[Arc 1 | Volume 2.5]

[Introductory Arc]

[Volume 2.5 | Chapter 86: Perdition]

December 31st, 411 E.V.

"Ah...! Is that... really San Corona?"

Bianca's shrill voice pierced through the ambient hum of the Elysium's engines as she pressed her face against the window, leaving a smudge that a steward would undoubtedly have to clean later. Her hot pink hair cascaded in messy waves around her shoulders, held back by a simple clip that threatened to surrender to the chaos at any moment. Dimples punctuated her cheeks, framing her toothy grin that was far from demure, as if the confines of her small frame couldn't constrain her enthusiasm.

The first glimpse of the Central Spire had appeared on the horizon. It was a testament to imperial power that carved through the clouds like a blade through flesh. Even from this distance, the midday sun caught its crystalline apex. It sent fractured rainbows scattering across the mountainside.

Siegfried Eisenberg stared at her with thinly veiled irritation. His arms were folded tightly across his chest. Even at 16, his features had already settled into the hard lines that befitted the heir to a Wallachian noble house—eyes like blood red daggers constantly assessing weaknesses, and brow eternally furrowed in contemplation. His hair was a stark white, cut close at the sides and swept back on the top.

"It's just ze Central Spire. If you had traveled beyond zat orphanage in Solaria, you would not behave like a child seeing fireworks for ze first time."

Bianca pouted. "You don't have to be so mean all the time, Sieg." She didn't budge from the window, though; her excitement was too palpable to be deterred by his sharp words.

"Oi, zat is not my name, unedle. I have told you zis a thousand times," he corrected flatly, German accent bleeding all the same.

"Well, excuuuuse me for growing up with absolutely nothing while you were having servants wipe your ass with silk handkerchiefs, Eisenberg—if you would prefer! Some of us had to fight for the privilege of even setting foot on an Elysium!"

"Zat is not what I—"

"Both of you. Enough."

Lieutenant Pandora Kircheisen's voice cut between them, carrying an authority that silenced both instantly. Even at 16, there was something unnervingly composed about her—the perfect posture, the measured cadence of her words in flawless Imperial Standard, and those analytical gold eyes that seemed to process tactical variables in any situation without revealing her conclusions.

"We're approaching the capital after three months in the Northern Theater. General Vessalius doesn't need reports of his elite unit squabbling like academy freshmen on their first field trip."

Bianca immediately straightened, throwing her hand up in an exaggerated salute that made her entire body wobble with the motion.

"Yes, ma'am, Lieutenant Dora, ma'am! Absolutely not engaging in any childish behaviors that would disappoint Haz-Bear!"

Pandora's eye twitched almost imperceptibly at both nicknames.

"Private Idrina, need I remind you that using unauthorized designations for superior officers constitutes a violation of Imperial Legion code section 17, paragraph 3? General Vessalius has specifically requested you address him properly."

"But he smiles every time I call him that," Bianca replied with a wink, already bouncing back to the window as her attention span surrendered to the approaching cityscape. "Oh! Do y'all think he'll let us explore the Winter Festival? I've heard they have these mighty fine sugar sculptures that look like creatures from the Great Corruption, and vendors selling hot chocolate with cinnamon that can make you levitate like a real ol' fairy, and—"

Siegfried made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a growl.

"We're not ze tourists on holiday. We are soldiers being granted temporary reprieve from ze combat operations. Ze Winter Festival is for ze civilians who have ze luxury of pretending ze war does not exist."

He couldn't help but stare at his reflection in the opposite window.

"It hardly matters. We will be sent back to ze front soon enough. Zis... vacation... is just ze Empire pretending to care about soldier welfare while zey prepare to throw us back into ze meat grinder."

He fled from Wallachia for what? To be stuck in the theater of war of another hegemony? Horseshit. Complete and utter horseshit.

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The ebony girl observed him with those unreadable golden eyes.

"Perhaps," she said quietly. "I'd rather trust that General Hazard Vessalius recognizes that even exceptional assets require maintenance to prevent catastrophic failure. He's not like his sister, after all..."

"Or maybe," Bianca interjected, seemingly immune to the tension, "he just wants to show off his three favorite prodigies to all the stuffy officials in San Corona!"

She gasped suddenly as the Elysium rode on tracks constructed on the Dragonridge Mountains, providing a panoramic view of the imperial capital sprawled across the valley below.

"Sweet Convergence... look at it all!"

Siegfried, however, nearly wanted to vomit at nearly the mention that woman.

