he be able to live on without problems?

But that was the problem. He was who he was, and nothing could change that. It could only be chipped away from, death by death. And no matter the nightmares, no matter the fights, he wouldn't change. When he was Night, he was someone else. He was death and misery and destruction, nameless, voiceless, requiring only to be guided towards the next target. He couldn't be like that during his normal life too, as much as he hated it. Dusk could be as rude as he wanted and never feel guilty, Undertow could start as many fights as he wanted without ever dreaming about them and Reaper…well, he didn't know Reaper well enough to judge him yet.

He just had to be one of those soldiers who didn't change as time passed by. His core personality remained the same, and he despised that.

The five soldiers made their way to the tightest bottleneck of the mountains, where the black dragon still lay where she had fallen, unmoving.

Everybody ignored her, as they did every time they passed her by. Everybody except for Night, who stopped when he passed by her massive head.

Haze turned around and looked at him. "Again?" he asked.

"I'll be home shortly," he muttered. "You guys go ahead."

The soldier sighed. "Fine. I'll see you at dinner."

Leaving him alone with the dragoness, the four other Field Agents walked off with their objective. Night turned to look at the large creature, wondering how nature could have come up with something like that. It didn't seem biologically possible…she didn't seem biologically possible. Breathing fire was an impossibility in its own right, but her sheer size was one of the things that had him thinking on her species. What did she need to eat to keep herself fit? How could a race of these creatures exist without scouring the land dry of everything edible? They should be unable to fit in with…just about any ecosystem except for the sea.

Night sat down a few meters away from her head and sighed. It had been…about an hour or two since the sentries had spotted Secret-Spartan zero-zero-seven lying on the sand, smoking and unmoving. His vital signs had crashed, which wasn't all that surprising considering how much punishment he had taken. Half his armour had been molten by plasma, resulting in burns on about seventy percent of his body. He had either taken a Plasma Grenade from up close or a Fuel Rod blast to get to a point like this.

A point like this. He had survived his injuries to regroup with the ones who cared about him and return to where the new camp would be, only to collapse there. It had taken the UNSC at least six marines and a Pelican Dropship to transport him back to the medical tents, together with the elf who sat by his side, nonresponding to all outside stimuli.

"I think it's unfair that the spooks told me your name," he said. "You should have at least had the chance to do it yourself."

Of course she didn't respond. She had been catatonic when the soldiers had offered to take her with them, and she had been unresponsive when they had taken a blood sample, checked for any internal damage and otherwise measured her health. She was…physically fine. Apart from the fact that she was obviously dying.

Night didn't really know why he was here. He had read the reports on her species though, and he did know what was going on at the moment. Or what was going on in theory. The thesis was that these creatures could bond their minds together in a very close manner, letting them communicate via a sort of telepathy. And when one died, the other experienced what if felt like if a major part of who you were suddenly tore itself away from their mind, experiencing death without getting the chance to leave as well.

Like loving a lost one, ramped up to eleven. It wouldn't surprise Night if the creature had lost the will to live. After all, what reason to live did it have left?

He wasn't going to insult it –her- by talking about how he knew what it felt like to lose a loved one. He didn't –not like this, anyway. For better or for worse, he would probably never find out either. "You know, I'm going to be honest with you. It's not going to get better. No. In fact, it's only going to get worse. More people will die, more lives will be lost."

Of course she wouldn't care. After all, what measure were their lives to the one she had just lost? But he had to try, if only for the most selfish and disgusting reasons. They needed all the manpower they could get and what more manpower could they wish for than an intelligent creature capable of lifting hundreds of kilos at once?

Fuck it. He wasn't going to do it. Not now, anyway. "If the Covenant finds us…when the Covenant find us, they will be crossing this road. You don't want to be here when they do."

She probably did, but he'd be damned if he just let her die like this. She had done more for the Spartan than his entire race combined, and that wasn't fair. "I don't want to give you idle hope, but there's a saying in our outfit. Not mine per se, but the UNSC. They say that Spartans never die, but that they just go missing in action. Now, I know it sounds dumb. It was invented as a way to increase morale in our army. But the Spartans are the stuff of legend. Yours isn't necessarily one of the real ones, but that doesn't take away from the things that he has done."

The dragon never moved. Neither did she give any other sign that she was aware of his presence. It was saddening, to see such a majestic creature just…waste away. No food, no water, barely any shelter from the elements. But nobody could move her, and nobody was willing to risk piss her off and have their camp set on fire.

