The Foxfire Saga

The tunnel lights flickered overhead as Skadi limped through the service corridor, each step echoing off the worn metal walls. Her boots left smears of soot behind her. One glove was torn, fingers raw and trembling. The other clutched the scorched edge of her jacket, pressing it against the burn streak that spidered across her ribs.

She didn't remember the exact path she'd taken back. Just the weight of each step. The sting of every shallow breath. And the phantom pressure still ghosting her throat where Akiko's claws had closed tight.

Not hard enough to kill her. Just enough to remind her she could.

She stumbled on a broken floor grate, catching herself against the bulkhead. The metal was cold against her cheek. She stayed there a moment, eyes closed.

You were supposed to be the danger.

That lie still rang hollow in her chest. It had sounded righteous before. Noble, even. Like she was the last dam holding back a flood that could drown Zephara.

But standing against Akiko, face to face with the consequences, had torn the illusion wide open.

And what terrified her most… was how right Tala had made it all sound. How easy it had been to let Tala place the explosive and pretend that doubt wasn't gnawing at her the whole time.

Her fingers brushed her necklace. The chain was bent, one of the links half-melted.

Akiko's fire, maybe. Or the bomb. Skadi couldn't tell anymore.

She pulled her hood up and kept walking. The halls of the Hold's Red Stripe territory loomed closer now, marked by rust-red banners stitched with old rebellion slogans and patched wiring fed into every wall like a circulatory system.

She didn't want to see anyone. Not yet. She just needed a quiet corner to breathe. To think. To figure out who the hell she was supposed to be now that the story she'd told herself had burned away.

She didn't make it three steps past the threshold before Fenrik appeared.

He stood just ahead, arms crossed and jaw set, waiting in the narrow junction between maintenance pipes and flickering lamps. His eyes flicked over her in a glance that landed too hard.

"Skadi."

Just her name. No anger. No scorn. Just worry, stretched tight.

She froze. Her fingers curled around the edge of her jacket like armor. "Not now, Fenrik."

"You think I've been waiting here for fun?"

She moved to brush past him. He caught her wrist, just enough to stop her.

"I heard about the explosion," he said. "People are saying you tried to kill her."

Skadi flinched, her breath caught too high in her throat.

"She survived," she said.

"That's not a denial."

She didn't look at him. Couldn't. Not when her ribs still ached where Akiko's kick had landed. Not when she could still feel the heat of that fire roaring through her ears. Not when she remembered the way Raya had crumpled.

"Why?" Fenrik asked. His voice was lower now. "Why did you go through with it? This isn't like you, you know that wasn't right."

Skadi wrenched her wrist from his grip, stepping back.

"She was going to destroy this moon."

"She was trying to save it. Like you were. Like we both were."

"You?" She barked a laugh. "You gave yourself to Karn. And you think you get to stand here and judge me?"

"I gave myself to Karn because I thought it was the only way to protect you, all of us, from Haven's boot."

"And I gave myself to Tala for the same reason." Her voice cracked. "So where does that leave us, Fenrik?"

He stared at her. And in his eyes, she saw too much. Her own reflection, distorted and sad. A shadow of who she'd been before the scars, before the fire, before the moon itself whispered its pain into her soul.

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"You can still walk away," he said.

"No," she whispered.

She lifted her chin, even though it hurt. Even though the tremble in her legs told her she needed rest, not conviction. "If the only way to survive is to be stronger than them, then I will be. Akiko chose her path. So did I."

"You didn't want any of this," Fenrik said. "You're just telling yourself you did."

"I told myself a lot of things," she said. "That she was the threat. That I could stop her. That I had to. It doesn't matter what I wanted. What matters is that she's alive. And next time, she won't show mercy."

"And next time?" Fenrik asked. "Will you?"

Skadi didn't answer. She pushed past him and walked away, shoulders square, heart spiraling in freefall.

The door to Tala's workshop was already ajar, light spilling out in harsh, blue flickers. The thrum of servers under load reverberated faintly through the walls. Home, for lack of any better word.

She stepped inside, and stopped cold.

"You went over me," Nika said, voice low but sharpened to a blade's edge. She stood with arms folded, jaw tight, her stance rigid with restrained fury.

Tala didn't even look up from where she crouched beside a half-disassembled processing rig. "So what? It worked. She's wounded. Off the board for now."

"That's not the point."

"The point is, we're in a war. Or did that escape your memory while you were organizing med kits and voting on ration priorities?"

"Tala." Nika's voice cracked like thunder. "You don't get to play both sides. Either you're part of the cell, or you're a wildcard. You want autonomy? Fine. But don't expect support when things backfire."

