The soldier stormed toward Maverick, finger tightening on the trigger. But just as he raised his weapon, a voice cut through the chaos—calm, resolute, undeniable.
"You're killing no one here."
He froze.
Confused and shaken, he turned and stepped outside. The sky above was ablaze—flames streaked through the clouds as an airship thundered overhead, raining destruction on the city below. Smoke curled into the air. Screams echoed in the distance.
Then, a speaker crackled.
Armin's voice blared across the city, cold and unforgiving."Run while you still can—or be ready to die."
A wave of new recruits charged in, breaking past the defenses, freeing the captured. Amid the smoke and confusion, Sheath pushed through the crowd, searching desperately—until he saw her.
"Lira!" he cried, dropping to his knees beside her limp form. His hands trembled as he touched her shoulder. "Lira, are you okay?"
Rein knelt beside him, eyes filled with worry."She's unconscious," he said softly. "We have to carry her. The airship's our only chance."
Sheath's breath caught in his throat. He gently lifted her into his arms, holding her like she might vanish if he let go.
Elsewhere, Armin paced, rage simmering beneath his calm exterior. He stopped in front of Kliner, voice low and bitter.
"He didn't awaken," Armin hissed. "After everything—we still didn't get through to him."
Kliner's gaze was distant, unreadable."If he had, we wouldn't be standing here empty-handed," he muttered. "He's too sheltered. Too soft. He needs more danger. Real fear. That's how we'll awaken him."
But Armin shook his head, eyes dark with something deeper."No," he whispered. "It's not him we should throw into the fire." He looked toward the battlefield, where the others were helping each other escape. "Send his friends. Let him watch. Let him feel powerless."
His voice was quiet now."That's what'll break him. That's what'll wake the monster inside."
The recruits staggered into the aircraft, battered and bruised. Medics were already waiting. They moved quickly, treating wounds, applying bandages, and stabilizing the unconscious. The air was heavy with exhaustion, pain, and the faint scent of antiseptic. Some recruits groaned quietly, while others sat in stunned silence, trying to process what they had just survived.
Meanwhile, Armin and Kliner entered the central building, their boots echoing on the polished floor.
"Pretty building, isn't it?" Kliner said with a smirk, his voice light despite the destruction unfolding outside.
Armin didn't even glance at him. "Focus on the mission."
Kliner sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "This is going to spread fast. The airship, the rescue—everything. What do we do if the public finds out?"
Armin turned sharply. "Why are you talking like you don't already know the plan?"
"Right," Kliner said, lowering his gaze. "Sorry."
Back in the aircraft, the mood shifted as whispers turned into questions.
"Why did those experienced soldiers say they wanted to die?" Isame asked quietly, watching the skyline disappear through a window.
"They looked like they were protecting someone," Kale said, his voice uncertain.
Rein frowned. "What if it was Sheath?"
Sheath looked up from tending to Lira, his face hard. "Stop your damn jokes."
Before anyone could respond, a recruit shouted from the front of the cabin, "It looks like we're staying in the city!"
A wave of disbelief rippled through the cabin.
"What?!""Why?""We're already in danger!""Why aren't we leaving?""The army will kill us!"
Panic began to spread like wildfire.
Rein stood abruptly. "Are these people serious? We should be getting out of here, not digging in!"
Sheath looked out the window for a long moment before speaking, his voice quieter but steady.
"Whatever the reason… we need to do this."
The others fell silent, watching him. He didn't offer more, didn't try to justify the decision. But something in his tone—resigned, determined—seemed to settle the room.
Outside, the city smoldered. Somewhere far below, fires still raged. But in the sky, above the ashes, a fragile hope clung to the wings of a single aircraft, carrying the survivors into an uncertain tomorrow.
Maverick stepped into the central building, his uniform stained with soot and blood. The room was quiet, dimly lit, a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded outside. Armin stood by a table, sifting through scattered maps and reports. He didn't look up.
"Sir," Maverick said, his voice hoarse but firm. "We carried out your orders. Our soldiers held the line… some gave their lives to protect that boy."
Armin finally turned, his expression unreadable. "And for what? It was all for nothing. How many recruits did we lose?"
Maverick hesitated before answering. "Twenty-five went in. Six are dead. Four unconscious. Eight wounded."
Silence hung heavy in the air.
Kliner, leaning against the far wall, pushed off and stepped forward. "Their deaths weren't meaningless," he said quietly. "They bought us time. They gave us options."
