Hops and Dreams

Colony 8 had met the fate of nearly every other homs settlement on Bionis, and by extension, the world.

Levelled to the ground, its people slaughtered, its livestock scattered to the winds, and not, Dunban noted, necessarily in that order. Given how quickly the mechon attacked, descending from the sky like the wrath of a god, all three things might have happened at once.

But Colony 8 was dead all the same. No survivours had reached Colony 9. No desparate souls had approached the homs army marching upon it. The mechon had come, the mechon had moved on, and thus, the war for homskind's survival continued.

He frowned as he and the rest of the column kept marching to the town – it lay on the route to Sword Valley, and they'd taken this path in the hopes of gathering volunteers and supplies. They'd seen the smoke long before they'd reached the colony proper, but here, up close…

Dunban shuddered. Colony 8 had been built for a different world, one where homs lived together and fought each other as they always had, where the rules of war were understood – approach the enemy's fortress, lay siege, starve them out if you could, commit to direct attack only as a last resort. It was telling, he noted, that the colony's gates were left open. As if the mechon had attacked so suddenly, no-one had even had time to close them, or likely, even considered it. What use were walls and gates against machines with the power of flight?

He looked at the man who marched beside him. Asked, "have you seen anything like this before?"

The man took a puff from his cigar. "Seen more than you can imagine."

"Of course, Dickson, but have you seen this?"

"What? Colony overrun by machines from Mechonis? Machines who arrive, kill everyone, then retreat to begin the process all over again?" He took another puff. "Yeah, a few times. Not as bad as this though. Usually, the mechon leave some survivours."

As the column continued to march, Dunban glanced at the soldiers around him. Most of them wore the standard plate armour of the Colony Defence Force. Armour that had been built with homs weapons in mind, not the steel talons of machines that could cleave a man in two. At 29 years of age, Dunban was somewhere in the median age range, given that every male homs north of eighteen had been conscripted. Their rifles too small, their armour too big…most of the boys in his company would never return.

He doubted any of them wanted to be here; that most of them would have preferred to remain in Colony 9 under the shadow of its ether cannons, and in the company of their families.

A foolish sentiment in some regards (no army had ever won a war by remaining on the offensive), but one he understood. There was reason, after all, why he carried a picture of his parents in a belt satchel. Why in that same bag, a picture of Fiora was beside them.

"Chin up," said Dickson, who must have noticed the look on his friend's face. "One way or another, the war will be over soon, and we'll either be alive or dead."

Dunban smirked, despite everything. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a silver tongue?"

"Oh, a few people. You'd be surprised as to how many women like my tongue in their-"

"Company, halt."

The company did so. All three-hundred of them, right in front of the gates. Dunban and Dickson were close to the front of the line – far removed from the mobile artillery being dragged along for the looming battle at Sword Valley. At the front, however, rode Captain Lear – captain of the Second Company of the Third Army of the Colony 9 Defence Force. A fancy term for a force that didn't have full strength anywhere, and which was now a mix of volunteers and conscripts from Colony 9, and what refugees had made it to the foot of the Bionis from their sister colonies. Of the nine homs colonies spread throughout the Bionis, only Colonies 6 and 9 remained.

Lear liaised with one of his lieutenants before he rode up to where Dunban and Dickson were. Despite the helmet he wore, Dunban could see the wariness in his eyes.

"The Hero of Colony Nine," he murmured, said eyes lingering on the blade attached to Dunban's belt. "The titan has need of you again."

Dickson scoffed. "Bionis is taking a nap, sir. Don't think it much cares what happens about anything except Mechonis being destroyed."

"Did I order you to talk, mercenary?"

Dickson shrugged.

"Well, consider yourself ordered to do so when Dunban says so, because Dunban here is going to lead a squad into Colony Eight to search for any remaining mechon."

"And survivours," Dunban insisted.

