Chapter 8 - Against the Innersphere -
- Reflection on word long lost -[]
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Tranquil, Kerensky Cluster
Clan Space
The cold steel of the Timber Wolf's cockpit felt like a cage around Liliana, more confining than protective. Her fingers settled over the controls, moving on instinct rather than passion, as she awaited the signal. This was yet another Trial—a grueling test meant to determine her worth, her future in the Clan. For the younger cadets, it would be a moment of anticipation, a surge of adrenaline, but for her, it was just another obstacle in a path that felt increasingly pointless.
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TImber Wolf Heavy OmniMech
The landscape on her HUD was bleak and unforgiving: a barren expanse of jagged rocks and twisted cliffs under a sky heavy with dark clouds. Somewhere across this wasteland, her opponent—a fellow cadet, her sibkin—awaited in a Summoner, waiting to prove himself, to earn the honor of a warrior. She should have felt something—a spark of pride, the familiar bite of competition, but there was nothing. Only a hollow ache, a feeling that lingered long after the battles had ended.
The comms crackled with the voice of her instructor, harsh and detached. <<"Begin.">>
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Summoner Heavy OmniMech
Her sensors flared as the Summoner's signature appeared, closing in from the west. Her opponent moved with the eagerness of someone who had everything to prove, his steps heavy and determined as his Summoner approached, LRMs and lasers at the ready. She could almost feel his desperation, the raw need to impress, to win, to survive this test.
Liliana shifted her Timber Wolf forward, each step measured, almost mechanical. Her mind wandered, detached from the scene around her, her senses dulled by a fatigue that went deeper than exhaustion. She had fought this battle before, many times, against many foes. It was a pattern, a cycle, each fight blurring into the next, each victory tasting more bitter than the last.
The Summoner opened fire, a barrage of missiles arcing toward her. Her Timber Wolf's sensors flared as the warning indicators lit up, but she moved with a disinterest that bordered on carelessness, sidestepping the missiles with minimal effort. The LRMs exploded around her, the concussive force rocking her Timber Wolf, yet she barely reacted. Her hands moved instinctively, raising her ER Large Lasers, her HUD locking onto the Summoner's torso.
She fired, twin beams lancing out across the field, carving through the Summoner's armor with brutal efficiency. Her opponent staggered, his Summoner reeling under the assault, but he recovered quickly, his desperation evident in the way he maneuvered. He unleashed a stream of return fire, his lasers cutting through the air, scorching across her Timber Wolf's flank.
The impact barely registered. She turned, almost lazily, her attention drifting even as she lined up her next shot. The Summoner's movements were predictable, frantic, a cadet's desperate attempt to prove his worth. He lunged forward, trying to close the distance, his autocannon roaring as he unleashed a volley in her direction. She sidestepped, letting the shells tear into the ground beside her, a plume of dust rising in their wake.
Liliana's HUD flashed with the Summoner's damaged status, the structural integrity of his armor failing as he struggled to hold his ground. She could see the strain in his movements, the wild, desperate way he threw himself at her, his actions a mixture of fear and determination. He was fighting for his future, for his place in the Clan, but to her, it felt like little more than an inconvenience, another task to check off before she moved on.
Her Timber Wolf's systems hummed, her Medium Lasers primed and ready. She fired, the rapid bursts of energy slicing through the Summoner's side, tearing into its leg. The armor buckled under the assault, and her opponent stumbled, his Summoner lurching, barely maintaining balance.
For a moment, she hesitated, her finger hovering over the trigger. She could end it now, destroy him, end his dreams, his journey, but the thought held no satisfaction, no thrill. Her opponent was just another obstacle, a nameless figure in a long line of enemies who had fallen before her. His desperation, his struggle—it all felt hollow, meaningless.
But he didn't stop. Despite the damage, despite the odds, he pushed forward, his Summoner limping, smoke pouring from its wounded frame. His resolve, his refusal to yield, reminded her of something distant, a memory of herself, of battles fought with every ounce of strength she had. She remembered the fierce determination, the hunger to prove herself, to be more than just another face in the sibko.
But that fire had long since faded.
He charged, his autocannon firing in a final, desperate attempt, his lasers flaring as he threw everything he had into this one last attack. She barely flinched, her Timber Wolf pivoting to the side, evading the blast with ease. Her gaze fixed on him, a hollow gaze, her hand moving to the controls, not out of strategy but out of rote memory.
With a single, calculated press, she unleashed her ER Large Lasers, the beams cutting through the Summoner's torso with clinical precision. His 'Mech staggered, its core systems faltering, the energy surging through it as the armor melted away. He tried to steady himself, but she followed up, her Medium Pulse Lasers tearing through what little remained of his armor, punching through to the reactor.
The Summoner collapsed, its frame crumbling in a twisted heap, smoke and sparks spilling from its broken structure. The HUD marked the battle as won, her opponent defeated, his hopes dashed in a moment. She stared at the wreckage, a hollow feeling settling deeper within her, the faint echoes of a victory that brought no joy.
