Syra Onnet's Story

The smell of burnt metal filled the air as sirens deafened all who could hear. Red light filled the narrow corridors of the fatally wounded shuttle craft as the heat of reentry began to seep through the holes left by enemy fire. bodies littered the way as she pushed herself forward toward the cockpit. Blood dripped down the walls, and pooled at her feet, rising quickly, threatening to drown the sole survivor of the unwarranted attack. They’d just been trying to go home, to put the war behind them. She was young, alone. The blood filled the corridor and she could feel he weight of thick liquid crushing her as the ship plummeted through the atmosphere of the desolate, lawless planet that was The Rock.

She awoke with a start, cold sweat coating her naked body and sheets. She struggled to regain her breath as she looked around wildly, trying to make sense of everything around her. Slowly the memories returned and the uneasiness of the nightmare faded. 12 years had passed since she’d crashed on The Rock, 12 years she’d been enslaved to a band of former military hotshots that felt peace was a waste of time. A company of outlaws, pieced together of former platoon mates, and enemies. All working side by side for a better life. When you grow up feeling disposable, you begin to dispose those that see you only for your disposable nature. These men and women wanted more from life and thus created their nomadic monarchy on the one world no one would care to look for them on.

It was here that Syra had found her fate. Rescued, or so she thought, from the wreckage of the ship she’d served on, she now served the King of these soldiers. One of his many wives, and called little more than a Thrall by everyone else.

She pulled the sheets over herself and noticed that the other women ho shared her fate still slept. Their mighty king snoring loudly, his arms around two older women he’d chosen to spend the night with, neither of them his property, but rather a former member of Oblivion’s army, and the other a former member of Seed. “The three warring factions sharing a moment of peace!” He’d called out during his night of pleasure. It all made her sick to her stomach.

There was no escape from this, her life had been stripped away by the same people who’d relentlessly killed her friends and shot their ship from the sky for no other reason than sport. There was no honor among these forgotten soldiers, and their was no sense of caring or duty to anyone but their own. New members would arrive daily, bringing with them stolen ships and goods entrusted to them by the governments they’d allegedly served.

With a deep breath, she pushed the nightmare from her mind and quickly dressed herself in the simple linen dress she’d been given once her real clothes had been taken and burned. Torture was nothing for these people and she’d learned a long time ago that it was easier to go along with their king’s wishes than to try and fight.

Though it was early, the camp was already bustling with activity. Livestock was being tended to by other Thralls and those who enjoyed freedom sat around swapping stories of their adventures, or working on the various ships and vehicles that belonged to them.

“You have permission to be wandering around, Syra?” A woman called out harshly.

Syra turned, tucking her hair behind her ear, “No, however, King Theory has always allowed me to watch the sunrise whenever I chose, ma’am.”

“Psh, sunrise? If you have free time, you’ll be helping me this morning. I need these barracks cleaned from top to bottom, and the needs of everyone who wishes them to be, met. Now.”

Before she could protest, two bigger men, each wilding their weapons took up positions on either side of Syra. “Y-yes, ma’am…” She sighed. From one nightmare, to another. She was quickly stripped of her clothing and felt the dagger like stares of all who occupied the barracks. They’ simply sit and watch her clean until they felt the urge to take her in front of any and all who would watch. Though she was the King’s, what was his belonged to the people he reigned over.

The sun was setting when she closed the door of the barracks behind her. fresh bruises covered nearly every inch of her body, and she ached all over. Tears stung her eyes, but she brushed them away before anyone could see. Other Thralls offered to escort her back to the King’s tent, but she shook her head and made her way there alone.

She laid down on the dusty floor and pulled her blanket around her now shivering body before crying herself to sleep, only to be woken up a few hours later by other women in the King’s harem. Something was going on outside, and it had the soldiers excited.

