A/N: *claws her way through dirt and cobwebs to burst out of a shallow grave* *Coughs* "I LIIIIIIIIIIIVE!"

Psych! You probably thought I wasn't going to finish this story, didn't ya? Surprise!

But gosh. I'm SOOOO sorry it took me this long to update this fic...or write anything, really. It wasn't intentional. Life just took some crazy turns, and I had to step away for a while. I both needed space from this piece and didn't have time to write anyway. So here we are, 4 freaking months later.

With my humblest apologies—yet deep excitement—I finally bring you the closing chapter of this odd AU. If you're still around to read this, thank you. Ironically, it came very close to the third anniversary of Torna, so that's fun.

But before we dive in: a 'lil trigger warning. There is a rather...graphic depiction of violence. If you're sensitive to violence, I recommend stopping after you read the line "Rubble flying." and skipping to a dialogue that starts with, "I...It can't be." if you're on the queasy side. You won't miss any major plot points (and it is an admittedly short section—just trying to be sensitive). Other sections within the chapter get somewhat dark, but that's the one truly gnarly spot.

...I think that's everything. Buckle up, folks. Here we go.

Chapter 4

After Despair and Hope

Aboard the Elysium, now self-piloting thanks to the coordinates Rex put into the navigation system, all fell quiet. With the initial exhilaration of success fading, everyone finally seemed to realize just how much the day's fight wore them out. Feeling a bit better than the rest, Lora volunteered to stay awake and monitor their progress.

"It'll take about an hour for the ship to take the roundabout way home," she pointed out, recalling that the Elysium was too big to fit through some of the city streets, and it could only maintain a limited altitude. Rex's repairs were a limited fix, and full repairs would come later. As a result, they were forced to take a circuitous route back to base. "Some of us might as well get a nap," she continued. "I'll keep watch and wake you all when we're close."

No one protested that arrangement, and in a matter of minutes, most of the party had fallen asleep. Tora and Nia snuggled close to Rex in a corner, with the Nopon nuzzled under his armpit and the Gormotti resting her head on his knees. Meanwhile, Zeke and Mòrag collapsed into the copilot's seat and nodded off, apparently unbothered by the fact that they'd stuffed themselves into a seat built for one and created a tangle of limbs.

What a funny little family we've become, Lora thought.

And then it hit her: in all her days of scouting the ruined land for some trace of Rynea, she failed to appreciate the new family right in front of her. With this odd troupe of fighters, she felt at home. And what a strange mix they were: a lanky, idealistic boy with a knack for finding and fixing things; a boisterous furball who had better robotics skills than most humans; a military experiment turned friend; two fighters who should have been destined for the political arena but signed onto the Force when necessity demanded it; and herself, a woman raised by a single mother, always told she'd never amount to much.

And yet here they were, cozily bunched together. Safe. Whole. The emptiness in her chest didn't feel quite so big anymore, she realized. Come to think of it, the emptiness was gone, replaced by a strange sense of belonging she hadn't felt in a long time.

That sensation only increased when they pulled into the makeshift wharf outside the Special Force's headquarters. The mission had been classified as top-secret, but judging by the crowds standing to greet them, word must have gotten out. Their cheers were raucous, their celebration long. By the time Lora managed to escape the celebration to grab lunch, she wished she hadn't volunteered to skip the nap on the way home. She quickly retreated to her room and capitalized on some much-needed sleep.

In the days that followed, the Special Force's encampment took on a new, contagious energy. To the few children that still remained with the Special Force, the world seemed...excited, somehow. Most of the adults didn't look quite as worried to them, and as a result, the youngsters took that as license to run about as if it was some sort of holiday.

Rex almost agreed with them; many times, he joined in their raucous games of dodgeball or tag when he had a moment to spare. And yet...there was something odd about the way some of the "grown-ups" acted, and that observation prevented him from fully sharing the kids' glee. Some of the older survivors looked resigned, as if they didn't believe the ship could truly save them. It was especially true for the oldest folks.

"Why are you so sad?" Rex asked one of the oldest soldiers near him. He'd sat near them the entire lunch hour, and the man and his companion hadn't smiled once. "We'll be out of here soon. The Elysium will save us. It'll be fixed any day now. So cheer up!"

The soldier gave a defeated-looking smile. "Never lose that optimism, kiddo. Never stop smiling. Keep smiling for us."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

But without another word, the older soldier got up and left the table. It was several days before Rex understood his words.

"One, two, three!"

Zeke gripped the barrel tightly, ignoring his screaming leg muscles as he hoisted his end into the air. The fuel inside sloshed awkwardly, then Hugo got his end stabilized, and they started to walk with it—short, hefty steps. Up the gangplank, then a good two or three minutes of shuffling to the section of the Elysium that Addam had designated as the fuel storage area.

It was grueling work. More than once, Zeke found himself cursing that the last forklift had fallen off the face of the earth (literally) when the equipment garage collapsed. That heavy equipment would have made short work of the task. But here they were, stuck doing it by hand because the planet continued to crumble. And no amount of training in the gym could have prepared him for the strain of picking up and setting down all these damn barrels. At least this should be the last day of it.

"H-here," Hugo panted, nodding towards a spot.

Once Hugo's fingers cleared the bottom rim, Zeke let gravity do the rest of the work. The barrel collided with the ship's floor, a thud of metal on metal. And without a word, the two men propped their elbows against it to catch their breath.

"If, uh, if I never h-have to look at another barrel after today, I won't complain," Zeke huffed.

"Fair enough," Hugo replied, a hint of a laugh breaking into his voice. The slight man recovered from the exertion quickly...almost unnervingly fast. No wonder he made such a good defender in a fight. "Your help is certainly appreciated though. Thank you for giving up your usual post to help."

"Eh, it was nothing really. Anything to get us off this rock sooner."

"So Lora tells me that Mòrag hasn't been back in their dorm room for several nights in a row now," Hugo said abruptly.

Zeke stiffened, suddenly very grateful that they'd set down the barrel before Hugo made that statement. He might have dropped it on his toe otherwise.

"I think, perhaps, you might be able to tell me why," Hugo continued.

