Chapter 5 - Against the Innersphere -
- Same Old Failure -[]
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Tranquil, Kerensky Cluster
Clan Space
Liliana sat on the edge of her bunk, the cold metal frame digging into her palms as she gripped the edge. The small, narrow space felt even smaller than usual, the shadows from the overhead light casting long lines against the bare walls. Around her, there was nothing-no personal items, no mementos. Nothing but the neatly folded blanket and the small duffel bag she was filling. The efficiency of it all left an ache in her chest, a reminder of the Clan's relentless practicality.
This bunk, one of five in the shared space, had been her place of rest, of solitude, for years. It had been a constant in the chaos of training and trials. She glanced at the other empty bunks around her-each one a ghost of someone who no longer lived. Once, this room had been full. Erich, Sorina, Eirik, and Krysta-they had been her rivals, her sibkin. And now, she was the only one left. The silence was oppressive, a hollow echo of all the voices that had been silenced.
Her hands paused over the bag, the weight of the emptiness pressing down on her. She had known these people for years, had trained beside them, fought against them. Yet, there was no comfort in their memory. They had been rivals, challenges to overcome, not friends. The concept of friendship was anathema in the Smoke Jaguars. She knew that. Friendship was weakness, and weakness was purged. But even so, she could not shake the sense of loss that clung to her as she stared at the empty bunks.
The Fürste Sibko had once been over three hundred strong, a cohort of promising kits bred and trained to embody the ideals of Clan Smoke Jaguar. Through trials, combat exercises, and the brutal efficiency of the training process, their numbers had been whittled down to twenty, then sixteen, and now… only her. The others were nothing more than memories, and even the memory of their faces felt distant, like a half-remembered dream.
The duffel bag filled quickly-only a few uniforms, her sidearm, and some basic necessities. It was all she was allowed to have, and all she needed. She was being relocated, the efficiency of the Clan taking precedence over any sentimentality. She was no longer a kit among many; she was a survivor, a warrior of potential, and so she would be given a private room-an efficient use of space, as the Clan had no use for a five-bunk room occupied by a single kit.
As she zipped the bag shut, she felt a pang of something she could not name. The room, empty and cold as it was, had still been hers. It had been the place she returned to after every exercise, every battle simulation, and every trial. It had been where she lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling and listening to the quiet breathing of her sibkin as they slept. It had been a place that, in its own way, felt like home.
Now, it was just another space to be repurposed.
The new star of kits would be utilizing the space. A new group, fresh from the genetic pools and just beginning their training-five more bodies to fill the empty bunks, to start the cycle again. The efficiency of it all was inescapable. The Clan wasted nothing, and this room, with its empty bunks, was too valuable to be given over to a single kit. The new kits would fill the space, would fight and train and die here, just as she and her sibkin had. It was the way of things.
But it did not make the emptiness feel any less heavy.
She lifted the duffel bag and stood, the silence of the room pressing in around her. The absence of life was palpable, a reminder of all the bodies that had once filled this space-now nothing more than ashes in the wind, their names recorded in the Clan's data logs, but their existence ultimately reduced to nothing more than a line on a report. Efficiency demanded it. There was no room for grief, no space for sentiment.
As she stepped toward the door, she paused, her eyes drifting over the bunks one last time. She could still see them-Erich, quiet and introspective, his eyes always fixed on the HUD, analyzing every detail of their missions; Sorina, with her fiery temper, always eager for a fight, her laughter as sharp as her taunts; Eirik, tactical and calm, the one who often kept the group in line during their training exercises; and Krysta, always at the front, the one who was both her greatest rival and, if she dared to admit it, the closest thing she had to a friend.
But they were gone now, and she was alone.
The new kits would fill their places, and she would move on to her private quarters-a space more fitting for a kit of her status. The thought felt hollow, and she realized it was not an honor. It was just another step in a process that had already taken so much from her. She was not moving because she had earned something; she was moving because it was efficient. There were no congratulations, no sense of achievement. It was just a cold reality, the Clan ensuring that every space, every resource, was utilized to its fullest potential.
