The burning sand stung any part of Sasha’s skin that was left uncovered. He supposed he should be grateful that he made it out of Hurria alive at all. It had been months, but the screams of the dying still visited him in his nightmares.

A groan escaped the mouth of his gamail, distracting him from his thoughts. The horned and hairy pack animal held all his worldly possessions in a pair of leather bags dangling over its sides. Their contents jingled with each plodding step. His scimitar, a few nearly empty tin canteens, some flint, and two single shot pistols without ammo; The only thing worth anything in trade was his breech rifle.

Sasha patted the hairy creature on its thick neck. It shuddered and raised its head, turning to glance at him through its glossy second eyelids. “Don’t worry girl. We’ll stop soon,” he reassured the creature. If it understood, it didn’t show as it returned to its slow march into the reddish nothingness of a steadily rising sandstorm.

Sasha wiped away a new layer of dust from his goggles. He drew his keffiyeh tighter across his face to ward off the biting sand and choking dust. Squinting, he tried to make out a rock formation, cave, cliff, anything that could provide a shelter for the night.

He took another rationed pull from one of his battered military canteens. The Alliance soldier he’d killed certainly wouldn’t be needing it, or his rifle, ammunition, and sword for that matter.

The patrols had become a greater problem with each day. In the months following his escape from the funeral pyre of Hurra, Sasha had moved from small town to small town on the outskirts of conquered Federation territory, taking any odd job he could get. Often, the pay was a simple meal.

When Alliance patrols would sweep through, he would quietly sneak off to the east, outside of the occupied zone. Lucky for him, the Unaligned League had always retained an unshakable neutrality in the war between the Federation and Alliance. The fall of the Federation hadn’t changed that stance.

But, the Prophetess cared little for treaties and agreements. Her smaller scout ships frequently crossed into the skies of the League, searching for survivors of the purge. The steady eastward stream of refugees was helpless against her military might and the Unaligned League was woefully under equipped to challenge the encroachment of her ships into their outer territory. The League military had decided to turn a blind eye to Alliance incursions as long as their targets were not League cities or citizens.

It was because of this that Sasha had resorted to travelling at night or during storms to avoid capture. Sasha’s life before his escape from Hurria was shrouded to him. All he knew was that he had awaken in a Federation hospital, and despite his lack of any identifying documents, he assumed that made him a citizen.

At night, his head would throb and he would be overcome with dizziness as flashes of a previous life played through restless dreams. Worse still, the images weren’t clear enough to connect together. Each night, the cycle of pain, unconsciousness, and unstrung dreams would play out. For two very long months, this had been happening.

A familiar tingling worked its way up the back of his head and began to spread. Sasha knew, in minutes, he’d be incapacitated, reliving old memories through unwilling sleep, but retaining little of it upon waking. He growled in frustration.

Squinting into the blasting sand once more, he scanned the swirling copper shaded soup for a sign of shelter. The wind continued its mocking howl as it coursed across the scattered rocks. If he weren’t so accustomed to the sounds of the desert, he might have missed the distant noise among the roar.

A low moan… it was the sound of wind, but not on sand or stones. A rockface! He thought. Trying to push the pain from his senses, he closed his eyes and tilted his head. Slowly, he turned toward the sound, trying to separate imagination from reality. Eyes still closed, he gently nudged the gamail until the animal was facing the same direction.

The creature squealed in protest. It too was tiring of the storm. Its tufty hair weighed heavily with days of sand buildup and it swayed as it marched through the dust.

“Easy girl,” he spoke gently. “Shelter is just ahead. See? He pointed to a small outcrop that was beginning to silhouette behind a screen of tumultuous sand. He doubted the creature could understand him, but it helped him retain some of his sanity to talk to someone, or something in this case other than himself.

The pain was beginning to blur his vision. Cursing his luck, he shook his head to clear it, but it only brought on greater discomfort. As his gamal approached the rocks, Sasha’s headache was reaching the peak of its intensity. Already, the waking world was slipping from him.

As consciousness began to bleed away, he spotted an opening in the rock face. A cave! he thought with glee. The gamal shared his enthusiasm and cantered toward the entrance. As they made their way inside, Sasha’s eyesight failed.

With his last moments of vision, he saw something that send a chill down his spine. The cave entrance wasn’t natural at all. It was perfectly rectangular with strange symbols carved into the stone. He’d heard of artificial caves before. Cannibals, he thought with alarm. It was his last thought. The dreams had come again.

***

Vachir’s head was hurting, and it wasn’t for lack of coffee. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried his best to push the frustration out of his voice, “Ambassadors, this is not some sort of vendetta. Don’t you understand? There is more at stake here than the… Federation.”

