It was impossible to call this relief.

Mulga knew what he was doing. It was a good thing. It had helped many people. He was helping.

It hurt too much to be helpful.

Pain overwhelmed his heart at each one. It was lonely, it was devastating, and it was sorrowful. This suffering was not exclusive though. Perhaps everyone on the continent had probably felt it at some point during the Succession War. He still had the right to feel it, but Mulga knew many a dragon had been in his position. So how did they do it?

If there was a silver lining, it was that he had arrived at the very end of the list. At long last, he could set a final uneasy spirit to rest. Perhaps in a way he could also lay down his own. This was his duty that he had sworn by, and it was finally about to be fulfilled.

This home was deceptively humble. There was nothing special about it whatsoever. Captain Adansonia had been very well-known and well-liked, one of Burn's most trusted, and certainly more level-headed and capable of leadership compared to Burn. She actually showed signs of kindness and expressed different emotions. If a troop messed up, her standards for forgiveness were achievable, though of course they scaled with magnitude based on the error. Perfectly fair. Personally, Mulga would have sided with Ada before anyone else in a conflict.

However, it seemed her personal life had been anything but glamorous, though courtesy of the list Mulga did know she had family. Hopefully someone was home, though that hadn't stopped him from waiting to deliver the news before.

The SandWing huffed a short breath, now mentally prepared. It was a nice day for desert standards. He awkwardly approached the home, feeling light on his claws and in the head as always. This situation always brought stress. It didn't matter how calm you were; becoming 'The' messenger was perhaps one of the hardest tasks around.

Mulga rapped on the door. With others, this part had been a 50/50. There was usually someone home, in some cases not even a family member. For others, he would look like an idiot pounding on the door for a while, only to loiter around until someone showed up. This interaction leaned towards the former, as the door swung open without caution.

Standing in the frame was a shorter male SandWing much like himself, albeit with lighter scales compared to Mulga's dusty yellow that was close to orange. They were both on the slim side, made best for speedy tasks or espionage. Not that the person before him was automatically a soldier, but Mulga's mind tended to lean that way.

As expected, the drake was skeptical.

"Hello...do I know you?"

"Not necessarily. I am Mulga, infantry under Captain Adansonia. I bring news." The stranger loosened up, and it stung him how unprepared he looked for bad news. That smile indicated he expected nothing but good or neutral.

"Oh. Great. You guys must be making progress. How's Ada? Still being a great commander as always?" Mulga bit back a shudder, replacing it with a sigh. The first of his misty sadness was rearing its head. Stay calm. This is not your time to mourn.

"Is there anyone else present in the home? Family members?" The smile faded.

"No. Just me. I'm her mate; we have no one else."

Oh no. Always with the mates.

He clenched his teeth, feeling heat and tension rising in his face, with tears threatening their presence. Ada's widower was growing increasingly nervous by this. "...What's going on? What do I need to know?" Just say the line. You've rehearsed this. You've done it so many times. It's just for your commanding officer this time around. The one you trusted with your life, who you followed into certain death. Mulga cleared his throat.

"I regret to inform you that, as of our most accurate intel, Adansonia has passed away in battle. Unfortunately, a body has yet to be recovered. My sincerest condolences for your loss." The words hung like flypaper, sticking and trapping all hope until it starved. The SandWing before him was dead silent, frozen in shock. How could Ada be dead?

Mulga scarcely believed his own words, and he had been there. In truth, he didn't know exactly how she died...or if she did. He simply heard sounds of battle, heard her screams die out, and put two and two together. Besides, if she had been alive, she would have reported back within a reasonable time.

So was there still hope, clinging stupidly to a crumbling ledge? Could it be she was merely captured, or going AWOL to avoid detection? It was not for him to say. However, it had already been this long. This gentleman needed that closure rather than waiting for someone that may never come.

Speaking of which, he was finally moving; Mulga was now looking into desperate eyes, glimmering with onset tears.

"Tell me what you know. When, where, who did it, how it happened. Tell me everything you can." Oh. That was unprecedented. For being Ada's mate, he was doing an impeccable job of suppressing any grief for now, intent on hearing of the events. To recount the whole thing, here, now? Mulga was in no position for this. Could he articulate it properly?

This morbidly curious stranger went back into the house, but left the door open, clearly inviting him in. He considered a moment, but the owed debt was too much to bear. Mulga made sure the door closed after he entered.

Ada's former house maintained its simple nature on the inside, with not very glamorous furnishings or any notable set pieces. It surprised him; he had gotten the impression that she was wealthy. The widower was waiting in the main room, a humble place where people could gather with one moderate window. A few succulents lined the sill. The former soldier felt a haunting realization dawn; his commander had once walked these very floors.

