How cruel the Tash’a fate: to walk the road never alone, while the ghosts of the mind walk ahead.

  Mira sat in the hospital bed, his back pressed against the wall, his knees drawn close to his chest. He was out of his armor now, but that brought no comfort. He missed the straps digging into his shoulders, the weight pulling against his chest. Without it, he felt exposed—vulnerable in a way he had never been before.

  The medical bay was empty. To Mira, each vacant bed held a ghost, each one leveled an accusation at him. He saw them in the moments between sleep and wakefulness. He would open his eyes and see a Fire Warrior from his cadre, frozen as they had been at the moment of death.

  He tried to dismiss these visions. They came regardless.

  “Survivor—Tash’a,” they called him.

  The living spoke the word with reverence, marveling at the miracle of his return. The dead spoke it as condemnation. The only defense he had found was to close his eyes, turn his head, and hope no one noticed the tears that slipped free.

  Skysword stood in the observation bay across from the ward. The holofield separating the compartments was mirrored on the patient side, opaque and private, while remaining transparent to the medical staff.

  “How is he?” Skysword asked.

  “His physical wounds have been dressed and sealed,” the Earth Caste medic replied. “Pain management protocols are active. If those were our only concerns, he would have been discharged rotaa ago.”

  Skysword nodded, watching Mira sit in absolute stillness. “Then he has sustained wounds of the soul.”

  “That is one way to phrase it.” The doctor folded her hands. “Cognitive response is intact. Memory recall remains accurate. Motor function is unimpaired. However—”

  She paused, calibrating.

  “There is a delay between stimulus and engagement. He is present, honored Fireblade, but not… aligned. He does not eat on his own, and if not taken somewhere, he will sit in that spot all cycle.”

  Skysword did not look at her. His gaze remained on Mira.

  “Few Fire Warriors have endured such loss,” Skysword said. “An entire La’rua. To be Tash’a—and then to lose one’s cadre as well. At such a young age. I have never heard of such a thing before.”

  After a moment, she added gently, “And you, honored Fireblade—how are you coping? I understand the Commander was as a brother to you.”

  “We came up from the academy together,” Skysword said. “We served side by side our entire lives, even when those lives diverged. We were as close as Tau can be.”

  He exhaled slowly.

  “But I am an old Shas. Loss has been my companion for many Tau’cyr. Mira should have learned the foundations of that lesson over campaigns and Tau’cyr—not in a handful of decs.”

  “Being an old Shas merely means you carry old wounds. If they are untreated—”

  Skysword made the sign of an ended conversation with a slash of his hand.

  “Will he recover?”

  “Most cases do,” she replied. “With rest. With structure. With purpose.”

  “May I speak with him?”

  “You may sit with him and talk to him,” she said. “But don’t expect him to respond too much.”

  Skysword nodded once and entered the ward.

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  Mira’s eye tracked the door opening, but his head did not move.

  Skysword crossed the distance slowly and sat on the edge of the bed beside him, forearms resting on his knees. He did not touch Mira. He did not speak.

  “I am here,” Skysword said at last.

  Mira’s grip on his knees tightened.

  Skysword watched the movement, then nodded to himself, as if acknowledging an answer that had not been spoken.

  “You do not need to stand,” he continued. “You do not need to report. You do not need to explain.”

  Silence followed.

  “I see you,” Skysword said quietly. “You are here with me.”

  He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice—not in secrecy, but in respect.

  “When I was young, after my first true loss, I sat as you are sitting now. I believed that if I did not move, nothing else could be taken from me.”

  Mira’s shoulders hitched, just once.

  Skysword let that be enough.

  “I cannot tell you why you survived,” he said. “There is no answer that will not sound hollow.”

  Another pause.

  “In the academy,” Skysword began, “they teach you how to deal with wounds. How to treat them. How to carry them. That there is honor in being wounded.”

  “But they say little of wounds of the mind. Not because we are unprepared to treat them—but because they assume you will always have your comrades to be wounded alongside you.”

