Chapter 1

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Her legs were on fire, not in the actual sense of things. But the sprint uphill had done more than just spill some sweat and bleed her already bandaged wounds. Her back ached with a pain born from blackened bruises and bad posture, her chest was just about to burst from the exertion she was forcing upon her tired body. But giving up wasn’t a viable option for a soldier, much less for a Lieutenant of the Voltiir Line Infantry. At the corner of her eye, she saw the rest of the platoon. Lead by her ever reliable second in command. The soldier stood stalwart, wielding both sword and blast rod as he charged at the entrenched line of their enemy. The Ovakians were a hardy people that took pride in tradition and military duty. Their despotic government had taken advantage of their nationalistic zeal and had sent a swarm of the ill trained militia to stall the Zeraph Republic’s offensive. Poorly armored, but still armed nonetheless.

Returning to directing her own half of the platoon, she called for double time. Getting the voltiirs into an entrenched firing position just above their Ovakian enemy. The high ground provided the perfect position to retaliate. Eager, the platoon had their blast staeves primed and aimed. She ordered them to fire. Runic discharge ignited the air as flashes of glowing carvings formed a perfect cross shaped line that emitted from the staeve’s barrels. Plasma volts tore towards their targets, leaving rings of super heated air in their wake. Their enemy’s fate was sealed, the Ovak militia fell down one by one. Their remainders breaking into a retreat. Her platoon had held the line, they had gained new ground. She did everything she could not to be overtaken by her second in command’s fate. Soon enough, she would give in to lament.

…

The voyage was a long and tiring affair. Much like a long march or occupation duty, the entire ordeal was marked by constant watching, constant reading, constant worrying and of course constant eating. The only thing that made it different was the drink. The Lieutenant liked her whiskey and wine. It was tradition of the Voltiir Line Infantry to mold strong drinkers outside of combat, but Aster Likaya seemed to embody that tradition to a fault. Entire bottles guzzled on her own and whole plates of food devoured without much of a morsel shared. She’d always leave some for her platoon, and they liked that about her. There weren’t many female Voltiirs in the 12^th company, the Line Infantry has long been a male dominated affair.

Needless to say, female officers were an uncommon sight. But it didn’t take long even for the most condescending of infantry men to fall behind, this of course included the competitive and ambitious ladies of the eighth platoon. They followed soon without much of a word. Of course, Aster liked to believe it had to do with her charisma and skill. Though the constant artillery from the Ovak’s did help speed up the bonding, she was not thankful for that. While other platoons lost entire squads, her’s suffered the death of some five soldiers. To the rest of the company, that made them legends. But to her boys and girls, they might have as well lost the whole unit.

“We made it Varker” she says, whispering for her dead friend as she stared at the faint stains of her room’s mirror. The scars never healed, she didn’t want them to. Aster felt it was necessary to remind herself that her survival relied on the very concepts of luck, discipline and skill. No soldier was invincible, not even John Varker. She patted the dagger strapped to her waste, even under touch of her scarred and callused skin. The metal’s frozen bite still dug onto her hand, the frost runes glowing at her touch. The dagger belonged to her late Staff Sergeant and second in command. He was an ambitious soldier, born from a rich family. Disowned for choosing the military path rather than the sticking to the mercantile profession, but allowed a single family heirloom. That was the dagger, laced with frost runes and holding in a powerful ice spirit. The weapon was worth quite a bit of coin, just getting the right mage to summon the ice spirit was worth at least half a month’s salary. But the value wasn’t in the coin spent, it was in who it belonged to.

“Sleep well for me.” She whispered before burying whatever pain had crept in. Straightening her uniform and checking up on the notes for her reports, she exited the room of her train.

The engine’s wheels cracked against the steel of the rails with the same rhythm of an autocross’s firing sequence, while the gust of wind that peaked through the windows reminded her of the howl of an Ovakian Smog Golem. As she walked through the train car’s corridor, she pictured the muddy trenches of the Northern mountains, crack of a Voltiir’s blast staeve. And the creeping fear that she always had to endure at every moment.

But the casual laughter and the softened mood of her Voltiir’s reminded her that she was no longer at the front. The war had ended, it had been almost five months since the treaty. And the three day long train ride back to the Zeraph capital had taken some mental toll on the soldiers as they were given more time to contemplate their memories and their futures. So when Major Cleasby had asked her to put up a performance evaluation, she jumped at the task with the excitement of a starving cat that had been offered a bowl of milk.

“Officer on deck!” cracked Roland Stoll, her new second in command. The young Platoon Sergeant had always kept to the decorum of a proper soldier, even before he was considered for officer school. Clean cut, always paying attention and displaying a remarkable sense of leadership quality even in the most dire of combat situations.

