all quiet on the western front

"Mhm... That's a little... Complicated."

She finally starts to sip from her own mug, pausing to stare down in the warm liquid. Honestly, she hates hot drinks like this but she can't deny there's something soothing to them, though that may have more to do with the alcohol than the drink itself.

"I don't always have control over them. I've torched my fair share of towns, melted a few buildings, destroyed ways of life. Actually, this tent is fairly new because I destroyed my last one."

Despite saying this, she gets what he means to a certain extent. For all of that, she isn't glowing red hot the way he seems to be near glowing blue every second. She's not on edge, veins sparking to life at every sound like he is.

But there's no good tip for how she does what she does in regards to her own power. In fact, her way of handling it is just as unhealthy, if not worse.

"I live in constant fear of who I am and what I can do and that fear, a majority of the time, keeps me from being, well, myself, I guess. It's kind of a tiring existence, hating yourself and your powers as much as I do, and it can definitely keep you from moving forward. All I know how to do is bottle things up. Even that has a negative side-effect, though. Here-"

Fengari rolls up her sleeve and removes a worn leather glove. As soon as her skin makes contact with the cold hair, steam begins to form, and she extends her arm towards him, making sure not to touch him. She knows good and well she doesn't need to touch him for him to feel the heat radiating from her.

"See? My control comes with a cost all its own. I'm a walking furnace at all times. It's terrible, honestly. When I overheat for whatever reason, I can be down for the count for days because my body literally starts to burn itself from the inside out. Yeah, from the outside I look practiced and controlled, but it doesn't mean I'm actually managing it all well. It just means I'm good at lying."

He holds both hands out for a second to absorb some of the warmth he can feel rising off of her before realizing how that must look, or make her feel.

"Sorry, I️ just... I️ get cold kind of easy. The opposite problem."

He makes himself chuckle a little to try to prevent any sort of offense as he picks the mug back off the ground. Even though it's empty, it gives him something to do with his hands, something to keep his focus on.

Because something in his stomach drops when she starts talking about straight faces, pretending, lying. He understands that part of the equation well. And now somehow he feels even guiltier after hearing what feels like a confession, her openly and honestly sharing with him.

The fear still gnaws at him though, the drive for self preservation. It's stupid, he knows, because the fear and the extent to which he feels threatened now just thinking about it is enough to make his palms start to glow and tingle, spreading up the insides of his arms until he presses his nails hard into the insides of his palms, balls his fists up tight.

If his fears were to come true, if he were to be actually threatened in any sort of way, there's every likelihood that the general would need a new new tent, and maybe then some.

So he takes a deep breath to steady himself, keeps his eye contact with her limited as he speaks, focusing on his shoes instead.

"I️, uh... I️ wasn't completely honest with you. I️ really don't understand a lot about what happens to me, but I've known about it... I️... grew up at this, all I️ ever heard it called was the facility, and I️ never... I️ don't know which side it belonged to, and I️ just told you that because didn't want to go back, I️ can't. I️ won't go back."

It comes out in a long string peppered with pauses for him to clear his throat, like he's stumbling through a briar patch. But at the end he looks up at her and there's a snap, a bit of heat, of defiance in his eyes that says he'll do whatever he has to in order to back up that assertion.

Despite the edge at the end, he knows he looks like just another ragged civilian, sitting on the ground, covered in dirt, worked up after a traumatic experience and he can't do anything about that. The confession itself has him breathing shallowly, rapidly, and he can feel a hollow heartbeat in his stomach that reminds him of the bullet hole over his heart. That's a conversation for another time.

"Honestly... your friends were probably right, I'm probably just going to be an unnecessary risk. For you, for everyone here."

For the first time it dawns on him, and he can feel some of the color drain out of his face as he wonders if that had been true for Dakara and her family. If maybe he was the reason they'd come to her village finally. If maybe he was the one they'd been hunting there. If he was the one that had gotten them all killed.

He can feel pinpricking at his eyes, tears start to well up, but he goes back to chewing on the inside of his mouth, trying to direct that emotion elsewhere. It feels like an animal trying to swallow him whole, and if he wasn't here in front of her, trying to keep it together, he might let it.

She watches him closely for a long silent moment, watching his expression unravel bit by bit the longer he's left to think and brew over things.

"Here."

Leaning over, she pours the rest of what's left in her mug into his, clinking the metal together when she's done, sitting back up to give him his space again.

"I can't tell you what side of this war did that to you. I guess the wise thing would to be to lie and tell you the side I'm on, the Allies, would never do something so inhumane but... Here I am as proof of the opposite, so I'm sorry I couldn't give you an answer to that."

He seems hesitant to drink her portion, so she keeps her gaze away from him for a bit to let him decide what he wants to do and not pressure him by waiting and watching. He can pour it out or drink it, it won't bother her either way.

"But I decided to take you on and watch over you for a reason, you know? It may be selfish, but when I saw the lightning... I don't know, I guess it was nice to finally see someone else like me. That's incredibly insensitive to say after you've expressed your power confusing you and you have every right to be upset, but it doesn't really change my answer."

The more she works over her wording of all of this, the more she chews on her lips, and the dryer she can feel them become until they start to stick to her teeth and pick apart, but this is dangerous ground she's treading through.

Dangerous, selfish ground.

Not only does he deserve more just as a person, but her men and the entire army deserves more from her than biased curiosity, yet here she is talking to a livewire refugee in her own personal tent.

"If I didn't take you, someone else would have. Someone not as empathetic and understanding, and I've been in that boat before myself. It's more or less how I ended up here in the middle of a war zone. I guess I thought you deserved something more than that, but... Maybe that was flawed considering you're here in the war zone too, huh?"

A forced awkward laugh pushes past her lips to defuse the tension she feels setting in her own shoulders. It does little to help so she leans back in her chair, kicking the front legs off the ground, staring up at the tent of the ceiling, still trying to keep her smile steady.

"I guess this is the part I warned you about: The rambling. I don't get to hold a lot of conversations with people so you should probably just tell me to stop."

He peers into the cup for a moment, and he can't tell if she's being genuine or just trying to say whatever she can to make him feel comforted, to take away the edge, but either way, he can feel it working. Breathing is coming easier and his heart feels like it's starting to cool down after a long race.