Zeke forced himself to stand to his full height, fully aware that although the Lieutenant General was a petite man, he could do deadly amounts of damage with just a shove of his photon shield. Hugo was a dangerous man when crossed. And everyone in the force knew he tended to protect his sister (much to Mòrag's annoyance). For him to say such a thing…

Zeke pushed several stray bangs out of his eye and met Hugo's gaze. "If you're asking me about it and not Mòrag, then I bet you already know the answer to that question. Or you at least have a guess."

Hugo huffed through his nose, half-amused. "I may have a baby face, but I'm not naive."

Then came an awkward silence as the two men stared at each other. Zeke didn't know if the look in Hugo's eyes betrayed anger, amusement, or some other emotion he couldn't recognize. It was always so hard to tell with the Ardanachs, but Hugo seemed the toughest to read out of all of them.

"...So, um, does it bother you that we're, uh, well, you know." His voice trailed off stupidly. Damn it, why was Hugo so much harder to talk to than Addam?

Finally, Hugo cracked a smile. A real one. "Our father would have been livid. But I trust Mòrag's judgment. And it's good to finally see her happy."

The muscles in his back finally unclenched, and his shoulders relaxed. He wasn't about to get the third degree from a protective older brother—what a relief.

"You're not upset that we're breaking the frat laws?"

"I'm normally a proponent of rules and regulations, but that's one I've been trying to convince Addam to get rid of since the Calamity." Hugo smiled.

"Oh. That's jolly cool of you, I guess. So you're really not bothered that I'm dating your sister?"

"Of course not. All I ask is that you keep making her smile. I...I've missed seeing it."

Zeke couldn't stop a grin of his own from breaking across his face. "She's got such a pretty smile. Whenever she smiles, I get this warm feeling in my chest, and I know everything's going to be okay. I'll move mountains to keep her smiling if I have to."

Hugo rolled his eyes. "Ever the dramatic one, I see."

"Can you blame me? She's great."

"Aye, that she is." Hugo's eyes narrowed a tad. "But know this, Zeke. If you ever do anything to hurt her, anything at all, you'd best run for the hills. Because if I find you, no one would find your body."

Zeke gulped, but he tapped the fuel barrel they'd just sat down, drumming on it loudly. "We're about to live in very close quarters with nothing but clouds as far as the eye can see. You'd have a hard time murdering me in secret, wouldn't you?"

Hugo raised an eyebrow. "Would I? You underestimate me."

Zeke fought back a shiver. Something told him that Hugo could find a way if he needed to. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of her. Promise."

Hugo's warning expression quickly shifted to an easy, warm smile. "Good. Now, let's get back to work, shall we?"

"They won't move themselves, I—"

Zeke's sentence stopped short as his eye caught a glimpse of a puddle on the floor. Was that fuel? Hugo's gaze followed his.

"Ah. One of the barrels must be leaking. We should carry it out and salvage what we can," Hugo said simply.

The two moved closer to the puddle to investigate. But where they expected to find a half-empty barrel, they found a vacant space. Where the barrel once stood now lay stray sloshes of fuel. In the dim light, Zeke thought he could see scratch marks on the spot, as if someone had scraped metal across metal.

"What's going on here?" Hugo wondered aloud. "Is someone stealing fuel?"

"Maybe. But why would anyone poke a hole in a barrel and then drag it away?"

Hugo's hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he studied the trail of scrapes and droplets. "Whoever did this, they carried the barrel deeper into the ship, not out of it. Let's investigate."

Hugo took the lead as they followed the trail, winding through the hallways in a snake-like path. There seemed to be little rhyme or reason to the path, as if the person dragging it had been daydreaming or dodging mechanics and other staff as they wandered the corridors. And how eerie the corridors were now! Zeke shuddered; the ship almost looked creepier now than it had a few weeks ago when they first encountered it. Then it had all been dark and dust-covered. But now, the stray bits of scaffolding and floodlights used for repairs did nothing to brighten the mood. Instead, the cold lights threw odd shadows that made Zeke's hair stand on end. Total darkness he could tolerate. Hell, the stygian embrace of it was cool. And total brightness was fine, too. But these lingering shadows made him worry that something might jump out at him from the shadows.

Stop being stupid, you idiot. That's ridiculous. We've had this ship for over a week now. It's fine.

And yet this ship was old technology. There were bound to be hidden passages they hadn't discovered yet.

It didn't sit right. Yes, a strong human could drag a full barrel across the floor. But why would they? And the scrapes left behind weren't deep, as if the individual dragging the barrel was just barely too weak to actually carry it. And Zeke knew for a fact that no ordinary person could lift one of those barrels alone. They were too bulky and too heavy when full. For someone to drag it so easily didn't make sense. Unless…

That possibility was silly, surely.

"Hugo, I've got a bad feeling about this."

In the same second Zeke said that, Hugo drew his sword and shield, gesturing for him to be quiet. The trail had led them to one of the deserted, empty chambers beside the engine room, where it was quite warm and rather damp and undeniably off the beaten path. From within came a noise that sounded like slurping, and yet it was too loud to be an ordinary swallow.

In unison, the two men peeked around the corner.

The room itself had no powered lights, but a pale blue glow cast enough dim light to give them glimpses. A fuel barrel lay on the floor, split into two halves like a cracked egg. Leftover fuel shimmered in both halves. But the truly terrifying realization was that one half of the fuel barrel was being lifted by a great stony appendage towards something that vaguely resembled a head. The swallowing noises continued until the empty barrel-half clattered to the floor, empty.

Guldo, Zeke realized. And it was drinking the fuel. No one had bothered to study the Guldo's diet to learn what they ate; now they knew at least one food source.

Shit. All these barrels stashed in one place—maybe they can smell it? And if one Guldo found it, more will probably find their way here. We gotta get rid of it.

But as the Guldo moved to pick up the other half of the barrel, Zeke noticed the extra limbs. Whereas most Guldo clumped around on two vaguely humanoid legs, this one seemed to have great stumps, like trunks of trees. And it had lots of them—some full in length, others cut short, as if they'd been amputated. And instead of just one primary core crystal glowing in the center of its chest, this Guldo had several sprouting out of its body in odd places. And one of those crystals was not blue, but a harsh, burning red. This was no ordinary Guldo.

