"So…" Roman lingered on the thought, sucking ruefully on a cigar. "Who's gonna check on the shrimp?"
In the intervening days following news of potential war, Zaychik had vanished, sequestering herself in her workshop with little more than curt instructions to continue their drills or, in Roman's case, not die. Since then, none had seen any sign of her.
As it was, the group was currently convened in the communal area, poring over the records for the umpteenth time and anxiously awaiting a deadline that loomed closer by the day. Roman, for his part, was doing an admirable job of following his prescribed directive, though it was clear that his condition was rapidly deteriorating.
The pain had mostly gone now, replaced with a lethargy that fogged his mind and dulled his senses. He could still keep his focus, if he tried, but he caught himself drifting more often than he cared to admit. Hard, crystalline deposits had begun to form on the flesh, and he had only succeeded in yanking one off after putting in an exhausting amount of force. He did his best to maintain his usual air of bravado, but the worried glances that Neo would sneak when she thought he wasn't looking made it clear that he was doing a piss-poor job of it.
He bit lightly at the cigar, enjoying its faint, woody aroma while the room fell into a deep silence at his question. He had nicked it from Junior's stash the last time he had paid the man a visit. High quality Vacuan, very nice. It wasn't lit, of course—Neo hated it when he smoked and Brothers be damned if he was going to stand out in the storm.
"I nominate Watts," Emerald answered, a touch too hastily.
"Seconded."
"Pardon? Why the devil would this be my job? Watts halted in his work to glare indignantly at all present.
"You've known her the longest," Emerald pointed out. "She'd probably just yell at us for interrupting. You, she might actually listen to."
Watts sniffed disdainfully, his lip curling downward. "If that is what you believe, then I'm afraid you've no idea what an insidious little—"
"Anyway," Mercury interrupted, "What Em means to say is that none of us can stand the little brat, and you're basically her secretary already. This sort of thing is pretty much your job anyway."
"I am not anyone's secretary."
"Sure, whatever you say. But something's up and someone's gotta do something about it, and you're pretty much the only person she might listen to right now. It's either that or we go into this whole thing with her acting all…weird…and get thrown into an Atlesian prison for the next century."
"Wouldn't worry about that, they've still got the death penalty up there."
"Thanks, Roman. That makes me feel better."
"Always happy to help."
Watts released a stifled groan at the expectant stares, rising and trudging to the door like a man to the gallows. He skewered them all with a final, vindictive glare before disappearing into the hallway. A knock.
"Zaychik." They heard him announce hesitantly. "I'm coming in."
A deep, uncomfortable silence lingered for a moment as they heard the door creak open and then click shut.
"He's a dead man," Roman finally said, Neo nodding fervently beside him.
"Yeah, no kidding. Can't believe he actually went."
"Zaychik?" Watts called, blinking owlishly while his eyes adjusted. Silence, save the low droning of various mechanical devices.
As always, his associate seemed to harbor some sort of proclivity for dark spaces, and the lights had been left off, with the only illumination afforded to him the harsh blue of a computer monitor. He spotted her shadowed form seated at her desk, seemingly oblivious to his entry. Stepping forward hesitantly, he made to call out again, but immediately stumbled, upsetting some odd bit of machinery that had been left carelessly on the floor.
The noise succeeded in provoking some response, as the other occupant of the room whirled about, jolting, as if jarred from some stupor. Her hand flew to the back of her neck, tugging at something.
"What?" she snapped, swiveling her head to glare at the interloper. "Didn't I tell you all—Oh, it's just you, Watts. What do you want? I'm busy so be quick about it."
He squinted in the gloom. She clearly hadn't been asleep, yet had sat so silent he would not have thought her conscious. "What are you doing?" He asked.
"Considering recent…events, it's only natural that some adjustments to the plan are in order." Her tone was light and flippant, as always, but Watts could detect some hints of underlying strain.
"And that is what you've been up to this entire time?" He asked, unconvinced.
"Pretty much. There's a lot of moving parts when you throw in a factor this large; it's bound to take some time. You know what they say, Rome wasn't built in a day."
Watts pinched his brow. "Zaychik. I beg of you. For just a few moments, please try to make some modicum of sense." He sighed, letting his hand fall to his side and studied her tiredly. Her eyes seemed to glow eerily in the harsh, electric glow, but, otherwise, he was unable to properly read her expression in the gloom. "I have been asked to speak with you. There are concerns regarding your current…condition."
She frowned. "Well, that's entirely unnecessary. They should be preparing, not worrying about me. Why didn't you tell them off?"
"Because, frankly, I am inclined to agree with them."
