Green smoke faded into the clouds. Fires left charred timber and burnt grass patches while explosives and bullets rent scars across wood and earth. Go and the laity had collapsed the ratlings’ rear ranks, sending them into full rout as the free company units came down upon them.

  They were not the novices sent at the first dam, but routs were always grisly. The ratlings were shot in the back as they ran, gunned down as they deserved. Alive or dead, the company-men unsheathed knives of variable maintenance to carve off the noses of the ratlings, each a proof of a kill. More valuable were the remaining stockpiles: munitions, ammunition, sniper rifles, battle rifles, tankstoppers, stubbers, PDWs, explosives, vox equipment, and anything else they could scavenge. The ratlings were even known to pack rations of unusually high quality. Though battlefields were riskier than guard duty, they were treasure troves for pillaging, with some companies taking the right to the spoils of war as part of their payment.

  While the company men flaunted their grisly trophies, the laity tended to the wounded and mourned the dead. Medicae and hospitallers practiced their training with the casualties. Confessors heard the dying words of the fatally injured and testimony to those already gone. Salvationists tended to wounds of the mind as those new to combat had to be soothed with unguents and prayer; a gel salve and a gentle hand could still tremoring hands, ease prickly skin, and guide a discordant mind. The reliquants, among them the one she had met before, were marking which body parts were to be enshrined for future use, some having already pledged their corpses to the church.

  The huntsmen took their leave. They only needed civilized aid to drive out the ratlings so that they could return to hermitude.

  Once most of the necessary drudgery was completed, the deacon invited everyone to have another service to celebrate victory and the sacrifices of the fallen, in the name of the God-Emperor, the saints, and the daughters. For the whole service, Go’s eyes were fixed upon the church’s sole chorister.

  She remained with them until the day her shuttle was to arrive. Go returned to the preceptory. She came through the decontamination chamber with a hazmat hood and her helmet held at the hip. The genetor gave her a physical while the lexmechanic ran a diagnostic on Jakada. Rare as it was, the Fly Lord was just as capable of afflicting machines as they were with flesh.

  Clean, her armor sent for repairs, they boarded the Aquila lander. She sat in silence for the long flight that landed many times to receive and deliver zephyrim. Not even Jakada’s usual prodding and annoyances stirred her. So deep was her contemplation that no other passenger disturbed her apparent sleep.

  During the first Epidemic of Incheo, when all was on the brink of ruin, when defenders retreated to the last convent, other pockets of resistance kept their faith even when they were alone, and all seemed lost. The Adepta Sorititas and the Ecclesiarchy Clergy do much to uphold the institutions of His Imperium, yes, but faith lies not within inanimate structures and endless palimpsests; faith lies in the beating hearts that pump blood to fuel struggle, in pure souls who reject temptation and greed, in humble hands that labor in fields and factorums, in families and communities that endure through catastrophe and calamity.

  Her mission brought her to witness the laity, their courage, and perseverance. Just as so many held strong then, so many hold strong now, through sickness and war, through darkness and terror, they have faith knowing that the dawn shall come, they fight knowing they will make a difference, they die knowing their sacrifice will not be in vain, and they live knowing they have a purpose. The purpose of a zephyrim, of a sister, of a daughter, is to bring forth the dawn, and by witnessing the meadows of the faithful, she was reinvigorated to be that dawn.

  The lander finally returned to the Gyeo convent hangar. Among the serene expressions deplaning, only Go had a faint smile of contentment, a sight not seen in so long that it was as if a statue had changed shape. Seeing it captured the attention of many in the hangar and the sanctum who wondered what had gotten into her. Her steps were so light that she seemed to be drifting. Jakada left to upload his recording to the Legatine’s cogitator, another thing to smile for. Then, as she approached the doors to her chambers, she would soon see—

  An oversized, mangy rat wiped the smile from Go’s face. The flea-ridden rat had Go’s son in her lap at a dinner table covered in papers and half a bowl of noodles. Go did not need to say what she was thinking, but she felt the urge to do so.

  “What are you doing in my chambers?” her whisper escaped through barely parted lips, like the last gasp of warm air being pushed by the cold within her.

