A New Beginning

Reng, Sindar Lad Oasis

They all recognized the sound. They heard it daily as it flew overhead, but it always went further inland. Until now, Sindar Lad had been considered a safe haven—too distant and seemingly insignificant to be targeted. But Letras knew how to surprise, and right now, he was sending his explosive greeting straight at them.

Reng had barely been able to stand, drunk and weakened after a long night. But adrenaline shot through him like an icy shower, sobering him in an instant. The first blast shook the ground and made his bones vibrate. He didn’t try to get up—just rolled onto his side, covered his head, and hoped the explosion would land far enough away. Burning spongus, part of the artillery shelling, tended to consume everything in reach.

Red flames tore the sky apart, their heat so intense that even distant ground looked like it was burning. Reng trembled, fear clutching his throat, choked cries escaping his lips. When he dared lift his head, another blast showered the area with dirt and stones. He pressed himself back to the ground, breath ragged, heart pounding. And then… silence. Heavy. Suffocating. The kind that promised more terror.

“Get up, you idiot! We’ve got to get the hell out of here!”

Miny grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to his feet. Kamek was already pointing toward the tavern where they had left Astin. Reng looked in that direction. Nothing remained of the building but flaming wreckage, flames licking the sky, fed by the spongus. A few survivors stumbled around outside, confused. Dead bodies were scattered across the ground. Kamek ran toward the ruins, and Reng, despite Miny’s curses, followed.

Disoriented, ears ringing from the blasts, he could only hope Kamek knew what he was doing. They found Astin nearby. The impact of the first strike had probably snapped him out of his drunken haze, but the second had taken him down. He lay motionless, blood pouring from a shattered skull. Miny cursed while Kamek knelt beside him. The tension on his face quickly turned to relief.

“He’s just unconscious!” he shouted.

Kamek grabbed Astin under one arm and gestured for Reng to take the other. Reng hesitated, legs shaking, but finally obeyed. Together, they lifted him.

“We need to get underground!” Miny commanded, already heading for the nearest tunnel entrance.

Reng dragged Astin along, each step heavier than the last. Survivors rushed past them—wounded people, burned girls who had danced their sultry dances just hours ago. Cries and pain mingled with confusion and chaos. Reng felt his legs weakening, afraid he’d collapse right there.

“Don’t even think about it!” Miny saw it in his eyes and slapped him hard. “We keep moving, got it?”

Reng nodded, swallowing his shame and fear. This wasn’t the time to fall apart.

They finally made it underground, Astin slung between them. They stopped only when they were sure the rock above was thick enough to withstand the bombardment. All of them gasped for breath as the dust fell around them like a soft mist.

“Bastards!” Miny spat on the ground and punched the wall.

Kamek silently knelt by the motionless Astin to check on him. When he straightened, his face was clouded.

“I’m telling you, this wasn’t an accident,” he wiped blood from his face. He barely noticed his broken nose anymore, but his voice was heavy with unease.

“What wasn’t?” Reng asked, though a sinking feeling told him he didn’t want to hear the answer.

“The attack,” Kamek shouted over the sirens suddenly filling the tunnels. Flickering lights cast shifting shadows on their faces that gave Reng goosebumps.

“I’m telling you, that damn transmitter helped them find us!”

“Shit,” Miny cursed. “I said from the start we should’ve left that junk alone.”

They all looked at each other. Reng felt the doubts creep into his mind, the ones he’d tried to ignore.

“He kept saying that,” Reng whispered, his voice drowned by the howling sirens. Images swirled in his head—the prisoner’s desperate face, his hands reaching for the table with the transmitter, his voice, sharp and garbled, but full of urgency.

“He screamed, pointed… He tried to warn us,” he continued, louder now, as if speaking to himself.

Kamek and Miny turned toward him, their faces tight with confusion. “What are you talking about?” Kamek asked, not hearing him over the noise.

