The projection of Yuri flickered to life in front of them, painting the wall in pale blue light. Yuri came into focus with his usual messy hair and that crooked grin that looked too relaxed for someone whose friends had just died. He looked tired but full of life, the kind of exhaustion that came from effort, not defeat.

"Ah, Vaeliyan!" Yuri said with a bright wave, his tone light and conversational. "Hey, everyone. You wanted to talk to me? I'm not sure what about, though. You guys left without saying anything to us. Is this about what happened with the Freds or Geo?"

The Complaints Department gathered around the wall display, watching the projection with a mixture of warmth and hesitation. Yuri always had that energy that made even hard conversations feel easier, but this time, Vaeliyan's expression stayed even. He folded his arms. "We heard about what happened. We're really, truly sorry we couldn't be there for the funeral." His voice carried the weight of regret.

"It's all right," Yuri replied softly. The grin stayed, but his eyes showed something quieter. "We understand. We saw the holos of what happened with you guys. Congratulations, by the way. You did it. You're all High Imperators now, out doing real work in the world." He said it with genuine pride, the kind that came from someone still wearing training stripes and dreaming about his own graduation day.

He shifted, turning slightly, and called over his shoulder. "Meri, you guys want to come say hi? It's Vaeliyan and the rest of his class! What do you call yourselves now?"

Vaeliyan's lips curved faintly. "Our squad name's the Complaints Department."

Yuri froze for a second, then broke into a laugh so loud that even House dimmed the volume for comfort. "That's hilarious. You've got to be kidding me." His laugh rolled for a moment before he settled back, still shaking his head. "Only you would come up with something like that. The Complaints Department. That's perfect."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the projection distorting faintly as he did. "So, if it's not about what happened with the rest of my class, what's this about?"

In the background, a voice called faintly, Kuri's. "I'm coming! So are Meri and Aluminis! We'll be up in like five minutes!"

Vaeliyan lifted a hand slightly, apologetic but firm. "Sorry, Yuri. We actually don't have that much time. We're about to head out on a mission. We'll be off-grid for a bit, hopefully not more than a day or two, but we'll have to talk to you guys later." He hesitated for a breath, studying the projection. "Before we go, though, I needed to ask you something important. You wouldn't happen to be High Chancellor Gleck's son, would you?"

Yuri blinked, caught off guard. "Oh. Yeah. What's up? What'd Dad do?" he asked with a faint laugh, though his posture stiffened, as if suddenly aware that the question wasn't casual.

Vaeliyan drew a slow breath. "Your father invited me to meet him. He said to talk to you for details." The silence that followed was heavy.

Yuri frowned, rubbing the back of his neck, the gesture leaving a faint smear of oil across his cheek. "Okay… that's weird. I don't know why he'd send you to me. I don't really talk to Dad much, but sometimes he's cool. Other times, he's just, well, insane. Like, more insane than me insane." He gave a nervous chuckle. "I'm over here trying to make tomatoes that taste like anything you want them to. He's making… I don't even know what in that place of his, but it's never good. And he won't let me in there."

He paused, the grin fading just a little. "If he really told you to come to him, Vaeliyan, you might want to think twice before you do. He doesn't reach out to people unless there's something he wants. And when he wants something, it usually costs someone more than they expect."

Vaeliyan's eyes narrowed slightly, measuring him. "You sound afraid of him."

Yuri hesitated, then shrugged. "Afraid? No. But I've learned not to underestimate him. You don't get to be High Chancellor of the Green Zone without being at least half-mad." His tone carried the kind of detached awareness of someone who had grown up inside the shadow of power but never truly belonged to it. "If he sent for you, it means you've caught his attention. That's never a good thing. Just… be careful, all right?"

Vaeliyan nodded once. "We will." He gave a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Tell everyone we said hi, yeah?"

Yuri's grin softened. "They're gonna be so sad they didn't get to see you. Good luck with whatever you guys have to do. And if you really meet Dad… keep in mind, he's eccentric."

The display faded, leaving the room in silence. For a long moment, no one spoke. The Complaints Department simply stood there all of them thinking the same quiet thought: whatever waited at the end of that invitation.

Vaeliyan looked around the briefing room at the rest of the Complaints Department. The low hum of the Boltfire's systems filled the silence between them, punctuated only by the faint clatter of armor plates and the soft chirps from House running calculations in the background. Everyone was still wound tight from the call with Yuri. The tension hung over them like a storm that hadn't broken yet.

He finally spoke. "We need to talk to Helen. Confirm that we're actually accepting this mission and see if she has any more details about where we're going or what we're supposed to recover. I want to know what we're walking into before we start dropping from orbit. Who wants to be the one to talk to her?"

