Chapter Text
As the ominous Fog Rift continued to preside over the frontier region of New South Ogotria, Zane found himself growing more and more agitated. He was a simple Blade with no love for combat. He much preferred it when he and his Driver, a former Ardainian infantryman named Cain, simply ran the general store in Colony Eta.
He’d greet every customer with a smile, before informing them of what they were selling at a discounted price that day (last time it had been alcohol and tobacco). Cain was the brains behind the day-to-day operation of the business, but Zane was very much the face. Even as a Common Blade, this meant he was well-liked amongst the colony and had made many friends. Now, of course, Colony Eta and the whole surrounding region was overrun with unnatural monsters.
It hadn’t been long after they’d been evacuated to Fort Crocius with the rest of their colony that Cain had volunteered both of them into the ranks of Uraya’s armed forces there. They had accepted the help eagerly enough, ill-equipped as they were to deal with a crisis of this magnitude. At least, before mercenary forces under the command of Lord Corbett Paronet had arrived.
Initially, Zane was fine with helping the military and Paronet’s Bedlam Mercenaries in their attempts to secure the region. Culling the Fogbeasts again and again. But as the weeks dragged on without any meaningful progress, Zane found himself wanting to simply cut their losses and travel to another colony far away to start over. He heard that Colony Epsilon was doing well for itself.
But Cain wouldn’t hear it. “We cannae give up now, the other colony folk are depending on us to do our part!”
Again and again, Cain brushed aside Zane’s wishes, and Zane felt resentment growing inside him. Between the military and mercenaries, there were more than enough men and women fighting to take back the region. Cain and Zane were volunteers, they had no obligation to stay and help! What was more, Cain knew that Zane hated fighting. He’d been there the day Zane had come to realise that.
Zane had no love for combat, but that didn’t mean he had no aptitude for it. Quite the contrary, he was very proficient with his greataxe Blade weapon. No, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Zane didn’t hate fighting itself: he hated the person he became when the rush of battle overtook him.
Once, back when Cain was a Driver in the Ardainian Army, the two of them had been assigned as support for a few Decades of their troops tasked with routing a band of Gormotti rebels. These so-called “Fangs of Melnath” had been causing trouble for the villages around the Gormott Titan’s flanks and needed to be stopped. The battle had been rather one-sided, but Cain and Zane still fought as if the fight would be their last.
Zane himself had cut down a fair few rebels with his greataxe as he and Cain effortlessly passed it back and forth in true Driver and Blade fashion. They were in a particularly good flow that day, the bond of their Affinity high. So, Zane had thought nothing of it when he came across a Gormotti rebel who couldn’t be older than sixteen. Zane had only realised the boy had been surrendering as he brought his greataxe down on his head, splitting it like the grapefruit he had for breakfast that morning. That sight had brought him out of his battle trance quickly and since then he could never bring himself to fight to his fullest potential again.
So now here he was with his Driver fighting alongside Urayan soldiers and mercenaries. Felling monster after monster. Fogbeast after Fogbeast. Cleaving through flesh and bone (like a grapefruit). Resenting his Driver for putting him in this position over and over.
It wasn’t only that he hated fighting. For the past several nights Zane slept uneasily. His dreams were plagued with unsettling imagery. He saw the terrified boy trying to surrender, struck down by his axe over and over. This wasn’t uncommon since that day, but now he was seeing the faces of others in place of the boy. The face of Lord Corbett Paronet, whose cautious, meticulous strategy was dragging this operation out forever. The face of each Urayan soldier who regarded him as an outsider. The face of the mercenaries, who snored and laughed too loud, who drank and picked their noses. The face of his Driver, who made him cut the proverbial grapefruit again and again.
And yet, these images weren’t what scared him about the dreams. In fact, while he was in them, he felt good. It was satisfying. He felt like he did before the grapefruit—er, the boy. Before he hated fighting. No, there was something else in the dreams that truly frightened him. Something following him just beyond his ability to perceive. Beyond the mind’s ability to comprehend. Something dark, angry. Hungry. Getting closer to him with every dream face cleaved by his Blade weapon.
“Oy! Zane!”
Cain’s voice snapped Zane back to reality. He looked around. Where even was he? What had he been doing?
“Wondered where you went,” Cain said. “C’mon. Company’s returning to the fort. We, along with Gunther, are scouting ahead.”
Zane realised he was standing at the edge of a large copse of trees, staring into the fog that covered them. It was dark out. Was it evening or early morning? Come to think of it, what day was it? Zane couldn’t remember, and he found a deep well of anxiety growing in his Core.
Something’s wrong, he thought. His dreams seemed somehow closer to him now. Or was he still in a dream? He was losing it—too many weeks of sleepless nights and constant stress. Except that wasn’t all it was. Something is very wrong.
Zane wasn’t the only Blade who was out of sorts. Yes, he suddenly remembered Marta. She’d complained of trouble sleeping too. Of vivid nightmares. She’d lose track of time. Lose track of days. Others would catch her wandering towards this damnable black fog, as if sleepwalking. It wasn’t just her. There had been others, hadn’t there? Other Blades who had wandered into the fog and disappeared.
“Zane! Quit daydreaming and let’s go!”
Even as Zane recognized how wrong his own thoughts were, the sound of Cain’s voice suddenly sent another wave of irritation through him. Stupid Cain who never listens, who only cares about what he wants is always so eager to please….
Zane shook his head, trying to banish the image of Cain’s face on the Gormotti boy they’d killed all those years ago. This isn’t me thinking this. I love Cain. He’s like a grapefruit in the morning like a brother to me!
Zane suddenly became aware of movement in the trees, just on the periphery of his vision. Something that could only be seen on the periphery of his vision. It was the fog. When he wasn’t looking directly at it, the fog moved unnaturally. Twisting and writhing angrily like something alive. It was dark, and it was hungry, and Zane suddenly knew all at once that the thing in his dream was the fog. Then, as if sensing his realisation, the unnatural fog rushed to him. Around him. Into him. Zane felt like he was being smothered in it. Felt it fill his Core, replacing him with itself, piece by piece. Making him like the Fogbeasts. Zane screamed.
“Zane!? ” Cain shouted. He and the mercenary Gunther turned and ran back towards him.
But Zane was gone. The thing that was once Zane turned to Cain and snarled like a feral monster.
