“Thirty-seven!” Twenty-five shouted, barely dodging his massive fist, “It was all a lie, we’re not serving the pinnacle of man!”

“You aren’t serving as you should.” Hoplite said coldly, “A broken tool is useless, if I can’t bring you back for re-indoctrination, then I will neutralize you.”

It was unfortunate that he’d been disarmed, twenty-five had always been proficient at taking an enemy's weapon from them… Yet only in that did twenty-five have an advantage. Thirty-seven was superior at CQC, the best among all the Hoplite’s, twenty-five didn’t stand a chance. He would either kill or subdue the rogue Hoplite and return him, alive or dead, to the Eigtht Arm. Their surroundings were dark, the lights having been disabled when a stray round had punched through this bunker’s generator. The only reason the two super-soldiers were unaffected was their matching golden-eyes, each pair set behind thick one-sided visors. They allowed them to see in near pitch darkness, even without the night-vision capabilities of their helmets.

“Jyn isn’t a human!” Twenty-five shouted, “He’s some kind of extraterrestrial, not a man!”

Anger flared at this outrageous claim, and his fists became a flurry, impossible to see with the naked eye. Twenty-five only barely managed to keep on the defensive, backing away and blocking whatever he could manage.

“Humans don’t live forever thirty-seven!” Twenty-five shouted, “You know they don’t, no matter what!”

“We will!” Hoplite shouted back, throwing out a right jab “Our lord doesn’t age as standard humans, just like the Hoplites!”

“We were only made a couple centuries ago, Jyn showed up two-thousand years ago, humans didn’t have the tech for longevity then!” He replied as he batted away the jab.

A massive armor-plated boot then crashed into twenty-five’s chest-plate, knocking the faulty Hoplite to his back with a groan of pain. His mind worked as it pondered the words. He tried to dismiss them, to write them off as foolish babble so he could finish his objective, but he hesitated. 

Two thousand years ago… A human living two-thousand years… from that era?

He grit his teeth as he stomped over to his former comrade, a massive gauntlet wrapping around twenty-five’s helmet before he ripped it off. Familiar golden eyes stared up into thirty-seven’s helmet and oddly, he smiled. 

“You hesitated.” Twenty-five stated, his short black hair and tanned skin drenched with sweat, “You gave it some thought just then… didn’t you?”

“Shut your mouth.” Hoplite growled, “Twenty-five, you are under arrest by order of-”

“Piss with your orders!” Twenty-five spat, “And my name isn’t twenty-five, it’s He-”

An open palmed slap powerful enough to kill a normal man shut twenty-five’s mouth, spots of orange glowing blood spurting from his mouth. He needed to reign in his temper and not let this traitor aggravate him. If Hoplite pushed twenty-five into going Wendigo, he’d have no choice but to neutralize him.

“Please…” Twenty-five pleaded, “Just listen to me Jason!”

…

…

…

Hoplite’s eyes quickly shot open, and he sat up immediately, already wide-awake. That day’s events replaying itself in his dreams had set him into fight or flight… 

Lance jumped at his sudden motion, putting a hand to her chest before letting out a sigh, “Can’t wake up like a normal person, can you?” She asked with a shake of her head, “Nearly made my heart explode.” 

She was sitting down, right in between him and a snoozing Michael atop a bedroll. She hadn’t needed to sleep of course, being what she was. He wondered why she had even bothered unpacking her sleeping gear, it hadn’t been necessary to do so. Then again, it was likely that she hadn’t wanted to sit on the cold hard stone all night. He himself hadn’t bothered with his own oversized blanket, instead opting to sleep inside his armor in case of an attack from the Fiends. With the armor regulating the internal temperature, there was no need for warmth, and despite its looks, the Phalanx suit was far from uncomfortable. 

“I’m not normal.” He replied, standing from the cool stone.

He needed to get his mind off the dream…

Sleep had come fairly easily last night after investigating the three strange grooves in the rest stop. As it turned out, each one possessed a deep hole that was seemingly drilled down its center, each almost as wide as a manhole. Two of them had a strange suction to them, a light tugging that gently pulled out the air around it. He had thought that perhaps they could have been used for fire pits, being able to pull out the smoke from the bottom and disperse it elsewhere. Yet, he found this idea flawed. Wouldn’t any fire that got started be sucked down into the hole before it could properly spread? If the fire was large enough, it might have been okay, but the initial flame would not likely be able to last long enough for that to happen.

