ReservationsShe wasn't ready for this.
The Reapers' hulls were barely cold, the worlds they'd ravaged still slowly-cooling embers, and she wasn't ready for this.
Most other turians her age were still in the military, having orders barked at them and clawing their way up the ranks. But her? She'd just learned that she had inherited ownership of one of the largest private armies in the galaxy, catapulting her from nothingness into a position of formidable authority almost overnight.
A warm, scaly muzzle bumped at her hand, interrupting her train of thought, and Aegis absentmindedly reached down to pet Charis' head - forgetting, for a moment, how much she professed to hate varren.
" I don't know if I can do this, Char." She murmured softly, sighing as she looked out across the moonlit veranda. "The Corps was Hera's baby hers and dad's. How am I supposed to live up to that?"
The pale young varren just whined softly, leaning against Aegis' leg.
For a long time, they just stood
InterludeAegis didn't remember how she'd gotten home.
All she remembered was the door closing behind her. The sturdiness of the barrier at her back as she collapsed against it, sliding to the floor with her head in her hands. The way it was cold and unfeeling and uncomforting as she succumbed to bitter, wracking sobs.
She's dead. Hera's dead.
Somewhere before the blank stretch of nothingness, there was a window... no, not a window, a vid screen, and footage of the latest attacks, all presented in hyper-realistic definition, color and sound and pure, unadulterated horror as the hapless reporter fled along with the last group of refugees to escape whatever city was burning now. She might not have known that Hera was even involved there if not for that - if not for the fact that it let her see the familiar golden insignia emblazoned on the armor of every soldier there.
And she'd stood there, watching the scene unfold. Watching the troops fall back with the civilians, watching the city rapid
VersesFaded photographs -
Many faded memories
Neon and pastel
Candy-colored innocence -
The start of childhood
Racing headlong down hillsides,
A song on my tongue
Music grows louder
Bass, treble, black jeans, tall boots -
The prime of my youth
A distant desert
Testing young wings, far from home
An eagle soaring
An eagle broken
Cruel arrows cripple my wings
I yearn for the sky
Some wounds never heal
The pain of that betrayal
Cannot be undone
Still, all is not lost
My wings grow ever stronger
I will soar again
InvictaIt had all gone to hell so quickly, Augustus mused.
Things had been going so well. For a while, it even seemed as if they might win. Cyrene had been hopeful... she'd wanted to raise their children on a free world, free from the overarching influence and crushing arrogance of the Hierarchy... It had been her dream. Their dream.
Perhaps they'd been too hopeful. Or, perhaps, simply unwilling to believe that there had never been any real hope of victory to start with. That there was never any real escape, nor hope for freedom.
Perhaps they'd simply been unwilling to believe that their fighting - for their children, their colony, their very world - was in vain.
And yet, that is all it had come down to in the end. Betrayed in the heat of battle, beaten down, badgered and bartered over, handed over like so much livestock for trade...
They'd seen their supporters summarily executed, their battered bodies stacked alongside the road...
...Young children taken, screami