Imperial Reckoning: Humanity Return

Chapter 45: Heart, Brawn, and Dark

Tali’Zorah made her way through the quiet, dimly lit halls of the command center, her mind replaying the events of the war meeting. The intensity of the upcoming battle for Destin, the tension with Saren, and the weight of the decisions made by Shepard and the Primarchs hung over her like a storm cloud. As she neared her quarters, she barely noticed the sound of approaching footsteps until a familiar voice spoke.

“Burning the midnight oil, huh?” It was Ferrina Russ, her presence always a mix of authority and raw energy, even when off duty. She gestured toward the empty mess hall. “Join me for a bit?”

Tali hesitated but nodded. "Sure." They entered the quiet hall, settling at one of the long tables under the soft hum of fluorescent lights. Tali shifted uncomfortably, unsure where this conversation might go.

“You held your own in there today,” Ferrina began, her tone conversational but sharp, like a wolf sniffing out a trail. “Not many would stand up to Saren the way you did.”

Tali shrugged, her shoulders tightening slightly inside her suit. "It’s just… I’m used to being overlooked. It’s not the first time I’ve had to fight for my place."

Ferrina grinned, showing her fangs. "True. But that’s not what I want to talk about."

Tali tensed. "What do you mean?"

Leaning forward, Ferrina’s wolfish eyes gleamed, not with malice, but with the thrill of a game. "I mean Shepard."

Tali blinked behind her visor, her pulse quickening. "What about him?" she asked, trying her best to sound neutral.

Ferrina chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "You know exactly what I mean. You’ve got it bad for him. Don’t act like you don’t."

Tali felt her heart race as heat crept up her neck, though hidden beneath the enviro-suit. She fumbled with her words. "I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Primarch. We’re just… we’re comrades, that's all."

Ferrina laughed again, this time more softly, almost sympathetically. "Tali, you’re in an enviro-suit, sure, but I’ve seen more than enough in battle to read body language—how you tense when he’s in danger, the way your voice softens just a bit when you talk to him. Hell, the way you reacted to Saren today says it all. You care about him. More than just as a comrade."

Tali froze, her mind scrambling for a response, but her body language betrayed her—a slight shift in posture, a momentary glance away, anything to avoid the reality Ferrina had just laid out.

"It’s written all over you, even if you’re hidden behind that visor," Ferrina said, her tone softening. "And look, there’s no shame in it. The Emperor’s probably already seen through whatever facade you’re trying to put up."

Tali stiffened, her hands clenching into fists. "It’s… complicated."

Ferrina smirked, leaning back. "Of course it is. Life’s always complicated. But here’s the thing: I don’t care about complicated. And frankly, I’m not blind to the fact that Shepard could use someone like you in his life. So, just so you know—you’ve got my blessing."

Tali stared at her in surprise. "Your blessing?"

Ferrina nodded, a glint of warmth in her usually savage eyes. "Shepard’s my brother, in all but blood. And I’ve seen enough battles to know when someone really cares. So, if you’ve got feelings for him, don’t hide them. He needs people around him who care… genuinely care. You’ve earned my trust, and that’s not something I hand out lightly."

Tali felt the heat rising in her cheeks again, her voice catching in her throat. "I… don’t know what to say."

Ferrina grinned, standing up and patting Tali on the back with a strong, reassuring hand. "You don’t need to say anything. Just think about it." She gave Tali a final wink before heading toward the exit. "Goodnight, Tali."

Left alone in the dim mess hall, Tali sat there, still processing everything. Her heart was racing, and her mind was spinning with a whirlwind of emotions she had been trying to suppress for a long time. As much as she tried to deny it, Ferrina was right. And now, she couldn’t stop the blush that spread across her face, hidden though it was by her suit.

---

Meanwhile, Shepard lay in his quarters, far from peaceful. His body was still, but his mind was anything but. The upcoming siege on Destin, the endless strategies, and the countless lives at stake kept running through his head. Every possibility, every failure, haunted him.

And then the visions returned.

In his dreams, dark images flashed before him. The chaotic battle faded, replaced by the oppressive sight of the Emperor being worshiped by millions as a god. Earth had become a twisted, nightmare world, where every person was a zealot, their devotion to the Emperor absolute. The sky bled red over colossal monuments to his glory, and the very soul of humanity had become warped by fanatical worship.

The vision shifted again. Now, he saw Malcador and the Emperor in a sterile, cold chamber, observing Angrya. She lay on a metal slab, machinery connected to her skull, the Butcher’s Nails embedded deep within her head. Her face twisted in pain, her body rigid as the implants pulsed with power.

“You’re not upset by this?” Malcador asked, his tone sharper than usual. "What they did to her… it’s monstrous."

The Emperor’s expression was cold, distant. "They aren’t my children, Malcador. Not truly. They’re tools. Weapons for a greater purpose."

Malcador frowned, his voice rising slightly in disbelief. "Tools? Then why let them call you father?"

The Emperor’s gaze shifted, locking onto Malcador with unsettling clarity. "Do you remember the old fairy tale from Terra? The one about the puppet who wished to be a real boy?"

Malcador hesitated, unsure of where this was going.

The Emperor continued, his voice unnervingly calm. "The puppet called its creator 'father.'"

For a moment, Malcador was silent, stunned by the Emperor’s words. Before he could respond, the vision dissolved into a blur of lights and shadows.

Shepard woke abruptly, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. He sat up in bed, his mind still spinning with the remnants of the dream. The images of the Emperor, the twisted world, the puppet story—they clung to him like a dark cloud, leaving him shaken and confused.

What did it all mean? Why was he seeing these visions? And what did they say about his place in this war?

Unable to shake the lingering unease, Shepard swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stared out into the darkness, wondering if sleep would ever find him again.