Armin's eyes narrowed. "Who planned this operation?"
Maverick's gaze dropped. "It was me… and one of the recruits."
Armin's tone sharpened. "Which recruit?"
"Kale," Maverick said, barely above a whisper.
Armin was quiet for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Alright. You can go."
Maverick gave a slight bow and turned to leave, his footsteps echoing down the marble corridor.
As the door closed behind him, Armin looked back down at the maps, speaking more to himself than to anyone else.
"If the boy dies," he murmured, "we've already found his replacement."
Kliner glanced over but said nothing. The words lingered in the stillness, cold and calculated.
Outside, the wind howled through the broken streets. The city was barely holding itself together, its people reeling from the bombing, the betrayal, the bloodshed. Inside the central building, plans continued—efficient, merciless, necessary.
Armin didn't flinch. There was no room left for doubt. Only the mission. Only the outcome.
General Rivas stormed into the command tent, his face a mask of fury. "Armin!" he roared. "That bastard has seized our capital—Rimore—and executed the president in cold blood! This is no longer just a rebellion. It's war."
He turned to his aide, eyes blazing. "Alert the troops. Tell them to prepare for battle. We will reclaim Rimore and avenge our fallen leader."
"Yes, sir!" the soldier responded with sharp precision, snapping a salute.
Without wasting a moment, the soldier sprinted from the tent, heart pounding with urgency. He raced through the base, past rows of camouflaged vehicles and watchful sentries, until he reached the central barracks.
Inside, the air buzzed with tense anticipation. Soldiers straightened as he entered.
"Orders from the general!" he shouted. "Armin has taken Rimore and assassinated the president. We've been called to arms. Gear up and prepare for deployment—we march to take back our capital!"
A murmur swept through the room, quickly replaced by the sound of boots hitting the floor, weapons being checked, and armor strapped into place. Determination flared in the eyes of the soldiers. This wasn't just another mission. It was personal.
The time for diplomacy had passed. War had come to their doorstep, and they would meet it head-on.
Armin stood at the head of the command table, maps spread before him, his voice cold and decisive."The army will be preparing for war against us. We don't wait. We strike first." He looked up, eyes hard. "Mobilize every airship we have. Send the recruits. We're hitting the military base immediately."
Kliner gave a short nod. "Understood."
He turned on his heel and quickly found Maverick, who was overseeing logistics near the launch bay. Without hesitation, he relayed Armin's orders.
Maverick moved fast. Sirens echoed through the hangar as crews scrambled into action. Airships roared to life, lined up and lifting off one by one. Even the damaged vessels—still filled with wounded and recovering recruits—were ordered into the skies.
Inside one of the medical airships, tension grew thick as Maverick's voice came through the loudspeaker.
"The first phase of our plan is complete. Now begins phase two. We are striking the military base—and with it, we will take the country!"
The words hit the cabin like a thunderclap.
"This is getting out of hand," Sheath muttered, staring at the floor, fists clenched.
"We haven't even recovered," Kale added, his voice quiet but sharp with disbelief. "Some of us can barely walk."
"They're marching us to our deaths," Rein snapped, looking around at the pale faces, the bandaged limbs, the silent glances filled with dread.
Isame, however, stood up slowly, steady despite the bandage wrapped around his side. "I'm ready," he said, voice firm. "If it means ending this faster—I'll help take the base."
There was a pause.
Some stared at him in surprise. Others looked away, unsure whether to admire his resolve or fear the cost of it.
The engines hummed louder. The clouds thickened outside as the fleet moved toward the heart of the country, where the military base stood, fortified and waiting. The recruits, bruised and broken, knew they were being thrown into another fire—but for now, none of them had a choice.
And in the command ship, Armin watched the horizon, hands clasped behind his back.
"We don't wait for war," he muttered to himself. "We finish it before it begins."
The airships roared across the sky, massive shadows gliding over the military base below. Engines hummed like thunder, and the wind screamed past open hatches as the recruits leaned out, rifles raised. The moment the base came into view, chaos erupted.
Shots rang out from above as the recruits opened fire on the soldiers stationed below. Bullets tore through watchtowers and shattered glass windows. The soldiers on the ground scrambled for cover, many caught completely off guard by the aerial assault.
From the command post, General Rauth stood at the window, eyes narrowing as explosions rippled through the base. "They're attacking from the air!" he barked. "Get the rocket launchers—now! Bring those ships down!"
