The airship hummed steadily as it cut through the sky, the weight of its passengers and their uncertain futures pressing down on Cedar's shoulders.
He stood at the edge of the deck, watching the sprawling city of Operon shrink beneath them. The once-thriving city now resembled the ghost town he and Ivan had encountered.
Among the passengers was a young boy, barely eight, clutching his sister's hand with wide, frightened eyes. Cedar noticed him almost immediately—his innocent face, though full of questions, betrayed a deep sense of unease.
As the ship lifted higher, the boy tugged at Cedar's sleeve, his voice trembling. "Mr. Soldier, is everything going to be alright?"
The question hung in the air, simple but cutting. Cedar felt a pang of discomfort.
His heart grew heavier as he realized the boy's father, Baron Edward Gardihaus, had been one of the high-ranking mages who had fallen in the battle. The boy didn't know yet, and Cedar wasn't sure how to tell him. A father's sacrifice, gone unnoticed by those it was meant to protect.
He crouched down, meeting the boy's gaze, and forced a smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yes," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Everything's going to be alright. We'll keep you safe, and soon, you'll be in a new city, away from all of this."
The boy's face softened, and for a brief moment, the fear in his eyes faded. His older sister, seated beside him, glanced at Cedar with a silent nod of acknowledgment.
She understood, and Cedar could see the quiet worry in her gaze. It was the unspoken truth—how much did any of them really know about what lay ahead?
The airship continued its flight, cutting through the clouded skies, but below, Operon was unraveling.
The streets, once bustling with life, were now filled with abandoned carts, smoke rising from distant fires, and the frantic, jumbled masses of people scrambling toward the teleportation gates. It was a city on the brink of collapse. And soon, there would be no safe place left.
A tense voice interrupted Cedar's thoughts. Lance, a third-circle mage and one of Cedar's trusted allies, approached him, his face taut with concern.
"We've received word from command. The Imperium's scouts are closing in faster than expected."
Cedar clenched his fists, the weight of the situation crashing down on him.
If the scouts reached Operon before the evacuation was complete, the civilians—especially those on this airship—would be sitting ducks. There wasn't enough firepower on board to fend off a full-scale assault.
Lance's voice dropped low as he spoke again, so the passengers wouldn't overhear.
"Command wants us to keep moving. We'll reroute to the southern gates. If the Imperium hits the city hard, they'll target the military assets, but…" He hesitated, glancing around at the civilians, then back at Cedar. "We're not sure if we'll make it in time."
The words hit like a cold slap to the face. Cedar's gaze shifted back to the boy and his sister, sitting quietly and unaware of the looming danger.
They had trusted him. All these people had trusted him. He had to get them out. There was no other choice.
"We'll make it," Cedar said, his voice resolute, though a knot tightened in his chest. "We have to."
Lance nodded, though doubt lingered in his eyes. With a quick glance at their surroundings, he quickly turned and walked away, giving orders to the other soldiers. Time was running out.
As the airship soared onward, the distant sound of battle became more distinct, the rumble of far-off explosions reverberating through the ship's hull.
Cedar's mind raced. The evacuation plan had been solid—airships carrying civilians to the teleportation gates, while the nobility and high-ranking officers were prioritized for evacuation.
The rationale was clear: if the Imperium pursued, they would focus on the civilian transports first, buying time for the rest to escape. In a war where power was currency, those families held influence, connections, and resources that could be vital for the Union's survival.
But now, as the Imperium closed in, the plan felt increasingly fragile. The enemy was faster than anticipated, and their forces were dividing—half to assault the military convoys, half to hunt down the fleeing refugees.
Cedar's grip tightened around the railing, and a grim thought crossed his mind. The civilians—especially the children—on this airship had no idea what awaited them.
They had believed they'd be safe, that they'd make it out of Operon unscathed. But the truth was much darker, and with each passing moment, it seemed less likely they would reach the gates in time.
Lance returned a few moments later, his expression even more serious than before. "They're coming," he said. "Half of their forces are attacking our convoys, the other half is targeting the refugee ships. We can't outrun them, not with the enemy this close."
Cedar's eyes flickered toward the young boy again. The innocent, unwavering faith in his gaze made Cedar's chest tighten. He'd seen too many young faces lost to war, and the thought of this boy becoming one of them was unbearable.
"We have to find a way," Cedar muttered, his mind racing. "Do we have any chance of rerouting? Can we buy them enough time to get through the gates?"
Lance's shoulders sagged. "We're stretched too thin. We could try to reroute to another gate, but the Imperium's scouts would just adjust their course. We wouldn't be able to outmaneuver them for long."
Cedar's thoughts flashed to a dark, dangerous possibility. "What if we create a diversion?" The idea spilled out before he could stop it. "We draw their attention, make it look like we're carrying something valuable. It might buy the other ships enough time to make it through."
Lance's brow furrowed. "You mean… turn ourselves into bait?"
Cedar nodded, his expression hardening. "It's risky. But if we stay together as we are, we'll only be surrounded. If we split off and make ourselves a target, they might take the bait."
Lance's eyes searched Cedar's face, as if weighing the odds. Finally, he let out a long breath. "It's a long shot… but it might work."
The decision was made. They would become the shield, the distraction, buying precious moments for the refugees to escape.
Cedar turned to his team, suggesting the plan. Each soldier, each mage, understood the sacrifice required. There was no objection—these were civilians, privileged or not, and they would be slaughtered if left unprotected.
Before heading into action, Cedar crouched beside the young boy and his sister. The boy's eyes were full of trust, full of belief in Cedar's words.
"Stay close to your sister," Cedar said gently. "Follow the soldiers' instructions, and we'll make sure you're safe, alright?"
The boy nodded solemnly, his grip tightening on his sister's hand. She gave Cedar a grateful look, but her eyes, filled with fear, betrayed the truth. The weight of what was to come was not lost on her.
With the plan in motion, Cedar signaled to his team. "Let's move. Stay low, stay focused. We are the shield. We make this count."
As the team broke off and began their dangerous mission, Cedar couldn't shake the image of the boy's innocent face. If this gamble worked, it would give the refugees the time they desperately needed. But there were no guarantees. War had no mercy, and the clock was ticking.
The chase had begun.