The sun rose over the horizon, and with the morning came a light drizzle of rain, further turning the ground into a slurry of mud. Alisson looked up into the cloudy sky, his hair falling over his eyes thanks to his missing hairclip.

  It was shameful. He knew that shame and guilt was within him, but to think harder about the other vices swirling around inside him was too arduous a task. He simply looked on dully at Constantius, who had brought him aside to the rooftop of a tall building in Na’baath.

  Constantius had his arms crossed, and Alisson could more or less predict what the angel was going to say to him.

  “Alisson. You know what you did was wrong. That much is clear on your face, so I will spare you a recounting of the sins you have committed. I will instead offer you plainly a question: Will you or will you not continue to be an ally of our most holy order?”

  Alisson’s shoulders rose defensively, looking away.

  “If you would have me.” He mumbled quietly.

  “No, Alisson.” Constantius sighed. “This isn’t a matter of what we want. It’s a matter of what you want. You need to make up your mind.”

  Alisson looked up to the angel, perplexed. Constantius rose both his hands out,

  “You have been teetering between the two: Sidonia,” He clenched a fist, “and yourself. You must choose one or the other.” He clenched both hands. “Do not continue to lead my siblings into battle without being steadfast and singular in your resolve. If you continue your barbaric acts, claiming it is for Sidonia, then I’m afraid the reason we Angels are here to support you is null and void. For we will most certainly find ourselves as enemies in the future come your Lady’s deceptive ways. Do you agree with our outlook?”

  Alisson bobbed his head with a small motion, as if he were a mouse before a lion.

  “Say the words, Alisson.”

  “I agree with your understanding of the situation.”

  Constantius closed his eyes. “It is apparent to me, to all your comrades, that what made you commit those vulgar acts last night, and your general outlashes before then, are not resultant of a loyalty to Sidonia. Rather, an inner strife, an inner sadness, that you have yet to overcome. I only know this because you told me before of your situation, others may not have been so understanding.”

  Alisson quietly listened, and Constantius continued, “I’m not here to offer you sympathy. I have only come to give you an ultimatum.” Alisson looked up at him, suddenly nervous. “In order for us Angels to continue our support for you and your men, I believe you must take a trip to the monastery. There, your spirit may be repaired. This includes allowing us to attempt to absolve the young Celistine of Sidonia’s influence. Accept our help, Alisson.”

  Alisson’s eyes widened. “You’re…asking me…to betray Sidonia, again?”

  “Betrayal when committed against a malevolent despot is not betrayal, but a just and righteous renunciation. To stand idly by, to throw down your arms at the feet of tyranny, that, is sinful.”

  Alisson started to shake, feeling fear well in chest. “But…She’ll be killed. Celis will be killed…”

  “Alisson.” Constantius cut off his muttering, and continued, “This is the choice that you must now make. Hope for a better future, or to wallow in the present, in the now, dominated by your fear. I believed you to be a strong man when we first met; And I want to believe that strength is still within you. We will not force you to agree with our ultimatum, as that would defeat the purpose of our alliance. There will be a transport prepared near your basecamp within the hour. Your boarding of that craft will be taken as an agreement to our terms. Understand?”

  Alisson was quiet for a long moment. “…Yes. I understand.”

  After the conversation had concluded, Alisson wandered through the streets. Celis and Dascha were nowhere to be found, for he had left them behind. Did it even matter if they were around or not? Empty shells, both of them; and Firo was just a copy of him. Without Celis, the real Celis, he had been just as alone as he had ever been.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He collapsed into one of the alleys.

  “Firo…let me…let me feel the water…”

  Alisson looked up, and on command, he started to feel raindrops hit his face. The cool sensation sent waves down his body.

  “Alisson.” Firo said.

  “…What?”

  “Alisson.”

  Alisson cuffed his head in his hands.

  “You’re going to be okay, Alisson.”

  He knew then why he had requested to feel the water on his face; because it obscured the tears that he now shed.

  With no one around in the empty city, he screamed to himself, cuffing his hands tightly over his head. Loudly, viscerally, he let out his voice as tears fell from his eyes.

  He supposed it had all been too much. Everything flooded through his mind like a torrent.

