Chapter 9: Dog Tags

                                    

                                          


Frail is humanity in such a desolate profession. To survive, those who walk the path of a mercenary will naturally come together, forming loose bands of mercenaries.
Though the Firelights are many, few among them will be remembered as legends, with most bound to be as evanescent as sand in the wind. Yet there are exceptions who, like (Y/N), may linger in the annals of history.
The "Flame-Mane" is fierce and brave, the lion her moniker invokes an analogy for her might. The nickname itself, meanwhile, denotes her passionate nature.
Should anyone be planning to hire a mercenary to serve as a bodyguard, she stood as a prime choice. Procuring her service runs an expensive premium, but her abilities make that a worthy expenditure indeed. Compared to those overconfident fools hawking their talents as hired blades on the street and novices capable of little more than brute force, she was a conscientious professional.
With all this said, those who wish to procure her services should make haste, for there is a long line of other potential clients that have need of the Flame-Mane, and the opportunity, just as grains in the desert, will slip away before long.
All Eclipse-foll, including her, learn to master and comprehend the sands. Here, where the blue of the sky is boundless, where the ink-paved waves of the sands bleed into the cleft of the horizon, it is easy to feel how small one truly is.
Even those familiar with the sights and scenes of the desert can be intermittently shaken by the forces wielded by nature, and find themselves yearning to profess their supplication upon the sands where they were born. The feeble and meek fear this land, and only those strong of spirit can find themselves drifting free upon this golden ocean.
Amongst the Eclipsites, the bravest, most inured to the cruelties of their existence amidst the flowing sands are the mercenaries — The Firelights.
Such a life is one with little comfort or ease, so what a mercenary truly desires are those who can support them, with such covenant-kin being the equal of blood relatives.
You can rise as high as the sky or stray as far as the sea, but you are and will always be, a daughter of the sands.
*

The Guardians, hidden beneath the bar counter, trembled as they viewed the gruesome massacre. There was no doubt the bloodshed and carnage on the glimmering floor had stunned them. They weren't prepared to confront death in such a visceral way. Life in this hostile environment seemed unfathomable to them. How did people endure such violence? They pondered this question in a bewildered state.
In an instant, time seemed to pause. Bunny felt his breath halt as he stared into a set of captivating, golden eyes - a sight that was so familiar to him, he would recognize it anywhere. Both bartenders smiled at the figure in a floor-length cloak standing before them, the click of her thigh-high, heeled boots ringing out through the room, fading into silence as she came to a stop. Those eyes, Bunny was certain, were the same ones he saw each morning.
Leaning your face into the robotic hand of yours, you blew away a few strands of hair from your forehead as you relaxed for a bit. A pleasant hush hung in the atmosphere before your synthetic eye suddenly began to glimmer with a brilliant golden hue. Instantly, the golden glow extended all over the both of you and you spoke up, your words composed and tranquil. "Bodily scan complete. Minor injuries detected. Contacting Natasha," you relayed, your tone soft and assured.
Motionless, their jaws agape, they gaped at the mechanical eye which shined in golden luminescence for a fleeting moment before dulling again when you blinked. As you gingerly rubbed your eye, you raised your golden mechanical arm towards them, their gaze lingering upon it. Eventually, it was Bunny who gathered enough courage to reach out and take it.