Hugo waved backwards, motioning to return the way they came. One step back, then two. The Guldo took another great slurp of the snack it stole, then tossed the empty barrel down.

Please don't come to get another barrel, Zeke thought. Lie down and take a nap.

The sound of metal striking metal echoed through the halls. It couldn't have been anything more than a mechanic dropping a wrench on the deck above, but it was enough to put the creature on high alert. Its neck made a horrible popping sound like cracking stone as its gaze snapped towards the door. The pale blue and red lights all seemed to glow brighter, like searchlights. And then came the guttural noise from the Guldo's chest—not quite a human scream, but not an animalistic sound, either. Zeke felt his blood go cold. Normal Guldos didn't sound like that.

"Shit, it's seen us," Hugo said, instinctively taking a fighting stance.

Quick as lightning, Zeke drew his own weapon. The action chased off the chill, like he'd shaken off a spiderweb after running into one in the dark. Whatever this monstrosity was, they'd have to fight it, or escaping on the Elysium would go down the drain.

"Just give the word," he said, willing his knees to steady.

The Guldo raised one great, stony limb and swung it. The arm careened towards the floor, its velocity horrifyingly quick for something so large. Hugo jumped back—a near miss. His normally stoic expression gave way to a look of shock.

Crack.

The metal floor gave way under the force of the Guldo's blow, splintering like a twig. Its hand—if one could call those curling tendrils of rock and muscle fingers—stuck in the floor. The Guldo stared at its hand stupidly. Then with another surge of power, it pulled its hand out of the ruined floor. If the jagged edges of metal did any damage to the monster, it did not show.

Hugo took one look at the new damage to the ship and made a snap judgment.

"Zeke, retreat to the dock! Get everyone off the ship! Raise the alarm!"

"But sir, I'm not just going to lea—"

"That's an order, damn it!"

To Hugo's relief, his subordinate nodded, turned, and ran. He whispered a silent prayer of thanks—but to whom? The gods meant little anymore—grateful that Zeke was the fastest runner on the force. He'd sprint along the wharf and have help present before he himself could even lure the creature off the ship.

Assuming, of course, he could even lure it off the ship. It might get distracted at the fuel stores and take another meal. Or it might poke enough holes in the floor that the Elysium broke into pieces. Or it might flatten him into paste. And there was certainly the fear of the damage this hulking Guldo could do to what remained of the continent…No, he couldn't think about that now. Now all he could think of was technique: how to anger this creature just enough to provoke it into following him, but not so much that it decided to swing with both hands and squish him like an ant. And that would take all the talent he possessed.

Hugo made a guttural growl of his own and bashed his sword against the front of his shield. Then again. The creature snarled, then raised its arm to strike a second time.

This time, Hugo was ready; he bashed his shield against the massive limb. But nothing could have prepared him for the sheer amount of force that collided with his defensive front. Pain shot up his wrist as the edge of the shield burned against his own arm, the photonic energy field humming wildly. His chest and shoulders felt as though the muscles would rip in half.

With a quick snap of his wrist, he wrenched himself and his shield free, swinging his sword as he took several steps back. The beast followed. Good.

And so began a very long, arduous process of dodging blow after blow and cutting at the beast's thick skin whenever he found an opportunity. His sword never seemed to find much purchase in its hide; as far as he could tell, he only drew blood once, and even then it wasn't much. If he didn't manage some considerable damage on it soon, the creature might lose interest.

Thankfully, the fuel stores did not steal the Guldo's attention from him. The monster remained focused on its quarry. Perhaps the growing noise outside the ship—just a few more meters away—irritated it, too. If nothing else, the sound of his comrades fueled him. Together, they'd survived so much already. This creature would be no different.

Two more steps, and Hugo felt the unsteady surface of the gangplank underfoot. Behind him, he heard the shouts of alarm—mostly soldiers' voices, and only a few of them. That was a relief. The less people caught up in this fray, the better. Another four, five steps. His foot met solid ground again.

The Guldo halted at the edge of the upper deck, as if contemplating whether it was worth its time to continue this game of cat-and-mouse. Then it rose to its full height, now unhindered in the open air. And with a swift motion, it stepped over the gangplank and crossed to solid ground in a single step.

Damn. This thing is huge. We might as well fight a bus, Hugo thought.

All at once the attacks unleashed again. Whereas before, he only needed to dodge or block a single blow at a time, Hugo now found himself assaulted on all sides by a flurry of monstrous limbs. One struck him flat on the shoulder. Searing pain shot up his left arm, and he wondered if he heard another crack as the bone gave way. But he forced himself not to think about that. He was fine. He could keep fighting. Even if adrenaline alone kept his shield arm working, he could manage. He had to.

Then he saw it coming: a throttling blow from his right side, clearly intending to bat him aside like a baseball. He blinked.

A flurry of motion dashed across his vision, and he heard the sound of metal scraping against metal. When he finally collected himself, he saw Mòrag in front of him, her swords crossed against her back, holding the Guldo's limb at bay with her own body. Two small trails of blood dripped off the edges of her blades, trickling down from small wounds she'd inflicted while making the block. But it wouldn't hold for long.

"Mòrag! You shouldn't be here! Fall—"

"Like hell I'm leaving you!" she said, anger hinting at the edge of her voice. "I'm with you. Now pull yourself together. This is not your place to fall."

From the left, he heard a plasma whip snap. The sound of gunfire followed it. The Guldo reared back. As Mòrag helped him to his feet, Hugo saw several others running in to join the fray. Zeke, Lora, Addam, and even Rex. Tora bounced a dozen meters away, jamming some spherical object into the barrel of one of his self-proclaimed "Poppibusters," whatever that meant. Some sort of weapon the Nopon had designed, he supposed.

"Hugo, you're hurt!" Addam called after taking a swipe at the monster's third knee.

"I'll be okay," Hugo lied.

"Pull back. Have Nia heal you, then rejoin us!"

