A small maintenance mech whirred around the wooden floorboards, collecting dirt and polishing as it went. Sam Hawkings studied the cylindrical robot as he settled into an armchair with a drink in hand. The smell of dust and dirt lingered in the study, mixed with the light scent of polish coming from the beeping mech.

He tried to put Castan behind him and out of his mind. The man could have been a good friend, but he had ruined what he had been given. Now, from the looks of his companions, Sam had more pressing issues to worry about.

Opposite him sat Jorak, his large frame taking up most of a two-seater sofa as he wiped a few remaining crumbs from his buttoned shirt. He'd removed his military jacket and had rolled his sleeves up during dinner. Den sat on a recliner between them, his braced leg stretched out towards the centre table.

Sam took in the scene; him in the company of two famed war heroes that most cadets would kill to meet. There were shelves filled with books, rolled up maps and military documentation in folders - some very rare and informative items - but a young Oneron soldier could learn more from a conversation with people like Jorak and Den than by reading them all. Despite having known them both separately for years, and both older men knew each other well, the three of them had hardly spent much time together. Two weeks ago, Sam would never have dreamed of being there right now, too lost within his guise as a construction worker and keeping watch on James Island. He knew this day would come, eventually, but a part of him hoped it never would.

"This is quite the concoction," Den said, raising his glass.

Jorak's grin shifted his heavy beard. "Ipan whisky, Old Class. We recently aided Victory City with the removal of the occupying Fire Born forces, and collected a few cases while up there. Perfect for the harvest and wind seasons." He took a big swallow from his glass. "And goes well after a big dinner," he added, patting his stomach.

Sam's throat had seized up. The close reminder of Castan's troubled history felt almost too much of a coincidence. He eyed Jorak, trying to read more from the General, but was careful not to make his stare too obvious.

Jorak had insisted on them having a late-night drink together. James declared himself wiped out after dinner and wanted some time alone. Evan was still interlocked with the young sorceress, Melida. Liana had some business to take care of and said she would join them later. Most of the outpost had wound down at this hour, leaving a small crew to keep watch over night.

"That Voarn you have with you is an interesting character," Jorak said, nodding to Sam. "Never met anyone who didn't like fidja rolls."

"He's far from what he's accustomed to," Sam said.

"Your men still know how to cook up a feast," Den said.

"One of the most important skills to learn as a soldier," Jorak said. He leaned forward with a low grunt and refilled his glass from the jug on the table. Jorak eyed Sam as he poured. Sam could tell something serious was on his mind.

"James showed Liana that photo he has," Jorak said. He replaced the jug and leaned back with his filled glass, taking a moment to sip his drink before continuing. "He asked if she knew the men in the picture."

The air in the room filled with a charged silence.

"I meant to tell you about it," Sam said, "when we had the chance."

"No, you didn't," Jorak said. His voice remained deeply calm, with understanding, though his eyes were serious. Sam was familiar with the quiet anger of his lectures. Jorak looked to Den and back at Sam. "Something is going on here. You brought it to my people and tried to keep it hidden. Now I think I should know why you've been lying to James."

Sam held back the long sigh he wanted to let out. He spared a look to Den, whose expression was sorrowful. Den's keen blue eyes had a milky haze from old age, highlighted by the warm, golden lights in the room.

"It's complicated," Sam said.

Jorak held his stare on Sam.

"If the day ever came," Den said, "that James would have to be told of his past, Hayden Island wanted him to have his old grapple hook. With it, he also wanted James to have a photograph. He wanted us to tell James that it depicted Harman Bridges and Jacob Roby. Now as Liana would have seen, Jacob Roby is in fact Hayden Island."

Jorak frowned, looking troubled. "Why would he not want James to know him from the photo?"

"James's situation is delicate," Sam said. "At least, that's what we've been told. It could be dangerous for him to know too much too soon."

Den turned to Jorak. "Hayden gave strict instructions. He did not want James to know the truth of his past. He felt it better if he were allowed to become his own new person, away from who he once was. I believe, in a way, he provided the photo as a step towards James learning the truth on his own, rather than it being told to him. What the difference is, and what Hayden was truly thinking, I don't think anyone could say. I detest having to step around issues with James, but Sam and I made a promise to Hayden to follow his wishes, and protect James."

"Dangerous," Jorak said in a low voice. "And nonsense. Why didn't Hayden stay and look over his son himself?"

"You'll have to ask the man yourself," Den said. "Once he resurfaces."

Jorak eyed him and said, "You're both telling me something that you're not saying."

"You know the circumstance of James's memory loss," Den said. "No one knows for sure the extent of the powers that healed him, and what could happen if he were to ever fully regain his memories. As such, revealing to him the truth of his past has to be handled carefully."

"You think it's dangerous for him to know his past?" Jorak asked.

"I can't say why, exactly," Den said. "But yes, I believe so. I had guessed that was why Hayden didn't want us revealing anything to James. I trust him with my life, but Hayden Island was a man with many secrets."

"What are you afraid of?" Jorak asked. He leaned forward and added more whisky to Den's glass.

Another silence followed, before Den said, "James is special."