"Yes, survivours," Lear murmured in response. "One may hope…"

One could indeed, Dunban reflected. That said, since he'd been a boy, he'd hoped to have his own armu like the one Lear rode. That didn't mean he expected hoofbeats.

"Go on, chop chop. Take Dickson and three other men with you. You see a mechon, you slice it with that glowing sword of yours."

"It has a name," Dickson protested.

Lear glared at him. "Can you wield it?"

"Oh, if I could, life would be so much simpler for me."

"Duly noted," said Lear. "Now shift your arses"

Apart from Dickson, Dunban's choice of recon were a pair of soldiers from Colony 3 who'd volunteered for the Colony 9 Defence Force, and one of his oldest friends – a man from Colony 7 named Mumkhar. A man who, at times, stretched the definition of "friend" to its limit.

"Oh great," Mumkhar whined. "Just great."

This was one of those times.

Mumkhar continued to vent his spleen. "The great hero Dunban leads us into the town smelling of death. Glory awaits him, while his friends remain in his shadow."

Mumkhar had actually moved to Colony 9 as a child – well before Mechonis had sent its monstrosities to the biological titan, long before his home colony was put to the sword. In the years he had known him, Dunban had quickly learnt that Mumkhar could hold his own in a back alley fight, and was, physically at least, perfect soldier material.

"Didn't want this. Coulda stayed back with the soldiers at the walls. Even outside them. But no, Dunban wanted to bring me along."

On the other hand, Mumkhar just wouldn't…stop…talking.

"Hoi, Dunban," his friend said, leering. "You gonna take your sword out? Swing it around for us?"

"You know it doesn't work like that."

"Do I? No-one tells me anything."

Dunban glanced at the other soldiers – Elemilly and Berand from Colony 3, the former with a portable either cannon, the latter with a sword – before looking at Dickson. The mercenary had his ether gun hoisted over his shoulder, and even now, was smoking.

And then there was Mumkhar. He was equipped with a pair of retractable claws that could cut through mechon armour with speed and savagery alike. That was, at least, when Mumkhar committed himself to actually fighting. They'd battled numerous mechon at Colony 9 and on their ascent to Sword Valley, and most of the time, Mumkhar had to be coaxed to engaging the machines.

For now, though, that wasn't required, as the quintet of soldiers made their way through the ruins of Colony 8. No mechon, no bodies, no nothing, despite the copious amounts of blood that stained the ground. That had been splattered across the ruined walls, against brick and wood alike. Dark red, its smell assaulted Dunban's nostrils.

He'd seen mechon kill thousands of homs, and he'd helped tend to those who survived the machines. The smell…he never got used to it.

"So, everyone's dead," Mumkhar murmured. "Can we go now?"

"Shut it, Mumkhar."

Mumkhar growled. Dickson, turning away from the sights of his gun, looked at Dunban.

"I could just shoot him you know," Dickson offered. "Friendly fire. Happens all the time."

"Ask me on a bad day, and I might say yes."

"And? Is this a bad day? Because it sure looks like it to me."

It did, Dunban noted. Colony 8 lay in ruins. It was bereft of bodies. Its buildings bore the scars of war, and little of it had come from homs weapons. But then, as bad this day was, much worse days lay ahead.

"Mumkhar has it in him to be the hero he wants to be," Dunban said. "Give him time."

"Time?" Dickson asked, frowning. "What do you know about time?"

Dunban raised an eyebrow.

"All I'm saying is that some people wear themselves on their sleeves. And Mumkhar's shirt says asshole."

"A little harsh, Dickson."

"I'm just saying Dunban, sometimes the first assessment of a person is the correct one."

"So when I assessed you as a money-grubbing mercenary, was I correct?"

Dickson chuckled. "Oh Dunban. Give it a thousand years, you'd never get the measure of me." He extinguished the cigar beneath his boot and kept walking. "Come on then, Mister Hero."