  “Uh, your kid invited me?” Said Yoon.

  Go looked to her son. He hopped off of Yoon and hurried to his room.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  Go came to the other side of the table. The papers were sketches, drawings. Jagged halls. Alchemical fixtures. Arcane furnishments. Sinister tools and contraptions. Pallid humanoids with grotesque features grown, stitched, and stapled in them.

  Recollections of the xenos.

  “This kid was really into the drawings and wanted to hea-”

  Go seized Yoon by the throat and lifted her off her feet. Eyes dilated, nails clawing at the forearm for release, legs dangling for purchase, then kicking for emancipation, then planting for leverage as she tried to pull free, futile, hands punching now, outstretching but unable to reach Go’s face.

  The grip let go, and Yoon fell to the floor, on her knees, raised by one arm, coughing, wheezing, neck bruised, what breath she caught knocked out her lungs by a calf kick. Flattened, Yoon could only curl up and cover her head as the trampling ran over her.

  “You do not ever,” stomps punctuated every other word, “have permission to come to my chambers, eat my food, touch my son, or speak as my equal.”

  Another stomp was about to land when the door opened. While Go was distracted, Yoon took the chance to spring to her feet and make some distance, reaching the kitchen counter to lean on.

  “Is there trouble?” asked Lee Hee-jin. She had a small and inert neural whip coiled around her hand.

  “She attacked me for nothing!” Said Yoon, dishevelment and injury plain to see.

  “She intruded where she did not belong. Why are you here?”

  “For both of you.” They tilted their heads at that. “Since we are all here, let us sit.”

  Lee sat at the table across from Go. Yoon looked at Go, then sat on Lee’s side. With a nod from Lee, Yoon gathered her papers and put up the bowl to clear the table for Lee to set down the neural whip.

  “It seems you two have gotten off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over by introducing yourselves.”

  “Yoon Si-nae.”

  “Go Soo-Hee.”

  “Go?” Asked Yoon, “like the witchbeasts go? Go goes gos?”

  Yoon flinched back when Go got up, ready to have a go, but Lee calmed her to sit back down.

  “The both of you have been at the epicenter of… developing topics. Clearly, it has stretched your tolerance. We are going to play a game to help you reflect and connect your experiences.”

  “Am I free to decline this game?” Asked Go,

  “No.”

  “Ok.”

  Lee picked up the handle of the whip.

  “You are both going to hold onto the whip. I will ask you questions and give orders, and you will answer and obey honestly, earnestly, and properly. The whip will be active until both of you complete the task.”

  Go rolled her eyes, sighed, and snatched up her part of the throng. Yoon, leery of the ominous little tool, hesitantly approached it, flinched back, then finally wrapped her fingers around her part of the throng.

  “Good. Let us start with the both of you saying something nice about each other.”

  The whip luminated to life. Pain seared up their arms as if they plunged into boiling oil. Hand spasms dared them to let go. Yoon grunted and bit her lip while Go closed her eyes and groaned through her nose.

  “Her sketches are professional.” Admitted Go.

  “Her son is sweet.” Struggled Yoon.

  “The compliment must be to her directly.” Rebuffed Lee. The whip remained active in their hand like a lump of white-hot coal.

  “I consider it a compliment.” Growled Go. After a moment of consideration, the whip dimmed asleep. Respite from the pain like water in a desert.

  “Perhaps I started strong. Let’s get to know each other first. What is your favorite food?”

  “Bibimbap!” Yelped Yoon.

  “Yangnyeom.”

  “What is your favorite drink?”

  “Valeria Soave.”

  “Yakult!”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “Confinement!”

  “Politics.”

  “What is something you have never done well at?”

  “Kiting.”

  “Swimming!”

  “What is your favorite holiday?”

  “Saguinala.” Said Go.

  “Eorinial.” Yoon stopped jerking from the sudden pain. The whip deactivated and was pulled away from them.

  “Alright, now you have images of each other outside of work. Before the game’s next session, take the time to think and bond.”

  “Yes, Lee-eonni.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”