Soldiers sprang into action, dashing through the maze of bunkers and barracks, retrieving crates of heavy weaponry. Meanwhile, the general turned to his second-in-command.
"Order the rest to take cover and return fire from the ground. Set up ambushes. Force them to land."
But before the soldiers could fully reposition, one of the airships swooped lower. A hatch opened mid-flight, and a series of grenades tumbled out, landing directly in a cluster of sandbags and crates—the enemy's makeshift cover.
A deafening blast shook the ground.
The entire hiding position was obliterated. Smoke and debris erupted into the air, and several soldiers were thrown like ragdolls. Those who survived were left dazed and exposed, coughing through the dust as bullets rained down from above.
The general's face twisted in fury. "They knew our layout…" he muttered. "We've been compromised."
He turned sharply and pointed to the far side of the base. "Get our pilots to the jets! Scramble every last one! We'll take them out of the skies ourselves!"
The order was relayed immediately, and a group of pilots sprinted toward the hangars. Alarms blared as the base shifted into full defense mode. The heavy doors of the jet bay creaked open, revealing rows of combat aircraft.
But even as the pilots ran, gunfire rained down from above.
A second wave of fire from the airships cut through the air, mowing down several of the pilots before they could even reach their cockpits. The rest dove for cover, desperate to survive the assault long enough to fight back.
Inside the airships, the recruits were feeling the pressure too. Despite their high ground, the resistance was fierce. Smoke from the explosions rose to meet them, and the sounds of enemy fire clanging off the ship's armor kept them tense and on edge.
Kale gritted his teeth as he fired another round. "They're hitting back harder than expected!"
"This isn't a strike—it's a damn warzone," Rein shouted, ducking behind a metal panel as a shot grazed the side of the hull.
"They're trying to get their jets off the ground!" Isame yelled. "If they do, we're dead in the air!"
Sheath looked down through the view slit, eyes narrowed. He could see the base's structure now—jet bays opening, soldiers moving with purpose despite the carnage.
"They're not giving up," he muttered. "Neither are we."
Maverick's voice came over the intercom, stern and commanding. "Do not let those jets launch. Focus all fire on the hangars. Disable their air support before they can retaliate."
One of the younger recruits turned, panic in his eyes. "We can barely keep up! We're running out of ammo—"
"Then make every shot count," Maverick interrupted sharply.
Down below, the general watched with growing dread as his forces were pinned back. He clenched his fists, jaw tight.
"They're bleeding us dry," he muttered to himself. "If we don't get air support in the next five minutes…"
Another explosion rocked the base—this time near the fuel depot. Flames shot into the air as the fire spread rapidly, licking the edges of the jet runway.
It wasn't just an attack anymore. It was an invasion.
Maverick stood on the bridge of his airship, eyes locked on the base below. Smoke and fire rose from the ruined outposts, but one structure remained largely untouched—the hangar.
"Get the missiles ready," he ordered, his voice sharp and cold. "Target the hangar. Level it."
The command was relayed in an instant. From the underside of the airship, two sleek missiles launched with a high-pitched roar, streaking toward the ground. Meanwhile, inside the hangar, chaos unfolded.
Pilots had just reached their jets, scrambling into cockpits and initiating takeoff procedures. Engines roared to life, wheels screeched against the concrete—then came the impact.
The missiles struck with devastating force.
The explosion engulfed the hangar in flames, sending metal debris flying in every direction. The roof collapsed inward, crushing jets mid-preparation. Screams echoed as fire rolled through the wreckage.
But one jet had launched just moments before the blast. The pilot, barely airborne, retaliated in a blur of motion. He fired two missiles toward the nearest airship. One struck true.
The blast ripped through the ship's side, tearing into its hull. Inside, recruits were thrown off their feet. Alarms blared as flames consumed the lower decks. Within moments, the airship lost control, spiraling down in a trail of smoke before crashing into the earth—killing everyone onboard.
Back at the command center, General Rivas stormed up to Rauth, face pale but furious. "Our soldiers are panicking! We need to take control before they scatter."
Rauth didn't even flinch. He stared out at the battlefield, jaw clenched. "They attacked while we were still organizing. Cowards always strike from the shadows."
"With all due respect, we don't have time for your pride," Rivas snapped. "We need to bring those ships down now. Get the rocket launchers ready!"
