Erin Swann

Chapter 1

Syrainian Warriors crave honorable deaths, ones filled with purpose and meaning. Death should come while blood pounds in the ears, and be embraced with fists raised to protect what matters most.

Commander Ronin Kalgot had been robbed of that chance after his short-lived plight for justice ten years ago. It had ended in exile, serving a disciplinary term on contracts they had no control over.

Now, the persistent glimmer of hope prickled against skepticism. Ronin’s fingers, weathered with battle scars from another life, tingled as they held the folded tech doc with his new deployment orders. Ronin brushed his thumb across its hardened surface, emblazoned with the letters ADF: Alliance Defense Force.

He had loved those words once; fighting for the Cosmic Alliance was honorable, thrilling. Now…

Ronin lingered at the space transport’s exit, the clamor of his fifty-two soldiers behind him, the threshold of an alien world before him. Despite the disquiet in his heart, it still swelled at the thought of new worlds filled with novelty. No matter how many places he deployed to, that never grew old.

The next assignment awaited just beyond, one that seemed like a dream after ten years of contracts filled with the dreary and mundane. A Raid Zone. The chance to fight on the front lines again, to protect a planet from the dark forces seeking to consume it.

This gift felt too good to be true. And things that felt too good to be true usually were.

“You gonna stand there all day?” Bask asked, cutting through his moment. “Rest of us want to get off this hunk of metal too.”

Ronin’s coarse black hair brushed his shoulder blades as he glanced at Bask, one of his three Alphas. He and Bask both had average Syrainian builds—bronze, muscular bodies developed for feats of strength. Unfortunately, their feats in recent years were all chores.

With a permanently hunched posture, Bask looked ready to launch at a sudden enemy or crumple to a heap on the ground. The man’s deep gray eyes were less hollow today—scowl playing across his swarthy face like an old, familiar friend. Even he was excited about this deployment.

Ronin moved aside. “Not even a smile, Bask?” he asked the weathered Warrior.

“My head’s pounding,” Bask grunted.

“Stop bein’ so irritated,” Beris’s voice bounced against the cold walls behind them. “If yeh scrunched up yer face less, it might hate yeh less.” Ronin’s burly Third Alpha loped past Ronin and inhaled, tasting the air.

“Least this planet’s got a nice clear sky. Can’t remember the last time I saw actual daylight,” Beris said, referring to the sodden, colorless planet they had just left behind. “Months o’ rain without a crack o’ lightnin’ ter break up the monot’ny.”

“Only you would find the possibility of electrocution exciting,” Bask said, trudging down the ramp.

“Stimulatin’,” Beris said, following his counterpart with Ronin close behind. “‘Course clear skies means I get a clearer view o’ yer ugly mug.”

Bask’s forehead scrunched, his face consistently committed to dissatisfaction—a trait accentuated by Beris’s charismatic persona, especially when they stood next to each other.

Ronin’s boots left the metal ramp and found a filigree of vines, interwoven to allow his feet to stay free from the ocher clay beneath. Vibrant plants spiraled up like living stalagmites around the clearing, sticky dew dripping from the tips of their leaves. Heat flavored with sweet sap and soil wafted against his navy uniform, which was already sticking to his skin.

A vast forest encircled the plain, filled with vivid, clashing colors of greens, pinks, and oranges. It was a shock to the senses, Ronin’s vision stinging after staring at nothing but a vapid palette of gray hues during their last assignment.

For a moment, he could have sworn one of the smaller trees moved, stepping back into the darkness of the dense timber. He supposed anything was possible on a planet like this. Ronin smiled. Why not moving trees?

Feyeir. Birthplace of the Earth Elementals. A planet off limits to most of Mortal Space. A sight a Syrainian like him never hoped to take in.

Stop. He had to keep his feelings in check. This battle would be about survival, not about the thrill of a fight or to see new worlds. He needed to focus on getting his platoon through this deployment; there had to be more to this contract than met the eye. Syrainians might crave an honorable death, but they didn’t crave death itself.

Beris’s massive hand slapped him on the arm. “Oi. Stop that. After ten years playin’ babysitter and fetch boy, we finally get ter fight again an’ all yeh can do is worry.”

Beris’s excitement was understandable. Nothing beat standing between a planet and Kaika’s dark Void Clouds filled with nightmares from space. Ronin’s knuckles throbbed, aching to be used to protect the living again.

But High Seat Yehl wouldn’t send Ronin on an assignment he’d enjoy. The figurehead of Ronin’s home planet was punishing him for daring to speak up for his people. This disciplinary term served as a reminder that Ronin’s place was to take orders, not change them.

Beris read the expression on Ronin’s face. “Yeh think they’ll use us as Gorin meat shields?” Beris grunted. “Wouldn’t be the first time. We can handle it.”

Rain began pelting the clearing, liquid bullets assailing them in a surprise attack from the sky, which had filled with flossy pink clouds. The hot clay beneath Ronin’s boots steamed, adding to the humidity in the air.

Bask groaned and formed an invisible shield around his body to stay dry. “Are you fecking serious? Is the rain following us?”