“What the hell ?” Cain whimpered as the thing that was Zane lunged forward.
“Like a grapefruit in the morning!” it bellowed, raising its greataxe.
Standing on the bridge of the Sunset Beryl as evening fell, Nia felt a sourceless anxiety unlike any she’d felt before. They had made great time from Tantal and were on track to arrive at Fort Crocius within the hour—a full day sooner than predicted. After that, Nia wasn’t sure what to expect.
“Everything all right, my lady?” Dromarch asked, looking at her with clear concern.
Was her unease that obvious? “Fine. Just a bad feeling, that’s all.”
“Worried about whatever new proposal Lord Corbett has in mind?”
There was some truth to that, Nia had to admit. The other day, she’d used the onboard crystal communicator to contact Lord Corbett to inform him that she was en route back, and that she was ready to accept his offered deal.
“Ah yes, our deal,” Lord Corbett mused. “Command of the operation in exchange for an introduction to my son, wasn’t it?”
“That sounds right,” Nia said.
She then saw the hint of a grin on Lord Corbett’s face through the glass surface of the communicator. “Sorry to say, but there’s been a new development. The original terms of our agreement are no longer on the table.”
“What? ”
“All due respect, Your Grace, you shouldn’t have stayed away for so long. We can discuss the details of our new arrangement when you return to Fort Crocius.” With that, Lord Corbett disconnected.
For the days that followed, Nia fretted over what new deal Lord Corbett had in mind. Would he outright make a political marriage an official term of their deal, rather than letting it be implied? Or was there more yet that he wanted? Would the benefits of this deal now be outweighed by the cost? Furthermore, what was the “new development” Lord Corbett had mentioned?
All of these questions and more plagued Nia’s mind right up until this moment. Now that they were close to the fort, Nia’s worries about Lord Corbett’s deal were all but pushed from her mind. The anxiety she felt now was broader, like some long-forgotten instinct deep inside her was trying to tell her that something was wrong.
Maybe it’s just the weather, Nia reasoned. Indeed, the view beyond the command bridge was nothing but clouds and darkness, rain drenching everything. Nia could hardly even make out the orange glow of the alien rift that normally dominated the sky here. That was certainly enough to set anyone on edge. Looking at Dromarch and even Morgan, Nia could tell they felt the same. But none of them said a word as the ship’s comms officer began transmitting to their destination via the short-range radio.
“Fort Crocius harbour control, this is UNS Sunset Beryl requesting permission to land, over.”
Everyone on the command bridge waited a moment for the response. Then another. Then another.
“I repeat my last: this is UNS Sunset Beryl to Crocius harbour control. Request confirmation of receipt of last message, over.”
Again, they waited for a response, and again they heard none. As the comms officer continued in his efforts to hail the fort, Nia saw the captain, an older Urayan man, approach one of the ensigns.
“What’s the distance to Crocius? Do we have visual yet?” the captain asked.
“Negative, sir. Can’t see a thing through this soup.”
“Lower altitude. Let me know the moment we have a visual on the fort.” The captain then turned to the radioman. “Any luck?”
“No, sir. It’s possible their comms are down due to the weather.”
“Try the emergency backup line, then!”
Nia looked out one of the starboard viewports as the airship descended below the clouds. Visibility still wasn’t great, but they could at least see the ground now. A sea of fog stretched over the land below, covering it like a blanket.
For several minutes, the Sunset Beryl flew at a reduced altitude, its crew scanning the horizon ahead for any sign of Fort Crocius. Idly glancing out the very same starboard viewport, Nia spotted a dark shape far in the distance rising out of the fog. At first, she dismissed it as a large rock formation or grouping of tall trees, but then noticed that its profile matched the airship hull that made up Fort Crocius’ central command structure.
“Isn’t that the fort there?” Nia asked, pointing it out.
The captain moved over to her and looked to where she was pointing, studying the distant dark shape for a moment. “That’s it, alright. Bloody hell, how’d we get so far off course? Ensign, bring her around. Full to starboard.”
Nia felt the airship shift under her feet as the Sunset Beryl adjusted its course. As the distant shape of Fort Crocius grew closer, so too did the feeling that something wasn’t right. Was it just her, or was the fort unusually dark?
“Shouldn’t we be able to see the landing strip lights from here? Even in this weather?” One of the ensigns asked another. It wasn’t just her then.
“Protocol during restricted visibility typically calls for additional lights plus phased audio responses,” a lieutenant added. “The fact that we’re not getting that – something is very wrong.”
“Sunset Beryl to Crocius harbour control,” the comms officer tried again, an undercurrent of unease starting to register in his voice. “Request receipt of comms confirmation over signal lamp.”
The Sunset Beryl was flashing its own signal lamps now, but Fort Crocius remained dark and silent.
When they were close enough to begin circling the fort, the captain approached Nia. “I don’t like the look of this, Crown Princess. At this point we must assume the facility is compromised,” he said. “Standard procedure now is to circle from a safe distance, see what we can ascertain. Problem is, it’s going to be near impossible to tell what’s going on down there with such low visibility. We have the fuel for one, maybe two circuits before we start eating into the reserves. At that point, we’d need to set an immediate course for Port Uramu if we hope to reach safe harbour before we run dry. It’s your call.”
After giving it some thought, Nia asked, “Is there somewhere we can set down outside the fort?”
“There’s a large enough clearing about twenty Titanpeds to the west. There’s a path to the fort from there through the woods,” the captain answered, though his frown indicated he wasn’t a fan of this course. “All due respect, Your Grace, there are too many unknown factors and not enough combat-ready personnel on board for a ground reconnaissance operation. At least, not without great risk.”
“I can accept the risk,” Nia said. “Dromarch and I can go in ourselves to scope things out. It’ll be faster.”
“Me as well!” Morgan exclaimed, adjusting her glasses. “I need to make sure nothing’s happened to my research.”
“You may be able to accept the risk, Your Grace, but I cannot,” the captain said. “If anything were to happen to you, it’s on my head.”
Nia frowned. She could certainly understand the captain’s apprehension. Allowing an ill fate to befall Raqura’s heir certainly wouldn’t look good on his record, but she couldn’t simply retreat and wait around for more information. There were civilians in Fort Crocius. Children. If there was danger, then time was of the essence.
“Noted, Captain. Set her down,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument.
