The mountain stood as an unforgiving sentinel against the raging blizzard, its snow-laden peaks piercing the storm's fury. Eilífr trudged through the swirling white chaos, each step a testament to his unyielding determination. It had been two weeks since the destruction of the Hive Mind, and now the only adversary he faced was the merciless winter elements. His armor, once a beacon of invincibility, was now battered and scarred from days of relentless combat and survival against nature's wrath.
Exhaustion clawed at his augmented body, every muscle screaming for respite. His HUD flickered with erratic warnings, the suit's systems strained to their limits. His substance reserves had dwindled to nothing, leaving him to rely on sheer willpower to keep moving forward. In his hand, he held his last flare—a small, lifeless tube that had seen him through countless battles. If this flare failed to reach its mark, it would signify the end of his mission and his existence.
He gazed down at the flare, the cold metal almost gleaming through the snow. Instead of feeling despair, a strange sense of peace settled over him. Death was no longer a distant fear but an inevitable release from his perpetual struggle. For the first time, he welcomed the finality it promised, envisioning the reunion with his family, his fellow SABERs who had stood by him through countless missions.
A deep sigh escaped his lips, the sound muffled by his helmet's filtering system. The heavy clunking of his armor echoed in the silent expanse, a grim reminder of his isolation. He sank to his knees, the weight of his existence pressing down on him. The blizzard swirled around him, a tempest of ice and snow that mirrored the turmoil within his mechanical heart.
"Five days," he whispered to himself, the words lost in the howling wind. Five days was too long—a lifetime in the frozen wasteland. He could barely keep his eyes open, the relentless cold seeping into his very core. But he had no choice. The flare was his last hope, his final attempt to reach out from the abyss.
As he gazed upward, the storm seemed to part for a fleeting moment, revealing a faint glimmer of light cutting through the darkness. His vision blurred, fatigue threatening to engulf him entirely. But then, amidst the swirling white, he saw them—reunited with the fallen SABERs who had given their lives so he could continue the fight. The memories of his comrades, their camaraderie, and their sacrifices flooded his mind, bringing a bittersweet smile to his otherwise stoic features as their spirits guided him towards peace.
As he contemplated his final moments, his heavy armor began to clunk and groan, the strain of days without rest becoming unbearable. SABER-1's vision blurred, the snowstorm outside distorting into ethereal patterns of light and shadow. He felt himself slipping, the exhaustion pulling him down like an anchor.
Suddenly, a radiant light pierced through the darkness, and the silhouettes of his comrades emerged from the haze, their forms welcoming him with open arms. Among them stood a familiar face—Alekzandra, her cheeks streaked with tears and her eyes swollen from crying. Her presence was a balm to his weary soul, a reminder of what he was fighting for beyond duty and survival.
"Alekzandra," he muttered, his voice strained and filled with emotion. "Sorry, guys. I can't leave her all alone."
His words hung in the air, a confession of the depth of his bond with her. The other SABERs nodded solemnly, understanding the choice he was about to make without needing further explanation. Their gestures were gentle, supportive, as if they knew the sacrifice he was willing to endure.
Summoning every ounce of remaining strength, SABER-1 forced himself upright. His body protested violently, the exhaustion threatening to overpower him, but his resolve held firm. The weight of his mission pressed upon him, and he could no longer afford to falter.
With a strained effort, he reached down to his leg compartment, his hands trembling as he pulled out another flare. The familiar device felt heavy in his grip, a lifeline that now served as his final act of defiance. He loaded the plasma into his Z9 Plasma Pistol, the weapon flickering to life despite his failing systems.
The time for hope had passed; it was now or never. SABER-1 raised the flare above his head, the snowstorm swirling violently around him. His eyes, once glowing with determination, now reflected a mix of sorrow and acceptance. He pressed the trigger, and the flare shot into the tempestuous sky, its green light a stark contrast against the blinding white.