His homeland was painful to speak of, even though it had been months since their escape. Following Emat’s prophecy, he had no choice but to reluctantly abandon the front lines in the final moments of battle. He’d spent every day since questioning his decision. Was Emat correct? he’d asked himself. Am I as important as the Ll’tal insist I am, or was the whole prophecy just the imaginings of an old fool?

Shera Lin, the governor of Freeport and diplomatic representative for the Unaligned League replied first, “With all due respect… General,” his old title stung just as painfully, “It’s been three months since the fall of the Federation. Despite constant warnings from you and scores of other Federation refugees, the Holy Land and Warlord Alliance have not advanced out of your homeland or shown any hostile intent.”

“Aside from frequent violations of your territory by their refugee hunting parties,” Vachir added. Governor Lin bristled at the sleight.

Ambassador Fredrickson of the Protectorate added his own voice to the discussion, “Besides, it would make little sense for them to invade. The Protectorate and the Alliance have shared decent relations for hundreds of years. Since the conclusion of the last crusade in fact.”

“And that’s another thing,” Vachir interrupted. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten your history but, both crusades were instigated by the same woman. She’s made her intentions well known. Call me a dabbler in cliche but, I have always believed the old saying ‘actions speak louder than words.’ Or perhaps you’d like another. How about ‘a snake cannot change its stripes?’”

Fredrickson chuckled, “I consider myself an astute student of history in fact, General, and as I recall, she was beaten… soundly in less than a day by our forces. She’s not foolish enough to make the same mistake twice.”

Vachir turned to Shera Lin and asked, “How about you, Governor? I’ve read the news reports. Every day, they’re filled with stories about tensions between the Unaligned League and the Alliance. Incursions into your territory, military movements near the city of Togsov, even a few skirmishes.”

The Governor frowned at Vachir and replied, “You should know better than to believe everything you read. You served decades as a political liaison, to the Prophetess no less. You and I both know, the newspapers care more about ‘making’ news than actually reporting it.”

“So,” Vachir asked, “you’re saying, none of it’s true? Peace reigns across Ruin?”

“Not entirely,” she conceded. “It is true that there have been some… disagreements between the League and Alliance on exactly where our territorial lines fall. With the ongoing military action across our borders, it’s only natural some of the conflict spills over from time to time.”

Vachir interrupted, “Military action? My homeland was conquered. There is no military to speak of. What’s happening is cold blooded slaughter. Slaughter that your leaders allow. Every day, hundreds are raped, murdered, tortured, or subjected to any number of horrific crimes. This isn’t war; it’s genocide. Plain and simple.” He stood up and paced to the far end of the room to hide the anger in his expression.

The Governor spoke softly, “I sympathize with your people, General. Truly, I do. I think we have been more than accommodating to the Federation refugees crowding our southern cities. We’re doing our best to integrate them into the population and provide food, housing, and occupations to everyone.”

Vachir sighed and replied, “Yes, I know, Governor, and I thank you for that, but none of it will matter soon. She is coming. She won’t be satisfied with the lands of the Federation. The snake that she is, she’ll eventually strike, and when she does, I fear it will be too fast for you to stop her.” With that, he turned to leave.

Ambassador Fredrickson called after him, “A moment, General. There is one other thing.” Vachir turned to face the man. The ambassador’s pasty white face was twisted in discomfort.

“General,” Fredrickson said slowly, “I would ask that you no longer request these meetings with us. Our time is very valuable and… well, to be perfectly honest, you are a man without a nation. A non-citizen.”

Vachir groaned inwardly. The Ambassador continued, “To this point, we have humored you out of respect for your military record and our previous good ties with your homeland. It’s time we faced facts though. The Federation is gone. You are essentially an…”

Vachir frowned. “An outlaw,” he replied. Before either representative could say more, he slammed the door behind him. The last nail in the Federation’s coffin had been hammered.

***

The Beal River was at its lowest this time of year. It was mid-summer in Ruin and water was scarce. The river was under the tight control of The Unaligned League. Up and down its grassy banks, signs dotted the landscape. Each one read, “WATER THEFT IS A CRIME PUNISHABLE BY DEATH,” in bold letters.

League soldiers patrolled its shrinking banks around the clock, their imposing presence warding off all but the most desperate. Jim watched another group of white and black clad soldiers as they marched by, sweating under the brutal summer sun. Their breech rifles were slung lazily across their backs, but their eyes were constantly alert.

All population centers, from small villages to enormous capital cities were built around water. In Ruin, it was worth its weight in black crystal. Being so expensive was one reason most airships and other steam powered devices were usually only ever found in the possession of government military or the very wealthy.