Maybe that was what the third hole could be used for, but that one lacked any kind of suction. It was simply a hole, either not functioning as it should or intended for something different. Indeed, it was used for something very different when some of the party inevitably needed to dispose of waste. Now that he thought of it, that could have been the third groove's intended purpose.

“Hoplite?” Lance asked.

He looked to her, “I was thinking of holes.” He replied calmly as he adjusted his sheath.

Lance’s eyes knit together and she gave him this strange, confused look, “Are you joking?” She asked.

Hoplite blinked before replying flatly, “No.” She should know by now that he never joked, “Everyone else is asleep.” He observed, head tilting to the prone forms laying flat in their bedrolls.

The hard stone was likely not the most comfortable of places to rest, even with the added cushion of their bedrolls, yet they snored on, almost as if they had been drugged. Twindil in particular looked almost comatose. He had heard her complaining about a lack of sleep earlier, perhaps yesterday’s trip had tired her out more than he thought. Yet that was irrelevant right now, the squad needed to get up so they could hurry across the bridge, and the earlier they started, the better. He checked his HUD’s clock, seeing that it was around 0300, and they had all fallen asleep approximately four hours ago. Surely that was more than enough rest to get them all going. He moved towards Michael, but Lance raised a hand, shaking her head.

“I know what you’re thinking,” She told him with a small huff, “And I know you’re in a hurry, but they aren’t like you, they need more rest than this.”

Hoplite stared at her for a long moment before he said, “You can read my thoughts?”

Didn’t she need eye contact for that? No… she didn’t actually know what he was thinking, Lance had merely made a guess based on how well she knew Hoplite. Had they really been together for that long that she could assume his next course of action? It had only been days really, but they had practically spent every waking moment in each other’s company since his landing. He opened his mouth to clarify that she wasn’t actually a mind-reader, but it was too late.

She gave a quiet giggle, “Don’t be silly.” She told him with another shake of her head, “I just guessed.”

He knew that, but now she thought that he believed her capable of it. For some reason, this mildly irritated him. He did not like the thought of Lance considering him as ‘silly’. He was serious. He looked back down at Michael, who occasionally muttered incoherently in his sleep. Hoplite had to keep his flashlight enabled for the marine until he had finally fallen unconscious, the fear of the dark still being fresh in his mind. He found himself wishing that Michael would get over it already, but he understood that the trauma Michael went through wouldn’t simply ‘go away’. He was only human.

“The more time we waste,” Hoplite whispered, “The more provisions we lose, and the longer my comrades are in danger.”

“They all still need to sleep, it’s way too early for them to get back in that wooden death-box.” She insisted, pointing a thumb back towards the entrance.

The wagon stood there, with Baomiel’s looming shadow barely visible behind it. No Fiends must have come this way then, for if Baomiel had entered combat, then Hoplite would have been the first one to awaken. Those mutants really did have only one goal: to reach the Fiendwall. They were completely disinterested in checking these old rest stops for victims to soothe their pains. 

Considering how much rest this squad would apparently need, that was a good thing. The pace would be even slower if no one could sleep. If only they were all elves like Lance… only needing around two hours of sleep in a week would be incredibly useful in an operation like this. Twindil was apparently half-elf, so she still needed more rest than one of full blood, but Theopalu had no excuse. The Watcher was constantly napping when he wasn’t eating. He may have been old, but that shouldn’t have increased his need to rest by such a large margin. From what Hoplite could see, Theopalu was still fit, and Lance herself had confirmed that he was one of the best Watchers the Faewood had to offer.

Seeing the ancient elf curled up snoring in a ball made that hard to believe. His putrid face irritated Hoplite the longer he continued to stare at it. A strange urge filled him then, nearly driving him to charge over to Theopalu to stomp his head into paste. Discipline reigned in this unwarranted hatred, and he turned his attention forcefully away from the elf’s prone form. It couldn’t be Kazon’s influence, not after the ritual Twindil had performed last night to protect everyone’s minds. Was Hoplite too far away from the paladin for her ritual to take effect?