In spite of everything, Dunban smiled. The homs race might be facing extinction, but if that was the case, at least Dickson made it a fun ride. Odd for a man who'd turned up at Colony 9 over a decade ago, bearing an unconscious boy in his arms, and the Monado at his side. Delivered both to the colony before he'd set back off into the wilds, albeit returning regularly, and always taking a keen interest in the boy himself.

Most of the colony however had been interested in the Monado, especially after Mechonis had launched its genocidal assault. All attempts to replicate the Blade of Bionis had failed, all attempts at wielding it had ended in disaster…except by Dunban himself. Be it fate or chance, the blade of light said to be wielded by the titan itself obeyed his will, cleaving through mechon steel with every strike.

It was not the only blade he carried – the Monado was at his right, a regular iron blade at his left, and was the blade Dunban preferred to use whenever possible. He could use the Monado – by Bionis, he was the only homs that anyone knew of who could use the weapon without injuring (or even killing) themselves. But every time he used it, it brought him pain. He could see the withering flesh along his sword arm. He could feel his insides being torn apart every time he used the weapon. It was why he used it only as a last resort…and why he suspected that the day was coming when he would have to go all out. Kill as many mechon until, at last, the Monado took him with the machines.

"Mechon!"

Which could happen sooner rather than later, he thought, as up ahead, a mechon burst out of the ruins of a building – a town hall, perhaps, he couldn't be sure. Its talons were already stained with blood…and fresh blood as well, as it swiped at Berand.

He didn't die. But as he fell, as he screamed, part of Dunban felt that it might have been better that he had.

The other part, his instinct, guided his actions. Had his hand take the hilt of the Monado and with less than a second's hesitation, activate the blade.

Elemilly was screaming as she used her sword to parry the mechon's attacks – for herself, for Berand, it didn't matter. The sound was enough to drown out Dunban's groan as the Monado further ravaged his body. Pain shot through his arm, his every nerve feeling like it was ablaze. The weight of the sword increased – despite the blade itself being naught but glowing energy, the sword's mass appeared to increase when it was activated.

But that was only part of the Monado's effects on him. For when he took it, when he looked at the face of his enemy (such as it was), Dunban was driven by the need to slay each and every one of them. To destroy every mechon, to avenge every fallen homs. To plunge the Monado into the breast of Mechonis itself.

It was a need that he indulged – yelling in fury and pain alike as he leapt through the air, cleaving the mechon in two with a single blow.

It collapsed to the ground, its gears whirring, oil spilling out like blood. Dunban deactivated the Monado and stared at the ghastly sight – were the mechon 'born' of Mechonis as homs were of Bionis, or were they constructed? Were there mechon families sending their mechon children to fight and die?

He hoped so. He wanted Mechonis to feel as much pain as he, as all his people, did. He wanted to march up Sword Valley and finish what the Bionis had started as it had defended itself at the dawn of creation.

Or so went the legends. But they meant little, compared to what was before him. Berand, bleeding out, his armour cloven, his stomach lacerated. Elemilly holding his hand, beginning him to hang on.

Dunban knelt down and examined the wound. Lethal, he told himself, before telling Mumkhar to run to Captain Lear and find a medic.

"What? Come on, he's done for."

"Now, Mumkhar."

"Oh brave Dunban, sends Mumkhar to do his dirty work," his friend sneered. "Oh sure, I'll get going, and if this bastard isn't dead by the time I get back, I-"

Bam.

Elemilly screamed. Mumkhar cursed. Dunban winced as blood splattered over his skin and clothing alike. All eyes bar Berand's (who were now glazed over, below a hole in his forehead) turned to Dickson, who was holding his gun. Lowering it, before taking a puff of his cigar.

"To the Bionis we return," Dickson murmured. "Some of us sooner than others."

Dunban didn't say anything. No-one did.

"Now then," said Dickson. "Anyone got a shovel?"

