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✧₊⁺ emilina ⁺₊✧
Hauste, a small, rural city in the central continent, was known for two things: its military and its food. When people thought of a Haustean citizen, if they ever thought of them, they imagined someone strong and mighty, powerful from a lifetime of rich, home cooked meals, the Hauste army insignia emblazoned on their chest. Apple trees lined the streets and fields rich with wheat extended as far as the eye could see. It may have been small in size, without the stretch of mighty buildings like Voxthain or twisting streets like Asterath, but it was mighty. How could anyone ever go hungry in such a prosperous city?
In a village so small it wasn’t even an ink splotch on a map, more of an apostrophe at the end of Hauste than a town of its own, the well in the town square ran dry. Hauste and the surrounding spattering of communities had always been so stable–even in such a tiny village–that the drought had come as a shock to the people. There were no plans in place, no backups in case the known facts of life turned out to be untrue. Located so close to the Barvolan desert, it had been foolish and arrogant to think that their steady supply of water could ever dry up.
The pigs were the first to go, throats drying with thirst while what little water the village could scrounge together went to the people and the crops. The villagers were sad to see them go, but the meat filled their bellies while the fields withered and dried. That year’s harvest was pitiful, barely enough to feed the people much less make a profit. Those who still had enough money to leave made their escape while the poor farmers were stuck on their dusty farms, left with no other option but to pray.
Emilina, one of many discarded children of the village in the face of disaster, had never had the luxury of knowing who her parents were, but she liked to think that they had once lived in the one nice house at the edge of town. It was painted a soft blue, often blending in with the cloudless sky, and it had a wraparound porch with an old swing. There was a big oak tree around the back that she longed to climb, imagining a little brother or sister trailing behind her, watching in awe as she reached higher and higher until she touched the very heavens. When she was bored she would walk along the fence, trailing her hand along the flaking white paint, picturing what her life could have been if she had been raised in that house instead of being left to starve on the street.
So many people had left their young kids behind when they left town, seeing them as an added expense and another mouth to feed. There were too many of them for the remaining townsfolk to keep track of, so they were mostly left to fight over the scraps in the trash amongst themselves.
One of the nice older kids told Emilina that she had been two years old when her parents skipped town. She had no way of knowing how true that was, but she had taken the girl’s word for it and had used it for the basis of her age ever since. It was a marvel that she hadn’t died, being left all alone so young, but it seemed the village as a whole found it difficult to watch a child that small and innocent starve on the streets, even if none of them were willing to take her in and raise her as their own.
For as long as she has been old enough to take care of herself and remember it, Emilina had lived off of discarded scraps thrown to her from passing travelers and the few remaining farmers, clothing herself with hand-me-downs found abandoned in the alleyways between the houses. She played with the nicer kids and ran from the ones who would rather beat away their competition for food with rocks and sticks. It wasn’t a good life by any means, but it was the only one she knew.
Dirt coated her in a layer so thick that it had become a protective shell over her skin, and she had never heard the word bath, even in passing conversation, but at least she had the other kids around to talk to. She was little more than skin and bones, her head spinning with hunger for so long that she wouldn’t recognize life without it, but once a traveler had thrown her a whole apple, so she knew the taste of true happiness.
Late after the harvest of her twelfth year, the rain came. It poured from the sky in sheets, and at first the kids cheered and danced. They twirled, heads pointed to the heavens, gulping down as much of the liquid lifenas their empty stomachs could hold. The dirt and grime slid from their skin, revealing freckles and scars, evidence of a life before the streets that many of them never knew they had. But the rain just kept coming and coming and coming. The old well in the middle of town filled and then overflowed, water pouring down the streets and flooding the fields. Day after day, the torrent continued, bombarding the kids as they huddled together in doorways and under stoops, shivering against the onslaught.
Then came the plague.
