Imperial Capital of Giad

June 7th, Stellar Year 2140

Everywhere Shin looked, he saw a place where his mother might have died.

They brought his father back to the compound and buried him in the Nouzen cemetery behind the walls. Shin had watched as they lowered the casket (closed, of course) into the ground, and felt surprisingly little. He'd thought he would cry, but maybe he'd run out of tears to shed by then.

As for his mother, they never found her body.

The eight year old was grateful for that. Grateful for the same reason he was grateful they never told him how she'd died. He couldn't understand why. He didn't even know he felt gratitude to begin with, too young to know his emotions to that level. In a way, Shin would always be too young.

But the gratitude was there nonetheless. They never found her body, and he was grateful to be allowed the freedom to think about her absence in whatever way he wanted. A freedom he couldn't have if he'd seen her coffin as he had his father's. Gratitude that he could hold onto his fantasies: that she might not even be dead at all; that maybe one day she'd come back; that maybe one day he could feel that warmth again from how much she loved him, and then maybe this cold feeling in his chest, like his heart had turned to ice, would finally go away.

And yet despite his gratitude, Shin couldn't help but glance at every black scorch on a stretch of cobbles, at every scatter of bullet-holes punctuating the mass of a rust-brown stain, at every shattered Feldress burnt to a colorless husk on the street, at every building crushed into rubble by the fire of artillery, and in each of these he saw a place where his mother might have died.

Soldiers of both sides passed him by, and though gun- and cannon-fire echoed from all corners of the city there was no killing on Shin's street. A few times the boy saw rebels and loyalists encounter one another, and each time both sides put down their weapons and continued on their way.

He thought nothing of it at the time. Much later, he would wonder if it was because both sides were unwilling - at least in that moment - to implicate a child in their bloodshed, and that thought would spiral into others, into reminders of the 187 chips of forest-green metal he carried, questions about the lives and characters of those 187 people he'd killed, and then those reminders and questions would become guilt.

The loyalists ignored Shin. The news of the child's banishment had already spread to them, and no soldier aligned with the crown could take the risk of associating with the tainted child. The first few groups of rebels carried past him as well, looking harried and desperate.

Then one stopped for him.

It was a group of ten, and only two of them were armed: an Alba man and woman who looked like twins, both with their silver hair swept back behind their ears, the man's to the nape of his neck and the woman's to her shoulders. Both carried battle rifles. The other eight were woman and children, and one old man leaning on a rickety cane.

The Alba man lowered his rifle in one hand and raised the other, pointing in Shin's direction. His twin readied her rifle and ran toward him. Shin ducked reflexively for cover - and then she went past him, braced her gun and scanned the street, her back to his.

"You alright kid?" The man dropped to a crouch to be at eye level with Shin, one hand on his knee, the other on the spine of his gun. "It's dangerous to be walking out here."

"Your role will not be a difficult one. You wear such a miserable look already, half-breed - maintain that expression to whichever rebel group finds you, and they'll almost surely take pity on you."

Shin turned around, looking helplessly in the direction of the home he'd been banished from. The upper crenelations of its black-on-white walls were just barely visible, poking out over the rooftops of brick buildings.

"They said I can't come back," Shin told him. His instructor's voice echoed in his ears, but as he spoke he found there was no need at all for those six months' of training to put a lonely, despondent note in his voice. That came naturally. "They said I'm a waste."

That too was the naked truth. Shin had overheard the adults' conversations a few times. In later years he would suspect he'd been meant to hear them. Their spite and vitriol, their regret as they spoke of his father, the vaunted Ebony General, and how he'd wasted his blood on a Maika woman. How pitiable it was for all involved.

The Alba man's pale face softened. "You should come with us," he said. "We're heading to a shelter on the other side of the city. It won't be fancy, but we can get you a place to rest." He flashed a warm grin. "Some pretty damn good food, too."

"Watch your language, Vance," the twin called from over her shoulder.

"'Damn' isn't a curse, Tori."

"Does it even matter if it is or isn't? How hard is it to watch your mouth around the kids?"