It was pointless to argue, especially with the Gormotti waiting on the edge of their battlefield, firing her dual pistols whenever she got a clear shot. Hugo trotted over and held out his wounded arm. Nia simply nodded and put a hand on his wounded limb. Hugo didn't have time to marvel at how calmly she did it now—as if all her apprehension towards her own gifts had vanished completely when she healed Rex a few days earlier. That thought was swept away by the instant relief he felt. His arm righted itself with a simple, painless click. He flexed his fingers tentatively.

It almost felt...better than before. Stronger.

"Most impressive."

"Oi, don't just stand there gawking! They need your help! Get back in there!" Nia shot back.

He turned his attention back to the fray. The conflict had escalated into a full-scale battle in a matter of seconds. One soldier apiece struggled with one of the monster's attacking limbs. Mòrag took the appendage with a glowing red crystal at its tip; her tactics drew the bulk of the creature's attention. Meanwhile, Addam hacked away at the limb on the right, slashing wildly. Lora took the left side, her plasma whip wrapping around one of the leg-like stumps it used for balance. The whip circled the limb twice, doing little damage to the stone itself as she pulled it tight. Then she gave as mighty a heave as she could muster.

She's trying to topple it!

He stuck his sword in its sheath, reverted his shield to its pocket form, and dashed over to her.

"Good thinking, Lora!" he hollered.

Then he gripped part of the whip with her. Two horrid seconds of heaving, and nothing to show for it. The creature's foot didn't budge, much less topple over. All they managed was to keep the limb in place. But impeding its movement slightly was a far cry from killing it.

"Friend Lora! Master Hugo-pon! When Tora say three, duck!"

Neither fighter had a moment to ask what the furry Nopon meant, or even see where he was. He counted out in rapid succession, a shrill "Three!" echoing across the battlefield like a cheer.

"Jeeeeet Biter!" Tora shouted.

Then came a sound like one of Tora's flame cannons, only this one was short and percussive. A thick missile the size of a large baseball blazed through the air. It struck the Guldo's grappled leg.

Hugo saw the detonation before he heard it. Instinct took over. He dropped the whip and rolled as far sideways and backwards as he could. Lora mirrored his movement, and not a moment too soon. Flames combusted mere centimeters over their heads and the air was nothing but noise and fire for a terrible second or two. The creature shrieked and reared backwards. Another second later, the smoke cleared to reveal the wounded Guldo, now hobbling on half of a leg.

"Cheeky little furball!" Zeke cheered.

Lora, however, was not as happy. "Tora! Watch it! You nearly killed us!"

"Tora is sorry!" he chirped, any remorse absent from his voice. "Must do more calculations to perfect blast radius. But results not so bad, eh?"

"Pay attention!" Addam scolded. "Don't waste this opportunity!"

The other Special Force fighters all swarmed in to capitalize on this new weakness. Swords hacked at exposed flesh as the creature wobbled about, its balance thrown off. Bullets shattered against its crystalline organs. For a moment, it looked like Tora's explosive device might turn the tide in their favor.

But Hugo watched as something inside the creature's consciousness snapped. The core crystals that once glowed blue all at once turned red. It flailed all its remaining limbs wildly. Hugo felt his feet go out from under him. He barely managed to get a hand underneath himself to slow the fall. That probably saved him; his head struck the pavement—hard and painful, but not enough to knock him out. He sat up, the ground swelling like ocean waves every time he moved. A firm head-shake did little to dispel the feeling. He looked around; only Zeke—by some strange feat of sheer luck—had managed to stay upright. Everyone else lay strewn about, some looking worse than others. Addam's forehead gleamed with blood from a nasty cut near his eyebrow. That was another stroke of luck; if the cut went a centimeter lower, he might have lost an eye.

While they struggled to their feet, two things happened at once. The creature flung back its head and gave a long, guttural wail. The sound shook the ground. The older members of the Force recalled the shriek of a cornered animal with nothing left to lose. Meanwhile, the Guldo's wounded leg began to heal on its own, new flesh knitting itself together quicker than they could react.

Lora spoke first. "That scream—th-that's how the Guldo communicate! It's calling for reinforcements!"

"Shit!" Addam shouted. "Rex! Nia! Tora! Go back to base and raise the alarm! Tell them to barricade Sector 7! Nothing gets through!"

"But we can help!" Rex protested.

"You're hurt!" Nia added.

"If they swarm this area, we're all done for! GO!"

Rex scurried off, Tora bouncing along beside him. Nia hesitated a moment longer. With an odd wave of her hand, she unleashed another wave of energy, healing the worst of their injuries. And then she ran off.

Addam pulled himself from his kneeling position and gripped his sword again. "Five to one," he muttered. "Let's kill this thing before it screams the heavens down on us."

While Addam gave those orders, the Guldo had finished healing its wounded limb. It rose to its full height once again, its crystals still seething red. It swung, and the fight began in earnest all over again.

Even with Nia's timely healing, Hugo still felt like the remainder of the fight passed like a fevered dream. The sound of fighting, of civilians fleeing in the distance. The fwip-snap of Lora's plasma whip. Addam's greatsword smacking against stone like a club. His own shield, humming with photonic energy each time it blocked a strike. Zeke's mid-fight battle narrations fading into grunts and gasps as the fight's intensity increased. Mòrag's poised, almost rhythmic combos that enticed the Guldo's attention between her and himself over and over again. The odd, almost imperceptible sound of the beast's flesh weaving itself back together.

But through it all, Hugo couldn't shake the feeling that the Guldo's ability to heal itself wasn't the only problem. There was something else—something about its talents. Something he should know. And then there was that odd flickering light that looked like it was coming from deep within the Guldo's chest. Surely that meant something.

Just how long had the Special Force been studying these creatures? And yet they knew so little. Three small facts: killing Guldos required smashing or burning their crystals; they could regenerate on the spot; and they could somehow absorb the energy fields from incoming attacks and copy them, turning them into weapons of their own.

The copy. That was it.

Tora's explosive missile. The flickering in the Guldo's core.

Damn sentient beast—it had copied Tora's explosive attack, turned itself into a ticking time bomb, and summoned its brethren to avenge it.

Hugo sprung into action, instinct driving every motion. How he knew what to do, he had no idea. He wasn't even sure it would work. But he had to try.

