"Go away."
Silence strained the air between them.
"I can't do that."
The electronic wooden door permitted entry to Danteus; whose heavy frame was dim against the light of the hallway. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes glinted with a rare concern.
Gothalia's eyes lingered over the door key card in his hand. A dark reminder of the massacre, a day she could remember in parts, but never as one scene. She was aware that if anyone had a high enough élanocyte count, they could remove the entire door from its frame.
"That door was supposed to stay locked. Why do you have that?"
Danteus closed the door a little, allowing the fair light to drift over Gothalia's frail form.
"To check on you. Anaphora lent it to me. You were pretty broken up," he said carefully.
This was a mission he had no knowledge of how to approach. A part of him couldn't help but want to say—"you have the worst luck, don't you?"—but, even by his standards, he knew how insensitive that comment would be.
Gothalia scoffed.
"Why wouldn't I be? Should I be okay with people dying?" Her hurt and reproving eyes fell on his and he recognised the fragility of his position.
"No one can ever be okay with people dying but have you forgotten you're a Centurion. A soldier. And so were they. They did their jobs knowing the consequences, it was their duty to their Reserve. Learn to look at things objectively, and maybe . . . it'd be a little easier."
Gothalia exhaled, feeling weaker beneath the weight of his words, tensed her shoulders.
"I haven't forgotten what their duty is, nor have I forgotten mine. I am just wondering how much more pain and suffering is to come before things get better. And when it does, will I no longer see things the same?"
The bed ducked beneath Danteus' weight as he settled himself on the edge.
He had not thought of her at that moment as a soldier but as a friend. He remembered going to class with her and causing trouble with her. It was only by chance he had outranked her.
"No one said living was easy but the freedom to live without suppression and oppression is something we must fight for. Especially, if the Xzandians are planning on enslaving the entire world."
"That's if the Humans live long enough," she darkly added.
"It won't only be Humans who will suffer, as history has it—that's why we're here. We are to do what our ancestors did centuries ago. Even if many will hate and criticise us for it. There will be others who will be awakened in the upcoming war and we must be there to remind them to fight and to not give up. Do you think you can do that? As a Centurion of the Fire Reserve?"
Quietly, she thought over his words, then nodded, surprised by the sudden stiffness of her legs as she stretched them out along the cold dry sheets. Gothalia examined her bare legs, battered with scrapes and bruises. They were a reminder: she was still here and that was enough to keep going.
The weight on the bed shifted once more. She felt the gentle touch of Danteus' forehead against hers. He was close enough that he could smell the salt of each tear.
"Don't ever feel like you're alone. We are here, even L'Eiron and Anaphora. We're not going anywhere."
In the darkness, Gothalia's short sniffles and shallow breathing reverberated throughout the room. Danteus did not move. Without words or thought, he listened, allowing the memories of that evening and everything she had encountered as he had, to resurface. He knew how much harder it was going to become from that moment on.
At last, Danteus parted with a sorrowful look, aware he needed to return to his small, but specialized, company, Dragon Core. Gothalia was grateful that he vacated the room, encouraging him to leave with a false, but convincing smile. Then she, too, abandoned her home, a place that reminded her of both the good and the bad.
The stone streets of New Icarus were not calm but busy with people walking to and from their morning ventures. Earth users used stone boards to skate throughout the streets, while others, with the aid of air users, utilised hovering carriages.
Steadily, Gothalia roamed the streets but did not go to the Cetatea. She knew Argos would want her to debrief.
Instead, she walked the city streets where people prepared for the morning, passing from one suburb to another, before heading to La Volpe Heights. Gothalia paused on the footpath for a second, observing the artificial ocean stretched before her.
It was as real as it could ever be, she realised. Her lips frowned at the thought, then she moved to the small dirt path that led to the cliff-side.
She would often visit this bench when she needed to be alone; it was luckily unoccupied. The air here always smelt genuine, as did the fresh scent of saltwater.
She often wondered, when would the peace change? It was not like she wanted the peaceful times to disappear. It was more that she knew that not everything would last. Or could not last.
Gothalia recognised the call of the rain by the cool oncoming breeze that gently blew past her skin where she sat on the brink of a sharp cliff.
Her observant eyes regarded the gentle sway of the ocean that lay stretched before her, dancing and colliding beneath the wind.
A storm loomed. The dark grey clouds overhead were staunch warnings for her to return home but Gothalia's feet remained rooted in place. In that moment, she did not care, as she observed the peaceful scenery beyond the cliffside.