"Probably about as hard as it is to nag and stand guard at the same time," Vance grumbled. "Anyway kid, how 'bout it?"

A question with an easy answer, but for many reasons.

The plan resounded in Shin's mind. The opportunity was clear.

But equal to that - if not louder - was a feeling somewhere between curiosity and wonder as he glanced between the man's face and hers. He saw the freedom of their expressions (his annoyed, hers smirking) and compared it to the world of frozen, frigid faces he'd adapted to since his mother died. Maybe the Nouzens could show faces like what these two silver-haired twins wore, but if they did Shin had never seen them.

As he gave his answer, Shin wasn't sure if it was driven by his duty or by that curiosity for a place where such expressions could be so freely worn.

"Okay."

—

Night fell before they reached the other side of the city and its 'damn good food' (ironically, it was the Alba woman's protests that made the word stick longer in Shin's mind, otherwise he might have forgotten it), but the rebels had a number of other, smaller safehouses scattered through the city. Refurbished apartments or hidden cellars with tough walls and locked doors they called bolt-holes. After the Alba twins got their wards indoors, they pulled out dusty sleeping bags from a chaotically stuffed closet and pried open a wooden crate full of soldiers' rations.

"Trust me," the man (his name was Vance, Shin remembered) said apologetically as he pulled open the packaging. "I know this stuff's not great, but you'll get a better meal tomorrow."

Or so he said, but Shin didn't find the taste all that bad. He thought it was cool to eat the same stuff soldiers ate on the battlefield. Plus it was his first time eating macaroni and cheese - and even mac n' cheese eaten out of a plastic retort pouch was far better than no mac n' cheese at all.

The two of them sat at the kitchen table by a boarded-up window, a small, steady glow from the streetlamps just managing to slip through the gaps between the wooden slats. His sister was in the living room with all the others, keeping guard.

"What's your name, kid? I didn't get the chance to ask," Vance asked amicably.

"Be sure to tell whoever takes you in your first and last name," his instructor had stressed many times, always in constant reiteration of the plan. "They'll surely be eager for any secrets of the Nouzen clan you might disgorge. It will ensure you a place among them."

"Shinei Nouzen."

There was a moment where the Alba's pale hand froze, spoon suspended half-way from his mouth, and his silver eyes widened fractionally. Then the moment passed and he smiled and his hand carried on.

"Nouzen, huh?" He set aside his plate of torn plastic packages for a moment. He looked again at Shin, glance lingering a moment longer than it had before at his blood-red eyes. "I'm Vance. That stuck-up girl in the other room is Tori. Can I call you Shin?"

Shin nodded, and Vance smiled slightly.

"What was it like living with your clan, Shin?"

"They will ask you all manner of questions about us, half-breed. Answer truthfully, but give them nothing of value. Nothing about our Feldress, our soldiers, our plans. Not that we've shown you anything critical… but be vigilant. Should you betray us, even inadvertently, your brother on the battlefield will be the one to pay for it."

It had all seemed pretty simple in the classroom. Tell them stuff they might think was useful, but wouldn't hurt the clan. But now that Shin was here he realized just how narrow a line that was to walk. His instructor had even warned him that sharing anything too useless might make them angry at him, maybe enough to kick him out.

Or kill him, his instructor had thought without telling him. But of course Shin's death would not have been a problem to him.

"Um… well, we… they, I mean… they have these… um, festival things, on Sundays-"

He went into a slow, clumsy explanation of a few of the things his instructor said would be alright to tell. A few of the clan's cultural customs and rituals, the historical blade-dances at the end of every month to signify a renewal of resolve, the special teas grown in the cemetery between the graves of the fallen, so that the warriors still-living could take in the strength of those passed-on.

He reached a pause, unsure what to say next. Vance had settled back in his chair, a plastic cup in his hands filled with hot water, listening with a gentle and somewhat unreadable expression on his face. Something not quite a smile and not quite a frown. When Shin opened his mouth to continue, the Alba put a hand on his to stop him.

"What about you though, Shin? You talked a lot about what it's like for your clan, but not what's it like for you."

Shin closed his mouth again. A silence ensued.