Berand was buried outside Colony 8, while the rest of the company moved in to the secure the colony. And by "secure," that meant taking anything that wasn't pinned down that could be useful. Everything from food, to ether rifles, to even grog. Colony 8 had been known for its beers and wines, and while one might question the need for grog in an army of homs, that person would have been a fool.

Dunban had protested. He'd protested Dickson's mercy killing, he'd protested how unceremoniously Berand had been buried, he'd protested the stripping of Colony 8. Yes, its people were gone, but they might have been in hiding, he'd said. They might yet return to their homes when all of this was over. What gave them the right to take the treasures of those who had crafted them?

Mumkhar, who'd helped himself to gold and silver, had rolled his eyes. Lear had told Dunban to shut up. After refusing to shut up, Dunban had been stationed on the colony's outer wall, serving as watchman for the graveyard shift.

So here he stood, shivering in the late evening light. An ether light shone dimly beside him, its radiance eclipsed by that of the Monado. The blade he still carried at his side.

He ran his hand over the hilt – it was made of a dense yet lightweight material that no scientist had been able to identify after over a decade of experiments. His hand was scarred by the times he'd used it, though that too was a mechanism that none could explain. The Monado didn't appear to emit any radiation – its blade, by the measure of any instrument available to them, didn't actually exist. It wasn't energy, as it displaced the air around it. It wasn't matter, as it was bereft of mass. The Monado, by any scientist's understanding, was a device that shouldn't even exist, given how it spat in the face of the laws of physics.

Dunban had no reason to doubt them. No reason to doubt the toll it was taking on his body. And yet, as he ran his hand over the hilt…

He wanted to use it. He wanted mechon to show up here and now. He wanted to cleave them, destroy them. To charge down Sword Valley, destroy every last one of those filthy machines and-

"Am I interrupting?"

Dunban yelled. He drew the blade, but did not activate it, as he pointed it at Dixon. To his surprise, Dixon didn't look surprised at all, instead, holding his hands up in mockery.

"Don't shoot. I'm unarmed."

Dunban saw the gun holstered over his back. "That's a lie."

"Alright, I'm not unarmed, but the gun ain't in my arms, so it's the same thing."

Dunban lowered the hilt. "Not really."

"Eh, agree to disagree then."

Dunban snorted as he cast his eyes across the fields beyond Colony 8. At the great sword of Mechonis that homs had named Sword Valley. The stars in the sky provided ample illumination for him to make out the blade. To see the relic of the ancient battle fought between the two titans, now preserved in perpetuity.

Sooner or later, he'd be in that valley himself. Latest reports were that mechon forces were advancing down the valley en masse, and that if the homs didn't stop them at the tip of the blade, there'd be no stopping them from sweeping across the Bionis. Airborne mechon forces had decimated all of their colonies bar two, but so far, Colonies 6 and 9 had endured. aA combined air-and-land force however, would be unstoppable.

And he'd be right in the thick of it.

"Nervous?" Dickson asked.

"What?"

"Your eyes are up there, your hand's down here."

Dunban sighed. "Sooner or later we'll be in Sword Valley. And when that happens…" He clutched the hilt of the blade.

"We've all got our parts to play," said Dickson. "Like it or not, your part is to wield the most powerful weapon in the universe and be pointed towards the enemy."

"And what's your part, Dickson?"

"My part?" He smirked as he lit his cigar. "Stand around and look pretty."

Dunban scoffed, before coughing as cigar smoke blew over him. "Those things will kill you, you know."

"Do you know? I don't know."

"And what do you know, Dickson? About the Monado?"

The mercenary frowned, before saying in a low voice, "lot less than you think."

"I'm just saying, you were there."

"Yeah, I was. I was there, everyone else was dead except the kid I brought back." He took a puff of smoke, before turning his gaze to Mechonis. "Trust me Dunban, I know a lot about the world. But if you're asking questions about the Monado, all my knowledge adds up to a pile of bunnit droppings."

