The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was bruised with a gray that shrouded all in somber dread.
Battalions of feet marched along cracked earth and shattered roads. The warriors walked in close ranks, some half-buckled armor, others still raking sleep from their lids. Dust was churned behind them. The stillness was tangible, but not empty—it breathed.
In the front row marched Chief Ivers, armor polished but battered, jaw clenched, his right hand dangling loose on his hip. Behind him walked Julie in silence for the first minute.
"Ever get used to this part?" she asked at last, gazing out to sea.
"The walking?"
"The waiting. The act of like, we're not really going to feed kids into a meat grinder."
Ivers did not answer right away. His eyes remained fixed ahead.
"You don't get accustomed to it. You simply get quiet about it."
Julie snorted silently. "That's reassuring."
"I'm not here to reassure you. I'm here to guarantee those kids come back with air in their lungs."
There was a silence.
She toyed with the data module on her wrist. "Kuro didn't tell you where he was going, did he?"
"Nope."
"And you didn't inquire?"
"I trust him."
Julie gave her a sideways glance. "Even if he comes back a changed man?"
Ivers looked at her with tired, flint-hard eyes. "Especially then."
A row or two back, Kraft, Lindsay, and Felix walked shoulder to shoulder. Kraft had slung his rifle carelessly over one shoulder. His shirt was partially fastened, and his face had a half-amused, half-irked expression.
"So," Kraft drawled, "am I the only one who thinks we're going to die horribly?"
Felix laughed. "Yep. Just you."
"I'm serious. You ever hear what they do to prisoners? They cut out their eyes and make them eat their tongues."
"That's not real," Lindsay said unflinchingly.
"It could be," Kraft snapped back.
Felix shook his head. "You really are a ray of sunshine."
"I'm realistic," Kraft growled. "And I didn't get reassigned to 'Human Shield Unit B' just so I can fake I'm okay."
"You didn't," Lindsay said.
Kraft blinked. "What?"
"You got assigned to my unit."
Felix gave Kraft a glare. "That is kind of a shield."
"Damn right," Lindsay snickered. "And you'll be up front like everyone else."
Kraft half-laughed, half-groaned. "I hate this war."
More at the back of the column, the rustle of soldiers filled the space between Amy's footfalls. Some swapped rations, others exchanged careless rumors.
"Bet you five chips Ivers was blubbering before we departed," someone grumbled.
"Crying? He doesn't even blink."
"I saw it! Before he issued the order. Wiped his eye."
"Dirt, idiot."
"Still counts."
Another squad was quieted. A girl studied the inscription on her rifle barrel—names, maybe. A few others whispered deployment designs like mantras. No one laughed loudly. No one pretended it was routine.
At random, Kuro appeared just to the side of Lindsay, Kraft, and Felix. His coat settled like smoke, face unreadable.
Kraft jumped half a step back. "Jesus—couldn't you not do that?"
Felix smiled. "Good to see you too."
Kuro nodded very minimally. "Didn't want to be late."
Lindsay arched her eyebrow. "That why you cut out the whole march?"
"I was taking care of something."
Felix arched his eyebrows. "Reinhard?"
Kuro did not answer. Just stared straight in front.
They walked in silence for a little while, no words necessary. The sound of feet silenced the emptiness until Kraft spoke.
"So… you're sure we're ready?"
"No," Kuro said bluntly. "But that's never stopped us before."
Kraft snorted once, roughly. "Okay. Yeah. That's reasonable."
"Your guys holding up okay?" Kuro asked Lindsay.
"They'll hold," she replied.
"They'll die," Kraft said, voice more bitter than sarcasm this time.
"They'll fight," Felix responded, voice level. "That's all we can expect.".
The sun was beginning to peek through the clouds—tainted yellow light dusting the treetops. The open plain in the distance yielded to a stretch of ancient stone road, long abandoned, half-obscured in vines and rubble.
The entire column halted almost at once. The mood changed. Too quiet. No wind.
Julie drew a fist—international signal.
Kuro's eyes tightened. He shouldered past, before Ivers, before the officers.
There, on the road, alone and motionless—
—sat a man.
Or something shaped like one.
Black cloak. Hood pulled forward. Long cape blowing behind him in wind that didn't touch the trees. His hands hidden. His feet not appearing to touch the ground.
No face. No emblem. No weapon visible.
Just a smile.
It was threadlike—barely perceptible under the edge of the hood. But it cut through the night like a blade through water.
One smile. For a whole army of soldiers.
Kuro stepped forward, gazing at the figure. For a moment, everything was silent.
Then—
—the universe stuttered.
Only for him.
The trees writhed. The light drained out. The sky splintered into obsidian.
And Kuro stood in that same black space—limitless, formless, silent. The figure remained where he was, unaffected by the transformation.
Nothing else existed.
No wind. No sound. No soldiers. Only him, and that smile.
Kuro blinked. The world outside snapped back into place as if nothing had ever happened.
No one else reacted. No one else had seen it.
He slowly exhaled, unnoticed.
The figure did not change.
But the smile? It was still there.