They'd recovered a lot of intriguing technology from the Conduit Project. One of them was his shield. In its dormant form, it fit in his pocket like a small medallion. When he fought, he activated the energy field, usually expanding it into a functional shield. But he could control the size and strength of it. And deep in his gut, he knew the shield had enough reach and power to create a forcefield large enough to shield...four adults, provided they were relatively close together.

The flickering inside the Guldo's chest quickened.

"Bunch together!" he screamed.

To his relief, Lora, Addam, and Zeke all obeyed his order without question.

I've always wanted to put myself on the line for my people.

He broke into a sprint.

Mòrag hadn't heard her brother's order; her position right in front of the beast's head caused most sounds to be overpowered by the din of its attacks. Each swipe of its arm whooshed like the sound of a tree falling; how could she hear words?

One moment, she was blocking an attack with crossed swords. The next, she was body-slammed and shoved backwards. Only then did she realize what that infernal flashing in the creature's stomach was. And her brother—her stupid, brave cousin-turned-sibling—he'd realized it first.

"Hugo, no!"

Time slowed. His shield glowed impossibly bright as it fanned wider and thicker, creating a massive forcefield wall: himself and the Guldo on one side, his friends on the other. As soon as the shield expanded to its full size, he swung, slamming it into the ground. The edge embedded itself half a meter into the rock, anchored.

Hugo gave a weak smile. "There's a new world out there somewhere. Find it. For me."

A flash. A sound that split their ears until suddenly everything went silent. Relentless shaking, but the shield held firm. Rubble flying.

A swath of thick crimson splattering across the surface of the protective field.

Then stillness.

Steam hissed as the heat of the shield began to evaporate the carnage smeared across its surface.

"Hugo. Hugo!" Mòrag's voice, eerily quiet. Broken. "Hugo, please no."

With shaking hands, she reached forward and touched her brother's shield. At her touch, the shield reverted to its portable form, the medallion hitting the ground with a dull thud. Mòrag cradled it in her fingers, unperturbed by the blood and filth left on its surface.

"I...It can't be. To protect us, you—"

A sob escaped her lips. Her facade broke. Her chest heaved as her breathing grew rapid. Every muscle in her body quivered. She clasped her face with both hands, still gripping the shield medallion.

"Please, wake up, Hugo. Please."

No one had the heart to contradict her; not even Nia could help now. And so they let her weep. And inside, they all begged that this nightmare would be over.

That they'd wake up and find the world whole again.

In the days that followed, Lora found herself flung into managing what remained of their refugee efforts. At first, Addam tried to handle the Special Force, but when he thought no one was looking, he broke down and wept. And who could blame him? His friendship with Hugo preceded their days in the Force. Rumor had it they trained together as mere recruits, becoming battle buddies in their earliest days. They climbed the ranks together, always keeping pace with the other's advancement. To lose someone that close...Lora knew the feeling well. She blanked the same way when Rynea disappeared. So she volunteered to take over the bulk of his duties to give him the time he needed. He stubbornly showed up to work anyway, forcing his way through his tasks. Lora picked up the slack whenever his "work" fell short.

...Which meant she handled a number of unpleasant details, including finalizing the Elysium's passenger list and planning the military components of Hugo's funeral.

Mòrag did help with the funeral arrangements; unlike Addam, who seemed to be on the verge of weeping at all hours, Mòrag remained calm. Aside from her initial outburst on the battlefield, she was impassive, stone-like, throwing herself into her work with unusual zeal. Other soldiers commented on how calmly she was taking the loss. But Lora worried. If Zeke's reports were to be believed—not that she suspected he was exaggerating now—then she wasn't sleeping much at night because of the awful dreams.

And who wasn't having nightmares these days?

Even Lora herself heard it in her own troubled sleep: Hugo urging them to bunch together. His last words. The bomb going off. The crash of rubble. The gory aftermath. Mòrag and Addam's tears. Zeke's weak attempts to comfort them, his normally eloquent words falling short. All of those sights and sounds on a twisted repeat every time she closed her eyes.

In a perfect world, they'd all have to time grieve and process. But their disappearing world gave them no such luxury. The explosions from the fight destabilized that portion of the continent; the ground would collapse any day now, which meant that the Special Force's base would soon follow. And the death of the Infernal Guldo—a nickname the Force gave the monster after Zeke called it a "stygian spawn from the seventh circle of hell"—that creature's demise somehow perturbed the rest of its kind. Although the Force destroyed the initial wave that followed the Infernal Guldo's self-destructive attacks, new Guldos followed them every day. They penetrated the camp at the oddest times of day and in the strangest spots. The whole Force went on high alert.

As a result, Hugo's funeral—or perhaps memorial service was the better term—was a rushed, somber affair. Hurried though it was, however, he received the full gamut of military honors, complete with a full artillery salute, a ceremonial flag and medallion, and a posthumous promotion to general. And of course, the ceremony was closed with the Force's traditional burial hymn:

"They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old;

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,

Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;

As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,

To the end, to the end, they remain."

When the continent first began its collapse, most traditional burials fell away in favor of funeral pyres. How else could they honor the dead when the earth itself mocked their sacrifice? But the funeral pyre for Hugo took little time to burn: just his spare uniform, a fragment of his sword, and at Mòrag's request, his photon shield. The few ashes that remained were scattered along the Cloud Sea.

And so they committed Hugo's memory to the stars.

On the evening of the following day, final preparations to depart on the Elysium began. Families with small children boarded first, followed by a stream of soldiers and civilians alike. Anything unnecessary to survival was left behind. All but the most important weapons stayed on land, too.

Rex stood on deck and watched the entire boarding process with a mix of pride and curiosity. He'd heard stories of these military vessels in their prime, and he never imagined he would get to see one up close and operational. And to be the one to have found it, to help all these people—his heart still burst at the idea. His stomach turned to a bunch of lead whenever he thought about Hugo, and how his death made Mòrag so sad. And yet he couldn't help but puff out his chest a bit that he helped. He did something good. Something meaningful. Something that would make life better for a lot of people.