"You mean ze 'woman' who captured and gave me ze 'reasonable' ultimatum to join ze Legion or be thrown in ze deepest, darkest hole you Tachyons could find?" The corner of his mouth twitched in a barely suppressed snarl. "Ja, how very considerate of her. She spared ze life of mein, so I suppose I should be grateful."

"Spare me. You were living as a thief and hitman on the streets when we found you back up north. Yet, you're here, sitting pretty with food in your belly and a purpose in your hands."

Pandora's gaze didn't falter, meeting Siegfried's simmering anger with an unnerving calm.

"You would be dead the moment they caught you, Private Eisenberg. Count your blessings."

She leaned back into the plush seat and closed her eyes.

"Bootlicking zicke," he muttered.

At least if I died back there, it would have been of mein own will…

Despite himself, his attention was soon drawn to the mountainside aperture of the vista. The late December afternoon light painted the land below in a golden hue, casting long shadows that stretched towards the base of the mountain. Unlike the utilitarian architecture of the military outposts up north, the city unfolding before them was a marvel of artistry and engineering.

The Elysium cleared the final mountain pass, and thus, the Royal Capital sprawled before them.

San Corona was a jewel set in the valley's basin. The city's concentric design was visible even from this height, radiating out from the Central Spire that towered over the city with its needle-like tip seeming to stitch the heavens to the earth. From the Spire, boulevards radiated outward like spokes on a divine wheel. They crossed the shimmering ribbons of the canal network that snaked through every district before emptying into the vast expanse of Lake Aureolus. Even the bridges and fountains bore the mark of the Empire's soul—great stone dragons whose forms were integrated into the very architecture.

"It'll snow soon," Pandora noted; her voice pulled Siegfried from his reluctant admiration. "The atmospheric pressure is dropping. We should arrive just in time for the first snowfall of the season."

"Snow?! Really?!" Bianca's face lit up with an incandescent joy. "Oh, bless your sweet little heart, Dora! I've always wanted to see real snow! Not the slushy, half-melted stuff we get down in Solaria, but proper, honest-to-Convergence snow!"

Her excitement was a warmth that momentarily pushed back against the sterile chill of their military lives. Then, just as quickly, the light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a shadow that was far too old for a girl of 16.

"...Well... I reckon... I've seen it before. But this'll be the first time... the first time it isn't stained red."

The air in the cabin grew heavy.

Pandora's hand, which had been resting on a stack of reports, clenched into a fist. Siegfried felt a familiar tightness in his chest, a cold pressure that had nothing to do with the winter air. Snow. He remembered snow—white blankets that covered the forests around his family's estate in Germania. He remembered another night, another empire, another man whose shadow had loomed larger than any mountain... and the drops of bodies that had followed.

The endless white of the Northern Theater, with comrades whose names were now just ghosts on the wind.

Never strong enough to protect his family. Never wise enough to protect his own.

Never good enough.

For a moment, none of them spoke. The past was a silent passenger that could not be dislodged.

Then, the chime of the Elysium's intercom broke through the tension, followed by the smooth, professional voice of the steward.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are now descending into San Corona! Please ensure your belongings are stowed securely and remain seated until we've reached our designated platform at the Central Terminal!"

Bianca, cognizant of the sudden shift in the mood, used the announcement as a segue. She clapped her hands together enthusiastically and turned to the unprepared Pandora.

"Dora, you have to have a snowball fight with me! Please! It's the very first time I'll see it properly! The very least you can do is share it with me, your best friend in the whole wide world!"

"...Best?"

The ebony girl reddened at the idea.

"I-I am your superior, Private Idrina! I'm not going to—"

"Come onnnnn, ya ain't really my superior, right? We're just comrades in arms, riigght?"

Before Pandora could even blink, Bianca grabbed onto her hands like a happy puppy. "Please, please, PLEASE, Dora?! With my Birthright, I can just heal any frostbite we get! It'll be as safe as a day in the sun!"

"...Fine. But only if there's time after our reports are submitted to General Vessalius." Pandora managed, though the corner of her mouth twitched in a failed attempt to suppress a smile.

Siegfried tuned out their antics to gaze out of the window once more.

He watched the first delicate flakes begin to drift past the window, each one a unique marvel, and each one a fresh torment. Bianca's joy, Pandora's reluctant warmth—they were fleeting things, illusions against the cold, hard reality of the world. He knew what awaited them in that beautiful, terrible city. More orders, more preludes to war and death. The snow would not remain pristine for long. It would soon be trampled under the boots of marching soldiers and stained crimson by bloodshed. It always was.

No matter what games they played or what friendships they forged, he knew with a certainty that settled in his iron bones like permafrost, that he would always hate the snow for as long as he lived.

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