Over the comms, Theo's squad shifted to a private line. The moment they started moving out with the Princedom forces, the channel filled with voices, all of them trying to process what had just happened. The trap they had expected to die in had flipped on its head. Instead of a massacre, they had turned it around and walked out of it standing. The only one who hadn't was the Princedom's knight, and that alone was enough to rattle them. Relief mixed with unease, the feeling that the ground had shifted under their feet. Most of them had pictured their deaths the moment they saw that ruin; now they were alive and carrying the memory of something they didn't understand.

Alia broke the silence first. "What the fuck was that? An illusion that sings? Never seen anything close to it. Didn't feel like a trick."

Demoris answered after a pause. "Not any skill I know. Maybe a Soul Skill. Maybe not. And those suits… one with four legs, another with tentacles. That's not normal gear. Looks engineered, like it was made for them and no one else." Rika spoke next. "Did you see how the tentacled one moved? Like each one has a mind of its own. I don't want to be anywhere near that thing next time." "They're weird as fuck," Alia said. "But strong. Whatever that kid did, it worked. Flipped the whole ruin on them and left us still standing"

Jessup groaned. "What the fuck are we even doing out here? Feels like we were dropped in someone else's war."

Marcus came in, tired. "We're here because someone tossed us on a death run, that's why. I thought we were holding it together until now, but this changes everything. If they've got cadets pulling stunts like that, we were never the main pieces on this board."

Theo cut him off. "Maybe it's not the trap we thought, but it's still something bigger. Look at those cadets. No way they're ordinary. And remember, it wasn't the High Imperator who dropped the knight. It was one of them. A fucking cadet killed a knight pilot in a single shot."

The line went quiet until Marcus spoke again. "That lance… is too strong. No standard weapon should punch through a knight's dome like that. Whole squads have broken themselves on one of those, and that kid just cracked it like it was nothing."

Demoris clicked his tongue. "So, what are we looking at? Monsters? Experiments? Or just kids bred for this kind of killing? Feels like we got partnered with something we shouldn't have even seen."

Alia muttered, "Doesn't matter. I don't want to go against them. That song's still in my head. Makes my skin crawl."

Jessup said flatly, "Maybe that's the point. Maybe we're already in over our heads, and the rest of this march is just waiting for the knife."

Hollis grunted. "Doesn't matter how it looked. What matters is the power behind it. That lance shot wasn't luck, and it wasn't desperation. It was clean. I've seen veterans miss easier shots."

Ira said, "Could be more than training. Felt built into them. Like their bodies and their skills aren't separate anymore."

Theo answered, "Whatever it is, it broke a knight right in front of us. That's the truth of it. Doesn't matter how."

Vern added, uneasy, "And that one beast. Black scales, silver eyes. That wasn't just a regular bond. I've never seen anything like it. It wanted blood more than we did. If that thing's leashed, I don't want to see what happens when it's let loose."

Caster rasped, "Feels like they're holding back. If that was the first card, it wasn't their last. They've got more in reserve; I'd bet my life on it."

Bram gave a nervous laugh. "So, we're marching with nightmares playing at being cadets. Great. Just great. Can't wait to see what else they're hiding. But at least they are on our side."

The line went quiet again, but the silence was heavier now, like it carried weight. Their boots crunched against the snow as they marched in formation, the cadets and Kasala steady in the center. Ahead, the Princedom's mechs moved with a stunned, almost reverent slowness, servos low, weapons idle. Their channels were muted, replies sparse. It was the kind of quiet that came from shock held tight, where everyone knew speaking too loudly might break them.

The air carried the grind of servos and the low whine of hydraulics. Those small sounds felt enormous against the silence, as if the machines themselves were whispering their unease. The Princedom crews rode in that hush, faces hidden, hands tight on controls. When a pilot finally spoke it was clipped, more question than order, and then silence again. Their restraint made the Legionnaires uneasy in a different way, it wasn't fear made loud, it was fear locked down.

Even as Theo's squad tried to steady themselves, the unease clung like frost inside their helmets. Each of them carried the same thought but none said it aloud: they were marching beside something they didn't understand. Whatever those cadets were, they weren't just legionnaires. They were something else, something beyond anything they had been trained to accept. And that something was dragging them all into a war none of them felt ready to face, step by step through the cold, while the weight of silence grew thicker with every crunch of snow.