Ramis leaned back in his chair, the metal creaking under his weight, and gave a slow shrug. "I'll do it. It's fine. I don't mind a little bit of liaison work while we don't have Julian with us yet. Someone's got to play the diplomat." He smirked faintly. "Might as well be me."

Vaeliyan nodded. "Yeah, okay. I just..." he paused, exhaling, "I wonder how he's doing. I hope he's okay."

"We all do," Lessa said from her seat near the console, her voice soft but steady. "Julian always lands on his feet. He'll find us when he's ready."

Vaeliyan smiled faintly at that, though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. He turned his attention back to the screen where Ramis was already typing out the message to Helen. The rhythmic tapping echoed quietly through the room, a sound that reminded everyone how close they were to another deployment. None of them said it aloud, but the first mission always carried weight. The kind that never really went away.

While they waited for a response, Vaeliyan turned toward Fenn, who was lounging near the supply crates, cleaning the dust off his gloves. "You need a weapon for the upcoming firefight?" Vaeliyan asked. "Car just took your last one."

Fenn looked up, brow raised. "No, I'm good. Your uncle lent me a lance. He calls it Betty."

Vaeliyan blinked, then smiled, the first genuine one since the call. "Betty, huh? That's Car's favorite. If he let you take her, he must really trust you."

Fenn tilted his head, his tone sincere. "She's... unbelievable. Calibrated like a dream. Every shot feels like it knows exactly where it's supposed to go before I even aim. There's no recoil, no drift, just smooth, pure response. I've never fired anything that precise."

Vaeliyan chuckled softly. "Yeah, that's Betty. Car's a perfectionist when it comes to lances. She's not flashy, she's just right. You don't have to fight her, she just works with you."

Lessa leaned forward, curious. "She's better than your Stinger?"

Vaeliyan laughed quietly. "Oh, yeah. The Stinger's good, it's fast, mean, efficient, but Betty's in another league entirely. Betty feels alive. You pull the trigger, and she already knows what you meant. She's beautiful, an amazing work of art. Every part of her hums with balance and precision, like she was built to prove what perfection looks like in motion."

Fenn nodded firmly. "He's not exaggerating. I thought your Stinger was the gold standard, but Betty's something else. It's like she rewrites the air when she fires. I can't even describe it."

Jurpat leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Betty's the best lance I've ever seen," he said flatly. "And I've seen more than my share. She doesn't kick, doesn't hum, doesn't argue. Just fires clean and true. It's freakish."

Lessa arched an eyebrow. "So, Car out-engineered the entire P.G.I catalog?"

"Seems like it," Vaeliyan said. "He builds them different. The Stinger's my kind of weapon, it's brutal and direct. Betty's… elegance disguised as firepower." He leaned back, thoughtful. "And yeah, if you've used her, you know exactly why Car doesn't let anyone touch her."

Vaeliyan turned toward Jurpat as the conversation lulled. "Hey, Jurpat, what did we ever do with that plasma blade Ursan gave us when I got married?" he asked, brow furrowed like the memory had just caught up to him.

Jurpat's expression shifted as he thought about it. "Huh. I haven't thought about that thing in a while. Honestly, I don't think I'm ever going to use it."

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"I wasn't going to either," Vaeliyan admitted. "But maybe somebody else could. Does anyone actually use a sword or anything like that?" He glanced around the room, his gaze settling on Sylen.

She raised a brow. "You're kidding, right?"

"Of course I am," Vaeliyan said with a grin. "Still, you'd probably be the best to use it if anyone did."

Sylen leaned back in her seat, unimpressed. "What the hells is a plasma blade?"

"You'll love it," Vaeliyan said. "Basically, it's a giant blowtorch that cuts through anything, but you can use it like a sword. It's got a backed plate that's sharp enough to use even when it's off. When it's on, it's pure fire. When it's off, it's Blacksteel."

Jurpat nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right. I never used it because of my claws. You didn't use it because of your thing with blades. It just never fit either of us."

"Exactly," Vaeliyan said. "We weren't ever really going to use it. It's a gorgeous piece, though. Maybe someone should give it a purpose."

Lessa smirked. "You mean a sword that doubles as a blowtorch doesn't count as art to you?"

Vaeliyan chuckled. "It's art, all right. Dangerous, elegant art. Just… not to me."

Ramis finished sending the message and leaned back, arms behind his head. "Message away. Helen should respond any minute. Assuming she's not buried in reports or screaming at logistics again."

"Let's hope she's in a good mood," Vaeliyan said. "I don't want her thinking we're hesitating." He looked at the rest of them. "When she calls, I want us sharp. This isn't just another job. Whatever's in that Princedom facility, it's got enough importance for High Commander Ruka to rush it. That means there's more to it than we're being told."