"Rambling's okay. It's just nice to have someone to talk to. Who'll talk to me."

He shrugs in the most casual way he can muster, trying to shake off all those vulnerable feeling emotions, closing that moment and deciding to let it be over. He lifts the cup to his lips and downs the whole thing in one gulp.

His whole face contorts with a grimace first, then he coughs a little dryly after it goes down, and the cough mixes in with a clipped, shocked sounding laugh.

"You don't have a sweet tooth at all, do you?"

After he recovers from way more sugar than he expected, he looks into the cup and sees there's still some in mounds at the bottom, and it makes him want to laugh more. It makes him want to belly laugh for some reason, and he knows his emotions are on a hair trigger, and everything inside him is raw and ready to explode in reaction to anything.

But still, she's not what he had decided in his mind that she was going to be when he'd first seen her. She's far more accessible, far more human.

"In the spirit of being honest..."

He leans his head back and forth slowly, like he's still toying the idea of saying this even though he's already started his conversation.

"...nobody did this to me. I️ wasn't lying about not being a science experiment. I️ was born like this."

He hopes she doesn't press that subject, because that's all he knows. He has so few memories of anything before that place, so few pieces of reliable information about who he is, what his story is, that it's hard to trust any of it.

"They just took me away because... well, I️ was really little and I️ didn't understand, but looking back it probably was a containment thing, and then when they had me there, I️ guess the testing and the experimenting and charting and everything people like that do was just natural."

He waves it off with his hand like it was natural, when it had felt like anything but. He's got scars on top of scars, marks all over his body from all that harmless and natural pursuit of science. He'd tried to cover them up years after it was over to try and feel normal, but all the tattoos still did a poor job of making him forget, or even of making him look like that chapter of his life hadn't existed.

"I️ guess I️ don't have to explain that to you though, huh?"

He keeps his eyes trained down still, and some of the jitteriness he feels compels him to stick his finger in the mug, to scoop out some of the sugar and eat it despite his mocking of her just minutes before. Maybe now that it's not a shock to his system, his stomach is begging him for more of it, or anything. It's not like it's even that bad.

"Well, excuse me. Sugar is a rarity nowadays, especially on the battlefield. I'll remember not to share any with you next time. I'll just keep it to myself since I'm apparently the only one who will appreciate it properly."

She glances down at him, mockingly pouting. Who she's mocking is the real question. Him, herself, both of them, who knows, but she's putting on a little show of it.

"And after I spent half my last pay stipend to get this new bag and everything. You're kind of rude, aren't you?"

Well, show over, her face softens to a small smile as she watches him try to eat what's left in the cup anyways despite the complaint. It's probably more of a nervous little tick to calm himself down but the idea that none of it will be wasted makes her happy to an extent, even if she's not the one enjoying it.

"But, yes."

The moment can only last so long before she has to press on, answer his question, keep the conversation going. Honestly, she's fascinated by every part of it and she can't dare let it die right now. She's never had a chance to talk to someone else like her and never really spoken to anyone this candidly about herself either.

In reality, she should probably force him to sleep or go get food, but that will ruin the moment of honesty that's started which builds a childish determination deep within her to prevent that.

"Continuing that thought: I was born like this, too. Though, I think we still do have a major difference. Somehow, yours sounds natural, like lightning is in your genetics. I just hit the experimentation phase of things before I was even born, that's where the fire comes from. Honestly, if you learn to control it and work with it, you'll probably be far stronger than me and a far greater asset to... Well, an army, the world, who even knows."

She pauses but just briefly, just enough to think over what she said.

"Not that I would wish you to be used by an army, I didn't mean that at all. I more meant... I don't know, that you're valuable and you have tremendous potential. I've kinda run my course. They're looking to lead me out to pasture as we speak, but I'm not sure anyone could ever make that argument against you if you managed to figure it out."

"That's ridiculous and stupid and I'd like to see any of those wrinkly old bald guys sacrifice half as much or be even a quarter of how invested you seem in the people under you."

He can feel his face heating up, and at first it's anger, indignation, and then it's slight embarrassment at letting that much out. Now he has to quantify it somehow.

"I️ mean, nobody's going to treat any of them like that. It's not fair-and before you go thinking I'm naive, I️ can know how the world works and be upset that it's not better at the same time."

He finally sets the cup down, content that he's cleaned it out well enough, but also with a twinge of guilt over her giving it to him, knowing that despite her teasing, it probably is one of the few luxuries, things she has to look forward to in this life.

He can imagine, anyway.

He stares at the ground for a while, thinking about where she is, where he is. Where they'd both been. The place she says she must be headed.

"It's pretty messed up that the same people that can think you're this wonderful asset, or a some incredible prize, can turn around and treat you like mud on a boot, not even like a normal human being, and not think twice."

It's part of the reason he'd run away, he'd pretended and hid and made up stories. He didn't want to be looked at that way. He didn't want the fear and the disgust and the abuse. The awe it's tempered by has always seemed so ill placed and worthless to him. Like thin, paper words with no action to stand them up straight.

"Well, it's not worth much, because you met me like two hours ago and all, but I️ think you deserve a hell of a lot better. From all the crusty and pasty old guys and everyone else."

Her eyebrows raise in surprise at his tone and something about it... It feels like it puts pressure right on her heart. No, not on it, but around it, completely encompassing it, restricting the beats.

Somehow it feels... Good? She doesn't quite understand the sensation.

"Well, fair or not, those old men kind of own me so it's my lot in life, I guess. Work until you're useless then die on the job or get taken out back. If I deserved better, then I would get better, but maybe this is exactly what I deserve, or something."

Another stray gunshot pops off in the distance and she doesn't flinch until she hears a shout. Turning her head, she listens closely, eyes narrowed, lips pressed in a line, and she's suddenly not there with him anymore. The shouting continues for a minute or two before dying down and, once it does, she relaxes, releasing an audible sigh from holding her breath in suspense and concentration.

The moment past, she looks back at him with an apologetic smile, but it's the only acknowledgment she gives to the matter.

"But, you know, Shand..."