Twindil had told them all to stay within two-hundred paces of her, if it could be helped, letting out an aura that forcefully dulled negative emotions such as anger. Then again, she had also clarified that it simply dulled negative emotions, not erase them completely. There had still been minor squabbles between party members before it had been time to rest. Perhaps Kazon’s influence and Twindil’s magic simply canceled each other out? How far away did Kazon have to be for his magic to affect them? Surely greater than Twindil’s two hundred paces, but what if he was only slightly further away than that? What if he was following them, staying just out of sight? He pondered this for a split-second before he dismissed the idea. Hoplite hadn’t seen anything that had been following them for the journey thus far, so unless Kazon could make himself invisible, it wasn’t likely.

Yet, he knew now that such things were not impossible on Ahkoolis. He could be wearing a cloak like that of the day-watchers, something that shifted to match the colors of one's environment. It wasn’t too difficult for him to spot such concealment, but maybe Kazon had different methods of doing so? Hoplite bumped his chin, enabling his helmet's infrared. Several spots of warmth popped up, each where a member of the squad lay. No extra heat signature’s could be seen around the rest stop, but he didn’t drop his guard. Kazon might not have a heat signature after all, or he could conceal it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d encountered such a foe. Swaglay; the tentacled aliens of the Final Kind, were capable of it either through way of advanced tech or some kind of biological capability. 

He’d make the party aware of this potential danger when they awoke. His eyes then passed over Theopalu’s sleeping form again, rage and disgust filling him once more as he glared at the creature’s vile face. He should crush it in his hands, should mangle it beyond repair, should- He shook himself, looking to Twindil once more, trying to determine if he was within her range. Two hundred paces was what she had said. He calculated the distance, seeing that he and everyone else were well within her given estimate. If he was still being affected by Twindil’s magic… then again, why was he feeling this way about Theopalu? If Kazon and Twindil’s magic simply canceled one another out, then there was no real reason for him to feel this intense rancor toward the elf. He racked his mind for a long while, but found nothing that was logical. Could it just be that he simply hated him and that was that? Can a person really come to despise someone based on nothing but their face?

He didn’t know. When he had first met Theopalu back in the Faewood, Hoplite hadn’t felt any sort of emotion about the old man one way or another. So why now?

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Lance asked, drawing him from his thoughts, “Normal people need actual sleep.”

After a moment, he replied, “Affirmative. Two more hours should be optimal for recovery.”

He was glad to turn his thoughts elsewhere, he’d thank Lance for pulling him out of his own head but showing gratitude for such a thing might lead to uncomfortable questions. He doubted that Lance would like hearing that he’d kill Theopalu if he had the chance.

Lance grimaced at his words, “Just let them wake up on their own, don’t disturb them. If you think about it,” She continued, tapping her temple, “The more rested they are, the longer they can stay in the cart without complaining.” She said with emphasis.

…That was a good point. He grew irritated with the constant complaints they made, as if that would do anything to change their collective situation. Why was it that normal people, no matter what dimension; only seemed to complain? It was unnecessary and a waste of time, if only they would stop-

He paused in his thinking as a realization came over him.

He was complaining to himself. About other people complaining. 

Instead of continuing on this train of thought, he told Lance, “Affirmative.” There were other objectives that could be accomplished anyhow, this time could be spent gathering intel from Lance. There had been things that he’d been meaning to ask her, things that had been put on the back-burner for far too long. “I have some questions I would like to ask.” He said, moving to stand over her.

Lance craned her head back, staring flatly up at him as he loomed over her “I am not going to talk to you like this, it’s not going to kill you to sit.”

Hoplite’s brow furrowed. It wouldn’t kill her to simply look up either, it wasn’t physically straining. Yet, Hoplite found himself lowering himself to the ground, crossing his large metal clad legs as he finished. The clanging of this motion caused a few of the others to grumble in their sleep, with Elum yelling “Keep it down!” Before rolling over in his bedroll.

“Shut up Elum!” Alistair shouted.

“You shut up, no-horn!” Elum shouted back.

This hostile interaction between the two confirmed one of two possibilities to Hoplite. One, Twindil’s nullifying aura did not work when she was sleeping, or two, Kazon’s influence was canceled out by the active suppression. It was hard to tell, but when Twindil awoke he’d ask her what she thought. After a bit more grumbling, the two eventually fell back into rest. Lance shook her head and looked back to Hoplite with a sigh.

“What did you want to ask me?” She whispered.