A chill arched up his spine, but he suppressed it in order to politely sit alongside the recipient of his tale.

"...Sir, I..."

"Just call me Bactri, please."

"Very well. Mr. Bactri, I am unaware of how to handle this situation. I understand your need for closure, and dutifully wish to help you, but I fear any information will not be satisfactory." Bactri's face was rigid, cold, and lifeless. That hopeful smile he had first shown was somewhere on the Lost Continent, it was so far away. He seemed the type of dragon to internalize his pain and allow it to fester. Miraculously, he held firm.

"You were of her infantry. You were there. Surely there is something."

At this trigger, Mulga's memories played. He was there. Among severed limbs dropping like hailstones. Among the testing of an unfathomable weapon of war. Amidst the trauma and hatred of so many that had come narrowly close to poisoning his soul. To share such imagery to another?

"It was routine. We were patrolling along the north, scoping out enemy encampments towards IceWing territory. Nothing went wrong on that end. It only went south when we went south. A friendly force had sent a message of a meetup towards that direction. Not friendly. The group of SkyWings and MudWings all turned, and like that it was a massacre. Everyone was for themselves. The moment a foe got near one of us, the once loyal soldier would turn on the others like a savage animal. All of them had some dark fascination with tearing off wings, arms, legs, tails—and then using them as weapons. No one cared who they killed, as though it were king of the hill. Amidst the fight, someone still alive and sane yelled the air was poisoned. I tied my airways shut. It saved my life. I sought cover in a tent away from the battlefield—the savages didn't have the minds to search anymore. The Captain was there, still mentally well. She followed my air-seal strategy. We planned some way to get out. Get home, get better fortified, just get out. This wasn't war, it was survival.

"Before we could make a move, the last survivor of the bloodbath smoked us out. She was completely deranged, bent on killing everyone before taking herself down in the end. ...Adansonia put everything on me. She told me of a list of every soldier and their families. That it was my job to let the world know of what happened. I was to be the notifier of an annihilation. I couldn't protest my Captain's orders. I should have, I know. She salvaged what was left, and went out to meet her adversary. All I heard were clangs of steel, and a roar of agony. Hers. ...I left. It's been weeks. T-the higher-ups refused to investigate the scene when I told them. We still don't know."

Mulga couldn't feel the blood running through his own body. The rise and fall of his chest was as uneven as a sand dune. The horrors should have remained unspeakable, and yet there they were. How am I alive? What chose me and why? He couldn't imagine how it sounded to Bactri.

Those blasted sisters. They were allowing this to happen over a feud. No, they were causing it. Mulga refused to fight any more. He would no longer see the field if it wasn't under Ada. The army could kill him first before forcing him into their ranks again.

"I see." Bactri suddenly looked very old and weathered. His body seemed to ache with each movement. How had he not yet broken down in sorrow? Nearly every other recipient had done so, and they had not even heard the story. "It would only be appropriate to say that I hate you right now. Immensely. And it is true. However, I must thank you. You have done as you were commanded, and now, at least in part, I know."

"If circumstances were different, I would have died to save her. I want you to understand that." He nodded very slowly.

"As would I. You are a good soldier." The words held some deep importance for Bactri. His maw finally quavered, the sign of a contained outburst of agony. He held his head in a hand with a soft and shaky sigh.

"...I will leave you be. The world mourns with you, sir."

Mulga stepped back out into the pleasant sun. With that, his task was finally over. His final act of duty as a soldier was finished. He could go home. Leave the army behind, hopefully leave the whole war behind.

It wasn't possible. He knew it. But there was no shame in trying.

The SandWing began to walk. Home. To his neighbors. To his community. The sole survivor of a genocide. Maybe he'd meet someone someday. He could enjoy a relationship, regaling young and brave fools with tales of war horrors. Grow old. Live. It seemed like a privilege.

What happened at that open stretch of desert was no unassisted act of brutality. Something terrifying was at play in this war.

Thankfully, it was no longer his job to worry about it.

—

"General. You summoned me."

"That's correct. However, we are not here to state facts."

"I—I apologize, General."

"I have a task for you. You must find this individual, rendered here by our sketch artists. You will kill them."

"Once again, I must apologize, but me, ma'am? I am no trained assassin. I was far from graduating training with any honors or success."

"That is precisely why it must be you. Not only are our most effective assets indisposed, you are perhaps the most subtle dragon we have. You blend in."

"...I understand."

"Splendid. You'll be journeying to the Sand Kingdom."

"It won't be that much of a homecoming."

The General scoffed, leaning casually against her pillow. She couldn't allow any secrets to get out. Mulga was a walking bookshelf of those. So simply, he had to die.

"And ma'am? Won't sending an exiled SandWing into Burn's territory completely ruin the plan of being subtle?"

"That's the idea."