His name still feels odd on her lips, but, then again, she's only said it a handful of times, so she works to roll it intentionally, commit it to sounding common and natural to her.

"Whatever happened, you didn't deserve that. Whoever was with you deserved so much better than that, too. And you also deserve better than this."

She motions to the tent but it's obvious she means something far greater than that. She means the camp outside, the battlefield just outside their safety, the enemy city to the north, the blood on the ground, the experimentation, all of it encompassed with one simple gesture.

"If you would like, I can drop you and the rest of your group off in a town further away from the fighting? I won't make you stay with me forever, that was never the intent of my proposal. You just need to stick by me while you're traveling with us, but I would hate to see you around a place like this for too long. We can make a trip out in a week or so to take you all to safety, if that's what you would like. You have a right to that."

And he most certainly does. He has a right to choose, to pick what happens from here on out. God, if that's the only thing she can give him after everything he's just been through, then she can only pray it's enough. It's not a luxury she has but she's more than happy to gift it to others. But, for some reason, especially to him. Something, that same tight, constricting feeling pulls on her, compels her to think this way.

For the first time since they've started this conversation, he allows himself to watch her intently without looking down or looking away. There's something in her face, and he's searching it to try and place it, give it a name, but he's struggling to. But whatever it is, it gives him the boldness to keep on looking.

She talks about herself like she's nothing, and despite barely knowing him, she's talking about him like he's everything. It puts this strange feeling in his stomach that he thinks at first means he's uncomfortable, but then the longer it rolls around in him, the more it starts to feel like he doesn't want to let it go.

He gets that she probably sees herself in him, that there's some catharsis for her maybe in trying to save someone like her from the fate she ended up with. He tries to rationalize it and reason it off that way. Something in him still can't accept that, though. It feels like more.

At first, something in him jumps at the idea of getting out of here, of leaving this war in the dust and getting away from anyone and everyone who would want to send him back to that old cage, or fashion a new and worse one for him.

But that feeling of enthusiasm fades almost instantly. She looks back down at her hands after offering with this resigned look on her face, and Shand wonders that for everyone she wants to save, for everyone she cares so deeply for here, who's left that watches out for and cares for her?

That thought gnaws a hole in that same place in his stomach. Innocent people are dying in and because of this war, he knows that. That alone weighs heavily enough on him. Who is he to be so selfish about his freedom, his self perception, his use of his strange abilities, when they could mean life to people who might otherwise not keep theirs?

When it could mean that much for her. He keeps at that raw place inside his mouth until he tastes blood and then runs his tongue over his teeth to try and jolt him out of the mindless chewing.

"I️'m... I'm okay here. I'm kind of a mess but maybe... maybe I️ can help somehow."

He knows realistically that maybe he's saying it because he has nothing else left, he has nothing more to lose because it's all already been snatched away from him. But being in this tent with her just sitting her, exposing things to her that he never thought he'd tell another soul. It makes him feel like he does have something to lose, something to risk for, maybe.

"Like in some way other than insulting your height and eating your sugar and drinking your booze. Like maybe some way that's actually beneficial."

"Well, maybe earn a paycheck and buy me more sugar then you have yourself a deal."

At that, she laughs loudly for a moment. There's something to him, something witty but earnest that keeps pulling out this feeling and the longer it rests in her, the more she grows to like it. Is this what it's like just having open human interaction?

He's not talking down to her, mocking her, he's just carrying on as if he willingly walked into this tent with the sole purpose of speaking with her despite not knowing her and not even knowing what side of the war she's on in relation to his well-being.

The way he watches her, she's not a general, she's a person, and the intentionality of it, subconscious or conscious, brings a pink flush to her cheek as she continues to laugh.

When was the last time she's felt like this? Has she ever truly felt like this to begin with?

Suddenly, she notices how loud she's being so she covers her mouth quickly, looking around the tent a bit frantically, listening to make sure nothing has happened because of the noise she caused or to make sure no one is listening in. It throws some silence between the two of them but it's only momentarily. Taking a deep breath, she puts her hand back down, shaking her head to push out that quick uncharacteristic moment of joy.

"Well, if you ever change your mind, just let me know. I know that city right on the bay, what was it... Oh, Riv, that's right. Yes, Riv is probably the safest place you can currently be on this side of the continent and there are constantly ships going to and from other countries as shuttles that you could always use to get to safety."

The way she keeps pushing it makes it sound like she wants him to leave, she's acutely aware of that fact, so she adds:

"Not that I'm telling you to go, I'd love for you to stay here, talk with me more, I really would. I need someone to help me buy sugar and not get lost in crowds. I just don't want you to ever feel like you don't have a choice in all of this, that's all."

He keeps quiet for a moment, feels a smile creep sideways onto his face of its own volition, and he has to look down and smile stupidly at his feet. Somehow, over the last few minutes, the majority of the shakiness, the fear, the rawness has melted off him and he's left with the same feeling of waking up and stretching in the sunlight first thing in the morning.

Now that he's actually spent time talking to her, he realizes that the other two from before had been right. There's no way he could ever lose her in any kind of crowd. He feels it in the same way he knows that if he tried to hold his breath for too long, his brain would simply take back over and force the breath in and out of his lungs for him. Something natural, something he can count on without understanding fully.

"I️ think... I️ guess I've been avoiding making any choice about it my whole life. It's probably time for one."

He finally stretches his legs out in front of him on the ground, and after having them pulled into his chest for a while, they look strangely long even to him. The tiniest of yawns escapes out of him, and it's like until now, his body was even too tense for him to be able to tell he was this tired.

"Just don't stick me with needles or anything and I️ think it'll work out okay here."

He starts to smile again but another unintended yawn takes its place and he starts to feel his eyelids get heavy. He blinks, and it's longer than he means it to be.

Sure, he should sleep, but part of him is determined to avoid it as long as possible, knowing that rum-dosed tea is not enough to keep him from seeing the things does when he dreams. And the other part of him is enabling that decision, telling him it wouldn't be polite to just up and demand sleep now. Not when talking to her has been the only peace and comfort he's had since this whole ordeal began.

"Hey."

After a little sigh, she stands from her chair, stretching her arms over her head, still working to completely calm herself down from her small laughing fit.