The message came through quietly, nothing but a soft alert in their feed. Each of them received it at once, the same document, the same briefing. They read it in silence, the words unfolding line by line in their personal streams. The air in the room seemed to thicken with every sentence, like the data itself carried weight.

Jurpat was the first to break the silence, his voice low, even. "Destination: the Whispering Cave," he read aloud. "The Princedom facility is located beneath the site. Primary objective: infiltration and recovery of an unidentified asset." He scrolled further, his brows drawing closer as he absorbed the text. "No description of the asset. They're sending us to recover something completely unknown."

He looked up, meeting Vaeliyan's eyes before continuing. "Context note: the Princedom is still reeling from the Grave Holt incident. Their defense grid and logistics networks are compromised. The document suggests we have a limited window to strike before they can reinforce or repair their lines."

Ramis exhaled sharply through his nose. "That explains the rush. High Commander Ruka's pushing this before the Princedom even realizes they're bleeding. If she's skipping the usual pre-op checks, this has to matter."

Jurpat gave a short nod. "Secondary objective: seize any research, data, or physical material in the facility. Anything we can't take, we destroy. Directive also emphasizes: minimal structural damage to the Whispering Cave. It's considered 'a site of significant cultural and historical importance.' Comms interference expected once inside. Coordinates attached. No additional context provided." He scrolled to the end and sighed. "That's the whole thing. That's all she gave us."

For a few heartbeats, nobody spoke. The only sound was the soft hum of ventilation through the cabin.

Then Roan's voice broke through, light but reverent. "The Whispering Cave? You're serious? That's one of the Hundred Wonders." His eyes gleamed as he spoke. "They say the echoes come back before you speak. The resonance isn't normal; it's like sound folds over time. You can say something, and the cave already knows it."

Lessa crossed her arms, frowning slightly. "So, we're walking into a cave that repeats us before we say anything? Great. That's not unsettling at all."

Fenn flicked his AI's interface closed. "You think that's myth, or is it actual interference? Could that kind of resonance mess with our systems?"

Elian leaned forward in his seat. "Could be both. The minerals in that region defy classification, dense quartz veins, energy-retaining crystals, maybe ancient tech. The cave produces measurable resonance loops, but no one knows why. The readings change depending on who's inside. The more people, the stronger the feedback."

Roan nodded eagerly. "Exactly! They say the crystals hum differently depending on who's near them. When you talk, the walls respond. The deeper you go, the more the echoes sound… personal. Some expeditions swore they heard voices that weren't their own."

"Perfect," Ramis muttered dryly. "Haunted science caves. My favorite kind."

Vaeliyan looked up from his feed. His tone was calm, steady. "We take the asset. We grab any data the Princedom's been working on. We burn what we can't take. And unless we have no choice, we leave the cave intact. It's old, it's valuable, and it's probably unstable."

Jurpat added, "And if it starts talking, we record everything. High Commander Ruka will want the logs."

That drew a few quiet laughs, small but real. It didn't ease the tension much, but it was enough to make them move again. They all knew the rhythm: read, plan, act. The briefing wasn't a conversation. It was a clock ticking down.

They moved as one. Lessa checked her drone calibrations, muttering to herself about signal delay. Chime cross-referenced terrain maps against atmospheric data, double-checking descent vectors. Jurpat reviewed infiltration patterns, his eyes distant but focused. Elian monitored fallback routes and energy readings. Every movement had purpose, every sound measured.

Vaeliyan reviewed his loadout in silence, eyes flicking from one weapon to the next. The Stinger lance was locked and magnetically holstered, its surface catching dim reflections of the light. He didn't trust the mission, but trust didn't matter. Completion did.

After a few minutes, the quiet was broken by Sylen testing the balance of her plasma blade, its unlit edge cutting invisible arcs through the air. She caught Vaeliyan's glance and shrugged. "If the cave does talk, I'll make sure it listens."

"Just don't start a conversation," he said dryly.

She smiled faintly. "No promises."

The quiet that followed wasn't uncomfortable, just inevitable. legionnaires getting ready for the next unknown. The AI feed still hovered open in Vaeliyan's vision, its final line glowing faintly in his periphery. Good hunting, Complaints Department.

He read it again, not because he needed to, but because it grounded him. That single line said everything about how much anyone truly knew.

Vaeliyan closed the feed, stood, and pulled his helmet from the table. "The Boltfire's ready," he said. "Let's move."

Vaeliyan sent a goodbye message to House to give to Wren, Belthea, Florence, Car, and the rest of their family as they stepped into the Boltfire and set off for the Whispering Cave. It was short, almost too short for what it meant. Just a few words about taking care, about the next time they would meet, about the promise that he would return. The Boltfire's boarding ramp closed behind him with a sound that felt final, and then, silence.