Over the comms on the Princedom side, the voices were quieter but no less sharp. What had started as confidence, even arrogance, was gone. They thought they'd been marching into an easy kill, a chance to bury a High Imperator and force the Legion to bleed against the Red Widow. Now it was them walking into the teeth, and the Legion trainees had shown teeth of their own. The idea that this was ever a controlled strike had been shattered. Instead of pushing the Legion forward and letting them bleed, the Princedom were now the ones being driven ahead. They had volunteered thinking they'd be vanguard, leading from the front while the Legion was thrown into the fire. They hadn't expected to be the ones tossed into the pyre.

False Knight Lucy tried to keep her people steady. "There isn't anything we can do. It was a gamble, and we lost. Best thing now is to keep moving." Her voice was calm but clipped, the weight of Simeon's death still hanging on her. The others could hear the strain, the fact that she was wearing his shell, piloting the knight that wasn't hers.

Her troopers didn't like it. Calder snapped back, "We gave up too soon. We could've fought them. You saw it, they weren't untouchable."

Lucy's reply was sharp. "Do you really think we could've fought against an Imperator when their trainees wiped a knight in a single shot? That lance would've gutted every one of us. You'd be ash inside your rig before you even got to fire back."

Merrin cut in, bitter. "Maybe. But we could've killed the trainee. If we'd pressed, if we'd gone harder in that first moment, maybe it would've been worth it."

"Pressed into what?" Lucy shot back. "That was their first move. You think that's all they've got? If that's the opener, what's the rest look like? You want to find out the hard way?"

Endor broke in, voice strained. "That illusion, looked too real. I've never seen anything like it. You think that's some new trick the green bastards picked up? Could've been a weapon. Felt like it was crawling under my skin, made me think I was losing my mind."

Calder barked, "New trick or not, it wrecked us. My rig's knee couplings are shot to hells. Feels like the whole joint's ready to shear off. Can't walk another mile without something giving way. My gauges keep flashing red, like the whole frame's about to come apart."

Lucy kept her tone steady. "We'll strip them down and put them back together. I'll gut my Prancer for parts if I have to. We'll fix the rigs before we hit the Widow. As long as Kasala lets us repair, we'll get them walking again. Nobody's leaving anyone behind unless their rig is dust."

Palo snorted. "Kasala better let us. Otherwise, we'll be crawling into the Widow with half-broken rigs and nothing to shoot with."

Merrin muttered, "Doesn't change that we're bait. Everyone knows it. Doesn't matter how patched up we are, we're still the ones being thrown forward. This isn't what I signed for."

Arres's reply was quiet, flat. "We didn't think this was a death run. We thought we'd shove the Legion forward, let them bleed, and maybe push the Widow after. Dangerous, sure. But not this. Now it's us being driven into her teeth."

Another trooper, Tom, spoke up reluctantly. "I signed on because this was supposed to be an honor, they said. We'd get to drive the Legion, watch them clash with the Widow, maybe fire a few shots of our own. Now what are we? Shields. Meat to soften her up."

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Endor groaned, his voice cracking. "My Yantari wasn't built for this kind of punishment. They tore through the couplings, stripped half the shielding. I can't keep up, not unless we strip parts from something else. And we don't have spares."

Lucy answered him without hesitation. "We'll make do. We'll strip and cannibalize every last bolt from my Prancer if it keeps you all moving. You'll have working rigs."

Varr finally spoke, tone low, words cutting. "Doesn't matter if the rigs walk. We're not meant to win this. We're meant to soften her up. We're dead, and everyone here knows it. No sense pretending."

Palo grunted, bitter laughter in his tone. "That's all we've ever been. Just thought we'd get to stand behind someone else this time, maybe even come out looking like heroes. Guess not."

Lucy didn't argue. She let the silence sit for a long moment before saying, "Doesn't matter what we were promised. This is what it is now. Either we make it to the Widow with working rigs, or we die before we ever see her. Those are the only choices left."

The channel went quiet again, the weight of what they all knew pressing down heavier than the cold outside. Simeon was gone, Lucy wore the knight's shell, and the rest of them marched knowing they'd lost their chance to play vanguard. They weren't the spear anymore; they were the offering. And the Red Widow was waiting. The silence lingered across the line, each of them staring at cracked screens, flickering gauges, and the shadows of their own breath. None of them dared to say it aloud again, but the truth was already buried in their throats: they were the ones being marched to slaughter.