“Set her down, aye, Your Grace,” the captain acknowledged with a displeased frown.
Huffing, Nia ducked under a fallen tree, pushing more branches out of the way. The Sunset Beryl’s captain had perhaps oversold it by referring to this route to the fort as a path. The brush was thick, and between the rain, fog and darkness of night, visibility was bad, even equipped with ether lamps as they were. Dromarch quickly but carefully led the way, Nia holding onto his tail so as not to lose him in the fog. Bringing up the rear was Morgan, keeping a hand on Nia’s shoulder for the same reason. The rain and cold night air sent deep chills through Nia’s whole body; she didn’t like any of this one bit.
It wasn’t just the gnarled, twisted tree branches that seemed to be grasping for her from beyond the fog. The night was filled with unsettling and unnatural noises. Distant, inhuman cries that didn’t sound like the normal fauna of this region echoed through the fog. Nia thought of the very first Fogbeast that had appeared in Colony Iota. Was that what they were hearing?
“Have no fear, my lady. It’s just the local wildlife,” Dromarch said quietly, seeming—as always—to sense her disquiet.
“Sounds like something’s got them spooked,” Nia replied at barely a whisper.
Either way, the noises were far enough in the distance to not be an immediate problem… yet. With her keen ears, Nia would keep listening to make sure they weren’t getting closer.
As they drew nearer to Fort Crocius, Nia started hearing other noises: what sounded like twigs breaking somewhere on the forest floor nearby. Something was out there, and Nia was in no hurry to find out what. Probably just an animal or ordinary monster. A Fogbeast would be louder, more aggressive. At least, that’s what Nia chose to believe.
Then, only once, Nia thought she heard a voice from the fog beneath the sound of rain. It was so distant and faint, barely at the edge of Nia’s exceptional hearing. She stopped in place, the others following suit. She waited and listened, her feline ears upright and alert. But she heard nothing. No snapping of twigs, and no distant voice. Maybe she’d imagined it?
“Something wrong?” Morgan whispered.
“No,” Nia answered. “Let’s keep going.”
Soon they caught their first sight of Fort Crocius, its central structure rising out of the fog like a breaching Titan in the Cloud Sea. It wasn’t long after that they came upon the first of the fortress walls. There was no one on the battlements, and the gate was wide open. Not a good sign. Nia thought to call out but decided against it. There was no telling what might be around to hear her.
So, with a deep breath and a nervous swallow, Nia took point, entering the threshold of the fortress first. A cursory look around inside showed that the military tents flying the banners of House Paronet and the Bedlam Mercenaries were still standing, but Nia could see no movement within. Cautiously, she moved to the nearest one and parted the flaps of canvas to peer in. Nothing but empty bedrolls.
“Where the bloody hell is everyone?” she asked, trying to keep the tremor in her voice minimal.
“Perhaps we should check the command centre,” Dromarch suggested, keeping his voice low.
Nia wordlessly agreed, and they pressed on towards the centre of the dark, seemingly empty fortress. As they did, they passed a structure that Nia quickly recognized as the storage building that had been converted into the research team’s lab. Morgan spotted it too, and immediately made a beeline for it. Seeing no other recourse, Nia followed.
As with the tents, the makeshift lab was empty, save for the equipment and papers haphazardly strewn everywhere. It didn’t look turned over, Nia reasoned. The place had been messy even when she’d first visited.
“Looks like everything’s still here,” Morgan said, going through the pile of notes and diagrams on one of the tables. “That’s something, at least.”
Nia didn’t like it. “Your team must’ve left in a real hurry if they didn’t take any of their research stuff.” She couldn’t think of many reasons for that, and didn’t like the ones she could think of.
Opening her bag, Morgan started grabbing what she could and shoving it in. “You guys go on ahead to the command centre,” she said. “I need to recover what I can here.”
Nia wasn’t sure it was wise to split up, but time wasn’t a luxury they could afford. The Sunset Beryl was waiting with its engines running, in the event Nia and the others needed a quick extraction. She estimated they had less than an hour to search the fort and make their way back before there wouldn’t be enough fuel left to make it to safe port.
So, deciding not to linger, Nia and Dromarch continued to the command centre, entering the grounded Titan airship through the hull’s ajar main hatch. Nia’s heart sank when she saw a Urayan soldier slumped in the corner. She went to him, checking for any signs of life.
“Is he…?” Dromarch asked, and Nia’s answer was to sigh and shake her head.
What bothered Nia were his wounds. “This doesn’t look like the work of monsters,” she said. Indeed, the wounds appeared to have come from a bladed weapon of some kind.
Leaving the dead Urayan behind, the pair made their way up towards the command centre where Nia had first spoken to Corbett Paronet. Along the way, they passed by the bodies of more Urayan soldiers. When Nia had last spoken to Lord Corbett, it sounded like he’d had everything under control here, and that was only days ago. So, what happened?
Entering the command room, Nia was greeted by Vice Admiral Whytworth. She was splayed out on the floor, her dead eyes still wide with horror. Nia felt bile rise in her throat but forced it back down. The bodies of other officers and a few soldiers were similarly strewn about, but Nia did not see Corbett Paronet among them.
“There must be a clue somewhere here about what happened,” Dromarch said, already beginning to search the room.
Nia went over to the round map table at the room’s centre, which Lord Corbett had been hunched over the first time she was here. There were more clay figurines on the map now. The number of blue-grey soldier figures looked about the same as far as Nia could remember, but she was quite sure there weren’t nearly as many black Volff figures on this map last time.
Three of those figurines in particular drew Nia’s attention, positioned towards the northern edge of the map. That was Ardainian territory, Nia knew. In fact, one of them was very deliberately placed over the icon for an Ardainian colony labelled Colony Lima. If these black Volff figures represented known Fogbeast movements as Nia suspected, that would mean that Mor Ardain was now also losing territory to the Fog Rift.
All at once, Nia realised that perhaps this was what Lord Corbett had meant when he’d told her about his “new developments”. Was the counter-rift operation becoming a combined effort with Mor Ardain? If that was the case, command of the Urayan side of the operation was now much more politically valuable. Enough so to position Lord Corbett to demand a lot more in exchange for relinquishing it. At least, it would have been if not for… whatever had happened here.
Deciding that nothing more could be gleaned from the map table, Nia went over to Lord Corbett’s desk, where Dromarch stood on his hind legs, studying the documents left on its surface.
