Somewhere in the Port District
Itzi’s pace carried her away from the docks, past rows of soldiers, and away from the docked airship. Anger still clung to her, she didn’t know where she was going, she just wanted to go away.
As the noise of the port began to thin the setting of crates and cables turned into brick and iron covers above the sky. Rails cut through the ground ahead and before long she found herself stepping into what looked to be a depot, tucked just beyond the main stretch of the docks.
A train sat there, the steam blew slowly from its sides, and metal wheels creaked as it settled from its journey. It hadn’t been there long.
For a moment Itzi just stood there, staring at it. A thought then came to her.
Get on. Leave.Let them keep their gold, their war, and their stupid arguments. Take what she had and go somewhere else, somewhere far from all of this. She only took a few steps closer before the doors of the train carts opened.
At first nothing came out but then movement came. Scores of men began to step off the train in uneven lines, the smoldering steam covered them but their silhouettes were noticeable as they got off the train, something felt wrong.
One of them stumbled as he descended, catching himself on the railing with a shaking hand. Another followed, his arm slung around the shoulders of a third who could barely walk. A pair came down together, one guiding the other whose eyes were wrapped in bloodied cloth.
More followed, then more.
Their uniforms marked them from Mittenland, but there was little else uniform about them now. Most of it was torn fabric with bloody stains, their faces pale with pain or exhaustion. Some coughed as they stepped down, others didn’t speak at all.
One man was carried between two others, his head lolling slightly with each step. Another sat at the edge of the carriage for a second too long before a Mittenlander soldier reached up, helping him down with a firm grip.
Itzi didn’t move, she couldn’t even breathe. The anger that had been so heated a moment ago faltered at the horrid sight before her.
More men came. Some in crutches, others covered in bandages and so many more with rags tied over eyes that no longer saw, walking out in a line guided by a single soldier whose eyesight seemed to still work.
The smell reached her a second later. A foul mustard like odor that invaded her senses and immediately made her grimace with disgust.
A soldier stood a few paces away, leaning against a crate. He watched it all with a tired expression, like this wasn’t the first time he’d seen this.
He pulled a cigarette from a small pack at his chest, struck a match and lit it without much thought.
“They’ve been coming in like this for days,” he said, almost casually to Itzi as she was still reeling from the stench.
“From the front,” He took a slow drag, then exhaled.
“Every train’s the same.”
He reached out slightly, offering the cigarette to Itzi as she covered her nose with her shirt. She hesitated for only a second before taking it.
Her fingers trembled as she uncovered her mouth. She brought the cigarette to her lips and inhaled without thinking. The smoke burned on the way down, harsher than she expected, but the sensation was better than the smell of rotting flesh.
Her gaze didn’t leave the platform however, another crowd stumbled.
Some of the arriving wounded had to be carried. Others sat down on the ground and didn’t get back up.
The cigarette lowered slightly in her hand.
Her jaw clenched then loosened. The anger had completely disappeared from thought.
“Madness…” she muttered under her breath. Her grip tightened around the cigarette, just enough for the ash to fall loose.
As the last of the soldiers filtered off the train, more figures began to emerge from the carriages. These were not in uniform, they were civilians. Clothes worn thin and dirt-stained, some carrying small bundles, others clutching what little they had left in satchels or broken luggage. A few had nothing at all.
Itzi’s brow furrowed as she watched them.
“Who are they?” she asked quietly.
The soldier beside her didn’t look surprised.
“Refugees,” he said, taking another drag from another cigarette before glancing back at Itzi, “From Inbur. Slipping through where they can.”
He exhaled slowly, “But the Calarian lines don’t show much mercy, otherwise it’d be thousands of them here already.”
Itzi’s stomach turned. An older woman appeared at the top of the carriage steps, a small child strapped to her back with worn cloth. She tried to descend, one hand gripping the railing, the other steadying the child, then her footing slipped.
Itzi moved, crossing the distance quickly and reaching up just as the woman faltered, catching her by the arm alongside the soldier who stepped in from the other side.