"Not sure what to say, huh?" The Alba rebel smiled bitterly. "Yeah. I get that."

Another silent pause.

"Tori and me, we're not from a clan like the Nouzens. But we know a thing or two about being bred for war. About being made into something, whether we want to or not."

His eyes lowered. His hands tightened around the plastic cup. "Dad was a soldier, and mom was too. They wanted us to be the same.

"Put it right in our names when we were born. 'Advance' and 'Victory.' How were we ever supposed to be anything different?"

Vance looked up again, and he eased his grip. Set the cup aside. "Jesus, what am I doing? Unloading this on a kid. What's wrong with me?"

He shook his head ruefully. Shin was too young to know what self-hatred was or what it looked like, but nonetheless found the soldier's expression familiar from a long time spent staring in mirrors. Another one of those wordless moments passed before Vance started to pick up his and Shin's plates.

"Anyway, Shin, things'll be different for you from now on. Whatever your clan wanted from you… whatever it was that made them call you a waste… you won't have to worry about it anymore. Not with us."

—

On the capital's northern outskirts, after the cobblestones gave way to dirt roads, where the brick buildings became more and more replaced by wooden ones… there, civilization and wilderness made an uneasy truce. Shin and a group of ten kids of all ages found their home in a rustic schoolhouse at the outside edge of the northern forest, surrounded on three sides by dense woodlands. They were connected to the war and everything else outside their little world only by a long, narrow, meandering footpath back to the city. The oldest of them was in their mid-teens, and the youngest had only just graduated from toddling in diapers. The kid closest to Shin's age was a mixed Jade and Eisen girl with green eyes and iron-black hair.

Her name was Kette. She was about a year older than him, and from the very first day they met - from the bottom of his heart - Shin hated her.

"What do you mean you've never played catch?" she asked, an edge of affronted disgust in her voice. "Did they not have baseballs in your fancy-pants palace?"

She said all this one day while they were outside the schoolhouse. That sense of disgust she spoke with was something Shin had grown quickly used to - she seemed to very often find excuses to bring it out.

"Well-" he started, '-they wouldn't let me play with the other kids.'

Is what he would have said, but in every conversation Kette had to have two things: the last word, and the most words.

"Oh I bet you didn't, huh? Bet you were too rich and fancy for baseballs. Probably only had like, bad-mitten rackets or whatever." Kette rolled her eyes. "Gah, you're so sad. Here, I'll show you," she said, and lobbed one at him in a slow curve.

Shin caught it and blinked. Held the little white orb in his hands, texture and feel of springy rubber and cheap cloth stitching.

"Now you throw it back to me," she said impatiently.

Shin did. Then she threw it back. Then he threw it back also.

"Is this supposed to be fun?" he asked.

Kette grinned. "It gets funner the faster you throw it."

And without warning, she hurled it at him.

Shin had a moment to see a rapid blur like a streak of lightning arcing toward his face. Then it hit him in the eyes and his vision exploded, bright red pain drowning out all else as he stumbled back, clutching at the hurt.

"Oh shoot- I'm so sor-!"

The ball bounced off his face and Shin plucked it reflexively from the air. With one eye squinted open he hurled it back equally as hard. Kette was halfway through an apology Shin couldn't hear when it slammed into her - and in the exact same spot, too. She made a sound kinda like a squealing pig and a squawking bird as she stumbled back.

"Son of a…" Kette muttered, voice trailing, rubbing both hands at her eyes and nose. There was a moment's hesitation. She glanced around the field. Then when she confirmed it was only the two of them standing there: "…bitch!" she screamed. Once some of the pain had faded from her expression, it was replaced instead with a degree of smug pride. The pride every child wore when they first discovered they could swear.

"Oh I'm gonna get you for that," she said, a sharp grin stretching across her face.

"But you started it!" Shin protested.

"Don't care." She tossed the ball up from her hands, caught it again, hooked back her arm for another throw.

Shin dove for cover. The ball ripped past his head with such force it whipped his hair back behind him, and Shin heard the high, splitting crack of glass. He looked and saw a fine spiderweb bloomed across one of the schoolhouse windows.