“Foundation.” Hoplite whispered back, “What exactly is it?”

Lance drew her lips to a tight line for a moment, leaning back on her palms as she thought, “Foundation is the basis for magic on Ahkoolis, you can’t cast anything without it.” She said after a moment.

“I heard that it was related to Draoi,” Hoplite said, “Does he control it?”

Lance nodded, “Draoi is the Pillar-God of Foundation, and the patron deity of all elves. You could say that he is magic.” She continued, wiggling her fingers for emphasis, “The three Pillar-Gods beneath him are Kyria, Dandenlona, and Fikchon, each representing one of the Three Houses of Magic. Fikchon represents Community, Dandenlona represents Nature, and Kyria represents Force.”

“Is Foundation a raw force then?” Hoplite asked, “Does it need to be filtered through one of these ‘Houses’ to be useful?”

Lance blinked, seemingly surprised, then nodded once more, “That’s right… for the most part anyhow. There are some that are able to utilize raw Foundation without building one of the Three Houses, but it isn’t easy and can be extraordinarily dangerous.” She gestured with a thumb back toward Alistair’s bedroll, “He uses raw Foundation, I saw him do it when we first met them back in the Faewood, near your pod.”

“I remember.” Hoplite replied.

Alistair had conjured some gold-colored fire and had imbued his hammer with it to devastating effect. The Fiends that had ambushed them had been turned to little more than soot-stains as soon as they came into contact with that Golden Flame. It had not seemed that the blonde man had been in any real danger when using it, and he showed no signs of fatigue after that battle had been won. How dire were the consequences of using raw Foundation then?

“How is it dangerous though?” He asked, “What will happen in the worst-case scenario?”

Lance bit her lip as she thought, a long moment passing before she finally gave him an answer. “Think of a House as a glove,” She started, “And you want to retrieve something from the oven. If you use the glove to get your food from the oven, you won't get burnt, but if you use your bare hand… Well I’m sure you can imagine.”

“So why use raw Foundation at all? Why take the risk?” Hoplite asked, crossing his arms over his chest plate. 

It sounded completely and totally unnecessary. Why not mitigate the risk to oneself when casting magic? Why not ‘build’ one of the Three Houses to keep yourself safe? There had to be some kind of advantage in echewing the use of these ‘Houses’, otherwise it would be plain idiotic to go without. The question was, what was this hypothetical advantage? Was magic more potent if used that way? Was it really so much more powerful when used raw that it was worth the risk of killing oneself? And this was just assuming that there really was an inherent advantage to using Foundation in its base form. If there was no good reason to build a House, then it was a poor, and frankly stupid, choice to make. Alistair did not seem to be mentally challenged, but perhaps he just hid it well? Then again, Hoplite would not have an easy time identifying a mentally disabled person. The Eighth Arm hardly ever took on such people unless recruitment quotas were not being met. 

“The glove can be tight, and it's restrictive, without much freedom of motion.” Lance explained after another moment, “You are limited in what you can do inside of the glove, the fingers are trapped right? But if your hand is uncovered, you can manipulate your hand however you want.”

So it wasn’t as simple as raw Foundation being more powerful… rather, it allowed more options in casting. Still though, why not simply build the House that was required if that were the case? There still seemed to be no real reason to cast without the Houses. Perhaps it was a matter of time? Did the building take a long time to do? Combat situations could be ended in mere seconds; if the Houses took an inordinate amount of time to use, then he could understand utilizing raw Foundation, even considering the risks. After all, it was doubtful that a mage could build a House if they were cut down before they finished.

Yet, he remembered that Elum had also used magic that day, summoning strings of acid that melted whatever it touched. There had been no Golden Flame in his usage of Foundation, could it be assumed that he had built a House? It hadn’t taken any perceivable amount of time for him to do it if that were the case. He would ask the red mutant about it after he woke up. Both Elum and Alistair, not to mention Twindil would likely be more useful to learn about this particular subject from than Lance, who didn’t use magic at all. Still though, she proved surprisingly knowledgeable about this topic. Perhaps she had once desired to be a mage herself and had studied it?

“So building a House to use Foundation is safer, but it restricts what is possible with magic.” He said.