“Find anything here?” Nia asked him.
“Nothing of real note,” he answered, brow furrowed. “Paperwork to transfer command of the Bedlam Mercenaries from House Paronet to you. Filled out, but not signed or dated.”
“Figures.” He still had something he wanted out of her, it would seem.
“There’s also a report from the chief medical officer. I suggest you take a look.” Dromarch looked concerned. “I’m not sure what to make of it myself.”
Nia picked up the report.
MEDICAL LOG 16-08-4059
F. DUFRESNE (CHIEF MEDICAL OFFICER)
Eight more Blades have been sent back to Crocius from the front line. The diagnoses are piling up faster than I can file them. Nightmares, paranoia, schizophrenia, memory loss and general disorientation. My team have yet to identify an underlying cause. Doesn’t seem to be anything in our field rations or in the environment. Seems to me like this is a case of mass psychosis, though I’ve never seen total psychological breaks in these amounts before, not even during the Gormotti War. Furthermore, the fact that only Blades seem to be affected is highly unusual.
More research needs to be done before we can work out a hypothesis, so in the meantime my team’s focus will simply be to treat the symptoms. To that end, I must formally request more personnel. A number of the affected Blades have since gone MIA, and the ones still in our care have grown unpredictable, some even violent. One of them injured a nurse in an attempt to leave and it took four men to restrain him. The fact is, medical is too understaffed to handle such a large influx of unstable patients.
I’ve thus made the decision to return those with the mildest symptoms back to active duty, provided we keep a close eye on them. This should be a given, but I advise they be assigned duties on base rather than be sent back to the front lines.
Nia skimmed the rest of the report. It left her with more questions than answers, and all of them made her anxious. A sweep of the rest of the command centre did not reveal much more. According to the latest reports from the front line Nia had managed to find, Urayan forces were neither gaining nor losing ground in their battles with the hordes of Fogbeasts. However, there was no indication that Fort Crocius itself had been under direct threat of attack. Whatever happened had taken them totally by surprise.
So, deciding there was nothing more she could find, Nia made to leave. But not before going back to Lord Corbett’s desk and grabbing the unsigned transfer of command documents for the Bedlam Mercenaries.
There was one more thing Nia wanted to see before returning to her ship, even though part of her was afraid of what she might find. With Dromarch right behind her, Nia led the way to the southern section of the fort. The section which had housed the civilian refugees when she was last here. What Nia hoped to find here was nothing.
The tents housing the soldiers had seemed empty when they arrived (there hadn’t been time to check all of them). This, Nia hoped, meant that most of them had been able to escape with their lives. So, Nia began her search of the refugee camp, praying to similarly find only empty tents.
As Nia’s search of the camp yielded just that, she found herself feeling hopeful. Perhaps the civilian refugees had made it out after all. She then spotted a reddish-brown leather ball lying forgotten against the open canvas of one of the tents. She vaguely remembered seeing a pair of children no older than ten kicking it back and forth when she came here looking for Koremm the other week.
Almost without thinking, Nia went to pick it up. It was wet to the touch. The rain from earlier had cleared up, but the ground was still muddy. So, thinking nothing of it, she tossed the ball aside. Then she glanced down at her hands. Her white gloves were stained with a vivid blood-red. Nia let out a horrified gasp as she knew with terrible clarity what that meant.
“Have you found something, my lady?” Dromarch asked.
Nia forced her eyes off her crimson-stained gloves. “I don’t think everyone made it out of here.”
Dromarch’s voice softened as he said, “Perhaps we should get Morgan and return to the ship. I don’t think there’s anything more we can accomplish here.”
Nia glanced at the tent near which she had found the blood-soaked ball. The flaps were open, moving lightly in the breeze. She hadn’t looked inside it yet, but all of a sudden, she no longer wanted to. She had a terrible sinking feeling she knew exactly what she would find waiting for her in it. So, with a silent nod, Nia agreed and began to follow Dromarch back towards the pop-up lab where Morgan was likely still gathering her research.
That is, until she caught movement in the corner of her eye. She turned to look just in time to catch a glimpse of a figure disappearing amongst the canvas. A survivor? Whoever it was, maybe they could finally give her some answers. So, without a second thought, Nia followed the figure into the gathered tents, trying to reacquire a visual. She didn’t bother making sure that Dromarch was still with her.
It didn’t take long before she got another glimpse of the figure before he disappeared behind another tent. It was a he, Nia was reasonably sure now. What was more, he was a Blade and was staggering around as though drunk. Or, perhaps injured.
“Hey!” Nia called out as she moved deeper into the maze of tents and fog after him. “Do you need help? I’m a healer!”
It was only when Nia finally caught up with him that she noted something about him was off. She could hear him muttering to himself, but something about his voice was wrong.
“ …only cares about what he wants is always so eager to please …. ”
It sounded distorted. Obfuscated, like it was coming through a radio with poor signal. Nia then noticed that the Blade himself was similarly obfuscated. A black, fog-like substance covered his whole body, swirling angrily. It was as the Blade turned to face her that Nia saw he looked just like the first Fogbeast she’d faced in Colony Iota.
The Blade peered at her through the black fog covering him with glowing orange eyes and Core matching the unnatural orange glow of the Fog Rift in the distant sky. Wielding a greataxe Blade weapon drenched in blood, the Blade lunged at her in an uneven gait. Nia barely had time to draw her Catalyst Scimitar to block the sudden attack. She hadn’t had time to assume a proper defensive stance. Although she intercepted the blow, the force of it knocked her off her feet.
“Like a grapefruit in the morning!” the fog-taken Blade bellowed as it raised its greataxe to finish her off.
Nia didn’t give it the chance, swinging her scimitar and letting loose with a water-based ether shockwave that knocked the hostile Blade off-balance. The attack bought her the breathing room to get back to her feet, but it didn’t do the damage she expected. Before she knew it, the Blade was on her again, attacking with one furious swing after another, snarling like a wild monster.
“Dromarch! ” she called out, but the white tiger was nowhere to be seen. Had he not been following her? Nia cursed as she parried another blow.
“Never listens, only cares about what he wants, is always so eager to please … ” The mad Blade snarled as it pressed its attack.
