Mataram sat on the jagged edge of the mountain, his legs swinging over the cliff, an insignificant figure against the vast expanse of the valley below. From this height, the land stretched like a painted canvas, the rolling hills and dense forests deceptively serene. He wiped at the blood trickling into his eyes but only caused more to smear over his face. His fingers found the matchbox in his pocket, and he ignited a match with a flick. His other hand rummaged for Cutie's rolled leaves in his other pocket and lit it.

  He took a long, slow drag, the smoke filling his lungs and dulling the sharp edges of his reality. As he exhaled, the melody of a half-forgotten song drifted from his lips, a song he had thought he had forgotten.

  "Mengapa dadaku terus berguncang...

  Bila kusebutkan namamu..."

  "I've never heard that song before." Captain Isha's voice cut through his trance. She approached from behind, her boots crunching on loose gravel. "What language is that?"

  "I don't know," Mataram replied, inhaling his zoot. "My mom used to sing it all the time. Never knew what it meant."

  Isha settled next to him, although not as close to the cliff. "It has a nice melody," she remarked.

  He turned to look at her and saw that she was similarly covered in gore. Without a word, he extended the zoot.

  She accepted it with a slight shrug. "Why not? Who's going to stop us?"

  "Lightly," Mataram warned with a hint of a smile. "Or you'll cough."

  She inhaled the zoot, and it felt like her throat had been punched raw. She held her cough, though.

  "Keep singing," she said, her voice rough and her eyes heavier. "It fits. And you got a good voice."

  Mataram shrugged and continued singing. He enjoyed the silence. It was the only moment of peace he could have. He watched the Akar knights begin entering and securing the mountain. The Akar knights moved like ants down below, methodically securing the mountain pass. He stopped singing when the following lyrics slipped from his memory.

  "It is a good song," Isha said, her eyes distant.

  "It is," Mataram lamented. "Should've heard my mother. Her voice is as mellifluous as it comes. She sang it all the time when she carried my sister."

  "I'm sure it is. Mothers always have the best voices," she agreed. "How is she?"

  "Dead. There were complications during my sister's birth," his voice barely a whisper.

  "I'm sorry," Isha replied. "I didn't mean to bring up old wounds."

  "Least said soonest mended," the adage slipped automatically. "Ain't that right?"

  "Yeah," she sighed.

  They sat in silence as the warm wind dried the blood on their faces.

  "Why are you here, Major?" Mataram asked finally, his voice low. He nodded toward the knights below. "Shouldn't you be with them?"

  "Why are you here, Special Lieutenant?" Isha answered his question with her own.

  "I enjoy brooding," Mataram snorted. "It's good for the mind."

  She smiled briefly at his answer. "Maybe I should start doing it too."

  They both laughed at the pathetic joke. They needed it more than they wanted to.

  "But no," she continued. "I did some digging into you," she offered him back the zoot.

  "Should I feel honoured?" he accepted the zoot and inhaled another hit.

  "Tsch," Isha clicked her tongue. "You were recommended to be sent here by an executive order."

  That caught Mataram's attention, and he looked at her over his shoulder. "By the way you said it. It doesn't sound like anything good."

  "Probably not," she paused, choosing her words carefully. "I can get you out. If that is what you want."

  "And why would you do that?" he asked, studying her, having not expected her offer. "Aren't I your most effective rat?"

  "You are," Isha nodded, her eyes meeting his. "But I also think you might better serve elsewhere," she held out her hand at him.

  He raised an eyebrow and held her hand. She shook it instinctively. "Not that," she muttered. "The zoot."

  "Oh," Mataram muttered, looking away embarrassed as he handed her the zoot.

  "I appreciate the contact," she continued as she inhaled. "But I haven't done well with physical contact ever since recently."

  "My apologies, then."

  "Least said soonest mended," she muttered as she exhaled smoke. "I'm beginning to rethink if that is the best way for our situation in Badai."

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Mataram stayed quiet, unsure how to respond. That motto had been instilled in his mind since he arrived, and it worked for him.

  "Anyways," Isha shook her head. "We're receiving more troops every week. We got lots of replacements. As an air elementalist, I think you would serve better in the Air Force."

  "No," he denied. "I can't fly. That was probably the reason I was sent as a rat."

  "If only it were that simple," she mused.