There were no doctors in town, nobody to help when the first kid fell ill. At first it was just a fever, a raging heat that burned away the chill from the constant rain but left behind shivers and a deep ache. Then, they developed a rattling cough, a wet thing that keeled them over until their lungs were scratched raw and they were choking on blood. The lucky ones died there, their bones too weak from a lifetime of starvation to stop their ribs from cracking with the force of the cough. Some of the older, stronger kids could be found leaning against the back of houses and at the end of alleyways, scratching absently at the rash that made up the third and final mutation of the illness. It was dark and patchy, spreading across the body until their very skin was on fire.
Afterward, they named it the Red Death. Not a single soul in the village made it through unscathed. Only a third of the kids Emilina had grown up with survived.
Even Emilina herself caught the Red Death. The fever came for her later than most, after some had scratched at their skin until it bled, nails carving lines into their burning flesh. She didn’t remember much of her time with the illness—only the ache in her chest and the rhythmic thrum of the rain she had grown so used to. Until one day, the rain stopped. The skies cleared and birds returned to the trees, chirping their sweet melody of victory. The sun gazed down on her with benevolence, drying her clothes and warming the chill in her bones. The cough slowly receded, and with it too the Red Death left her system, leaving behind the faint memory of days spent in a haze of scarlet and a scarred reminder of the rash on her chest.
In the following years, conditions in the village slowly began to improve. There still wasn’t enough to go around—especially for poor beggar children—but conditions weren’t as dire. There was life to the village. People moved back into homes, shops reopened, people danced and laughed in the square. Vendors sold bread and sweets at the market each week, giving the street rats something to steal that wasn’t from the trash. It was like Hauste had remembered that the village was there, that the people deserved their chance at life too.
Life continued, but the pretty blue house with the old oak tree remained empty, the swing on the porch hanging on by one chain and the paint washed clean from the fence. When Emilina asked the new and returning villagers, they told her they didn’t know who had lived in that house. It had been empty for so long that even time had forgotten who had once loved it enough to paint it as blue as the sky.
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The two options for a street rat were to join the military or work out in the fields. There was no life waiting for a lazy bum that sat around feeling sorry for themself beyond a slow death by starvation. Working in the fields was backbreaking labor, long hours and short nights, but it was a stable income that one could maybe raise a family on if they were frugal, and there were always openings for more farmhands. The military could be just as hard on the body and soul, but there was upward mobility and the chance at one day attaining a cushy desk job in an office somewhere. More so than that, there was honor to joining the military, fighting for the freedom and protection of the great Hauste.
Despite the life she had lived and the barrage of trauma she had faced, Emilina was proud to be a citizen of Hauste, and on her sixteenth birthday, scrawny and starved, with a forged birth certificate putting her at two years older than she estimated herself to be, she lined up at the local recruitment office to enlist. It had been a two hour walk to the office, along dirt roads that morphed to gravel then pavement as she drew closer to the mid-sized town housing the office. She had barely been able to sleep the night before, excitement buzzing in her very bones. Emilina was proud and confident, certain that she could do her city justice in the armed forces.
The officer at the recruitment office thought differently, nearly laughing her out of the building. The birth certificate was clearly fabricated–torn, dirty parchment, the scrawled script barely legible, clearly written by someone only marginally more literate than Emilina. Even beyond that, there was no chance of Emilina meeting the physical requirements for becoming a soldier. She was weak, barely more than skin and bones, kept small from a lifetime of malnourishment. There was a lasting cough that rattled in her chest, still clinging on after her fight against the Red Death. She couldn’t run long distances, couldn’t lift half her weight, couldn’t even write her name. She knew she could hold her own in a brawl and would be a good, loyal soldier, but she hadn’t even been given a chance to defend herself before she was forced back out the door.
One year later, Emilina made her way back to the recruitment office. This time, she had worked odd jobs for months to scrounge together enough cash to buy a more authentic fake birth certificate—the kind that was printed in ink and had an official seal. Emilina practiced the spelling of her name in the dirt, copying the letters on the certificate until they looked practiced and intentional, even if she still couldn’t actually decipher the meaning of the characters. She was still hungrier than any kid had a right to be, but she had worked hard to take care of herself, harder than she had in her whole life. She ran in the vast fields surrounding her tiny village until her lungs felt like they would burst and lifted the other kids like weights. She stopped giving as many of her scraps away to the dogs that begged alongside her and sometimes even made the journey to one of the bigger towns to dig around in the trash of restaurants and bakeries. Her hard work had allowed her to grow several inches, almost beginning to tower over kids who she had once thought of as giants.