A group of soldiers rushed over, carrying crates of launchers on their backs. One saluted. "Sir! We've gathered every launcher we could find."
Rauth nodded. "Good. Give two of them to us. Distribute the rest to the nearest squads."
He and Rivas each took a launcher, stepping out from the barricades. Dust blew around them, and smoke hung low in the air as they looked to the skies.
"There," Rauth said, pointing. "That airship—target it."
Rivas squinted through the scope. "The one with the reinforced plating?"
"yes" Rauth said with a grim smile.
They steadied their launchers. The sky above churned with battle, but their focus was locked. One target. One shot.
And then they fired.
Outside the central building, the air was thick with dust and tension. Dozens of military vehicles rolled into formation, surrounding the structure from all sides. Soldiers spilled out, taking positions, rifles raised. One stepped forward and activated a loudspeaker.
"Armin! And anyone else inside—this is your only warning. Surrender now, or die where you stand!"
From the front steps of the central building, Armin emerged calmly, hands behind his back, eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene. The wind tugged at his coat, but he stood unshaken.
"What if we don't?" he called back, voice echoing across the square.
There was a pause, then the voice on the speaker responded coldly. "We have over 300 soldiers positioned around you. You'll be dead in minutes."
Kliner, standing just behind Armin, scoffed. "Only 300?"
Armin shot him a sharp look. "Shut the hell up, loudmouth."
The soldiers tensed, awaiting the order. The barrel of every gun pointed at the building's entrance, waiting for the spark to ignite the fire.
But Armin didn't flinch. He kept his gaze steady, his mind already turning—calculating possibilities, weighing risk against gain. The enemy had numbers. But numbers alone had never won a war.
The airship shook violently as explosions rocked its frame. Flames licked the sky, and a deafening roar filled the cabin—the enemy's rockets had struck their mark.
Sheath could feel the ship tearing apart beneath his feet.
"We're hit!" someone screamed.
Without hesitation, Sheath turned and sprinted through the chaos, weaving past panicked recruits and falling debris. His eyes were locked on one thing—Lira, lying unconscious near the center of the cabin.
"Lira!" he shouted, skidding to his knees beside her.
Behind him, Isame caught sight of him and yelled over the noise, "Why are you going in, dumbass?! You'll die in here!"
"I'm not leaving her to die!" Sheath shot back, lifting Lira into his arms.
"I'm coming with you!" Kale said, appearing at his side.
Together, they made their way toward the edge of the ship as the structure groaned, tilting steeply toward the earth. Wind whipped through the shattered hull. Fire and smoke filled the air.
They were almost there—seconds from leaping to safety—when chaos struck.
Another soldier, running blind in panic, slammed into Kale. He stumbled, losing his balance. In the sudden jolt, Sheath lost his footing too—and he and Lira tumbled through the torn hull.
"No!" Kale reached for them, but they were already falling.
As they plunged through the sky, Sheath tightened his grip around Lira. He twisted mid-air, shielding her with his body.
"If I die," he thought, "she won't."
Above, Kale scrambled to the edge, watching them vanish into the clouds below.
Then a hand caught his arm.
"Got you!" Rein grunted, holding Kale's wrist tightly, his boots braced against the deck.
"Take this parachute!" Rein shouted, thrusting the pack into Kale's chest. "I can't hold you much longer!"
Isame rushed over, helping Rein anchor the weight. "Go! Find them! Save them if you can!"
Kale didn't hesitate. He pulled the chute tight and leapt from the burning ship.
Wind roared in his ears as he descended, eyes scanning the ground below in desperation.
"Sheath!" he screamed. "Lira!"
He landed hard, rolling to absorb the impact, then took off at a sprint across the scorched field where the wreckage had crashed. Flames still crackled, and debris smoldered around him.
Then he saw them—two figures lying in the grass, unmoving.
Kale dropped to his knees beside them. "Sheath!" he called, voice breaking. "Lira!"
No response.
Both were unconscious—Sheath bruised and bloodied, but still cradling Lira protectively in his arms.
"This place isn't safe..." Kale muttered, glancing around at the destruction, the sounds of distant gunfire drawing closer. "You can't pass out here. Not now."
He gritted his teeth, hands shaking as he reached to shake Sheath's shoulder.
"Come on, man… Wake up. Please."
The sky above was dark with smoke, but the battlefield wasn't finished—not yet.
And Kale knew if he didn't move them soon, none of them would be waking up again.