Tepesh

The following morning, we bade farewell to our temporary home. Our next stop was the neighboring area, District 9—also known as Tepesh . Our journey was made with relative ease, given its proximity, dense wildlife, and Derrick’s swift recovery. With Mang, injuries that could take years to fully heal could be repaired in but a few days. He was by no means in top shape, but it was good enough to at least join us in our voyage on foot.

“How much farther ahead?” I asked.

“10 kilometers to the border. 22 border patrol officers on the ground, 7 observing the area from atop wooden towers.” Keresaspa replied with certainty. “It seems this checkpoint was built in haste.”

Derrick interjected with a surprised expression. “Y-You can see that far…? Your [Flow] is on another level, as usual…”

“Flow?” She said, head cocked to the right. “I see no reason to waste energy on that right now.”

“What are you, some sort of hawk?”

“No, Derrick. I’m a warrior.”

“Stop taking me literally!”

Derrick’s apprehension was not ill-placed. Everything Keresaspa did seemed to defy the boundaries of common sense. Where there were obstacles, she would overcome them. Where there were walls, she would obliterate them. Sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder, was this woman truly real?

A foolish inquiry indeed. Of course she was. Keresaspa was right in front of us, her long braided hair flowing in the wind. Her appearance, scent, and personality had remained consistent, and yet…

“A dream…” I said, the words slipping from my tongue.

“Hmph?” Keresaspa, having heard my whisper, turned to me. “Did you say something, noble Ereth?”

“Ah—Nothing. A slip of the tongue. That’s all.”

“Well, alright.” I had lost her attention as soon as I gained it.

I could not help but imagine this woman a phantom. Her presence drifted within the interstice of fantasy and reality, forever dancing to the whims of her heart. The laws of this world meant nothing to a dream, a fairy tale come to life.

Perhaps I was mistaken, confusing her similarities with my father as an expression of unreality. If Atreides was an immutable void, then the warrior before me was a phantom, a figment both dead and living.

“Halt.”

We stopped in our tracks upon Keresaspa’s command. Just up ahead was the border, with hundreds of civilians crowding for a spot in line.

Children clung to their mothers, weeping. Fathers shielded their wives from the crushing crowd. Soldiers struggled to keep the peace, yet failed all the same. Rations and clothing were running scarce. Their homeland was obliterated, invaded by a foreign nation.

These were the true casualties of war. The people we have hurt, the people we have killed. They are here , fighting for nothing but a chance at seeing a new dawn.

Despite knowing this reality, my heart remained unmoved. My father had assigned me the role of “human,” thus, it was only appropriate for me to act as such. Humans must disregard shura as insects, just as shura do humans. This was not foul play, but a natural law of the universe.

Light must disperse the dark, and dark must consume the light. A war waged for eternity, seeing no respite or paradise.

A wicked Bacchanalia. An asinine performance where destruction was but joyful play. Was this the world my father saw? The world that he failed to save?

“How will we proceed?” I asked our de facto leader. “Would a frontal assault be necessary here?”

“Nay,” she replied. “Many of Skadhi’s troupes are being recalled as we speak. Drawing any more unnecessary attention to ourselves will only slow down our advance. We will find a way to infiltrate. Low-profile.”

It was a surprisingly sensible order. I assumed that a warrior of Keresaspa’s make would simply obliterate every foe in her path, regardless of the situation. Perhaps I mistook her for a belligerent.

“How are we gonna get in?” Derrick asked. “Camouflage isn’t an option for anti-shura. They’ll detect us immediately, and any aggressive maneuver will only draw more attention to the border.”

“Aye, we can’t afford to waste any more time.” With a small stick, Keresaspa drew a map of the area. It was a tad amateurish, but good enough to make out the necessary details. "Countless soldiers are being recalled to the high districts. They'll be passing through Tepesh before long. While engaging them in battle might not be difficult, it would be better not to risk any unnecessary attention. We can wage all the war we’d like once contact has been made with the frontline.”

“Frontline…do you think Atreides was there too? At the blast?”

“No telling. Hell if I cared, the blasted fool.”

“...”

“Though I doubt a serpent such as he would die so easily. He is no warrior, after all, but a trickster.”

“Ah…I’m relieved.” Derrick let out a sigh of relief. Though I was unfamiliar with their dynamic, they seemed to be good friends from the outside. The truth of Atreides’ survival didn’t truly matter. We couldn’t afford to lower our morale.

