“Even a half-formed blade may cut. The question is whether it will break in the hand that wields it.”

  Mira made his way down the corridor. His stomach had been tightening into knots ever since he was given directions to his new La’rua’s bay. Every step brought back memories of his old comrades, unbidden.

  Half his life.

  From the day he had been inducted into the Fire Academy at age eight until two totaa ago. Seven Tau’cyr.

  Skysword was right. It was a wound he did not know how to close.

  Mira was not sure it would ever heal.

  He stopped before a particular door. It was identical to every other door in the corridor save for one detail — the markings that announced it as:

  3rd La’rua of Hunter-Killer Cadre Measured Response

  The inscription was new. He traced his fingers across the letters and wondered what they had been called before — and what that name had meant.

  He closed his fist and forced the thought away.

  Focus.

  He activated the doors.

  Inside, five Tau sat along the benches. Each looked up as he entered. Most returned to their work almost immediately.

  One did not.

  Mira noted the markings on the warrior’s helmet. Rank stripes marked him as Shas’la — the same as Mira — but three additional stripes ran down his left vambrace, marking him as a veteran of three major actions.

  Mira shifted his gaze to the Shas’ui. He found him seated before his locker, methodically disassembling a pulse pistol.

  Mira stepped forward and bowed.

  “Shas’ui. Shas’la D’yanoi Mira, reporting as ordered.”

  “Ordered by who?”

  The question was immediate — and unexpected.

  “Commander Stillwaters.”

  “Hm.”

  The Shas’ui did not look up.

  “Do you know what this team is?”

  “The lead Pathfinder team for Cadre Measured Response—”

  The Shas’ui’s hand stilled.

  “This is the premier Pathfinder team of the entire expedition. We are not merely scouts. Each member is a veteran. Handpicked. Proven.”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  He finally looked up.

  “Until now, Shas’la.”

  “I did not request this assignment, Shas’ui.”

  “No. You did not.” The pistol clicked back together. “But the Greater Good does not care about such things. Nor does it care that I have only your file to judge you by. Decent academy marks. Nothing exceptional. Would you agree?”

  “No, Shas’ui.”

  “Then what makes you exceptional?”

  “I placed top of my cadre in marksmanship.”

  “That is your only saving grace.” A slight pause. “Curious you were not selected for Pathfinders earlier. Why were you a line trooper?”

  “I go where the Greater Good commands.”

  “As do we all.”

  He gestured toward the lockers.

  “Yours is next to Ren’kai. You will serve as his spotter and ion rifle operator.”

  Mira bowed and moved. Conversations resumed behind him; the la’rua had clearly been listening.

  Ren’kai maintained his rail rifle without looking up.

  The others continued gear checks. The air hummed with quiet appraisal.

  Mira opened his locker.

  Fresh kit. No scars. No history.

  The ghosts were louder here. Nirva’s laugh. Eldi’s voice fading like a comm signal lost to static.

  A rail rifle rested secured inside. Strike teams normally drew weapons from the armory before deployment. He had assumed Pathfinders did the same.

  Everyone else was already armored. Mira silently donned his own.

  No thigh plates. Only light knee guards.

  The breastplate was lighter than strike armor, offering mobility over protection. The shoulder plates were minimal — small angled rectangles.

  “The point of the armor is not to be seen, Tol’sha,” Ren’kai said calmly. “If you are unseen, they cannot shoot you.”

  Tol’sha. Half-formed blade.

  Mira remembered Eldi’s voice:

  “When the Earth Caste hands you Tol’sha, bring a proven blade as well. Miracles have flaws.”

  He secured his belt.

  For a moment he felt Nirva’s hands fastening a strap.

  When he looked, it was Kel’shan.

  “Thank you. I’m Mira.”

  “Kel’shan. Electronic warfare and drone specialist.”

  “And the warrior who used that locker before you was Ta’loren,” Ren’kai said flatly. “See how neither his name nor yours matters right now?”

  “Do not mind him,” Kel’shan said quietly. “He is grieving.”

  She gestured.

  “Shas’ui Tor’vael. Ren’kai. Vesh’yr — grenadier. Or’vren — comms.”

  They acknowledged him without looking up.

  “Six is a small number for a La’rua,” Mira observed.

  Kel’shan smirked faintly. “The Tol’sha can count. Fourth La’rua is our sister team. Another six Pathfinders. Tor’vael commands both.”

  “If you are finished,” Tor’vael said, “we have a briefing.”

  They filed out.

  “Grab your weapon, Tol’sha.”

  Mira flushed and retrieved the rail rifle.

  It felt different in his hands — longer, heavier, balanced unlike the pulse rifle he had grown up with. It wasn't foreign, but it also wasn't his yet.

  They entered the briefing chamber. The cadre had already assembled.

  Battlesuit pilots clustered together, speaking in low tones within their Kau’Vral.

  Strike teams and Breachers mingled more freely.

  Pathfinders stood apart — even here.

  Commander Stillwaters stood at the dais. Skysword at his rear.

  The room fell silent.

  “Primary objectives,” Stillwaters began. “Intelligence. Screening. Disruption. Decisive victory.”

  He paused.

  “And the destruction of all Gue’ron’sha elements. This mission supersedes all others.”

  He looked directly at Mira.

  “Shas’la D’yanoi Mira. Step forward.”

  Mira’s mind froze.

  His body moved anyway.

  “As we know,” he began, voice tight, “the Gue’ron’sha are dangerous.”

  Soft laughter.

  “But they can be beaten.”

  Silence.

  “Commander Longsun proved that. We forced them back.”

  He steadied himself.

  “They are fast. Strong. Extremely durable. Enhanced beyond standard gue’la capability. Their weapons are devastating. One displayed localized gravitational or electromagnetic manipulation.”

  Murmurs.

  “But there are only ten.”

  That quieted them.

  “Armor is thickest at chest and shoulders. Joint seals at neck and underarm are vulnerable. They close distance aggressively. They do not retreat easily. Expect high tolerance for wounds.”

  He forced himself to breathe.

  “They will deploy at pivotal engagements. Expect decapitation strikes.”

  “Pict captures confirm gunship deployment,” Skysword added. “Superior mobility. Likely air support. If not eliminated preemptively, they must be trapped.”

  His voice hardened.

  “Their sacrificial Ba’lm could not resist slaughter. Bloodlust is a weakness.”

  Stillwaters stepped forward.

  “As the Shas’la said — they can be beaten.”

  A pause.

  “And we will be the ones to do it.”