André’s hand trembled. It had been nearly two years since that day, but to him it felt like yesterday.

  “Come on, you can do this. It’s just a damn box. Open it, leave them, and forget about them like you did with the other one.”

  After the funeral ceremony for Sergeant Raed and the rest of the dead found at the auxiliary runielectric plant in Tagrei, he and Dragen had been awarded two medals and a promotion. Now he was a corporal, and the fiery drauo a sergeant.

  With his hand still shaking side to side, André finally pressed the button on the small case. There it was. Spotless. The medal for the Suppression of Tarefor. He hadn’t been fond of the two medals the commander had given him either, but he particularly despised this one. That had been a complete massacre, without a shred of honor. Weren’t those civilians also Ibelirians? What was the point of the country’s motto of “unity” if they killed innocents and secessionists alike?

  André’s right hand began to burn, even through the glove. It hadn’t done that in a while. Neisa and the drugs had taken care of that. But he wasn’t surprised. Very carefully, as if afraid his skin might peel off, he took off the glove. The scar that had branded his soul with shame and hatred was now visible. It was grotesque, spreading like a map without direction across his skin. The surface was a mix of darker shades than his natural tone, with areas that looked tighter, shinier—permanent proof of his encounter with fire.

  And then, without being able to stop it, his mind jumped back to that moment.

  André had been shaking with fear. He’d gone to Tarefor on his first mission without knowing what to expect. And the reality had far surpassed his comrades’ patriotic comments and his own worst fears. The entire city had turned into a bloody battlefield, where it was impossible to tell if civilians and soldiers were allies or enemies. The spells of the mages roared like vengeful thunder. Bullets flew from every direction. And violence, in its rawest form, filled every corner.

  He had entered an upper-middle or upper-class apartment with his partner. He couldn’t remember which. But he did know it had been five or six times larger than his parents’ micro-apartment. When they opened the door, they found a family from one of the houses that had participated in the secession attempt. The man, whether out of fear or conviction, didn’t hesitate for a second before firing. Neither did André or his partner.

  Unfortunately for him, the bullet hadn’t hit André—it hit his partner, who collapsed to his knees. The nobleman fell backward, spinning slightly as he went down. Next to the rebel’s body were his wife and their small child, no older than three or four. The mother had covered the child’s eyes and held him close to her legs. Their bodies were stained with blood.

  “Please… don’t kill us,” the woman had said, sobbing. “We didn’t know what my husband was involved in…”

  “Ha…hands where I can see them!” André replied, trembling.

  “Please… we had nothing to do with this. I swear.”

  “Silence!” André’s heart was pounding faster than it ever had. Sounds felt distorted. The orders had been to kill the rebels. But were they rebels?

  “It′s o…”

  The sound of footsteps behind him made André turn, nervous, unable to finish the sentence. With the Anlovan Magical Forces trench coat billowing behind him and walking with firm, deliberate steps, battle mage Agranor entered the room.

  André had felt a certain disdain for mages even before the Tarefor rebellion began. But in that moment, he was glad to see him.

  “What’s going on, soldier?” the mage asked. His voice had a sharp, sinister edge.

  “Sir, they’re the wife and son of one of the rebels we took down,” André replied, trying to stay firm.

  “The mother says they had nothing to do with it.”

  “Kill them,” the mage said, raising his voice slightly.

  The woman broke down crying again.

  “What’s wrong, Mommy?” asked the child. “Where’s Daddy?”

  “Sir?” André hadn’t even processed the order.

  “Didn’t you hear me, soldier?” said the mage. “I told you to kill them.”

  “But sir…” André felt a knot tighten in his throat. The words wouldn’t come. He had always followed orders. But something deep inside was stopping him now. “The woman says…”

  “I heard you, soldier. You think she’d tell you if she knew? Of course not,” the mage snapped. His large, round eyes, like those of an owl, locked onto André’s. “Don’t be an idiot. Of course she knew. Everyone knows what their partner is doing—they just deny it when it suits them.”

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  “No! I swear! I didn’t know anything. I’ll give all my possessions to the state. I’ll sign whatever you want. But please, don’t kill us…”

  “Sir… I—”

  “Didn’t you hear me, soldier? Kill those traitors!” Agranor barked, now with a hint of madness in his voice.

  André slowly raised his rifle, trembling, feeling the weight of it. It was as if he were lifting not a four-kilogram weapon, but one weighing thirty. Was that the weight of two innocent souls?

  “This has to be wrong. This can’t be for the good of the country… I…”

  The trembling barrel of the HK-52 rifle pointed at the woman’s face. The human woman collapsed, clutching the child tightly to her body.

  “Mercy, please…” she sobbed.

  “Did you show any to the mages?” Agranor snapped. “Do you know how many of my people you’ve killed?! Huh?!”

  The woman closed her eyes briefly. Her face was full of sorrow—though André couldn’t tell who it was for. The mages they had killed? Or themselves?

