As it is for all men, he had come to a junction in his life when he needed to make a choice: to go out into the wilderness or go home. He would make that choice today.

  A round-bellied, middle-aged man sat next to him. He wore a rugged beard and a cap, matching the jean jacket he had on. Since the start of the service, he hadn’t smiled once. The young woman sitting next to him was his daughter, wearing a fluffed-up cream sweater and tight trousers. Her nails were long and acrylic, clicking and clacking on the phone screen.

  “Young Renna, lend me your phone,” Regilon said. Both the man and the girl couldn’t comprehend him for a moment or two—until the man urged his daughter to do as he’d asked.

  Regilon took the phone and turned it around. A violet triangle glowed in the pink casing at the back. He had never used one of these devices before, but he could guess how it worked. Placing his fingers against the hex at the back, he focused on Talon in his mind’s eye. The phone did not work, and he asked the woman, “How do I contact someone?”

  She looked at her father first, and he leaned back for the girl to climb over him. She helped Regilon call Ren Talon.

  “I’ve had stranger days,” said Talon. “Am I really speaking to Regilon Regal?”

  “You are,” said the old Gaverian. “Arrange a flight and send someone to fetch me.”

  The eavesdroppers tensed. It amused him when non-ascenders tried to hide their emotions—they reminded him of a reptile that changed colours based on its feelings.

  “I didn’t want to disturb you, Sir, but I have to,” the man sitting beside Regilon said. “I’m a delivery driver and I used to feed my family every day. This was the first night I had to look them in the eye and tell them we might not have enough for next month. I can’t burrow from friends. We all don’t have any.”

  The man took off his cap and used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. “I left home because I didn’t want to listen to my wife’s nagging. They laid her off at work today. She wants me to do something about it? What do I do?” His purple eyes shimmered, waiting for a response from the Gaverian. “She worked in a salon, Sir. The women don’t go in anymore.”

  “I’m sorry,” Regilon said, but it wasn’t enough.

  “The war shouldn’t affect us this much. This is ridiculous. I’m starting to believe those lunatics on the radio who say the Midder-Lands is not worth this much pain. If it’s true, tell us. Are we going to war with Sexton? Or is it Yuna or Soden?”

  “Sir,” a man on the pew in front of them turned to face Regilon. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I have a brother who was on a business trip to Yuna. He passed before the blockade, but now they won’t let him through. He’s trapped in Yuna with no money, and they’re threatening to throw him in jail just because he’s Henrikian. Please speak to the Assembly on our behalf. They would listen to you. Tell them we need to bring our relatives home.”

  Regilon snapped the phone in two, and the girl squealed.

  “This was necessary,” he said to her. “You can’t have a government official's contact information.”

  “You could have deleted it!” she said in dismay.

  “What does ‘deleted’ mean?” asked Regilon, shocked by the small device. During his time, communicators broke all the time and no one made a fuss.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Soon enough, the military arrived at the church compound, stealing attention away from God and his false priests. An officer walked into the church and looked around. He wore a crimson uniform, his chest gleaming with medals. The officer was a proper Seconder; the cap he held in his free hand confirmed it. Ren Talon was taking Regilon more seriously than Regilon thought he deserved.

  Zone Eight was stormy. Dust made it impossible to see anything a stone’s throw away. Blurred lights from fireflies shone through the haze, and commanders shouted orders. After waiting in the storm, Regilon examined the hidden scene. Broad-chested men in thick black armour moved swiftly from shelters to hovering fireflies. They carried crates, ransacks, and a whole lot of guns—the Humility Force.

  “These men have never been this ready for combat,” Talon said to Regilon. “This will be nothing like last time. I did not understand Schemel’s reasoning behind the first operation. Why ask Sodenite forces to cooperate with a Gaverian of your calibre when our men were willing and ready to assist you? My scouts report Genevie is in a small town in Estaban. It’s technically Soden’s territory, but Genevie seems northbound. Sooner or later, she’ll cross into no man’s land, and we’ll swoop in and do justice.”

  “I’m not after Genevie. Take me to Blackwood.”

  Talon scratched his beard at the new information, frowning. The HF had finished boarding the ship. The Green Chief was not about to tell them to get off and go home.

  “I won’t take them to Blackwood,” Talon concluded. “If it’s Blackwood, no.”

  “I never asked for the HF,” said Regilon. “Give me a ship and a pilot.”

  “Would anyone like to drop off Ren Regal in Blackwood?” Talon shouted. “Anyone at all?” The gesture was intended to mock Regilon’s request. If the HF were human, they would have followed up and mocked him alongside their commander. The freaks sat motionless in their designated seats, as though they could not hear Talon at all.

  Once Talon’s offer died in the water, he called the House of Sentry, asking for pilots. A few people who weren’t busy in the Midder-Lands rejected the request. Desperate, he called senior officers, and one responded positively: Commissioner Victor, the former Blackwood Village Commissioner. He arrived half an hour after Talon called him, saluting the Green Chief first, and then Regilon.

  “Thank you for helping on such short notice,” said Regilon. “You have no obligation to accompany me on this journey.”

  “I do it for the people I took an oath to protect,” the commissioner said. “I have not helped them, but now I can.”

  “Be careful out there,” Talon said to Victor, shaking his hands. He turned to Regilon and nodded once. “And to you, Sir.”

  Regilon snorted, turning away and taking the lead. Victor stayed behind to speak with Talon. Alone in the Firefly, Regilon removed the loose shirt and baggy trousers he’d been wearing. In exchange, he found his uniform neatly folded in one of the seats. The green shirt and black trousers, with red shoulder pad. He swiped his hand across the fabric, closing his eyes to the memories it held. A long green jacket hung next to the last seat, and he donned it.

  Regilon reached into his pocket to find a lump of gleaming red stone—astaphite. He was about to discard it when two boots crunched behind him.

  “We work hard to produce those,” said Talon at the entrance with Victor. “I get it. You’ve got a point to prove that you don’t need astaphite. But Jacqolin uses it, and nobody cares.”

  “I’d rather die,” said Regilon.

  Talon shrugged, catching the lump. Victor tossed another item at him. Regilon caught the plastic tube with one hand and held it to the ship’s ceiling light. It was some kind of mechanism with a red button at the top.

  “I’d planned to land near Blackwood, then pick you up once you’d defeated the enemy. Talon told me that’s impossible because Bannermen are rampant in the area. This is what I came up with: push the button once it’s safe to land in Blackwood—that is, once the enemy is dealt with.”

  Regilon pocketed the device and sat down. He overheard Talon tell Victor that Regilon thought the idea was stupid. Once engaged in combat, a device like that would be destroyed within seconds.

  “I’ve decided to proceed with my operation. I am sending the HF after Genevie without your assistance,” said Talon. “Hell, Genevie can’t stop us all, can she? I figured it would be a pleasant surprise when Schemel returned. God knows this country needs good news.”

  “Sure,” said Regilon.

  “May I ask what pushed you to do this?” asked Talon. “Why Blackwood? Why now?”

  No response.

  “I hope we both succeed. Henrikia.”

  “Piss off.”

  After making the necessary adjustments, Victor set the Firefly hovering above the ground. The doors closed on both sides, and then it thrust forward, cutting across Henrikia, heading south toward the United Cursed Lands.