A few more moments, she thought, and I will work up the courage to face them.
She knew Danteus had gone in her place to deliver the news of her comrades' deaths to their wives, but she could not get the image of their existence—reduced to dust—from her mind. It could not be erased.
Nor could she remove the guilt and shame from her stomach when her mind sorted through the memory.
Gothalia observed the dark migrating specks which sprinkled the beach below. Kites glided through the air, their wings guided by the ocean breeze, and a small smile pulled at her lips.
The kites' wings flapped, as they aligned themselves to the air's current before circling the beached stingray below them.
Swooping speedily, they easily picked at the remains before soaring back into the air.
It was fake, she knew. Regardless, of how real it appeared.
She eyed the high and sturdy metal railing not too far from her. Deterring anyone who might wish to climb.
The artificial briny air permeated her nose, clearing her mind. In moments like this, she loved the surface world more than she ever realised. Even though her home had managed to create artificial winds, storms, and a sun, it was different from being above-ground. For now, she could only pretend she was.
It was monsoon season in the Northern Territory, the place she had recently abandoned. It would be sticky and hot, but beautiful once the rain showered the city, cooling the warmer days. This was what she loved—being at one with nature—but per usual, it did not last long. When her communicator beeped.
She felt it shudder in her pocket before hearing another, beep. It trembled, once again, against her skin, much to her displeasure. No, she thought, I need more time.
It was not like she needed to be made aware of what was happening, and it was not like she needed to be a part of whatever it was that was happening. In the end, she knew she would learn about it. It was inevitable.
With her lips pursed in thought, she pulled out the communication device and eyed the screen a little reluctantly.
There, on the screen, was a text from Argos, the Commander of Dragon Core. He was not in the best mood:
"Return to base, immediately." His words were abrupt and cold. She could only imagine the expression on his ageing features.
Reluctantly, she returned to the Cetatea and to the halls of the eastern building where the Dragon Core members lived, trained, and received their missions.
It was a place they cherished. It was something they all had in common.
In the main chamber, Argos Ambrosia's assistant, Christian Antonius, cowered behind his clipboard as Argos threw a pen through the air. Christian was obviously fearful of Argo's undisciplined and yet humiliating verbal abuse.
Argos was angry.
And everyone was scared.
Unfortunately, Gothalia knew it had more to do with her than anyone else. She recognised the scornful looks of the others as she entered the building.
She understood numerous complaints had been filed against Argos. However, she and a few others knew he was not going to be relinquished of his position until the Grand Elders considered he was irrelevant. This thought never sat well with her. At Anaphora's request, she stayed silent on the topic.
Argos's dark eyes assessed Gothalia, patiently waiting for a response to what had happened on her last mission, but those were words were never uttered.
In place of her silence, he continued to reprimand her. Internally, she wondered if he would still be speaking to her disrespectfully if Anaphora was with her. Doubtful, she thought, aware of Argos's discontent when the higher-ranking Triarius reprimanded him for his poor management.
Even as he yelled, the guilt still weighed heavily on her, and she vowed at that moment to hunt down the woman who had slaughtered her friends without a second thought. However, for now, she needed to be patient. Her opportunity would arise.
"That's enough Argos." A voice said wearily. Gothalia did not have to look; she knew who that deep rough voice belonged to. It was branded in her memory as much as Anaphora's. "I'm sure Gothalia feels guilty as it is, since she failed."
"I told you what she wanted. What she was planning and what she looked like. There's video evidence, yet you choose to do nothing." Gothalia turned her attention to L'Eiron Augustin-Valdis.
Gothalia noticed Danteus standing beside L'Eiron with a clipboard in hand, she could tell he had returned from his duty to recheck the weapons' stock. Gothalia was monetarily glad it was his turn, a happiness that extinguished when he disapprovingly frowned at her.
Her gaze returned to L'Eiron.
"You told us that extra measures were in place to ensure that the limited numbers of Alastorians stay limited, but you never said anything about trading Excelian information in exchange for Xzandian technology. Or that the Humans would profit from this." Gothalia held L'Eiron's gaze, taking note of the brown smear between the gold in his irises, shadowed beneath his mahogany brown hair that under the golden torches appeared black.
L'Eiron was a tall man, his build equally intimidating and his presence reminding everyone that he was strong and dangerous.
He held Gothalia's gaze, taking in her features, features that reminded him of her mother.
With a reluctant sigh he proclaimed, "I didn't think you'd find out like this or hoped you didn't find out like this. That's why Anaphora made sure you were always with her on missions."