Dunban believed him. And besides, everyone had their own ideas about the Monado. The word itself appeared in numerous homs myths about the origins of the world. In some, its name literally meant "Beginning." In others, "Key" (key to what, no-one knew). Some myths held it as being older than the world, some that it been born from the Bionis itself.

But Dickson didn't have the answers, let alone the boy he'd carried back to Colony 9. The boy named Shulk – quiet, unassuming, clearly brilliant, and likely spending yet another late night in the weapon development lab.

Thoughts of Shulk brought a smile to Dickson's lips, though mainly because of what happened with his sister when she saw him, or when the subject was merely broached. He…frowned, as he squinted through the gloom.

"Dunban?"

The swordsman took Dickson's arm, and lifted it Pointing it out towards the gloom.

"I'm flattered Dunban, but I'm a-"

"Shush. There," Dunban whispered.

Dickson squinted through the gloom. Asked, "is that an ether light?"

It was. Faint, but just about visible, and just about moving. Either Colony 8 had invented self-propelled ether lamps, or more likely…

Acting on instinct, Dunban jumped over the wall and began running. Cursing with a tongue as filthy as a latrine pit, Dickson nevertheless followed him.

"Damn it Dunban, you're going to get me killed one of these days."

Dunban kept running as they passed through Colony 9's fields. All untouched by the mechon, all of them dedicated to growing crops that he recognized in some cases, didn't in others.

They ran through a field of small green plants – hops, Dunban realized, used in everything from medicine to alcohol (and as a soldier, he'd consumed plenty of both). Using the former saved lives, using the latter kept you from taking your own.

The light faded, and Dunban realized that he was now running through the dark. That he'd abandoned his post, and that so-called hero or not, that wouldn't stop Lear from having him peeling potatoes for the rest of his service.

The men came to a stop. Dickson, being Dickson, began to speak.

"Well, that was a nice run around for the old lungs. But if you don't mind, I'd rather like to get back to the wall and…oh titan's arse, what?"

Dunban pointed at the small wooden building up ahead.

"You've spotted your retirement farm. Well done."

"If you were walking through the dark with an ether lamp," Dunban said slowly, "where would you head to?"

"Eh, Colony Four, probably. The ladies there were-"

Dunban walked over to the hut. His hand took the knob, and slowly, opened it.

"Why are we here, Dunban?" Dickson whispered as they walked in.

"Someone was carrying that lamp," Dunban whispered. "They came in here."

"Yeah?" And where are they then?" Dickson asked.

Where indeed, Dunban wondered. The hut was small – two beds, one dining area, nothing else, and little in the way of possessions. More than many in Colony 9 had, as the town found itself with more refugees than it had accommodations for, but far less than he had. He and Fiora had a two-story house with separate rooms. Built for a family of three, that became four, that plummeted to two not long after his sister's birth.

He began to walk. Listened to every creek.

"Well, this was fascinating," Dickson said. "But I…Dunban?"

Dunban lay belly first. Pressed his ear against the wood.

"Dunban, what are you doing?"

"…it's hollow here."

"What?"

"It's hollow here," Dunban whispered. "Which means there must be a-"

The trapdoor burst open.

Dunban yelped, as he fell back.

He reached for the Monado, restrained himself, then took out his standard blade.

It delayed him, not by much, but long enough for the woman to clamber out of the cellar and point an ether rifle in his face. Ask him, to use the exact words, "who the bloody hell are you?"

Dunban would have answered, but the click of Dickson pointing his own gun against the side of her head complicated things.

"Put it down," Dickson hissed.

"You take me for a fool?" the woman whispered. "I lower this, you shoot out my brains."

"The thought had occurred to me," Dickson murmured. "But you see, I need this man alive, so consider this an order to put the gun down, or, well, things will start getting messy."

Still with the ether rifle trained on Dunban, the woman glanced at Dickson. That by itself wasn't enough to distract her.

"Mummy?"

But as she turned around to look at the trap door, that was the distraction Dickson needed to quickly disarm her and shove her to the ground.