Inside the cadets' private channel, High Imperator Kasala's voice came through first, low but cutting. "Vaeliyan, what in the hells was that skill? I've never seen anything like it. I've fought with many Imperators, I've trained them, but I've never once seen a cadet do something that twisted the battlefield in that way."

Vaeliyan answered carefully, measured as though he already knew how dangerous honesty might be. "Something new I picked up from my new class, sir. I've been working on it quietly. Still testing the edges, but it seemed like the right time to use it."

Kasala paused long enough for the silence to bite before speaking again. "I've trained cadets for decades. I know what growth looks like, I know when someone is breaking their limits. But that… that was different. And that lance you handed to Fenn… no standard issue weapon rips through a knight's protective dome like that. Not even experimental models I've seen. You all have secrets, that much is obvious. Maybe it isn't time to share them with me, but I need you to understand something: you can trust me. My duty here isn't politics. I'm here to keep you alive. I'm here to keep us alive and if I knew what we held I could execute that duty better."

Sylen spoke next, steady and respectful, but with an edge that hinted she was holding something back. "We understand that, sir. But there are things you probably don't want to know. Because if you knew them, you'd be dragged into what we carry. And once you're in it, you don't get back out. Not easily. Not without paying for it."

Kasala let out a dry laugh, though there wasn't much humor in it. "You might be right. But from what I've seen, as far as I can tell, we're running at the Widow with seventeen full High Imperators. Not the one I thought. Yes, I knew you were strong, stronger than your peers. I knew some of you would rise to High Imperator one day. But based on that engagement alone, you might as well already be. You've trained with me for a few months now, and your improvement's been… drastic. It's not just growth. It's leaps that should take years. I fear to see what you will become, because you'll leave me in the dust before I've even realized it."

The twins replied together, voices perfectly in sync, eerie as always. "Mr. Darun, we respect you immensely. You've trained us in ways we never imagined. We evolved far faster than we thought possible under your care. Even if we become more than we are now, even if we rise above everything, that respect will never die. You've done so much for us that we'll always remember it."

Kasala's voice softened. "I appreciate you all saying that. Truly. Don't think I don't see the weight you carry. You've done more in months than many do in a life time."

Vaeliyan cut in, his tone cautious. "Do you think they're going to try and betray us when we get to the Widow?"

Kasala hesitated before answering. "Hard to say. Everyone here knows we need to push the Widow out. It doesn't matter what side we stand on, she's far too dangerous to let reach either battlefield. But I don't like the plan Commander Ruka's pushing. It reeks of someone playing a longer game. If it comes to it, I'd rather her be let loose on their side than ours."

Vaeliyan asked quietly, "Do you know Wirk's story?"

Kasala said, "Yes. I know it well. And this isn't something he'd ever wish for her to be part of. Not for her, not for any of you, not even for me. That man has already lost far too much and knowing what we are about to do... it would break him if he found out we were involved."

Elian's voice came through next, sharp with frustration, more emotion than he usually let slip. "This is fucked up. I don't know how we deal with this after. I don't even know how we're going to look at Wirk if this does happen. What do we tell him? That we sent his daughter in to slaughter a Princedom city because High Commander Ruka told us to? That we followed the order without hesitation?"

Chime broke in, quieter, but no less raw. "What do we even tell ourselves? We're cadets. We're supposed to be learning to fight, to survive, not… this. Not a blacklisted mission with no record. Not marching toward the Widow like bait."

Kasala's reply was firm, his voice leaving no room for doubt. "You tell him nothing. You say not a single word of this to anyone. This mission will be blacklisted. It's not something we'll ever speak of again, not in private company, not even when you're alone. Only with the people here, and only while we are on the mission. Once it's done, it's buried. If this leaks, they'll erase us for trying to let it slip. Guard your life, and guard the secret, even if it burns every one of you inside. That's the burden you carry now."

Lucy's mech squadron ground to a halt on the ridge. Below, the approach to the village rolled out like a wound, an ugly scar cut into the snow and ice. From down in the hollow came sounds that did not belong to war, voices raised in laughter, people singing. At first it sounded like a festival, something bright and alive. But the longer it carried, the edges sharpened. The laughs were too loud, stretched into ragged echoes that bordered on screaming, and the songs carried a rasp, as if sung with blood at the back of the throat. It was the sound of people who had been singing too long, throats rubbed raw, joy twisted into something wrong. It clung to the air like rot, a celebration held just one note too long, stretched until it broke.