Her gaze narrowed, her lips twitching into that usual, mocking leer. "What's this? The great Doctor Watts, insisting that someone can work too hard? Color me shocked."
He ignored the snide jab, returning her look with an unamused one of his own. "Proper work ethic does not preclude acknowledging one's limits, and we believe you are failing to take yours into account."
"Yeah, thanks, Arthur." She rolled her eyes. "The concern is appreciated, but unneeded. Is that all?"
"It has been three days," Watts said, ignoring her question and taking a seat for himself, disregarding the annoyed glare she sent his way. "This cannot continue; maintaining one's health is as important a part as any for an operation. When was the last time you've slept? Eaten?"
"Look," she said, exhaling harshly, "I really don't need it. Now, I still have a lot more work to get done, so if that's all you wanted to talk about, there's the door. I'm sure you know how to use it."
"That is most certainly not all," he said, stubbornly refusing to stand. "In all the time we have been acquainted, I have never once seen an obstacle occupy you so. If significant issues have arisen, then I only think it fair that we are all made aware of it."
"Nothing unmanageable," she noted coolly.
"Then, If not that, perhaps there is something besides the disruptions that are bothering you?"
She seemed to fumble for a moment, the stoic, neutral mask slipping the slightest degree. "Who knows?" She said, the barest touch of a barb in her tone. "Why's it matter to you, anyway? Did your heart grow three sizes since we last spoke? Don't be getting sappy, it's creepy."
An insistent annoyance itched at him, but he pushed it down, forcing his tone to remain level. "You know as well as I do that our concern is not directed towards your personal wellbeing. As much as I dislike it, morale is a valuable resource. If the king falls, then the game is lost. Your current state is a valid concern for us all."
"I assure you, my current state is just fine. I've just found myself with an unexpectedly heavy workload, that's all."
Her brow furrowed when his expression remained stubbornly unchanged. Sighing in exasperation, she turned her monitor towards him. "Watts, what do you see?"
Curiously, he leaned forward, arching a brow at an aerial view of Mantle's topography, a new addition breaking the vast carpet of white. "It seems to be a military encampment and what appears to be a half-dozen airships."
"Kumo-class, to be specific. The six largest dreadnoughts in Mistral's fleet, parked not twenty miles from Mantle's walls."
He frowned, puzzled. "How did you get these images? The entire city is still under lockdown."
"Drones. Private frequency. That's not the point." She jabbed a finger at the screen. "Atlas Command is scrambling because of this. They're about ready to ship out in full force and the only thing keeping them from doing so is the fact that technically, what constitutes proper Atlesian territory doesn't extend that far into the wastes and that this, technically, is not an invasion. As things stand, someone makes the wrong move and everything could go to hell at a moment's notice. Is this really the time to come wanting to talk to me about feelings?"
He straightened back in his seat, adjusting his tie. "It is a point that must be addressed," he answered flatly. "Need I remind you that you are the crux of this operation? If any of us should fall short in our duties, I am certain you have contingencies upon contingencies to offset the deficit. However, if you are compromised, we will be the ones to bear the brunt of the consequences. If you cannot be relied upon at a pivotal moment, it is highly likely that the rest of us will spend the remainder of our lives in prison."
"You know, Atlas still uses the—"
"Yes, yes, the death penalty. So I've heard." He indicated to the shut door behind him. "They have followed you this far because you've proven to be competent—"
"And because you don't have any other choice."
"Precisely. Of all the poor options they have been presented with, yours promises the greatest chance of a favorable outcome. They do not trust you, but your ability and, in their eyes, that ability has begun to falter."
"Hm. And what do you think, Watts?"
"I have seen what you are capable of," he said slowly, measuring each word, "but even you are not infallible."
"You think I'm going to mess this up."
He hesitated. "It is a possibility that it would be wise to avoid," he said diplomatically. "More importantly, they believe it to be a possibility, and are rightfully concerned. Jeopardize their confidence now, and you risk jeopardizing their effectiveness at a crucial junction."
She glared nastily at him, grey steel boring insistently into his eyes, demanding he back down. He bristled, a squirming, nauseating thrill running through him, but refused to acquiesce. It was only on rare occasions like these that the childish facade slipped, that the human disguise rippled and something else, something oppressive and cold and hard, peeked out, if only for a moment. Something lurked beneath that gaze, something he rarely saw but inspired some unfathomable, primal response, like glimpsing—just for a fleeting moment—the shadow of some behemoth, benthic beast skulking beneath placid waters.