She could see him in her mind, the look of desperation, the fire in his eyes as he had fought with everything he had. He had believed this battle mattered, that his struggle held meaning, but in the end, it was just another trial, another fight that would be forgotten as quickly as it had begun.
The comm crackled, the instructor's voice breaking the silence. <<"Trial completed. Victory to Kits Fürst.">>
Victory. The word felt empty, lifeless, a hollow sound that held no substance. She had won, just as she had always done, but the victory tasted bitter, devoid of purpose. She was moving through the motions, each fight blending into the next, each win another step in a journey that felt increasingly meaningless.
She looked down at the shattered remains of the Summoner, at her fallen sibkin, who had fought so desperately to survive, to prove himself. In his final moments, he had given everything, poured his soul into the battle, but it had meant nothing. She had ended him with a flick of her hand, a calculated press of the trigger.
As she powered down her Timber Wolf, she felt the emptiness closing in, a weight pressing down on her, suffocating and cold. She was Smoke Jaguar, a warrior, a survivor, but each victory felt more hollow, each battle more like a chore, a task to complete rather than a purpose to fulfill. The fire that had once burned within her was little more than embers now, flickering in the face of a darkness she could not escape.
She climbed out of the Timber Wolf's cockpit, the chill of the hangar seeping into her bones, each step heavy, her body weighed down by a fatigue that went beyond physical exhaustion. The technicians and observers watched her, their faces a mix of respect and awe, but she felt nothing, their admiration as empty as the battlefield she had just left.
As she looked back at the Timber Wolf, at the machine that had been her only companion through countless battles, she felt the ache within her deepen. She had won, she had proven herself once more, but the victory felt like dust in her hands. She wondered if there would ever be a battle that would matter again, if she would ever feel the fire that had once driven her forward, that had given her life meaning.
Or if, perhaps, she was destined to wander this path, a warrior without purpose, a hunter without a pack, her victories hollow, her journey nothing more than an endless march toward a darkness that waited, unchanging and eternal.
And as she turned away, leaving the Timber Wolf behind, she whispered a question to the silence, a question that lingered, unanswered, as she walked away to her quarter.
Sitting in the cold silence of her quarters, her codex open before her, the dim light casting a shadow over its pages. She entered the kill data from the trial—the Summoner's destruction, the tactical breakdown, the efficiency of her maneuvers—all recorded with mechanical precision. The victory felt like just another mark in an endless list, each one blending into the next. Her fingers moved with practiced ease over the codex, filling in the details, but her mind felt as empty as the words she was writing.
The fight had ended swiftly. Her opponent, her sibkin, had been no match for her. He had fought with desperation, with the raw hunger of someone who knew failure would mean the end of his path as a warrior. But his efforts, his resolve… they had all been meaningless in the face of her skill. She had ended the fight as she had done countless times before, with a calculated precision that left her feeling nothing but a hollow ache.
Another cadet demoted to the science caste, another soul lost to the relentless standards of the Clan. It should have meant something, a reminder of her superiority, her strength. But instead, it felt like just one more reminder of the emptiness that had taken root inside her.
She thought of her Clan, of Huntress, of that last stand when everything had fallen apart. She had fought with every ounce of her strength, had poured her soul into defending her Clan, her comrades, the only family she had ever known. But she had failed them. She had been the last to fall on Huntress, but that was small comfort in the face of her defeat, her inability to protect the people who had meant everything to her. She had failed her Clan once, and now, here in this second chance, she felt as though she were failing them again, each victory feeling more hollow than the last.
She closed her codex, her gaze drifting to the small metal cord tied to her belt—a reminder of her place in the Trials of Position. In a few months, she and her remaining sibkin would face the final trial, the one that would determine everything: their rank, their future, their very right to live as warriors. It should have filled her with anticipation, a sense of purpose, but instead, it felt like another weary step in an endless march toward nothingness.
Her gaze fell to the corded emblem on the inside cover of her codex, marking her earlier triumph—a Trial of Bloodright. She had earned that cord once, long ago, in her first life. She had been younger, fiercer, and filled with a relentless drive to prove herself. She remembered the pride she had felt then, the fire that had burned within her as she entered that arena, determined to win her place, to claim her bloodname and secure her place in Clan Smoke Jaguar.
Back then, it had meant everything.
The Trial had been brutal, a grueling test against seasoned warriors, each one older, stronger, each one desperate to defend their place in the line. She had fought them, one by one, eliminating each opponent with the ruthless precision that had defined her as a cadet. Her skill had been undeniable, her hunger unmatched. She had earned the right to the Fürstebloodname, a name tied to her genetic line, to her very identity as a warrior.
The memory of that moment lingered, bittersweet, as she remembered the pride that had once filled her. Her Star Captain, a proud bearer of the Furste bloodline, had sponsored her for that Trial, recognizing in her a kindred spirit, a warrior worthy of carrying the name. It had been her moment of triumph, the culmination of everything she had fought for, a testament to her strength and her lineage.