Vaeliyan felt it before he named it. Something heavy pressed at the edges of his awareness. He didn't voice it, not even over the bond, but his gaze fixed on a point in the hollow. His hand lifted, pointing like an instinct he couldn't suppress. Kasala caught the motion, followed his line of sight.

Kasala asked, "Do you see something?"

"She's there," Vaeliyan said simply.

"How do we do this, sir?" he added.

Kasala's answer was method and caution. "We send the mechs in. Everyone, do not listen to the Widow's song. Fill your ears with anything. Turn off externals if you can."

Varnai's voice cut in. "Our armor can cut externals by default. We only open them when we need to."

"Good," Kasala said. "Shut them down. You lot, Lucy, how do your mechs hear one another on the field?"

Lucy's reply was blunt. "We have comms, but the domes aren't soundproof. We'll hear her through the shells. We weren't supposed to be at the front. We didn't plan for this."

Theo answered for his squad. "We've got dampeners in the supplies. They'll cut the worst of it."

Kasala looked at Vaeliyan. "Fenn and you, keep watch. Vaeliyan, right and Fenn, take the left. Hold positions and call anything that moves."

"Roger," Fenn said. "Heading left."

"Styll, Bastard and Momo, what about them?" Vaeliyan asked.

"They are somewhat protected," Kasala said. "The Widow's Song doesn't foul bonds. It reaches animals, but those that are bonded are safe from her song. She can still touch blood, though."

Kasala added, his voice grim. "But be warned. She can still reach into flesh. Armor and mechs break that reach some, but not completely. She doesn't make us fight each other. Her method is worse, she takes and leaves you wishing you were dead."

"Understood," Vaeliyan said. "We'll watch."

Lucy moved along the line, boots crunching against packed snow. She glanced at the damage reports scrolling across her visor and asked, "Do we have time for field repairs? We can patch most of them in thirty."

"Do it," Kasala said. "Thirty minutes. After that we move."

A bitter laugh came from Palo. "Thirty minutes to make the walking corpse look whole. Cute."

"Make them whole," Lucy said coldly. "I don't want to march into that noise with half of us limping."

They went to work. Hands moved under panels, servos were jacked, couplings unbolted and swapped. Theo's squad handed out dampeners, small, clumsy devices but effective. Pilots clipped them inside helmets and domes, sealed externals, closed out the world. Sparks flared as rigs were torn apart and rebuilt, the hiss of vented steam rising into the cold air. Half-repaired machines loomed like broken statues waiting to be reanimated.

Vaeliyan looked over the ridge's lip, eyes locked on the village. The singing rolled up like tide, endless, insistent. Closer now, he could feel the pattern in it, a call and response that shrank the breath in his chest. His skin crawled with the weight of it. He felt her looking at him, not sight, but presence, as if unseen eyes pressed against his bones. He didn't know what it was, but he knew she saw him. If he could sense her, she could sense him. The bond rippled with unease, a silent shiver that carried across all linked minds.

Kasala's voice came through, low. "No one speaks of what you hear down there. Not now. Not ever. Keep channels to the minimum. If you hear the song, drown it out. Hum, play a recording, anything. Don't let it settle in."

"Ready," Fenn said, his voice tighter than usual.

"Ready," Vaeliyan answered, eyes still fixed on the dark below.

Lucy checked the gauges on the mech she was working on, cracked glass, the faint stutter of damaged hydraulics, oil dripping like black blood onto the snow. "Fix whatever you can."

The Princedom forces worked like a single machine. Fluids topped, bolts torqued, shields rerouted. Time pushed them forward. Thirty minutes became tissue and sweat. The lines readied: mechs full of men, dampeners in place, externals cut, comms narrowed to whispered calls. Every pilot's breath fogged inside their helmets, silent and tense.

Kasala's final order before the descent was simple: "Move. Quiet. Watch each other."

With those words the storm finally broke. The winds came hard, driving snow across the ridge like a curtain. The song from below did not stop. It rose, a long, patient note that threaded through the world, raw and cracked, as if carried on throats that had sung themselves bloody. The laughter underneath it was wrong, too jagged, too sharp, like glass grinding together. The sound reached into the marrow. And then they went down, mechs stepping over the ridge edge, boots and treads carrying them into the hollow, into the broken festival, and into the Widow's waiting arms.

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