"Dickson!"

The ether rifle let out a shot, blowing a hole through the roof.

"Mummy!"

"Down, my pet, down!"

A child…two children, climbed out and sheltered their mother. Stood between her and the ether gun Dickson was pointing at them.

"Dickson," said Dunban slowly.

"Take it," the woman cried. "Take everything. Just don't harm my babies."

"Good lady, we have no intention of harming you."

"No intention?" She exclaimed. "They came. They had intention. They killed my husband, my parents, they killed everyone. They…they came…they came and-"

"Do we look like mechon to you?" Dickson asked.

She didn't say anything. No-one did.

Not until Dunban, in a low voice, said, "can we treat you to supper?"

Supper was provided in the hut.

The woman introduced herself as Mareeda, with her wee 'uns being Bragg and Nicola. Not old enough to work on the hops she and her husband had cultivated, but old enough to understand that their pa wasn't coming back.

"He was in the field when they attacked," Mareeda whispered, as she sat at the table in front of Dunban and Dickson, while her children lay together on the bed. "We'd heard rumours of course – machines, coming from Mechonis – but we never figured they'd come here, y'know?"

"No-one did," said Dickson, as he took a piece of bread – all that Mareeda had available, but still better than the rations he'd subsisted on these last few months. "No-one could have anticipated Mechonis attacking us."

Dickson snorted. "Need to anticipate the anticipatable, mate."

"I'm not sure if that's a word, Dickson."

"I'm just saying, this world's older than any of you can appreciate. Mechonis and Bionis fought at the start of creation. Only natural that Mechonis would want a rematch."

Mareeda stared at Dickson, before looking at Dunban. "Is he well?" she asked.

"Who, Dickson?" Dunban asked. "Ah, he's an acquired taste."

"…one word for it."

"So what happened after the mechon attacked?" Dickson asked.

Mareeda put her hands in front of her, shaking. "My husband told me to take the children and hide," she whispered. "I begged him to stay, but Leif, he was no coward." She sniffed, as she rubbed her eyes – free of tears, but not from grief nor weariness. "He headed for the town, I think. That's where the mechon were attacking. They weren't interested in our fields, or our livestock, they just wanted us." She grasped Dunban's hand. "Us, do you understand? To kill us, or take us away, and…and when the fighting stopped, when the screams stopped, when I walked out of that cellar…"

Dunban let her cry. Many tears had been shed since Mechonis had launched its war on the peoples of Bionis. Children, women, even men had let their grief leave them through the water of the soul. And unlike many, he believed it best to let them.

When his parents had succumbed to an outbreak of grey pox, he'd let his sister cry into his arms for as long as it took. So when she'd started smiling again (and smiled a lot, in the presence of the boy Dickson had brought back), it had brought him mirth as well.

Dickson, however, was less patient. "So," he said, as he talked in-between bread. "Mechon turn up, kill everyone, Colony Eight is lost. When was this?"

"About a week ago," Mareeda whispered.

"Right. And you've been hiding here this whole time?"

"Hiding, yes. Also venturing into the city to recover food. See if there was anyone I could bury."

"And your crop? Can it sustain you?"

Mareeda snorted. "It's hops, good sir."

"Don't call me sir, I ain't part of this army."

"You're with an army?" Mareeda asked, her eyes widening.

"We are," said Dunban. "The Colony Nine Defence Force marches on Sword Valley. We hold the mechon there, or Bionis is lost."

Mareeda said nothing. Her eyes lingered on Dunban before shifting to Dickson. Shadows from the candle between them danced on their eyes – Mareeda's, bright. Dickson, however…the shadows danced on his face. As if they had life of their own.

"You march on Sword Valley," she repeated.

"That's the gist of it," Dickson said. "We do it for your, ah, hops and dreams."

Dunban laughed. Mareeda didn't.

"Don't suppose you've got a pint waiting? Little good luck for the war effort?"