It hadn’t been enough. This time she had made it as far as the vision exam, failing not because she could not see the letters, but because she didn’t know what name to call out. The recruiter had looked at her with sympathy, telling her that even if she had passed through to the physical, it was unlikely she would have made it any farther. She was still too skinny, not well-fed enough to grow any substantial muscle despite her best efforts. The recruiter told her point-blank that unless she grew enough to fill out the uniform, she would never have a place in the military.
Despite her failure, Emilina refused to give in to despair or give up on her dreams. She was strong-willed and confident in her abilities, proud of the progress she had already made in just one short year. The people of Hauste were strong and sturdy, often living long and fulfilling lives, and Emilina knew that she had the time to build up her strength before she applied again. It was either the military or farming, and since Emilina couldn’t yet join the military, she felt that it would be a good use of her time to work out in the fields. Farmhands were often given a dry bed and two meals a day, which was more than Emilina could ever ask for. If she saved every last penny she made, maybe she could afford a few lessons with a tutor to learn how to read. In just two more years, she resolved to return to the recruitment office a changed woman, ready to serve.
What Emilina hadn’t accounted for was how difficult and time-consuming it was, working out in the fields. The low autumn sun beat down on her back during the height of harvest, toasting her skin to a light caramel, bringing warmth and definition to her complexion. Her hair was roughly shorn to her shoulders where it had once run down her back in tangled auburn waves. Her hands grew rough calluses, fingernails caked with a new, fresher dirt. She rose with the sun and worked long after it set in the evening, too thorough and hard-working for her own good. Most other farm hands turned in for the night as soon as the sun started to dip towards the horizon, but Emilina felt that it was important to work for as long as her body could manage, really earn her paycheck and meals.
She worked herself to the bone, days passing into weeks, passing into months. Each day was the same as the last, monotonous and unchanging, each autumn day the same as the last. Emilina woke with a start one morning, still dazed with dreams of the military, remembering that long forgotten promise she had made to herself. Checking the calendar on the wall next to her bunk, she realized that two and a half years had passed. She had completely missed her return date. Work had overtaken every aspect of her life, sucking her into a lifetime of labor. It wasn’t what she wanted, wasn’t what she had set out to do with her life. That morning after breakfast, Emilina took what she hoped wouldn’t be her last shower before dressing herself in her best work shirt. She combed back her hair, making herself as presentable as she could manage before marching down to her boss’ office to quit.
Free for the first time in years, Emilina grinned to herself as she packed her bag. She actually had a bag and her own personal belongings to put in it. She had a blanket and an extra pair of shoes and a framed photo of herself with the crew. She had more than just a single pair of ratty clothes, and better yet, they actually fit her. Best of all, she had nearly three years’ worth of savings from her hard work and frugal nature.
Emilina caught sight of herself in the hall mirror as she left the farmhand quarters for the last time, and the sight that met her stopped her dead in her tracks. She could barely believe the woman staring back at her was actually her. She was tall, her head scraping the top of the mirror’s frame, with broad shoulders lined with muscles. Her skin was a soft golden brown and her face had filled out, making her actually look her age instead of an amalgamation of far too young and small and haggardly old beyond her years. She looked healthy—she felt healthy. She was sure that compared to a hardened soldier she would look lanky and small, but she felt better than she ever had. Emilina grinned at herself, eyes sparking. Before continuing down the hallway, she threw herself a wink, knowing that it might be the last time she had access to a mirror in a long while.
With the money she had earned over the last two and a half years, Emilina could easily afford a small room at the one inn in the village for as long as she needed it. The room was barren–a bed in one corner covered with a threadbare blanket and a rickety table with a single chair in the other. There was a window overlooking the town square, curtains too thin to block out the light from the sun. From the window, Emilina could see the stoop where she had spent most of her nights in her childhood. It was like looking into a memory, standing there safe and warm and dry, knowing all that she had gone through to get to that moment. There was still a light patch on the stone, the outline of her body as she had sat in that same spot through the harsh heat of summer and bitter cold of winter, the lasting impression of her struggle to get to this very moment.