Nia dodged and deflected until she spotted an opening and struck, hitting her opponent with an Art that should have incapacitated him. The attack hit home, but the Blade was only momentarily stunned. Was the power from the Fog Rift making him more resilient? Whatever the case may be, Nia readied herself for another attack.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t ready for the attack from the side. It was as she deflected the next greataxe strike that Nia spotted another fog-covered figure in her peripheral and turned just in time to take a direct hit from an ether cannon. The attack wasn’t lethal—it had missed her Core by a wide margin—but it still hurt like a bitch. Nia dropped to one knee, and the feral blade with the greataxe raised it high.
But before it came down on her head, a series of white shapes suddenly appeared between them, stopping the swing of the greataxe. To Nia’s astonishment, her saviours appeared to be little pieces of white paper shaped like origami birds and glowing with ether energy. They formed a wall between her and the hostile Blade.
At the sound of a familiar tiger roar, Nia turned just in time to see Dromarch leap over her head, twin rings in mouth, with which he landed a blow on the greataxe-wielding Blade, forcing it back.
“Are you injured, my lady?” he asked with open concern.
“Nothing I can’t heal,” she answered.
“You really ought not to wander off like that.”
Nia ignored the obvious criticism and quickly sought out the other Blade with the ether cannon. This one was female, and was readying another attack from her cannon.
“Can’t see… lost in the fog…” the female Blade snarled.
As Nia dashed forward, she knew she wouldn’t close the distance in time to stop another blast from the Blade’s ether cannon. However, the origami birds which had protected her broke their shield formation and all flew at the other Blade like a hail of bullets. Even though they looked like paper, the origami ripped through their target, sending her crumpling to the ground in an instant.
“Can you walk, Crown Princess?” At the sound of Morgan’s voice, Nia looked to see the Blade researcher standing over her. More of those origami birds floated around her, and she appeared to be controlling them with a device mounted on her wrist.
The female fog-tainted Blade was already getting back to her feet, in spite of the damage Morgan’s origami had done to her. “Colony Eta, future Ardun-steak capital of the frontier!”
“What the hell is going on?” Nia asked, her voice noticeably shaking. “It’s almost like they’re Fogbeasts!”
“I was under the impression that only monsters were affected by the Fog Rift,” Dromarch mused.
“So was I!” Morgan exclaimed. “Nothing in my research indicated this was even possible!”
Blade Fogbeasts. Fogblades? “They’re a lot more resilient than regular Blades or Fogbeasts,” Nia said. She wasn’t sure they’d even done any meaningful damage to them yet.
“Looks like the power of the Fog Rift is putting their regular Blade regeneration into overdrive,” Morgan said as another so-called Fogblade emerged, growling more gibberish. "Any ideas, Crown Princess?”
Nia had one. “Bloody leg it! ”
Morgan used her flying origami to cover them as the trio turned and ran for the fort’s western gate.
“Twenty percent off all alcohol and tobacco, limited time only!”
More Fogblades emerged all around them, shambling forward as they tried to cut off the trio’s escape. Dodging, weaving and slashing, Nia and her companions fought their way closer to the gate. They were almost out when more shapes emerged from the darkness and fog beyond the fort. Volffs and Ropls wreathed in black fog blocked their escape ahead while behind them, the small army of Fogblades closed in.
“Great. Now what?” Morgan asked, panting for breath.
“Hate to say it, but we’re pretty sandwiched here!” Nia exclaimed as she thought desperately for a way out of their predicament. The only way out she could see was to cut a path through the Fogbeasts—they didn’t have the regenerative properties of the Fogblades and were the ones cutting off their escape. It would be dicey though. Nia wasn’t sure they all could make it, especially if the Fogblades caught up while they were busy with the Fogbeasts.
Before Nia could relay her plan, the fortress was suddenly awash in bright light. Nia looked up to see a Titan airship hovering just above the fortress, its signal lamps shining down on them. It wasn’t the Sunset Beryl ; this ship was decked out for war. A chorus of cannon fire sounded out as a large number of the Fogblades chasing after them were blown away. It was as Nia realised she was looking at the Vandham’s Legacy that she heard Yew’s voice booming over the ship’s external speakers.
“Climb aboard, will ya, Nia? ” he said as a rope ladder began to descend from the ship’s port hatch.
Allowing herself a relieved grin, Nia set her sights on the nearest Fogbeast as the Vadham’s Legacy adjusted its position to fire another volley.
Once she was safely aboard the Vandham’s Legacy —with Fort Crocius and the Fog creatures now controlling it shrinking in the distance—Nia felt like she could finally take a breath. There wasn’t time to rest, though. After extricating her and the others from Fort Crocius, Yew promised to give her a full briefing of recent events on the battle command deck, where Nia was headed now. There was no need to worry about the crew of the Sunset Beryl; Yew had apparently made contact with them shortly before saving her at Fort Crocius and had given them the location of the rendezvous point: Port Uramu.
Now, as Nia walked through the familiar corridors of the Vandham’s Legacy, she looked down at her hands. How long had they been trembling? The emergence of these “Fogblades” was certainly a disturbing development, like something out of a horror novel (and Nia wasn’t a fan of scary stories). Her thoughts kept going back to the seemingly random gobbledygook the Fogblades kept saying. Was it really random or did it all have something to do with who those Blades had been before they’d turned? Were they still conscious somewhere within the influence of the fog, at least on some level? It didn’t bear thinking about.
So, Nia spared a glance at Morgan, hoping to find something else to think about for the moment. The Blade researcher was currently fiddling with the device on her wrist as she walked.
“Never seen a Blade weapon like that,” Nia commented.
“The Mondo? They’re not actually a Blade weapon, but I like using them.”
“Oh?”
“It’s not exactly commonly used, even in Zorn. Arthur was the only human I knew who could use it,” Morgan explained, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
“It’s that hard to use?”
“I’m sure anyone could use it, but to use it effectively you need to be both highly intelligent and a quick thinker.”
“Sounds like a hassle. I don’t think I’ll be changing weapons anytime soon.” Nia liked her Catalyst Scimitar.
“I guess, but using it makes me feel closer to him, y’know?” Morgan’s voice went quiet. “Makes it feel like he’s still here.”
Nia nodded. “How long were you with Arthur anyway? Sounds like it must’ve been a while.”
“Over twenty years. We weren’t like a typical Driver and Blade. Weren’t in the military or doing mercenary work or anything. Our time together was mostly study and research.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It was.” After a melancholic pause, Morgan added, “He was like family.”
