The convoy had barely cooled from the journey before Aera threw herself into motion.
The two squads Kael assigned her—Vanguard Six and Echo Nine—had already begun unloading supplies, setting up mobile sentry points and performing routine patrols around the makeshift resistance base in the Shale Expanse. They moved like precision tools: no wasted steps, no idle chatter.
That was about to change.
"Hey!" Aera called out, hands on hips, as one of the soldiers passed with a heavy crate. "You know that crate weighs more than you, right?"
The soldier, a tall woman with a shaved head and cybernetic eye, paused, then blinked. "Standard load-out, ma'am."
Aera grinned. "Standard doesn't mean you have to break your spine. Let me help."
The woman stared at her like she'd offered to juggle grenades, but Aera grabbed the other end of the crate anyway. The two of them carried it into the med bay.
It wasn't about the crate. It was about the moment. Aera knew that people, even soldiers bred from Kael's machines, weren't just tools. They were connection points.
She made her rounds quickly—laughing, helping, teasing. She tossed ration bars to a group playing digital chess, joined a maintenance tech working on an exo-suit, and even challenged Echo Nine's sharpshooter to a target drill.
"You ever hit a flying drone mid-spin?" Aera asked, holding up a rusted recon-bot she'd jury-rigged with her own motion rig.
The soldier smirked. "Never had to."
"Well, now's your chance."
She tossed the bot, and it buzzed erratically through the air. The sharpshooter raised her rifle, tracked it, and fired.
Ping.
The bot dropped. Aera whistled.
"Alright," she said, handing her a power core. "You win this one. That's your prize."
The sharpshooter stared at the core. "This could power a med pod."
"Exactly. Use it where it matters. That's the point."
Word spread fast. Not about her skill, or her tactics. But about her presence.
By evening, the squads weren't just working. They were talking. Sharing field rations. Swapping names instead of ranks. Some even pulled out a salvaged projector and began replaying archived footage from old sports tournaments, setting up a viewing circle with mismatched chairs.
Aera sat with them, hands behind her head, boots stretched toward the firelight.
This was how peace started. Not with treaties, not with domination.
But with trust.
Later that night, Elian approached her. The sergeant was usually the quiet type—disciplined, steel-boned, and relentlessly efficient. But now he stood at the edge of the gathering, watching with a puzzled expression.
"You've altered their formation," he said.
Aera looked up. "Nope. Just reminded them they're people."
"That compromises optimal performance."
"Maybe. But it also builds loyalty. You think Kael's cold algorithms are the only way to keep people fighting?"
Elian considered that. "You've gained their favor. That may prove... useful."
Aera smiled. "That's not the point either."
She looked up at the stars—scarred by orbital debris, streaked with thin contrails of distant warships—and sighed.
"Tomorrow, we fight for our place in this world," she said softly. "But tonight? We remember why we want one."