Seeing fit to redirect the conversation, I chimed in. “Both of you are correct. We cannot use force to solve this issue. That’s why we need not lay a finger on a single soldier.”

“...?” They turned to me, gazes fixed with curiosity.

“All we need to do is exploit Skadhi’s order. Urr has a population of approximately 10 billion people. Ordering a nationwide—No, a global relocation of civilians and troops alike is a logistical nightmare. There is simply no efficient way to accomplish it. As such, Urr is facing an unprecedented immigration crisis. There are simply too few checkpoints to account for so many migrants.”

“So you suggest we utilize this logistical error to our advantage, yes?”

“Exactly.” Keresaspa was quick on the uptake. Good. “We will rest here for the time being, scouting our enemies from afar. Patrol rotations, migrant volume, transportation efficiency...all of these factors will, inevitably, collapse, granting us an opportunity to slip past without the faintest of hints to our presence.”

I turned my gaze towards the sky. “Of course, this plan wasn’t infallible. By nightfall, there will be more soldiers than there are now. Yet they will also have spent the entire day managing the evacuation. Fatigue dulls even the most disciplined of men.”

“So we offset the difference in quantity with quality?” Derrick inquired.

“Precisely. The nightwatch may have more available troops, but they will be underfed, sleep-deprived, and exhausted from managing the immigration crisis. They won’t have the mental acuity to perform their jobs properly. That is when we move.”

Having agreed to the plan, we set up a shift rotation. Every hour, one of us would carefully observe the border, jotting down their observations in a notebook with the assistance of military-issued wristwatches. When the hour was up, we’d switch places with a rested ally, taking the time to recover from our mental and physical exhaustion.

I, of course, didn’t require sleep as an automaton, though it certainly helped to alleviate my pent-up stress.

Night fell, and with it, arose our opportunity.

[30 min Shifts]
[West patrol. 43 sec blind angle.]
[Soldiers drowsy]
[Drunk to the rear]
…
…
…

I read over our notes one last time before making our move. We’ll take the left rear, moving westward during the shift change. Our blind spot will last less than a minute. After that, we’ll need to wait another 30 minutes. We don’t have the time for that.

“Ready?” I signaled.

“Affirmative,” they responded in kind.

We made our way through the temperate forests of Tepesh, our figures obscured by the dead of night. As I thought, the number of soldiers had increased. Our odds of success, however, had only increased.

These men were rank-and-file soldiers, armed with nothing but the most rudimentary of flashlights to aid in their scouting duties. The beam of light was weak and hardly went far. Avoiding them was an easy task.

Around halfway through our operation, we stumbled upon a small cabin. Men bickered and laughed under a dull orange light, their speech slightly slurred.

“Drunks…”

They were soldiers without a doubt, but they seemed to be on break. Men from a previous rotation, perhaps? I nearly reconsidered my assumption, given the stench of alcohol seeping out of a nearby window, but it wasn’t exactly uncommon for soldiers to slack off on the job.

If anything, this was the perfect opportunity to escape without setting off any alarms.

“Keresaspa, keep an eye on that cabin.”

“Aye.”

In all likelihood, the cabin wouldn’t present much of an issue, but diligence was always preferable to negligence.

“...!”

I raised my fist—the “stop” signal. To our right was a man, drunk and stumbling through the woods. He approached us with an absent-minded stare before urinating on a nearby tree. He was close, dangerously close, standing just a few feet away from us.

He may be drunk, but drunkards aren’t necessarily fools. There was a chance he could simply ignore us and stumble away to his post. However, there was also a chance that his drunken state rendered him quick to anger. He could even regain a part of his senses, spotting us immediately and signaling for reinforcements.

This was not a matter of greater and lower odds; the fact that the possibility existed was more than enough reason to justify my suspicions.

I must kill this man immediately.

“...” Drawing a small dagger from my utility belt, I got into position, ready to perform a lethal blow to the jugular. It will be quick and mostly painless. He should only be conscious for a few seconds.

To die drunk with one’s member exposed—it must have been a death most terrible for any man. However, our circumstances did not permit us any kindness.

I moved in from behind, holding the man’s mouth shut with my left, and slitting his throat with my right. For a moment, he struggled, his eyes bulging with shock, but it was already over. The man’s legs went limp. Dead.

“...” I could see it in the darkness, Derrick’s visible distaste. He averted his gaze from the sight of a man freshly dead, all while struggling to repress his own revulsion.

“Let’s move out, everyone.”