“The prisoner! He knew it was a trap. He was trying to warn us the whole time!” Reng shouted, standing frozen like a statue, his mind drowning in guilt. He could’ve stopped it—he only had to try and understand that man.

“There you are!”

The commander’s voice cracked through the noise like a whip.

Reng flinched and turned. Vanys stood in the shadows, face smeared with soot and blood soaking through a makeshift bandage on his arm. He looked almost like a ghost. But his eyes still burned with resolve. He was still the same commander. Wounded, but determined. At least for now.

When he saw Astin, he knelt beside him.

“He’s out cold, but alive,” Kamek assured him.

Vanys nodded, though his gaze was stern. “Has anyone seen Tinor?”

They all shook their heads. Tinor hadn’t joined their evening gathering, so it was entirely possible he was already out there, burned to ash. He probably missed the toast to a happy ending.

The commander inhaled, about to issue more orders, but before he could, a new sound drew their attention.

It started as a distant hum, but quickly grew louder until it seemed to vibrate through their bones. The rock around them trembled. Lights flickered like stuttering signals.

“What is that?” Reng whispered, though he didn’t want to hear the answer.

Vanys turned. His face—usually hard as steel—suddenly looked pale. His clenched jaw betrayed something Reng had never seen in him before. Fear.

“Horus units,” he said through gritted teeth.

“What?” Reng had no idea what the commander meant, but his tone froze him in place.

“They came in person,” Vanys growled.

Reng didn’t need to ask what that meant. The look in Vanys’s eyes said it all. Soon, even here in the cold tunnels of the abandoned mines, it would be hell.

“We need weapons,” the commander ordered. “We’re going hand to hand!”

Reng gasped, searching desperately for an answer. “What about Astin?” he cried, voice urgent, nearly breaking.

Vanys narrowed his eyes. His expression softened for a moment, then hardened again. “You need to get him one level down. There’s a medical bay. They’ll take care of him there. Then come back.”

“Alone? How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Reng’s voice cracked, growing weaker. He stared at Astin like he was hoping the boy would wake up and help him.

“You have to,” Vanys said firmly. His voice was calm, but there was something unrelenting in his eyes. “I need every hand upstairs that can hold a weapon. So you don’t have a choice.”

Reng bit down on his lip, eyes squeezed shut. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat. It wasn’t just fear. It was the crushing weight of responsibility. Astin’s body felt like a boulder. But when he opened his eyes again, he met the commander’s gaze.

He nodded—not with words, but with his eyes. He hoisted Astin up, his shoulders trembling under the boy’s weight, but his legs started moving. It was as if his body had found a strength his mind was still searching for.

At last, he found the infirmary. It appeared before him like a final refuge in a collapsing world. But it was no sanctuary—just a dark pit filled with groans and dying bodies. The wounded lay scattered across the floor, each of them battling a pain long left untended. From above came muffled gunfire and the occasional explosion, its force echoing through the stone.

He stumbled for the first time. His exhausted legs gave way, and he felt his knee slam into the ground—pain sharpened by the weight of the limp body over his shoulders. Astin slipped from his grip and hit the ground with a dull thud.

In that moment, Reng felt as though he’d dropped the last pieces of hope with him.

He clenched his teeth, trying to suppress the pain pulsing through his body. His forehead pressed to the cold floor as he desperately tried to silence the storm of thoughts in his mind. Then he looked at Astin and noticed thin trails of blood leaking from his ears and nose. He moved closer, but the instant his hand touched the boy’s cold face, he knew. It was over.

Astin had taken his last breath.

“Shit…” Reng stared at that still face, his own breath ragged and painful. He couldn’t understand it. Just moments ago he’d been breathing—and now...?

Everything blurred around him, like the world had drained of color. His heart thudded like it wanted to tear from his chest, and his throat burned with a sharp, choking ache.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice broken and thin. “I couldn’t do it…”

He wanted to get up, to move, to do anything. But he couldn’t. It was as if the tunnel itself refused to let him go. He didn’t even have the strength to rise.