“My fellow soldiers!” King Theory began, “For too long we have served men and women who never gave a damn about us!” Cheers erupted from his subjects as he continued. “for 12 years we have lived a good life away from those who’d seek to use us!” The irony of his statement wasn’t lost on Syra. “Now, it is time we become the masters of this world! The Rock shall be ours! We will begin concurring this forsaken world, and build a true haven for all those who seek to escape the pointless wars created by those too afraid to fight themselves! We will do what no other army could, conquer The Rock!” The crowed exploded, cheering, clapping, chanting. Syra simply shook her head and returned to her bed. She fell asleep praying that every last soldier in the King’s camp would die trying to fight in his pointless war.

The Remnants watched from a safe distance as the Sorillian ship seemingly exploded, leaving them a clear view of the ship's contents. Theory laughed out loud as the barrel of the cannon gleamed in the midday sun, "Well, well, well this was well worth the ride!" He chuckled to himself as he gestured for his men to fan out. "Once these scoundrels," he said, referring to the current warring parties, "kill one another, we move in an take the weapon!"

Syra looked over the shoulder of the rider she was tied to, the remains of the smoldering ship sent shivers down her spine. Memories of her time aboard such ships, and having survived a crash to this godforsaken world filled her mind and her blood ran cold. The sounds of a skirmish filled the air, and Theory kept his men back, she knew he wasn't ready to reveal his army just yet, and that whoever survived this fight would soon join her as a thrall. A few of the men and women seemed to grow restless as the fighting below dragged on.

"Ha! Someone else wishes to join the fray!" Theory pointed to where Seru stood, watching as Eren slid down the dune towards the battle. It wasn't too long before an explosion rocked the ground around Theory and his army. The sky flashed white, and for a brief moment, everything went dark. The resulting explosion sent shockwaves out, destabilizing the ground beneath their ant's feet.

In the aftermath of the explosion, Syra found herself beneath the unconscious form of the knight she had been tied to. She gingerly rubbed her wrists where the rope had started to dig into her skin and looked around at the disheveled army Theory couldn't claim he was in control of. Ants ran around in disarray as their fallen riders tried to get them under control. Theory scowled as he looked over the remains of the dune, Syra had noticed too, the cannon was gone. Syra smiled softly.

it wasn't long after that the acrid stench of smoke and death filled the air around the recovering army. In the distance, the smoke rose into the sky and the remains of Schittle dotted the horizon. "Well, one less town we'll need to worry about when we find that cannon!" Theory shouted, roughly grabbing hold of Syra's arm as he pulled her onto his ant, holding her in front of him.

"General Tusgi, take a team and begin gathering intel, General Uriah, you take a team and patrol this area. I want this ship, and whatever remains of it in my possession."

The Generals nodded accordingly and took their respective teams, Tusgi's headed toward the smoldering remains of Schittle while Uriah's men began fanning out and surrounding the ship's remains, paying no mind to any of the men or women who'd been skirmishing when the cannon fired.

"One day I will rule this world, Syra, and you will be there by my side, serving my wine." His hand gripped her arm tight enough to leave another bruise. The sun overhead began to sink below the horizon as The king and his Thrall rode off into the blistering afternoon.

Theory and Syra continued to ride, he humming an old soldier's tune and her wishing she'd died in Schittle. A small explosion ripped swallowed the earth beneath Theory's ant, and the pair tumbled into a pit full of animal and human remains. Once the dust settled, Syra felt Theory's arm around her neck, pulling her in front of him as a shield while waving his pistol around with his free hand.

"Well, well, who do I spy but the "Prince"!" A slimy voice echoed off the wall around them, a few torches igniting at the words. Syra looked around, seeing that the pit they'd fallen into was only one of many chambers, corridors connected to each side of the room as the sunlight filtered in from overhead. The sound of footsteps filled the passageways as feet crunched against the sand.

"What is this?" Theory barked, finding the man who'd spoken to them. Syra couldn't see his face, only the blistered hands and cracked feet of the creature were exposed. The rest of the figure was shrouded by a worn cloak, ratted at the ends and sleeves. Sand clung to it like flies on shit, and the stench wasn't far from it.

