"Hey!" Clover did not attempt to mask the panic in his voice as the three of them came across the first group of rebels in the vicinity, hurrying toward them and waving his arms wildly to catch their attention in the dizzy haze of heat. "This man's hurt! We need help!"
Luke was indeed hurt, and hurt badly. He was leaning heavily on Romulus now, each breath a horrible, cracking gasp for air. The wound was a sickly color, and both Clover and Romulus resisted the urge to retch at the sight. Luke resisted the urge to retch from the pain.
The group of three dusty, sweaty, bloody men turned abruptly to the approaching three, hands tightening about their weapons in alarm. Romulus and Luke, dragging behind the satyr, stumbling and trudging through the burning sand, paid the group no mind, focusing simply on getting the young demigod to shelter and, hopefully, health. Clover, however, started. His eyes flashed as the weapons were leveled at him, and he tensed into a defensive position, ready to charge any and all attackers that headed his way.
Luckily, he didn't have to.
One of the men, evidently one of high influence, caught sight of Luke's weak, hanging form, and his eyes tightened.
"Help 'im," he muttered to his compatriots, and they scrambled toward Luke.
Clover watched them as they passed, turning to catch sight of them lift Luke off Romulus's shoulders and ease him onto their own. Romulus looked relieved, though Clover did not miss the glint of fear in his eyes, and the satyr's own heart dropped in anticipation of all that could go wrong. He decided, then and there, that today would not be the day Luke died.
Resolutely, he turned to the man who had helped him, but the man's weathered features showed something that was far from kind. His eyes were hard, very hard, as if the barren wasteland of the planet had left him devoid of emotion, too.
"Who are you?" It was a question, and one Clover did not know how to answer.
To say they were rebels would invite questions and suspicions they could not answer to. To say they were with the Empire would be to condemn them to a quick death by way of a blaster bullet. Clover hastily chose the third option, their only option.
"We live here...," Clover paused, surveying the surroundings, "Used to live here," he corrected.
Indeed, the little trading post that had once been a majority of the civilized world of Jakku was now more akin to the trash heaps its scavengers dug through. Up close, Clover could see much more clearly the devastation the conflict had brought upon the town. He tried to avoid the sights of the mangled dead, thrown by explosions into overturned trading stalls, skewered by rusted ruins of buildings, but his eyes were still drawn to them.
He wondered, then, how much the rebellion was truly worth its cost. The man before him seemed to be having the same thoughts, his own eyes traveling about the graveyard of the town.
"I apologize." His voice was grave, and Clover looked back to him to see that emotion had returned to the wasteland of his eyes.
Clover nodded his acceptance, and then promptly turned to Luke and Romulus.
"My friend," he reminded the men, "He needs help immediately."
He turned back to the leader of the group, but all emotion had fled his eyes. "We will take you before our lieutenant, and he will decide what to do with you from there. We cannot provide you much medical assistance, and for that, again, I apologize. But we cannot risk the presence of the Empire among the survivors."
Understanding, Clover nodded. The three could do nothing to change this, but he protested against the fact that Luke would have little help. Then again, he reminded himself, he doubted the "medical assistance" of the Rebellion could affect the poison that was now surging through Luke's veins. One glance in Romulus's direction confirmed it.
The werewolf was standing tall, watching the proceedings with those intense blue eyes that seemed to be able to rend one's soul from their body, examine it, and return it, all in a first glance. But they were sad now: not hopeless, but sad.
"Very well," Romulus agreed when the conversation was done. "Take us where we must go. All I ask is what I need to care for my friend."
As if conscious of his surroundings, Luke's head lolled, and Clover's heart sunk.
- - -
Cassian and Rowan's instincts had not lead them wrong. Through a barred window opposite them that let a few streams of light sift into the partisan base, they watched the massive column of green energy slam into Jedha City, destroying it and every inhabitant in waves of flame.
They had little time to grieve, for then they saw that the waves of flame had lifted the earth itself and were now rolling toward them.
The partisans scrambled in panic, a disorganized stampede to escape the impending doom headed straight toward them. But Cassian and Rowan were ready. Nodding to her, Cassian sparked the lock to their cell, and it slid open, violently slamming into the ceiling.
"Get Jyn!" Cassian commanded, but Rowan didn't need it, for she was already sprinting down the hall toward wherever Jyn had been led, dodging falling debris and hoping beyond hope she would not be crushed in her scramble to get to the woman. Her eyes were wide, her pace frantic as she slammed into walls and around corners, grunting in pain when a particularly sharp corner stabbed into her ribs.
