Broadcast from the Letran Infovision:

Our heroes on the southern front have repelled yet another enemy attack. Operation Black Shore proceeds according to plan, and new technologies bring victory. However, Letran Intelligence warns against further aggressive actions by the PDC.


Reng, Command Center in the Sindar Lad Oasis


Sindar Lad was once a refuge for miners who had devoted their lives to the grueling extraction of spongus — the only resource keeping this inhospitable land alive. Unlike other oases, Sindar Lad didn’t expand outward, but downward. Entrances to vast tunnels began just past the last houses, leading into the darkness the miners abandoned when the spongus veins dried up.


Then someone had the idea that the abandoned shafts could offer a new kind of home. It sounded simple: block off the tunnels, add doors, hang lights powered by locally harvested spongus. Within a few years, underground halls had emerged — markets, gathering spaces, even homes where families could settle. The subterranean city lit up with thousands of lights, said to shine so brightly that even the surface at night glowed with their reflections.


When Sindar Lad thrived, people called it “The Second Oko Lahab.” But as the veins gradually faded, the oasis lost its luster. Once even the last traces of the precious resource had been mined out, it was over. The miners left. The halls dimmed. And from a once-vibrant city remained only a quiet memory. Only a few old settlers stayed behind, refusing to abandon their home.


Then the war came. The army, seeking refuge beyond the front lines, found an ideal base in this abandoned oasis. The silent corridors now concealed command posts, supply depots, and secrets that were never meant to surface.


Reng remembered his first arrival at the oasis. Back then, he had no idea what truly awaited him. He was a freshly enlisted volunteer, without much choice in the matter. He rode on the back of a truck that rattled his bones to dust on the uneven roads. “They’ll make a real man out of you here,” they told him as he fell flat on his face during drills. Back then, he still thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. The reality was something else.


Now he was back. Riding through the oasis just a year older — and much more experienced. If this was what it meant to be a real man, he didn’t want it.


The oasis hadn’t changed, unlike him. The army had repaired old buildings early on and even added a few new ones, but everything had been reshaped in the image of military rule. The public baths steamed with mist, the taverns overflowed with noise, and a flickering brothel cast crimson shadows on uniformed visitors just back from the front lines — here to forget, to recover, and to return.


No one had time to linger — they all knew they’d be back once their duty was done. Reng, leading the prisoner with a sack over his head, continued with the others into the depths of the tunnels. They stepped into a lift that carried them several levels down, into cooler, darker sections. The air smelled of iron and damp soil. Every footstep echoed into the distance, carried away into the shadowy bends of abandoned corridors. Reng couldn’t help but think someone might be listening in that darkness.


When he glanced at the others, he saw he wasn’t the only one uneasy. “It’s this place,” he thought. “People aren’t made to live underground,” and the tension coiled tight around his throat.


The command room had been carved directly into hard rock. Flickering lights shone on maps pinned to the walls and a long table in the center. Around it huddled a group of officers, anxiously discussing a field map spread out between them. From their grim faces, something unpleasant was clearly afoot. Reng caught the name Sristava — a place where Prim had long faced the threat of a humiliating defeat.


Commander Vanys didn’t stop until he reached the table. He puffed out his chest and struck it with his left fist in a salute of respect. Reng and the others, though some clearly didn’t care for the gesture, raised their hands and mimicked it.


“We arrived on your orders, High Commander Dimo,” Vanys announced and signaled to Kamek to place the transmitter on the table.


Reng stood at attention, like the rest of them, but everyone knew they were doing it out of obligation. Officially, they were part of the army, but the officers at the table held nothing but contempt for them. They were PDC — dirt meant to swallow dust, trudge through mud, and die in place of those wearing polished uniforms. Military discipline meant nothing to them. They’d only been taught how to hold a gun and shoot. All that boot-stomping and chest-thumping struck them as ridiculous. Still, they made an effort this time. They knew that once this circus ended, they’d get three days of rest — and that was worth a bit of playacting.


High Commander Dimo was a tall man in his middle years. His sharp features and icy stare made him seem more like a statue carved from the same stone as this room than a living man. It was said he had no mercy. To Reng, he felt like the kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to make you obey.


Dimo slowly scanned the group until his eyes settled on the figure trembling next to Reng — the one with the black sack over his head.


“This the prisoner you mentioned?” he asked briskly and gestured for them to present him.