Nia found herself thinking of her time as Fremen Echell’s Blade. “It was the same with me and my old Driver, actually.”
Indeed it was, before Lord Echell had lost his fortune in pursuit of a cure for his daughter. Before the poverty that had ultimately claimed her life. Nia hadn’t done much fighting then either, her job had been primarily to tend to Mio, and before she knew it, she was as good as family to both of them.
“Family…” Nia mused, almost unconsciously. “Would be nice to have again….”
“It would be nice, yeah. Shame it isn’t possible....”
Nia wasn’t sure what Morgan meant by that, but didn’t have time to ask. She and the others arrived on deck at battle command, where Yew and a few other Garfont officers were waiting. After a hasty salute (Nia appreciated that he still treated her as a commanding officer and not as a princess), Yew began his briefing.
“To start, you should know that we still don’t have the full picture. Lord Corbett kept me and the other Garfont Mercenaries in the dark as much as he could ever since we arrived at Fort Crocius. Guess he thought we were here to spy on him for you.”
Nia wished she could say she was surprised.
“What I did know was that his strategy of culling the Fogbeasts with controlled sweeps of the region was going nowhere fast. Food and supplies were as low as the morale. Fights breaking out between the men under his command were a regular occurrence. That’s probably why no one batted an eye at the large number of Blades sent back from the front line with symptoms of combat-related trauma.”
This lined up with what Nia had read at the fort quite nicely.
“The chief medical officer as well as the research team had requested more resources to study the affected Blades but Lord Corbett denied the requests. Then, no more than twenty-four hours ago, they… changed.”
“They became Fogblades,” Nia said.
“Fogblades, eh? Yeah, guess that name works. Anyway, when they attacked, there was so much confusion that no one really knows how exactly it all went down. All I know is, someone opened the west gate and let in a host of the bastards around the same time the Blades who’d been sent back from the front turned hostile. Some think it was an inside job. That maybe the Blades within the fort who’d turned had opened the gate to let in the rest. Myself, I think it’s more likely that whoever was on gate duty that night saw the approaching Fogblades and mistook them for friendlies. Way I heard it, human soldiers from the local garrison were on gate duty.”
“Regardless, they entered through the west gate, where Paronet’s forces were housed, yeah?” Nia asked. That was consistent with what she had seen on her approach to the fort. “What about the civilians? Their housing was in the fort’s southern wing. Surely there was time to organise their evacuation, yeah?”
Yew frowned, and his brow furrowed with rage. “Aye, that’s what I thought too. But Lord Corbett ordered a full retreat. Went to his airship on the fort’s north side and took off with a handful of his men while the rest of us held off the enemy.”
Nia’s eyes went wide with rage. “He just LEFT THE REFUGEES TO DIE? ”
Yew nodded gravely. “Aye. They may have been brothers, but Corbett’s no Vandham. From what I understand, bastard’s never actually seen real combat. Apparently, a number of the Fogblades breached his command centre. Makes sense that saving his own sorry arse was all he could think about at that point.”
Right now, Nia only cared about one thing. “So, the refugees, are they…?”
“Donnae worry, as soon as I saw his airship take off, I took it upon meself to save who I could. It was bloody chaos, but the Garfont Mercenaries and I loaded as many civilians onto the Vandham’s Legacy as it could carry and got them the hell out of there. However, a lot didn’t make it.”
“How many?”
“We still don’t know the full casualty numbers, but the estimates ain’t looking good.”
Nia’s mind went blank. All she could see were the faces of the people in the refugee camp. Nervous elderly folks. Frightened young men and women. Helpless children playing with a leather ball. It was wet to the touch.
“Lady Nia?”
Nia blinked the thoughts away and returned her attention to her mercenary lieutenant. “Thanks, Yew. Is there anything else?”
“That’s about the extent of what I know. Suppose you’ll have to ask Lord Corbett for more when we arrive in Uramu. We’re less than an hour out.”
With a nod of acknowledgement, Nia dismissed him and turned to leave. As she did, she glanced down at her hands. Her white gloves were still stained red.
Dromarch padded up next to her. “My lady, are you…?”
“I’m going to the loo.”
Once she was alone in the latrine, Nia went straight for the sink and started washing her hands. She left her gloves on. As she scrubbed, her thoughts kept going to those refugees. Was Koremm okay? Were those children? Whytworth’s dead eyes were still wide with horror.
Nia scrubbed and scrubbed, but the red stains on her unclean hands stubbornly remained. She wasn’t sure how much time she spent hunched over the sink, scrubbing like a woman possessed. It amounted to nothing. No matter how much of the blood she cleaned, the red colour lingered, permanently tainting the once pure white of her gloves.
When the Vandham’s Legacy made port at Uramu, Nia disembarked from her ship with furious steps, wasting no time. Her face a picture of grim determination, she made her way through the port town towards where Yew had told her was Lord Corbett’s new command centre.
Even at this late hour, the streets were filled with the terrified, broken faces of the remaining refugees, the occasional sob filling the air. It was enough to turn Nia’s stomach to knots, but she resolved not to lose her head as she entered the inn that Lord Corbett was now using as a headquarters. One way or another, there would be hell to pay. Nia would make sure of it.
Corbett was sharing hushed words with his officers around another map table. For the brief moment Nia glimpsed him before he caught sight of her, she thought his face looked far more sunken than the last time they’d spoken. His white hair seemed ever so slightly more matted, his brown skin just a shade paler. Then he gave her a well-practised smile and he was the same as ever.
“Well, well, the prodigal princess returns! So good of you to finally join us,” he said. “Ready to hear the new terms of my proposal?”
“I have some new terms of my own for you,” Nia said, reaching into a pouch and producing the unsigned transfer of command paperwork she’d found on his desk in Fort Crocius. “You’re going to sign this right now and I’ll help you save whatever face you have left after this disaster!”
“Help me save face?” Lord Corbett scoffed. “Let me assure you that, in spite of the unfortunate events of the other night, I’m still in total control of the situation.”
“That isn’t how it looks to me.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” Corbett said with an arrogant grin. “The truth is, there have been new developments while you’ve been away, and while the loss of Fort Crocius has been a regrettable setback….”
“Setback? People are dead, you cold-hearted bastard!” Nia growled.