"Earth Phoenix..." Theory spat, while he shook his head and pulled the hammer back on his pistol, "I'll end you all. Your tunnels will be mine and the citizens of this world will thank me! Your meager existence will be forgotten.

"You, kill me?" The man laughed, "You use a Thrall for a shield, and you threaten me? Pitiful," he spat. Suddenly the room was full of cloaked figures, they disarmed Theory and pulled Syra from his grasp, but she was far from free, she'd only changed captors. She cringed as the figure holding her slid its tongue down her neck before inhaling her scent. "This one will be most delectable...yes, I must get the first taste!"

"In time, in time," The first figure said, raising his hands. "These two are only the beginning! Our other guests are being rounded up as Schittle burns! We shall feast and never go hungry! I promised you all salvation, and I have delivered! Now, bring the Prince and his whore!"


They walked for miles, pushed along by the men and women who drooled at the sight of their flesh. Theory fumed, stripped of his armor and weaponry, he stood beside her naked. Every piece of his clothing had been taken and was now worn by the leader of the cannibals.

"Here, this is where our other guests fight for their lives!" Their leader spoke, "Can you feel the tension? The sand here is so warm, covered in the blood of battle and the wreckage of the space-faring vessel. With the wave of his hand, the ground opened up just enough for the cannibals to burst from the ground, ready to attack the unsuspecting victims above.

"Uriah!" Theory cried, struggling to break his bonds.


Uriah and her men were thrown off guard by the sudden attack. "Dammed Sand Cannibals!" She shouted, drawing her blade as she pulled away from a reaching hand. "You're dinner lies in those ruins there!" She pointed with her blade, making the attacker look for a split second before taking his head off. "Remnants, regroup and take these bastards down!" A few riders raised their weapons, acknowledging her words, while others continued to fend off the ravenous horde.

Below the surface, Syra and Theory were pushed to their knees, a blade floated above their heads as the shaky hands of the eager cannibal began to grow tired. In what seemed to be with genuine concern, Theory looked Syra in the eyes, "on three." he whispered before he began mouthing the numbers.

She counted in her head, the second passing like hours. She'd no clue what he had planned but whatever he had was better than being eaten. "Three!" He shouted, lunging into their executioner. The blade fell to the ground and Theory managed to snap the simple rope binds he'd been placed in before grabbing the sword and making a charge for the man who'd stolen his armor. Syra sat, dumbfounded and forgotten. in a flash she was on her back, defenseless as the man who'd called dibs on her straddled her, his tongue one again licking up and down her neck, "Pretty girls always taste the best..." He whispered before playfully nibbling her ear. She felt tears sting her eyes and she tried to scream but nothing came out. All she could do was close her eyes.

Seconds later, the man's body crashed against hers, and she felt his blood coat the side of her face as it pooled around her. She opened her eyes to see his lifeless eyes staring back at her. "Get up, Syra." Theory commanded, now back in his own armor. He pulled a small charge from his belt and threw it at the ceiling of the tunnel, causing the roof to cave in. "Go!" He shouted, picking her up and throwing her into the battlefield above.

Chaos was everywhere, cannibals fought with Theory's men, and the people she'd seen skirmishing before seemed to be trying to escape. Instinct told her to run, and the lesser of three evils seemed to be following the ragtag group of strangers she'd never met.

"Wait, please!" She called, trying to get their attention, "don't leave me here!"

Syra reached for Girthfield's hand before recognizing Hedon Bad controlling the ant, "No...not with him." She shied away, unable to allow herself the chance for Bad to regain control and take her back to Theory.

Syra felt herself pulled onto the back of the ant despite her objections to its handler. "Bastard..." she cursed under her breath. The man had called her a thrall, clearly seeing her as less than.

Syra rubbed the back of her head as she sat up. "Great, more tunnels..." She sighed. She had had enough of these particular tunnels for a lifetime. The cannibals had been working on their network of tunnels for years, burrowing under the town of Schittle in order to feed themselves. Everyone knew what happened to a missing person, but no one ever seemed to want to speak of it. Thankfully the space they'd managed to find themselves in was unoccupied, and Syra hoped it'd stay that way.