Reng stepped forward and shoved the captive ahead, nearly knocking him over. His fingers hesitated before grasping the edge of the sack. He couldn’t help it. The way Dimo looked at the prisoner stirred something in him — like a predator on the verge of pouncing. At last, he pulled the sack off.


The prisoner blinked, sweat dripping down his brow, fear gleaming in his eyes.


“Have you spoken to him?” Dimo continued, gaze fixed on the man.


“We tried, sir,” Vanys answered. “Seems he doesn’t understand us very well. One of ours speaks a bit of their tongue, but we got nothing from him.”


Dimo narrowed his eyes and his lips curled into a barely noticeable smirk. Without warning, he began to speak — unknown words cracked through the room like whip cracks. Reng had never liked the Letran language. Harsh and cutting, just like its people.


The prisoner looked up. A stream of garbled, choked words burst from his mouth. He sounded like someone trying to say far too much at once.


Reng didn’t understand a single word. But the tone, the prisoner’s face — they said enough. Fear. Urgency. A secret that refused to surface. And most of all... his language was clearly different from Dimo’s. Even Reng could tell that much.


“This will be more difficult,” the commander’s voice was low and thoughtful. He stepped closer, studying the frightened face up close. The man backed away, but there was nowhere to run.


“Doesn’t look like he’s from Letras,” Dimo’s eyes narrowed into calculating slits. The room filled with tense silence. “Our scouts have reported they’re recruiting beyond the borders. Might be from Harran. Or Grinovec.” Each word weighed a ton. Then he added, quietly, but with a hint of icy resolve: “Wherever he’s from, we’ll find out.”


Commander Vanys shifted impatiently. “And the transmitter?”


Dimo frowned, his gaze falling to the device. “The transmitter... seems we’ve got a problem you should be aware of.”


Vanys swallowed hard, but then puffed out his chest again. “I take full responsibility for my unit. My men did nothing without my orders, or my knowledge.”


Dimo stepped closer. His shadow stretched across the table, engulfing Vanys and part of his men. “Is that so?” His voice was calm — but sharp as a blade. “Then I’m sure you can explain why the transmitter you brought in sent a coded signal straight to our enemy. The signal was so strong, every station within range picked it up.”


The room fell silent. Vanys's gaze darted between Dimo and his unit.


“Sir, I don’t have an answer to that,” he said finally, uncertain.


Dimo narrowed his eyes. “Who touched it? Who opened it?”


“I... I did, sir,” Kamek stepped forward. His voice caught, and sweat beaded on his forehead. “I was supposed to handle its disposal. But when I opened it... something didn’t feel right. The system was different. I followed the orders that say any nonstandard enemy tech must be secured and sent for examination.”


Dimo turned to him, pinning him in place with a stare. “And who are you?”


“Volunteer Kamek,” he replied quietly.


“Volunteer,” Dimo repeated, the contempt in his voice unhidden. “So, one of those trying to save their own skin.”


“Yes, sir,” Kamek admitted without flinching. After all, without men like him, those polished-uniform types would have to sit in foxholes at the front.


“And you say you opened the transmitter.”


“We always do, before destruction. For inspection.”


“Standard routine,” Dimo muttered, letting his eyes rest on the device on the table. “They know we do that. Setting a trap then isn’t hard. They adapt, turn our procedures against us. The question is — what else do they know?”


The question was mostly to himself, but silence filled the room as if everyone were seriously considering it.


“That will be all,” the commander said at last, dismissing them with a simple wave. “Take the transmitter to our technicians. And the prisoner to holding. And…” he hesitated briefly, then looked over them all, “good work, Commander. Enjoy your well-earned leave.”


The whole unit, led by Vanys, saluted as one. The tension that had settled in their guts during the command visit began to ease — but the thought of the transmitted signal lingered like a heavy shadow.


Reng couldn’t stop thinking about it as he led the prisoner, who kept flinching and glancing back, fraying his nerves. Suddenly, the prisoner stopped again and pointed once more toward the transmitter Kamek carried. This time he added a burst of sharp, urgent words in his unknown language. Reng cursed under his breath.


“That’s enough!” he growled. He grabbed the man’s arm to make him move, but the prisoner resisted, repeating the same word over and over in rising panic. His hands shook, his lips trembled, and his eyes pleaded for something no one understood.


Reng’s breathing quickened. This was too much. He couldn’t help himself.


“Shut the hell up!”


The sharp edge of his voice bounced off the tunnel walls. When the prisoner pointed to the transmitter again and tried to break free, Reng lost his patience. He shoved him — hard — slamming the man’s back against the wall.