“Which, while unfortunate, does not change my plans moving forward.”
“Right, your ‘new developments’, which I assume refers to your proposed combined operation with Mor Ardain?”
Corbett seemed momentarily taken aback, much to Nia’s satisfaction. Truthfully, it was no more than an educated guess, but by the looks of it, she was right on the money. So, seizing upon her adversary’s momentary loss of momentum, Nia continued, “On the note of Mor Ardain, how do you suppose it looks to them that Uraya’s main forward base has fallen?”
“Well, I…” Corbett started, but Nia wasn’t about to let him regain control of the conversation.
“The fact is your incompetence has lost us a vital strategic position, humiliated us before the international community, and worst of all, cost the lives of countless innocent civilians!”
“And where were you, Your Grace? ” Corbett fired back. “I’ve been the one holding everything together here while you’ve been off on a sightseeing tour of Morytha and Tantal!”
The words stung more than Nia wanted to admit, but she would not let it show. “I’ve been searching for a more permanent solution to all this!”
“Oh really? And how, pray tell, did that go?”
Nia nearly stumbled through a half-baked explanation of how close she was to finding Sosem but stopped herself. This was just what Corbett wanted: to have her on the back foot.
“Don’t try to deflect from the fact that innocent people are dead because of your cowardice!” The words tasted bitter in her mouth, making Nia feel almost hypocritical.
Knowing she needed to change her strategy, she decided it was time to pull out her trump card. “This is your last chance. Transfer command of the operation to me now. Otherwise, under Section 3, Article 12 of the UCMJ, I will have no choice but to forcibly relieve you for cause.” Nia was glad she’d brushed up on the Urayan Code of Military Justice on the rest of the flight here. “In that event, you’d have to make a full accounting of your actions before the Military Oversight Committee, who I doubt would see them favourably. How do you suppose that will reflect on House Paronet?”
For a moment, Nia wasn’t sure what Lord Corbett would do. The way he glared daggers at her, she half expected him to strike at her right then and there. She had faced far worse than him, though, and showed no sign that she was at all intimidated. Corbett stepped towards her, his face cetris from hers, and firmly snatched the transfer of command document from her hands.
“Fine. Enjoy your command while you have it,” he said as he penned his name. “When you inevitably let more people die, you can be sure I will quite publicly express my regret at relinquishing command to an inexperienced, bleeding-heart child who has no idea what she’s doing!”
Lord Corbett stamped the document with his seal, making it official before he promptly stormed out of the makeshift command centre. Nia had gotten out of the arranged marriage—for now—but she felt no relief. Corbett was right about one thing: the situation was bad, and Nia’s success—or failure—to remedy it hung on a blade’s edge.
By the time the sun rose, Nia was starting to wish she’d gotten some sleep on the flight from Fort Crocius. Since being given official command of the counter-rift operation, Nia wasted no time getting up to speed. The situation was even worse than she’d originally thought. Casualties among the Bedlam Mercenaries were very high due to Corbett’s mismanagement, something he’d worked very hard to conceal in the official reports.
What was more, after falling back to Uramu, Corbett had seen fit to shove every last Blade still left who hadn’t been turned by the Fog Rift into the town jail. It was a hasty precaution, and one that would not ultimately solve anything, so Nia ordered them to be released, but closely monitored. From there, she’d given the officers under her command their orders.
“We’re evacuating Uramu in its entirety and pulling back to Goshen.”
She had expected protest from the gathered officers but was pleasantly surprised to see them all in agreement.
“I was worried you intended to hold Uramu against all odds, or—Architect forbid—try to retake Crocius,” said the commander of the Bedlam Mercenaries, a gritty older man named Dretus.
Nia had initially considered holding Uramu, but knowing what they were up against, decided a tactical withdrawal was the wiser choice. From what she’d heard, Fogbeasts were beginning to encroach on Uramu even before Fort Crocius fell. Without it, Nia didn’t like their odds against a full-scale attack, and it would appear that the Bedlam Mercenaries agreed.
“I’ll have my men prepare our ship and, first thing tomorrow, we’ll start gathering the civilians,” Dretus said.
“Why wait for morning? We should start the evacuation efforts as soon as possible,” Nia said. There was no telling when the fog entities would attack next.
“Even with two ships, we may not be able to carry both the refugees from Fort Crocius and all of the residents of Uramu,” Yew pointed out.
“Find a way. Jettison any non-essential equipment if you have to, but I’m not leaving anyone behind!”
What followed was hours discussing the logistics of such a large-scale evacuation effort, all while managing Uramu’s defenses in the interim. In addition to being in regular contact with Goshen, Nia had sent out scouting parties from the Garfont Mercenaries to ensure they would be warned well in advance of any Fogbeast or Fogblade incursion. This was made all the more difficult with the unusual weather patterns interfering with their communications.
To make matters more frustrating, commander Dretus had later reported that even after emptying both ships of non-essential equipment like she had ordered, their calculations had revealed that there would still be about one quarter of the population of Uramu left over when both ships reached their weight limit. Then there was the issue of those civilians who would refuse to leave their homes even in the face of such danger. Dretus wanted her permission to remove them by force should it come to that. After some deliberation, Nia granted it, hoping that it would be largely unnecessary. She was then informed that both the research and medical teams wanted to talk to her regarding the Fogblade situation. Nia put it off until everything with the evacuation was sorted.
By the time night gave way to early morning, Nia was feeling like a Garaffa carcass being pulled apart by a pack of Feris. She’d lost track of how many coffees she’d drunk. There was still much to do, but Nia took a moment to step out of the inn serving as her command centre to clear her head. Just a short break before getting back to it. She wasn’t the only one with the idea.
“Have to admit, I’m impressed with how you’re handling things, Your Grace,” commander Dretus said, taking the spot next to her. “When I first heard that the crown princess herself was gunning for command, my kneejerk reaction was that you were just another upstart noble looking to make a name for herself. Didn’t learn until recently that you’re some legendary hero wot travelled with the Aegis.”
Nia wasn’t so sure about the “legendary hero” part—even after all she’d been through a year ago, she’d never thought of herself as such—but she went along with it. “I just want to make sure nobody else dies.”
