The dawn came cold and gray, mist curling around the fractured ridgelines of the Shale Expanse. Echo Nine and Vanguard Six were already on the field, running drills in synchronized motion, their footsteps crunching against frost-laced earth.
Aera watched them from the slope of a broken concrete outpost, arms crossed, her hair pulled back in a tight braid. She had risen with the sun, unwilling to waste a moment. These soldiers were disciplined, efficient—but they lacked one crucial thing.
Fire.
She leapt down from the ridge, landing with a thud between two sparring pairs. The sudden entrance made them falter.
"Again," she ordered sharply. "This time, you're fighting someone who hates you. Make it count."
A few raised eyebrows. A smirk or two. Then, with a sharp exhale, the squads resumed, movements sharper now, more precise. Aera walked among them like a commander, yet without Kael's cold precision—she radiated something more primal. An instinctual awareness of people.
She clapped twice. "Alright! Time for something different. Mixed pairs. Vanguard and Echo, one-on-one. Let's see who gets bragging rights for the day."
Groans followed. Then laughter. Someone shouted a challenge. Weapons were drawn. The tone shifted—no longer just training. This was competition. This was fun.
As blades clashed and kinetic gloves sparked, Aera called out pointers, occasionally stepping in to correct footwork or challenge a soldier herself. She moved like water—fluid, confident, fearless. Her connection to the squads deepened with every exchanged blow, every grin traded in the dust.
Then came the scream.
A lookout on the eastern perimeter fired a flare into the air—red. Immediate danger.
Aera's expression snapped back to steel. "Positions!" she shouted.
The squads shifted in unison. The joking, the bonding—it vanished in an instant, replaced by trained muscle memory. Echo Nine pulled back to defensive lines. Vanguard Six formed a wedge formation.
The Empire was here.
Dropships shrieked through the mist, their hulls bearing the black-and-silver insignia of the Dezune Empire. Artillery fire followed—shells pounding the far hills, sending tremors through the earth.
Aera grabbed a fallen rifle from the dirt and activated her comm. "Kael, we're under attack. Dezune advance unit, at least one battalion strong. Requesting tactical support."
His voice came through instantly, cool and calm. "Hold the line. Reinforcements en route. Estimated arrival: seventeen minutes. You must last until then."
Aera looked toward the descending dropships. Soldiers poured out—Dezune elites in obsidian armor.
Seventeen minutes might as well be an eternity.
She didn't hesitate. "You heard him! We hold this ground! For every inch they take, make them bleed!"
She was already moving, rifle barking fire, her breath misting in the cold morning air. Around her, her soldiers surged—not as machines, but as people united by something more.
Trust.
The first wave hit like a hammer. Gunfire roared. Explosions lit the haze in strobe-like flashes. But Echo and Vanguard didn't falter.
They fought like a pack.
And Aera, in the thick of it, didn't lead from behind.
She led from the front.