Age 18 — Synarchy Compound, Valley of Mists
Six Months After Joining Krovka
The briefing room was cold. Concrete walls. Single table. Maps on every surface.
Krovka Squad sat in silence.
Zimor — twenty-two, broad-shouldered, quiet. Former infantry sergeant. He lost his unit in a proxy war that wasn't even his country's fight. He didn't talk about it.
Volna — twenty, sharp features, sharper tongue. Sniper. She laughed easily and trusted no one. The northern front had taught her that.
Kedr — nineteen, 2nd youngest. Fast, clever, talked constantly to cover the silence in his head. He'd been fighting since childhood. Didn't know anything else.
Sova — twenty-one, medic. Stillness like Netoshka's. She'd seen more death than healing. Her hands were steady. Her eyes were empty.
Qi-7 — twenty-two, former White Dragon operative. Fled during the purges. His eyes held the same emptiness Netoshka recognized. He'd done terrible things for a cause he no longer believed in.
Yunyan — twenty, communications specialist. Worked in Directorate propaganda until she found her family's village on a "pacified zones" list. She spoke rarely. Listened always.
Honglian — twenty-one, demolitions expert. Wiry, intense, smile that never reached his eyes. He planted the bombs that killed his own commanding officer during his escape.
Lotus — twenty-two, former intelligence analyst. Copied files that would have gotten her killed a hundred times over. Joined the Synarchy because it was the only place that would take her.
They'd all heard of Netoshka. The White Dragon asset who survived things that should have killed her. The ritual candidate. The ghost.
She'd heard nothing about them. That was how it worked in Krovka. Pasts were private. Skills were public. Trust was earned in the field or not at all.
The door opened.
Kersnik entered. Mid-forties. Sharp features. Eyes that missed nothing. He wore a sleek black uniform with an insignia. But as if he Didn't need to.
He placed a folder on the table. Didn't open it.
"Six to eight months."
Silence.
Zimor spoke first.
"Until what?"
Kersnik tapped the wall screen. A map of Averika lit up. Red dots spread across it like infection.
Riots. Political assassinations. Paramilitaries. Supply disruptions. Government paralysis.
"Averika is collapsing. Civil war is coming."
Volna raised an eyebrow.
"And?"
"And when empires fall, opportunities rise."
Kersnik looked at each of them in turn. "You will infiltrate before the war starts. Gather intelligence. Identify factions. Map weaknesses. When the fighting begins, you'll already be inside."
He opened the folder. Eight passports. New identities. New lives.
Netoshka stared at hers.
Mimi. Trade analyst. Born Port Victory. Age twenty. Fake. Flawless.
Kersnik's voice was calm. Clinical.
"Logistics. Media. Dock unions. Security contractors. Local politics. You'll embed in different sectors. You'll observe. You'll report. You'll wait."
He paused.
"When the war starts, you act."
---
The First Mission — Wild Frontier
Two weeks later, Netoshka crossed into Averika.
Her cover was clean. Documents. Background. Story. She was a trade analyst scouting logistics routes for a Rosalvyan shipping company. Boring. Unremarkable. Perfect.
The northern frontier was cold. Military checkpoints. Supply depots. Construction crews building forward positions for a war that hadn't started yet.
Netoshka's target was a logistics hub near the border. The Synarchy needed blueprints. Supply routes. Weak points.
She spent three days observing. Mapping. Recording.
On the fourth night, she infiltrated.
The facility was half-built. Concrete skeletons. Floodlights. Guard patrols every twelve minutes. She moved between shadows, cataloguing everything.
Then she saw them.
A figure. Moving through the construction site with the same precision she used. Same economy of motion. Same awareness.
Soldier. Dark uniform. No insignia.
Netoshka followed.
They met in a half-finished building. Concrete walls. Open sky above. Dim light from distant floodlights.
The soldier turned.
Masked. No visible features. But the stance. The way they held themselves. The way they anticipated her approach.
Familiar.
They fought.
Not a long battle. Seconds. Strikes, blocks, counters. Both trained in the same brutal efficiency. Both reading each other's movements like a language they both spoke.
Netoshka landed a hit. Felt the soldier stagger.
The soldier recovered. Countered. For a moment, they were close enough to see eyes through the mask.
Blue-gray.
Netoshka froze.
The soldier didn't. A strike to her ribs. She went down.
When she looked up, the soldier was gone.
---
Escape
Netoshka moved.
Out of the building. Through the construction site. Past patrols. Over the perimeter fence. Into the forest.
She ran until the facility lights were distant smears.
Leaned against a tree. Breathed.
Those eyes.
She'd seen them before.
In a collapsing tunnel. On a sinking plane. In the face of someone who saved her. Someone who let her go.
Ruzina.
But Ruzina was dead. Drowned in the cold ocean. Years ago.
Netoshka pressed forward. Reached the extraction point. The vehicle was waiting.
She said nothing on the drive back.
---
Regroup
The squad met at a safe house near the border.
Zimor noted her silence.
"Mission compromised?"
"No. Completed."
Volna studied her.
"Then what's wrong?"
Netoshka didn't answer.
Kedr filled the silence with chatter. The others let him.
That night, alone in her room, Netoshka replayed the fight in her mind.
The movements. The timing. The way the soldier anticipated her strikes.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
She thought about Ruzina. About the escape. About the moment in the water.
Just you.
Why those words? Why that push?
She didn't have answers.
---
Back to Synarchy
The squad debriefed with Kersnik.
Missions logged. Intelligence catalogued. Next steps planned.
Netoshka reported her infiltration. Mentioned the soldier. Kept the rest to herself.
Kersnik nodded.
"Security's tightening. They know someone's watching. We move faster."
He outlined the next phase. More missions. Deeper infiltration. Longer exposure.
"Six months," he said.
"Then the war starts. Be ready."
The squad dispersed.
Netoshka stayed.
Kersnik looked at her.
"Something else?"
She hesitated. Then shook her head.
"No."
He studied her for a long moment. Said nothing. Walked out.
Netoshka stood alone in the briefing room.
Stared at the map of Averika.
Red dots everywhere.
And somewhere in that chaos, a pair of Malicious blue-gray eyes.
Watching.
Waiting.
---
Somewhere Else
A military facility on the Averikan frontier.
A woman removed her mask. Short red-orange hair. Sharp blue-gray eyes.
Ruzina.
She sat down at a console. Pulled up footage from the construction site. Watched the fight frame by frame.
Netoshka's face. Her movements. Her hesitation when their eyes met.
An operator spoke behind her.
"She's inside. Ready for activation whenever you give the word."
Ruzina didn't answer immediately.
She watched the footage again.
Then closed it.
"Not yet."
She stood. Walked to the window. Stared out at the dark forest.
"Let her wonder. Let her remember. Let her doubt."
Pause.
"When the war starts, she'll need something to hold onto."
She turned away.
"And I need her to hold onto that Guilt. Isn't that right? Netoshka?."
---
Netoshka had seen a ghost.
Or someone who looked like one.
The missions continued. The squad prepared. The war crept closer.
But in the quiet moments, between operations and briefings, she thought about those eyes.
Cold.
Familiar.
And the question that wouldn't leave:
Who was that soldier?
The answer was out there.
Waiting.