It gave her hope, knowing that even a kid who was abandoned by everyone who was supposed to love her unconditionally before she could even talk had made it that far from life on the streets. If she could make it that far with nothing to her name, imagine all that she could do with money and belongings. The world had opened up to her in ways she had never dreamed possible. She could afford a tutor, move to a bigger town, do anything, become anything. She was no longer just another hungry face in the masses. Even with a world of prospects, Emilina’s heart was set on joining the army. It was the goal she had been aspiring to for so many years, the guiding light of her life. It felt like she belonged there, like something good was waiting for her just beyond what she could see and understand.
As soon as she had settled in her room, Emilina set out on finding herself a tutor. She wasn’t embarrassed by her illiteracy–most of the people in her life could barely read, having never had the opportunity to learn. It was just another problem she hadn’t had the power to solve until that moment. Emilina knew that she was already better off than most of the former street rats when it came to her education. One of the older kids who had looked out for her when she was small had taken the time to teach her basic arithmetic, and, self-taught as she was, Emilina was fairly skilled in basic math. She had kept track of her earnings with ease, never letting a greedy shopkeeper or banker con her out of her hard-earned cash. The biggest problem was just reading.
It turned out that the village held a night class for farm hands wanting to work on their literacy. The class was perfect for Emilina. She spent her days training–running, push-ups, whatever drills she could think of to prepare for the fitness exam–then at night, she would head into town for class. She pushed her body and mind to their limits, knowing that she could be better, would be better. This time she would be enough for the army.
This time, on Emilina’s 20th birthday, when she arrived at the recruitment office, she was able to sign in by herself. Her handwriting was shaky, but each letter in her name could be made out and she understood the meaning and importance of each character. The vision exam was a breeze, the names of the letters coming to her with ease. Reading the safety form was harder, most of the language more complex than she could sound out, but she found the signature line on her own, and that was the only part that mattered to her. The fitness exam required her to run, climb, and crawl through a course that only a few years ago would have been too daunting of a task for her to complete. Emilina flew through it, impressing even herself with how much her training had paid off.
The letter came to her room a few days later. It took her an hour to read, sounding out each syllable aloud.Dear Ms. Emilina Briem,
Based on the physical and mental requirements for the Hauste Armed Forces, you have been found eligible for service. Make your way to the army base for official admittance into the army. Congratulations, Private.She had done it. She had actually done it! Emilina squealed, hugging the letter to her chest, jumping around her room with joy. She read over the letter again, making sure that she had read it correctly, laughing giddily. There was so much happiness in her chest that she felt like she would burst. This was everything she had ever wanted, the one thing she had worked towards for so many years. This would be the start of the greatest years of her life.
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You will be assigned to Platoon 031, stationed in northern Hauste near the start of Kairne’s territory.
Those were the first words spoken to Emilina as a Private after completing basic training. She had flown through the training at record speeds, picking up weapons and hand-to-hand combat faster than the base had seen in a long time. If the kids she had grown up with saw her now, she wasn’t sure they would recognize her. She was tall and strong, all lean muscle and broad shoulders. She hadn’t had the time or relaxation to soften her hash lines and edges from her lifetime of suffering, but it was no longer obvious at first glance that she had grown up with nothing. Her hair was roughly cut, resting on her shoulders in jagged yet intentional waves and bangs framed her face. She felt whole, like she was truly, unwaveringly herself in a way she didn’t know if she had ever experienced.
It was nerve wracking, getting her posting, but Emilina was more excited than anything. This was it. This would be the group of people she would work alongside for the rest of her life, if all went well.