“Careful,” Itzi muttered, steadying her as they helped her down.
The woman’s weight sagged for a moment before she found her footing again.
“Thank you… thank you,” the woman said weakly.
Up close, Itzi could see it clearer. The hollow in her cheeks, dryness on her lips, her hands trembled.
“I… I don’t have much strength left,” the woman admitted, her words breaking slightly, “We were walking… for days… before the train found us. Just luck…”
She adjusted slightly, glancing at the child behind her.
“He hasn’t had water,” she added, her voice cracking, “Not for days…”
Itzi’s eyes widened, she didn’t respond, she couldn’t. She just stared at the child, then back at the woman.
The soldier beside her moved, unslinging his canteen without hesitation, pressing it into the woman’s hands.
“Here,” he said simply.
The woman clutched it like it might vanish, murmuring thanks as she fumbled to open it.
The soldier watched her for a second, then shook his head faintly.
“At this rate,” he muttered, almost to himself, “I wouldn’t be surprised if this war spills clean across the Evig.”
Itzi stepped back slowly. Her eyes were still on the woman, on the child, and the way the woman tried to help him drink with shaking hands. Something about it struck Itzi harder than anything else she had seen. The exhaustion, the way she held on, the quiet desperation in her voice, it reminded her of home. Of her mother and the kind of life she had come from.
Itzi stepped further back, the weight of it settled in. This wasn’t just soldiers or gold or some distant war. It was people being driven from their homes, families breaking apart, children going without water. And if it kept spreading, it wouldn’t stay here, it would reach places like Hunyunak. Her home.
She exhaled slowly, steadying herself as the thought locked in place. There was no walking away from this, not anymore.
Ambassador Crane’s Residence
The residency had settled into a nice calm contrary to the chaos that had ensued earlier in the day. Kentz remained near the sitting room, posture straight, hands loosely behind his back as he kept his position. His eyes moved occasionally to Carter who sat where he had been left, looking marginally more alive than before but still far from steady and to Miss Alina who moved about finishing her housekeeping and nurse duties without unnecessary words.
Kentz didn’t interfere, he was there to watch and nothing more, at least for now.
Then the muffled ring of the telephone was audible from the other side of the home.
Everyone in the room paused, glancing towards the sound.
“I’ll get it,” Alina said, already moving.
Kentz stepped forward before she could take another step.
“I will,” he said simply.
She hesitated, then gave a small nod and returned her attention to Carter, she moved to provide him with the last of the dosage she had been administering. Kentz meanwhile turned and crossed the hallway, the ringing became sharper as he got closer to the telephone station.
He reached the instrument and lifted the receiver.
“Ambassador Crane’s residency,” he answered.
The gravelly voice of Crane immediately came through, “Corporal.”.
Kentz straightened slightly.
“Sir.”
“I will not waste time,” Crane continued, “You are to take Mr. Carter into custody and bring him to the embassy at once.”
Kentz’s grip on the receiver tightened just slightly as the order.
“The route has been cleared,” Crane added, “You will encounter no obstruction, use the vehicle. Understood?”
Kentz frowned faintly, taking in the words.
“…Understood, sir,” he said slowly, there seemed to be a small trace of hesitation in his voice.
“Corporal,” Crane repeated, “do you understand your orders?”
Kentz straightened fully.
“Yes, sir,” he replied more firmly this time.
“Good.”
The line clicked.
Kentz lowered the receiver slowly, placing it back into its cradle softly. The corporal remained by the telephone for a moment longer.
His gaze lingered to the nothingness, unfocused as the order settled in his mind. He did not know Carter well, not beyond what Miss Ku had said of him. Still her words came back to his mind, what Carter had tried to do and why. He had tried to take what he believed was the fair pay for his crew, the dead and the ones who had carried that gold out of hell and back to the Inburians.
Kentz exhaled quietly through his nose. As a soldier, he understood duty, it was not something to be questioned. It was the foundation of everything.