"I know you don't want to sleep and I can only imagine why. But I really think you should. Putting it off isn't going to make things better, trust me."

It's sad she can't even listen to her own advice but if she can save him from picking up her bad habits then she'll devote however long they have together to doing so. As she's sure he's trying to think of any excuse possible, she walks over to her footlocker and pulls out a spare cot from inside, working to unpack it while on her way back to the stove.

She may keep her own bed as far from the fire as possible, but he just said he gets cold easily so it only makes sense to put him as close as he can safely be. He's still even trying to think of something to say as she quickly gets it up and ready, throwing one of the tough military pillows on it on a pass to look for some spare blankets.

There are four in the tent, two packed up and two on her bed, so she opts to grab three, the spares and one of her own, tossing them on his cot, nearly losing the metal legs and canvas support in the sheer amount of cloth now piled on it.

"I won't lie and say this night will be easy for you, but I would still try to get something out of it. You'll only be worse tomorrow if you don't even get an hour of sleep tonight."

He opens his mouth but she shakes her head, a sly little smile on her lips.

"General's orders."

The debate sealed and done, she moves back to her desk, slipping her hairband out of her hair so it can fall in waves down her back, a little kinked by being in the tight band so long and dull from dirt and dust, but it still manages to fall freely. She gathers her papers into a neat pile before blowing turning off the lamp, leaving the fireplace as the only light source.

There's a little panic that goes through her at the darkness, eyes straining to hold onto the light of the fire with every fiber of her being until she's seated on her bed, flicking on a tiny light by her pillow.

But now that she has a roommate, she has to try to not look like a child in need of a nightlight, so she slips out a book from under her cot and props herself up on her elbow like she's going to read until it's time to sleep.

He sighs a little bit once the light is out but he slips underneath all the blankets all the same, taking a moment to settle in and revel in the warmth, feel how it washes the last of the tension off him.

Not for much longer, though. Sleep is tugging at his eyelids, trying to seduce him into falling and it seems so good, so enticing, so right. He knows it isn't and it won't be, but just like every other night, he can't help but hope this one is different.

He couldn't rightfully argue with her and tell her that he's never been able to sleep well his whole life. It would just look like a poor, avoidant excuse in this situation. But he's never been able to close his eyes without seeing gore and dead things, and he knows this time will be even worse.

It is. He can't resist for long, and the momentary release, the relief he gets when he gives in and close his eyes is so short lived. The deception dies quickly.

He's standing there in the open field, the same one he always sees. It's always been littered with animal carcasses, torn apart and decaying, bones and bloating flesh and rotting, waste mucous membranes.

It's different this time. At the edge of the woods, when he looks into the sun-dappled clearing, there are still broken, bloodied, destroyed bodies. But instead of belonging to animals, they belong to humans.

He sees all the faces his unconscious mind had captured from before, the faces with the dead eyes and the slack mouths and haunting expressions frozen until taken over by rot. The dead eyes, the vacant stares.

Dakara is in the middle of them, her fingers stretched and reaching like she's trying to grab for him, interrupted in the middle of her attempts to pull him to her. At first, she looks so lifelike that he expects her to get up, to not be dead anymore, to walk toward him and laugh it all off.

Then, he watches the change take place on her face. In a matter of seconds, her skin yellows, greens, swells. Her eyes get glassier and glassier until they don't even resemble human eyes anymore. Eventually, they're gone altogether, hollow eye sockets staring blackness at him, accusing.

Maybe he could have done something to save her. If he knew how to control this, if he hadn't run away and avoided who he is his whole life. Maybe he would have known how to use it to keep her safe.

The rest of the corpses start to decompose at lightning speed, and the smell of death and rot takes over the entire field. It's enough to choke him, but he feels like he can't leave. He'd left Dakara alone, rotting in an unmarked grave full of strangers. He doesn't even know where she is now. He'll never be able to get back to where she is again.

But as he watches, feels like he needs to watch to make up for his sins, worms start to crawl out of the places her eyes had been, out of the gaping hole left as her lips have rotted away.

He sits straight up on the cot and its squeaks and creaks and protests under him. His breath is so fast his lungs can barely keep up and it feels like he's not getting any air at all.

He pulls the collar of his shirt over his mouth, trying to muffle the sound of his gasping and some of the dry heaving that follows. Once he collects himself, he takes a moment to glance around, to make sure he hasn't woken her up.

He can't see well in the darkness of the corner her bed is in, but he doesn't hear anything and he can't see her stirring. So he just pulls his knees up to his chest again and sits, wraps the blankets around his shoulders and tries to keep from falling asleep again.

You killed us.

No. No, that’s wrong.

But is it?

Her boots trample across stained grass as she runs. And does she run. She runs as fast as her legs can go, as far as they can carry her.

But no matter the speed, no matter the distance, the voices keep up with her. The pull at her with a force that’s nearly tangible. It consumes her mind so much that she trips in her escape, landing face first onto the scorched earth.

When she lifts her head from the dirt, a decaying face greets her and for the first time in her life she can feel the warm heat of fire flicker away from her for a brief moment, leaving a chill that churns her stomach over until it’s forced to spill over. The bile burns her throat, stings her lips, leaves her coughing as she sits up.

She recognizes that uniform, it’s one of hers, one of her men who she remembers used to carry a picture of his pregnant wife around in his pocket with him every day, who used to always gush about their family’s future. A future he’s never going to see in a world where he no longer exists other than here on the ground, worms eating through his hollow cheeks.

It’s so much more than that, though. As she finally surveys what’s around her, she sees countless bodies, Allies and Axis alike, all surrounding her, lifeless faces turned towards her, glassy eyes staring unblinking, accusing.

They can’t move to point their fingers but it’s obvious where their ghosts place the blame.

She wants to scream out and tell them to stop, tell them it’s not her fault, tell them the smoke rising in the sky blackening out the sun isn’t from her, that she never wanted any of them to die, but the stench pulls at her again. Lifting her hand, she places it over her mouth only to be greeted by a slick sensation, metallic taste, and awful smell.