Only one other new recruit was joining Platoon 031–a silent little slip of a girl Emilina thought was named Briar. Emilina hadn’t spoken a word to the girl before the long ride to their posting. Solitary by nature and entirely focused on her training, she hadn’t made much of an effort to talk to anyone. Emilina was friendly and made a good conversation partner, but she wasn’t one to open up or start a conversation unless approached. In the quiet of the back of the truck, while sizing up her new squad mate, Emilina figured that Briar was the same.
The girl looked young, perhaps not even 18, joining the military before she was of age like Emilina herself had attempted all of those years ago. She was the very definition of night–long, ebony hair tied back in twin braids and ghostly pale skin unmarred by freckles. Emilina remembered watching her during training. She was as quiet as the night too, sneaking up on even the most alert of opponents with little more than a rustle of fabric. Emilina thought that she would be more suited to life as a spy or assassin, but she could see how that would be unappealing when compared to army life. Ordinarily, Emilina would have been happy to pass the ride in silence, but Briar was about to be her sister-in-arms, and it felt right to make the first step into a true friendship.
“So, Platoon 031. What do you think they’ll be like?” she asked by way of greeting. As an afterthought, she figured she should properly introduce herself. “I’m Emilina, by the way.”
“Briar.” The girl’s voice was gentle and rough with disuse. She looked almost surprised that Emilina had spoken to her, like she was more used to going unnoticed and undisturbed. “I hope they’re nice.”
Maybe Briar was more shy than solitary, kept small and quiet out of fear rather than an appreciation for stillness. Emilina amended her view of the girl, realizing she was far softer than she had first thought. She liked her instantly, drawn in by Briar’s quiet charm.
“Yeah, me too. I wouldn’t want to be stuck with a bunch of stuck-up jerkwads for the next however many years.” Emilina was able to get a smile out of Briar at that, grinning back at the girl in return. “I’ve actually never been this far north. I wonder if it gets colder closer to the border.”
“My hometown is along the northern border, closer to the sea. It’s chillier back home than it is at the base. It even snows every once in a while.” She was already opening up, shoulders relaxing and face livening. It seemed she liked Emilina too. Good. She was glad to have at least one friendly face in the squad. “Where are you from?”
“A little nowhere farming village nearing up to the Barvolan desert. Maybe veering a little south, too? It’s honestly hard to say. We don’t show up on a lot of maps.” Emilina had no intention of mentioning just how destitute and pathetic her hometown was, nor how hard she’d had to work to get into the army. She was a new person now, her past left back in that village where it belonged. “I’m kinda nervous for the cold. It stayed fairly warm where I grew up for the most part, being that close to the desert winds. But the change is also exciting, you know?”
Briar grinned at Emilina, a beautiful thing that lit up her whole face. Yeah, they were about to be the best of friends. Emilina could feel it. “It’s all exciting. I’ve wanted to join the army for a long time. I just can’t believe I’m finally here.”
“I’m with you there, girlfriend! This has been a dream of mine for a long time. I have a lot of love for our city, and I feel like I can do a lot of good protecting our people. What about you? What made you want to join the army?”
“My dad is a retired general and my brother is stationed in the heart of the city. It feels like the family business to also enlist. I just want to help people, like you, and my mom always said that with magic like mine, I can do the most good in the army.”
The rest of the drive flew by, the two girls chatting, getting to know each other. Emilina learned that Briar was a middle child, with an older brother and twin younger sisters. Her silence was a use of her magic, which had some wind leanings given her mother’s magical heritage. Not a lot of people in Hauste had use for magic outside of combat, and Emilina was fascinated to hear about Briar’s more magical upbringing. She herself didn’t know if she had any magic–she assumed no–but hearing Briar talk about her maternal grandparents who had come from a far more magic-oriented city far in southern Valoran, Emilina wondered if there was more to it than she had once thought. Briar told her that she had been too scared and shy to talk to anyone during basic training, and that she was so glad Emilina had spoken to her.