Relief would have brought laughter to her lips had she not been in so much pain when she saw the large circular room at the end of the winding passageway, its entrance not yet blocked by the falling debris. Jyn knelt in the center, curled into herself, a position of such despair and sorrow that Rowan could not help but pity. But urgency forced her neglect of the subject, and she charged into the room, roaring Jyn's name.
She skidded to a halt at the sight of Saw Gererra watching her, much of his body replaced with mechanics, the rest frazzled with madness. There was the gleam of it in his eyes, paranoia brought upon by so much war, and Rowan inched forward to Jyn now, finger readied to pull the trigger of her blaster should the situation call for it. She had met such men in prison, POW's that had drowned their wits in bloodlust. She became acutely aware of the ring on her finger.
Her eyes never left Saw's as she crouched beside Jyn, her hand coming to rest upon the woman's shoulder with as much compassion as she could muster. The fog of her own sorrow and bitterness was lifted from her mind at the sight of her companion's state.
"Jyn..." she said lowly, forcing herself to control her panic, "Jyn, we need to go."
But the woman was unresponsive, still frozen in the pain that had rent her heart, the pain brought to the surface in the tears rolling down her cheeks. There was a loud clatter of footsteps behind them, and Rowan whipped about, leveling her blaster at the potential threat, and was relieved when it was Cassian's face, streaked with sweat and dirt, that appeared in the doorway.
"Rowan!" His voice was urgent, loud. "We've got to go!"
He looked helplessly to Jyn's form, but Rowan had turned back to her, and was now gripping her upper arm and pulling her to her feet despite the heaviness of her sorrow. Cassian was there then, his own blaster leveled at Saw.
"Jyn, we know where your father is." Cassian's voice was soft and persuasive, and to Rowan's relief, Jyn broke from her reverie.
Her eyes came violently back to the world about her, and dread filled her expression at the rolling wave of earth fast approaching.
"Go with them, Jyn." Saw's voice was soft and sad, and pity moved in Rowan's heart for the man who had once been truly great.
"Come with us," Jyn begged, now actively resisting Rowan's pull. She grunted at this, the pain in her side flaring to life once more.
Saw Gerrera's eyes grew tired. "No, I will run no longer." Rowan was taken aback by the sheer majesty that then entered his form, the way he drew himself up, prepared to face his end, and she thought with a pang of how honored her father would be to have such a man in his realm. Her grip loosened imperceptibly; her resolve weakened.
"Come on," Cassian whispered, already moving out of the collapsing room, his hand now wrapped about Rowan's forearm. At his voice, she started and realized the danger of their situation. The crashing sound of the rocks falling in the hall, coupled with the cacophony of faint screams and the violent trembling of the earth, growing ever more unsteady, urged her to tighten her grip on Jyn's arm and pull her back into the hall.
"But you must save yourself!" Jyn roared, struggling against Rowan with a returned vehemence toward the extremist.
But Saw Gerrera wasn't moving, and Rowan met his eyes then. She recognized the resolve that Jyn had not yet.
"Go! There's no time! Save the Rebellion! Save the dream!" Saw's voice rose above the tumult of noise, breaking through it all in a way that caused even Cassian to shudder, and Jyn's fight was finally ended. With a muttered curse, Rowan jerked Jyn back into the hall and forced her to keep moving. The three stumbled through the tunnels of the fortress, slamming into walls as they repeatedly lost their balance while the earth reeled beneath them.
There seemed no end to the dust and debris, each frantic step a pointless endeavor to escape death. But still they scrambled on, on until light streamed through the massive gates of the fortress, and the pounding noise found reprieve in the open air of the planet. Joy filled Rowan until she saw the wave of earth drawing ever nearer. Once outside, she realized its size to be far greater than she had seen through the window of Saw Gererra's private quarters and the window directly across from hers and her companion's cell.
"Where's K?" she roared to Cassian over the heart-wrenching sound of cracking earth.
"On his way!" Cassian roared back as they entered the exodus of partisans and prisoners running chaotically about in search for an escape. Rowan crashed into a stunned figure as she followed Cassian, and the two stumbled forward, fighting back against her original momentum. She grabbed hold of them and steadied them both, all the while continuing to move, forced forward by panic. She was relieved when she saw it was the pilot, Bohdi.
"We gotta go, mate! C'mon!" Her voice seemed impotent against the roaring destruction headed toward them, and it was. So entranced with what seemed his death, Bohdi was nearly frozen in place, the only indication of life his staggering struggle against the gusting, hurricane-like winds. Exasperated, Rowan grabbed hold of the dusty sleeve of his shabby uniform and pulled him forward, in the direction she assumed Cassian had gone.