Blood drips from her hand and now from her lips and chin, dripping constantly onto the ground until it begins to cover the dirt and bodies like rising water. Though shaky, she attempts to stand but it’s fruitless. Half rotten arms shoot out from the blood and latch onto her body in any place they can, pulling her under and they drag her down into a thick crimson ocean.

Despite her best efforts to fight, they pull her deeper, pull her to the point the pressure starts cracking her bones, straining her muscles, take her nearly beyond the point of light, pressing her back to the floor where an unknowable amount of dog tags rest under her in place of sand.

The hands hold her still as a nightmarish creature appears to float above her, composed entirely of stitched together body parts in a pulsating mound of flesh. It takes itsof it’s limbs and presses them into her face, forcing her jaw open, forcing the blood around her to go rushing into her lungs, burning her hotter than any fire she could ever create.

As she struggles to breathe, its face shifts from one person to the next, some she knew well, some she barely met, most that are dead, some that are still alive, and each taunts her just the same as they take turns watching her face change hues at the lack of oxygen.

Her entire body feels like it’s about to implode and explode all at the same time. The voices continue to speak but now she can hear missiles erupting over the surface above, sending scrap metal down into the liquid below, showering her grave with shrapnel, many metal pieces making contact with her body, slicing her, stabbing her, impaling her further to the dog tag floor.

Everything is loud and everything is dark, there’s panic like she’s never known. She’s alone with her ghosts, with her sins. No matter how hard she tries to call out for any mercy, no words form, all she can do is choke on the blood she’s spilled.

Eyes rolling back, she prays this is the end.

But it never is.

Gasping, she turns over and over in her bed again and again, the cot whining in protest against her violent movements. Her heart is beating wildly, pounding sweat out through every single pore she has, her eyes sting but she’s afraid to open them.

All she can do is pant and chew on her lip, hold back some sobs, grip the fabric over her chest. Even the light blanket over her feels too heavy and it makes her whine fearfully under it, too exhausted to even move its perceived threat from off her body.

“I didn’t-“

She can hear her own voice finally but it sounds still so distant like she’s hearing someone else beg for help, beg for grace and eternal salvation from this torment.

It’s hard to swallow back her own saliva and it’s hard to get air through her swollen throat, not to mention the pounding in her head. The world is hot and on fire yet it refuses to burn her completely, happy to damn her forever.

Shand has been wrestling with his tired but sleepless brain for a while when he hears her cot start to creak under her. It’s soft at first, as if she’s just peacefully rolling over in her sleep. But t doesn’t stop, it intensifies, and she’s tossing and turning and mumbling and moaning and Shand feels frozen watching it.

He gives it a few more seconds, rubbing his own eyes and wiping some of the cold sweat off his forehead with his sleeve as her mumbles start to sound more like pleads and cries.

When things take that turn, when he hears the sound of sobs take over her tone, he slips from beneath the blankets without much intentional thought behind his movements or his intentions.

Her bed is in such a dark, cold corner, and he knows she can’t be too close to the stove, but it feels more sinister than drafty the way the shadows play on the canvas walls and the shots echo off into the night from the blackness of this corner.

She’s still flipping over and then back again, her fists clenched, her face grimaced. He sits on the edge of the bed, and before she can turn back over again, he lets his hand rest gently on her shoulder. Another yawn slips out of him, and he rubs his eyes some more.

“Hey. Hey, Fengari?”

She doesn’t answer but she doesn’t toss violently either.

“Hey, its just a Dream. Wake up.”

He shakes her a little more firmly, and he can’t see her face the way she’s angled away from him, but he feels her startle under his hand and then gasp, like she’s figuring out where she is, why he’s sitting over her.

She stays still like she expects him to leave now that she’s awake, but he just blinks slowly, stretches a bit, and lets his hand rest in top of where he sees hers laying against the blanket. Even in the darkness, her skin is like porcelain.

She stays still for a bit longer, probably trying to figure out what he’s doing as he continues to sit, pulls his legs up to sit cross legged on her bed beside her, his hand on top of hers.

“Its okay. They’re not real.”

There's something warm beside her, speaking to her, barely audible over the gunshots, over the voices, the sound of blood rushing around her. It's foreign and the tone of it seems out of place.

Across the room, the fire in the stove crackles back to life seemingly on its own, hissing against the old embers, sparks of little flames shooting out as it starts building itself up again, flames licking out the front door.

This voice isn't in her dream. It's pulled her away, back to reality, back to listen to her shallow breathing, to feeling something else on her cot with her, pressing over her hand. Her head still pounds, she can't think straight, but fear floods up in her in place of the blood she was forced to drink.

She sits up abruptly, pulling back, hand covering her face igniting in mere seconds to shield herself from whatever potential threat she is imagining looming over her. It's not exactly an offensive position, much more defensive and protective, hiding behind her flames like a shield ready to guard against an attack.

But an attack never comes, coaxing her to lower her arm just enough to peer over the fire at the rest of her cot. The red color given off by the flames dance across a man's face. He seems shocked, afraid, leaning back from her and the sudden heat.

Fengari lowers her arm the rest of the way over her lap, fire blowing out, frantically looking over the form where she can see it in the darkness. Even she can tell how wide they are, how dilated her pupils are, how sweaty and messy her hair is.

"I didn't... I didn't want..."

And then it hits her just how much everything around her is spinning as the last bits of pleas slip out through her raspy breaths. Nothing feels stationary and she swears she can still taste blood in her mouth, turning her stomach into knot after knot. The bile threatens to rise and the world starts becoming even darker as the edges of her vision start to black out.

Almost worst of all is the pressure she still feels and it shoves her back down on the bed with a groan, muscles twitching under the invisible strain of it. Her skin crawls and it feels like those hands, their nails, are still sinking into her skin, crawling through her, piercing her down, ripping a strong shudder through her that eventually rolls into a whine.

"I told you that you should have stayed in a different tent."

She has to close her eyes or she's afraid she'll actually pass out right here and now. Pressing her hands over her face, she bites her lip, chest still trying to heave as her body works to form more sobs that she tries to fight against, but she can feel the immense amount of tears pressed into her palms now and it makes it more difficult to do than expected.