But even so, there was something about it that did not sit cleanly. Both Mr. Carter and Miss Ku had risked themselves for a land that was not their own and that was more than most would ever do. The Inburians would clearly not pay what Mr. Carter or the others felt was just and as such desperate actions had been taken and now the Ardellian was a public enemy of both the Mittenlanders and the Inburians.
And now that said Ardellian had been rescued by his compatriots; his own land was turning on him. The thought lingered only a moment longer before it was set aside.
In his case, Kentz was not a freelancer or had the privilege of daring antics, he had orders to carry out, as terrible as they be he would have to contend with them at a later time. The corporal turned and made his way back toward the sitting room.
He stepped inside just as Alina finished administering the last of the medication. Carter swallowed, a faint grimace crossing his face from the bitterness.
Kentz stopped a few paces in and then without ceremony, he drew his sidearm.
Alina’s expression shifted immediately, her usual composure breaking just enough for surprise to show. Carter looked back from his seat as well, the fatigue in his eyes remained despite the sight before him.
Kentz held his weapon but notably didn’t raise it.
“Mr. Carter,” he said firmly as a soldier did, “as of this moment, you are in my custody. We are to depart for the embassy immediately.”
His gaze remained fixed on him.
“I would advise that you do not resist.”
Carter kept his tired look on the corporal for a quiet moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.
“…Yeah,” he muttered, the fight not in him, “Figured as much.”
Kentz gave a single nod in return.
“On your feet, please…” he said.
Commonwealth of Ardell Embassy
Elvesland, Kingdom of Mitteland
Crane sat with his feet up on the desk of his office, a cigar between his fingers and a glass of whiskey resting in his other hand. Smoke curled lazily upward, blending with the dim light of the room. Things had settled now at the embassy, while the police cordon remained in place, the “broken down” truck at the back of the embassy was gone.
Miraculously repaired, no doubt.
Crane scoffed faintly at the thought, taking a slow sip from his glass. The Minister had come through quicker than expected, though he suspected it had less to do with courtesy and more with avoiding further pestering from Crane. Kostidis, on the other hand… that man was something else entirely.
“…Stuck up prick,” Crane muttered under his breath. He leaned back slightly on his chair, it creaked beneath him.
All of this, over some gold.
A lump sum that may or may not have even been properly promised, dragged into something far larger than it had any right to be. Diplomatic incidents, police cordons, accusations thrown around. It was absurd, completely absurd.
He rolled the cigar between his fingers, watching the light of it glow faintly. Whatever Carter thought he was owed, whatever justification there was for it, none of it was worth this kind of mess. Not the attention, not the risk or the implications.
Crane exhaled slowly through his nose. The simplest solution presented itself plainly in his mind now.
Hand him over.
Once Carter was inside embassy grounds and things were contained, it could be done cleanly and quietly. A gesture of cooperation and a way to smooth things over before they spiraled further.
His gaze drifted slightly. There was a problem with that.
Carter couldn't have just appeared out of nowhere. He had taken refuge in Crane’s own residency, under his roof and seemingly under his protection from what would’ve been an easy apprehension for the Mittelanders.
Crane clicked his tongue faintly. He realized how that detail alone complicated things more than he liked.
Still…
Better to resolve it now than let it grow and before the mainland caught wind of it. But that telegram.
“Damn you, Anders…” Crane muttered.
Of course he had sent it. Crane let out a quiet breath through his nose.
“…I’ll deal with that,” he muttered once more.
Then a knock came at the door.
Immediately, Crane lowered his feet from the desk and took one last long drink, finishing the whiskey in a single motion. The remaining layer in the glass he pushed the cigar into and extinguished it with a smooth hiss.
“Come in,” he called.
The door opened and his assistant stepped inside.
“Sir, Captain Anders is requesting your presence in the security room,” he said. “There’s… a situation.”
Crane already knew what that situation was. He stood up, pulling at his jacket and smoothing it into place.
“Patch me through with the Minister of Foreign Affairs,” he said calmly.
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