Skadi lingered just inside the doorway, motionless. Neither of them had noticed her yet.

Tala finally stood, brushing dust from her palms. "You didn't mind when Harvin jerry-rigged that railgun turret to the outer halls without clearing it. Or when Tovan planted those mines under Haven's checkpoint last month and didn't tell anyone."

"Those didn't nearly kill an unstable asset we barely understand. The plan was to stay out of her way and let Haven deal with her."

Tala raised an eyebrow. "You mean the one with a dozen bodies in her wake and an unstable energy signature tied to interdimensional entities?"

Nika exhaled sharply and ran a hand through her hair. "You're not wrong. But this… what you pulled, it's going to cost us. Do you think Haven isn't already trying to spin this as terrorism?"

"It is terrorism," Tala said flatly. "It just happens to be ours."

That's when her eyes flicked up, right to Skadi.

"Ah," she said, tone cooling. "Speak of the devil."

Nika turned sharply. The fire behind her eyes didn't fade, but her voice softened a notch. "Skadi. Are you alright?"

Skadi hesitated, then nodded once. "I'm alive."

"That's not an answer."

"No," she said. "It's not."

Silence stretched a moment too long.

Tala broke it. "You made the call," she said. "I gave you the option. You took it."

Skadi's throat tightened. She wanted to scream at Tala. That it hadn't been a choice, not really. That she'd been swept into the moment, cornered by fear, pulled under by her schemes.

Instead, she stepped further inside and pulled her hood down. "I just want to lie down."

Nika didn't move to stop her. But as Skadi brushed past, the cell leader said, "This isn't done."

"No," Skadi murmured. "It never is."

She curled up on her heap of blankets, back to both of them. Eyes open, watching the patterns flicker in the guts of a glowing data rig. Her hands shook, but she tucked them beneath her arms and said nothing.

Above her, Tala and Nika resumed their argument, lower now, more pointed. Skadi let it wash over her. Words without shape or meaning, just motion and noise. Her muscles ached. Every blink felt like it took effort.

She'd hoped to come back to silence. To safety. But there was no refuge here. Only noise and momentum. And the gnawing suspicion that this path she'd chosen would never let her stop walking.

Eventually, the volume dipped. Then footsteps, sharp and purposeful, crossed the room. The door hissed shut.

Silence. A different kind of silence. Tala's.

Skadi didn't turn. She didn't need to. Didn't want to face Tala and have her uncertainty distorted in the mirror of Tala's eyes.

"You're not sleeping," Tala said, voice soft but unflinching.

"No."

Another pause. The hum of the rigs filled the space like static in Skadi's brain.

"You did well," Tala continued. "Given the situation."

"That wasn't supposed to happen."

"No. But it did." The scrape of a chair. Tala settling nearby. "Nika doesn't understand what survival requires anymore. She was a good leader once, back when this was about food shipments and sabotage. Before the sky burned."

Skadi shut her eyes. "Don't."

"Don't what? Speak plainly?" Tala's voice didn't harden, but it sharpened, like something honed against flint. "I'm not saying we get rid of her. I'm not heartless. But the people here… they're scared. They need to see that we have teeth. That we're more than slogans and stolen crates of rations."

She leaned forward. Skadi could feel her presence closer now, just beyond her back. "You have power, Skadi. Real power. You've touched the Heart of Zephara."

The words caught in Skadi's mind. The Heart of Zephara. That name meant something, it had a certain power to it, Skadi just didn't know what. But she felt like Tala shouldn't know that name… not unless—

But the thought was swept aside as easily as a snowflake on the wind as Tala continued, "You've faced down Haven's finest and walked away. You stood against her and lived."

A chill ran through her at the emphasis. She didn't have to ask who Tala meant.

"I'm not like Fenrik," Skadi muttered.

"No," Tala agreed. "He talks pretty. But that's all he has. You don't need charisma if you get results."

Skadi turned her head, finally glancing over her shoulder.

"You're talking about taking over."

"I'm talking about earning it," Tala said. "Proving you're what this place needs. When Haven comes back, and they will come back, they won't just send a few suits and mercs. They'll send the fleet. The real one. They'll glass every inch of this moon that defies them. Unless we give them a reason to fear us first."

She stood again, slow and deliberate, casting a long shadow against the flickering wall. "You don't have to like me. You don't have to trust me. But you know I'm right."

Skadi didn't answer. The silence returned, more brittle than before.

Tala left without another word.

And Skadi stayed there, curled in the corner of the workshop that wasn't a home, staring at the ceiling until the flicker of rig lights blurred into stars she didn't recognize.