Her eyes searched desperately through the haze of sand to find Cassian's familiar form, and unspeakable relief filled her when she spotted him, herding the escapees of their cell into the hovering belly of the U-Wing. K-2 had come. Spurred on by irrefutable hope, Rowan's steps grew faster, scrambling, as she dragged Bohdi, only now coming to terms with the chaos around them.
As they closed in on the U-Wing, Rowan met Cassian's eyes as he perched on the edge of the shaking, bobbing ship, reaching out his hands to grab and hoist Bohdi in, for the pilot had redoubled his speed a few feet away from his escape. Exhaustion surging through her limbs, Rowan threw herself forward and up just as Cassian turned about, and he caught her forearms. Momentum sent them tumbling in, and there was a loud bang before they were suddenly immersed in deathly quiet, broken only by the muffled roaring outside, and a dim, artificial light. Rowan shuddered at the impression, as if she had fallen into an ocean of bated stillness from a world of chaos.
Staving off the thoughts she worked desperately to avoid, she steeled her expression and her mind, extricated herself from the pile her and Cassian had landed in, helped him to his feet, and moved through the muttering mass of people to the cockpit. She did not see Cassian's expression when he beheld hers. It was concerned, kind, and dreading of what Rowan might have discovered in her lonely wanderings through what once had been the Holy City of Jedha.
- - -
When Jason came to, his first reaction was surprise. There was no way that he ought to have survived that last attack, and his ears were still ringing from the blast of wind that had fired him far across the sky. In the struggle to regain power over his venti, he'd lost consciousness- and control. Before all had gone black, he'd seen the Atlantic Ocean rising to meet his body, free-falling through the air as the sky seemed to laugh maliciously about him.
Zeus was standing over him when his eyes, flickering, and his head, sore, registered the room in which he lay; it was their hastily constructed tent of cloud, close enough to the ocean and far enough from the sky to be relatively safe from the attacks of Ouranos, Koios, and Krios.
With a grunt of pain, he pushed himself up and examined his limbs. Little seemed harmed, but his legs were sore and bruised from his constant combat from the back of a horse-shaped venti, and he was sure his hair stood on end from his proximity to their lightning manes. About him, ducking beneath the folds of cloud and watching him closely and gravely, stood what little commanders their resistance could boast of: Aeolus, accompanied by Boreas, Zephyros, Notus, and Eurus, and an exhausted Zeus.
The god's war helm was discarded on an ornate table to the left of the cot, pushed into the corner. Outside, Jason could hear- no, sense- the unease of their forces: a hodgepodge collection of venti unwilling to serve Kymopoleia, whose defeat was inevitable anyway.
"So...," Jason's voice was tired, reflecting the lines carved into the faces of even the immortals around him, "what's next?"
It was the question no one wanted to ask, but the one lurking deep within their hearts all the same. For weeks now, they had barely staved off the forces of Ouranos, each day his army of three growing ever nearer to the earth they tried so desperately to protect. And, much the way they were losing ground, they were losing morale. It began to seem as if there was no hope left.
None of their messages were reaching headquarters either; Krios had made sure of that, destroying any and all lines of communication they once had. Jason could only imagine how his friends felt as they watched the failing battle in the sky, the encroaching arm of Ouranos, come to wipe them out, once and for all. The night before, there had been a major loss. The armed post led by Notus had been overrun with Koios's forces and had plunged into the sea. Most of the venti under his command had been swept up by Kymopoleia, and were no longer in control of their own will. Notus had barely escaped.
As if the others were pondering these circumstances with him, the mood of the room seemed drowned in dread and exhaustion. Jason slumped; the immortals began to pace listlessly about the tent.
There was suddenly a shift in energy from outside, and the six commanders lurched to attention, Jason sliding out of the cot and moving to the tent's entrance. The venti were restless, and one- a ghostly figure of a boy with electric eyes and smoky wings- moved through the ranks toward him. Jason hailed him respectfully, and the spirit quickened his pace.
"Koios is coming, my lord." The boy did his best to hide the note of dread in his voice. He had been one of the few venti to escape the ravages of Koios at Notus's outpost.
Jason nodded, refusing to entertain the fear that slunk into his heart. "Thank you," were his only words before he turned back into the tent. But Zeus had already heard, and was giving out his orders with the fire of a general not quite ready to admit hopelessness. Inspired, Jason listened closely for his own commands, and once informed, whirled about to the venti surrounding them.
Forcing his head high, he moved through the ranks to his own troop, calling out orders along the way until he hoisted himself upon the back of the faithful venti that had borne him through many of these battles, one he had unfortunately been forced to surrender to Aeolus during the last charge and replace with a less than loyal steed, the loyal steed that had been content with his plummet through space.
