Hope is a fickle thing. Once the ember goes out... well, good luck.

  - Former WHA Chairman Yen -

  My eyes are glued on the statue, until Cortez pulls my arm.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  “The statue, it moved,” I say, swallowing hard.

  “It what?”

  “It moved, I’m sure of it.”

  She glances up, then back to the Knights who still do not approach.

  “Not the weirdest thing we’ve seen today, besides I think it’s fine,” she says.

  “Fine?” I ask, how the fuck is that fine? This thing could start stomping on us.

  “Yeah, let’s get Tran and Barlow, I think I might know what’s going on.”

  She knows what’s going on? How? Why would she? Why aren’t we getting hacked to pieces?

  “Come on,” she says, pulling me with her.

  We find Tran and Barlow still searching for a passageway, two among many who fervently do so. Even with the Knights not attacking, the threat of it is enough for them to pick up the pace.

  “Help us look,” Tran says when we make it to him and Barlow, a nervous glance over his shoulder, “I don’t know how long we have, but I don’t want to stick around and find out.”

  “Guys,” Cortez begins, letting out a pensive sigh, “I could be wrong, but I think that the Knights didn’t follow us because they are afraid of the Goddess of this temple.”

  “Huh?” Tran asks, shaking his head, “You think those guys are scared of statues and chipping paint? They ate explosive ordinance for breakfast, and ice arrows for lunch, this Goddess isn’t going to…”

  “Don’t finish that sentence, not in her temple,” Cortez warns, putting up a hand, “You might not believe in them, but the magic tied to these places might have traps for those who disparage or defile the patron of the temple.”

  “How the fuck would you know that?” Barlow asks, not convinced.

  “My,” she pauses, glancing at me, “My mom told me.”

  “So?” Tran asks, he shakes his head, “My mom told me the tooth fairy was real.”

  “She’s a higher up.”

  Cortez’s mom is a higher up? Must be an officer or a Sergeant Major. Why didn’t she say anything before though?

  “How high?” Barlow asks.

  “High enough that she’d know.”

  Tran looks around, differently than before, like suddenly everything might try to stab him in the back.

  “Okay, no talking shit,” Tran says.

  “I could be wrong, but if I’m right, we might be able to hide out in here until the timer runs out,” Cortez says, she shifts her footing, wetting her lips, “Thoughts?”

  “Uh, I don’t know,” I admit, I don’t know much about off-worlder gods, above my pay grade to care. I heard Trevanius praying to some kind of great mother though when he soothed the dying man, and I’ve definitely seen them all praying. I don’t think it was to a Goddess of Death though.

  Wait, maybe we can ask an off-worlder what they think. Looking around, I see them all congregated on the far side of the cave, or temple, if Cortez is right. Looks pretty old and beat up for a temple though.

  “Where are you going?” she asks as I move toward the off-worlders.

  “To see if Trevanius is alive, he might know something,” I say.

  “I’ll go with you then,” she says, moving past me.

  “Clingy much?” I jest.

  She doesn’t even respond, she’s worried. So am I.

  “We’re going to keep looking,” Barlow says, nudging Tran to get back to work.

  “Roger.”

  Catching up with Cortez, we pass by people praying to their gods, some of them have given up. Eyes locked on the knights. Most though, tenacious bastards, peeling the walls of plants, searching for anything. When we reach the off-worlders, they are understandably wary of us, until they recognize me.

  Trevanius limps forward, hobbling on a half burned leg. I should probably treat that, and anyone else here. If Cortez is right and this is some kind of safe zone, looking at my timer, we have more than two days left still.

  “Jimmy of the Novaks,” he says, grasping my arm firmly, “The Great Mother smiles upon you.”

  “Right,” I say, not sure how to respond to that, “I’m wondering if you know anything about why the Knights aren’t attacking.”

  He shakes his head, “It is strange, perhaps the Great Mother has answered our prayers.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  The other elven off-worlders bow in reverence giving thanks to her.