Lance smiled and nodded, “Yes exactly, raw Foundation can be used to do practically anything, but then you open yourself up to being burnt. I heard that the lucky ones who get scorched by Foundation only find that they can’t cast as much as they could before, but not many people ‘lucky’.” She said, air quoting the word, “From what I’ve heard, most people become unable to cast at all, or worse, they are immolated by Golden Fire, with not a trace left of them afterward. Alistair is playing with the most dangerous Fire in creation, and what’s scary is that he’s pretty good at it, from what I’ve seen.” She then held up her hands, palms forward. "Keep in mind that I'm no expert, I just have a cousin that’s in the field and I’m just basing my explanation off what she’s told me in the past.”

“Affirmative.” He said with a nod, “What’s the point of using Foundation raw if it's so dangerous?” He asked, “I understand that it’s less restrictive, but I don’t see any real reason to not simply build the House that’s required for the spell a mage would want to utilize.”

Lance hesitated, squinting before finally she said, “There are some spells that can only be used with the Golden Flame specifically… I think. I’m not sure what spells but maybe you can ask Alistair about it once he wakes up.”

“I see.” Hoplite said, “Is there a way to learn it?”

If he could learn how to use Foundation for himself, his capabilities in combat would expand exponentially. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to use magic once he left this dimension, but for his stay here it could prove crucial to his mission. Lance however, shook her head.

“You need to have the Blood of Zodd to call on Foundation, and since you’re an Outworlder, it wouldn’t be possible for you to learn it.” She told him with a shrug, “You’re plenty enough dangerous as it is, seeing you cast magic on top of everything else would probably be overkill.” She finished placing a single finger on her chin, seemingly in thought. “Overkill indeed.” She continued after a moment.

“Why would I need to have the Blood of Zodd in order to cast?” Hoplite asked, “I thought magic came from Draoi.” 

“It does,” Lance confirmed, “But life on Ahkoolis was forged from Zodd’s Blood, infused with Draoi’s essence, with both Gods being guided by Saihara herself in the process. Foundation is present in all those who were born of Ahkoolis, but Foundation is only present if Zodd’s Blood is as well. One cannot exist without the other, so you’d need both to cast.”

It was unfortunate that he would not be able to learn magic, but it was impossible that he had any Ahkoolian DNA. There was no use in lamenting the fact.

“I see.” He said, “I have other things I want to ask.”

“I’ll try to help you where I can, but I don’t know everything.” She said, “Just keep that in mind.”

Hoplite nodded, looking over to the sleeping form of Kid’ka, “What is the purpose of the Tongues of Zodd?” He asked, “I understand that they want to impress Zodd, but is there any other reason besides that?”

“You’re really talkative today,” Lance said with a grin, “Usually it’s ‘negative’ this or ‘affirmative’ that, it's a nice change.” She continued, using a bad mockery of his usual monotone and deepening her voice for emphasis.

He didn’t reply, letting the silence stretch on for a long while until finally Lance tightened her lips.

“Anyway,” she said with a sigh, “I’m no expert on the Tongues. If you want a better answer, you can wait for Kid’ka to wake up. Really I know about as much of them as you do now, except I don’t think you know about the rivalry they have with the Black Talons of Ankoriss.”

Ankoriss… he was another one of the Pillar-Gods, Hoplite remembered hearing about him before, during his long talk with Mangwin at the Death-Day celebration. He was a member of the Pillar of Might beneath Zodd, the Pillar-God of Destruction. 

“The Black Talons and the Tongues, since their founding, always have been enemies. Since the beginning of Decuma.” Lance explained, “The Talons are a very… abrasive bunch, commonly known for banditry and senseless ruination, as Ankoriss desires. They exist to please Ankoriss, not impress him, like the Tongues do for Zodd.”

“Would they be hostile on sight?” Hoplite asked.

Lance nodded, her green eyes seeming to gleam with fiery anger, “I’ve had occasional run-ins with them during my tenure as a Watcher.” She said, the bitterness in her voice barely contained, “Whenever their kind try to come to the Faewood, it's always for the same purpose. To burn it down.” 

“So you’ve had to neutralize Talons.” Hoplite stated.

It wasn’t a question, there was only one thing a Watcher would do to those trying to burn down their trees.

Lance nodded, confirming his suspicion, “About thirty of them, give or take over my two-hundred years serving the Harkhall.”

