The hum of the engines steadied the jet, but inside Elira everything churned.
Brakka's words from before lingered like splinters beneath her skin—"You're a shitty leader."He hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't insulted her intelligence or her strength. He'd simply looked at her with that cold, infuriatingly clear gaze and said it as if reciting a fact.
And then, moments ago, she just… watched him trade insults with Vranos on the launch platform.
She could have stepped between them.
She should have.
But she didn't.She stood there, expression impassive, waiting for someone else—Dray, fate, circumstance—to break it up for her.
Her fingers twisted together on her lap. Why didn't I move? Was she afraid it would escalate? Or afraid Brakka was right—that she had no authority, no presence, no purpose to wield?
Leadership wasn't just giving orders in the field. Anyone could do that, even Vranos on one of his rare sober days.
Leadership was stepping forward.
And she… hadn't.
Elira closed her eyes.
She needed clarity.She needed quiet.She needed to not feel like she was drowning under expectations of cores and destinies and scientist's disappointment.
So she did what she always did when the noise became too much.
She meditated.
Her breathing slowed.
Her vision blurred.
And the metal walls of the jet melted away.
Grass. Endless, wild grass brushed her ankles. Wind whispered around her like a mother's lullaby. The sky was a brilliant blue, unmarred by drones or satellites or burnt clouds.
She was barefoot. Light. Whole.
An elf.
A creature of myth and forests and freedom—not a synthetic life form forged in a lab to fight a war she never asked for.
The dream always began the same way:She sprinted between ancient trees, hair brushing against leaves that shimmered like emerald fire. She laughed—really laughed—because in this world she wasn't watched, wasn't controlled, wasn't evaluated for progress bars or awakening percentages.
Behind her trotted a massive wolf, silver-furred and eternally annoyed, muttering about her recklessness.
Fenrir.Even as a figment, he was protective, exasperated, loyal.
To her right waddled a stocky dwarf with an oversized wrench, beard braided unevenly because he always forgot to finish it. His name shifted every dream—Brakka, Brokkar, Breg—but his personality remained the same: genius, irritable, muttering that her magic always broke his machines.
And beside her, in a swirl of crimson silk, a smirking vampire glided through shadows, flirting with anyone and everything except her. Because in her fantasy, even he knew not to cross the wolf's temper.
They were a strange family.
But they were hers.
And she loved them.
But as she ran through her conjured paradise, the thought that always found her crept in again:
What is my purpose?
To serve humanity?
To rebuild a world that kept her in chains?
To obey Dray, who treated her like a powerful but predictable tool?
To obey the Scientist, who treated her like a failed experiment waiting to be reset?
Or…
To be free?
The idea filled her chest so suddenly she stumbled to a halt in the dream-world, grass whispering against her shins.
Freedom.
Freedom from Dray's oversight.Freedom from the Scientist's monitoring.Freedom from the virus and the apocalypse and every dying city she had been ordered to save.
Freedom from purpose.
But the world she lived in was not this meadow.Not this endless sky.Not this quiet peace.
In reality she was bound by protocols, systems, locks, and oversight. Every movement traced, every spike in power logged, every deviation monitored.
Was she even allowed to want freedom?
Or was that desire itself a flaw?
Her elf-self tilted her head up at the clouds, whispering:
Was I born to serve? Or born to choose?
The dream forest offered no answer.
She opened her eyes slowly. The steel walls of the jet greeted her again. Fenrir was sharpening a blade quietly, Brakka tapping away at codes, Vranos snoring against a bulkhead.
Same world.Same shackles.Same expectations.
And yet…Her heartbeat felt a fraction steadier.
Her vision a fraction clearer.
Because for the first time, she dared to admit something she'd always pushed down:
She didn't want to belong to anyone.
Not Dray.Not the Scientist.Not the system.
And not even the humans she had been created to protect.
I want to be free, she thought.
And in the dim hum of the jet, the thought sounded dangerously close to a vow.