  “Does the name Ulana mean anything to you?” Cortez asks.

  He shakes his head. Shifting his weight off his injured leg, “There are many Gods among the Cosmos of worlds, too many to name, too many to know.”

  Cortez gives me a look that says we are wasting time with him. Letting out a sigh, she’s probably right. Still, kneeling down, I gingerly pull back the fabric on his clothes, he groans, the other off-worlders step forward angrily, but he puts up a hand.

  “Jimmy of the Novaks is a healer, do not insult a messenger of the Great Mother,” he says.

  Messenger of the Great Mother, yeah, right. After I finish patching him up, the other off-worlders start looking at me like a fix all their problems vending machine. It’s not long before soldiers hobble over too.

  “You’re that medic, the one that patched up Brussels,” a sergeant says, nursing an arm.

  “Yeah, but I’m beyond low on mana and almost out of supplies, don’t expect a miracle.”

  Cortez rolls her eyes, she thinks I’m wasting time, she might be right, but this is what I know, this is my value add.

  “How can I help?” she asks.

  “Study that statue,” I say, then looking at it again, “Just try not to get stepped on.”

  She lets out a sigh and nods, giving me one last glance before she leaves.

  “Single file for fucks sake guys, I need to triage you first.”

  It takes me ten minutes to manually triage, I don’t think I have the mana yet to activate it. It’ll take a day or two to naturally restore it. That’s another problem with mana stones, burns something they call mana channels, or meridian channels depending on who you ask. Big burst, long recovery. Besides, I don’t like the idea of using them anyways, most are obtained in… fucked up ways.

  “You got anything for the pain?” one asks me, his jacket is melted onto his shoulder.

  “I got some your momma jokes, best I can offer.”

  He gives me a weak smile and nods, disheartened.

  I’m basically out of supplies now. Too many burns for me to treat them. Too bad that Private First Class Tully bailed, I could have at least used his aid bag.

  I’ve resorted to cleaning their wounds with the water in the pool around the pedestal, much to Cortez’s displeasure. The water is cool, and seems clean, better than nothing. Infections are not really my primary concern at the moment.

  ***

  After four and a half grueling hours, I’ve finally finished my last patient, guy with a sprained ankle. None of it was pretty, but, it’s good enough for government work as they say. Also, the Knights still haven’t cut us apart. Leaving us alone with the trauma they gave us though, yeah, not so fun. Maybe it’s the Lich fucking with us. My jaw flexes, don’t decompress yet. Stay strong, carry the torch.

  Walking over to Cortez, “You figure it out yet?”

  “No, it’s just a bunch of riddles, repeated endlessly in every mural,” she sighs, she’s enlisted some others to help her decode it. They all look worn and beaten down. We really need a win.

  Most of the foliage is off the bottom of the walls, some people are starting to rest, fatigued from all the adrenaline no doubt. Others have dared to start stacking fortifications from loose stones, some of the Sergeants are ordering the off-worlders at gun point to build it. Just another Thursday I guess. Thoughts of Staff Sergeant Mwangi keep popping into my head, followed by Lieutenant Tenny. Seeing her face half burned off, the Lich…

  Stay busy. Don’t think about it. Carry the fucking torch.

  Sitting next to Cortez, I read the inscription again.

  Behold, the True Mother of Death, Ulana, Goddess of the Forsaken, sovereign of the unyielding will. Only those who surrender themselves before her with a forsaken heart are heard.

  Not very helpful. What’s a forsaken heart even mean? Moving to another one.

  She does not favor the blessed, she seeks the broken, the unwanted, the ones who do not kneel before power, but stand tall, even when nothing remains.

  Letting out a sigh, I move to the next.

  Where the meek and the fearful rise against the mighty after all is lost, that is where you shall find her, on the precipice of annihilation.

  The next one is similar to the others, a common motif.