  He just wanted to be with her. With Celis. Was that so much to ask for? Why was he here, destroying a nation and slaughtering people? Why? He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this.

  But, he didn’t want Celis to die either. Which was it? Which way to choose?

  Firo had peeled away from him without his realizing, and had formed into a humanoid shape that caressed him gently from behind. “Even if there’s no one else, you’ll always have someone to cry on, Alisson. But after you’re done crying, you need to be the one to wipe your tears.”

  “What do I do…?”

  Alisson asked between breaths.

  “Trust your friends. Trust me. Trust Daventdale. Trust Constantius. Trust that we’ll come through for you.”

  After all that had happened, it felt hard to place his trust in anyone but himself, he realized. Alisson let out a deep breath.

  “Even if it doesn’t work out, trust that we’ll still be here for you after the fact. To help you.”

  …

  “They say he snapped…went on a rampage…”

  “Look at him. Something bad must have happened.”

  “No… Men don’t snap for any one thing. Our General must’ve been fighting some battles of his own.”

  Alisson stepped through his camp with an uneven gait, the mud sticking to his boots. His men muttered and gossiped quietly over the drizzle of rain as they looked on warily from a distance. Alisson didn’t need anything, so he didn’t bother to collect his things or dress properly. He wore his blood splattered black coat. The insignia of General that rested on his shoulders no longer shone brightly, but was stained over with a coat blood and dirt.

  “Alisson!” He heard Daventdale call, but Alisson didn’t stop or turn at him.

  “Where are you going?” Daventdale caught up, walking alongside him.

  “The Angels wish to meet with me to discuss strategy in their homeland. Seeing as though this battle is over,” Alisson looked to Daventdale, “My presence here isn’t needed. You have command now.” Alisson ripped his insignia from his coat, and tossed it to Daventdale.

  “W-wait! W-what do you want me to do? What are we supposed to do without you?”

  Alisson walked toward a triangular white craft, and stepped up a ramp that led into it. He turned to face Daventdale, putting his hands behind his back expectantly.

  “That is up to you. My advice, stay south of the mountains, and deal with the remnants of the 87th. I would recommend regrouping with Augen and giving him command if you feel you aren’t up to the task.”

  “R-right, General!”

  Daventdale briskly saluted.

  Alisson smiled a small smile. “I’m trusting you here, Daventdale.”

  But he was already too far away to hear Alisson’s quiet remark.

  Alisson flicked his eyes behind him to see an Angel attending to Celis, who was unconscious on a stretcher in the transport. The Angels, with his permission, had sedated her and prepared her for transport.

  The craft’s engines roared to life, and the frame began to shake as it began to ready itself for flight.

  Through the mud and the rain, dashing on all fours, came Dascha, carrying something between her mouth. She leaped onto the ramp as it began to rise up.

  “What is it?” Alisson knelt with a gentle tone.

  A cross hung between Dascha’s teeth, that she let go of, letting it fall into his hands. She then spit out an orange hairclip that was covered in saliva.

  “Fetch, huh?” Alisson pet the back of Dascha’s head, making her tail wag. “I’m sorry, but the Angels don’t want anyone coming along. You’ll have to stay behind.”

  Dascha whined in protest, tilting her head at Alisson.

  He pointed down to the camp as the craft rose into the air. “Sit. I’ll be back.”

  Dascha pouted, but turned and jumped from the ramp, landing with a hard thud on the muddy ground. She turned and looked up to Alisson as they rose high into the sky, barking loudly at him. The ramp closed and the craft began to accelerate at a rapid pace.

  Alisson looked at the cross and the hairclip in his hands.

  << You made the right choice, Alisson. >>

  He heard Constantius’s staticky voice over the intercom of the craft. Alisson couldn’t say that he shared Constantius’s confidence.

  Alisson turned and knelt near Celis, careful not to stumble because of the rumbling vehicle.

  What made him agree to this wasn’t the prospect of seeing Celis again. It was for his men. His obligation to his comrades; to in some way vindicate himself of his shameful and sinful behavior over the last few months. The idea that Celis might be saved was ethereal to Alisson, intangible; but he reserved a small part of him, deep down, that held out a cautious, but optimistic, hope that she would smile again.

  ***