After an eon, Bronie sighed, waving her hand in defeat. "Humans and their fragile little mental states. Why can't you just be a nice, obedient lackey like the rest of them?" She slumped in annoyance, finally, mercifully breaking the staring contest. "Fine. I'm…not quite upset. Not really. Frustrated, maybe? Disappointed?" She ran a hand through her hair, pushing a few errant strands back into place and succeeding in displacing several more. "It's always the same with your lot, you know that? Humans, I mean. I had expected that the people of this era would be less inclined to squabble over every little thing, but you all just love your conflicts, don't you?"
"You are bothered by the war?" Watts asked blankly. "More importantly, you expected that Mistral would give up an opportunity to strike the moment Atlas showed even the slightest hint of weakness?" He scratched at his chin, clearly baffled. "Evidently, you've set your expectations far too high."
"Evidently." She rolled her eyes, then exhaled slowly. "I didn't account for war. Certainly, it was always a possibility, but I had hoped humanity would have the good sense to not fight amongst themselves when they're surrounded by enemies. But here we are. The second war in less than a hundred years. Are you people actually just stupid?"
"I feel that this sort of development is to be expected, given the circumstances."
"And that's exactly my problem with this whole thing," she said. "The fact that you all see it as a foregone conclusion is maddening in itself. You all just keep making a mess of things, and now look who has to clean up after you. Me."
Watts raised a brow. "Does the declaration truly disrupt your plans to such an extent?"
"In the short term? Not really, no. But it does mean a lot of extra legwork afterwards if I don't want to see the entirety of Mantle collapse after losing its most significant advantage for the last century."
She scowled and shrugged half-heartedly. "Honestly? For the part you're concerned about, this is probably going to wind up working in our favor. Atlas Command is hardly functioning at full capacity at the moment. Throw in a hostile foreign force on top of that and their attention is going to be focused on what's outside their walls, not in."
She leaned back, the swivel on her chair creaking a dangerous warning as she threw her boots on the desk and gazed at the cracked, dusty ceiling.
"Preparations for war means the military is going to be stockpiling resources. Increased requisitions means increased traffic and a smaller chance that we get stopped on our way topside.
Additionally, with the entirety of the reserve deployed, fewer personnel on-site means fewer eyes to catch something abnormal. We'd have a lot more leeway in the event something unexpected happens." A small frown wormed its way onto her face. "Really, the timing couldn't be any more perfect."
"I can certainly see the upsides," Watts said dryly. "Then?"
"It should be perfect," she repeated faintly, "but it wasn't supposed to be this way." She looked at him, an expression of dull resignation sitting limp upon her brow. "Neither of us are strangers to conflict, Watts. Those kids in the other room—they're all just small-time crooks who got roped into something well out of their depth; they've no idea what a conflict of this scale really means."
"I'd advise you to double-check your sources, Zaychik. I have about as much experience with war as they do." At most, he could only recall vague fragments of the post-war reconstruction from his early youth, much less the conflict itself. "But I think I understand what you're trying to say."
She nodded glumly. "You've already seen the horrors that people can inflict on each other if they're just given the right impetus. It comes with the territory, right?" She spread her arms out in a mockingly grand gesture. "Welcome to war. It's always the same, no matter who you are or which side you're on. You may not hold much empathy towards your fellow man, but I'm sure you agree that violence is rarely the most efficient method of solving a problem.
"More often than not, it is a foolish waste of time and resources," he said. "There are few matters that cannot be handled at the negotiating table. Combat is unnecessary and far too inelegant for my tastes."
"I'm sure." She lapsed into a brooding silence, her eyes listlessly scanning the contents of her monitor, not really taking anything in. "Remnant's been at peace for nearly a century now," She noted pensively after several moments. "There aren't many left who can really remember the Great War."
"And you can?"
She nodded vaguely. "That, and a few besides. I've got all the memories up here." She tapped smartly at her cranium. "It's like humans can't stand peace and just fight for the sake of it; the moment they calm down, they go looking for something else to get worked up over.
The Great War. Before that, the Vacuan Crisis. Before that, Mistral's Succession Conflicts. And so on. The wheel just keeps turning, and the only thing that can stop it, even for a moment, is a threat larger than your fellow man. Heck, sometimes even that doesn't cut it." A derisive sneer tugged at her lips, but the words came out haggard and weary. "All the things that had to be sacrificed to get them to where they are, and they're still making the same mistakes. What's the point?"
Her fingers drummed restlessly against the desk, the noise clanging hollow and cold. She sat silent for several moments, contemplating something at great length.
"Have I told you about the end of the world yet, Watts?" She finally asked quietly.
He knew that the question was entirely rhetorical; her memory was long and immaculate, like that of a machine. "Not in any appreciable detail," he said, humoring her regardless.
"It's an ugly story." She lingered, a finger tracing languid, aimless circles on the desk. "Supposedly, there were fourteen herrscher in total. But humanity didn't get that far. Not even close.