"And not with you, why?" Gothalia questioned, her tone flat and her expression cold. "Your demonic blood is purer than Anaphora's. Why did you only teach me control in the mountains and never on missions?"
"You need to be specific . . . which question do you want me to answer first?" L'Eiron asked, like a patient parent. Danteus shifted his weight uncomfortably beside him.
"The target. Who was she? Better yet – how does she know me?"
"You know I'm still here, right?" Argos commented, attempting to gain the attention of either Gothalia or L'Eiron. "If anyone cares." He was ignored, much to his irritation.
Upstairs, the phone rang, and Gothalia relaxed at the sound. It comforted her in a way she never realised the ring of a phone ever could, even if everything seemed a little . . . strange.
"Whatever," Argos mumbled coarsely, before moving up the fine silver stairs and to his office.
Gothalia's gaze skimmed over her shoulder, drifting to the tentative women concealed around the corner in the distance.
"You can come out now," she said, before returning her attention to L'Eiron.
He crossed his arms, his expression serious.
"So, you're going to listen now?"
Mimicking his stance, she crossed her arms.
"Intelligence suggests that Numitora Faustus-Ignatius is responsible for the relay of information regarding Centurions in the Fire Reserve to the Xzandians in exchange for weapons and technology that will aid the Humans in the upcoming war."
Regardless, of how L'Eiron had worded it, Gothalia knew it was always human nature to manipulate, gossip and lie—and was even so at times with Excelians. This was a habit she hated but refrained from mentioning aloud.
"And?" Gothalia pressed. "You didn't think to tell me that, or the fact that she could wipe out a person or people within seconds? My job was to assassinate, yes, but I had no idea she had that much power. Were you so willing to sacrifice me, Maximums, and Anton?"
L'Eiron eyes darkened.
"It's not that." Conscious of the secret he was forced to keep, L'Eiron worked to control his temper. "It was more like: we assumed it was better if you didn't know. However, we didn't expect she'd master it."
"What are you talking about?" Gothalia asked, genuinely confused. L'Eiron did not speak. Domitia, Melanie, and Christian, the other Excelians who worked in the Cetatea, glanced at each other.
Gothalia recognised the expression they bore. It was the same expression she was familiar with, and, as such she steadily regarded them from where they stood off to the side.
"Are you going to tell me? You guys look like you know something." The malice in Gothalia's eyes caused alarm to simmer within Domitia, Melanie, and Christian. They glanced at L'Eiron with fear.
As he said,
"It doesn't matter right now."
"Whatever. We are going to get nowhere with this. If you will not tell me, I'll find the answer myself." She glared at L'Eiron who sighed, at her stubbornness, not wanting to remind her Argos still needed to speak to her.
"Christian!" Argos shouted from up the stairs and the girls cringed at the subtext woven through that one name. Christian jumped and flew to Argos's office faster than anyone thought possible, even by Excelian standards.
Melanie regarded Gothalia cautiously.
"The only reason why he hasn't fired you is because you're of the Valdis clan, and because of its connection to . . ." She paused contemplating her next words. ". . . Regardless, you're a part of the Echelon. The Xzandian numbers are rising, as are the Alastorians. We cannot afford to lose any more of the upper echelon. Especially, those of the Dragon Core, as we could have a war on Earth soon."
"There is going to be a war not could," Gothalia rebutted, not caring how rude she appeared at that moment. Surely, she would be given freedom to express her emotions, even a little.
Red-faced with anger, Domitia Aelius reprimanded Gothalia with her green eyes, daring her to rebel.
"They're close, the Humans I mean. They are close to knowing our existence; it is all over the surface news. Especially, since your fight with Numitora was out in the open!" Gothalia remained silent with worry and her eyes travelled from one girl to the other, in contemplation.
Gothalia twisted with the potential possibilities of how she could have trailed Numitora and how their fight could have played out. However, as she considered it, she knew it would all end the same way.
She did not know what to say to Domitia but knew she had a point: discretion was necessary to avoid any political conflict in the future.
The enemy was gaining the upper hand, and she often reminded herself, it was not her fault, but she knew without a doubt that when conflict dragged out, unnecessary trouble always ensued, even the unnecessary loss of life.
"I guess I'll be a little more careful from now on," she said.
A bubble of laughter escaped L'Eiron's lips.
Domitia and Melanie glared at him. He quickly composed himself, holding back his snicker.