She moved to the door, the duffel slung over her shoulder, her eyes lingering on the room for a moment longer. The scent of metal, sweat, and faint traces of cleaning solvent filled her nose, a smell she had grown used to over the years. It was the smell of her past, the smell of the life she had lived here with the others-those who were now nothing more than names on a casualty report.
A part of her wanted to stay, to linger in this space where, for a fleeting moment, it had felt like she had something resembling a home. But the efficiency of the Clan allowed no room for such sentiments. She was a warrior, a Smoke Jaguar. And Smoke Jaguars did not dwell on what was lost. They pressed forward, always moving, always striving.
As she stepped out of the room and into the corridor beyond, the sound of distant footsteps and voices filled the air-warriors passing by, laborers attending to their duties. Life continued, the Clan machine turning as it always did, indifferent to the losses it left in its wake.
She turned her back on the room, and with it, the memories of her sibkin. There would be no looking back, no hesitation. She was a survivor, and in the end, that was all that mattered.
The door hissed shut behind her, and she walked away, each step echoing through the empty corridors. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the cries of new kits being drilled, the sharp bark of a trainer's command cutting through the air. The cycle was beginning again-new faces, new trials, new sacrifices.
And she, Liliana Fürst, was just another part of that cycle, destined to move forward, alone. Her footsteps a steady rhythm echoing against the cold, metallic walls. Around her, kits and warriors passed by, some moving with the disciplined efficiency of seasoned fighters, others still holding the jittery energy of youth. She could hear their voices, snippets of conversations that reminded her, painfully, of the days she and her sibkin had once filled these halls with their own words, their own laughter and rivalry.
A group of kits approached, their chatter bright and eager. They were younger than she was now, their uniforms fresh, their faces unscarred by the realities of combat. As they saw her, they fell silent, casting quick glances her way before parting to let her pass. She felt their eyes on her, curious and cautious, the unspoken understanding that she was not one of them anymore. She had outgrown this world, and yet here she was, back among them, a relic of a past she could not escape.
One of the kits, a girl with wide eyes and a face so familiar it made Liliana's chest tighten, whispered to her friend, "Is that her? The one who took down a whole Dark Caste unit?"
The other nodded, stealing a glance before looking away, as if afraid to draw her attention. "They say she fought like a real warrior, not like a kit. Like she was already a warrior."
The words should have filled her with pride. She had once wanted nothing more than to be seen as strong, as worthy. But now, hearing the awe in their voices, she felt only the sting of emptiness. She was a stranger to them, a story to be whispered about, not a peer or even a comrade. They would never understand what she had lost, what she had been through, the scars that ran deeper than any wound.
Liliana kept walking, the kits' voices fading behind her. She could feel the weight of her duffel on her shoulder, each step drawing her further from the only place that had ever felt like home, even if it was empty now. Her new quarters would be more comfortable, private, befitting her status. But there would be no familiar faces, no shared silence after a grueling exercise, no quiet breathing in the night to remind her she was not alone. Her new room would be hers, hers alone, a small sanctuary that offered no solace.
She turned a corner and nearly collided with a med tech carrying a tray of supplies. The woman looked up, surprise flickering across her face before she quickly stepped aside, bowing her head slightly.
"Apologies, Kits Fürst," she murmured, her voice respectful but distant.
Liliana's instinct was to brush it off, but the med tech's deference felt hollow. "You do not need to apologize," she replied, her voice low, barely audible.
The med tech paused, looking at her as if unsure how to respond. "Thank you," she said finally, the words stiff, formal. She cast one last curious glance at Liliana before moving on, her footsteps retreating down the corridor.
Alone once more, Liliana continued her journey, her hand gripping the strap of her duffel tightly. The hallways seemed endless, a maze of sterile metal that offered no comfort, no warmth. The weight of everything pressed down on her, each step reminding her of how much she had lost. She had lost her clan, her home, her very identity. And now, even the hollow comfort of the bunk she had shared with her sibkin had been taken from her.
