The Zeterhium Empire, driven by its ambition to reclaim former glory, seizes independent planets, plundering them mercilessly. The latest victim of this conquest: the planet Jlatha.
The dark grey stones of the Yulin Mountains were heavy enough to swallow even the first light of morning. The frozen air slipping through the headquarters' walls cracked every breath inside. Thica pulled his thick fur cloak over his shoulders and leaned back over the map. Six officers were gathered in the room some sleepy, some tense, but all alert.
"The operation is called Moss Line," Thica said, pointing to a narrow pass on the map with his pen. "The Empire is planning to send support units through this pass to the eastern front. If we can collapse this line, their logistical network will be crippled for six months."
Korran stood by the wall, arms crossed, wearing a look of obvious defiance.
"This is a suicide mission," he said. "Infiltrating that pass requires an entire unit to move undetected. The mountain tribes are still undecided. If we fail, we'll lose their trust too."
Thica turned, his gaze locking on Korran. His voice was calm but cutting.
"We're not fighting this war to be honorable. We're fighting to survive. If we don't fire the first shot, we're already dead."
Silence. The other officers exchanged uncertain looks. But no one stood with Korran. The decision had been made.
---
That Same Night – Thica's Quarters
Thica sat at his desk. The blizzard outside continued its dull wail against the stone walls. As he scanned the reports in front of him, a small piece of paper slid in from under the door. He leaned down and picked it up.
On the paper, two children had been sketched—one tall, resting a spear on his shoulder. The other small, smiling. Below them, written in shaky handwriting:
"You forgot me. But I remember you."
Thica's eyes drifted into emptiness for a moment. He remembered… that child who played with him in the snowy yard of the orphanage when he was seven. He couldn't recall the name. But the face… yes. He hadn't forgotten the face.
---
The Empire – Deep Sector Headquarters
In a misty room, there were no lights—only a blue orb floating in the center, flickering with images like a pulse of energy. A man dressed in black stood before it. His eyes were closed, but he smiled.
"Thica…" he whispered. "Your thoughts are loud. Your intent is sharp."
He stepped closer to the orb and moved his lips, but no sound came out—only waves of energy rippling inside the sphere.
An officer entered and knelt.
"My lord, we've detected unusual movement near the Eastern Pass."
Iskaran opened his eyes. A dull white light flickered within them.
"We know the plan. But wait. Let him come. I'll stop him here, in his own mind."
Moments later...
The mist swallowed the room. The walls had vanished. Only the cold of the stone floor and the blue sphere, like a trembling fragment of thought, remained. No natural light lit the room, yet everything was clearly visible; this was no reality.
The door creaked open. Slow footsteps approached. The figure entered, head bowed, wrapped in a dark cloak. His face remained in shadow.
Iskaran stood with his back to the sphere.
"Officer," he said, as though he hadn't seen the man, but knew him.
"I expected your delay. So, you still fear him."
The officer stopped, raising his head slightly.
"I'm not afraid," he said, but his voice trembled more with guilt than conviction.
"I just… didn't think we'd go this far."
Iskaran smiled. Eyes still closed, he began to circle the officer slowly.
"Treason doesn't form overnight. Thoughts leak, then grow into habits, then belief. You already believe, officer."
The officer clenched his fists.
"I did this for my people—"
Iskaran halted behind him.
"No. You fear Thica. You've been crushed under his shadow. Your ideas silenced. He made the decisions. And you… were ignored."
The officer lowered his head, then pulled a parchment from his coat and handed it over.
"The Moss Line. Three days from now. Half the unit will take the northern pass."
Iskaran took it and glanced over, then turned to the sphere again.
"Thica is strong. But alone. His paranoia grows. We'll kill him with his loneliness."
The officer still stood. Maybe trembling.
"What if he finds out about me?"
Iskaran paused. For the first time, he turned and looked directly at him.
His eyes were still and bottomless like a frozen lake.
"He already will. That is the purest form of internal decay."
Just then, the sphere shivered. Inside, Thica's face appeared—faint, determined, wounded. Iskaran stared, unblinking.
"Wait for me, Thica. This time, I'll catch you in your mind."
After the officer left, Iskaran sent a message to Regent Gerevon and resumed his dark games.
---
Three Days Until the March on Moss Line
The headquarters bustled with urgency despite the freezing weather. Ammunition was moved, maps revised, sabotage points identified one by one. Thica tried to keep control of every detail, but a restless unease had taken root in him. He hadn't slept since the first note.
That note bore no symbol. Just five simple words:
"Still, you left me."
He burned it in the stove so no one would see. But the next morning, something else appeared—a scrap of fabric tucked into his pack, with shaky letters embroidered on it:
"I'm still there. In the yard."
His hands trembled this time. The orphanage yard from years ago. That figure. That lonely child. It couldn't be… could it?
Soon after, Thica found another note stuffed in his boot:
"You didn't protect him, did you? Now it's your turn."
This time, a small wooden carving came with it the toy he used to hide under his pillow as a child. No one could know about this. No one could have found it. His eyes welled up. He paused. Then stood up quickly.
"Who did this?" he asked himself. The handwriting was unfamiliar. But… who could be this close to him?