Stormhaze

Chapter 3: Seren's kiss

Kilas, Brodd, and Gillien approached the main steel gate as it slowly opened to the outside, revealing a cloud of salty dust carried by the scorching wind. Seren was setting in the distance, casting a red light over the surroundings. The gunship stood on the very edge of the enormous blade-like platform, ready to fly home to Argead. A row of saluting soldiers in stormsuits greeted them, making way for Kilas and Gillien to board the waiting vessel. Each of the soldiers had a helmet attached to their vest, the visors reflecting Seren's intense sunlight as they stood at attention.

Kilas adjusted his burgundy stormsuit uniform, head held high with an aura of absolute control. To their right, Gillien could see a group of nine people sitting in the shade, ragged and wounded. General Brodd introduced them as the captives, and Gillien's gaze lingered on each of them. Their hair had almost completely fallen off. Rashes ran across their skin, scabbed and flakey, with deep, dark eye sockets filled with shame and self-pity.

Gillien counted them all in silence, but when his gaze met the ninth person, he paused. Sharp blue eyes penetrated his own. It was a young woman with light hair sitting in dirty clothes, yet tall and proud. He could see her pale skin even through the dust and mud, in contrast to the sick and dying men beside her with blackened flesh. She was not a farm girl. Gillien was convinced that this woman—undoubtedly the leader of these separatists—had grown up in a classroom and not out in the fields.

The two locked eyes as if both were trying to read each other's thoughts. The focus was finally broken by a robotic voice from the radio, announcing loudly and repeatedly: "T-minus ten minutes to a category four solar flare."

Gillien looked back at the woman and was met with a mild smile. He immediately felt a cold shiver run down his spine, an unsettling feeling that she had somehow been expecting this moment. His instincts screamed like a clear voice inside him. They are too few. More are hiding in the quarry. But Gillien needed proof—and fast, if they were to get out of this unharmed.

"They're too few." Gillien said.

"We've been over this." Kilas said lamely, but Gillien was unwavering.

"We had fifteen casualties and lost thirty-two percent of our power capacity in one night. You can't tell me nine dirty colts did this," Gillien paused, "trust me, Kilas. There are more of them hiding in the quarry."

As Kilas was about to answer, a sudden heat surged through the air like someone had opened an oven. Gillien recognized it immediately as the first of many heatwaves to come. He equipped his helmet, and through the visor Gillien could harmlessly stare directly into the setting sun, seeing its relentless fervor grow as if it were merely a rising campfire.

The soldiers, including General Brodd, equipped their helmets. However, Kilas merely stared at his soldiers, unfazed by the sudden heat. His eyes moved to the captives and their leader who still wore a defiant expression. He seemed to notice her contrasting look and ordered the woman to approach him into the sunlight.

She stood up, hesitant by the sunlight at first, then walked to him with tense and rugged moves. She cast a quick glance towards Gillien's emotionless helmet, and he could notice she seemed both frightened and defiant at the same time.

"What is your name?" Kilas asked after a drawn-out silence.

"Lorin." she said, trying to maintain her composure as her stoic defiance battled the heatwaves.

Kilas' composure remained, his one blue and brown eye fixed on her, the cold and glistening gel on his face contrasted with the dirty sweat trickling down hers. Thin clouds of steam rose from the leaky pipes around them; boiling Ezirell. The display on Gillien's wrist blinked, warning him, 'Fifty degrees Celsius and climbing'. It wouldn't be long before the brine lake would begin to evaporate.