The last one they ended up facing didn't threaten the world with overwhelming force like those that had come before. It was more subtle than that. It could reason. Tempt you with despair. Whisper into your ear like the devil on your shoulder, telling you all the reasons why it was pointless to continue, and, when you finally gave in, that was it. You lost. You'd become another one of its puppets. A monster with a thousand faces, each indistinguishable from any other person you'd see on the street. The dry-cleaning lady. A businessman. The president. Anyone."
She sighed, a sour expression crossing her face.
"Looking back, it was such a simple scheme. It's almost laughable that no one figured it out til it was too late. A politician here, a demagogue there; once you've got enough voices of authority talking, saying the same things, everything else starts falling in line. The herrscher was eventually defeated, but the damage had already been done."
"War." Watts said.
Bronie nodded. "One larger than you could possibly imagine. All it takes is someone powerful enough deciding that they're overdue for a show of martial force and everything just topples like dominoes. The rank-and-file gets worked up and start rallying, the people follow in fear for their safety and, somewhere along the way, someone presses the wrong buttons. After that…well, have you read the archive files on Oppenheimer's work yet?"
Watts paled. He most certainly had. "Surely not?"
"Mm. A half-dozen nations armed with hundreds of weapons, each with a payload capable of leveling a city. Mutually assured destruction. The world didn't last a week, and anyone who didn't die immediately was doomed to live the rest of their life beneath a cloud of fallout. Poisoned air, poisoned water, poisoned soil. It was basically all over at that point."
A twisted shadow of a sneer, a deprecating facsimile of her usual smirk, pulled up the corners of her mouth. A sharp, barking laugh escaped her throat.
"You know what the most pathetic part of it all was?" She asked, not bothering to veil the derision in her tone. "Even after everything ended, it was still the same. Even when they were reduced to living in bunkers and eating out of cans, the survivors still squabbled for resources, space, status—anything you could think of. They sectioned themselves off into groups based on the most asinine things and used that as a reason to fight each other. To their last breaths they refused to set aside their differences and fought over who got to be the king in a dead world."
She gave that same harsh laugh, the sound ringing hollow and bitter in the silence, pulling Watts's face into a deeper frown.
"Isn't that just hilarious? Humanity's got the apocalypse at their doorstep, and they still decide to fight amongst themselves. Right up until the very end."
Hilarious wasn't the word Watts would have used. Irrational, absurd, senseless and ridiculous, absolutely. But he simply could not find the humor in such inefficiency, in such…waste. Precious resources misallocated on childish pursuits, any chance of recovery, utterly squandered. A disgusted grimace deepened the lines on his aged face.
"Yet…" Bronie continued to speak, her tone lilting to a pensive somberness. "Yet even as the world was crumbling, some still continued to live a semblance of a normal life. They did what they could to put food on the table, to keep their loved ones safe. Even as they grew ill and weak, the radiation destroying them from the inside out, they still dreamed for a future that they knew they could never have. Even in the final hours before it finally, finally ended, they held hope for a tomorrow that would never come."
"Foolish."
She hummed, the sound falling somewhere between acceptance and agreement.
"I think I hate humanity," she admitted quietly. "They're an illogical, vain, selfish species. They consume whatever they like, destroy and fight everything without a single thought for the future, and, when the consequences for their actions finally come, they cover their eyes and place the burden on someone else. Pathetic."
"I see their charms are not lost on you either," he said, something that could almost be called levity lacing his tone. "So, why bother? They are clearly beneath your worry. Is it for the heroics? A debt to be repaid? Pride? Your words and your desires contradict."
"Yeah," she admitted. "I'm sure they do. It's just how I'm wired, I guess. As an old friend would say: there's so many beautiful things in this world worth fighting for. Optimistic idiot." Her frown softened somewhat. "But she was right. And our duty was to protect those things. To protect civilization. To safeguard the future so that this pathetic, unreasonable species can continue to dream."
She shot him a wan grin. "I'm a bit of a perfectionist, you know, so the fact that we've failed on the first run really rubs me the wrong way. Failing again might just kill me."
Watts rolled his eyes as a touch of her usual flippancy colored her words. "I cannot help but feel that you are already behind in that regard, considering the current situation."
"Yeah, well, what else is new?" She asked. "Someone else is going to have to start saving them from their own stupidity soon, because I think I'm getting pretty tired of it. Really, what's the point of protecting humanity if they're just going to self-destruct the moment they feel secure again?"
"You consider what we're doing to be protecting?" Watts asked incredulously. "Then, I daresay I must have played a vital role in protecting all manner of people in my tenure beneath my previous...employer."