Reigning in the spirit that shifted with uncertainty beneath him, Jason turned to face the incoming threat. This was not the first attack from Koios they had been forced to face, and he swore to himself that it would not be the last, not unless it was Koios that admitted defeat. The titan came like a wind first, rustling through the ranks, instilling fear as the poisonous dread of his renowned power and intelligence stabbed knife-like into their minds. Jason did his best to ignore it, choosing instead to watch for the fateful darkening of the air that would indicate the titan's arrival.
Sure enough, it came, a large sweeping shadow that sent a whole rank of venti swirling through the skies, losing control of themselves. But the surprise worked only once, and the ranks about the first were prepared. Jason had only one moment of composure, one breath, before him and his troops were plunged into the raging battle.
With a roar, he charged, and the venti followed, concentrating his and their efforts onto the unguarded shadow of the titan's torso, aiming directly for the heart. Though they could not kill the immortal, they could weaken him, incapacitate him enough for Zeus and Aeolus to sweep from the heavens and launch a barrage of power upon the titan's head, driving him back across the ground they had lost. They desperately needed a victory; the venti were less inclined to fight their enemies with each passing hour, and Jason could feel an unhealthy urge within the troops about him to drop their loyalties and flee to the service of Kymopoleia down below.
The fight was loud and muffled in Jason's ears as he worked his troop ever further into the dark mass of swirling air and lightning that indicated the heart of the battle. It was uncanny, this fight. A rustling breeze might be just that or it might be a warrior passing close by, headed into even greater peril. As the world about him grew darker and darker, to the point where he struggled to see the blade gripped tightly in his hand, it also grew eerily silent. No longer could he hear the sounds of battle, nor the troop behind him, nor the crackle of lightning arching through the air from his father's bolts.
Uncertain, Jason stilled the venti beneath him, forcing his muscles to relax, his breathing to slow, as he turned the spirit in a circle, examining the dark world about him. Nothing moved in the shadows, not even his breath stirred the air. Fear clenched his heart, and the venti whinnied uncomfortably, shifting about on its hooves. Jason placed a comforting hand upon the spirit's sleek neck, forcing himself to use the glow of the lightning mane to peer further into the darkness. But there was nothing, and Jason was alone.
Suddenly, light burst about him, and he cried out in pain, throwing up his arms to shield his eyes. It was a cold blue, icy brilliance, and it was some time before Jason could lower arms to examine what had happened. With dread, his gaze met two massive eyes, glowering down upon him, anger seething beneath the surface. Jason had missed the titan's heart. He was now face to face with Koios and had no backup.
"Hello, son of Jupiter," came the voice, old, majestic, like the open sky of a thousand centuries, and angry with the anger of a thousand centuries of wrong.
Jason couldn't breathe. He gripped his sword tightly, involuntarily readying himself against a fight he knew he could never win. The titan laughed, and only then did Jason realize his futility in the face of such immorality. What was he, a mortal, to do against the might of a creature that had existed since near the dawn of time? Beneath him, the venti reeled.
"Why fight, boy?" The last word was spat. "Why fight a battle you cannot win?"
Jason had no answer, though he knew in his heart of hearts he would not surrender. Koios knew it, too, but laughed mockingly, scathingly, raised his arm, and then Jason was tumbling out of the sky, losing control, plummeting through space once more. About him, lightning flashed, thunder roared, the cries of battle raged on, but there was no tether, no tie, that could hold him to the venti swept from beneath him.
The darkness swirling confusedly about his falling body ended abruptly, and he broke through the cloud line and into the sun. Beneath him, the Atlantic glittered like diamonds and sapphires, the sun reflected off each wave, and Jason had a distinct feeling of deja vu. Suddenly, the reality of his situation hit his stunned mind, and he roared out in alarm.
Beside him, his faithful venti fell, too, floundering in the air just as he did. Scrambling against the wind, Jason steadied himself and propelled himself toward the spirit, calling out for it to steady as he grabbed hold of its mane, ignoring the sensation of electricity running up his arms. With a roar of effort, he pulled himself onto the creatures back, and the both of them slowed to a halt far beneath the battle raging above.
It was then that Jason caught sight of something on the horizon, a darkening against the sun, sickly green. He turned the venti in the direction of the discoloring, and his heart fell like a lead weight to his gut.
There on the horizon, moving steadily and surely toward the coastline on which the last remaining headquarters of demigods sheltered, was Typhon, coming like a tornado of sickening chaos and destruction.
As Jason's eyes widened and his soul seemed torn in two by the despair and dread that ravaged him, he remembered Koios's words, and they whispered in his ears like some confirmation of defeat: "Why fight, boy? Why fight a battle you cannot win?"