"You're gonna get in so much trouble for that," Kette said evilly.

"But you were the one-"

"Who they gonna believe, huh? You only got here a week ago. I been here since forever."

As she talked she was also walking toward the shed where they stored anything and everything. When she got to its rickety old door, she threw it open and an avalanche of toys, tools, trash, and a billion other pieces of junk flooded out onto the grass. Among them were two plastic canisters of little white golf balls. She reached down and grabbed them, tossed one in Shin's direction.

"We're just getting started, Nouzen."

There was a moment's stare-down. Both met one another's eyes from across the grass. Then they broke into a race of dexterity to unscrew their cans. Shin won - barely - and tossed away the lid, grabbed a fistful of golf balls and hurled them in a buckshot spray at her. Kette cursed again (as every child learns, only the first curse is hard) and ducked back, though a few struck her arm and shoulder.

Shin kept up a steady stream of fire, chucked one after one as he retreated toward the cover of a huge oak tree. Kette just took it. She didn't even try to dodge. Instead her focus was on her hands, which moved so fast they blurred as she dumped balls into the pockets of her gym shorts until there were two huge swinging bulges of them at her hips, like the low-hanging holsters of a cowboy gunslinger.

"Oh it is on you son of a bitch," she said. It seemed she'd found her new favorite word.

For the next hour they waged a running war, burning through another two cans of golfballs and several packages of baseballs. Even the ironically-named softball was thrown around here and there, attested to by the big purple bruises they both wore the next day. Shin moved with ferocious agility, dashing from cover to cover and vaulting over obstacles, throwing all the while and only ducking just long enough to drop a bit more ammo into his palms. Kette was an unstoppable force. She honed on his location and advanced toward him with a relentless bloodlust, both hands ever-at-work in furious motion as she rapidly increased the density of plastic soaring through the summer air.

It was when they'd both run down to just a few balls each that Shin decided to break cover. As she stepped back, loosing her final shots in heavy, cross-armed throws, he broke into a sprint toward her, hurled out one arm to release a cloud of projectiles while keeping his last one in the offhand. She took most of them to the face and screamed her outrage, stumbling back, falling on her butt. Shin skidded to a stop over her. He hooked back his left arm and held his last ball in a taut grip aimed between the green of her eyes. The white plastic shone in the sun like the metal of a pointed pistol.

"I win," Shin said, panting breathlessly.

Kette stared up at him hatefully for a long few seconds.

"Fine."

Shin held out the golf ball and let it drop. It tapped her harmlessly on the forehead and rolled down, landed on the grass and stopped there.

"Maybe you don't know how to play fetch, Nouzen, but it looks like you're pretty good at dodgeball at least." She gave him a somewhat forced can-we-make-peace-now kind of smile. "Maybe there's some hope for you after all."

"Thank you?" Shin said, and perhaps against his better judgment, smiled. He held out his hand and she took it, pulling herself back to her feet.

"You're still gonna take the blame for that broken window, though," she said.

But of course, just words were never enough for Kette, so as soon as she fell in step behind him she grabbed that last golf ball off the grass and pelted Shin in the back of the head with it, and only smiled innocently when he turned back at her.

—

As it happened, Kette had a reputation for breaking windows, so when it came down to throwing blame later in the day all her finger-pointing ended up in vain. She went to bed completely deprived of the schoolteacher's incredibly delicious cooking.

Of course, completely unfairly, she ended up taking it out on Shin later, but that's a story for another day.

And Shin, two years later, would kill her.

Also for another day.

Fun fact: Reviews, follows, and favorites give me dopamine.

Another fun fact: dopamine is the primary component in psychological addiction. If you want me to get psychologically addicted to the act of updating this fic, leave a review!

86 is a pretty small fandom on the whole, so I can't expect to get a ton of traction with this fic. Besides, this project is a labor of love above all else. Racking up numbers really isn't my aim (and I kinda think that it goes against the spirit of fanfiction to write purely for traffic as well) but with that said, a little neurological incentive goes a long way. To be honest, I just like seeing numbers get bigger, hahahaha

See y'all next Saturday.

- Verbosity