"Sorry." He cleared his throat and avoided anyone's gaze. It was not that he did not believe Gothalia's words; it was more that he spotted the rare seriousness that had crossed her features, sparking a memory from when she was younger.
"What's so funny?" Melanie questioned.
"Were you unable to believe her statement?" Domitia asked, with a single raised brow.
"That's not it," L'Eiron managed, Gothalia could tell he was uncomfortable with this attention.
Still angry with him, Gothalia glared at the man, who was bothered by her irritation but did not allow it to show. He wanted to tell her the real reason for Numitora's anger, but he figured she would need to find out on her own.
Swiftly, she turned on her heel and vacated the Dragon Core's assigned building within the Cetatea, not even bothering to say goodbye.
As she moved through the open garden, she was fuming and preferred everyone kept their distance until she calmed down.
I need to calm down, she thought, my anger must not get the better of me.
Once calm, she continued, finally entering the eastern wing of the Cetatea, sombrely reflecting on everyone's words. In the middle of her tedious thoughts, Gothalia halted once more. She knew they were hiding something from her.
Beside her, a glass panel stretched along the wall, mirroring her empty gaze as she eyed the garden beyond, cradled beneath the morning sky. Without much thought, she turned her eyes from the gallery and continued further down the corridor, unaware of another pair of feet on approach.
Surprise escaped her lips when she collided with a person she had not noticed. A voice silenced her apology, and she eyed the red-gold eyes staring into hers.
"Are you alright?" The stranger asked, with a bright smile lining his brown skin. She stepped away from the man and out of his grip before apologising once more. "No problem." His golden eyes regarded her critically.
The encounter was brief; with a lingering smile, he moved around her and continued further down the hall. Gothalia's eyes swept over the corridor behind her, staring at the back of the stranger. Wondering where she had recognised him from, she could not at that moment pinpoint it.
Without much hesitation, she strode the silent moiré hall before arriving at the Artillery and Combat Zone. The two double sliding doors she paused before required her to scan her security card. When she did, the doors welcomed her presence, and she entered.
The Laboratory was built with clean marble floors and lined by empty sterile tables; off to the side were untouched wind experiments that often flooded the room.
Arthur, clad in his usual white laboratory coat, marked notes on a clipboard.
"Arthur."
At the sound of her voice, he paused, watching her steadily and with mild curiosity. She smiled at him; then her eyes drifted to the petri dish on the table.
"What brings you here?" His eyes drifted to the wall clock, aware of the early hour of the morning. He internally sighed, he had stayed out all night when he'd promised himself, he would not. He turned his attention to Gothalia; he caught the tiredness in her posture even if her eyes were filled with determination and curiosity.
"I'm hoping you could help me. I'm after information about Numitora. I know it's a bit of a stretch, but why does she hate our people so much?"
"What gave you that idea?" Arthur asked carefully.
"The anger in her eyes when she looked at me before she tried to kill me. It was brief, but it was there. It was . . . pure hatred and nothing more. It reminded me of those times . . ." Gothalia wrapped her arms around herself, not realising her reaction hadn't escaped Arthur.
"Well for starters, did you know that Xzandian scales retract under artificial sunlight?"
"Wait . . . Xzandians have scales?" Gothalia inquired, surprised by the change in topic.
Arthur's brown eyes glinted in delight.
"They do."
"That's new."
"I want to show you something, but first: to help you with your dilemma, have you ever heard of Midnight Eclipse?" He held up a black Xzandian scale, the size of the tip of her finger, with long silver tweezers. Gothalia watched in wonder, as the light triggered a faint rainbow halo. "You've never heard of it?" Arthur asked again.
Gothalia shrugged.
"What is it?" she inquired, her eyes never leaving the unique scale.
"It's a weapon that has enough power to wipe out nations—even Excelians. A couple of weeks ago, there was a signal that had alerted the surrounding Reserves and the Xzandians to its presence. This explains why they're here a second time and why these scales that we know of are so important."
Gothalia raised a brow.
"I'd like to think I'm pretty bright, but Arthur, I'm honestly not following. . ."
"Imagine a powerful weapon that wasn't created by Human or Excelian hands but created by another race. One that may have existed well before the Earth was even formed. That runs off pure energy. Just like these scales. Look at what happens when I add light to it." Arthur handed Gothalia a pair of dark goggles, instructing her to keep them with her. He set the scale in a petri dish with the long tweezers and headed towards the door she had seen on her way here. It was lined in black and yellow tape, a caution to keep everyone out, unless authorised. "This way."