“That’s enough, Reng!” came Commander Vanys’s voice.


Reng froze. Everyone went quiet for a moment. The prisoner crouched by the wall, hands raised in a defensive gesture. His breathing came in ragged gasps, as if bracing for another blow.


“He’s… he’s getting on my nerves,” Reng muttered in his defense, teeth clenched — though his voice sounded more drained than angry.


Tinor knelt beside the prisoner and helped him to his feet. “Reng’s had that jabberer on his back since we caught him. And let’s be honest — if someone finally shut him up, we’d all probably cheer. Even I’m getting sick of him,” he said with a crooked smile.


Commander Vanys gave Tinor a look, then fixed his gaze on Reng. “Tinor, you’re taking over. And you…” he pointed at Reng, “you’ve earned yourself a disciplinary strike. When we’re back on the line, I’ll collect on it. Got that?”


Reng just nodded, lowering his head.


“Now move. We don’t have all day,” Vanys added with a wave to the others.


As they continued down the corridor, Miko broke the silence. “You think we really screwed up? With the transmitter?”


“Bullshit,” Kamek snapped, though his voice lacked conviction. “We did exactly what they expect us to do. We should be grateful they didn’t pack that box with an explosive instead. We could all be lying in chunks right now.”


“But why a signal?” Reng wondered aloud — and judging by the way everyone looked at him, he wasn’t the only one thinking it.


“Maybe they just wanted to make sure we’re still playing by the book?” Kamek offered, hesitant.


“Or maybe that bastard,” Reng nodded at the prisoner, “knows something we don’t.”


The captive paled again as all eyes turned on him, but Vanys made the call to shut it down.


“That’s not our problem anymore. The prisoner and the transmitter are someone else’s concern now. That’s an order.”


Vanys’s command cut through their doubts for the moment. But Reng couldn’t let it go. The question of the signal lodged in his mind — and it wouldn’t go away.


That evening, most of them tried just about everything Sindar Lad had to offer. Drunk and exhausted, they ended up in the arms of half-naked girls who promised them relief from all their burdens. Reng didn’t turn them away. Their feigned desire was, for a moment, like balm on the wounds war had carved into his mind. For a little while, he felt free. He knew their affection was as fake as the illusion of freedom itself — but right then, he didn’t care. Anything that threatened the moment’s spell, he drowned in alcohol and a hit of leaf that sparked another craving for physical pleasure. A closed loop of lust, drink, and false hope.



As the night wore on, they slowly dropped off one by one. Vanys disappeared right after the bath — no surprise there. Astin passed out with his head on the table after just a few shots of anak. Tinor never returned after escorting the prisoner, and Reng figured he was probably catching up on lost sleep, hoping to rejoin them in the coming days. After all, he wasn’t exactly young anymore.


In the end, Reng was left lying on the road in the early morning, eyes fixed on the stars. He ignored Miny’s drunken shouting as he playfully jabbed at a limp Kamek. The noise of the world faded. Only the stars remained — unchanging, unlike the chaos below. He pressed his fingers to his wrist, where he still wore Ela’s bracelet. A small token of better times, and a reminder that a nearly normal world had once existed.


His thoughts drifted home. He pictured Karhen Rouz — quiet at night, bathed in the soft orange glow of lanterns. He remembered the voices of people stopping to chat, and the scent of home. Ela’s smile. Noel’s eternal grumbling. Ked’s sharp teasing. The aroma of freshly ground laghota, now stuck in his head.


But when he tried to carry that image into the present, it collapsed. Everything that had happened that day left a bitter aftertaste of hopelessness. The grime, the ruin, the death clinging to him felt like a weight dragging him under. He’d seen the wounded, the dead — and he had wounded and killed himself. But none of it was what he wanted. He had only ever wanted an ordinary life… but he couldn’t even remember what that looked like anymore.


Miny shouted something incoherent again, and Kamek snapped back with a crude curse. Reng quickly wiped his face, hoping Miny hadn’t noticed the tears that had just been running down his cheeks. By the whiptail, how quickly one’s perception of the world could shift. Just moments ago, he’d felt free — and now? Now he felt like a little boy, hiding his tears from ridicule.


And right then, he heard it. A sharp clicking sound overhead, followed by a high-pitched whine.


Reng froze. His breath caught. For a second, his whole body refused to move, even as his mind already understood what it meant. All thoughts of stars, home, and freedom vanished.


The stars are just an illusion, he realized.


War finds you everywhere.