[b]Mosaic and Ember![/b]

The Silver Divers reach the wall.

They are out of their depth and they know it. Their home and their power is the ocean, the unknowable outsiders, striking as a natural disaster and melting away with the tide. They stand here on stone, before stone, bound by pride they do not share. They are the legends who conquered the galaxy, who capture towns while laughing, but tonight there are only the silent scents that say 'alert' and 'ready'.

Two Ceronians leave the pack. They walk cautiously forwards towards the wall, legs crouched and tense, spears raised. The entire scene is two dimensional - one side of the road is a sheer cliff going up, the other side of the road is a sheer cliff going down. The phalanx stays still, a bristling mesh of spears and shields and uneasily held SP weapons, all staring in frozen wonder to see if these scouts, too, will somehow disappear without a trace like their forerunners did.

Nervously, step by step, the first two reach the wall. They wait in stillness, watch in stillness, waiting for the hammer to fall.

[b]Dolce![/b]

You can feel her heartbeat. Thump. Thump. Deep and slow and powerful. You can feel the muscle as it presses against your neck, vibrating through her chest, so loud it seems to drown out your own heartbeat. Thump. Thump. You can feel it in her wrists where they're wrapped around you, her vitality drowning out yours. Thump. Thump. Is it not glorious to be reminded that you are a lesser creature, a soft toy for a goddess to play with?

"... remember," she gives you a peck on the forehead. "Service is rewarded ♥."

20022 is there. He bows respectfully but insistently. The Crystal Knight scowls at him as she leaves you, shivering, legless and cold. "Speak your piece you busybody."

"Lady," said 20022. "I have come to discuss with Lady Triden an update to the plans for the peninsula. The Royal Architect has placed a request to resonance mine the central territories along here," he gestured at a large swathe of the map. The Stone Tribe lands. Beri. 

"I am not surprised to hear that old bastard's name on your lips," said the Crystal Knight, pouring herself a glass of honeyvenom. "You want me to relocate, what, eighty thousand servitors?"
"The Service does not require anything from you, my lady," said 20022, bowing again. "We have already begun steps to post evacuation notices. The Architect's emissary is already on its way."
The Crystal Knight stared at the map fixedly. "Tell him to turn back. I have a recovery operation off the coast, I won't see it vaporized."
"My lady -"
"Hm!" she snapped. "I see how it is. Well, tell you what - why don't you get all of those refugees you're creating and assign them to my work crews instead? The more bodies I have to dredge the ship the faster I'll be out of your way."
"But the evacuation schedule -"
"They can run, can't they?" said the Crystal Knight languidly, reclining over a couch. "Or if you're so chummy with the Architect, you can ask him for a few days delay? It's a reasonable request from the sector governor and I am [i]certain [/i]your superiors will see it the same way."
20022 hesitated. "I'll assign the civilians to the work crews."
"Good boy. And speaking of, do you still want your little friend here?" she ran the tip of her tail along Dolce's neck. "It's a long road and I could use a snack~"
"... I believe I should take him with me."
"Heh," she smirked. "As you will. Good luck teaching him the joys of public service now, little eunuch." 

She's still smirking, eyes following you unblinking, as 20022 helps you to your feet and guides you from the room.

[b]Dyssia![/b]

A red sunset glows over the newly born forest. Bone white eucalypts stand tall amongst the tundra scrubgrass, staining a dusty red world with yellow and blue. The winds still blow, but lighter now that the trees break their flow and the grass stops the sand from being carried away. After the death, the harvest.

By the numbers you should have lost. But such was the problem with drones as an instrument of war - where a warrior species could adaptively react to an orbital deployment, drones were pre-programmed and mindless. When the hammer fell directly on the staging areas and the Wayang were butchered the drones were left standing as empty meat. And now they are all dead, their cracked shells thick upon the ground, plant life oozing through like egg yolk. 

The Dust Knight lost his helmet in the fighting, and he is handsome - the Azura equivalent to a silver fox. Aged scales losing their saturation has made them fade from a common navy to an exquisite powder blue, offset hypnotically with a pattern of crimson-painted scales that circle his right eye, then descend in three swooping parallel lines all the way to his jaw. But more than his striking appearance is a profound... peace. A calm, a lack of posturing, a sense that he not only knows what righteousness is but finds embodying it to be no great trial. Someone whose inherent goodness is so beyond question that even the Endless Azure Skies could not bring itself to censor his name and deeds in the hopes that he would come back to them.

"Hello there," he said to your approach, voice without pretense or ceremony. "You're the pilot?" he nodded at the wreckage of the distant [i]Firetree[/i]. "Nice landing. Not many people in the Skies would trade a ship like that for a couple thousand Pix."