“As you were.” She saluted back at the squad which had converged by the car’s lounge. Playing a game of cards, no gambling involved of course.

As she walked past the corridor she encountered another squad, “Mam” snapped Staff Sergeant Rebecca Floyd. Like Roland, she too embodied all the traits needed to lead a platoon. Once she made captain, 3rd Platoon would be hers alongside Stoll, the unit would be in good hands.

Crossing some two or more cars, she greeted fellow officers. Other platoon leaders and fellow voltiirs. They all carried the same tired expression on their faces, one mixed with the heavy weight of boredom and relief that accompanied everyone after a long campaign. It was the face of peace. Soon enough she ended up at the command car. Sitting by a couch after notifying the Major’s secretary. Aster stared onto the window of the train. It was 3pm in the afternoon, the Suns had begun to sink down the horizons. Their weakening light reflecting upon the gray and green valleys of the Kalan Region. Wide farms of wheat, corn and rice zipped past them as the trained passed through. Mountains and hills all covered in the densest jungles, but surrounded by the peaceful structures of countryside homes. This was what she fought for. She hoped it was worth it.

“Lieutenant? The Major is waiting.” Aster stood up and approached the old man sitting on the well lined but cluttered table. File folders, message crystals and runed ledgers surrounded the Major. Some even floating beside him as he took note of their content. The Lieutenant offered a crisp salute, as she waited for the Major to put her at ease. “Have a seat Aster” he said as he saluted back.

“Evaluation report sir.” She handed the stack of papers to the Major who skimmed them as she waited. Aster observed the old man’s eyes as he darted the files of all remaining seventy eight members of her platoon. Watching as they widened or blackened at the sight of her Voltiir’s evaluation. “You have a top pick for a replacement?” The Major asked.

“Platoon Sergeant Stoll and Staff Sergeant Floyd sir. Both have exhibited a strong sense of leadership, a keen memory. I wouldn’t have the 3^rd Platoon led by anyone else.”

The old man leaned back into his chair and nodded in agreement to Aster’s words. “I’ll trust your judgment on that. Captain.” Her commander’s words didn’t register for a few seconds, and when they did. It felt like being shot by a plasma volt.

Something that she’s experienced far too many times.

“S-Sir?” Aster stammered, her heart beating like a wardrum as the Major offered his hand to shake. “The promotion papers came in just before we left Fort Dasellrath, you aced the crash exams and we decided you’re now eligible.

We have a few administration areas to reconsider but you’re officially a Captain of the Voltiir’s Corps.” Aster Likaya couldn’t believe it, it all felt surreal as she was whisked away to a mini ceremony that had her receiving the Captain’s badge. All this had happened in the train car for the commanders. The other captains of the regiment were present, now all ready to accept her as one of their own.

“Welcome, baby sister” a voice emanated from behind her and there stood rough man who had opened his arms for a hug.

“Thanks Jovin” She gave her brother a hug, slowly holding back her excitement since she had to keep the decorum. Jovin’s burned scarred features stood in stark contrast to the clean Captain’s uniform he wore. “Varker would have loved this.” He whispered, aware but cautious of his sister’s closeness with her late second in command.

“He. He really would have.” She stammered, nodding her head.

“Look at you, passing up Captain school! But let’s talk about it, after the next one alright?” Jovin led her back to the line of Captains in the room while they awaited the second part of the ceremony. An aspect she was unaware of. Like her earlier, another Lieutenant was led inside the room. It was Mikael Willis, Lieutenant Commander and head of the 5^th Platoon. Aster didn’t think much of Mikael beyond the fact that he was a competent leader.

Like her, he had lost soldiers, and like her he also was a battle hardened officer thrown into war fresh out of the academy. The two hadn’t conversed much outside of military matters and as far as she knew he was an overall mild mannered individual who would make a great Major if not Colonel. Perhaps that’s what the ceremony was for. But to her surprise, what was handed to Willis wasn’t the oval shaped badge of the Zeraph Dragon that signified the Major class. But it was the diamond badge of the Captaincy, just like the ones she had.

“Two Captains?” she muttered as the ceremony ended.

“You must be confused Captain Likaya? Back to my desk, both of you. We have much to talk about.” The Major wasted no time ferrying the two new Captains back to his office, squeezing past the throng of officers who were returning to their train cars. Aster felt uneasy, there was a gnawing fear that wracked against her gut and the hairs on the back of her neck had prickled to a point that they felt metallic as they bit against her skin. She hoped it was just her imagination. It wouldn’t be right if the danger wards she always kept on started acting up at a supposedly safe location.