"Well, now what?" She asked no one in particular, "Obviously, we can't stay here..." She said meekly, her fighting spirit starting to wain in the presence of strangers. She wasn't used to speaking her mind out loud, and she was afraid those present would quickly reprimand her. "Sorry, you already know that..." She finished sheepily as she looked down at her feet.

"Syra, Syra Onnet," Syra replied quickly, on instinct. Hedon's words hadn't phased her, she was used to the harsh treatment afforded by the men and women in Theory's army. Girthfield seemed powerful. but she wasn't sure where his true allegiance lay, and the other woman he'd saved seemed like she could take care of herself, Syra envied the thought. All she wanted to do was run, but she had no idea where she'd go. She longed to return to her home, but it seemed impossible, even if she were free of Theory, freedom seemed like little more than a dream.

Syra had heard stories of the Guardians during the war but hadn't ever met one before today. Girthfield knowing she was Sorillain didn't come as too much of a shock. "Yeah," She replied, deciding to leave it at that.

The group continued on, Girthfield and Hedon talking all the while the other young woman remained silent. Syra was certain that Theory wouldn't give up on finding the cannon. His occupation of Schittle's remains was probably going "gloriously" and she had a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach that Theory and his army would rather watch The Rock burn than let that cannon fall into the proper hands. images of the war flashed in her mind and she felt a familiar lump begin to develop in her throat, and the hair on the back of her neck stand.

Syra felt her face flush as she looked out at the camp Theory had managed to set up in such a short time. She noticed the small skimmers parked nearby, giving her the answer she needed when it came to how he managed to establish camp so fast.

"We run, that's all we can do. Theory won't quit until everything on this ball of sand is his. He feels so slighed by his time in the military that he feels entitled to everything, even if it is just a pile of ashes...it's his pile of ashes."

Syra's eyes widened at Girthfield's suggestion. She felt her face go hot and her legs buckle. "Y-you're joking? There's no coming back from that, and nothing you can say or will do will get me away from him again. I have a real shot at freedom, and I'm not letting you use me a political bargaining chip, Guardian." She made to run, but the reality of her situation crept in. There was nowhere to run, death surrounded her. She could follow a random tunnel and wind up as someone's dinner or be killed on the spot by the heavily armed Guardian or even run into Theory himself and then nothing mattered. She clenched her fists in anger cursing herself for ever getting involved all those years ago. She'd been just a child then, but she wanted to fight, to protect her home. None of it mattered, her home was lost, the war was over, and she still ended up a prisoner. All she'd managed to do was buy herself 12 years of a painful existence, where she was forced to grow up too fast, seeing and experiencing the horrors of man and Phoenix alike.

"Fuck you." She growled, "Fuck you all!" The floodgates opened and hot tears streamed down her dirty cheeks as she sprinted towards Hedon, reaching for his gun.

Syra raised the gun into the air in frustration, she felt her finger tighten around the trigger before she decided to just throw the weapon away. There was no point to even trying to fight now. Too many people were around, and one claimed to be another Guardian.

"How many Guardians are there?" She sighed in frustration, looking to the well-dressed man who seemed to be confused by everything happening around him. She hadn't seen him during the initial fight, maybe he'd come looking for the gun after seeing the ship crash, maybe he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. It didn't matter, and Syra didn't care.


***

"The Long-Bao system?"

"Yes, I need you to follow a lead we've gotten."

"Of course, but what was a Sorillian ship doing out there?"

"We can speculate that all day, what I need from you is to take a ship, and head for The Rock. You'll know what needs to be done when you get there."

"Of course...I'll radio in as soon as I land."

Syra watched as Girthfield took off after Hedon, "He's not worth it...coming back the way he is will be seen as a disgrace, anything you do to him will be a mercy he doesn't deserve" she called after the Guardian.

