[url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/246624086/0/0]Table of Contents[/url] “Traveler above,” Saul moaned, loud enough to be heard by Derik, “They’re shootin’ the bodies…” Derik felt a vague sense of horror creep over him as he watched the two guards shifting among the corpses of Natalia’s gunmen. Each gunshot rang out sharply across the open field. “Makin’ sure they’re all dead,” Jennifer explained. Her face was blank, making her opinion of the act unclear. “Oh Traveler,” the man laying by Derik groaned, putting a hand to his mouth, “I think I’m gonna be sick again…” It only took a minute for the guards to finish, then one of them gave a big thumbs up for all to see. “Let’s go!” Jennifer called, standing and brushing snow off of her armor. Everyone followed her lead, rising unsteadily on their tired legs and shaking off the cold white powder. “Thank the Traveler it’s over…” the man next to Derik mumbled, offering a hand. Derik accepted it, grateful for the help as he stood on weak legs. “Name’s Fren, by the way,” the man added, releasing his grip. “Derik.” Their attention returned to Jennifer as she strode out towards Flats and called to them, “Come on! Town’s not gonna take itself!” Everyone quietly trudged after her. They were all weary after all they’d done. Derik wanted rest. He glanced back to the others. The rest of the makeshift army was mimicking them, leaving the shelter of their ditches to advance on Flats. Jennifer had given them a small head start, and they were practically leading the way. Fren swore, pointing to the village, “Traveler, there’s still one up there!” Derik looked to the town and saw a man standing at the crest of the little hill Natalia’s gunmen had been using for shelter. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the white field, standing like a statue with his arms spread wide. “What’s he doing?” Derik asked. “Surrenderin’, I think,” Willis deduced, putting a hand on Derik’s shoulder to steady himself as his foot sunk into a deeper patch of snow. Geralt grunted contentedly, “That’s good.” “I think there was another one up-“ The sharp crack of the sniper rifle firing again pierced their ears, making their hearts jump into their throats. “TRAVELER!” Geralt cursed as they all looked back to where the Warlords had been hiding, “What do they think they’re doin’?!” Derik’s eye’s darted back to the hill in front of Flats. The man was gone. He let out the air he had been holding in his lungs, speaking under his breath, “They shot him…” “Traveler, they did,” Fren agreed quietly. Derik turned back to where the Warlords were. They were clambering out of their ditch, beginning to follow the rest of the makeshift army from a distance. He watched them as they made their way towards Flats. “Derik?” Saul called. Derik glanced back. The others had already resumed their march, but Saul had stopped when he noticed Derik hadn’t moved, “What’re ya doin’?” Derik dismissed them, then tugged his foot out of the clinging snow and took long strides, heading for the Warlords. “Derik?” Saul repeated, “Derik?!” • • • “Your hands are shaking,” Avery said, quietly enough that only Brenon could hear. Brenon stopped fiddling with his sniper rifle, scolding himself silently. He should have known she would notice. She noticed everything. “They’re just cold,” he replied casually, pretending to focus on taking careful steps through the snow. It wasn’t entirely a lie. The harsh climate wasn’t kind to their bodies, and it was only getting worse as winter crept closer. Everyone’s hands were cold. But it was more than that. He’d seen too much death over the years. They all had, in these dark ages. The body count kept getting higher. Maybe he just wasn’t cut out for killing. He knew it had to be done, but that didn’t stop him from seeing each one of their faces every time he pulled the trigger. So he kept killing, and his hands kept shaking. He was sure Avery knew, but she had never confronted him about it. Maybe that was for the best. He wouldn’t know what to tell her. He propped the weapon on his shoulder, wrapping one arm around it and tucking his hand into his armpit. Avery’s orange eyes lingered on him for a moment before turning away. Brenon didn’t know any other Exos, but he was sure none of them were as inscrutable as her. They trudged through the snow, watching the backs of the makeshift army ahead of them. The only sounds that broke the silence were those of the white powder crunching under their boots and Lord Daedalus’ labored breathing. Brenon suspected the Warlord was getting too old for this kind of thing, but the aging man had yet to raise a complaint. He had shown that he was strong and independent; a surprise after his constant fretting over everything. “Who’s that?” Lerit questioned, pointing out to the right. Two men were wading hurriedly through the blanketed field, en route to intercept them. They stopped to watch as the two figures came closer. “Not mine,” Daedalus grunted. They weren’t wearing any decent armor, so it was clear they weren’t the gunmen of either Warlord. “I don’t like it,” a guard hissed, readying her pistol. “Wait, Vilenye,” Avery ordered, “It’s Magnate and Chanely.” “You can tell from here?” Lerit asked. Vilenye lowered her weapon, then cracked a smile and jested, “All the more reason to shoot, right?” “Chanely’s the boy that killed Fargo, right?” Daedalus inquired, “Who’s Magnate?” “The useless meat sack,” Avery reminded him, not even showing a hint of amusement despite the ridiculous explanation. “Ah,” Daedalus nodded. Powel blinked, “Useless what?” “What?” Vilenye echoed. “Long story,” Brenon dismissed. They all waited while the pair closed the distance between them. The makeshift army was getting farther away, nearing the edge of Flats. “Brenon,” Powel recalled, nudging the scout’s arm, “Didn’t you ask Jennifer to watch those two?” “Yeah…” Brenon muttered, “Must’ve given her the slip. She’s probably got her hands full up there.” Powel grunted in agreement. It wasn’t long before Derik and Saul reached them, slowing to a halt. Saul dropped his rifle and planted his hands on his knees, bending over to catch his breath. Derik came forward, his face set in a stony mask of anger. His nostrils flared as he tried to control his breathing, gathering the strength to speak. Avery stepped around Brenon to face the outsider, articulating her question with harsh clarity, “What do you want, Magnate?”