He gave a little satisfied sigh as he watched family after family check in at the bottom of the gangplank, carry their luggage aboard, and take the first step towards a better life.

...Except a few minutes later, he realized that a small crowd of people lingered on the shore. They showed no signs of joining the line to board, either. They simply waited and watched.

Rex studied the group. Most of them he recognized: old, hardened veterans who sat together in the cafeteria, exchanging war stories and reminiscing about the "good old days." And yet, there were others. Too many others. Younger soldiers with nobility shining in their eyes. A few civilians that suddenly looked like heroes, and he couldn't decide why.

Why weren't they coming? Did they not get the right itinerary? Had Addam or Lora told them to board late to keep the gangplank from bottlenecking?

"You guys! We leave in an hour! You're running out of time to board," he hollered.

The youngest person on the shore—one of the women who made uniforms for the Force, he realized—gave him a pained smile. His stomach turned heavier than a salvage haul. That expression couldn't be good. He ran to the spot where the gangplank was, reaching the spot just in time to hear Addam giving orders.

"Pull up the gangplank," Addam commanded, his expression grim. "Let's make way."

"Wait!" Rex cried, causing the soldier in charge of the gangplank to halt a moment. "Addam, not everyone is on board yet!"

Addam nodded to the crewman. "Pull it up."

"What are you doing?" Rex demanded. "We can't leave yet. Not everyone's here."

Addam grimaced, his own stomach turning sour at the look on Rex's face. So much for the boy not seeing the group get left behind. He'd hoped that Nia or someone would distract the young scavenger so he stayed below decks the whole time, and then he could have been told when the dark affair was done. Things were never that simple, apparently. He turned to face the boy, willing his features to stay soft and kind when all he wanted to do was break down and cry himself. Just as Rex would any second now.

"Everyone on the passenger list is on board the Elysium, Rex."

"On the passenger list—wait, what kinda shite is that supposed to be? Everyone is supposed to come! Let them on board!"

"...There isn't room for everyone, Rex. There never was." A tear started to surface, and Addam didn't manage to force it back. "Everyone on the shore...they volunteered to stay behind."

Rex's eyes widened with an awful pang of realization. "B-but you said yourself that the continent—the land is going to collapse any day now. If they're here, they'll…"

Addam could only nod.

Nia, who'd observed this exchange silently until that moment, spoke up. "They're giving us our best chance, Rex. They're doing this so we can live."

"It's not fair! I-it can't end this way!"

And with that shout, Rex shot forward to move the gangplank himself, even as the ship's engines roared to life, preparing to make way. Addam clapped both arms around him and pulled his young subordinate against his chest. Both men shook, pain etched in their faces.

"I-I know how terrible this is, Rex. But it's the only way."

"No! I won't do this! We can't leave them behind!"

Rex's voice rang with a harsh, shrill, almost shrieking sound. He thrashed in Addam's arms, struggling to break free as if he wanted to jump over the side and drag people aboard on his own.

"Somebody, please! You can't do this! Come on. We can make room! There has to be a way."

Rex looked about the deck of the ship, eyes dashing from one person to the next, pleading. Most of the escaping members of the Force aboard the ship wouldn't meet his gaze; their expressions fell in a mixture of pity, grief, and guilt. They all understood the price of their own survival. Those left on the ground, however, looked back at him with the bitterest smiles—all at once heart-wrenching and reassuring.

It's okay, Rex, they seemed to say. Go. Survive. Live. For us.

But Rex's cries continued.

"We can't just leave them behind to die!" He locked eyes with one of his fellow soldiers aboard the Elysium. "Mòrag, Hugo didn't sacrifice himself for this! He didn't die so we could abandon these people. Please, do something!"

The shadow of a tear glistened in Mòrag's eyes. She shook her head.

Addam felt Rex's muscles relax a tiny bit at that reaction, but his sobs continued. Addam watched as the female soldier—gods, she hid her grief as well as Hugo always had—took a few steps forward. Mòrag gazed at the small crowd on the shore. Without a word, she saluted them—deeper than the typical soldier's show of respect. The group staying behind nodded with that same strange look of bittersweet fondness. Behind her, what remained of the Special Force mimicked her gesture, bowing and saluting those they'd be indebted to forever. Then Mòrag gave one last nod and disappeared into the hold of the ship.

For a long while, the only sound was of Rex's weeping and small grimaces from Addam as he continued to hold the boy back. It wasn't until Zeke spoke that the boy quieted.

"Chum. How long are you planning on being a baby?" he asked, his tone not quite harsh and not quite kind, either. "These people love you like family. You've got to accept their decision. That's what being an adult means."

Something broke in the boy's expression. "I-I'm sorry," he whimpered to the crowd opposite him.

And with that, he sank to his knees. Addam knelt beside him, his arms still wrapped around the boy as the ship pulled away from the shore.

Final goodbyes sounded across the odd waves of the cloud-like sea. And as their companions on the shore slowly began to fade from view, the ship took on the appearance of a roving anthill: everyone milling about, weaving in and out to accomplish their assigned tasks, locate their loved ones on board, secure their provisions for the day, and anything else they needed to prepare for the long voyage ahead. Soldiers on duty did their best to maintain order as children began to play—or at least, those too young to comprehend the gravity of the day's events took up games, creating a harsh contrast of grief and glee.

So no one heard when Addam broke down and began to cry himself. And certainly no one but Rex heard what he said.

"I-I should have stayed with them until the bitter end," Addam gasped, his words choked and strained. "I...a real leader would have put everyone else on the ship and sacrificed himself. But I let them convince me I was needed here. I let them talk me into saving my own skin. I should have been the one to block the explosion from the Guldo, not Hugo. He's a better leader than me. And he still has family alive. I don't. I-in the end I'm just a coward. Not a hero."

Rex pulled back from his commander's fierce hug and stared at him.

"Their lives...their blood's on my hands. It always will be," Addam sniffed. "But you're not to blame for any of this, Rex. The guilt for this...it falls on me, not you. The weight of the dead is mine to bear, not yours."

And without another word, the leader of the Special Force rose and disappeared into the hold of the ship, never hearing Rex's affirmation:

"You've got flaws, yeah," Rex whispered. "But you did a lot of good, too. And that counts for something. It has to. You're still a good person, Mister Addam."

