The wind howled gently across the open skies. Below them, a once-green valley now lay scorched and barren, the earth torn and blackened by artillery, smoke rising in slow columns like ghosts that refused to leave.
Their squadron flew low, maintaining formation. Silence reigned in the comms, except for the occasional static flicker.
"Still nothing from command?" asked Wei Zhang, his breath fogging slightly against the cold air at high altitude.
"Negative," replied Lieutenant Sato, checking his crystal interface. "We're on hold. They want us to patrol this sector until further notice."
"Tch… patrols," muttered Jin-Ho, tilting his body slightly to float upside down for a moment before correcting himself. "Feels like a waste of magic. We already cleaned this place out."
But even as they grumbled, most of their eyes drifted ahead—toward the lone figure hovering just meters beyond the squad, silent as always, unmoving, almost unnaturally still.
Itsumi.
He floated with the ease of someone barely aware of gravity. Not a twitch, not a glance. His eyes weren't scanning for enemies. They weren't even blinking. He was just... there. A shadow of a boy wrapped in a uniform too big for his body, hair blown by the wind, eyes lost in the void.
"There he goes again," Nakamura muttered. "Guy looks like a ghost. Doesn't even feel real sometimes."
"Think he even sleeps?" asked Wei.
"If he does, I bet he does it with one eye open," Jin-Ho joked weakly, forcing a chuckle that no one joined.
Something inside Jin-Ho stirred. He narrowed his eyes, then slowly drifted closer to the boy.
"Yo, Itsumi," he called out. "You okay?"
No answer.
He floated closer, flanking him, keeping his voice softer this time.
"I mean it. Are you alright? You've barely spoken since we deployed this morning."
Itsumi didn't react. Didn't turn. Didn't even blink.
Then, after a long moment, he spoke.
"Nothing."
One word. Flat. Emotionless. Emptier than silence.
Jin-Ho frowned.
"That's not an answer, man. Come on. You float like you're not even here with us. Like the rest of us are just shadows. You always drift alone, don't eat with us, don't talk to anyone. What gives?"
Itsumi's eyes didn't move, but the air around him suddenly felt... colder.
"You think we don't understand," Jin-Ho continued. "But we know what happened on that island. We read the report. We know about the hundred corpses. We know how they found you with no ammo and a knife in your hand."
Itsumi still didn't speak.
"But even before that," Jin-Ho pressed, "even back then... you were already like this. So what happened? What made you turn into this?"
Now, the others were circling in. Hovering nearby. Nakamura, Wei, Yuto, even the usually silent Mei-Lin. Their curiosity outweighed their fear. For the first time, they were all genuinely hoping to understand the boy in their unit.
A long silence passed.
Then, softly, without looking at anyone, Itsumi spoke.
"When I was a child…" he began, voice like dry leaves, "…they told me my father died in the war."
The soldiers were quiet.
"A few years later, my older brother died in the war too."
He finally blinked. Once.
"I didn't get to know my family. There was no time. Just uniforms, funerals, and waiting. And now… I'm here. Taking their place."
The words echoed through their crystals.
Even though he spoke plainly, without emotion, they felt the weight behind each syllable. A truth heavy enough to crush a child, and yet spoken by one still standing.
"Shit…" whispered Nakamura.
"How old were you when your brother died?" asked Mei-Lin gently.
"Seven."
"And when you were deployed for the first time?"
"Ten."
A beat of silence.
"Gods above…" muttered Yuto. "We were still in school at that age."
Itsumi turned his gaze downward, to the lifeless earth beneath them.
"Some kids learn to read. Some learn to shoot."
Jin-Ho looked like he wanted to say something clever, or at least comforting, but nothing came. What comfort could you offer a boy who buried his innocence years before his first kill?
"I don't hate you guys," Itsumi said suddenly, almost surprising himself. "I just… don't know how to be part of people anymore."
"You're part of this unit," Wei said. "Whether you want to be or not."
"You saved our asses more than once already," Jin-Ho added. "I think that counts for something."
"If you ever want to sit with us," Mei-Lin offered gently, "you'd be welcome."
Itsumi didn't respond immediately. Then, slowly, he gave the smallest of nods.
It was almost imperceptible. But it was there.
And that was enough.
From a distance, their squad looked like stars against the sky—glowing softly, drifting through the silent blue. But within that small constellation, something had changed.
The silence had cracked.
Just a little.