“Too right. Have to say, I’m glad to have you in command now.” Dretus took a sip of his own coffee. “I know that as a merc, I’m not supposed to speak badly about my client but screw it, he ain’t my client anymore. Corbett Paronet is a daft bastard and seeing you put him in his place was right satisfyin’.” Then looking a mite embarrassed, Dretus quickly added, “Uh, pardon the crass language, Your Grace.”
“Don’t worry, I find the candour refreshing.” Then allowing herself a smile, Nia said, “Besides, you’re right: putting him in his place was pretty satisfying.”
Dretus chuckled. “Sometimes I wonder if Queen Raqura had the right idea pushing for a more centralised military structure like they have in Mor Ardain. Current system’s good for us mercs, but more often than not the ones calling the shots are greedy politicians like Lord Corbett. Completely unqualified to lead an army, doing only what benefits them politically and not what makes sense tactically, let alone what’s best for the people they're supposed to be protectin'.”
He meant leaving the refugees behind at Fort Crocius, Nia realised, which seemed hypocritical to her for one reason. “Weren’t you on board the ship with him when he fled?”
“Aye. ‘Had to prioritise those in command,’ he told me,” Dretus said with a shrug. “I didn’t like it, but those were the orders.”
Nia didn’t care for “following orders” as an excuse not to do the right thing—especially as a former merc herself—but didn’t comment.
Dretus then looked at her and said, “Shame you weren’t in command then, eh? Imagine how differently that night woulda gone….”
Naturally, Dretus meant nothing by it, but his words struck a painful chord deep inside her. She looked down at her hands; at her white gloves that were now a shade more red.
“Anyway, guess we oughta get back to it, eh Your Grace?” Dretus said, turning to go back in.
Wordlessly, Nia followed. Suddenly, the promise of being pulled in all directions by work didn't seem so bad. Whatever it took to keep her thoughts from the horrible truth she’d just come to realise....
As the sun rose higher in the sky, Nia pressed on through her exhaustion, continuing her efforts in managing this crisis. More than once, Dromarch and even Yew had suggested she get some rest—much of the work that was left now was stuff she could delegate to them anyway. But she refused, busying herself as much as she could. Drowning her mind and senses with so much noise that she wouldn’t need to focus on anything else, especially her own thoughts.
Currently, she was meeting with both Morgan and chief medical officer Dufresne as they explained their findings regarding the Fogblades. Their hypothesis was one that Nia herself had already gathered from the document she’d looked at back at Fort Crocius: that Blades affected by the rift’s power had exhibited symptoms of psychosis before they turned. Currently none of the Blades within their forces exhibited any such symptoms, and Morgan explained her theory where that was concerned.
“So far, it looks like only the Blades who were with the main force were affected. They spent a great deal of time well within the known radius of the Fog Rift’s influence, as calculated by myself and my research team,” Morgan explained. “By my team’s current estimate, that radius has not expanded far enough to reach Uramu.”
Nia thought she sensed an unspoken yet in Morgan’s explanation. All the more reason to keep the evacuation moving along. She was curious about one thing, though. “Why did the Fog Rift only start affecting Blades now?”
“On that, we can only speculate,” Morgan said. “Maybe the process of turning a Blade into a Fogblade takes longer than turning monsters into Fogbeasts? There’s also the fact that there weren’t many Blades in the region at all before Lord Corbett’s forces started their sweeps. Honestly, there could be any number of factors.”
Nia figured as such. “Then I take it we don’t know a way to return the affected Blades to normal?”
At that, Dufresne answered, “Without enough data, working out a cure will be nearly impossible. Now, if we had a live specimen to study and run tests on….”
It was clear what he was asking, but Nia didn’t want to expend men and resources from the evacuation to use for the dangerous task of capturing a live Fogblade.
“It’s my belief that simply getting rid of the Fog Rift would be enough to return all Fogbeasts and Fogblades to normal,” Morgan added.
Once again, it looked like the best long-term course of action was to go to the source and continue in her efforts to track down the one person who might have any answers. As much as Nia knew she was needed here, she also didn’t want the trail she’d picked up in Tantal to go cold again.
It was at that moment that Dromarch entered the makeshift command centre. “My lady, the representatives from Mor Ardain have arrived.”
“Already? They made bloody good time,” Nia mused.
“Their ship is mooring as we speak.”
Muttering a curse, Nia turned to Morgan and Dufresne. “Looks like we’ll need to table this for now. Keep finding out what you can.”
The pair acknowledged and Nia wasted no time, hustling down to Uramu’s harbour. The Ardainian battleship was visible right away, massive as it was. Shortly after Nia had assumed command, she had been informed that Lord Corbett had already opened up a dialogue with Mor Ardain’s military and would be hosting their forces while they discussed the particulars of his proposed combined effort. Nia since had her comms officer update the Ardainians on the situation with Fort Crocius and given them the new rendezvous point here in Uramu. But she hadn’t expected them to arrive until the end of day.
Yew, Dretus and a number of other officers were already waiting on the dock facing the battleship as Nia and Dromarch arrived. Nia forced her mind to focus through the haze of exhaustion (she could really use another coffee) as she tried to find her Royal Self before whatever pompous Ardainian officer would emerge to greet her. Her planned projection of poise went out the window when she saw the familiar uniformed woman cross the gangway from the battleship’s hangar.
“Mòrag? ” Nia exclaimed. “The one Lord Corbett contacted was you?”
“Indeed. I must admit I’m surprised to see you here as well,” Mòrag intoned.
Nia’s old travelling companion looked handsome as ever in the ceremonial dark dress uniform of the Special Inquisitor—evidently Mòrag still preferred it to the regulation field armour of her station. At her side, as always, was her Blade Brighid who, as always, seemed to draw all eyes to her without trying. Nia couldn’t deny she cut a striking figure. Purple hair of literal flames over a matching evening gown tended to have that effect. Nia had certainly thought so when they’d first encountered each other one year ago.
“Now, as much as I would like to catch up, Nia, I need to speak to Lord Corbett with all haste,” Mòrag said.
“Right, about that… Lord Corbett is no longer in command of the operation here,” Nia explained.
Mòrag gave her an inquisitive look. “Oh? Then who must I speak to regarding this proposed combined action?”
Nia only grinned and wiggled her eyebrows. Mòrag seemed to understand right away. “You’re in command?”
With a nod, Nia turned and beckoned for her friend to follow. “Come along. Sounds like I have a lot to catch you up on.”