“If one does not lend a helping hand articulating: ‘Not my problem’ — make it their problem.”

  —Poltr, son of Frazil II, days before igniting a civil war on Fraxon, 2419.

  The sun disappeared below the horizon a few hours ago, and someone switched off the streetlights by the citadel just now after the Archons left. I sit outside, by the Five Orphans statue, with all the day’s events gnawing at me, knowing full well that I’ve failed to advance my cause so far. Azure’s influence is proving far greater than I imagined, given the facts of the Fraxonnian sins. To be fair, I knew someone would take the stance of condoning the use of nukes, but I expected that to be Sinclair, with her usual cold, almost detached demeanor. But Azure…

  “Shit,” I whisper. There is no plan for a man such as he, not with words anyway. His voice stopped the Elder from taking a side so far, and that is derailing everything. It seems no matter the direction I take, I always end up backed into a corner. Worst of all, the only thing I got Archons to agree with today is that they all will gather tomorrow for a vote. “Damn it,” I murmur into the night. I hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but it looks like my scheming with Marwen will pay off in the morning. There’s no chance in hell I’m letting Fraxon come out of this unscathed. It’s too bad the likes of Azure didn’t share my viewpoint; otherwise, I could call off my idiotic plan.

  I gaze up at the sky. No clouds are in sight, with stars and the moon glowing brilliantly and illuminating the surrounding area. My thoughts drift to those stars, to the allies I hoped for. It’s no secret that the Biragian Matriarch was frail, and there were even rumors going around of people wagering on when she would die. But by gods, she couldn’t pick a worse time. At this very moment, any woman with any influence there is on the move — fighting, killing, and strengthening her power base. It’s their way. I’m no betting man, but anyone with any brains knows Birag will be in turmoil for the next couple of months, if not longer. However, even if there was a new matriarch tomorrow, why would she join us? She’d owe us no favors, and she’d probably prefer to lick her wounds after taking control — that is what I would do anyhow.

  With a heavy sigh, I fall on the bench’s backrest, my left hand massaging my temples. If only Tel-Chaz would pick a side instead of sitting and idling. If he would give his blessing, I already had the two required Archons behind my idea. But without the Elder, I’ll need all six Archons to vote in my favor. My thoughts drift, looking for any way out without utilizing the plan. I hear Marwen’s voice echoing in my mind, warning me of the consequences if we’re discovered. I wave that off. His warnings serve only to heighten my anxiety.

  I open my eyes and sit up as an Elite passes me, moonlight bouncing off his armor. He bows his head once he gets closer to me. I greet him in kind, without a word. I stretch my muscles after he is gone, cursing my aging body. Even a year ago, standing all day arguing with the Conclave was far easier.

  “It’s just stress,” I excuse myself and sit back down.

  However, the night is not getting any longer either. My lips widen in a smile as I realize that deciding where to go for the night is proving its own battlefield. I am compelled to go home to my Kathrine, for who knows if I’ll be able to see her again. But it is past midnight now, and she is sleeping, or so I hope. Regardless, she would kill me if I didn’t wake her up — but waking her means no rest at all. She’d try to find a way to convince the Archons. And she’d probably slap me a few good times for the scheming. Damn her father for spending so much time with her and teaching her tactics and strategy. The previous Grand General did a great job raising his children — gods rest his soul.

  But I shake myself clean of these thoughts. Either way, it doesn’t feel right going home. How many men already laid down their lives? Their wives won’t see them again… No, it doesn’t feel right going home to Kathrine at all. She will kill me, of course, for this, but that is a future problem. Gods willing, Poltr or Tarfahtan will get to me quicker.

  “Sleepless night?”

  I jerk towards the voice coming from the steps leading to the citadel’s entrance. His footsteps are heavy and paced.

  “Heard it was quite the evening here.” He continued as he approached me.

  The gold and blue colors of the armor suit place him as an Elite. Once he gets closer, I make out a black emblem of an elephant on his upper arm - identifying him as a lieutenant. Helmet in hand, he shows his bald head.

  “Grand General Varick, permission to sit down.”

  “At ease, Lieutenant,” I say, moving over to make space for him. “Making rounds or guarding the entrance?”

  “Now, wouldn’t it be sad to see someone guarding an entrance at my station?” Smiling, he sits. “No, sir. I’m making sure that the guards are in order here.”

  I nod. Jealousy overtakes me, as I would much rather be in his place. Free from all these decisions, musings, and scheming.

  “Not to be a bother,” he continues as he sinks into the bench. “Anything you can tell me?” Nodding towards the citadel, he crosses his arms.

  “I wish someone would also explain that to me.” I chuckle.

  “Can’t be that bad, can it?”