  "What do you mean?" he asked, plucking the zoot from Isha's fingers.

  "Do you see any rats out there who are sorcerers?" she asked.

  Her question reminded Mataram of his squadmates when they first met.

  "No," he replied.

  "Exactly," she pointed out. "You're the only one."

  "I thought it was a simple mistake by HQ?"

  "I thought so, too. But now, I don't know. What I know is someone in HQ wanted you here as a rat specifically," Isha explained.

  Could it be? Mataram thought.

  "Who would have the authority to order that?" he began to ask. "To send me here as a rat?"

  "Someone high up," Isha shrugged. "A commander or general, maybe."

  Or the Bhayangkara.

  "What is it?" she asked, eyeing him with a cautious look. "Do you know who sent you here?"

  "Maybe," he replied. "Back at the academy. The priestess summoned me to talk to her."

  Isha's eyes widened.

  "She told me she felt a strong connection between me and the Garuda. But she couldn't say for sure except that I'll have a big role to play," he continued.

  "That doesn't make any sense," she replied. "Why would she send you to this meat grinder then?"

  "Perhaps she thought I could make a difference here."

  Isha stayed quiet, her mind whirling in thought. "I can see why you might think that. Ever since you came, we have received reinforcements like never before. The draft and acceleration of our efforts. And how we've gained ground here more than we ever before."

  Mataram nodded, hope budding inside his hollow heart. "Yes."

  "Or we may be overthinking it. And that it is merely a coincidence," she stated.

  No. Mataram did not believe so. "I've grown stronger here than a year at the academy," he paused. How long have I been here?" he asked.

  "Two months," she answered, raising two fingers.

  Her answer caused Mataram to pause. Has it really been two months? The constant fighting had blurred his sense of time, but two months was longer than he had thought.

  "You've grown stronger, I can believe that. The bodies you leave behind are proof of it. But don't build your hopes up. Could be some jealous highborn."

  Mataram did not respond. Nothing he could say would make her see the situation as he did. "I'll stay," he said firmly. "I am making a difference here."

  Isha sighed. "If that is why you'll stay, then so be it. Even if I don't believe in it as you do. Frankly, you are currently one of my best assets. The needless deaths you prevent are priceless."

  "How is our position, by the way?" he asked, sensing she was about to leave.

  "We are pumping what we can deeper into the grinder," Isha replied lazily, under the effect of the zoot. "Our morale is higher than ever, which is not much because we are talking about Badai. But we have hope we can take the rest of the island soon."

  "Our enemies?"

  "Major Nakri's efforts with the locals are bearing fruit. More and more Dayaks are surrendering and defecting every day. The ones that don't, well, they'll have you to contend against," she answered. "We fear the Western Alliance will send reinforcements, but we are placing our bets that they are more preoccupied on other fronts closer to the walls they are building."

  Mataram thought in silence for a moment, enjoying the fresh air. "I never asked, but what is the importance of Badai?"

  "Other than uniting the world, I have no idea," Isha replied. "I was sent here just like any other soldier."

  "Huh," Mataram huffed, surprised.

  "I thought you'd be used to not having clear answers by now," she shrugged, plucking the zoot and taking a draw.

  Mataram did not know why at that moment. Perhaps he was tired or needed something to keep him going, to keep himself from breaking apart. But he wanted to feel important—to feel needed. So he asked, "What if I asked to leave?"

  Isha snorted, perhaps sensing what Mataram was truly asking. "I would ask you to stay. I wouldn't force you, but I would ask anyway."

  "Why?" he asked lamely.

  "You really don't know, do you?" she paused to take another draw. The zoot was almost finished by now. "You strike fear into our enemies. The mention of "The Bloody Whore" sends chills down our enemy's spine and boosts the morale of our rats." She paused and thought of the right words. "Because you make our men braver and our enemies scared."

  Mataram waited for the warm feeling he would get when someone complimented him. It never came.

  "Thank you," he said monotonically.

  "No problem," Isha replied, standing up and placing the zoot on the ground. "If all my special lieutenant needs is a little pep talk to keep going, then I have loads to spare."

  He looked at her, her form disappearing as she trekked down.

  "Be ready for tomorrow. We're going back in," her voice travelled through the air.