Mareeda opened her mouth to speak, but Bragg suddenly sprung up. Screaming.

"Mama! Mama!"

"Hush, my love, mama's here," Mareeda said, as she took her son in her arms.

"Dada. They were after dada."

"Dada's gone, Bragg."

"They were after him! I tried to help him but the monsters…the monsters…they…"

Dunban watched as Mareeda did her best to comfort her son. As he sobbed, as his sister stirred, and offered what comfort she could.

He hadn't had nightmares about the mechon – his dreams didn't even feel like his own these days – but others, he had. The mechon sundered bodies and spirits alike, and those who survived their blades in the physical world did not always survive the more ephemeral wounds they left.

"We should go," Dickson murmured.

Dunban agreed, in principle. But still…

"Dunban?"

"We can't just leave them," he hissed.

"Why? They're doing fine here. Woman's a lousy shot with the gun, and the army's got no place for children."

"Damn it Dickson, we can't just-"

"Leave us?" Mareeda whispered.

Both men turned to look at her.

"Of course," she said. "You're on your way to Sword Valley."

There was acid in her words that gave Dunban pause. He reached for the Monado. Almost declared then and there that the battle was won already. That he was the hero that everyone claimed him to be, whether they believed it or not.

"Fine," she said. She reached down to a cupboard and pulled out two bottles of liquor. "For the road."

"Ah, you're too kind," said Dickson.

"Really, we can't," said Dunban.

"Either you take these or nothing, because I've got nothing else to give," she whispered.

Dunban didn't take the bottle. Dickson ended up taking both. He was ready to leave, but still, Dunban lingered. In part because of what Lief asked him.

"Are you a soldier, sir?"

"I am."

"You're going to kill the mechon?"

Dunban forced a smile. "That's the plan."

"With an army and everything? With guns and swords?"

"And more."

"Bragg …" Mareeda warned.

"Then can I join?" The boy asked.

Dunban blinked. "I…well, you might be-"

"The answer's no, isn't it?" Mareeda said, though to Dunban, it seemed like a question.

"Well, ma'am, I can't really say in this case. I'd have to speak to a staff officer and-"

"I want to go!" Bragg yelled. "I want to kill them! Every last one of them!"

"Bragg, please."

"No!" The boy yelled. "I can't hide forever! They killed papa! I hate them! I hate them!"

"Bragg, enough!" Mareeda yelled.

"You can't stop me from going."

"I'm your mother Bragg, and-

"No!" The boy ran away from his mother. He'd have made it out the door if Dickson hadn't grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. Lifted him with one arm.

"Put me down!"

"Listen to your mother kid," Dickson said. "War's a man's game."

Lief kicked and spat and even clawed before Dickson plopped him down on the bed. His sister offered him comfort, but he shooed her away. Refused to meet the gaze of anyone as he rested his head on the pillow. Tried to hide the sound of his tears.

"Look what they've done to us," Mareeda whispered. "We didn't do anything to them. We were happy. We couldn't have hurt them, we didn't want a war…"

Dunban knew it was time to leave.

"You," she said, taking Dunban's hand in hers. "You're in the army? Do you know why Mechonis is doing this?"

"My lady, I-"

"Why?" She whispered. "Why does Mechonis hate us? Why did my husband have to die?"

"I…"

He had no answer, and she knew it. He fingered the tip of the Monado, and found his mind cleared, however briefly.

Mechonis had attacked Bionis at the dawn of the world.

Mechonis sought the death of his people.

Mechonis had to die. Every last filthy mechon had to be destroyed.

He would do it. Monado in hand, regardless of what it cost him, he would slay them all.

Such thoughts swirled through his mind as the pair exited the shack. As they headed back to the walls of Colony 8, each with a bottle of grog in their hands.

"That went well," murmured Dickson.

Dunban said nothing. His mind was weighed down by the weight of the war.

And, when he reached the walls, grog as well.