"It is protection, in a big-picture sort of way," she insisted. "Though, I'm just following my directives, it's her plan."
"RABBIT's?" Watts asked. "I fear you overestimate her tactical prowess if the desired outcome is meant to be anything but destructive."
"Like I said," she repeated, "big-picture. Things are bound to get messy in the short-term." Bronie shot him a questioning look. "What's with you? Got cold feet or something? You seemed pretty enthusiastic about all this before."
"I still am. Any opportunity to put Atlas in its place is a welcome one. I am simply trying to make sense of your thought process. Surely, there are enough viable alternatives that something like this should have been considered a last-resort? There is simply far too much potential for collateral damage for it to be worth considering otherwise."
"This is the last-resort plan," she said. "Our first, second, third and so-on are the reason things aren't much, much worse. The fact that it's come to this means that, whether we win or lose here, Remnant's in for some rough times."
"I can hardly contain my excitement."
"I'm sure. Now," she said, some of her snappiness returning, "if you're done wasting my time, go and let the others know to be ready at a moment's notice. I've got a feeling that it won't be long now."
"How can you be sure?"
She smirked her dry, humorless smirk. "Like I said, it's always the same."
Clouds, numerous and forlorn, trekked languidly across the heavens, taking their time on a march that had no goal. They smothered the sun, blotting the sky so that, even at midday, an ominous, pervading gloom stretched across the land. They drifted indifferently, propelled by winds that howled a harsh, glacial song, ringing with a timbre as clear and cold as the ice it formed.
Far below, two weary travelers trudged along a path that was surely there, but had long since been buried. The cold had robbed them of all sensation, chasing the blood from their extremities like a small, frightened animal, and they shuffled forth, almost in a trance, fixated only on the countless steps that still lay ahead.
Jaune had lost track of how long they had been traveling. At Cinder's behest, they had continued to trek further and further north, and, after a certain point, the days had begun to bleed into each other—a long, miserable monotone of routine and featureless landscapes. Somewhere along the way, dense woodland had given way to open plains so bleak and repetitive that he thought he might have finally been driven to madness, if not for the occasional signs of meek vegetation or odd obtrusion to mark their progress.
To the east, the interminable expanse of Lake Matsu glittered, just barely within view. The prodigious lake laid claim to much of Mistral's upper quadrant, its calm waters masking the presence of the aquatic grimm that called its depths their home. Suspended above, gargantuan lithic bodies, held aloft by deposits of naturally-occurring gravity dust, played host to a number of varieties of aerial grimm. That, along with shores that stretched nearly to the sea on its eastern and western ends, made traversing the lake a formidable task no matter which method a traveler opted to take.
And it was a task that Jaune and Cinder had found themselves stymied by. Without a practical way of crossing directly through the breadth of the lake, they had been forced to skirt along its western shore, adding precious days to their itinerary.
More troubling than the wasted time, however, was that settlements seemed to grow sparser and more rudimentary the further from Mistral's central hub they traveled. Whereas those closer to the Center had been tightly clustered and shone with extravagance, the towns at the outskirts almost seemed to have been formed more as havens of necessity than anything else.
In those early towns, the pair had usually been able to find someone who would grudgingly part with some much-needed amenities, but now any evidence of life was wholly absent. Of the few settlements that they had come across in recent days, not a single one had managed to evade the notice of that fulgent, hateful star.
Husks and ashes were all they found, and with each discovery, a grim apprehension squeezed tighter and tighter at their hearts—a mounting issue that neither had been willing to voice aloud—they were running out of supplies.
It had already been two days since they had last eaten, relying on the snow to numb their stomachs, tricking their appetites into satiety, if only for a short time. The remaining ration packets, they had quartered and rewrapped individually, only allowing themselves a morsel when continuing proved too demanding for only water and sheer obstinance.
They strode aside each other in a daze, eyes fixated on the road ahead, neither bothering to break the steady monotone of muffled footfalls in the snow. They were the final people on Remnant. Everything and everyone else had vanished, buried beneath an oppressive, frigid silence. Even their communication, which had already been strained and curt from the start, had lapsed into near total muteness. It was more a product of weakness than any true enmity—they simply didn't have the energy to spare for anything beyond what was strictly necessary. Neither of them had been at the peak of health when they had started the journey, but now, their gaunt, sallow frames seemed ready to topple the moment their focus lapsed for even a moment.
Somewhere beyond the gasping winds an odd sound rose above the din.