His mind spiraled into a never-ending loop of regret. Just tonight, he’d been laughing at Miny’s stupid jokes, racing him to down shots of anak. He’d passed out with his head on the table, drunk and useless. If it hadn’t been for that dumb game, he might’ve escaped in time.

And now here he lay. Silent, broken, empty.

“What in the name of a muck-covered fanghead are you still doing here?”

Tinor’s voice boomed above him. The burly bearded man leaned down—and then fell silent for a moment when he saw Astin. He had to know, just by looking, that the boy was gone.

“I didn’t make it in time,” Reng mumbled.

“You can’t help him now. But you can help the ones up there,” Tinor growled.

His voice was hard, devoid of sympathy. He’d known too many boys who’d been breathing one moment and dead the next. That’s just how things worked here.

It was clear Reng hadn’t accepted it yet, so Tinor grabbed his arm without mercy and pulled him back to his feet.

“You hear me? We’ve got to go up!”

Reng nodded mechanically and let himself be pushed forward. Tinor led him through the dark corridors, and his iron grip and unrelenting pace finally forced Reng to think about what lay ahead.

The sounds of battle echoed through the tunnels, burrowing into his bones. Every gunshot, every blast, merged with the rhythm of his heartbeat.

It wasn’t the first time he’d fought—but every past enemy had been something he could match.

This time, he knew they were facing something else. Something he wasn’t ready for.

“Listen, Reng,” Tinor said, not slowing his stride. His voice was rough but carried a kind of urgency Reng had never heard before. “Now’s not the time to feel sorry for yourself or ask why. Every step forward is a win. That’s it.”

He stopped and crouched next to the body of a fallen defender. The man’s hand still clutched his weapon. Tinor pried it loose from the death-grip and shoved it into Reng’s hands.

“I… I don’t know if I can do this,” Reng admitted, his words lost in the wail of sirens. His head dropped, arms limp at his sides. His chest burned like he was breathing in hot coals with every gasp.

Tinor stepped closer, his face now only inches from Reng’s.

“Look at me,” he growled—not in anger, but in something harder. Something that didn’t ask, but demanded.

“Look at me!”

Reng lifted his head. Tinor’s hands clamped down on his shoulders, the grip solid as iron. His eyes were like anchors.

“None of us are sure. Everyone up there is scared. But they’re fighting. And you will too.”

“But I…” Reng began, but Tinor cut him off immediately.

“They’re not there because they want to be. They’re there because they have to. And you do too—and you can.”

The words stabbed through the fog that had been choking Reng’s mind. He closed his eyes, nodded. Then he gripped the weapon tighter and moved. One step at a time.

When they reached the mouth of the tunnel leading to the surface, the light of explosions flickered in strobe-like bursts. Defense squads had managed to set up at least some makeshift barricades to slow the enemy’s advance. But Reng couldn’t ignore how thinned out their numbers were.

He spotted Miny leaning wearily against a wall near the entrance to the mines. His face was smeared with blood and dust. He shook his head when he saw them.

“Where the hell have you been?” he snapped. “Valys took a hit just a while ago and Kamek was down in the first wave. It’s just a handful of us left that are still breathing!”

Reng froze. The words hit him square in the chest. More names. More people gone. He wanted to say something, but no words came.

“Don’t you dare fall apart on me now!” Tinor gripped his shoulder like a vice, then turned to Miny.

“What’s the situation? Anyone in charge?”

Miny wiped the blood from his brow and pointed toward the tunnel entrance.

“That guy from the Fifth Northern is still trying to hold things together. But there’s too many of ’em. Letras bastards are crawling out of every damn hole like scalefreaks. I think they know someone high up is tucked away down here—and they want their heads. And they’re close. Ammo’s running dry. Unless you’ve got a miracle in your pocket, we’re screwed.”

Tinor nodded and slapped Reng on the shoulder, making the weapon in his hands jump.

“Come on, kid. Let’s show ’em we’ve still got some balls left.”