How close she came to nearly burning him instinctually sends a new wave of guilt and pain through her veins, her heart beating fast, propelling the heat through ever part of her. All she wants is to kick the blanket off of her but, at this point, it's probably protecting him from her at this point, so she forces herself to now fling it off, to remember that it's containing her, weighing on her, for a good reason.

He leans back slightly to give her some space, wishing he'd had more control of his expressions when she'd lit up the room.

"I️ didn't mean to startle you, I'm sorry."

The heat is radiating off her and he can feel it on his face even though he's trying to lean back. When he sits up normally again, his knee brushes by her leg underneath the blanket, and she's shaking ever so slightly.

His heart drops to his stomach. He knows how this goes. The sleepless nights, the tossing and turning and wishing for something, even death, to come and shorten the night and take away the dreams. How nothing ever saves him from them.

There's this warmth flooding into his chest and it doesn't have to do with her body heat, but he doesn't know where it's coming from. It feels strange, like it's pulling at him, making him feel every beat of his heart and take note of every way her exhausted body shakes and strains with exhaustion.

He doesn't mean to, he doesn't even know what's happening. But at the same time he lifts his hand to gently touch her knee, his hand starts to glow, a soft, warm tinted light that eats up the shadows instantly, brightens both their faces.

Before he can really notice or understand what's going on, his hand rests over her knee. Even through the blanket, there's a slight hiss and the heat and the light come into contact. At first it makes him jolt slightly, but then he realizes it doesn't hurt. In fact, there's this gentle vibrating coming from his hand, so soft that it almost feels like a hum or a note of a song he doesn't know.

For a split second, the heat fades. He can feel some of the tension in her muscles drain, feels the limpness left in her body as she stops shaking. She pulls her hands from her face to stare at him, but he's just looking down at his hand on her knee, trying to figure out what's going on.

Because he feels calm. Peaceful. Something about the way the room is glowing around them, the way his hand isn't quite warm, but isn't quite cold. The atmosphere around her is calming, too. There's a little bit of a breeze, from where he couldn't even say, but it pulls slightly as the hair that's fallen down into his eyes, and she closes her for the slightest moment, feeling it blow across her face.

When he looks back up from his hand, the glow has gotten brighter, and now the light has spread across his whole body, glowing from under his shirt and across both arms and he can feel the slight vibration of it flowing up his neck like the slow meander of a forest creek.

He doesn't know what he's doing, he doesn't know what's happening. He wants to say it to her, to assure her that he doesn't know how to make it stop or what happens next. But something about the feeling in his brain as the electric current reaches up toward it won't let him speak, almost like it's whispering shhhhhhh right into his ear, and he nearly cringes at the slight tickle despite the fact that he'd heard nothing audibly.

She starts sitting up slowly, wiping her face with the back of her hands, watching him, watching his hand on her knee, her breath starting to come more deeply and regularly.

It's in this moment that she realizes he's not like her at all. Watching the glow, keeping an eye on his hand, feeling the instant shift in the air, she knows they're two completely different beings, she had only been ignorant to the fact earlier.

Her fire torments and burns everything in its path, including herself. Nothing is safe and there's always fear. As long as she's alive, that ocean of blood with grow, expand, envelope her more until there's nothing left. That's all there is to her. No upside to who she is as a person.

And, in a selfish way, she had thought he was exactly the same. The moment that bolt came down, the moment she saw it had come from a person, she thought she wasn't alone in this world.

But she was wrong. Yes, he has some unknown electric power inside of him but it doesn't stop there, it goes deeper. He has something else inside of him that's peaceful and healing, bright and amazing. He could destroy if he wanted but it feels like he could create if he wanted and just as easily.

He's so different than she is. He doesn't belong in this war, he doesn't belong in army tents outside a battlefield, he belongs somewhere calm where he can figure out this hidden side to himself, where people see it and realize how valuable of a person he is for it.

Shand can live whatever life he chooses after the war, unlike her. There's no rehabilitation for a one-trick weapon back into society. But there's hope for him and a new feeling takes hold of her, one she, yet again, doesn't understand. It's a desire to see him through to that end, to force him to grab on to that hope at any cost.

Society needs him, it could give or take her.

"You... How-?"

For the first time, probably since he's walked into camp, her eyes flick up to intentionally meet his, wide and curious, trying to figure him out at the same time she figures this feeling out.

"That's amazing."

"I️... I️ don't know..."

He feels unsure, doesn't know if he should move, if he should stay this way, what's going to happen when that glow reaches up through the top of his neck, takes over all of him. He swallows slowly, and he can even feel the vibration of it in his throat, like the frequency is moving through him like a telephone wire.

A shiver runs down his spine despite the fact that the longer his hand rests on her knee, the more the temperature in the room evens out, hovers at the most comfortable spot between warm and cold. The hand not touching her is starting to shake, and he pulls his fingers into a fist to try and stop it. Maybe nothing bad is happening now, but the terrifying thing is, and always has been, that he doesn't know what could flip that switch at any moment.

The shaking gets more intense, almost feeling violent and his shoulders are tensed against it, his eyes pressing closed. This must be it, the breaking point. He can feel the vibration crawl up the back of his skull, wrap around his head, and his vision starts to shake.

His eyes are glowing. He can't see them, but the way the light on her face suddenly intensifies so much that she has to squint and tilt her head away. He knows.

He jerks his hand back from her and tries to push himself away, but the second his fingers are no longer touching her, there's a gust of wind in the room. It's so strong that Shand's not even sure it should be called wind. The force is incredible, and it blows all his hair back, makes him close his eyes. But it only last for a second, comes and goes, snuffs out the light from the stove in a heartbeat, and when it leaves, his glow goes with it, leaving them both sitting in total darkness.

He can feel her start to tremble again, hears her swallow back and he wonders if she's afraid... afraid of the dark? His hand is still trembling a bit too but he reaches for hers immediately and grabs it, holds it.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I️ don't know... Sorry."

He keeps mumbling apologies as he grips her hand tight, holds it until her fingers relax a bit, grip his hand in return.

"No, no, stop, you don't have to apologize. It's fine."

Her words would be more convincing if her voice would stop trembling, even she doesn't believe herself hearing the terror threatening to spill over.