  “Shoot, soldier,” the battle mage ordered. “I won’t repeat myself.”

  “At least let him go. Please.”

  “Sir, the child isn’t—”

  “And what do you think he’ll do when he grows up?” the mage interrupted. “Treason runs in his blood. We can’t leave any rebels alive.”

  The woman turned the boy around and held him tight.

  “Mama?”

  “It’s okay, darling. Everything will be fine.”

  André felt like he was going insane. Inside him, a storm of conflicting emotions raged.

  “Forget it.”

  A bolt of pure magical energy struck André in the side, lifting him off the ground. He slammed into the wall, pain shooting through his shoulder and leg. He crashed onto a desk, then to the floor.

  A burst of fire surged through the room. The mother’s and the child’s sobs echoed painfully through André’s ears.

  “No, stop… Please stop, I’m begging you,” the soldier said as the screams of agony continued. The furniture and curtains burned fiercely. The air reeked of scorched flesh and fake wood.

  “You’re lucky the whole city’s at war, soldier,” said the mage, his black, crazed eyes looking at André with contempt. “If not, I’d execute you right here for treason.”

  The battle mage left the apartment as the flames continued to spread. Amid the screams and the crackle of burning wood, the sound of eyeballs bursting echoed.

  “No… No…” André sobbed, stumbling toward the fire. The heat seared his skin more with each step, but his body moved on its own—slow and heavy, tears streaming down his face. The child was still crying.

  Something fell from the ceiling. But the soldier ignored it. He kept walking.

  “Wait… I’ll get you out,” he said, reaching out his right hand to pull the child free. His hand began to burn, but he didn’t feel the heat of the flames—only the pain of loss. The guilt of cruelty committed.

  When he had hold of him, he pulled. Again and again, until he tore the child from his mother’s body. But what he brought out was nothing more than a charred shadow of a life that had barely begun. The boy’s body was fragile to the touch and grotesquely light. Despite the fury of the fire, scraps of burned fabric still clung to the blackened form. The boy’s face, now unrecognizable, had become a canvas of despair.

  André held him close, his body shaking with every sob, as the flames danced around them—mocking his failed attempt at salvation.

  A scream of agony, one that transcended space and time, rang out through both rooms.

  His body collapsed to its knees on the floor of his all-in-one barracks room in the State Reconnaissance and Support Regiment headquarters. Tears streamed down his tormented face. With another anguished cry and a sudden motion, André hurled the small box against the far wall. The medal fell free and landed on the floor.

  ***

  André woke from the shock. He felt his whole body drained. His eyes stung. His voice wouldn’t come out. With effort, he pushed himself up a bit and sat on the floor, looking around. On the bed were two medals.

  And then he remembered. He ran a hand over his face and laughed. The first was the Medal of Valor, awarded for his bravery in the face of the extreme dangers of the facility.

  A disturbed laugh echoed in his head.

  “Bravery? Like the kind you showed when you left Burmac behind?”

  The image of the soldier being strangled and impaled by that mutant pierced his mind with painful clarity.

  “Or the kind you showed when you abandoned the sergeant and the rest?”

  Another image shot through his mind. André was devastated, his body barely responding, but he still felt dirty, ashamed, grief-stricken. Where was that voice coming from? Was it his?

  The soldier turned his dark, lost gaze toward the other medal. The Medal of Duty. Awarded for fulfilling orders and contributing to the common good under adverse circumstances. What good had it done to warn the commander if he hadn’t lifted a finger to help find Neisa?

  “You abandoned her, André.”

  “What? I didn’t…” André felt a stab in his heart, as if his conscience had just confirmed that he had. “How many days have passed? Why haven’t they come back yet?”

  “Because they’re screwing while you sit here worrying,” said another voice.

  “Nonsense. Neisa wouldn’t do that with a mage. She knows I hate mages. She…”

  “She what? Haven’t you figured it out yet? She doesn’t care about you. She only uses you when she needs something…” His inner voice shifted to a darker tone. “Or maybe she’s dead. The mage probably fucked her and then burned her. Just like Agranor did to that woman and child. What are you going to do without her, huh? You shouldn’t have let her go alone. I told you!”

  André felt his heart sink. His breath caught.

  “Dead?” His trembling hands touched his face, feeling the sweat soaking them.

  “Yes, because of you. For letting her go with the battle mage, you idiot.”

  “No, no, no, no, no. It can’t be. No, fuck, no!”

  His heart pounded wildly in his chest.

  “No, no, no. Neisa, tell me it’s not true, please, Neisa…”

  He pulled himself up, crashing into a small table and the wall. He still couldn’t breathe. He stumbled toward the door, desperate. He had to get help.

  “The mage fucked her and killed her.”

  —“No!!”—he managed to scream in anguish. A sharp pain stabbed his chest. —“No, it’s impossible!!” André punched the door.

  “He fucked her and killed her.”

  “Leave me alone!” André slammed his forehead against the door and slowly let himself fall, feeling his consciousness slipping away.