SICARII

The reinforcements led the squad through the barren streets of Fekka to the Berserker medical centre. The building stood like a lifeless husk, its grey walls blending into the dreary, rain-soaked skyline. The squad moved wordlessly, their breaths visible in the bitter cold. No one dared to speak; their thoughts were consumed by the image of Luca, his final moments replaying in their minds. Guilt gnawed at each of them, a shared burden they could neither shake nor speak of.

The night was bleak. Rain drummed steadily against the windows of the medical centre, echoing through the empty halls like a mournful dirge. The squad spent the night in a cramped room, its pale lighting casting long shadows on the bare walls. Even with blankets, the chill refused to leave, settling into their bones. Sleep came in restless fits, their dreams haunted by the weight of what they had lost.

By morning, the rain had subsided into a fine drizzle, but the skies remained a dull, oppressive grey. The journey back to Nordia was silent and heavy, each step dragging under the weight of unspoken sorrow. The familiar sight of the Berserker HQ brought little comfort, its towering structure more a reminder of duty than refuge.

Inside, they were directed to the debriefing room. Otto was already there, waiting with his usual stoic presence. Beside him stood a man Luna didn't recognise. He was tall and lean, his physique radiating strength honed by years of training. His long red hair was tied back into a bun, giving him an almost regal air despite the hard lines of his face.

Otto broke the silence. "Welcome back," he said, his voice firm but lacking its usual edge.

The red-haired man stepped forward, his piercing eyes scanning the group before settling on Lara. "I'm sorry about Luca," he said, his voice steady yet carrying a deep sincerity. "We lost a good man. But I'm glad you're safe." He hesitated, then added softly, "I was worried about you, Lara."

Lara's eyes dropped to the floor, her cheeks tinged with an embarrassed flush. "Thanks," she murmured, her voice barely audible. She shifted her weight awkwardly, crossing her arms in a futile attempt to shield herself from the attention.

Luna leaned closer to Lara and whispered, "Who is he?"

"That's Solomon," Lara replied, her voice low and guarded. "My brother."

Luna's eyes widened slightly as she glanced back at him. Solomon's imposing presence was hard to ignore, yet the protective look he gave Lara seemed almost out of place in the grim, cold atmosphere of the room.

The tension lingered as the squad prepared to recount the events of their mission. The guilt and loss they carried hung in the air like the chill of the night before, inescapable and unrelenting.

The squad settled into the cold, metal chairs of the debriefing room, the sound of their movements hollow against the sterile silence. Zak, the squad leader, took his place at the head of the table, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the desk in front of him. His eyes darted briefly to Otto and Solomon, then to his team, before fixing on the blank wall ahead. The tension in the room was suffocating, the quiet amplifying the weight of what was to come.

Zak inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. "Everything was fine," he began, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "We'd made it through the initial checkpoints, no issues. The path to the first town was clear. Routine."

He paused, his hands trembling as he clenched them into fists. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple despite the chill in the room. "It changed when we crossed the town's border," he continued, his voice faltering. "They came out of nowhere—an entire pack of beastfolk. There were ten of them, maybe more."

Zak's words grew uneven, his breathing shallow as he fought to keep control. His eyes stared past the room now, lost in the memory. "They weren't... like the usual ones," he said, his voice trembling as much as his hands. "These weren't strays or low-level grunts. They were strong—coordinated. They had... intent."

He leaned forward, his fingers gripping his hair as though trying to ground himself. "They weren't after just the representative," Zak continued, his voice rising slightly as panic crept into his tone. "They wanted all of us dead. Every single one of us."

He stopped abruptly, his shoulders shaking. For a moment, the room was silent but for the faint hum of the overhead lights. Then Zak forced himself to continue, his voice cracked but determined. "They... they were high-ranking, I'm sure of it. The way they moved, the way they fought. We could barely handle them. It was like... like fighting predators who'd already decided we were prey."

He glanced at the others, his eyes glistening with a mix of anger and despair. "We were holding our ground. Just barely. But then—" He choked on the words, his jaw tightening as his composure threatened to shatter. "Luca... he—he didn't hesitate. He distracted them long enough for us to break through. Long enough for us to run."

Zak's voice cracked on the last word, and he dropped his head into his hands, his body trembling visibly now. "We had no choice," he said in a strained whisper, his voice muffled. "We couldn't save him."

The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of Zak's words pressing down on everyone in the room. Even Otto and Solomon, usually unreadable, exchanged grim looks. Lara shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her hands gripping her knees tightly, while Luna looked down, biting her lip.

Otto cleared his throat, breaking the oppressive quiet. "You did what you could," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "Sometimes, the mission costs more than we want it to."

Zak didn't respond. His trembling had stilled slightly, but his gaze remained fixed on the desk, as though the answers to his guilt lay somewhere in its lifeless surface.

The silence in the room was broken by Solomon's deep voice, cutting through the heavy air with an unsettling certainty. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, the lines on his face hardening as he spoke.

"This is bad," he said, his tone flat but heavy with implication. "The higher-ups aren't going to let this slide. They'll see it as a direct attack, and they'll want to retaliate. This could spiral into a full-blown war."

The squad exchanged uneasy glances. Zak's trembling hands stilled for a moment, though his face remained pale, his eyes fixed on Solomon. Lara shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her brother's gaze, while Luna frowned, her brow furrowed in quiet contemplation.

Solomon's voice lowered, his words deliberate. "The problem is, not everyone in Nordia is on the same page. Some factions will push for peace—insist that this be covered up, kept quiet to avoid escalation. But the damage is done." He shook his head, his expression darkening. "Even if they try to suppress it, the unrest this will cause... it won't be contained. And if the other side wants a war, we'll be playing right into their hands."

He uncrossed his arms, leaning forward now, his piercing gaze sweeping across the room. "I won't be surprised if this ends with war breaking out in the near future. What I can't understand is why. Delria stands to lose more than anyone if this goes further. Peace would benefit their nation far more than conflict ever could." His hand tightened into a fist, his knuckles whitening. "It just doesn't make sense. Why would they provoke something they can't afford to win?"

The room was silent again, the weight of Solomon's words settling over everyone like a shroud. The squad members avoided each other's eyes, each wrestling with the implications of his statement. Zak, still visibly shaken, muttered, "Maybe it wasn't Delria. Maybe it was a rogue faction. Someone trying to stir the pot."

"Maybe," Solomon replied, though his tone suggested he wasn't convinced. "But that doesn't make it any less dangerous. Whoever orchestrated this, their goal was clear—to destabilize the balance. And they might just get exactly what they want."

The grim reality of his words hung in the air, their meaning cutting deeper than any blade.

4o