She reached her new quarters, the door sliding open with a soft hiss. The room was small but clean, a single bed against one wall, a small desk, and a locker for her belongings. Efficient, as always. There was nothing out of place, nothing personal, nothing to remind her of the life she had lived just a few doors down, where the bunks were crowded and the silence was filled with memories.
Setting her duffel on the bed, Liliana unzipped it, her hands moving mechanically as she placed her belongings in the locker. A few uniforms, her sidearm, and the insignia of her bloodname-a symbol that felt more like a weight around her neck than an honor. She closed the locker door with a hollow clang, the sound echoing in the empty room.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, the silence pressing in on her. Her hands rested on her knees, and she stared at the wall across from her, her mind drifting back to her bunk, to the faces she would never see again. Erich's quiet strength, Sorina's fiery spirit, Eirik's calm rationality, and Krysta's fierce determination. They were gone, every one of them, torn away from her. And she had been given a second chance, only to lose them all over again.
The door slid open, and a technician entered, casting a quick glance around the room before speaking. "Kits Fürst, your transfer is complete. If there is anything you require, you may request it."
She looked up at him, her voice barely above a whisper. "There is nothing I require."
He nodded, a polite but detached acknowledgment, and left without another word, the door hissing shut behind him.
Liliana sat there, the emptiness around her sinking in. She had been given this second chance, pulled back to a time when she should have been able to change things, to save those who had mattered most. And yet, it had all slipped through her fingers. The people she had grown up with, the closest thing to family she had ever known, were gone. The Fürst Sibko still existed, yes, but they were nothing to her-rivals at worst, enemies at best. She had no bond with them, no history, only the hollow understanding that she was expected to survive, to fight, to be a warrior.
A hollow laugh escaped her, bitter and raw. She had seen her Clan burn, her world reduced to ashes, only to be brought back to witness it all again. To lose her star, her family, a second time. And now she was here, alone, in a room that was hers by efficiency, not by choice.
The door hissed open again, and she looked up to see a young kit, barely more than a child, peeking in hesitantly. He looked at her with wide eyes, clearly nervous but curious.
"Are you really the one who fought the Dark Caste?" he asked, his voice soft, as if he was afraid to break the silence.
Liliana stared at him for a moment, the weight of his question settling heavily on her. She could see the awe in his eyes, the way he looked up to her as if she was something more than just a warrior. She was a symbol, a figure of strength, someone he aspired to be.
"Aff," she replied, her voice devoid of emotion.
The boy hesitated, then nodded, as if satisfied with her answer. "You're lucky," he whispered. "To have your own room. It means… it means they think you're special."
Liliana's chest tightened, a bitter ache spreading through her. Special. That was what they called it, what they saw when they looked at her. Not a survivor, not someone who had lost everything, but someone who was different, someone they could put on a pedestal.
"It is just a room," she said quietly, more to herself than to him.
The boy nodded again, clearly not understanding, and after a moment, he slipped back into the hallway, leaving her alone once more.
Liliana closed her eyes, the silence pressing down on her like a shroud. The Clan had given her this room out of efficiency, because it made sense, because there was no point in keeping her in a bunk meant for five. There was no honor in it, no recognition, only the cold, unfeeling practicality that defined the Smoke Jaguars. Her star was gone, her Clan was gone, and even the hollow comfort of her bunk had been stripped away.
She opened her eyes, staring at the bare walls, the emptiness of the room mirroring the emptiness within her. She had lost everything-her past, her future, the closest thing she had ever known to a family. And now, all she had was this silent room, a hollow reminder of a life that no longer held any meaning.
In the quiet, she whispered to the empty room, a question that had no answer, a plea that would never be heard.
"Why was I brought back… just to be alone?"
But there was no response. Only the silence, cold and unyielding, wrapping around her like a second skin.
She lay back on the bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, the ache in her chest deepening. She was a Smoke Jaguar, a warrior, a survivor. But here, in the solitude of her new room, she felt like nothing more than a shadow of what she had once been, a ghost lingering in the past, haunted by memories she could not escape.
And as the silence pressed in around her, she knew that this was her fate-to fight, to endure, to survive. Alone.