  Mira’s fingers flexed, then stilled.

  Skysword exhaled slowly.

  “I was about to speak to you of duty,” he admitted. “That would have been a mistake.”

  A faint tightening at the corner of Mira’s mouth—something that might, in another time, have been a smile.

  “Rest,” Skysword said. “Sit. Breathe. You are still needed. Still here.”

  He rubbed his hands together.

  “And so am I.”

  After a moment, he added, “I would like to stay here a while longer with you. I am without assignment—and find myself somewhat lost without something to do.”

  Mira nodded, then croaked an answer.

  “That would be fine.”

  They sat like that for a dec, neither speaking—just being there.

  The doors slid open. The gentle sound of footpads treading sterile medical tile drew Skysword’s gaze.

  He stilled.

  Then, before his mind could catch up with his body, he rose from the bed and turned.

  Mira saw who had entered as well and felt his body loosen at the sight of her. He rose to his feet without conscious effort.

  Aun’ui Ko’res approached at an unhurried pace. Mira and Skysword bowed.

  Even Mira’s ghosts bent at the waist in respect to the Aun.

  “Shas’la Mira,” she said softly. “I am glad to see you awake.”

  He swallowed. “Honored Aun’ui,” he replied, voice rough but steady.

  She inclined her head—not a display of rank, but acknowledgment.

  “Shas’nel Skysword,” Ko’res continued. “I would thank you for saving my life. Had you not intervened, the Greater Good would have suffered a far more tremendous blow.”

  Skysword bowed his head in acceptance.

  “You have endured much,” Ko’res said, turning her attention back to Mira. “The Fire Caste has recorded your actions with respect. Your survival is not an error.”

  Something in Mira’s chest loosened—just a fraction.

  “With respect, honored Aun,” Skysword asked, “what brings you here?”

  “I have been told that the presence of an Ethereal can act as a balm for the soul." Ko’res replied gently, “So I wished to extend my gratitude to you both.”

  She paused.

  “And because I wish to speak with Mira. Alone.”

  Mira’s eyes lifted from the floor to her face.

  “You wish to speak with me?”

  “Yes, Shas’la.”

  She turned her gaze slightly. “Shas’nel—if you would be so kind?”

  Skysword bowed once more and departed, the doors sliding shut behind him.

  The silence between them was less comforting than the silence Skysword and Mira had shared.

  “In the Tau Empire,” Ko’res said at last, “one is rarely truly alone or unheard. Even in our most private moments, it can feel as though someone is listening.”

  Mira swallowed.

  “Someone is always listening. I am never alone because I am Shas. I am never unheard because I am Tau.”

  “Well said.” Her voice remained gentle. “However, you should not feel that way now. When an Ethereal declares that she wishes to be alone with a Fire Warrior, it is so. You may speak freely with me here.”

  “I’m… I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Then I will speak,” Ko’res replied, “and you will answer—until you find words of your own.”

  She smiled softly and crossed the ward, sitting cross-legged atop a bed a few rows away. She gestured for Mira to do the same.

  “I have been told of Fire Warrior bravery all my life,” she said. “I was bred and designed for leadership, just as you were for war. I have seen your comrades in action before. But seeing you stand your ground on the ramp—against that… thing…”

  Her voice wavered. Only slightly, but enough that Mira registered it.

  “It was the first time I truly understood what Fire Warrior courage looks like.”

  “I was just doing my duty, honored Aun,” Mira said quietly. “Any other Tau would have done the same.”

  Ko’res shrugged.

  It was an odd gesture for an Ethereal—too casual, too familiar. Too much like something Mira himself might have done.

  “Regardless,” she said, “it was you who did it. And you survived.”

  She met his eyes.

  “I believe that means you still have much to offer the Greater Good. And so the Greater Good will serve you now—just as you have faithfully served it.”

  Mira bowed his head.

  “When you are ready, you will find your place again.”

  “Yes, Aun’ui,” Mira said quietly. “I will recover.”

  Ko’res smiled, serene and certain.

  “For the Greater Good.”