The VTOL's engines whined to a stop, rotors slowing with an exhausted shudder.
Outside, the sky was overcast, clouds thick and low, smearing the horizon in dull gray. A fine drizzle had begun to fall, the kind that soaked through clothes slowly, chilling skin and bones alike. Mist clung to the landing pad, curling around the VTOL's frame like ghostly tendrils.
As the ramp lowered, silence clung to the air. No one rushed forward. No calls of welcome, no comms chatter. Just the weighted stillness that followed loss.
Alexander stepped off last, his arms cradling what remained of Juno.
Her body—burned, her suit torn through from the corruption surge—was barely recognizable.
The protective armor was charred, and her limbs limp in his grip. Around her wrist, her virex core blinked erratically, the glow flickering crimson in short, painful bursts. A broken heartbeat. Every red pulse another reminder she was gone.
The cold wind whipped around the tarmac, stirring the edges of coats and carrying the metallic tang of ozone. The rain didn't wash away the smell of scorched cloth and blood.
Evelyn and Ava stood near the edge of the launchpad, their outlines blurred slightly by mist and rain. They hadn't joined the fight, but the grief hit just as hard.
Evelyn's eyes widened, breath catching at the sight of Alexander's burden. Ava reached out instinctively, fingers trembling, then stopped—there was no comfort to offer.
Vespera, further back, stood with a solemn stillness. Dressed in a pristine black coat, untouched by the storm or battle, her eyes locked onto Juno's form without blinking.
She didn't speak, didn't move, but her grief was clear in the clenched jaw and the way she held her arms behind her back, fingers dug into her palms.
Elias approached slowly, corrosion lines still visible on his neck like ghosted veins. He lowered his head, a hand pressed lightly to his chest—a quiet farewell.
Behind him, the world felt unnaturally quiet. Even the compound's usual background hum seemed muted, respectful.
Lucian was the first to step toward Rowan.
Rowan barely held himself upright, face pale and skin clammy. Blood trickled from his nose—a side effect of the immense strain he'd put on himself.
His shielding ability absorbed the kinetic energy of incoming attacks, and he'd held that barrier far too long during the storm. His vitals were fluctuating. He swayed once, then collapsed forward.
Lucian caught him instantly, arms locking around his waist. "Rowan! Hey—hey, stay with me."
Medics were already rushing in, their boots splashing in shallow puddles, but Lucian refused to let go. Even as they brought a stretcher, he remained close, guiding Rowan down with care.
His grey eyes flickered purple for just a moment before fading—his abilities still simmering just beneath the surface.
"I'm not leaving him," Lucian said firmly when one of the medics gestured for him to step back. They didn't argue.
---
Later, Elias sat alone in his quarters. He stared at the floor, lost in thought. The corruption was always there, always waiting—taking friends, allies. He wondered quietly how many more they would lose. How long before it took him too.
Across the compound, Vespera stood beside Evelyn, gazing out a window streaked with rain.
"It never gets easier," Evelyn murmured.
Vespera didn't look away. "No. And perhaps it never should."
---
In the medical wing, Ari lay awake, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, Quinn gently tracing circles on the back of her uninjured hand.
"I can't stop thinking about them," Ari whispered softly, voice thick with emotion. "All those people. Juno... She was always smiling, always so hopeful."
Quinn shifted closer, leaning over to gently kiss Ari's forehead. "I know. She brought warmth wherever she went."
Ari's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she turned to face Quinn. "We keep losing people. It scares me. I can't imagine—"
"Don't," Quinn interrupted softly, her thumb brushing softly against Ari's cheek. "We're here. We're together. Hold onto that."
Ari swallowed thickly, squeezing Quinn's hand tighter. "Promise you'll always come back."
Quinn pressed a tender kiss to Ari's lips, lingering just long enough to soothe the ache. "Always."
---
Inside the facility, the med bay was prepped immediately. Rowan was stabilized and sedated for observation, and Lucian stayed in the room the entire time. He didn't speak, didn't move much—just sat beside the bed, holding Rowan's hand as if he might vanish if he let go.
---
That night, Alexander returned to his quarters.
He didn't bother removing his boots or peeling off his soaked, scorched uniform. The door hissed shut behind him, locking him in with silence that rang louder than any battlefield.
The overhead lights were dim, casting a low amber glow across the space that only made it feel emptier.
For a moment, he just stood there, the ghost of Juno's weight still in his arms. He looked down at his hands as if expecting to see soot, blood, something to prove she had been real and not just another name on a casualty report.
He stumbled toward his desk, where her personnel file still lay open from earlier that week.
He picked it up, flipped through the pages—her performance reviews, her mission rosters, the handwritten note she'd once scribbled in the margins of a requisition form: "Don't forget snacks for the next recon—choco puffs or I riot."
A broken, helpless sound escaped his throat.
Alexander sank to the floor, the file slipping from his fingers and scattering around him. He pressed both hands to his face, trying to hold it in—but the dam cracked.
A sob tore out of him. Raw. Ragged.
He curled forward on the cold metal flooring, body shaking. "You little idiot," he choked. "Why weren't you more careful? Why didn't I make it in time?"
Tears burned down his face. He remembered how she'd loop her arm through his after long debriefings, or bring him coffee with way too much sugar, grinning like a gremlin.
She used to poke fun at his scowls, call him "Captain Stormcloud" and laugh when he told her to focus.
He had told her once—quietly, and without fanfare—that she reminded him why he fought.
Now she was gone.
He reached blindly for the small drawer by his bed and pulled out the sealed envelope she had left for him months ago as part of the squad's emergency morale protocol.
He was supposed to open it only if she died.
His hands trembled too hard to break the seal.
The sobs returned, full force—guttural, unfiltered.
They echoed in the tiny room, swallowing him whole. He gripped the envelope to his chest, knees pulled to his chest like he could collapse into himself and disappear.
He stayed there for a long time, shivering against the cold metal, the weight of his failure pressing down until he could hardly breathe.
There, in the privacy of four sterile walls, Alexander—the unshakable commander, the one who always endured—finally let himself break.
---
The following evening, the compound gathered for the vigil. The Memorial Hall had been cleared and dimly lit, incense drifting gently in the air, mingling with sorrow.
At the center stood seven glass columns, each holding a cryo capsule. Juno's was third from the left.
Espers and Guides filled the space solemnly. Rowan arrived in a wheelchair, Lucian close by his side. Ari sat near Quinn, who quietly brushed tears from Ari's face. Elias stood alone, observing quietly.
Vespera and Evelyn flanked Alexander, whose grief was etched clearly on his exhausted face. Alexander approached Juno's capsule, resting his hand on the glass.
Ava distributed white flame-tags; each person ignited theirs, placing them gently at the capsules' bases. The flames flickered with heartfelt resonance, casting soft golden reflections.
Rowan's hand shook slightly; Lucian steadied him gently, their shared gaze intense and understanding.
The flames dimmed, and Alexander finally broke the silence.
"They were more than their rank. More than their power. They were our people. And they deserved better."
The quiet aftermath hung heavy—a unified farewell.