Marcus rested his elbows against the surface of the pilot's console, holding his head in his hands. Whatever he'd experienced in the depths of the Firestorm, Fenicks somehow could sense.

  "When I was inside the armor recess—" Marcus ran his fingers through his hair, his mouth dried from what he remembered.

  Fenicks began speaking without giving him the chance to continue. "A minor ES-energy incident was detected as you entered the hull gap at improvised service point 244." The lone screen changed, showing a featureless figure ascending a wireframe image of the Firestorm. "This occurred the moment you entered and persisted until intervention."

  "ES-energy, what is that?" Marcus swallowed hard.

  The screen returned to a blue hue. "ES-energy, more colloquially, Esper energy or Esper for short, is standard terminology for the life force that exists throughout all living things and is that which creates and sustains life."

  Marcus rubbed his hands together; the thought of the contorted stranger sent a chill down his spine. "That didn't feel much like something that would sustain life." He tapped his hand against his face. "What does an 'ES-energy incident' mean? Do they have some sort of weapon that can control it?"

  "Analyzing." Fenicks paused for a moment. "While there are devices which can direct ES-energy, current analysis indicates that this was a naturally occurring incident."

  Marcus blinked. "Naturally occurring—do you mean that someone can control this Esper?"

  "Precisely. I am unable to determine if the origin was human or not, more data would be required as the duration of the event was not long enough to come to a decisive conclusion." Fenicks said.

  "Do we know where it came from?" Marcus sat up straight.

  "Data suggests it was from a great distance. Given the stratagem was mitigatory due to power constraints, it is reasonable to assume based on adjusted readings that this threat is at a distance beyond our current operational range."

  Marcus deflated.

  "Myrmidon Arminius’s plan is sound, but this threat creates additional risk. Please be aware of this during field operations." Fenicks continued.

  Marcus looked up at the console. "You keep calling him 'Myrmidon', is that his first name?"

  "Incorrect. As my archives do not have a listing for his surname, I have added his organizational association as a means to comply with politeness protocols." Fenicks said.

  Marcus blinked and slowly recoiled. "Myrmidon..." His eyes darted around. "...like the warriors from the fairy tales?"

  "Correct. Current folklore which makes note of their deeds is derived from actual events." Fenicks replied.

  "So is he some ancient super-human or something?" Marcus scratched his head.

  "Readings do not indicate Myrmidon Arminius is anything other than a healthy human beyond middle age." Fenicks said.

  Marcus sat back, slouched. "So how is he a part of this group that is supposedly hundreds of years old?"

  Fenicks remained silent.

  After waiting a long while Marcus straightened himself. "Hello?"

  "My archives do not contain any information on the organizational composition of the Myrmidons. I do not have the means to answer that question to any degree of accuracy." Fenicks finally responded.

  Marcus sighed, leaning forward, resting his chin on one hand and strumming with the other.

  "Notification: Emergency power at 75 percent." Fenicks said.

  Marcus stood up and nodded. "Hibernate for now. In case something happens overnight, we'll need the power."

  "Understood. Hibernating." Fenicks said. The last remaining lit screen went dark, and the only light remaining in the cockpit came from the open hatch.

  Marcus stepped down from the pilot's platform to descend back down the exterior ladder.

  "Something to note." Fenicks's voice was quiet, coming from the gunner's console near the hatch. "Based on the performance analysis of Myrmidon Arminius in the current battlespace, it would not be unreasonable to assume existing folklore entries on the Myrmidon largely originated from a source of truth."

  Marcus stared at the gunner's chair for a moment. "Say, do all the uprights have the ability to sense things the way you do?"

  "None that I've passively encountered so far." Fenicks replied.

  "I'll keep that in mind." Marcus said.

  "Hibernating." Fenicks said. An audible click rang out followed by a quieting hum.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Marcus slid out of the hatch, then descended the leg-mounted ladder. Once his feet were on the ground, he stopped and looked up at the Firestorm in a parking crouch, staring back down at him.

  "Oh there you are." Layne called out, squatting near a firepit a few paces from the ladder. "Everything's sorted out for tomorrow." He held his hands over the fire as a chill wind coursed through the forest.

  Marcus squatted next to him and stared out at the other mechanics still working around the packed wagons. "How about you?"

  Layne stared at the pile of burning twigs in a shallow pit etched into the forest floor. He stayed quiet for a long while.

  Marcus continued to ruminate on what Fenicks told him about the threat afar as well as Arminius’s capabilities while watching the small blaze.

  "I think," Layne muttered and then looked to his left, at the wagon with everyone around it. "I don't think things will turn out good tomorrow." He returned his attention to the firepit. "There's too much that can go wrong, too much we're not ready to handle."

  Marcus's mind wandered to when they were tied up by the river. Arminius chose to defend them against Buck and Shooter. And the plan they cooked up to hijack the Firestorm from Amurad was correctly called that the barbarian would need to use the Adder as a scout, leaving the Firestorm alone.

  "I think we can do it." Marcus nodded.

  Layne glared at him. "Just like that? Ignore all the potential fatal flaws in this plan and just hand-wave it away? Hurray we'll do it, everything went perfect?" He threw his arms up over his shoulders.

