Her plans are laid, long thought out under the stars that guided her hand. In the end, I can understand her motivations, but can never forgive Hurona’s careful cruelty.

  -The Journal of the Bannerman

  A red-hued sun dipped low between the twin mountains of Cordillia, and Master Kree's antique, waking corpse gazed out mournfully at what he knew would fade away. Dim sunlight filled the open cavernous entry of his temple mount.

  At his side stood a young aide, a page in his order no older than Kree had been when Hurona rescued him from the desolation of his past. His spirit listened as darkness slowly crept into the temple.

  “Lord Kree,” the boy began, opening the cast scroll. Master Kilibrand requests that you order his ghost legion to the front lines to aid the Soviets on Antioch. He believes Germany shifts to aid them,” the boy looked up at the unmoving skeleton and rewrapped the cast scroll carefully before retrieving a scriber from a satchel around his waist.

  “Prepare a message to Feisel… Then purge the archives of his so-called ghost legion,” the Skeleton asked, his page swallowed hard before answering.

  “Yes…” He whispered. The dimming light of the sun struck his face.

  “Execute C97,” Spoke the skeleton. The page cast his scroll and slid it into his satchel.

  “Let the will of Hurona be done,” whispered the child, “No record of his legion shall remain on Cordillia,” he bowed and slowly stepped away from the throne of Master Kree. Darkness descended, and the light above Cordillia disappeared.

  “You have done well, Kree…” Whispered Hurona, “he plans to disobey you and show my hand too early.”

  Kree sat silently, and weariness filled his old soul. Was I your first choice? He wondered.

  On the distant, desolate forest world of Krian, Master Kilibrand watched the skies anxiously. His legionnaires stood at the ready, and jump ships sat in formation on a grand field. A streak appeared across the sky from the distant stars. The old Master looked up anxiously and saw a ship descend from the upper atmosphere.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  A Cordillian ship of the Order, he thought as Master Feisel’s vessel slowly approached the airfield and began its landing procedures.

  The younger master glared out of his cockpit window at the growing field before him. With care, he pulled a few levers and adjusted the pitch of his ship. The ghost legion's rudimentary air controller reached out over the radio and confirmed approach vectors as Feisel punched in his directives. He could feel a growing knot in his stomach, for every member of the order had a designation. He wondered if his would be spoken next.

  “Master Feisel!” Exclaimed Kilibrand as the young Master stepped off his ship’s gangway, “it has been years since the ceremony,” he reminisced. The two embraced, and Kilibrand leaned forward and whispered into his former apprentice’s ear, “I know why he sent you,” before the two disentangled. Feisel glared at his old master, and tears welled in his eyes and the violent knot calcified into a tearing pit.

  “Join me for tea, old friend,” Kilibrand ordered, gesturing to a nearby tent. The two entered a small chamber where a legionnaires waited patiently. Kilibrand dismissed the soldier, who stood two meters tall, then gestured to a small table where two cups waited.

  Feisel approached slowly, and Kilibrand sat down across from Feisel. The older Master had grown overweight over the years, and his chair groaned uncomfortably.

  “I am sorry that I have not gotten the chance to come and see you sooner,” Feisel apologized. He fiddled with the lapel of his field jacket and swallowed nervously. Kilibrand, dressed in traditional Knightly garb, smiled weakly.

  “We all have our tasks. To follow the will of Hurona,” replied Kilibrand coldly as he sipped his tea and let out a warm sigh, “two sugars, no cream… No?” His voice trailed off.

  “You remembered. By the will of Kree, you are still sharp as a tack,” chuckled Feisel as he took a sip of bitter, unsweetened tea. He stiffened but smiled meekly.

  “A courtesy of fate… She sent you,” Kilibrand dropped his smile, “I cannot blame you, but I wished to Hurona that it was another.”

  “He thought you would feel more comfortable if he sent a face you cared for… I suppose,” Feisel admitted.

  Kilibrand took another sip of tea and stared intently into his former apprentice’s eyes, then he reached into a satchel that hung on the arm of his chair. He threw a cast scroll from inside the satchel onto the tin table. It landed with a thud. Kilibrand looked up and saw Feisel's narrowed analytical eyes staring through the table.

  “C98…” Muttered Kilibrand. Feisel sighed and chuckled.

  “C97,” Feisel replied coldly, “Cruelty through efficiency,” he muttered as the effects of the poison coursed through his system. Kilibrand looked down at his own bitter tea and felt the dark, gnawing feeling tear at his veins towards his lungs.

  “I hope it has a point in the end,” Feisel added. As the poison reached his mind, he could feel the last of his it wind downward into a gaping pit below.

  “Hopefully…” Kilibrand responded as he slumped in his small metal chair and slid to the floor with a heavy thump.