“So, that’s another bridge burned,” Sandra said. Jim, turned his attention back to the others around the small cafe table. Jim, Sandra, and Henry had been listening to Vachir as he recounted his earlier conversation with the Governor and Ambassador.

“Yes, and I fear it may be our last one,” Vachir replied in a worried tone. “The Protectorate ambassadors in every city we’ve visited feed me the same line about neutrality and non interference. As for The League, well, I either get an earful of empty sympathy or just plain apathy.”

Vachir sighed and continued, “We’ve been at this for months and we’re no closer to convincing anyone. It’s like the whole world would just as soon bury its head in the sand than see the war that’s coming.” He ran his hands through his recently greying hair. The events of the past three months had aged him. Despite being a prime awakened, the stress of all he’d endured had been most unkind to his body.

“And what of Mountain’s Breath?” Henry asked. “Have you had any success in gaining entry?”

“No,” Vachir replied. “These damn stubborn Protectorate lackeys won’t budge. You’d be amazed at how resistant they are to any outsiders in their territory. Why they even have ambassadors is beyond me. It’s not as if they need the outside world at all. Their tech is centuries ahead of everyone else.”

Henry stroked his chin, trying to emulate his human friends. The screeching sound of metal on metal caused them all the cringe. “So,” he noted, “let’s recap, shall we? We are without friends, without entry to the one place we need to be and, drifting on the winds of uncertainty.”

Their silence said it all. The mood around their small cafe table was dark. Henry tried to cheer them up, “Let’s look on the bright side. At least we have our ship and our health. That has to count for som-” His voice cut off abruptly and, he tilted his head.

“Is something wrong?” Jim asked.

“Shh,” Henry replied. “Do you hear that? There’s some kind of commotion out front.” He rolled toward the back door of the cafe and peeked in. Turning back to the group, he added, “You might want to come see this.”

Jim hastily threw down enough black coin to pay for their food and followed the rest through the cafe and out the front door. As he stepped into the blazing sun, he saw what Henry’s clockwork ears, or whatever he heard with, had picked up.

Groups of people were running down the dusty street. Some of them were shouting. Others spoke rapidly amongst themselves. All looked anxious. More people began to pour out of nearby buildings to join the procession.

Jim called after one of the nearby groups, “Hey, what’s going on?”

A young man shouted back. His voice was full of excitement and a hint of fear, “Togsov has been attacked. War! We’re going to war!” Before Jim could ask more questions, the man and his friends had already disappeared into the rapidly growing mob.

The people were all running the same direction. It took Jim a moment to realize exactly where they were going. The airship docks! he thought with alarm.

“Well,” Sandra said from behind him, “That’s one way to get the League to stop dragging its ass.” They joined the rushing crowd and headed toward their ship.

***

Alia let out a low whistle as she stared at the crippled airship bobbing in the next berth over. The wooden scout ship was similar to The Herald in size. Alia had opted to keep the smaller ship docked at home in their mountain hideaway, not far from the Ll’tal village.

Unlike their airship however, this one was in horrible shape. Nearly the entire portside had been blasted away, revealing the sagging decks of the small vessel. It was an eerie sight, as if she was staring at an interior diagram on a ship where the side was not drawn so as to reveal the contents inside.

Judging by the scorch marks across its hull and the blackened piles of flesh that she was pretty sure were once human bodies, she surmised its short history. As she examined the battle damage, she heard heavy footsteps on the deck behind her and turned to face Harol.

The deckhand was, as always, the perfect image of brevity. “She was attacked. Alliance and Holy Land. Came from Togsov,” he noted cooly.

“Attacked?” she asked. “I guess I’m not surprised. With the Federation out of the way, the Alliance is on to its next target. But, Togsov? That city’s half fortress, half mountain.”

“City’s under siege,” Harol replied. “Nobody in or out. Prophetess is givin’ ‘em an ultimatum. Surrender or die.”

Alia shook her head. “Requesting surrender? That doesn’t sound like her. She destroys everything and makes demands after. If she’s staying her hand, you can bet, there’s a reason.”

Turning back to the crippled airship, she spotted Henry’s bronze tinted body in the growing throngs of humanity below. Close behind were Jim, Vachir, and Sandra, all making their way back to the dock. “Harol,” she ordered, “inform the crew. We fly out tonight. We need to get back to Shelter and prep The Herald for combat.”

“Combat, Captain?” Harol asked.

“Yes,” she replied with a cold edge, “nowhere is safe anymore. Not even this far north. War is coming to Ruin.”