Ronin summoned his life energy as well, using his Qi to create a similar shield.

Beris just spread his arms wide. His navy uniform quickly soaked through, water running from his mop of curly black hair, down his leathery face and off his shaggy beard.

“Beris, why aren’t you projecting your shield?” Ronin asked.

“Givin’ my Qi a rest.” Beris grinned down at him, revealing several silver teeth. “Besides, better this than a bath.”

Ronin chuckled, but was cut short.

“Commander Kalgot!”

The distant words came out like the bark of a Firehound that hadn’t eaten in a week.

Beris dropped his arms and squinted through the sweet shower. “That an offensive speck o’ blue I see up there?”

Ronin spied the owner of the barking voice—a dark bruise smudging the viridian sky above. The soldier was definitely a Gorin. Fantastic.

“What the hell are weaklings like Gorin doing on a place as important as Feyeir?!” Bask stormed quietly, glaring daggers at the reptile flying towards them.

Ronin frowned. That was odd. While they usually fought under Gorin in the ADF, he didn’t expect to find them here.

Footsteps whispered behind him, followed by his Second Alpha’s docent tone. “Gorin,” Kirin said. “Bet Bask will be pissed when he sees—”

“I’m right here,” Bask snapped.

Pissed was an understatement. Hopefully, Bask wouldn’t assault the soldier when he came closer.

Ronin strode in front of his Alphas to prevent an early confrontation, meeting the Gorin hovering a few paces away. Water beaded the blue scales of the soldier’s reptilian face; he must be too weak to form a Qi shield. Brilliant red hair clung to his scalp like soppy seaweed, thin mouth set in a grimace. He stuck out in stark contrast to the bronze, dark features of the Syrainians.

“I’m to take you to the encampment,” the Gorin grunted without ceremony. Not waiting for a response, he turned on and flew back the way he came.

“I told you something was off,” Ronin said, eyeing Kirin. Long face solemn as an executioner, waist-length black hair loosely secured behind his slimmer frame, Kirin stuck out among the more brawny Warriors of the platoon. But there was no one Ronin would rather have watching his back.

Kirin fiddled absently with the sword on his belt, the only one in the platoon to carry a blade. His silver eyes followed the Gorin as they rose into the air to follow, Bask and Beris calling orders. Leaving the drop zone with packs slung on their backs, the platoon levitated into the muggy air and flew over the forest in the direction of their encampment.

“It’s strange,” Kirin said, sticking close to Ronin as they ascended. “Heard the Earth Elementals don’t let anyone on their planet, yet Gorin are here?”

“Things change,” Ronin said. The Raid Zone line had reached the planet. Desperation often outweighed pride…and fear. “They probably don’t have a choice. The Elementals can’t defend Feyeir on their own. The Children of Kaika have already sent several Void Clouds to devour this planet. Next one’s supposed to be big. Orders I got called for additional troops and help from the Scions. Liath Eune might even join the fight.”

Even as he said it, Ronin didn’t quite believe it.

“Heard she was the last Celestial created by the stars. Made ter battle the god, Kaika, ‘erself.” Beris snorted, popping up on Ronin’s right. “Wouldn’t that be somethin’?” By the flat looks exchanged with Kirin, the disbelief was shared. When one fought for Gorin, one didn’t usually fight alongside almighty warriors.

The rain had stopped, leaving behind the scent of moist earth and warm wood. Fuchsia foliage glittered from the tree canopy below, jade birds studding the blushed leaves. Laughter trickled from behind as his men bantered about who would get the most kills, who would sport the gravest injury, the newest badass scar.

Ronin tightened his jaw.

Whatever waited in that camp, he couldn’t lose his temper again. He had to do everything he could to preserve his platoon, even if it meant groveling. The thought made him sick, but while his Syrainian pride might be strong, his Warriors were more important. They deserved better. And his actions affected them: something he’d lost sight of before.

There wouldn’t only be Gorin in the encampment. A lot of high ranking ADF officers should be stationed on a planet as important as this, ones that might remember Ronin. If they helped defend a place as important as Feyeir, maybe they could win their way back to the raids permanently.

No more bodyguard duty, or months providing security for excavation sites at the edge of the galaxy. He might never be able to see Syraine again, but he could serve a goal that mattered. And while there was no chance to have his own exile lifted, there might be a chance for his team.

Ronin pressed his lips together. Focus on the contract first, then worry about exile. Contract holders had little concern for the wants and needs of their hired help. No one was going to look out for his platoon aside from him, especially if they were assigned to Gorin.

The solid tree line broke below and a fetid scent hit him like a wall; heat commingled with decay and the strange metallic odor that only came from flesh burned by Scorching guns. A field of charred bodies blotted the lush landscape, ruining their picturesque welcome.

Remains of the Children of Kaika.

Even from above, he could tell the twisted animalistic limbs and spidery appendages were weeks old and should have been disposed of by now.

“Lazy ass Gorin,” Bask muttered.