  “How much do you know about war, son?”

  “Saw some action on Artuk, Graphvan district,” he says, almost forcing the words out.

  “Some?” I smile, noticing his carefree demeanor show cracks. “I guess it depends on which side you were on.”

  “Hewshian expeditionary force. Volunteer. Served under Lieutenant Barnuh of the Elites, current captain. Fought for the Fraxonnian resistance under Poltr.”

  Turning to face him, I offer a gentle nod. “Hell of a massacre. Poltr should have been more patient.” Upon closer inspection, I can see a couple of scars on his face in the moonlight, but nothing too disfiguring. Could he be telling the truth? I wonder to myself. If so…a smile is a hell of a feat to pull off for him.

  “What’s your name, Lieutenant?” I ask, fearing I already know the answer.

  “Nordosh Bruk, Sir.”

  “Nordosh Bruk? The decorated? That’s what they call you. Late Grand General held you and your family in high regard.”

  His smile vanishes. “Please…Don’t call me that.” Turning his head away from me, he continues, “Too many fell. Too many did not return that day.” He gazes at the ground, his neck muscles tensing. “I wished to be among them, but I got half a pound of useless metal instead.”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “Yeah,” I mutter, his words hitting too close to my heart. I can’t help but think how many stories like this one will now be told by others. How many of them will blame me for what will happen to them? I put my hand on his shoulder. “War is hell, son. War is hell. I’d tell you that time makes things easier, but I’d be lying. The trash we pick up in this line of work never burns away. However, I won’t pretend I know what you went through.” I pause, trying to pick out the right words and coming up short as always. Why is it I have no problem ordering men to death but coming up short every time I face a broken one? I pat him on the back. “You’ve tasted hell…Make sure none under your command ever do. That is the only way forward.”

  I hate myself for telling him this. Back then, when the Fraxonnian civil war erupted, I thought anyone who went as a volunteer to be void of brains. My voice prevailed within the walls of the citadel on that fateful day. “Not our war,” I told the Conclave. I was right — it wasn’t. And although we didn’t go to war that day, we allowed volunteers.

  “It’s not your fault, Grand General, sir.” Nordosh’s voice brought me back to reality. “All who went thought Poltr was a change for the better.” He looked at me, his eyes soft. “Sorry, you looked too bleak, I figured-”

  “Thank you,” I interrupt him. “Let us hope that what we do now doesn’t end up biting us down the line like with Fraxon.”

  I smirk as Nordosh laughs. “Grand General, if we knew what consequences our actions sow, I’d imagine none would ever lift a finger.”

  Nodding, I raise my eyes to the stars. They seem brighter with Nordosh present. “I’ll be frank,” I whisper. “I’m afraid. Afraid that what’s about to transpire will make even Graphvan look like child’s play. No disrespect intended.”

  “How many?” Nordosh muttered after a pause. “How many dead?”

  “Enough to drown me in blood a million times.” I let out a sigh and look at my watch—almost one. I need at least a few hours of rest before meeting with the Conclave, and the conversation took a direction, which I don’t want it to take, not yet, anyhow. I turn to Nordosh. “Take your leave, Lieutenant. I’m not the best company at this hour.” I offer him a weak smile.

  “Grand General.” My comms buzz to life.

  “What now?” I groan under my breath. Could Fraxon’s fleet be making the first move? I bring up my hand to my comms with no haste. “Speaking.”

  “There’s been an explosion at Elder’s residence, Yorhal’s residence, and Archon Kalidasa’s landing pad is blown to smithere-”

  I’m thrown from the bench; my ears are ringing, and I can’t make out anything else I’m told. My wrist twists as it eats into the ground. I roll to the side. Nordosh is close by, his helmet on, and his shoulder blocks a piece of debris that should have hit me. Prying myself up on my hands, I hear faint yelling, but I do not understand a word. I see the citadel on fire, the puzzle finally clicking into place.

  Another piece of rock is flying my way; I watch it, unable to force myself to move. This can’t be happening… The yelling is becoming louder. I can almost make it out. Nordosh jumps on top of me, blocking the stone with his armor, his pistol ready, looking around for enemies. I look towards the citadel — the entrance is gone, and a couple of Elites lie motionless. I pray they are only knocked out. Screams and commands are coming from other Elites, Nordosh’s voice booming with commands to the nearby guards.

  “The hell is going on?” I yell into my comms. “What is this? There’s an explosion at the citadel!”

  Nordosh pins me to the ground, dirt getting on my tongue. I hear a secondary explosion go off, and I close my eyes, cursing. A piece of debris hits me in the arm, and a piece of wood shoots into my leg. I yell in pain, turning to lie on my back, spitting dirt out. Nordosh covers me the best he can, but I notice his armor dented at his shoulder and a rock the size of a bench near him.