She knelt to the ground, feeling her knees press into the soft, darkening sand. A momentary silence among them all after the events of the day. "Theory is cunning, he will want the Matran to come, he would love nothing more than to show those he believes cast him aside how little he needs them. Some nights he would toss and turn, memories of past battles. He'd wake up and one of the Thralls would suffer his wrath, he'd do anything to secure his power and respect."



****

"Come in, Oynx! Jeeze, why ask me to call if you can't even answer?!"

Static filled the line before a dejected sigh filled the white noise.

"I told you to contact me when you landed, it's been a few hours, there's no way you have reached The Rock. Contact me when you've reached your Objective, until then, this line is silent. Understood, Azure?"

"Yeah, yeah, just thought I'd let you know I'd be a little late, hit a bit of a snag...some old remnants of the war."

"Take care of them and move on, Azure. Over and out."

The line then clicked, signifying the end of the transmission.

"Roger copy..."

Syra stared down at the gun she'd just been given. She looked up to see Ash taking off after the Guardians before she picked the gun off the sand. The cool steel felt heavy in her hand. She turned it over a few times, half expecting it to vanish in an instant. A stranger had just trusted her with a means to determine someone's life or death. She stood quickly, dusting the sand from her knees and began to run after the three men chasing Hedon, she looked over her shoulder at the young woman that had been with them after the battle. She was hard to read, but something told Syra they'd meet again, even if she didn't manage to follow the rag-tag group chasing after an old Knight who'd gone AWOL and joined the equivalent of an illegal military occupation on a sentient world.

Syra felt herself retreat down the dune as the third "Guardian" began speaking. There were too many characters in too little time for shit not to hit the fan. A third Guardian would lead to fighting, and fighting would expose her to Theory's men. "As if simple music could rid this world of its filth. Don't be so stupid, this would only knows suffering and pain, you're being here can't change that. This gun being here will only ensure it."

“Leave no one alive. These miserable people are not worth capturing,” Theory began as he surveyed Schittle.
“Every last Guardian, and adventurer will be put to death as well, no one who witnessed the Gun’s power can be left to stand in our way, not even her…” he sighed.
The Remnants nodded and set about hunting down the survivors, and various other interlopers from the crash site.
“This god-forsaken world will be mine someday. I will make these people bow down to my power. No one will stop me once this cannon becomes mine!” He laughed, pushing over the brittle remains of a wall, ash rising into the ever gritty air.

***

Syra felt her heart pound as the fighting continued. She’s lost sight of Ash and was wandering the rubble of Schittle alone, dodging members of Theory’s army at every turn. She gasped for air as her lungs burned from running. She’d managed to find a small dagger in the rubble, a more silent option than the gun Ash had so generously given her for protection.
“Just go away…the gun isn’t here morons!” She whispered harshly as she peeked around a corner, following two of Theory’s men who had gone on a small killing spree, ending the lives of those barely clinging to breath under the ruins of their homes. She felt anger rise within her, and before she knew it she was silently sprinting across the sand and ash before sliding the dagger between the ribs of one former Sorillian Knight.
“It’s you!” He gasped as he fell to his knees, his former Oblivionite partner desperately reaching for his own blade. Yet he wouldn’t be quick enough, Syra’s bloodied dagger slit the skin of his throat open, blood spraying the pale girl’s face and chest.
“He…he’ll kill you!” The Sorillian gasped, clutching his wound.
“I’d love to see him try…” Syra whispered, knocking the man to the dirt before stabbing him in the heart.
“You survived one of the worst wars, only to die in a place like this…beg your god for forgiveness.”
The light went from his eyes and he took his last breath, staring up at the stars.
Syra wiped the blade in the sand watching as the dry earth soaked up the thick blood like a thirsty animal finding a small pool of water.