“Affirmative, Talons will be considered hostile until proven otherwise.” Hoplite said, “I have another question of more immediate importance to our mission.” Lance then sat straighter, staring directly into his helmet as he asked, “What is Spiraling Death exactly?”

Lance took a deep breath before she began, a slight quaver in her voice to start, “It is… it is death, the fate of all those who live, or at least it was.” 

“Was?” Hoplite asked.

Lance’s face darkened as she said, “It was the path to the afterlife, the path that led lost souls to their worshiped Pillar-God. There are Nine Heavens, and Nine Hells, a pair for each god.”

“How did Kazon steal it if it’s a pathway?” Hoplite asked. “I thought it was a curse.”

It didn’t make sense. A path to an afterlife wasn’t a physical object that could just be taken by anyone… at least, he assumed it wasn’t. How was it possible that Kazon got his hands on it? Perhaps through the use of raw Foundation? Yet, why would the various Pillar-Gods not stop him from doing this? Were they restricted from interacting with mortals, even if it meant preserving the way their world worked?

“I’m not sure as to how he did it,” Lance admitted, “I only know that he took it from the Spiral Queen Lithia, and him doing so corrupted it.”

“Is she another Pillar-God?” He asked.

She shook her head, “No, she was a mortal. There is currently no God of Death in the Pantheon… I have heard it said that the Godling War of Decuma will be to determine who will become the Pillar-God of Death. If that’s true, then I wonder which of the three Pillars that would fall under.” She continued, head tilting back as she thought. “It wouldn’t be Might… I don’t think, Might’s more associated with life and power than death.”

“Ankoriss is the Pillar-God of destruction.” He said flatly.

“...Um.” Lance blinked, “Well… I mean… that still is related to power, right?”

Hoplite nodded after a brief moment.

“Let's see then… maybe Knowledge?” She seemed to ask herself, scrunching her brow, “You ‘know’ death after you pass from this life? Bah,” She said with a wave of her hand, “I don’t know. Those theories about the next Pillar-God being death could be wrong anyway, no real point in blundering in the dark about it.”

He nodded before asking, “Who was Lithia?” 

She was the one who originally possessed Spiralling Death, maybe some intel could be gleaned from learning about her. It had been stolen once before, maybe it could be stolen from Kazon himself. If that would deprive the Lord of Hate of his capabilities, then it would need to be done. 

“She was a mortal, like I said, entrusted by the Pillar’s with the path to the afterlife… She’s been a prominent figure that has been remembered throughout all the ages, even since the First Age.” She replied, “Some cultures did believe that she was some sort of god, or perhaps an angel like Baomiel, but elven records have confirmed that she was a mortal.”

“How accurate are elven records?” Hoplite asked, “I understand that you live long lives, but considering each Godling War that has occured throughout your history, I doubt that anything elves wrote about her remained perfectly accurate to the truth.”

Lance seemed taken aback a moment, and squinted at him for a brief instant before she said, “Everything that we’ve managed to save from the previous ages remains intact and precise. We wouldn’t lie about the history we’ve kept.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” Hoplite replied in his monotone.

For some reason, Lance frowned at his words, her eyes widening a fraction, “Are you saying that our rememberers are liars?” She asked with barely contained heat.

“I’m saying that, taking into account this world's history, that it would be close to impossible to keep accurate records.” He told her. She seemed to grimace, more at herself than him. Had she misunderstood him just then? 

“I see… Well that doesn’t sound improbable. The ends of the ages are violent and chaotic after all.” She said after a moment, nodding.

“Of course, it is also possible that some documents were falsified.” He told her with a small nod.

This seemed to be the wrong thing to say, for Lance’s face somehow managed to turn into a brilliant shade of crimson in but an instant.

“Elven historians would never do such a thing!” She half-whispered, half-shouted at him, “To imply such is an insult to our records; Draoi himself tasked my people with maintaining perfectly accurate lore, and any who pursue that path would not ever stray from the truth.” 

“Unless they had something to gain from doing it.” He told her with a small shrug, “I’m sure it’s happened before.”

To say that someone could maintain a one-hundred percent accuracy in historical records was simply impossible. Especially considering the turbulent history of this world. Documents and books would have been destroyed or altered one way or another, either on purpose or by accident. Even Terna’s own history could be warped by shoddy historians, but thankfully they had Lord Jyn to keep things accurate. He would never lie to his people.

