--- Somewhere else, a few minutes before ---
The jet knifed through low cloud, black against a dark sky. A hatch hissed open. Two figures dropped.
They fell like anchors.
At the last second the woman swung her railgun down, braced, and fired a short, brutal burst. The blast punched the ground and turned dirt to dust, killing her momentum. She landed on a knee, boots sliding, steam climbing around her.
The man came down heavier. His blade was already in his hands, huge. Taller than his shoulder, edge glowing a slow orange. He dragged it through a pine from crown to root, splitting the trunk clean so the falling halves ate his speed. He landed, rolled once, came up quietly.
"Signal came in late" she said, checking the horizon.
"Fortitude scans had six, maybe seven" he said. "Quiet now."
The village ahead was still burning in places, heat crawling off collapsed roofs. Breathless bodies lay where they tried to run. The greatsword's orange edge glowed in the cold. The railgun hummed a red thread under her hands.
"Lighthouse? Command? This is Division 1" she said. "At ground zero. Don't see any Nyx activity."
Static. Then a clear voice, female, cool. "Copy. Alteea here. Be careful, and try not to propose to any trees"
"Understood" he said. He flexed the glove. "Something is off."
Right when the man said that, a shape appeared from the ruins, black, fast… No - extremely fast. The man instantly twisted. A claw skimmed his backplate and bit through anyway. Armor split with a wet rasp. He slid across the ground, gritting his teeth, trying to get back up.
The woman planted, swung the railgun toward the Nyx. It was already gone. She fired late. The shot ripped a line through three trees and left them smoking. The thing jumped over a collapsed roof.
"Eon output… Around 34 percent" her comms screamed in both ears. "We got signal. I see that you finally met our guest."
"Shut up, Alteea, it nearly got us killed with the first attack!" the guy grunted.
She gave a short laugh that had no humor. "Working on it."
He rushed. The sword's glow climbed to a brighter orange. When he cut, the air itself looked sliced, lines tracing the swing a fraction after. The Nyx met him with his claws – something that reminded you of a fan of blades. He slid a foot, changed angle, dragged the blade against the ground to throw up grit. The thing recoiled from the sudden noise. He took that beat and struck again, the orange edge clipping a limb clean. It regrew mid fall.
"Eon… Uh… 41 percent!" the woman over comms said. "Is the railgun temp safe? I don't really care, just don't die"
"Charge it" he said.
"Need time."
The Nyx leaned. It went low, then high, then behind. Each strike heated the air. It got inside the guy's range and opened another tear across his shoulder. He took it, set the heel of his boot, and shoved. The push sent the thing skidding back, almost tripping on rubble from the burnt houses.
She had not stopped moving. The railgun's red core throbbed deeper, rings along the barrel starting to lift. She anchored the weapon onto her shoulder. A low whine set some leaves levitating in a circle around her.
"Eon output 58 percent" the woman named Alteea said.
"Now" he said, voice tight. It sounded more like a question.
Without answering, she pulled the trigger.
A red beam cut the air. Everything it touched stopped being a thing. Stone. Bark, even the thin smoke. Gone.
The beam crossed the Nyx at its center. Where once, there was an abdomen, only a hole remained. The trees behind it, as many as you could see, got obliterated.
Silence returned slow.
The man stayed standing by force. Black fragments fell, shifting from night to ember as they touched air. Each speck glowed gold before fading, drifting down like ash from a bonfire you could not see.
He lifted his blade. Its orange dimmed.
The woman eased the railgun out of the glass, barrel smoking. Her hands shook once, then were steady again.
"Target neutralized" she exhaled, voice low.
The comm clicked. "Division 1, I read a high energy discharge" Alteea replied. "Status?"
"Village lost" the man muttered. "Area clear. One unit wounded. Weapon stable."
They both looked down as the last particles settled on the snow. The gold light in them held for a heartbeat, then went out, leaving only something that looked like… Gilded Ashes.
--- Every Arc in this story represents a virtue. The things that oppose darkness. You may skip if you wish, but these questions are the very things that make us... Human ---
What is hope?
Is it the power to make the wildest dreams reality?
Is it a beautiful lie we tell ourselves, just to keep from drowning?
Is it a debt to owe our future self, a vow we cannot afford to break?
Is it the promise of a sunrise, or the bravery to face the long cold night until it ends?
Is it a silent rebellion? An act of defiance in the face of fate?
Is it a blind promise we make to escape reality?
Is it the quiet strength to wait, to endure, when everything inside you is screaming to give up?
Is it the fire that burns within every one of us?
Or… Is it nothing more than the gilded ashes that remain? Fragments of a fire that once burned bright, embers dressed in gold, daring us to believe that even ruin can shine?