***

“Sir, we haven’t heard from Dickerson or Thawn in a few hours. They were supposed to report in over forty-five minutes ago, and no one has seen them. They were headed to the residential district, and as of their last report they’d managed to find and eliminate a few civilians and some would-be looters.”
Theory waved his hand, unable to be bothered by the news. “We have a few enemies on our hands that are more than capable of holding their own in a fight. Simply send a few more of our men to the remains of the residential district and flush out the rat that thinks they stand a chance against us. I have more important…” He paused, the small framed Thrall he’d captured years ago now standing before him, covered in blood and a fire in her eyes that reminded him that she had once been a soldier herself.
“Syra,” he smiled, “I take it you have come to turn yourself in? After all, you belong to me!” He lunged towards her, but she was faster, moving to the side, a dagger held fast before her.


She felt her heart sink, and her body shake as he lunged at her. She somehow managed to avoid him, but the others, his lieutenants, wouldn’t let her fight back for very long before forcing her to submit. She was prepared to die, and only hoped that before she did, she would be able to hurt Theory. To repay all his misdeeds, all the nights she spent beneath him against her will, subjected herself to his men and women in the name of “morale”. She choked back angry tears and readied her dagger in one hand while drawing the pistol with the other.
“You won’t take me back you bastard!” She shouted, firing off two shots, dropping the man who’d been reporting to Theory when she’d arrived. The man’s death caused Theory to laugh, and the expression on his face to turn into one of sick amusement.

“Yes, sweetheart, let that hatred out! I love it!” He shouted, swinging his blade at her throat, her dagger catching it mid-swing, but spinning from her hand from the sheer force of his swing and knocking her to the dirt.
“I’ll give you one chance to beg for my forgiveness,” he said with a cold smile as he stood over her, his blade to her throat. his boot on her wrist preventing her from using the pistol that was being snatched by a former Seed soldier, Cernix, a highly regarded member of Theory’s entourage, and one Syra had the pleasure of being loaned out to on more than one occasion.
“Beg, bitch!” Theory shouted.

Theory fell to the ground, his leg destroyed. He watched as his blood pooled on the sand, and the echoes of his screaming men filled the morning air. He gritted his teeth and watched the bandana'd interloper approach. Syra had slid away from him, her clothes stained with more blood. "You stupid girl...he'll only take you for his own. I was good to you, he won't be so nice!" He muttered through gritted teeth.

"Get up, thrall!" The bandana'd Girthfield hissed at Syra as she stood among the bodies. "You all put your hands up! Or Theory gets a bullet, understand?!" Girthfield glared down at Theory. "Don't do anything smart."

Theory watched as his men did as they were told, too stupid to understand they outnumbered the fool. He shook his head in disappointment. "Who do I owe the pleasure?" He managed, defeat in his voice.



Syra picked herself up from the ground, kicking Cernix in the chest as he writhed on the ground, dying of his gunshot wound. She hesitantly stood beside Girthfield, hoping he would prove to be a Guardian after all, and let her go free when this was all over.

Syra looked down at the cold metal gun Girthfield had placed in her hands. "You don't get to tell me what to do...I don't work for you, and I refuse to be your executioner." She dropped the pistol to her side, shaking her head, "I want them all dead, sure, but not like this...this is too easy a death, too kind. No, they should suffer, and I know that if we can get them into the hands of the armies they've deserted from, that they will know pain, they will know fear."

She began following Girthfield, dropping the gun in the sand, no longer caring what could happen. "You want to debrief me, question me? Let's just put an end to this nightmare already so I can try and rebuild my life..."

"It's Syra..." Syra began, but Girthfield had already begun to ignore her, calling out to his comrades on the radio. The Guardian on the other end seemed surprised by his report. She tried to focus on Girthfield's voice in an effort to drown out the gunshots outside, she swore to herself that Hedon would pay, he wouldn't get off so easy for simply turning on his own people out of fear. He was just as bad as the men and women he was now executing.

