The sound of gunfire slowly faded, leaving only the groans of the wounded and the crackles of the surroundings in the ruins of the battle. The Dominion retreated; the banners they carried, which once surged through the streets, were now gone in an instant and carried off by the retreating forces. In their place, the Shinori guards retreated to the train, some armor dented, some blades dripping, and others with masks cracked and stained.
From the rooftops, Eryndor watched the guards drag the wounded inside, still progressing his way down the rooftops with Riven.
"Watch your step here," Riven said, dropping onto the floor, rolling to scatter the pain. Eryndor follows a heartbeat later, landing sluggishly onto the ground below.
"An alleyway," Riven said, scanning the surroundings as he stood up. "It'll make good concealment for now."
"The station is just around the corner now," Eryndor mentioned, getting on his feet."How much air do you have left?"
Riven's gloved hand tapped the side of it. "Eighteen percent. We need a stash soon, or I'll be breathing poison before long."
Eryndor nods, crouching at the alley's edge, peering over towards the station where the guards frantically moved.
"We can't just run in there, they're are still too many guards around, even after that blood bath," Riven whispers.
"We can always just slip inside," Eryndor mentions, turning to Riven with a smirk.
"And how do you plan on doing that?" Riven says, tightening his mask.
"Simple, we'll just steal some of the dead's clothes." Eryndor tightened his mask as well, now turning to face the open streets.
"That's your grand idea? Man, the Eryndor I knew hours ago would be freaking out right now."
"Yeah, and that old Eryndor is gone, so get used to this." Eryndor steps out into the street, vigilant for any guards.
Riven shakes his head, following behind him.
Just across the street, inside the battered station, the guards funneled inside, dragging wounded and equipment toward the carriages where command had taken refuge. Inside the lead carriage, Commander Garrick sat in silence, enduring as if it were nothing.
"Commander," A masked soldier said, entering, quickly saluting stiffly despite the blood soaking his sleeve. "Sir, the Dominion has retreated to the south. We say it's safe to assume at least a quarter of their forces were killed in this skirmish, sir."
Another guard entered, leaning on the doorframe, his armor dented and smeared. "Our casualties were heavy, but we can hold out for a little while longer. The men await your orders, sir."
For a moment, Garrick didn't answer. He sat slouched on the carriage bench, his eyes half open, as if he wasn't listening to the men. His fingers tapped idly against the stock of his rifle.
"Commander?" The first soldier asked, more uncertain this time.
Garrick looks down at the floor, his hair hanging in front of him, covering his facial features.
When he finally spoke, it was almost a sigh. "Order an evacuation of the south sector. High command will want a full report about this." His tongue clicked in annoyance. "Tsk."
"Yes, sir!" The guards say, saluting before hurrying out of the carriage.
Oh! That reminds me, I wonder what happened to that noble in the second cart, hoping a stray one domed him right in between the eyes, what a sight that would be! Garrick grins, standing up, preparing to leave the carriage.
He laughs low, gripping his rifle, as he picks up a new cloak and steps towards the door.
At the same time, Eryndor crouched low against the back of a building wall, hiding in the shadows. A patrol limped past, dragging a half-conscious comrade towards the station. The guards were too exhausted, too war-torn to notice the two slip past them.
"Now's our chance," Eryndor whispered, gesturing to a line of corpses slumped against the station wall. The masks on their faces were cracked, but not exposed beyond repair.
"This is not your worst plan yet, but definitely the most disgusting one," Riven said, putting on the new guard clothes.
Eryndot bent, stripping the clothing off the dead guards. Their metal gear clinked against the stone as he tugged it free. "You can call me a genius all you want later, for now, masks on," Eryndor said, adjusting his gear.
"That's not what I meant… anyway, let's hurry inside." Riven tightens his mask, beginning to walk towards the station doors.
The two slipped into the stream of wounded and weary guards funneling through the station doors. No one gave them more than a glance; everyone was too focused on bandaging wounds, carrying stretchers, or simply trying to stay on their feet. To them, it looked as they we were just a cog in the machine.
Making it inside, the air was suffocating. Smoke covered the air, the stench of blood and powder mixed into the haze, stinging their throats even though their filters were working with no issue.
Eryndor coughed, looking around. "Keep your head down, Riven muttered, adjusting the undersized cloak over his shoulders.
Eryndor nodded, his eyes scanning the platform. The carriages of the train sat in a straight line, some of them scarred from the battle. Guards barked orders as they loaded crates and wounded men into carts. The chaos surrounding them worked in their favor—in the confusion of it all, the two were just another pair of boots.
The lead carriage door opens, with a man exiting it slowly.
The station went quiet. The chatters of the soldiers dimmed as Commander Garrick stepped into the light, his new cloak draped over his shoulders, while his rifle slung casually in one hand.
"Commander!" A nearby officer yelled, saluting him.
Garrick waved him off with a flick of his hand, his eyes wandering lazily over the scene in the station. "You can shut it, saves me all that fear you got bundled up there."
Eryndor froze, remembering the fight he saw between that man and the other person.
"Don't stare unless you have a death wish," Riven said, underneath his breath.
Garrick's gaze swept the platform like a blade, pausing on each figure that dared to look at him, feeding on the unease in his soldiers
Eryndor forced himself to look away, moving with the rhythm of the guards unloading crates. Yet his heart beat faster. The man radiated danger, like a storm that was wrapped in human skin.
Garrick descended the steps, his boots clanging against the iron.
"Hurry up and get this station cleared out. We're leaving before sunrise!" Garrick's voice echoed through the station, filling the dead air. "Oh, and someone bring me a report of our casualties! All of you get back to work!"
The soldiers scattered again, the once tensed moment now dissolving into motion among the men.
Riven leaned into Eryndor's ear, whispering, "Let's move," as he unloaded his crate onto the train.
Eryndor nods, places down his crate inside the carriage now turning to leave.
He walked away from the duty, Riven following him. The two blended deeper into the station, moving in step with a group of soldiers.
"Did you hear? Most of the masks are shot," one guard grumbled, fumbling with a cracked filter before tossing it aside. "Half of'em barely even work to begin with. We won't last another day in these conditions."
"Didn't we get new ones in that supply cart that we brought with us?" Another asked.
"Yeah, but you know how Garrick is, ordered them to be locked up, like always. Say's only command gets first pick, while the rest of us get the scraps, typical."
Riven tilted his head slightly to Eryndor, his voice a bit muffled from his mask. "There, that's where we look."
Not too far ahead, two guards walk past, carrying a wounded comrade between them. Their conversation barely audible.
"Evac's real. South sector's done for. Supplies are going to be redistributed to the other sectors where they're experiencing heavy fighting, I guess."
"No shit, really? Half our filters will be gone by morning then, so I hope you like coughing your lungs out."
The group chuckled darkly before moving on.
Eryndor's eyes flicked towards a corridor where a smaller number of soldiers hauled crates into a locked storage room. He caught just a glimpse of the markings on the boxes.
RESPIRATORS - RESTRICTED ISSUE
"Over there," Eryndor whispered
Riven nodded. "Figured as much, they probably got a guard rotation on it," he says coldly, his voice muffled by the mask.
"Then we'll just have to wait," Eryndor said, pulling his hood lower down. "We'll wait for the right moment. The guards are too distracted to notice us."
Riven nods, fixing his hood.
The commander steps out of the lead carriage once more, attracting the attention of all the soldiers again…