In the days that followed, life on the Elysium settled into a strange sense of routine. The stories fight with the Infernal Guldo seemed to light a fire under most of the soldiers, and they continued their training with renewed vigor, poised to fight any unseen threats (though where those threats would come from was anybody's guess). Civilians took ownership of the more menial tasks, keeping the upper decks cleaned and preparing food. Some of the more adventurous, curious sorts even discovered that the creatures swimming about in the Cloud Sea were edible. That improved their rations immensely, which did wonders for most people's moods. But nothing could be done about the limited amount of fuel they'd brought on board. No one tried to look too closely at the diminishing number of barrels in the hold. It became an unspoken agreement that the ship's mechanics would refuel in the dead of night—so no one had to watch the fuel disappear.

Because always there was that lingering fear in the back of their minds: would the fuel be enough to get them to solid ground? Was there even solid ground left to find? And with that question always looming, life took on a strange sense of normalcy—a normal built on nothing but thin hopes and paper dreams.

The Elysium's inhabitants quickly discovered that Addam's leadership kept them operating as a well-oiled machine in spite of his own guilt and grief. And privately, they all admitted that without him, chaos would have erupted onboard in a matter of weeks. But very few people thanked him for that leadership publicly. And how could they? The Addam they all knew and loved seemed to have vanished, replaced by a thin shell of his former self. Like a husk of a man who hoped that zealous work would somehow repay the sacrifices others made.

Days dragged into weeks. Weeks became months. The sharp pains of grief faded into a dull ache. Meanwhile, the Elysium got lighter as fuel was spent. People fell into new habits to ward off the boredom. For Rex and Nia, that new habit was watching the sunset every evening after supper. Tora quickly got wind of it and joined one evening. Lora came another time, and Zeke and Mòrag joined a few nights later until it became a group activity for them. And so together they stared as the Cloud Sea burned red each night, set ablaze by the setting sun—the last remnant of their solar system, they supposed.

Normally, no one said very much. But on one particularly warm, pleasant evening towards the beginning of spring, Tora asked a rather unexpected question.

"If Tora and friends find land, what everyone plan to do with life?"

Everyone looked at the inquisitive little Nopon, clearly caught off guard by his question.

"What d'you mean, Tora?" Nia asked.

"If boaty-jaunt reveal new place to live, what will friends do? Old home, old jobs...all gone. New planet mean new possibility, right?"

Zeke gave a weak little laugh. "Leave it to the little furball to keep the optimism coming!"

"I...I haven't given it a lot of thought," Nia admitted. "I guess it'd be nice to figure out this weird power I've got. Then I could use it to help people all the time. But I'll probably just make sure Rex doesn't get his head bashed in."

Rex giggled sheepishly. "That's a full-time job at the rate I'm going," he admitted.

"What Rex-Rex do?"

The young scavenger scratched his head. "Um, I guess it depends on how big the place is. I've always liked exploring. If the place was big enough, I think I'd want to see all the new sights. Maybe help people find the best places to live. After that...I dunno. I think that'd take a lot of time. Maybe I'd go treasure hunting or somethin'."

"That sounds like our Rex," Lora smiled. Then the redhead twiddled the talisman around her neck. "Rynea, my mother, she always had a dream of opening up a little shop selling jewelry and little trinkets. She taught me how to make a bunch of little baubles. I think—oh gods, it sounds silly, doesn't it? But if I had the time, I think I'd like to set up a store. I'd make little necklaces and charms and talismans for good luck and great fortune. Just pretty little things, really. Kids would come and ask how to make presents for their mothers. Lovers would ask me to help them pick a gift for their partner, and I'd help them pick the perfect piece to declare their love and make their beloved swoon. It'd be perfect."

Lora's face melted into an uncommon expression of simple bliss as she spoke; her companions realized she must have had that secret dream for a while.

Mòrag broke her roommate from her reverie. "I didn't peg you for the romantic sort, Lora."

Lora's cheeks twinged pink. "I think a lot of girls want to be swept off their feet, deep down."

"Don't knock it, Mòrag," Nia interjected. "After all, Lora might be the one helping Zeke pick out your engagement ring here soon."

The couple both stiffened and sat up, separating by an inch or two.

"You guys are gonna get married, right?"

Zeke collected himself quicker than Mòrag. "Furry ears, we've been together for like two months. It's a bit early for that!"

"Oh come on, you guys practically live together as it is," Rex added. "Why not make it official?"

"We all sleep in an open cargo hold. We all live together," Mòrag pointed out.

"Admit it. At least one of you has thought about it."

"Not this soon," Mòrag insisted. But even as she said that, she glanced over and saw Zeke's blush redden even further. He looked away. "Wait, you have? Already? You can't be serious."

"C-can't help it, can I?" he murmured. "We've lost so much as it is. Everything, really. I think it's only natural to want to hang onto the one good thing I have left."

Mòrag made an odd little whimpering sound, a mix between shock and embarrassment and happiness and denial all at once.

"Sorry," Zeke whispered. "I didn't mean to upset you. It was just a passing thought, honest. I wasn't gonna act on that idea yet. Not anytime soon. Not with everything that's happened."

There was a long pause before Mòrag spoke again. "Please don't misunderstand. It's merely that I stopped planning for the future a long time ago."

"But why?" Rex asked.

She gestured to the bare expanse of the Cloud Sea. "There's nothing but white all around us. Before that, it was Guldo and the planet collapsing. Even earlier than that, it was war and famine and assassination attempts against the leading families of the day. And pestilence. It's never ending. I...I suppose I became so preoccupied with simply surviving that I forgot how to hope for anything more."

"There's always hope, you know," the young salvager pointed out. "There has to be."

Mòrag gave Rex a weak little smile. "If everyone had your optimism, the world would be a better place."

"Maybe it's a bit naive, but...I just refuse to believe that this is all there is. That's what keeps me going, I guess."