Lance shook her head, taking a deep breath to calm herself before saying huffily, “Our records portray everything simply as they were, good and bad. There’s good things about elves to read about, as well as atrocious, there is no racial bias in our histories.” 

“I doubt it.” Hoplite said honestly, “Things could have been warped by accident. Old and damaged histories could have had their blanks filled out by guesswork.”

Lance’s lips pulled tight, “No, we leave even the damaged records intact without alteration, we don’t try to fill in any blanks and we’d never ‘guess’ as to what happened; not in the official documents of course.”

Should he keep the argument going? His doubts seemed to be well founded, but Lance apparently didn’t want to hear his opinion on the subject. She seemed to be getting more… What was the term? Pickly? No, prickly, she was getting more prickly the more he poked holes at elven history. Best to change the subject and leave this topic for another day. She stared at him, her eyes narrowed as she awaited his reply. He’d like her to return to her normal mood somehow, what could he ask to shift her mental state? Maybe he could have her ask something about him, he had no doubt she’d be interested in that topic. Nothing classified though of course.

“Did you want to ask me something?” He asked.

She blinked, apparently taken aback for a second before she finally said, “Yes actually.”

“Affirmative,” He replied, “I will not provide classified intel.”

“What counts as classified?” She asked, leaning forward.

“Secrets that the Eighth Arm wouldn’t want any personnel to share.” He told her, “Just ask a question, and if it isn’t restricted intel then I’ll provide it.”

“Okay…” She started, “What is the Eighth Arm?”

“It is the military branch of the Octopus, Terna’s central government. There are eight arms, each representing a different aspect of my civilization.”

Lance did seem to cool down from her rage a tad as the subject changed, her eyes looked more curious than angry now.

“So you’re a member of this Eighth Arm… how long have you served?” She asked, “I remember you told me that you were two-hundred and thirty-eight back when we were drunk-”

“My intoxication is classified intel.” Hoplite whispered quickly, “We won’t bring it up again.”

Instead of becoming irate with him giving her orders, instead she gave him this smug grin, crossing her arms as she stared at his helmet. Why did his face feel warm? Perhaps he was just remembering the feeling from when he had become drunk.

“...Right, classified.” She said after a moment, shrugging as she crossed her arms, “So are you really two-hundred and thirty-eight? Are you actually older than me?”

Hoplite, glad to change the topic, said “Chronologically.”

Her brows knit together, “Well yeah, that’s how time works.”

“Biologically, no.”

Lance’s frown deepened, confusion evident on her sharp features.

“A Hoplite is always kept in cryogenic storage unless needed for a combat situation,” he said.

“Cryogenic?” She asked, looking somehow more confused, “What in Draoi’s name does that even mean?”

“Frozen. I was kept frozen until needed for a fight,” he replied. “My biological age is likely far less than that, but that is how many years it has been since I was born.”

“...That sounds awful.” She said after a moment, grimacing, “That is no way for a man to live.”

“I am not a man,” he told her. “I’m a Hoplite.”

It was the simple truth, he wasn’t a person.

“You said that you were human before?” She said, “Back in the Harkhall.”

“I am a human.” He confirmed, “But I’m not a person. I am a tool.”

For some reason, Lance stood, her face looking somewhat… pained?

“Hoplite… is that what this ‘Terna’ has deemed you?” she asked him in a strangely sad tone.

It was nothing to feel grief about. He didn’t understand why she would feel that way.

He then nodded proudly, “It is my role.”

She shook her head, “They kept you frozen until you were needed, that isn’t anything to be proud of.”

With those words, he began to grow uncomfortable. It was dangerously close to what Hoplite twenty-five had told him all those years ago… it had been the start of him breaking away from the Eighth Arm and the place given to him by Lord Jyn. The start of treachery.

“I am proud to serve Terna and Lord Jyn.” He said, straightening his back.

“Even if they keep you locked away like some kind of tool?” She asked, heat entering her voice.

Hoplite stood suddenly, causing Lance to jump. He loomed over her, breathing heavy as he growled, “I am a tool. Nothing. Else.”

He nearly shook with rage, only barely managing to keep himself still as Lance stared up at him, eyes wide with shock. Those brilliant green eyes seemed to moisten as they stared into his helmet, and his breathing stilled. 

He had frightened her.