Ronin pressed past the gruesome scene, the foul odor of the dead soon replaced with the moldering sweetness of Feyeir’s vegetation. The platoon touched down on the vine-laced clay at the encampment border, a few members fumbling when their toes uprooted the groundcover. To his surprise, as soon as the Warriors passed, the vines wove back together—healed as if nothing had damaged them.

Ronin paused at the edge of the encampment. Something was wrong. It was filled only with yellowing canvas tents, splattered with churned mud. Where were the other troops?

A chilling shriek pierced the thick air, heralding an oversized Gorin streaking across the camp towards them. He smacked at his blue scaly limbs as if they were on fire. But there were no flames, only unhinged passion on his face. Other Gorin soldiers dove out of the way as the madman aimed straight for the entrance where the Syrainians lingered.

One look at the black veins covering the Gorin’s scales and Ronin paled. Black veins on a Gorin meant one thing.

Anointed. Gorin artificially ‘gifted’ an Element to wield.

He didn’t need to give a command; his entire platoon flew high into the air to get away from the bloated Gorin, who continued to balloon as if filling with pressurized air. He probably was. Ronin grabbed their Gorin escort, who had frozen in fear and yanked him back into the air with him.

The Anointed didn’t make it far before his body burst apart in a grisly explosion, a shockwave of elemental Air blades shredding the nearby tents and smattering the ground with chunks of fleshy matter. A few nearby Gorin sported deep slices on their arms or legs.

But the injured were already limping towards the Healer’s tents, momentary panic gone and replaced with bored resignation. The Gorin soldier Ronin had pulled out of the way growled, pushing away from his savior and dropping to the ground again. Without looking back, he stormed into the camp as if embarrassed that a Syrainian had thought he needed help.

Not that Ronin expected any thanks.

“Anointed are here?” Bask rasped as they carefully landed some distance away from the carnage. “Why the hell would the ADF send them to such an important planet? That’s asinine!”

Ronin had to agree. He expected to find Elites; they were the best the ADF had to offer. Yet their well-maintained, prefabricated cabins were absent. Only a sea of battered Gorin tents infested the camp.

“There might only be a few,” Kirin said, nodding to another pair nearby who were laughing manically, as if the explosion had been a joke. Black veins webbed over their blue scales and bare scalps, making them easy to spot among the other Gorin.

“A few too many,” Beris said.

“You two! Back to your designated area.” One of the Gorin captains tromped over and shouted at the hysterical pair of Anointed. “This is the commander’s circle. And don’t touch your Element until battle! We can’t lose any more of you.”

While Ronin’s platoon had never served directly under an Anointed, plenty of others lost their lives fighting alongside them. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be positioned near any. On the battlefield, they could be just as dangerous as the enemy.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ronin saw Bask touch his chest, where deep gouges in the man’s flesh lay beneath his armor. A familiar empty expression replaced his scowl; the face of a man who had died inside years ago.

Bask noticed his commander’s attention and dropped his hand. “Gonna go check in or keep starin’?”

Ronin eyed Kirin and jerked his head towards the tents.

Central registration was situated under a wide canopy of tattered yellow canvas with a pair of bored Gorin taking contract orders. There were a number of other Syrainian commanders in line too. The general must have bought several contracts to assist in the raid.

While he waited, Ronin scanned the faces of passing Gorin, a storm brewing inside.

Why were only Gorin ADF here? He couldn’t make sense of it. They couldn’t Command Elements on their own and some could barely do more than use Qi to fly or create effective shields for battle. They were rather weak soldiers that used their numbers, resources and mercenaries to make themselves more valuable.

True, after becoming Anointed, they packed a serious punch: gaining a superpowered Qi and the ability to wield an Element. But they didn’t last long.

“Next,” the Gorin barked from behind the registration table, his fish finned ears twitching.

Ronin stepped up and extended his orders to the irritable officer.

“Kalgot,” the Gorin said, scanning a list in front of him. “Looks like someone requested you.”

Ronin’s heart lightened. Maybe this was it. Their way out. Maybe this assignment hadn’t been Yehl at all. Ronin briefly thought of Seat Roh: had he finally put his cowardice aside to stand up to their High Seat?

The Gorin’s eyes were still on the list. “General assigned you to serve under High Commander Jenron.”

Ronin stiffened at the former lieutenant’s name, rising hopes freezing in place. Kirin whispered a swear behind him.

Jenron. So that bastard was still alive.

The Gorin at the table waved them towards a command tent down the thoroughfare. “Third tent on the left. Go right in. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Ronin was too numb to respond, following Kirin in a daze. He struggled to keep his face straight as his shoulders bowed under the weight of his past decisions, eyes locked on Kirin’s long, swaying tail of black hair.

“That’s why Yehl sent us here,” Kirin said. “Beris was right. Gorin meat shields.”

Ronin remained silent as they reached Jenron’s tent. Reluctant, he strode stone-faced into the dim canvas interior, Kirin close behind. The moment he saw Jenron, Ronin froze with his hand on the tent flap, recognizing this assignment for the death sentence it truly was.

Commander Jenron swaggered towards them from behind a wide, low table. Anointed Commander Jenron.