  With a heart free of hope, rooted in despair, only then can you stand and be found worthy.

  Moving back to Cortez, I slump onto the ground.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Yep.”

  “Well, at least the magic wards or whatever are working still.”

  “Don’t jynx it,” she scolds, bags around her eyes. She’s tired, so am I.

  “Has anyone tried praying to her?” I ask.

  “Yeah, lots of people tried.”

  “And?”

  She gives me a look, that was a dumb question.

  “Well guess it wouldn’t hurt for me to try.”

  “Thought you didn’t believe in anything?”

  “I don’t, but a moving statue is compelling enough to pretend.”

  She rolls her eyes, mine linger in hers for a few moments more, solace again, the only place where the memories fall away. Looking away finally, I kneel before the statue and pray, if you can call it that.

  “Look, I’m not the most reverent guy, and I don’t know if you’re listening. Maybe you’re part of the system, maybe you're something else, I’ve never been religious… I’m rambling aren’t I?”, shaking my head, “This is stupid, what am I doing? If you exist, you don’t give a shit about my problems, you’ve probably got your own. Sorry for bothering you.”

  Letting out a deep sigh, I stand slowly, but as I do, I see something glinting in the pool of water at the base of the statue. It’s faint, but it’s there. A coin maybe?

  “Prayer of year award goes to Jimmy Novak,” Cortez says, giving me a half assed slow clap.

  Rolling my eyes, I move closer to inspect the coin, putting my hand in the water, grabbing it, I pull it out. There’s an inscription on it.

  In defiance of fate, one shall rise. The seventh of six. The cosmos shall tremble at their ascension. The path has been laid.

  The coin looks like it’s made of gold, seems a little disrespectful to rob her. Plus, I'm not trying to become toe jam. So I toss it back in. Not like I’m going to need it anyways.

  Fuck, stop being negative. We’re alive. There is always hope.

  “I’m going to rack out,” I say, looking at Cortez after seeing Barlow and Tran already passed out, back to back, “You should too.”

  “Not sure I can sleep,” she says, giving an eye toward the Knights again.

  “Sleep deprivation isn’t going to help anyone.”

  “Thanks doc,” she sighs, turning back to the inscription.

  ***

  Nightmares, always get them. Don’t know anyone who doesn’t anymore. We’ve all seen people’s eyes and bodies go still thanks to the system. People we love. Most of us have watched someone wither away because there wasn’t a bed for them to fill. Still, it hits different when you’re the cause. Mwangi, I saw him in my dreams. Hold the Line. Echoing in my skull. Pulling me awake in a cold sweat. The only comfort I found upon waking was that I did wake up, that and Cortez’s arm wrapped around me. That definitely took the edge off. Staving off the guilt that the woman I care about is trapped in hell with me, for the simple reason that she cares about me.

  A yell. Then another.

  “Wake everyone up!” the sergeant on watch yells.

  Here we go. My muscles tighten as the adrenaline surges. The Knights, they’re finally moving. Splitting their formation, turning to the center of the tunnel, putting their blades tip down and kneeling. Waiting.

  “Wake up,” I say, shaking Cortez awake.

  “Barlow! Tran!” I yell, both startle awake, grabbing their rifles and spinning around wildly before locking onto the changes.

  Breathe.

  Another voice yells from the tunnels, my eyes squint, taking a step forward. I can barely see over the half done fortification they gave up on.

  “Help!” the voice yells.

  I know the voice.

  “Lieutenant Gaspers?” Tran asks, glancing at me for a moment.

  “Sounds like it,” I say.

  “Please!” Lieutenant Gaspers yells. Suddenly stumbling out of the tunnel. The Knights don’t strike him down, they let him pass.

  A Sergeant points a gun at him suspiciously.

  “Stand down, it’s me!” Gaspers yells, eyes blinking fast. His clothes are scorched and torn.

  Why is he here? Why did the Knights let him pass?