As Vaeliyan's foot crossed the threshold into the Boltfire proper, the world stilled. Sound died. Motion froze. Even light bent in place, caught in the air like suspended ash. Heat spread from his chest outward, seeping through his bones until every part of him felt forged and waiting. The air shifted, warped, and bent into the shape of memory and meaning.

He was no longer aboard the Boltfire. He stood once more within the Fiery Forge, the endless crucible that was Steel's domain. The air thrummed like a heartbeat trapped inside molten lungs. The ground rippled like living metal beneath his feet, flowing but never cooling. Every breath carried the weight of iron, the hum of transformation, and the taste of purpose older than time.

Then she appeared. The Silver Maiden radiant and terrible, took shape before him. Her body was living metal, gleaming and fluid, each movement leaving sparks that hung in the air like dying stars. She was beauty carved from discipline, a goddess made not of softness but of function, precision, and will. Her eyes burned white-hot, twin furnaces that reflected every strike he had ever endured, every challenge he had overcome, every vow he had kept.

She regarded him silently, and though her lips did not move at first, her presence filled the Forge with her will. When she finally spoke, it was with the voice of tempered creation, the scrape of steel against stone, the breath of cooling iron, and the echo of hammers on anvils long silent. "Warren. You walk toward the Whispering Cave. I have a task for you."

He bowed his head, half-smile flickering across his face. "It's been a while since you've given me a task. The last was Barcus."

The forge flared, her laughter carried not through sound but through vibration, metal resonating with warmth and warning. "It has been a while. This one has waited long enough." The flames coiled around her, feeding her light until her form was almost unbearable to look at. Her words rang through the metal itself, shaping it, branding the air with command. "The asset you seek is the contender of Du-Mat, the Beast God."

Vaeliyan frowned, the light burning against his skin. "So… it's a person?"

The Silver Maiden tilted her head slightly, and the forge responded like a living organism, heat surging, molten rivers shifting course. "It is not a person," she said, her tone a harmony of edges and weight. "It is what Du-Mat claims as her own."

Vaeliyan let that sit for a moment, the heat pressing against him like breath. Then he nodded once. "Alright. What else?"

Steel raised her hand, and the forge obeyed. The air thickened until it felt as though it would harden into metal. The molten walls curved inward, forming a cage of light and heat until only she and he remained, face to face. Her voice came again, no longer words but command itself, hammer meeting destiny. "Enter the cave alone, as Warren. Speak to your future self. Listen. Then return those words to the past."

He wanted to ask why, but he already knew the answer: Steel never gave reasons, only purposes. The Silver Maiden stepped closer, the temperature rising until the concept of pain no longer existed, only reverence. Her molten light touched his chest like a brand. "Do not fail this," she said, her tone carrying the ring of a vow. "My contender, this task is a boon unto itself. The forge of time requires a perfect hammer."

The world shattered into sparks, each one burning bright enough to leave afterimages across his eyes. But before he could leave the forge, another voice reached him. It came not from the flames nor from the metal, but from somewhere deeper, beneath the forge, beneath the heat. It was not the one he expected, but it was one he would welcome without hesitation. The sound of it pulled against the edges of his being, familiar and vast, carrying the gravity of memory and the promise of something unfinished.

Standing in front of him in the forge was a man made of paper, a man made of every word ever written, a god made of words. Somehow, Vaeliyan knew who it was.

"Switch?" he said, the name leaving his mouth like a revelation.

The figure of paper turned toward him, each movement unfolding and refolding like pages caught in a breeze. The words that made up his body shimmered, ink bleeding into light, languages layering over one another in an infinite loop of meaning. And when he spoke, it was not sound, but story itself that entered Vaeliyan's mind.

"It is good to see you again, my friend. The words came gentle but heavy, filled with the weight of countless histories. This is my true form. As I assume you have suspected for long enough, I am one of these so-called gods."

Vaeliyan felt the realization settle. "You… you've been one of them all along."

Switch's form rippled with warmth, as if amused. "I have a favor to ask of you, if you would hear me out. My wife has given you her task, but I would like to make a request. This is for my contender. She will need it in time, and would you be willing to give it to her when you see her next?"

"Who is your contender?" Vaeliyan asked.

"You will know," Switch replied. Do not worry. "She will find you. When she does, please hand her this."

Switch extended his hand, and from between his fingers formed a single feather, plain and unremarkable, the kind of simple white feather one might overlook entirely. He placed it into Vaeliyan's palm. The instant it touched his skin; he nearly dropped it. The feather looked delicate, natural, like something plucked from a bird's wing, but its weight was immense, far denser than lead.

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