As the shots faded into the wind, the door to the office swung open, and the Guardian she'd met only briefly outside of town with Ash, walked in. Girthfield dropped the microphone and looked up at his comrade with a look of annoyance, "And where in god's name have you been?" He asked. "This is Galneryus, another guardian unfortunately absent from yesterdays excitement." Girthfield grinned at Syra. "Don't worry, like me he means you no harm. Once we have the situation figured out you'll be free."


"We've met...briefly." She muttered, crossing her arms. The way Girthfield stressed, "means you no harm" rubbed her the wrong way. For her, actions would speak louder than words. "And what is left to figure out? You have Theory, and it sounds like other Guardians coming to help find the gun. Is there anything I can do to help speed up the process?"

Syra let out a sigh as the Knight's ship landed. "Great...we can be rid of Theory...turn him over to these Knights and be done with it. I'll even see his capture through to his death..." She muttered, following Girthfield outside as the Knight emerged. While he spoke, she couldn't help but notice the armored figure standing in the dim light the airlock provided. Why hadn't they followed their superior from the ship?



***

"Onyx, we've landed on The Rock. The Knight's that serve under Commander Swipian have been most helpful in getting me here after I was attacked...by the way, you and I will talk about your lack of help there when I return home." Azure sighed, the ship touched down and the Knight, Jamapipponen dropped the ship's boarding ramp, making his way to greet the people.

"Anyway, the mission is about to commence. I'll be radio silent until it's complete, as you asked," Azure began, making their way to the boarding ramp, helmet concealing their identity. "Over and out," they said, eyes resting on the dirty girl with auburn hair and tattered clothing.

Syra stared in awe at how much Theory's men had managed to unbury. "Loyal to a fault..." she muttered, suddenly aware that the mysterious navy blue armored knight was standing right behind her.

"Your armor is a weakness here, you'll lose consciousness in a matter of minutes fighting in it," She pointed at Theory's men, "most of them are from your order, they went AWOL during the war and came here seeking refuge, but that turned into conquest. Their leader was captured by the guardian there, but it doesn't matter, they will keep fighting for that man, their "crown prince", your friend there is committing suicide right now." She gestured to the Knight that had chosen to step between the two armies.

"While I agree, he and I are not from the same order," the feminine voice echoed from beneath the navy helm, "he simply came to my aid while I was making my way to this world on my own mission," she stated, removing her helmet, brown hair falling to her shoulders. "Of course, I was sent here to collect that weapon, but not for the Matran." She smiled, extending her hand to Syra, "for now, call me Azure!"


"Syra..." Syra replied, hesitantly. Something about this girl felt off, they stood on the verge of a battle between two capable armies and she was making small talk? She couldn't help but wonder how easy her life, and the life of the Knight had been for them to both be so calm under pressure. On the same token, she couldn't help but be envious. Syra had never asked to see such horrible things, she'd love to be as carefree as Azure seemed.

"Well, it's time I started my mission, Syra, I'm impressed you came all the way out here unarmed, you must have something at stake in this battle, when this is over I'll do my best to help you achieve whatever goal it is you wish!"

"You...you don't even...hey!" Syra watched as the strange woman raced after the idiotic knight. She looked at Girthfield with a stunned expression, "They've no clue what they're doing! You have to stop this from getting worse!"


"Seems a lot of those men and women digging up the cannon are deserters, plan on taking them in, or just eradicating them here and now?" Azure began, standing beside the Knight.

Syra stared at Girthfield, baffled. "Y-yeah? What do you want me to do?" She had watched the exchange between the Knight and Zambob, unsure how it had remained so calm, now they descended on their way into battle over a cannon that had no place on a world like this. From the corner of her eye she could see Azure hanging back, clearly the mysterious woman had different intentions that the Knight she'd arrived with.

Syra's eyes widened at Girthfield's request. "You want me, to break into a Sorillian ship that belongs to the Knights of the Matran? You must be mad...I wouldn't know the first thing to do with this ship, you'd be better suited to do it!" She scoffed, looking the ship over. She'd never seen one like it before. It was more advanced than the ones used in the war, but the same basic design seemed to remain. "There's no telling how many other Knights are on board!"