After a brief pause, Tora decided to brighten the mood by telling the group his own plans for the future. Much of it they didn't quite understand—he rambled details about robotics that only an engineer would have followed. But apparently the little Nopon had elaborate plans to establish a factory, design useful technology that would "put human scientists to shame," and, on the side he claimed he would design some sort of AI robot to keep him company while he researched. How he intended to accomplish that, no one knew, but he himself seemed fairly confident that he could.

The Nopon rambled on and on as the sun continued to set, but only Lora was kind enough to truly pay attention and ask him questions. The others settled back into their thoughts, basking in the last glow of the day. The sky before them turned from white to yellow, then a faint orange. Then all at once the world was awash with color—crimson, amber, purple, copper, all converging into a tapestry of fading brilliance. Here in the Cloud Sea, the sunsets always proved more spectacular than any they'd ever experienced growing up. And how could they not? These days the earth never came up to meet the sky; there was only sky and clouds, and they never could quite distinguish where the sky ended and the sea began. Everything beyond the ship, as far as the eye could see, turned to the sun's last fire. Only color remained, ever silent and surreal.

Tonight, however, a dark swatch of gray marred the otherwise flawless sunset. Rex got up from his seat and leaned over the banister to stare at it, his brow set in confused concentration.

"What is that?" he asked.

Nia got up to join him, squinting at the darker section. "Maybe it's a storm?" she suggested.

Even as she spoke, the imposing patch grew larger, closer.

"If that's a storm, it's moving awfully fast," Zeke added. "And worse, it's headed straight for us."

"And against the wind," Lora pointed out. "Thats—that's not natural."

"Should we sound the alarm? Tell everyone to get below decks?"

The wind picked up suddenly—not a normal wind, with constant breezes punctuated by quick gusts, but a rhythmic pulse of air that shot downwards and sideways. Fwoom. Fwoom. Always louder and closer.

"That's no storm," Mòrag grimaced. In a quick burst, she shot up and drew her swords from her sheaths against the wall. "Steel yourselves, everyone. We've got company!"

The others didn't respond as quickly as she; somehow, her eyes caught a better view of the approaching menace. But they soon saw it, too: a long, lithe form, diving in and out of the Cloud Sea with ease; great, dark, massive wings of what looked like stone, all wreathed with orange flashes of some fiery, glowing gemstone; a powerful tail, rivalled in length only by its thick neck; and atop it all, a fierce, draconic head with a furious glow at the back of its gaping mouth. Spines lined much of its body, each the size of a mountain. The soldiers wondered for a moment if that glowing maw would suddenly unleash something horrible; Zeke thought to himself that it was like gazing into the mouth of a volcano. He had no doubt that one blast from that...thing would rip the Elysium to shreds, or melt it instantly. Was this one of the creatures from those old legends? It had to be.

"Of course. After everything we've been through, we have to fight a fucking dragon?"

"Dragon the size of planet," Tora added. "Not fair."

The "size of planet" remark wasn't too far off, Zeke decided. Far away, the creature had resembled a full-page-sized painting in a mythology textbook. But close up, its wings buffeted the ship, threatening to topple it with the force of its flight alone. The creature might as well have been a planet.

"Brace yourselves!" he shouted.

Panic ensued as civilians rushed to get below decks and soldiers scurried for their weapons. Others remained glued to the spot, stunned by this new foe. Addam emerged from the captain's quarters, saw the beast, cursed loudly, and set to work establishing order. He shouted for cannons, rifles, longswords, spears, javelins—any weapon they could spare.

"On my signal!" Addam ordered.

Weapons were raised, poised to strike as soon as the creature got within range.

But then something curious happened. Instead of ramming into the side of the ship or blasting them with a burst of energy, the creature swept up into the sky. Then the full picture of its size came into view: too big to fathom, like the landmass of several continents strung together into one giant beast. It circled above them, once, twice. Then, with a gust of speed, it dove into the clouds and disappeared.

A tidal wave of clouds burst outwards from the spot where it vanished. The ship rocked, teetering on the edge of capsizing. It righted itself with a dizzying lurch. White clouds surged over them, obscuring everything from view in a fog so thick they could barely hear their neighbors screaming in fear, frantically watching for where the beast would emerge. But it never came. The air went still and silent, suddenly void of the monstrous flapping of wings. Two sickening minutes passed.

And then the fog cleared. The sight made them all gasp.

The creature had landed a fair distance from the ship, its torso just shy of a kilometer away. But nearer to them, right along the deck of the Elysium, the very tip of one of its wings scraped the ship's side. The wing hung perfectly still and mostly flat, like a great bridge between the ship and its own body. Anyone could easily walk across it if they wanted to.

The creature, now mostly still, swung its head around to gaze at them. Where its eyes were, they couldn't quite tell; the head was a mass of crystal and swirling, ornate stone, like something foreign and ancient. But it looked at them. Then it made an odd swoop with its neck, as if gesturing towards its wing, then its back.

A nod.

"I...I think it wants us to get on its back," Lora said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's trying to help us."

Addam nodded. "It sure looks that way. Perhaps we should send a scouting party. But...but what is that thing?"

Silence. It seemed too perfect. Too ethereal and mysterious to put into words. Too powerful and dangerous, and yet, their apparent salvation. No one had an answer for their leader.

Until Rex spoke up. "It's a Titan."

A/N: Ah, finally, this AU is finished. What a relief. It's not my best work by any means, but it was fun to explore a different genre from what I normally do. Thank you for exploring it with me. Also happy anniversary (a day late) to the Torna DLC—in my opinion, a fantastic addition that made the main story better than it was before the DLC released. Why people still ignore it is beyond me.

I'm still not over Hugo, though. Like yeah, Lora's death was sad, and how it affected Jin was heartwrenching. But Hugo just gets me every time. Maybe it's ironic then that I chose to have his story end the way it did, but I also couldn't picture him not being noble, so here we are. The poem from his funeral is two excerpts from "For the Fallen" by Laurence Binyon, by the way.

Anyway, thanks for reading! I'm not sure what I'll write next (but I will be writing more often since my life will calm down immensely after the 26th—woot woot!). I have a couple Zelda-related and Fire Emblem-themed ideas bouncing around in my head, plus a few XC fluffies. We'll see which idea strikes my fancy first. :)

'Til next time!