Emilina was just as happy to have introduced herself. She shared more about herself, telling Briar that she had worked on a farm for two years to be able to afford to enlist, staying a little hazy on the details of why. She shared that she didn’t know if she could use any magic, having never had the opportunity to try or a teacher to learn. There had only been one time that she had ever witnessed the use of magic in her village, and it had been an illusion light show from a traveling circus who had stopped to rest for the night in a nearby field. Watching the bright colors and shapes light up the sky from her stoop, magic had felt like something so far removed from her and her life, like she was momentarily peering into another world that she could never be a part of. Towards the end of the journey, as day turned to night and the air gained a crisp chill, Briar showed Emilina how to summon sparks with her fingertips, bright embers of light shooting off into the night. It took some effort and concentration, but Emilina was able to summon sparks of her own, nearly whooping in joy at the discovery, pulling Briar into a massive bear hug. It was a miracle, a wonder, the greatest moment of Emilina’s life.
“You are the best, Briar!” she had told her, head thrown back in a laugh. “What would I have done without you?”
It was well after dark when the truck finally pulled up at the outpost. On a moonless night like that one, it was impossible to make out much more than a hazy outline of shapes, a lone building in a broad expanse of field. Two members of the Platoon were waiting at the entrance of the outpost, the rest of the squad away on business or asleep. The first was the captain, Arlon. He was big and imposing, towering over even Emilina who had grown to be quite the figure herself. His ruddy hair was tied back in a low bun, a single strand of white trailing a path of lightning down from his left temple. He was built like a beast, larger than any person Emilina had ever seen, but there was a kindness in his green eyes. Laugh lines etched around his eyes and strode across his cheeks, cutting across a nasty scar on one cheekbone. He welcomed his two new squad members with open arms, leading them into the outpost to meet the other member of the team who had stayed up to greet them and his partner, Clem.
Clytemnestra–or Clem, as everyone called her–stood just below Emilina in height, still a full head taller than Briar. Like Arlon, she had a kind face, though her eyes were sharper and more hardened than his. She had rich, dark skin and coarse hair tied back in neat braids. Scars cut little white lines into her hands, the amount and order to them pulling at Emilina’s curiosity. A large gun was strapped to her back, and she held herself like it was an extension of her body.
The pair were friendly and welcoming, putting Emilina at ease with just a few words. She and Blair were in good hands. It had been a long day, and the pair wasted no time showing the two to their room. Their quarters were small, but larger and more decorated than any space Emilina had ever lived in. Two sets of bunk beds lined the walls and four desks sat in the back of the room, two empty and two cluttered with papers and trinkets. They would share the room with the Platoon’s other foot soldier, Marti, who was snoring quietly in his bunk, and Orrin, the scout, who was out on a mission.
Arlon told them that there was a second, identical room he shared with Clem, the medic, and the soldier who primarily acted as their chef. Emilina was very curious to meet a soldier-chef, but that would have to wait for when they woke up the next morning. Not wanting to disturb the sleeping outpost any more than they already had, Emilina and Briar turned in for the night, Blair using her magic to make their steps silent.
The next morning, the outpost came alive in a way it hadn’t been the night before. Marti had not taken the care Briar and Emilina had to keep their movements silent, waking them with his thunderous steps and remarkably loud yawning. Giving him a once over from her bunk, still blinking the last remnants of her dreams from her eyes, Emilina saw that Marti was a man around her age with shaggy blonde hair and freckled skin. He was still dressed in his sleep clothes, which consisted of a pair of loose shorts and nothing else. Emilina was sure that Briar was hiding her face on the bunk above her, flushed with embarrassment, but Emilina had never found much interest in men. She took in his form like an artist studying their model, noting that while he had a few scars striping his back, his skin was mostly untarnished, smooth muscle. So either the Platoon was fairly safe or he was a skilled warrior. Based on the markings on Arlon and Clem, Emilina was sure that she would see her fair share of action, which both worried and excited her.
Pulling herself out of her bunk, Emilina was mildly surprised to see that she stood eye to eye with Marti. In fact, they could almost be siblings, with the same shaggy hair and lean, tight muscles. Even his eyes were close to the warm brown of her own.
“Woah,” Briar breathed down from her bunk, thoughts clearly mirroring Emilina’s own.