Syra felt her eyes narrow in response to Girthfield's reasoning. Yet the ship's loading ramp dropped for her and she found herself scurrying aboard anyway. The idea of simply stealing the ship and getting herself off this gods-forsaken ball of dust and death crossed her mind, but she didn't even know where she'd go. Her home was gone, her family dead, and the systems were nothing like they'd been when she was growing up. The weight of this hit her as her fist met with the cold metal of the walls of the ship. "Now what..." she muttered, edging ever closer to the bridge. She had no idea why Girthfield had wanted her to board the ship in the first place. She stared for a moment out the viewport, and endless expanse of desert lay before her, and the firing mechanism for the ships' weapon lay just below a small metal switch. Her finger itched the sudden desire to end it all becoming overwhelming. She felt herself collapse into the pilot's chair and swiveled side to side.

"I could just run away, take this ship and spend my life in the stars. Anything is better than here..." She pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on her dry skin. It was odd being in the pilot's seat again. "Screw them all..." She muttered, simply sitting in the pilot's seat, looking out the windshield.

Syra made her way over to the oak desk and picked up one of the many scrolls that lay on top, "Continue to monitor...." One began, "Provide aid to rebels in the capital, only if asked, do not offer assistance, play both sides..." Another read, talking about a war on a distant world.

"What am I doing here?" she questioned out loud, her small voice echoing around her as the hum from the instrument panel filled the silence. "Girthfield didn't mention wanting anything, and I could have taken this ship off world the second I boarded, so why am I still here?" She collapsed in the desk chair, scattering scrolls to the floor in frustration. "Am I that meaningless that I'm to just sit here and wait to be captured? Out of Girthfield's hair? I never asked that man for a thing, and yet now he treats me like one of his subordinates? Is that all there is to life, bouncing from one form of master to another?" She closed her eyes and fought back the tears. Memories of her homeworld played in her mind, her reasons for fighting, for ending up on The Rock.


"You know, there is another way..." A man's voice called over the radio by the pilot's chair. "You don't have to serve that Guardian if you don't want to, he can't make you, after all, it goes against what the Guardians stand for."

"Who, how?" Syra began, walking over to the ship's radio.

"You can call me Onyx," The man began, "I'm not a Knight, and I'm not a Guardian, but I have an interest in your world. My associate should have landed there with the Knights, maybe you've met," he chuckled. "Tell me, young lady, what is your name?"

"Syra. Syra Onnet."

"Well, Syra, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," He sighed, "I don't have much time, the Knights are beginning to figure out that I've commandeered this channel, I've sent my associate, Azure with a strict list of orders, one of those orders was to find someone she could trust. I think you will do just nicely. A young woman wanting her freedom, to be in control of her own destiny, perhaps you and Azure have that in common? Find her, help her and we will help you. Now, that isn't to say you shouldn't trust the Guardians, work with one another to better that world, Syra." The radio filled with white noise for a second, "We will talk again..." then the transmission was cut.


Without a word, Syra exited the ship as silently and unnoticed as she'd boarded.

Syra shook her head, watching as the people dug the cannon from what should be its grave. "The Knight's are the Knights. They seek glory and nothing else. Stepping in when all seems hopeless and claiming they've saved the day when in fact the world simply burns around them. That ship is little more than a scout, sent to do recon, once the cannon is ready, he will call his superiors and a dreadnaught will fill skies, sending all the mystics into a frenzy, the warlords on a warpath, and the Remnants will try and reason with the Knights, pull them to their side, their way of thinking, since many served the Knights in the past." She sighed, clasping her hands behind her back as she looked into the cloudless sky, "This world won't survive the coming onslaught that this weapon had brought," She eyed Girthfiel, "Tell me, Guardian, do you and yours have what it takes to protect the innocents of this world? To offer them hope?" She smirked coldly and began to walk away, seeking the strange armored woman, who'd arrived with the Knight.

"Azure...what are you hiding?" She muttered to herself as the hot sand blew over around her.