She can't see a thing, there's no light in the tent anymore and the world outside is nearly as dark with the clouds covering the moon. It's a terrible setting to be thrust into after a terrible nightmare. Nothing feels right and everything is off, she can't even believe she's gripping this near stranger's hand as tightly as she is.

Some general she is. Maybe all the comments about her frailty have some truth to them after all. Try to deny it all she wants, this moment really just seems to prove them right.

There's actual blood in her mouth now from chewing her lip in worry and it makes her want to run out, find the nearest bath tent and empty her stomach when each drop reminds her of the hellish scene she was just forced to see.

"I can't do- I hate-This, dark..."

If she wasn't in her own head she would have no clue what she was trying to say. Her free hand frantically feels around for the light she usually keeps close by but she must have knocked it off while sleeping because it's not in the usual spot. It makes her fingers grip him tighter each second that goes by without any relief.

Eventually, she gives up, holding her free hand up, palm facing upwards in a cupped shape, a small fire sparking to life in a puff.

"... No... No fear of the dark jokes either, please."

She laughs awkwardly but it's obvious she's serious by the pitiful, ashamed cracking to her voice, but even worse is how wet she can feel her face is with tears and sweat as the fire heats up the leftover water on her cheeks.

It's too late to save face now, though.

"None of those from me."

Shand holds his free hand up innocently, offering a slight smile as the fire from her hand flickers shadows across both their faces.

She's trying to recover from whatever it was that had her tossing and turning, and Shand can imagine sleeping is the easiest thing for her to do either. Her face looks ashen, bled dry, but her lip is bleeding.

"Oh, hey, let me-"

He takes the cleanest part of the hem of his sleeve and starts slowly toward her face, moving gently so as not to startle her even more. He dabs a bit, wipes in soft brushes across her bottom lip.

Halfway through, he stops looking at her lip. His eyes find their way up to hers and for some reason, she's looking at his, too. He forgets for a moment that he should feel bashful, should look down out of respect, or at least stop acting so bold.

But... it doesn't feel bold in any negative way. He feels... a strange mixture of curiosity and magnetism, like his eyes are just figuring out that it feels natural to stare into hers like this, protocol and respect be dammed.

His mind feels blank, but there's heat creeping up his neck that makes him swallow hard and blink when he realizes he's forgotten to. He knows he's just met her, but he can't imagine why anyone would hate her, would treat her second rate or worse.

Her eyes are the brightest blue he's ever seen. And before he realizes it, his shoulders aren't tensed anymore, and he's slumped a little as the calmness starts to melt its way across his back and he starts to feel a bit more relaxed again.

Her eyelids look heavy too, the kind that says she wants to sleep, probably needs it, but won't be getting any kind of helpful rest anytime soon. God, if there's anything he can relate to.

He looks down finally, starting to feel awkward just staring at her without having any words to offer. He focused instead on her hand in his. She's a general and she's powerful and strong and capable, but her hand is so small in his. She feels so breakable. He wonders how often she's afraid. How often she wants to scream and cry and hide, how often she grits her teeth and puts everyone else before her.

He already knows, just from talking to her, from watching her, that it's always the latter.

He's biting on the inside of his mouth again, and he opens it to stop himself, not really sure of what he's going to say, knowing that half of what he wants to say is probably from sleep deprivation, and even if it isn't, there's still politeness to consider. After all, they just met.

"I'm... not really gonna sleep, I️ can stay... or I️ can go back over there, whatever you want. I️ just. Nighttime... is kind of a bad time to be alone."

The only thing that follows his question is the sound of their breathing as they continue to stare in some sort of trance of awe and wonder, almost like she hadn't heard him in the first place.

But she had. It's why she stares so long and why her breathing starts to sound a little labored again.

"I..."

Is this one of those times she had been thinking about earlier? One of those times where some man comes waltzing in and thinks she's an interesting little piece to claim? What is he looking for, what is his angle?

He's either here to have a good night and go back to whoever he knows to brag or he's here to snuff out one of the Allied Forces' generals.

At least, that's her first thought, what the logical part of her brain tells her. She should pull back, order him away, threaten him if he doesn't take the hint. She's done it before. God only knows how many times Lev had snuck into her tent when they were both simple foot-soldiers in the same troop, either to hide and take a peep at her changing or to try something. Thankfully he never got far but... Is that what this is? Her mind keeps trying to convince itself that it is.

Yet something deeper, something less rational, more prone to ignoring warning signs and her past experiences, what she knows of most men, tells her that isn't and can't be the entire truth. As foolish as it is, she feels calm with him sitting next to her, at ease.

Feelings are fleeting and dangerous, but this one is so welcoming and maybe it's the sleep still hanging over her mind or the other multiple sudden feelings she's experienced lately confusing her, but she keeps his hand in hers, giving a tired little nod.

"Nighttime is absolutely the worst time to be alone."

She smiles at him, a little sleepily, trying to think past the heat rising to her face at how intently he stares. She's not some schoolgirl, but she'd have a hard time fooling anyone right now.

It confuses her even more as she starts to note that it isn't a bad feeling in the slightest.

Shand doesn't even realize he's falling asleep until he blinks his eyes open slowly, pulls his shoulders into a stretch.

He's curled up on the edge of a cot in the fetal position, one arm thrown over his head, the closest thing to comfortable he knows how to get. The faintest rays of the earliest morning sun are filtering through the small slit in the tent flap, and from the bits of dappled sunlight, he can see the blanket he's laying on top of move, pull underneath him slightly.

When he turns his head, there she is. Stretched out under her blanket, eyes closed, her face peaceful. It takes him a few moments to realize her arm is stretched toward him and his toward her, their hands still grasping each other.

He inhales deeply, stifles a yawn, tries to be as quiet as possible and keeps his movements slow and few. The shots that had sounded long into the night have quieted now, and he can even hear a few birds calling as they fly overhead, wing fluttering and beating.

He shouldn't feel this calm, this peaceful. He remembers what's brought him here, that all of a sudden he's in the middle of this war he never wanted anything to do with. But here he is, letting his eyelids slip closed again and snuggling down into the blanket under him, trying to hold onto this comfort as long as possible.

"What do you think you're doing, pipsqueak?!"