“Hey, nice,” Marti grinned at her, raising his arm for a high five. He seemed entirely oblivious to the moment Briar and Emilina were having. “Wolf cut twins!”
In the mess hall, a deep voice was humming a tune that sounded faintly familiar to Emilina and a positively divine smell wafted to her nose from the kitchen. Marti led her and Blair into the room, giving them a tour of the outpost on their way to breakfast. The man was cheerful like a puppy, happy to have new faces around that were closer to him in age. He told them that he was 21 and had been a member of the Platoon for two years, making him the next youngest and freshest member aside from the two of them.
Next in age was Orrin, the owner of the final bunk in their room, who was 28. They were out on some sort of recon mission sent in from the Commander of the Haustean army himself and would be back sometime after breakfast by Marti’s estimate. Valentin, the chef–who was serenading them all with his humming, Marti noted–was 54, old enough to have found dual passions for fighting and cooking. He was technically a soldier like the rest of them, but Arlon let them call themself a cook along with his regular duties as a soldier. Arlon and Clem were both somewhere in their late 30s or early 40s, but Marti couldn’t pin an exact age on either of them. All he knew for sure was that Carron, the medic, was the oldest at 61 years of age.
“We threw an absolute rager for Carron’s sixtieth,” Marti had told them, gesturing wildly. He was such an expressive and engaging speaker. “Well, not actually, but it was pretty wild by our standards.”
Joining the rest of the squad at the long table in the center of the mess hall for breakfast, the new face at the table introduced himself as Carron, the very long and storied healer. He didn’t look a day over fifty by Emilina’s estimates, with cropped black hair and dark, monolid eyes. He exuded a stillness that the rest of the squad seemed to lack, a preternatural calmness that was perfect for his profession.
“Now that most of us have gathered, there is a gravely important question I must ask the two of you,” Arlon started as soon as the two girls were seated, leading to playful groans from the rest of the table. Emilina would have been worried if not for the eye rolls and laughed sighs from the other members of the squad, Arlon still deadly serious. “I ask this of every person who joins the squad. Hush up, the rest of you. Don’t ruin this for me.”
The rest of the table erupted into chatter and laughter, Marti playfully shoving Arlon, begging him not to do this again, Clem laughing so hard tears formed in her eyes. Arlon waited patiently, the faux seriousness dropping momentarily as love for his squad filled his expression. Soon, they all settled down, and Arlon continued with his speech.
“We all know what teleportation is, yes? You’re standing in one spot and then, poof, there you are in another.”
Clem interrupted Arlon again, clearly fighting the urge to fall into another laughing fit. “Babe, no, you already messed it up. The lightning.”
“Oh, right, yes. Thank you, darling.” Arlon gave Clem a quick peck on the cheek. “Disregard what I just said. Imagine a man standing in the middle of a wheat field on a stormy day. Lightning strikes him, and he vanishes, his very being destroyed by the strike. Almost simultaneously, another crack of lightning hits a few feet away, and the man appears. He’s the same person, same thoughts and feelings, but his physical body is new, created by the lightning.” Arlon paused, giving the two of them time to absorb what he was saying. Emilina wasn’t sure that she was following, but Briar was nervously nodding along with narrowed eyes. “Now I want you to consider teleportation. You’re in one place and then with a thought you’re in another. Do you think that when you teleport, you become an entirely new person, or do you think you stay the same?”
Arlan looked at them expectantly, waiting for their responses. So he was serious. Emilina really wasn’t sure she entirely understood the premise of the question, her lack of formal education catching up with her. Was teleportation so common of a skill that this was necessary discussion? Emilina had never even heard of it before, much less known someone who held the skill. Not wanting to force shy Briar to speak first, she responded before her head had a chance to snap from considering the, quite frankly, ridiculous hypothetical.
“I think you’re still the same person. If teleporting is the magic of movement, that’s all it would be, right? And I’m not sure of any spell that could kill and replace someone or make someone vanish entirely like that at all.” Emilina felt dumb, like she should have more to say but didn’t. The rest of the table nodded along with her, clearly not expecting more than she was offering. There was no ridicule facing her for not having a complex philosophical answer. “I don’t know any science, but I do know that people aren’t just dying left and right when using their magic.”