  Mataram picked up the zoot from the ground and inspected the short stub. It always tasted like ash when it neared the end. He hated it but finished it anyway.

  ----------

  A thump jolted Lycan awake, the rough sound vibrating through the wooden planks beneath him. He winced, the sharp ache in his shoulder reminding him of the battle's aftermath. The rhythmic creak of the wagon wheels and the clatter of hooves on stone told him they were on the move. The air inside the wagon was heavy with the scent of blood and aged wood. His arms were wrapped tightly in a sling, a crude but effective binding. He tried to sit up but found his muscles stiff and uncooperative.

  "You're awake," Alez's voice echoed in his mind, calm but distant.

  "Ma'am," he replied. "What happened?" he croaked, his throat dry.

  "Our last targets are dead. I patched you up and carried you back to the inn?"

  Lycan closed his eyes, piecing together fragments of the battle. He remembered flashes of blue flames and the blurring speed of the Anishi lord. "And now?" he asked, staring at the dark wooden ceiling above.

  "We are returning to HQ for you to see a healer," Alez explained.

  "What about the healing stones?" he frowned, wondering why his arms were bound tightly in a sling.

  "No," her tone was firm. "We don't use them to heal broken bones. It can cause the bones to heal wrongly."

  Lycan flexed his stomach and sat up, biting back the pain. The wagon was empty besides their two sacks. Memories of the fight ran through his mind. The wagon was nearly empty, save for their two weathered sacks and some stray equipment. The fabric covering the entrance flapped with the wind, a sliver of sunlight breaking through.

  Memories surged back of Alez holding the head of Lady Anishi. And how she had easily dispatched Lord Anishi. "You were holding back," he stated. "When we faced the Anishis."

  "I was," she did not deny it. "But always watching."

  He exhaled, clamping down on his boiling frustration. "How did I do?" he asked, knowing full well that it was one of her tests.

  "Not bad. Could be better but not bad."

  Lycan leaned back, staring at the wooden beams. "He was so fast," he explained. "His movements were a blur."

  "You're a fire elementalist. One-on-one battles are not your strong suit," her voice slicing through his self-doubts.

  "And what is my strong suit, ma'am?" He needed to know. The fight had shaken him. He was utterly outclassed and humiliated by the master augmenter.

  "Mass warfare is where you'll be most dangerous," Alez replied.

  Lycan's mind flashed back to the battle, and he remembered how easily Lord Anishi had picked him up and rag-dolled him. Lycan could only hit the man when he was not moving.

  "You lied," he muttered. "You could've taken them out easily." He remembered the clean state of her clothes when he saw her.

  "I did," she admitted.

  "And I managed to transmute blue flames," he contemplated the outcome. He recalled the blue flame and the surge of power that came with it. The heat was unlike anything he had ever transmuted. "How did I do that?"

  "Strong emotions," the reply came quickly. "The stronger your emotions, the more powerful your flames."

  "Why didn't you tell me?" There was another jolt as the wagon wheeled through a rock.

  "Because I'll risk you ending up like Bhayangkara Bakar. He was told the secret, and the depths he had to dig into to achieve such emotions destroyed him. He never managed to claw out of it."

  "You knew then," Lycan accused, feeling a pang of betrayal by her deceit. "That they had something to do with my friend getting sent to Badai."

  "Yes. But we wouldn't have moved against House Anishi had they stayed loyal to the Empire and Monarch."

  Sitiari, Lycan knew the Monarch's name now.

  "Only those inside her inner circle would know our Monarch's name. "

  Did his parents know? Lycan thought.

  "Do you understand the magnitude of their betrayal now?" her voice pressed in his mind.

  "Yes, ma'am. I understand." Lycan replied, shifting closer to the flaps of the wagon. "What happens to House Anishi now?" he asked, resting his head, feeling the sun and fresh air on his face.

  "The heir will be recalled," Alez explained. "She'll manage her house and take over her parent's work."

  "And her brother? Is he dead?"

  "I don't know," her reply was swift. "We never bothered tracking him."

  Lycan sighed in relief at the uncertainty or something else; he was unsure. "What now, ma'am?"

  "Now you rest. You're getting what you wished. We are going to the front lines."

  Lycan leaned back, closing his eyes. The wagon's wheels jolted over another rock, but he ignored it. The fight was not over. It was just the beginning.