Reng gave a heavy nod. His legs barely held him, but he moved.

The air above was thick, choked with the stench of death and scorched earth. Cries rang out all around—gunfire, blasts, chaos.

The enemy had numbers and tech on their side, but the defenders hadn’t given up.

Reng stepped over several fallen bodies and glanced toward the sky, where he saw massive machines moving in the smoke. Then it hit him—he was seeing the Horus units Valys had warned about. Flying death machines, pouring out more and more Letras troops.

“Only shoot if you’re sure you’ll hit. We have to conserve ammo.”

He nodded and found a spot with a good line of sight. He pushed aside a fallen defender’s body and took his place. Braced his weapon against the barricade and aimed. Fired. Aimed. Fired. No thinking. Reloaded. Fired again. Over and over.

He could hear enemy fire slamming into the barricade just inches from him, feel the sting of stone and dust chipping off the metal and concrete. He was lucky—so far. But he knew luck wouldn’t last.

Tinor ducked behind a nearby barricade as rounds zipped past. One ricocheted off a metal plate just beside his head, leaving a deep gouge.

“Damn, that bastard’s got shit aim,” Tinor muttered and smirked at Miny.

“Next time I’ll paint a target on my forehead—maybe then he’ll finally hit something.”

Miny looked at him with eyes full of fear and exhaustion.

“This isn’t a joke.”

The bearded man shrugged, reloaded.

“Of course it isn’t. But if you take it too seriously, you’ll crap yourself before they even shoot you. And that’s not exactly a noble way to go, right?”

Despite the banter, his face was grim when he peeked out from behind the barricade, narrowed his eyes, and fired.

He hit his target on the first shot—took down one Letras soldier across the clearing.

But they all knew more were coming.

The echoes of explosions and the stench of burnt spongus choked the air.

It was hard to register anything else in the chaos around him—but suddenly, Reng became alert. He heard a new sound. A rumble. Rhythmic. Deep. As if somewhere in the distance, a massive machine was marching.

At first, he wasn’t even sure he was hearing it. But the sound grew steadily louder. Defenders and attackers alike fell silent, only the groans of the wounded and the crackle of flames disturbing the strange hush.

The air thickened, clutching at every throat on the battlefield. Weapons sagged in the hands of soldiers, while all eyes turned toward the distance.

Reng blinked and stared into the clouds of smoke.

Something was coming.

From the smoke emerged silhouettes. At first only shapes—dark and indistinct—but with each step forward, they took on clearer form.

Dark armor, unlike anything Reng had ever seen, absorbed all light—as if they were the center of some endless darkness. Massive, seamless, every movement in perfect sync.

Each step, each motion, seemed part of a single flawless, inhuman organism.

The Letras squad closest to them hesitated. One man shouted something, but his words were swallowed by the distant thunder of war.

Before they could react, the first of the dark figures lunged at them.

In the next moment, they were torn apart.

One of the creatures flung a man aside like he weighed nothing, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud like a rag doll. Another tried to flee, but the dark shape reached him in a single leap.

It was more massacre than battle.

“What the hell are those things?” Miny yelled, eyes wide.

“No idea,” Tinor replied, his voice tight. He didn’t know what they were looking at either. “But if they’re beating the shit out of those bastards, I don’t give a damn. Right now, they’re on our side.”

Reng watched the scene, a blend of awe and horror twisting in his gut.

The warriors in black armor moved with terrifying grace. Precise. Swift. Unwavering.

They killed as if it took no effort. Like machines.

Relentless. Cold.

To them, the Letras forces were nothing more than obstacles to eliminate.

“These… these aren’t human,” Reng muttered, his voice lost among the explosions and distant screams.

Tinor glanced at him. “Maybe not,” he admitted. “But they’re covering our asses, so shut up and keep shooting!”

Reng gasped for breath, each inhalation burning like his lungs were filled with ash. The dust choked him, but still he forced himself to lift his weapon.

His fingers trembled on the trigger.