  “I don’t see anyone.” He looks at me. “Must have been remote…Shit.”

  “How?” I ask him. “The grounds got Elites patrolling. Even the damn ants are accounted for.” My mind is racing. Elders and Archons make sense, but why would someone attack a citadel at night? And who? “Get me Marwen!” I yell into the comms. “Get Marwen to the Citadel. Now!”

  Shit, I think to myself. No, this cannot be. A sudden realization hit. This is not what I planned. It was supposed to be during the day…one location… no casualties. Shit.

  Wincing, I yank the wood from my leg. I watch the front Citadel wall crumble, covering the few knocked-out Elites who guarded the door. Flames would finish the job if they didn’t die from that. There’s no use even trying to help them. But a few Elites try, nonetheless. A futile attempt, they soon give up—the stones are too heavy, the fires too strong.

  Limping to the bench, I sit down.

  “Are you alright, Grand General?” Nordosh asks, his head turning from side to side, looking around, scanning the area. “Marcorians?”

  “Wish I knew.” I shake my head. “Check the citadel. See if you can find out what caused the explosion. Perhaps that can shine some light on this.”

  Nordosh nods and limps away.

  “Fraxon!” A voice yells in my comms. “We found a bomb at Archon Shena’s residence. It looks like it malfunctioned. We are checking all other Archons now. “

  “Keep me posted,” I command. “And Marwen better be on his way already!”

  I hope to gods you are not involved. I think to myself. Please let this be a Marcorian retaliation. I hear choppers in the distance. Rescuers, I figure, and firefighters, perhaps more security, as if they’d make a difference now.

  It feels like minutes drag into hours, but glancing at my watch reveals that only about ten minutes had passed. The choppers are putting down fires, and a medic runs my way. I ignore her, motioning for her to take care of others first. I watch rescuers drill into the stone, securing it by rope to the choppers, which takes it up and moves it a couple of hundred feet to the forest.

  I limp towards the citadel myself, forcing every step as pain shoots through my left leg, blood trailing down in a thin stream. I ignore it.

  An Elite runs up to me. “Your leg, Gran-”

  “Screw it,” I mutter. “Help me get up the damn steps.”

  He nods and offers his shoulder for me to lean on.

  My heart pounds harder with every step, and every breath fills my lungs with ash. On the top step, I’m greeted by a torn-out arm of one of the Elites; it’s still half covered by armor. I turn away from it and head towards the entrance. The four dead Elites were moved and laid neatly next to each other. One of the dead has his helmet smashed into a pancake, and he’s missing an arm.

  I turn towards the next unfortunate soul. His armor is seared into his body, both legs missing, and his right arm broken. It’s not hard to guess he was the closest to the explosion. I can’t force myself to look at the other two dead. I shake my head and whisper to the Elite, whose shoulder I still lean on, “Help me back to a bench.”

  “Sir.” He nods.

  My insides turn. Rage overtakes me as I try to figure out any scenario where this is not my doing. I pray, hoping that no one got hurt at any other locations, but logic says otherwise. Unless the explosions were way smaller, none of the residences should even be on the map.

  “You are tougher to find than I figured.”

  I turn to find Marwen walking up to me. He is dressed casually in green silk.

  “The hell happened?” I mutter once he gets closer and activates a portable PhantomShield. “Are you responsible?”

  He laughs. “I?” He shakes his head. “Varick, you asked for this.”

  I punch him in the liver, and he doubles over, overtaken by pain. “I said no casualties,” I hiss. “One explosion. Enough to convince the Conclave that Fraxon attacked. By gods, tell me there were no casualties at the other locations.”

  Marwen laughs. “That would be less than believable.” He straightens out, catching his breath. “To sway a Conclave member, it needs to be personal to him. It’s personal now. And they now know whom to blame, or do you think the bomb at Shena’s didn’t explode by luck? And before you strike me again…” He dodges another of my jabs. “All the Archons are alive. Some of their servants are not so fortuitous, but that is details.”

  I hit him again, square in the jaw this time, and he fell to the ground. “I should kill you.” I kick him, and pain shoots through my leg, reminding me of the wound.

  “Yes,” Marwen chuckles. “You should. But if we are to win this war, you won’t.”

  I extend him my hand, helping him get up from the ground. “Are there any more surprises?”

  “An explosion destroyed your quarters on Caedes. Had to make it look like they are trying to kill you as well.” He laughs.

  ”If before, I ever thought you might be insane, now I just know it,” I say and turn to face the citadel.

  “Always happy to help a friend in need.” He pats my shoulder.