"Den," Sam cut in quickly, his voice betraying his nerves.

"Come on, fellas," Jorak said. "What is this? 'James is special.'"

"He is," a new voice said.

Sam turned to the side and saw Liana standing by the door, a severe look on her face. Her hair was tied back and she wore the casual trousers and long blouse she had changed into for dinner. Despite her casual look, she still carried a determined air of command. She gave Sam the same unhappy look when she had first asked him about the photo of Hayden Island.

Liana approached them, grabbing a wooden stool by the door and settling down on the other side of the central table.

"I hope you can talk more sense than these two, sweetheart," Jorak said. He stared at his glass thoughtfully, as if it could ease his mind, and then took a careful sip.

Liana looked over them and settled on Sam. "I couldn't say anything at dinner, but, something happened during James's last training session." She leaned her elbows on her knees, holding her hands together. "As you know, the Time Grid records the pressure on each of the panels, for training records. James was into it, lost in his own world while working the grid. For a while he moved like a pro." A small smile crept on her face. "Sam, you would have been impressed. But, at one point, James performed a back flip, followed by a second back flip. Without a panel registering his weight."

Jorak scoffed loudly. "A glitch."

"That's what I thought," Liana said. "So I looked into it after dinner, and had Aris and Prosgo help me. They know the equipment well. But there's no way around it; James flipped twice in the air without touching the ground."

Jorak sat forward and matched Liana's pose, cradling his drink. "You're saying, what, he can fly?" He smirked at the idea, and looked to Sam and Den to share the joke.

"No," Den said softly. "Of course not. But it's as I said, James is a special individual, and he needs to become his own person without his past interfering."

Jorak's eyes tensed. "Explain the double flip," he said sternly.

Sam leaned forward and began pouring more whisky into his own glass, attempting to diffuse the situation. "I honestly can't," he said. "And I'm sure Den would tell you the same." He looked to Den and allowed him to nod. "We suspect," Sam went on, "that James may have been in possession of something that Doon and the Dark Sorcerer greatly wanted. That, or he knew something, had some information they wanted."

Jorak considered this with a deep frown. "Well you can rule out any information he had. That's long gone and you say they're still after him. And that doesn't explain the double flip."

"I'm afraid we don't have the answer to that," Den said. "If that is indeed what happened."

"By all accounts James was very gifted," Liana said. "The rumours of his father's powers must be true."

Sam studied her, keeping his expression blank. There were a great many rumours about the true source of Hayden Island's extraordinary talents, and how he came about procuring them. Some spoke of dark deals with dark beings. Others spoke of godly heritage. It was all rubbish, Sam knew. He knew the real Hayden. He was just a very talented soldier.

"And James is not the only soldier to have lost his way," Liana said.

Sam sat back, crossed his leg, and met her challenging look. "We don't need to do this again."

"You don't, but I do," she said. "We do. It's not right, Sam, for you to turn your back on your life like this."

"My life," Sam said, "is what I make it. I'm not defined by fighting in a war or carrying a grapple hook."

Liana's eyes softened with sincerity. Sam had seen the look many times from people who knew him well. Seeing it again caused his pulse to pound in his ears.

"I'm not the only one who thinks this," Liana said.

Jorak was watching him intently, while Den stared at the ground.

Sam sighed, trying to control his breathing, and held a palm up. "I don't know how many times I need to say this. You all know what I went through, and now I'm done. With fighting, with being a soldier, all of it. I'm done with it all. Why can't you all accept that?"

"Losing men is never easy," Den said softly.

Sam swallowed, paling under Den's intense, sad eyes.

It had been fourteen years since the First Fire Wars, where Sam led one hundred men into battle. One hundred lives under his protection, tasked with rescuing over four hundred civilians. Five hundred and nine souls. All dead. Dead because Sam wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough. If he were a better person, he would have been able to stop their transports from being destroyed. He could have done a dozen things differently to save them all. Sam had to live with that for the rest of his life, and no one understood what that meant.

Five hundred and nine lives lost. It should have been five hundred and ten.

Den adjusted his seated position, his braced leg causing a slight grimace. "I would tell you that you're doing yourself a disservice by not moving forward with your life, but I'm sure you've heard all angles of this argument before."

Sam held Den's look, not backing down.

"I feel that tonight is a night for telling stories," Den said. His gravelly voice sounded strained. Sam had not known him to be so distracted or conflicted. "The eve of battle always put me in a strange mood. Tomorrow, we confront our enemies, and hope to put an end to another large force with evil intent. Tonight, we may have our own demons to fight." Den looked around the occupants of the room but did not wait for a response.

"Let me tell you something I have never told anyone else, Sam," Den said. He reached down and rubbed his thigh through the metal brace. "Why my leg cannot be healed."

"It was not broken in a magical realm?" Jorak asked.

Den shrugged. "That is only partly true. Now, it is public knowledge that my birthplace was here on Medropon, in Ipan – where this fine whisky comes from – although I spent little time there as a child. What is not known is that I am not really Denneron Keenosh. I was born Raylan Wensyn." Den paused and swallowed a lump in his throat, no longer looking at any of them.