The sight of the dark figures filled him with a gnawing unease he couldn’t shake.

Maybe they were fighting with them now—but what would happen once all the Letras were dead?

Those things weren’t natural.

Maybe they were death itself, given form.

And maybe… once they were done, there’d be no one left to stop them.

Miny yelled at the others, snapping them out of their frozen trance:

“What are you waiting for? Fire everything you’ve got!”

His voice was full of renewed energy, laced with pure madness. He raised his weapon, aimed, and fired another burst at the Letras forces.

One went down, another ducked behind rubble.

“See? It works!” he shouted triumphantly.

But before he could fire again, a shot rang out.

Clean. Fast.

Miny’s body jerked back violently, as if someone had yanked him by a string and tossed him aside. He hit the ground hard, his weapon flying several meters away.

Reng saw him try to move. One hand scratched weakly at the dirt, reaching—maybe for his gun. A noise escaped his mouth—somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

Then his eyes closed.

***

He didn’t know how long he’d been out.

Time and space had no meaning.

The first thing he became aware of was darkness. Thick, impenetrable darkness pressing in from all sides.

He tried to move his hand, but it didn’t respond. His whole body was stiff and heavy, as if bound by invisible chains. The pain was everywhere—as if he’d been shattered into a thousand pieces, each one pulsing with its own private agony. His consciousness slowly returned, though he wished it hadn’t. Warm blood trickled down his forehead—he was injured, that much was clear. His head spun, and when he finally opened his eyes, he saw nothing but dimness and dust. He had been swallowed by complete emptiness—physical and mental.

“Tinor…?” he croaked, but his voice was so faint even he could barely hear it.

No answer.

Only his own echo fading into the deafening silence.

He tried to breathe, but a stabbing pain clutched his lungs, forcing a moan from him.

Every attempt to move was like wrestling an invisible enemy pinning him to the ground. He tried moving his legs—nothing. Panic surged. He desperately searched for any part of his body that would respond, but it was all in vain. He was trapped beneath the rubble, broken and helpless. Tears streamed down his face, unstoppable.

It wasn’t just the pain that crushed him.

It was helplessness.

Despair.

The realization that he would lie here, forgotten beneath layers of stone, while the world above moved on—without him.

Then came the cold. He felt strength drain from him. Sleep crept in, and he knew—if he closed his eyes now, he might never open them again. But he was so tired, so exhausted… All he had to do was let the darkness take him.

And then, in that moment, he saw a flash of light.

His eyes turned toward a narrow crack just above his head.

Something was there.

Someone.

His heart jumped.

Hope?

Rescue?

Then he saw them. Dark figures in impenetrable armor. The same ones he had watched on the battlefield just moments ago, spreading death.

“Is it help… or the end?” Reng dared to hope for a heartbeat when he saw a black-gloved hand reaching down toward him.

But then he noticed the movement—cold, precise.

No hesitation. No mercy. No humanity.

Terror closed around his throat.

“They’re not here to save me. They’re here to finish the job.”

Fingers touched his chest. It felt like death itself.

Unyielding. Icy. Empty.

“Help me,” he tried to scream—but no sound came.

Dust and darkness finally consumed him.

***

The people of Sindar Lad can look to tomorrow with pride!

A tomorrow that would not exist without the courage and determination of our new, unwavering defenders.

While the Letras horde cowardly struck deep into our homeland, hoping to deliver a crushing blow to our people, they were met with our unbreakable resolve to fight for a higher cause.

Though the price was steep, our heroes proved that sacrificing oneself for the future is the true mark of strength and devotion.

Every step forward, every shot fired, is a symbol of the hope that Prim brings to the world.

For our Modificants are not just protectors.

They are the backbone of our future!

Thanks to them, Prim stands stronger than ever, ready to face anyone who would threaten its unwavering dominance.

Prim remains the beacon of truth and hope.

Prim is eternal!

— Light of Truth Daily, article from the 8th of Zamlodní, Year 383 after the Awakening of the Werren