Fire at Will [Mech Sci-Fi Military]

HALLOWED ONE

The car door shut behind him with a muted thump, sealing out the cold. Inside, warmth enveloped him — a sharp contrast to the snowstorm outside.

The plush leather seats were arranged to face each other, dark brown against the golden glow of soft interior lights. Across from him sat the All Mother, and beside her, a man built like a slab of granite — the bodyguard, no doubt.

He was large, clean-shaven, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. A string of polished prayer beads peeked from beneath his collar, a quiet nod to his temple allegiance. His eyes — cold, hard, and analytical — didn't waver. They settled on the bulge beneath Will's coat where his pistol was hidden.

Will sat stiffly, his heart hammering against his ribs. Every inch of him screamed caution. He hadn't expected the temple heads to be anywhere near this operation — not with the General Assembly meeting scheduled for tomorrow. They should've been locked in council chambers, whispering strategies and alliances. And yet, here they were.

"There is a lot on your mind, young one," the All Mother said gently.

Her voice was low and weathered, like wind brushing through dry grass. Will glanced up, really seeing her for the first time.

She was an old woman — very old — wrapped in the flowing orange robes of the priesthood. Her white hair was braided back simply, and in her hand rested a wooden walking stick, its head smoothed by decades of use. Her face was a map of time with deep wrinkles etched across her cheeks and brow. Her eyes, a murky gray, shimmered with a strange light as she gazed right through him.

"I didn't expect you to be here," said Will.

The All Mother nodded slowly and turned her gaze to the window, where snow blurred the world outside into shades of white.

"Much has changed in the last twenty years," she murmured. "I remember a time when there wasn't so much as a dirt road here."

She tapped her walking stick softly against the carpeted floor of the SUV.

"We used to do missionary work around this region. I gave my first service here — when I was barely out of my apprentice robes. A difficult time, one most people have chosen to forget."

Will didn't know what to say, so he stayed silent. The old woman seemed content to speak into the quiet.

"But I remember it fondly," she continued, almost to herself.

"Why?" Will asked, despite himself.

"Perhaps," the All Mother said, "because it is hardship that sharpens the blade of memory. Times of struggle, of pain… they carve themselves into us. They make moments vivid. We feel most alive during our trials."

Will didn't respond. He felt no such clarity. Only exhaustion. After hours of continuous battle, he felt more dead than alive.

The All Mother seemed to read it in his eyes. Her voice softened.

"So. How are you, young one?" she asked. "You did ask for health at your Choosing ceremony, didn't you?"

His eyes snapped up. "You remember that?"

"I'm old, young William. Not senile."

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Will frowned. "I don't remember giving you my name."

The priestess tilted her head, feigning a puzzled look.

"Really? Perhaps I am getting forgetful after all."

Will's lips twitched. How can you claim to be forgetful and still remember his name? She was playing him. The old bat.

Will resisted the urge to rub his temples. They'd gone out of their way to learn his name, to investigate him — but how much did they really know?

The All Mother was still watching him — that same faint smile resting on her wrinkled face.

"Many moons have passed," she said softly, "yet some things remain the same."

Will blinked. "All Mother?"

"You were just as conflicted during your Awakening Ceremony," she replied. "Has your path been so difficult, young William?"

"I..." Will began, but couldn't form a reply. Everything that had happened since his Awakening flashed before him. A whirlwind of events had come cascading from that very day.

He was tired, bruised, beaten, and on the verge of losing himself — and everything he had. And now a specter hung over his entire world, one that could swallow not just him, but the entire Tower.

"Come," the All Mother said gently, holding out her hand. "Let me take a look at you."

Too weary to protest, Will let her take his hand. Her fingers, cold and dry like ancient parchment, found his wrist, reading the rhythm of his pulse. Then she leaned forward and cupped his face, turning it slightly one way, then the other, like a matron assessing a sick child.

"You wished for health, and yet here you are." The old woman tutted.

"Sometimes you don't get what you want." Will exhaled a short, bitter breath.

"Indeed," said the All Mother gravely, lowering her hands.

"I was naïve," Will admitted. "I didn't even know what I was asking for."

The All Mother nodded. "The thorns were hidden then. Now you see them."

Will let out a humorless snort and slumped back in his seat. "There should be a manual for this."

The All Mother chuckled. "The children, quickened with power, are sent forth… And lo, after three moons, on the Day of Returning, they come again—tried by fire, and made as men and women in full."

She finished the scripture serenely and gazed at Will. "Your return day has yet to come, young one. Do not falter now."

Her cane tapped the floor, firm and deliberate. "No matter how many thorns and tussles litter the path, those of us still living are blessed."

"How so?" Will asked curiously.

"Choice, my child. Choice," the All Mother replied. "No matter how difficult the road, at least it is one you've chosen. To be forced onto a path not your own—" Her voice dipped lower. "—that is a curse I do not wish upon anyone."

Will's eyes darkened, and he saw the scarlet fusion of metal and flesh — welded together in a screaming, writhing mass. The puppets of the Hive had bleeding, tortured eyes, trapped in despair, their silent screams for release drowned beneath the grip of their strings.

They hadn't chosen anything.

"You once told me you were unsure of your path," the priestess said gravely, her gaze sharpening. "And yet here you are. Older. Wiser. Stronger."

She leaned closer.

"Compared to then, is your path still such a mystery?"

Will's breath caught. "No."

"And despite the thorns… you walk it still."

"Because it's mine."

The All Mother smiled — radiant and stern. "Then go forth, William Dunn."

She lifted a hand and placed it against his chest, resting it over the locket beneath his coat. The treasured heirloom trembled under her touch.

The All Mother's hand glowed as her field coalesced around it. Will felt his body grow lighter. The fatigue in his limbs ebbed away, the aches and bruises dissolving like morning frost. A soft warmth gathered at the center of his chest, flowing into the locket like sunlight through stained glass.

The trinket shimmered, growing warm against his skin.

A thunderous boom split the air outside.

Will jerked upright. The bodyguard beside the priestess stiffened before his hands flew to his earpiece. At the same moment, Will's slate buzzed with an incoming message.

The All Mother did not flinch. Her hand remained where it was, her channeling uninterrupted. Her smile never faded as she nodded toward Will's pocket, giving silent permission.

Will slid out the slate and opened the message:

Striker-Lead: mission complete. All units, pull out.

The All Mother withdrew her hand, her expression serene.

"Your Returning Day draws near," she said. "May you come back victorious, young man."

Will bowed, the gesture full of reverence.

With a soft click, the car door opened. Cold wind surged in, but Will barely felt it. His limbs were light, renewed. As he stepped out, the snow stung his face — but it couldn't touch him.

Behind him, the armored car rumbled back into motion. He watched it disappear into the white, one hand still resting on his chest.

The locket pulsed like a tiny sun.

A grim smile tugged at his lips as he tapped his comm.

"This is Recon to Striker Lead."

Damian's voice came through, light with amusement. "Hey, kid."

"Did you get him?"

"The bird is plucked and ready."

"Can you get him to talk?"

"Talk?" Damian laughed. "I'll get him to sing."