  Marcus blinked, not looking away from the fire. There certainly was no lack of danger, and he didn't know if the odds against them could get any worse. Then he locked eyes with Layne. "Yeah, we're going to do it."

  Layne scoffed. "What makes you so sure?"

  Marcus turned back to the pit. "Because we didn't trudge through the Stormplains for weeks just trying to figure out where the barbarians were, and then we didn't spend months of misery through the heat of Thousandpeaks, then the muck and mud of the Kourion marshlands, along with the suffering of being their mechanics, and then after that, almost get our heads blown off taking over the Firestorm, only to die just before being able to go home." Marcus ran out of breath while speaking. He huffed and puffed for a second. "We're getting out of this hellhole."

  Layne's brows raised and he formed a mild pout while nodding. "Alright then. Let's go home." He stared straight and blinked rapidly.

  The darkness of night descended upon the forest as the mechanics wrapped up what they were doing with the carts. As what sunlight that remained faded from the canopy, Layne stood up and looked at the embers within the pit. "Arminius asked us for light discipline. That means no fires tonight. It's probably best to turn in early anyways."

  Marcus continued to squat over the pit. "Yeah, that's a good idea."

  "Alright, I'll see you in the morning." Layne turned and departed.

  "Yep, rest up." Marcus nodded then stood. He dragged the arch of his foot over a small mound of dirt, filling in the firepit. Then he stamped on the loose ground while looking to find a good sleeping spot.

  The silhouette of the Firestorm caught his eye, and the darkness brought his mind back to checking the armor plating. If something like that was to happen again during the night, maybe the safest place would be inside. So Marcus ascended the ladder in the dark, entered the cockpit carefully, and by feeling around he crawled to the pilot’s chair.

  Marcus shifted around, trying to get comfortable. He propped his feet up on the seat bottom and wrapped his arms around his chest, wedged against his legs.

  The gears of his mind slowed, and he soon fell asleep.

  But after a moment, his eyes darted open and he jumped up in a panic, his heart racing so fast that it was ready to burst from his chest. He stopped just before taking another step. The seat was all that remained of the cockpit. It rested upon a lone bluff high in the air, surrounded by clouds hovering in a purple early evening sky. Overhead, the twin moons were giant, far bigger than how he'd ever seen them, and glowed radiantly.

  A stillness washed over Marcus, from the sight of the peaceful surroundings. But that calm was scoured away as a crash echoed out in the distance.

  He latched onto the back of the pilot's chair and paced around the bluff looking for the source of chaos but finding nothing.

  Then as Marcus rounded the chair to face forward once more, he noticed there was a giant eye floating in the distance, staring at him. Another smaller one parted the sky as it opened, looked around, and stopped as it found Marcus. One by one, in quick succession, more appeared from nothing, of all sizes. Thousands upon thousands of eyes were all looking down upon him.

  With a rhythmic beat, more crashes rang out from the direction of the eyes in front of Marcus. He stood frozen, latched onto the pilot's seat.

  Through the clouds, a gargantuan silhouette advanced, the source of the noise. As it drew closer, more definite features came into the light of the moons, it was an upright, one Marcus didn't recognize. Each step it took slammed the ground, the noise spreading far and wide across the sky.

  As it drew closer, the stranger's cackle arose from the distance.

  The boxy upright with two cylindrical arms and tri-tipped grippers raised an appendage to reach up to the bluff where Marcus stood. The grabbers were at least ten times his size.

  As its hand grew closer, the stranger's cackle grew into a belly laugh, its boom drowning out even the echoing slams of the upright's foot. The machine's appendage was cocked, ready to crush the top of the bluff, along with Marcus.

  Then three rings from the Firestorm's intercom grew to a crescendo over the cacophony. All slowed down. Another set of tones washed away the noise and stopped all motion.

  Marcus jolted forward. His feet slipped off the chair and he almost fell forward into the pilot's console but his chest smacking into the left control stick stopped him. A lone display was turned on in the center of the console, with a royal blue color. Overhead, another bout of three intercom chimes rang out.

  "Motion sensors indicate the crew has roused and is preparing for departure." Fenicks spoke with a soft tone. "It would be best if you did not oversleep."

  Marcus groaned and ran his hand down his face. "Did anything happen overnight?"

  A long pause came from Fenicks.

  Marcus smacked his tongue and looked around, stretching his arms over his head and yawning.

  "No active defenses were used in the hours between dusk and dawn." Fenicks replied.

  Marcus nodded and pushed himself to his feet. "Good."

  "Current energy reserves -- battery one: 3 percent, battery two: 8 percent, emergency reserves: 72 percent." Fenicks said. "Currently the dew point is higher than normal. Recommend a rich fuel mixture on first engine start."

  Marcus nodded, then stepped down to the hatch and crawled to descend.

  Outside, the day's first light was just washing over the canopy overhead. The forest floor was still. Marcus walked around the feet of the Firestorm to find Ekkehard sleeping atop the jump box, Simon laying on the wagon seat, and the boy asleep hiding amid the bags of supplies. To Marcus's right, Layne was asleep against a tree, his feet pointed aligned with the dry riverbed.

  Marcus scratched his head and looked up at the Firestorm.

  "Oh." Layne spoke, groggy. He groaned and pushed himself to his feet. "It's time to get going, huh?"