Cinder halted first, with Jaune nearly passing her in his stupor, stopping only when she deigned to grunt at him. He strained his ears. Another cry, keening and weak, perhaps that of an injured animal rudely awakened from its hibernal rest. They exchanged befuddled, hopeful looks, slowly creeping towards the noise, intent on not scaring away what could be their first decent meal in days. The call seemed to originate from a point not too far off the main road, where a shivering bundle lay conspicuously curled in the hollow of a rotten tree.
Jaune arrived first, kneeling to wipe at the ice and snow. His hand brushed against something soft and trembling. He stilled, eyes locked on the figure before him. A nervous chill iced his veins, coalescing as a frigid hand seizing his heart. Numbly at first, then more frantically, he rushed to wipe away the remainder of the snow, to extract the frail, small thing from its ill-suited shelter.
"It's just some brat," Cinder groused, a heavy scowl on her face as she huffed to a halt behind him. "So much for a hot meal tonight."
A young girl had apparently sought shelter in the hollow. The tattered fabrics she wore had been scorched heavily, the harsh burns beneath clearly visible and spanning vast areas of her body. A fine layer of soot coated her skin, ingrained so thoroughly into the flesh that the snow hadn't been able to wash it off.
She mewled in pain, crying out again with a hoarse, feeble voice. Fingers, rubbed raw and bloody, grasped blindly against his, seeking even the slightest touch of warmth.
Jaune grasped tenderly at her wrist, feeling the emaciated, brittle bone threatening to snap if he exerted too much force. His thumb pressed against the artery and found her pulse sluggish and staggered. He looked up, about to say something, but found himself alone.
Cinder had already left, continuing along the road.
A freshly-kindled ember of frustration had ignited within her. They had not passed a settlement in several days, and judging by the wounds the girl had sustained, she couldn't have traveled for more than a day on her own. Ahead of them was likely another disappointment, and she quickened her pace, determined to get the unpleasantness over with as soon as possible.
She hobbled along for a short time before noting the lack of accompanying footsteps. Turning, she found that her captor had not bothered to follow her, instead remaining crouched where she had left him.
"What are you doing," she called irately.
He looked at her, an uncomprehending look stretching across his face. "We're stopping. We can set up camp somewhere around here."
"Are you stupid?" She gestured to the expanse of white around them. "Look around you, there's nothing out here."
"Well, we can't keep moving. Her injuries are bad and she's been out in the cold too long, she needs first aid, at least."
Cinder gaped, hardly believing her ears. "You're taking her with us?"
He looked at her, puzzled. "We can't just leave her here."
"Yes. Yes, we can." She said, her tone rising tightly. "We have to. We don't need another mouth to feed. Look at her. There's no way she's going to make it through the night; it'll just be a waste. We have maybe a week before we run out of supplies entirely, so let's not make that worse by doing something completely unnecessary."
"Cinder, she'll die if we go now."
"So what? People die all the time. Add her to your list. What's one more?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"What, playing dumb? Or maybe you still haven't accepted it?"
She scanned his features, her insides boiling when she saw only confusion in his expression. She had thought that he didn't care what costs this little venture of his would incur. That, at least, she could grudgingly respect. Victory at any cost. As it turned out, the truth was much simpler than that.
"You don't get it. Of course you don't," she said, her volume rising with each word, her face contorting gruesomely. The utter gall of this…this child. No one could be this stupid. "Everything you do is just and right and good, isn't it? The hero can do no wrong, isn't that right?"
She hobbled close, until her own twisted expression glared directly at his own mildly alarmed one. The sheer righteousness in his eyes burned her, stoking her temper to a roaring intensity that dispelled the cold and the languor momentarily. Viciously she shoved at his chest with what little leverage she could muster. He merely stumbled backwards a few steps while the force sent her clattering to the cold ground. She glared up at him as she commanded resisting, faux limbs to push her back into an upright position.
"It must feel so good to have someone else you can blame for all your mistakes, doesn't it? My fault because I started it, right?" She snarled up at him. "Well, you're the one who kept it going. You could have let that girl die in that tower. You could have let that master of yours handle it all. You could have done anything else besides what you're doing right now, but you didn't. Look where that's gotten us."
She spat at his feet, any thoughts of decorum or image cast into the dirt.
"Stranded, freezing, hungry, and half of Mistral burnt to a crisp. All of this, it's not my fault, it's yours, and it could have all been avoided if you just sat down and shut up when you were supposed to." A shaking finger jabbed towards the child. "That is your fault. Every single person your girlfriend's turned into a pile of ash is your fault. You don't get to pretend to be a good person now—not when it could mean we starve to death out here. So just accept it and let's keep moving."
Jaune released a breath that he didn't realize he had been holding. The air rushed out in a shaky, uneven stream. "I'm not arguing about this with you." The words spilled forth cold and strained. "You have no right to be talking about anything. You'd really leave a kid out here to die just so you don't have to risk your own life? Are you serious?"