"Rise and shine, cupcake."

Dunban groaned as he looked up at Dickson. His head felt like it had been kicked by an armu.

"Sleep well?"

"I…bleh?"

"Here," Dickson said, offering Dunban water. "Wouldn't want the captain seeing you like this, eh?"

Dunban gladly took the water. Soon, it was as empty as the two bottles of grog beside them. Both men had stayed up late, drinking. He'd fallen asleep eventually. Yet Dickson seemed unaffected. And in-between gulps of water, Dunban asked him why.

"Eh, I'm a big boy. I've got a strong constitution."

"Who's written a constitution?"

Dunban groaned inwardly as Mumkhar walked up to the wall. Smiling as only a bully could.

"Great hero Dunban have a little tipsie?" He sneered. "Oh, wouldn't want the captain to see that."

"No," said Dickson in a low voice. "We wouldn't."

The look on Mumkhar's face told Dunban that he'd taken the hint. So therefore, he remained silent as Dunban finished his water. As the three of them walked back down to the assembly point. As they came face to face with Captain Lear, who inspected the three, and quickly focused his attention on Dunban. Inspecting him like his old school teacher – the one with the cane.

"Rough night?" Lear asked eventually.

"Restless," Dunban murmured.

"I see. Well, don't expect me to give you a nap on the day's march."

"No sir. Of course not sir. Wide awake sir."

Lear grunted as he mounted his armu and addressed the company. "We march long, we march hard," he said. "Sword Valley awaits us. Bionis will stand through homs blood and steel. The mechon will be driven back to whatever forge crafted them. They will know our names, from now until the world's ending."

"Huzzah!" The soldiers cried. All but Dunban, who noted the fear in their eyes, if not their voices. All but Dickson, who'd just started smoking another cigar.

They began marching. Fields of hops awaited them outside the colony. Dunban's eyes lingered on Mareena's shack, but he beheld no sign of her, nor her children. In a way, it brought his heart some solace, for while he would have welcomed yet another rifle in the army, he did not want her children to take on the lives of soldiers. By being here, by wielding the Monado, he had spared Shulk and Fiora that much.

"A word?"

Dunban looked up at Captain Lear. He dismounted and kept leading his armu while the company marched. A look from Dickson indicated that he knew this was a private matter, and a look from Mumkhar told Dunban that he relished seeing his 'friend' be brought down a peg.

"I know you got drunk last night," Lear said.

Dunban remained silent, and in doing so, spoke volumes.

"Normally, I'd put you on report," the captain continued. "Have you dig latrines. However, these aren't normal circumstances."

"And why's that, sir?"

Lear scoffed. "Need I explain it?" In light of the silence, he said, "this isn't a normal war. And you're not a normal person."

"I like to think of myself as quite normal."

"You're the only one who can wield the Monado, so no, I don't count you as normal," said Lear. "And to be frank, that's a good thing. If it wasn't for that blade, we'd be up against the walls of Colony Nine by now."

Dunban wanted to deny it, but couldn't. Not if he refused to let lies escape his lips that was.

"So here's the deal," Lear said with a grim smile. "We march to Sword Valley. We hold the line at Sword Valley. The mechon charge, the mechon will reach our lines as they inevitably will, and then you're unleashed on them to kill as many of the bastards as possible."

"And if I should fall?"

Lear gave him a look. "You have a daughter, do you not?"

"Sister, actually."

"And you care for her?"

"Of course."

"Then stay alive," Lear said, patting Dunban on the shoulder before re-mounting. "For her sake. For all of ours."

Lear rode to the front of the column. And yet again, Dunban fingered the hilt of his blade.

Soon or late, he knew, the sword would take his life. He would perish, as so many others had.

But as he looked up at the sky, at the sword that joined the titans in eternal conflict…he was reminded that as long as the mechon were destroyed before that happened, it would be worth it.

"For life, then," he murmured, as he quickened his pace. "For Bionis."