After a moment’s pause, Briar’s gentle voice echoed her agreement. “I think there’s a flaw in your initial statement. We know that teleporting is a real power that people possess and use, but there is no evidence of lightning that can vaporize someone and then recreate them a distance away. It feels like a fallacy constructed to warp our perception of something we previously believed to be a given fact about our world. Teleportation isn’t deleting the old you and creating a new one, it’s just moving you from one place to another.”
Shocked and a little proud of how intelligent Briar sounded, Emilina turned to her friend, impressed. Briar glanced back at her, cheeks flushed from embarrassment or fear from saying so much. She shrugged slightly before turning back to face their captain, Emilina quickly following suit.
“Now wait just a second–” Arlan started, a chorus of groans cutting him off before he could argue.
“We are not having this debate again.” This time Carron spoke up, patting his captain on the back, shaking his head. “Nobody is ever going to stand with you on this one.”
“But–”
“Is Arlon doing the whole lightning-teleportation bit again?” A person emerged from the kitchen, platters of eggs, bacon, and toast floating in the air behind them. His hair was buzzed around the sides, the rest long enough to tie back in a small bun resting against the nape of their neck. His skin was a light brown, mostly hidden beneath a white chef’s coat. Emilina couldn’t tell if it was a bit or if he took his chefly duties very seriously. It very well could have been both, given what she had learned about the team.
“Yes,” Marti responded. “Valentin, please, save us!”
“Come on, Arlon, we can’t be scaring off the newbies with this nonsense,” Valentin jokingly chastised, setting down the trays and joining the team at the table, shooting a wink over to Emillina and Briar. “Let’s eat.”
The food was divine, easily the best breakfast Emilina had ever eaten. Of course, it was debatable whether she had eaten a true breakfast, but even if she had, she knew that this meal would top her list without question. The eggs were soft and perfectly seasoned, melting in her mouth. The toast was buttered perfection, soft and crisp. And the bacon, oh the bacon. Emilina could kiss the pig that had given its life to become this masterpiece. Valentin was her new favorite person.
The rest of the world fell away while Emilina ate. The group could have continued the conversation or sat in silence or put a hex on her family line and she never would have known. When she was nearing the end of the religious experience that was the meal, Briar elbowed her, bringing the rest of the world back into focus. The last member of the squadron had arrived and seemingly had said something to Emilina. She swallowed the bite of food she was savoring and grunted a questioning hmm? in their direction.
The person Emilina was sure was Orrin just stared back at her, slightly off putting in their stillness. Emilina didn’t feel threatened or put off by them, but they had an odd aura. Their skin was pale and ravaged by scars. Their eyes were a light grey nearing on white at the edges and their hair was an unruly mane of silver. There was something animalistic about them, like they didn’t quite belong in the mortal world. Just as quickly as Emilina felt that their presence was wrong, their demeanor changed and they relaxed, an easy smile spreading over their face.
“It’s nice to meet you, Emilina. I’m Orrin. I’d hate to disturb someone’s first time eating bacon.” Orrin turned their attention to Arlon. “We should discuss my mission.”
Nodding an apology to Emilina and Briar, Arlon rose from the table, following Orrin out of the room. Emilina stared after them, alarm written across her face. How had they known that? It was her first time trying bacon, but she hadn’t said anything about it.
“Sorry about that,” Marti said, laying a sympathetic hand on Emilina’s shoulder. “Orrin is a fairly powerful enchanter. They were probably searching your mind for any reason to distrust you. The good news is that it doesn’t seem like they found anything. If you’re in the clear, they won’t read your mind again.”
It was disorienting, knowing that someone had walked around in her thoughts without her permission, but Emilina figured it could have been worse. The whole Platoon was so lovely that Emilina couldn’t help but trust them implicitly. Even on a first meeting, she knew that they would one day be her family, people she could share even her darkest secrets with. Returning to her meal, Emilina smiled. It was going to be a good life with Platoon 031.