"Yes, you fool! That's what I've been saying! Is it not enough that you're marching us to our deaths? Now you want to speed up the process? To have us starve out here in the middle of nowhere before we even get to wherever it is we're going? I don't care if you don't like it, I'm trying to make sure that we don't end up like her."
Jaune seemed to struggle with his words momentarily, before his face set in a hard expression. "I really don't care what you think. I'm not leaving her out here," he declared, the finality clear in his voice. Cinder stared at him, her jaw working furiously.
He turned his back to her, crossing the distance to the stricken child. Behind him, he could hear struggling as the woman dragged herself back to her feet. Kneeling once again, he carefully lifted the small form in his arms, taking care to avoid the burnt patches as best he could. She was far too light; he hardly had to strain to hold her aloft. Straggled whimpers wheezed from her throat as the gentle movement jostled scorched limbs, but she curled tighter into his chest to flee the cruel winds.
"No."
Jaune halted at the sheer, sharp malice in the word. The temperature around them rose precipitously, the snow melting rapidly into clear rivulets along the ground. He whirled, backing away when he saw Cinder's eye's glowing a telltale gold.
"I've put up with your idiocy for long enough. I'm not putting up with this, too."
A harsh effulgence seeped from the flesh of the woman's palms, growing stronger by the moment. A menacing step forward answered by a wary step back. She advanced intently, determination etched into her features, beads of sweat already precipitating on her forehead.
A flash of red in her periphery. A wailing, echoing shriek. Burning.
She only made it a few paces before she buckled, crumpling into a heaving, strangled mass. She spasmed, curling into a fetal position, wide eyes flickering wildly, seeing nothing, her breath gasping in an erratic, shallow staccato. Her real hand, straining and clawed, grasped tightly at the junction where prosthetic met flesh, scrabbling at the seam as if to tear the metal from its socket.
Cautiously, Jaune watched her, lingering several strides away, in case it was merely an act. If it had been anyone else, he supposed he would have felt pity—the woman lying before him was but a wisp of what she had once been, unable to mount a proper attack, even at the height of her ire.
The long days and scarce meals had left her—and himself—haggard and gaunt. There was scarcely an inch of porcelain skin left that wasn't marred by scars, burns or minor injuries sustained over the course of their travels. Even when hate-filled eyes refocused, boring into him with unnerving intensity, he found them clouded, dull. Restraining her took little effort, even in his own, poor condition. Her injuries were so much more debilitating, after all.
A short walk down the path found them a lonely copse of withered trees. It was hardly an ideal resting place, but it was still better than nothing. He laid the girl within the warm confines of his sleeping bag and made doubly sure to securely fasten Cinder's restraints to one of the thin trunks, then set about making camp.
Once a feeble fire had been started, he could get to applying first-aid to the girl's grievous wounds.
Gently, he washed away what soot and grime he could without upsetting her injuries too badly. Upon closer inspection, her condition was significantly worse than what he had initially thought, with the wounds festering an ugly black and angry red striations streaking from them. Flesh that should have been feverish was chilled and clammy to the touch, and what little skin remained unmarred lingered a sallow, deathly pale.
Jaune had some experience dressing wounds—his youngest sister was of a more rambunctious cast and it had always fallen to him to patch her up whenever she inevitably wound up injuring himself. This was certainly more severe than what he was used to, but surely the principles were similar.
Clean, disinfect and bandage. He had already finished the first step. They lacked any form of proper antiseptic, so he had to make do with water. Similarly, there was no gauze on-hand, so he settled for shredding some of his extra clothes and boiling the scraps.
Slowly, he began to bandage the wounds, crossing the strands in a careful, deliberate pattern to prevent slipping should she move too much. Wrap firmly enough to stem any remaining bleeding, but not so tight that it cuts off circulation.
How old could she have been? He wondered as he worked. His hand loosely held her wrist while he patched up the injuries on her arm, marveling at the frailty of it. It was a child's wrist. A child who had been forced to flee her home and wander a barren wilderness sporting debilitating injuries. She couldn't have been much older than eight or nine—somewhere close to the age of his sister.
This had been because of him. Ruined towns he could distance himself from, convince himself that they were nothing but vague assortments of scorched material, that there was no true correlation between himself and those who had once called those places home. He could shutter his eyes and cover his ears to the fact that the blackened husks were remnants of lives lost, that the ashen piles hadn't once been people. But this…this was too personal. The consequences of his actions made manifest.
He moved to tend to her other arm.