The flare soared upward, cutting through the chaos with a desperate urgency. The snowstorm seemed to swallow it whole, the light fading as quickly as it had appeared. His Z9 Plasma Pistol fell from his grip, clattering against the icy ground, the sound lost in the cacophony of the storm.
The blizzard raged around him, the snow obscuring his vision and making each step treacherous. But his mission was clear. With a final, resolute breath, SABER-1 activated his armor's Autonomous Operation Mode, the suit taking over to ensure his survival for the remaining moments. His HUD flickered in and out of static, barely keeping him conscious as he fought to stay upright.
Ignoring the pain and the overwhelming fatigue, he began his descent down the mountain, each step a battle against his own body's failure. The snow whipped around him, biting and cold, but he pressed forward with unwavering determination. His mind was focused solely on one goal: to fire his last transmission and ensure that his sacrifice would not be in vain.
As he made his way down the treacherous slope, the weight of his armor felt lighter somehow, the rosary a constant reminder of why he couldn't give up. With every ounce of strength he had left, SABER-1 reached the base of the mountain, the blinding storm surrounding him as he raised his weapon once more.
"This is SABER-1," he called out into the chaos, his voice resolute despite the exhaustion threatening to consume him, one of the many slogans of the SABERS. "May our sacrifices ensure a future for humanity."
The storm seemed to momentarily pause, the world holding its breath as the final message carried on the wind. SABER-1's armor gave one last groan, the systems shutting down as his body succumbed to the inevitable. The titan of a soldier fell to his knees, the howling blizzard enveloping him as his consciousness faded, his mission fulfilled.
In that fleeting moment, as the storm roared around him, SABER-1 found peace, knowing that somewhere beyond the storm, there would be someone there to welcome him home, her prayers finally answered.
The control room at Hamilton Command erupted into chaos as the transmission echoed through the speakers.
"This is SABER-1. May our sacrifices ensure a future for humanity."
The air seemed to thicken, the weight of those words pressing down on every soul in the room. A chilling silence followed, broken only by the frantic tapping of keyboards and overlapping voices.
"Did anyone else catch that?" one officer asked, their voice trembling.
"Confirmed," another replied. "Signal received on multiple frequencies. Weak but traceable."
The senior officers, many veterans of the First SABER Campaign, stood frozen, their faces etched with disbelief and grim determination. They knew that phrase all too well. It was the SABERs' final mantra, uttered in the moments before their deaths—a vow of defiance in the face of annihilation.
"Triangulate!" barked Admiral Constance Ryker, slamming her fist on the console. "I want a location five minutes ago!"
The room buzzed with frantic energy as every available analyst and technician worked to isolate the source. Ships across the sector were hailed, their commands briefed on the gravity of the situation. Each was given strict orders to halt current operations and assist in the triangulation effort. The Admiral's voice carried through every channel:
"Failure to lock onto this signal within the hour will result in immediate disciplinary action. You have your orders. Get it done!"
Despite the urgency, the tension in the room was palpable. Many of the senior staff couldn't shake the haunting weight of hearing the mantra again after so many years. Whispers filled the corners of the room as they remembered the last time they had heard those words.
"It's been years… I thought we'd never hear that again."
"The last time, not a single SABER made it back."
The gravity of the moment wasn't lost on anyone. For some, it was a sobering reminder of the legacy the SABERs bore; for others, it was a gut-wrenching realization of how close humanity was to losing their last beacon.
Suddenly, a new voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Source located. Ten minutes out."
All heads turned toward the comms. It was Icarus.
"What?" Admiral Ryker barked, leaning forward. "Repeat that, Thunderbird."
"I said I've got the source," Icarus's voice crackled, strained but determined. "Coordinates locked. I'm ten minutes out."
The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted again as officers scrambled to relay the information. Orders were sent to nearby ships to hold position, and Hamilton Command diverted all resources to Icarus's trajectory.
In the cockpit of her Thunderbird, Icarus gripped the controls tightly, sweat beading on her forehead as she pushed the ship far beyond safe operational limits. Warnings flashed across her HUD, but she ignored them all.