"Suppose in the end, everybody has to go. But that doesn't mean it's fair…and it doesn't mean has to happen today."

More meaningless words. More empty promises of a future to look forward to. Night had spent them for tonight; he was done.

The way back to the main camp didn't occupy his thoughts enough. He had enough of his civilian life climbing mountains and hiking through narrow passes that these paths in the Beors meant nothing to him. The sun had set, but there was still enough light to enjoy the sights around him. Bravo site was a beautiful place to settle down and built defenses; lots of perfect ambush positions, snipers could turn entire valleys into death traps and best of all, their positions were located far away enough to not have their entire camp destroyed by mortars and enemy air support when the enemy broke through, but still close enough to support each other when infantry attacked. They didn't need to worry about running out of ordnance, as they had taken enough enemy weaponry with them to either arm all the refugees once or all the soldiers twice.

It was food that they didn't have enough of. There weren't a lot of wild animals in these mountains and what little food they had with them wasn't exactly edible. MRE's could only get you so far before you died of boredom or indigestion.

The first few outposts were very hard to spot, even for a Field Agent like him. They were hidden behind the rock outcroppings, where they had positioned their magically-altered tents just out of vision. Cracks where machinegun-barrels could nearly be spotted, nooks from where watchful and experienced soldiers would keep an eye on everything approaching them…nothing except for a group of stealthed Covenant soldiers would get past here in one piece.

Night walked past the nigh-invisible motion-detectors, a smile on his face. He didn't know who the sharp soldier who had been smart enough to take those babies from the When Duty Ends with him was, but he would buy the man a beer should he ever meet him. Those detectors were directly translated into a high-quality radar-screen, salvaged from a Scorpion MBT and tinkered with so that it showed any and all contacts that were detected by the motion tracker.

A bit like the motion trackers that the Spartans possessed.

They had spotted him, no doubt. Locals with keen eyes were chosen from the refugees, instructed in military code-words (rudimentary, of course) and assigned to the gunners, where they could relay the positions of the enemy.

Nobody would question him about his whereabouts. The rest of his squad had just passed through these rocks, so they ought to be expecting him.

Night passed the first and second layer of defenses, stopping only to look at the dwarves' attempt to help bury a Scorpion tank into the rocks, where only the turret would be visible. It looked better than he had expected; the turret could still whirl around freely, the pilot could easily enter through the hatch and the target presented to the enemy was minimalized by the way the dwarves had entombed the vehicle. They were proving their worth, even though they didn't directly obey their orders yet. They could tunnel and built like the best, which was a true advantage here in the mountain.

Until the Covenant started digging, of course.

Cooking was a dangerous thing to do here in the mountain range, which was exactly why he couldn't smell any of the cooking smells that usually went accompanied with camping. After all, Jackels had a very keen scent and smoke could be seen from miles away. A better way to signal "humans be here" didn't exist.

But that didn't mean that nobody was cooking; every able-bodied soldier carried enough survival-gear to make it through two weeks of solitude. Between that and heads filled with know-how on surviving situations like these, they weren't going die of hunger or thirst anytime soon.

Night soon found the "kitchens" dedicated to feeding the many hundreds of survivors. There were easily a hundred UNSC soldiers, a hundred elves and fifty dwarves, three hundred civilians, another three hundred Varden and Surda soldiers…they were going to need their cities back sooner or later. Food couldn't be created out of nothing, and neither could water. The elves, however skilled, couldn't cause miracles. They could create ammunition from metals and chemicals found in soils and spent supplies and treat most of the wounded soldiers that they had to work with, but they couldn't create things out of nothing.

And feeding them was a bitch. There was no worse time in life to be a vegetarian than in war; proteins made muscles work and healed wounds, but they were not found in leaves and plants. And just like proteins were not found in plants, plants were not found in mountains.

He wondered if the elven race would come to hate the UNSC if they fed them the MRE's, saying that they didn't contain traces of animals. He could already hear discussions between the pointy-eared hippies and the chefs trying to serve them meals. They might be wise and so very inviting to the eye, but it was hard to argue with veteran soldiers who had mastered the art of sarcasm and cynicisms.

"We are very much aware of the war raging, human. But we will not let animals become the victims of our fights."

"Listen. This is very simple. If god had wanted us to spare animals from being food, he would not have made them out of food."

Some soldiers laughed, but Night cringed. It was so damn childish to admonish someone for their believes, self-destructive as they might be.

"And here I was thinking that Starborn humanity was wiser than to believe in gods."