A loud voice booms, echoing through the tent and much of the surrounding camp, jolting both Fengari and Shand awake. By the time her mind catches up with being so suddenly awakened, it's too late.

The built brother from yesterday grips Shand's neck, picking him up clear off the cot, dangling him in the air, which is no small feat considering how tall Shand is, but the man doesn't seem to be struggling.

"No- Kael- Stop!"

Fengari flings the blanket off of her right onto the group, jumping up off the cot. A different form, the other brother, blocks her path, glaring at Shand, arm out protectively to block the General off.

"Don't worry, we'll take care of this."

"Not you, too, Rowan. I said-"

But they don't listen. Kael shakes Shand up in the air, listing off all the ways he can't wait to punch his skull in. Rowan takes to a more interrogation role between the two, demanding answers from Shand, though he rolls from one question to the next too quickly to allow time to answer.

"You know what we ought to do? We ought to hang you up on the flagpole in camp and let people throw stuff at you before we let the enemy snipers have their turn."

Kael seems serious, even more so when he turns to walk towards the flaps of the tent to leave.

"Humiliating her... Do you even know who she is or did you grow up in a barn? She is the General Estenor. What are you in comparison, huh? Did you have fun last night little 'refugee?' Get your fill? It'll be the last good night you'll ever have."

Rowan eggs his brother own, following him towards the opening like they're about to lead some parade through camp.

They don't make it too far, though.

Hands find a solid grip on the back of their collars, startling them enough to stop, glancing over their shoulders. Fengar floats several feet off the ground so that she's taller that all three men, wind whipping around her, blowing things in the tent wildly, billowing and puffing the tent itself up like a balloon about to pop.

Something on their faces says they know what's coming and don't stop her as she yanks them both back flinging them down on the ground and they both groan as the air forces right out their lungs, Kael finally letting go of Shand's neck.

"He didn't humiliate me, you idiots! I can handle myself, you really think I'd let someone take advantage of me? Really?"

Despite knocking all of them down, she still floats over them, hair twisting and turning with the neverending gusts, eyes glowing just a little under the shadow of her face and hair.

Not to say she faults them. Their concern... It was the same thing she thought about and irrationally pushed to the side last night as he sat there holding her hand. It could have all ended badly. But that also isn't to say she couldn't have held her own and fought off any weird move or life-threatening attempt on her own, either.

In reality, they're probably reacting more suitably than she had.

"Then what was that about?"

As Shand tries to roll away, Kael slams his hand down on Shand's back to keep him pinned, force him to sit and take whatever punishment may be coming, or at least sit and patiently wait for this to get sorted out.

"We... Fell asleep talking. That's all."

There's no way she's about to tell them that she's still afraid of the dark after having spent her entire time knowing them convincing them that she had outgrown that childish fear.

"On your cot?"

But the answer doesn't make things better, Rowan's furrowed brow says as much.

"W-Well, we didn't plan it that way! It just kind of happened- Not- Not 'it' like what you're thinking. Listen, I don't have to explain myself to you. You just have to trust me when I say nothing happened, alright?"

Shand is still trying to catch his breath, wheezing a little, still attempting every now and then to wiggle away despite knowing that he does not have the upper hand here. Part of him thinks now would be a good time to start all that glowing nonsense and maybe strike some fear into them with a little lightning, but that's out of his control and anyway, he doubts the general would appreciate that.

"God, I'm sorry- very very sorry."

His voice is a little crackly sounding, breaking as it tries to find its way back to normal after the intense pressure on his neck.

It takes him a few moments to register it, to realize, but his shoulder and back are starting to ache, to throb incessantly where Kael is pressing down onto him like Fengari's life depends on it. Shand cringes a bit when he starts to feel a bit of warmth pooling into the fabric of his shirt around the bullet hole.

Still, he can't help murmuring into the ground.

"What you guys just did would seem to be the more humiliating thing in my book, but that's just me-"

The hardest part of Kael's palm grinds harder into Shand's back and he sucks in air.

"Fine, fine, I'm shutting up."

The thought fleets through his mind that if they'd react so strongly to just seeing him on her bed, then what's stopping them or anyone else in this camp from hauling him back to the facility the second he makes the least bit of trouble, the second he starts to annoy anyone. Maybe shutting up on a more permanent basis wouldn't be a bad idea.

An implausible and unfeasible one, but not a bad one. He goes back to chewing on the inside of his mouth to distract himself from the pain and from the worry, but also from the intense and scolding expression that Fengari is still beaming in his general direction. Her earning this rank, that seems to fit now.

He knows he's just decided it would be better for him to stay silent, but much like with his special abilities, he doesn't always have the best control over his mouth, either.

"Can... can I️ get up, or- this is where I️ live now?"

"Shand."

Fengari sighs, reaching up to rub her temples. She's trying to defuse the situation yet here he goes opening his mouth-

"Oh? No, I think the dirt is right where you belong."

Kael lifts his hand for a brief moment just to send it crashing back down between Shand's shoulder blades, smirking at the cough it forces out of him.

"Hey, hey, hey, we don't treat people like that, especially innocent ones! I told you he didn't try anything."

Gliding over, she kicks Kael's large arm away, but he takes the moment to grab her ankle pull her to stand back on the ground, suddenly pouting like a spoiled child.

"What- Don't look at me like that! You two started this!"

"Here we came to wake you up and tell you that breakfast was ready but instead we find a stranger in your bed and you're so infatuated with him that you're defending him."

Her eyes snap to glare at Rowan who is pouting just like his brother. In moments like this, despite their different builds, it's easier to tell that they're twins, their expressions near identical.

"God above, what is wrong with you two?"

At this point, her face is flushed, mind catching up with all the comments and suggestions about what happened last night between the two tucked away in this tent, but she's still refusing to give in and acknowledge the heat rising more than usual.

"We just don't like him. Why did he think he could sleep with you? He's too bold."

"He's probably a pervert. Some sort of womanizer or something. God, look at the height difference between the two of you, maybe he's into stuff like that."

"Oh, gross, you some sort of sick power player? Is that it?"

Things lighten just a bit as they're no longer threatening Shand's life, but they're not exactly speaking fondly of him either, throwing accusations down at him with their glares.

"You two have to stop."