"Hang in there, Elfy," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and resolve. "I'm coming."
The engines roared as the ship screamed through the atmosphere, its frame shuddering under the strain. Despite the turbulence, Icarus's focus was unshakable, her hands dancing over the controls with precision born from years of experience and raw desperation.
Back in the control room, Admiral Ryker leaned over the main display, her eyes fixed on the rapidly approaching blip that was Icarus's ship.
"All ships, maintain position," she commanded. "Thunderbird is our best chance. I want a clear channel open to her until this is resolved."
The tension in the room was almost unbearable. The weight of SABER-1's words, the frantic search, and the history they all shared with the fallen SABERs hung heavy in the air. Icarus's voice came over Eilífr's comms softer this time as she fought to maintain composure: "Don't you dare give up on me, Elfy. I'm almost there."
The Admiral turned to the comms officer. "Keep that channel open. I want every ship on standby. If SABER-1 is alive, we're not letting him slip through our fingers. Not again."
And with that, all eyes turned to the main display, where the small blip of the Thunderbird hurtled toward the source of the signal like a guided missile.
The cockpit of the Thunderbird was filled with a mix of static and tension as Icarus's ears caught the faintest crackle over her comms. She leaned forward instinctively, her breath catching. Then, there it was, his voice, barely audible but unmistakably his:
"Hehe... don't look down on me. Since when has your Elfy ever given up?"
Her laugh was instant, a choked and watery sound that came from deep within her chest. The tears she'd been holding back finally spilled over as she slapped the console, her knuckles white against the edge.
"Oh, so you're still cracking jokes, huh? Well, guess what," she said through a shaky grin. "Maybe I'll just leave you there after all."
The laughter that followed was light and fleeting, but it was a warmth they both needed amidst the frozen hell they were in.
Her HUD flashed. The locator blinked alive, and she let out a gasp as the screen lit up with a faint, but undeniable, heat signature. She flipped to her thermal camera, the stark black-and-white image revealing the barely visible form of a hulking figure, partially buried beneath layers of snow and ice.
"Gotcha," she whispered, gripping the controls with renewed determination.
The Thunderbird whipped around mid-descent, its thrusters roaring against the howling blizzard as she aligned the ramp perfectly with his position. The ship's landing gear groaned as it touched down, the ramp hissing open into the unrelenting storm. Without a second thought, Icarus bolted from the cockpit.
The bitter cold bit at her exposed skin, but she didn't care. Snow whipped violently around her, and the wind howled like a beast as she trudged through the knee-high drifts, her boots slipping on the icy surface.
"Elfy!" she screamed, her voice barely carrying over the storm. "Don't you dare do this to me! Get up! Get up right now!"
She reached his fallen form, the massive armor caked in frost and almost completely buried. Her hands trembled as she brushed away the snow from his visor, revealing the cracked and frozen plate that stared back at her. She dropped to her knees beside him, frantically pounding at his chest, her gloves sliding against the iced-over metal.
"Eilífr! Wake up! Please!" she begged, her voice breaking as tears froze on her cheeks. "You promised me—you don't get to give up now! You don't get to leave me!"
The blizzard roared around them, drowning out the world in a swirl of white. Icarus pressed her forehead against his cold, unyielding armor, sobbing openly as she clutched at his arm, her body wracked with anguish. The storm seemed to mock her pleas, her cries swallowed by the unforgiving wind.
The only response she received was silence.
The faint heat signature that had given her hope was rapidly dimming, and with every passing second, her heart sank further. The towering titan of humanity, her unyielding protector, her Elfy, lay motionless beneath her.
The storm screamed louder, her tears flowing freely now, mixing with the snow as she buried her face into his chest.
"Please…" she whispered one last time, her voice trembling against the bitter cold. "Don't leave me… not like this."
The blizzard raged on, wrapping them both in its icy grip, as her cries faded into the storm.