In the Shadow of the Divine

[Dusk]

---

---

The beauty of the Sigma Systems was wasted today on a lonely soul, emerging from the depths of darkness and solitude only to find herself in one of Freeport 8's small drinking establishments. Aside from the view from the windows, there was nothing beautiful about the place. Rough, cheap metal, covered in scratches. Traces of rust were the only decoration, and the few people around barely noticed her. Somewhere in the distance, the clatter of docking mechanisms could be heard; in a far corner, the laughter of a mercenary who had just won a large sum in a card game rang out. Freeport 8 continued its normal life, oblivious to her.

Perhaps she should have remained in the darkness. But a conversation with a mercenary lost in the cloud spurred her on, if only for a bit.

A glass of wine, produced somewhere in Gallia, rested comfortably in her hand. She'd never liked alcohol, but now it seemed to bring her closer to the one for whom she'd decided to change this world. It was naive to think she could do it. Her black cane was nearby, a reminder of her own powerlessness.

She was called a "liability." She was called a "traitor." In an instant, all her efforts, all her achievements, all her successes vanished. She no longer fit the worldview of a tyrant who imagined himself the guiding force of a revolutionary movement. Blinded by the loud speeches, unable to understand the difference between empty rebellious bravado and the achievement of the goals that gave them strength.

But the most painful thing was that she'd trusted him. And he turned out to be just another hypocrite. One who chose child murderers with loud slogans over his own principles, of which he seemed so proud. And she could blame no one but herself and her foolishness.

Emilia peered into the glare of the local sun reflecting off the surface of her glass. She was faced with a choice she wasn't prepared for. Leave—and lose all her hard work, lose Chevalier, lose the purpose she'd seemingly found. Stay... and live amidst the madness, helplessly watching everything crumble around her. She delayed the choice, but knew it would soon have to be made.

Leaving everything behind was difficult. Supply lines for the Order, carefully cultivated contacts, sleepless nights working on projects designed to give them at least a small chance against the Alien God. Every drop of sweat, every moment of fear, every small victory—it would all be wiped away. Crossed off the list. As if it had never existed.

If she chose to plunge into the unknown instead of madness, she would have to be cruel to the only person who saw in her something more than a sickly girl or a useful tool. She could abandon the cause, she could survive the Platform's disembodiment. But leaving Chevalier was... unthinkable. And taking her away would have meant exposing Chevalier to too much danger. And Veil would rather die herself than condemn to that the one who made her truly feel Human for the first time. Not a street rat from Pittsburgh, not a burden to a stronger brother, not the architect of someone's future... But simply Alive.

Veil exhaled, then downed her glass in one gulp, wrinkling her nose. She waved at the bartender, asking for more. An older man with a Bretonian accent raised an eyebrow, but without comment, he poured her more wine. He'd seen all sorts of broken people here. She was just another one of them, albeit a strange-looking one. She paid, so he didn't care.

And then there was another option. To stay in this madness... Smiling and nodding, complying with all the demands, forgetting the very principles she'd accepted when she joined the Platform. Seeing Chevalier every day, knowing it all wasn't bringing them any closer to a world where they could live peacefully.

The wine was slowly but surely doing its job. The sharp edges of the dilemma were smoothing, dissolving into a dull, throbbing ache. But the core remained, a cold, hard lump in her stomach.

She raised her hand a bit, peering at her wrist, where, at her will, a virtual interface could appear. She could text Chevalier. "I need you. I have to tell you something." But what would that accomplish? It would only drag her into this mess. Force her to choose between her mission and the Veil herself. A senseless weakness it would be, one that made Emilia sick of herself.

A group of mercenaries off to the side burst into laughter at some crude joke. One of them, a young woman with bright purple hair, approached the bartender for drinks and met Emilia's gaze for a couple seconds. A flicker of recognition flashed in that gaze. Not of the pale girl, but of her condition. It was almost as if mercenary's gaze said, "I've been there. It will get better. Or not. Either way, the booze never runs out."

Emilia turned away. She had survived back then, at Pittsburgh. She would survive now, one way or another.

And that "Something" inside her seemed to rejoice amidst it all. As if asking, "So, did your ideals and moral superiority help you?"

The albino girl didn't answer. "It" already knew the answer perfectly well anyway. Just as "It" knew most of what Emilia would say or do. There was rarely any reason to respond.

---