"It's a saying, numbnuts. Just like "if you love animals so much, why do you eat all their food?""

The elves were not amused. They had split up in their work-groups, meaning that there were clusters of three to five individuals scattered around the mountain sides. There were more sights of military security and phase lines for fallback plans, including some very smartly-placed C12 explosive charges and grenade traps with warning signs around them. More Warthogs and Scorpions dug in, as well as improvised landing pads for the Pelicans. India three-sixteen had been forced to make an emergency-landing somewhere in the desert when her fuel had ran out. She had made it back with a Mongoose, but the AC207 was still stuck somewhere where nobody could find it without some good hardware. If they could get that thing working again, and protected with sufficient air-support…they could make a serious push into Covenant territory and cease one of the cities.

Maybe Uru'baen…Night imagined working from that capital with its massive walls and magic-reinforced stone ceiling, protected from most airborne threats and enemies. The thought filled him with hope and more ideas than he could work with at the moment. He would have to set it aside for now.

He left the complaining people behind and moved through the camp, inspecting the others. Most individuals from the respective species stayed separated from each other, choosing to sit with members from their own race instead.

Not all of them though. It appeared that there were many persons hanging around with members of the other races. A woman, sitting with the urgals. Some men, sitting with the dwarves. An ODST sitting next to an elf, explaining to her all the things about Covenant weapons and members. Telling her how to fight them, how to survive them and how to win.

That last one got his attention. He knew that ODST; he had been the last to be evacuated from Du Weldenvarden, together with the elven princess and that Rider boy -the partner of Saphira, the blue dragon. He was sitting on a large rock next to the nice-looking lady, just a few inches next to her, his helmet dropped next to him. He had a large scar in his neck and he could really use a shave, but otherwise he wasn't all that bad to look at.

He couldn't hear their conversation, but he saw their interaction. Saw how the ODST gently nudged the elf's shoulder, gestured at one of the soldiers and then told her something again. Saw how the elf reacted, unsure but still with affection and life, which was devoid with most of those who stayed too much with their own kind.

Night didn't know more about the elves than what he had read. They were stronger and faster than humans, gifted with magic and not unpleasant to look at. First Lieutenant Mason suspected that they used some sort of pheromone to "woo" other species, almost hypnotizing them with attraction and…well-aimed stares. Other than that, they were vain. Arrogant, stuck in their way like old republicans. They also had the lowest population number of all the species in Alagaesia, Ra'zac and dragons not included.

This elf didn't look vain or arrogant. She looked uncertain, like she wasn't too sure about how to proceed. She was lucky with her ODST though; most members of that outfit were brash, immature and somewhat crazy. This one looked calm and collective, almost like he was helping her get used to this new world.

A good man, Night thought. He remembered his session with the shrinks. What little use they had had in the end. Hope worked better than psychiatric workouts did, though it was also hard to come by now. Only a select few people were informed about the Spartan's passing. Not just because Spartans had the tendency to defy the impossible and come back from the dead, but also because all hope would shatter and burn if the people found out that he was dead. For some people here, he was the sole reason that they fought this threat at all.

ONI's policy. Spartans never die, they just go missing. He despised them. Despised their ideas and programs…couldn't bring himself to hate the Spartan. But without him, the war was as good as lost. They would need a miracle to get him back –and as he had already established, no magic in the world could bring about miracles.

Seeing that ODST spent his time with the elf loosened many memories in Night's head. He remembered how he had protected that other elf on the Scarab by jumping on top of her, shielding her from the blast and the shrapnel. He remembered the times where he had wished that he had been given the chance to give his life by doing that same thing. The times where he woke up and reached for a gun, only to remember how much the UNSC needed every soldier in the conflict, no matter what their state of mind was.

No Spartan. No support. So many ideas and plans. Where to start?

Someone established a connection to his radio and shattered the careful web of thoughts he had created for himself. "Hey Night, we got a contact at the western entrance. Looks like one ours, but there's a problem."

Night sighed. He was hungry and tired. He had been planning on introducing himself to one of those elf ladies as well. "Night copies. A problem?"

"It looks like he has a Shade with him."

Shades...he had heard the stories about them. The good one, the bad ones, the one that had been strong enough to beat their Spartan at close-combat. Killed only by a strike at the heart, like the vampires of old. Stoker's ones, if he wasn't mistaken. His sister had loved those gothic-ish stories. "Roger that, Night is Oscar Mike."

Another piece in this massive game of interactions twists and bends. As if he hadn't enough to worry about.