Had she been as precocious, as headstrong, as his sister? Perhaps she, too, had had an older brother whom she berated endlessly? Maybe she spent inordinate amounts of time tending to her locks like his sister did, or experimented with makeup to woo a childish crush.
His eyes flickered to the girl's dark and mottled scalp. He had been forced to shear off what hair hadn't burnt away in order to properly dress her head wounds. Even when the strands came back, they would never again grow where the skin was too badly damaged. The injuries around her face were just as severe, leaving indelible tracks of black and red streaking across. Even when they healed, she was likely to be terribly scarred for life.
His eyes jumped, unbidden to the woman bound to the tree at the edge of camp, her earlier condemnations echoing in his mind. He knew she was right. He had known it from the very start but buried it as far deep as he could. If he accepted the truth, there was no way he could have made it this far.
And yet there was still so much more left to go.
They would need to find a town for proper medical treatment, which would mean a necessary detour on their route—even turning back, if need be. It would be so much easier to just follow Cinder's suggestion. Their progress was already far too slow, and their circumstances were dire. There was no guarantee that they would even be able to find another populated settlement, or if the people would be willing to lend their aid. Even if the girl could be saved, would she even want that? Disfigured, crippled, her home and loved ones gone. Wouldn't it be best for all involved to finally, mercifully lay her to her rest?
He discarded the thought as quickly as it came. He wasn't like Cinder. He couldn't become like Cinder. If he did, then what was all this for?
Falling into a trance of equal parts admonishment and introspection as he worked, he failed to notice as a young moon ascended slowly from behind the horizon—a baleful, celestial eye gazing magnanimously down. Its pallid light glittered against pristine snow, and his aura flared, bolstering him, as the winds howled their insistence, and night hugged their small camp close to its bosom.
He settled the girl back into his sleeping bag, making sure that she had enough insulation to keep warm and finally allowed himself to rest, leaning back into his tree. He pressed himself flush against its bark, compressing his body as much as he could beneath the single blanket that he had taken, as if the winds might forget that he was there if he could just make himself small enough. He shivered there, head lowered, knees scrunched uncomfortably close to his chest, but his eyes never wavered from the staggered rise and fall of the sleeping bag.
Silent and indifferent, an audience of stars stared down, their constellations peeking through the mass of clouds, careless of the struggles they witnessed below. Occasionally, one would streak across the darkness, departing as if it found the whole play beneath its attention.
He settled into a restless vigil, the rhythmic breathing entrancing him, the pained sounds faint and grating against his ears. She was suffering, but that meant she was still alive.
In and out, in and out. Another breath, another second, another moment of life. Every exhalation sent a faint, silver trail crawling to the heavens, as if the skies were hungrily sucking their very souls away from them.
Occasionally, his head would droop, only to jerk upright whenever the breathing hitched. He wasn't certain why he bothered, or what he would even be able to do if the worst were to happen, but still he persisted. Wakefulness and sleep, the intervals separating the two grew steadily longer and, with the moon having passed well beyond its zenith, he finally drifted fully into slumber, the wheezing serving as an agonized metronome lulling him unconscious.
He woke a scant few hours later, finding that a serene stillness had befallen the barren copse. There were no birds to sing at this time of the year, no small, woodland animals to scamper about the undergrowth. The large beasts had long since taken to their slumber. Even the winds had finally, mercifully, paused their tireless work. An empty, dead planet, save for their small group.
Sluggishly, he clambered upright. Something was off. He grasped at the thought but the fog of sleep still drifted heavily in his mind and the thought wandered away, dispersing into the aether. Blankly, he just stood there for several moments, his mind vainly trying to piece together what was wrong. It was quiet, yes, but that was to be expected; the snow muffled everything.
His eyes scanned the camp. There was Cinder, silver manacles still binding her to the tree he had left her at. There was their spent kindling, black and cold in the firepit. Their dwindling supplies, too, remained as he had left them the night before. Everything seemed to be in place.
His gaze finally fell upon the bundle lying quietly beneath the sleeping bag. A soft intake of air rushed through his nostrils. Slowly, he moved towards it, seeing that it remained completely motionless. He pulled back the soft layers covering the still form and laid a hand upon that slight forehead, stiffening at the sensation beneath his fingers. Shaking, he moved to feel her wrist. His brow creased heavily. From her spot at the edge of camp, Cinder noted his reaction, scoffing in derision.
Jaune spent that morning digging in the frigid Mistralian soil—a mechanical, repetitive task, perfectly suited to numbing the mind.
Sunbreak came out and my productivity has tanked to a comical degree.
This chapter was supposed to be another three or four thousand words, but after a bit of structuring, I decided the scenes were better off placed at a later point.
It's coming. Oh lawdy, it's coming.