But there had been another—Krysta, her rival, her closest companion and her fiercest opponent. They had been equals, each pushing the other to new heights, each determined to claim the bloodname for themselves. Krysta, too, had been sponsored by the same Star Captain, an acknowledgment of her skill, her potential. The two of them had entered the Trial as competitors, as friends, as rivals bound by a history of shared struggles.
In the end, it had come down to the two of them, standing alone amidst the broken bodies of their opponents, their mechs wrecked and smoking. Their fight had spilled from their machines into the arena itself, where they had faced each other hand to hand, each unwilling to yield, each determined to prove their worth. The clash had been fierce, brutal, a battle not just of strength but of will. They had torn into each other, fists and blood, bones breaking, breaths ragged, every ounce of their being thrown into that final, desperate struggle.
And in the end, it had been her she forces her to yield, her strength that had carried her to victory. She had claimed the Furste bloodname, the only member of her sibko to earn that honor, the only one to rise to that pinnacle of achievement. She had thought it would complete her, that the bloodname would solidify her place in the Clan, her identity as a warrior.
But now, as she looked at that cord, as she remembered that moment of triumph, it felt empty, hollow. The pride she had once felt had faded, replaced by an ache that gnawed at her with each passing day. Krysta was gone, her comrades were gone, her Clan was gone. The name, the honor, all of it felt like nothing more than echoes, faint memories of a life that had died long ago on the burning fields of Huntress.
The truth settled over her, cold and unyielding. She had won, yes, but what had it mattered? She had earned her place, her bloodname, her title, but it had all crumbled to dust. And here, in this second life, it felt like she was walking the same path, destined to repeat the same trials, the same battles, the same hollow victories that led only to loss.
She leaned back, her hand resting on the corded emblem, her gaze distant as she traced its edges. It had once been a symbol of pride, of achievement, of everything she had believed in. Now it felt like a chain, a reminder of a past that haunted her, a burden she could never escape.
A part of her wanted to tear it off, to throw it away, to let go of the weight of that bloodname, of that legacy. But she couldn't. She was bound to it, to her Clan, to the memories of the kin she had lost. She was a Fürste, a Smoke Jaguar, but that identity felt like little more than a mask, a hollow title clinging to the fragments of her shattered soul.
She closed her eyes, feeling the emptiness within her deepen, a void that nothing could fill. She had won so many battles, had claimed her place as a warrior, as a bloodnamed Jaguar, but now, in this silence, it all felt meaningless. Each trial, each victory, each kill—it all faded into a cycle of blood and ashes, a journey that seemed to lead nowhere.
And in a few months, she would face yet another Trial, the final step in this new life. It would determine her future, her rank, her role in a Clan that felt like a shadow of what it once was. She should have felt something—anticipation, resolve, the fierce drive that had once defined her. But all she felt was a hollow dread, a quiet resignation that whispered that this, too, would end in ashes.
Liliana stared at the codex, at the list of kills, the mark of her victories, and felt a sadness settle over her, deep and unyielding. She had fought, she had survived, but each victory felt like a step further from everything she had once held dear. She was Smoke Jaguar, a bloodnamed warrior, but that identity felt like little more than a ghost, a fading echo of a life that had slipped away.
Her hand tightened around the corded emblem, her grip fierce, desperate, as though holding it could somehow bring back the fire that had once burned within her. But as she sat there, alone in the silence, she felt that fire slipping further away, leaving her with nothing but the cold weight of memories and the hollow ache of a future that held nothing but more of the same.
And as she gazed down at the emblem, at the symbol of her triumph, she whispered a question into the emptiness, her voice barely more than a breath, lost in the quiet.
The silence felt oppressive, as if the very walls were pressing in, reminding her of just how truly alone she was. She tried to come to terms with it, to find meaning in this strange second life, but each day, each trial, each victory left her feeling only more hollow. Being alive again seemed more like a curse than a blessing—a cruel twist of fate that had taken everything she once held dear and left her adrift in a world that was no longer her own.
Once again she once found comfort in solitude, in the quiet moments between battles, when she could focus her mind, center herself, prepare for the challenges ahead. But this silence was different. It was not the calm before a storm but an emptiness that stretched on endlessly, a void that she could not fill no matter how hard she tried. She had lost her Clan, her kin, her purpose, and now, even as she fought and won, she felt like nothing more than a shadow—a warrior without a cause, a weapon without a purpose.
Her gaze drifted to the emblem on her codex, the symbol of her bloodname, her place in Clan Smoke Jaguar, and she felt a pang of bitterness. She had earned this honor, had fought and bled for it, but now it felt like a hollow relic, a reminder of a life that had ended on the burning fields of Huntress. She could feel the weight of her past pressing down on her, a weight that grew heavier with each passing day, each empty victory.
Her mind drifted back to a different time, a time when she had felt the fire of purpose burning within her, when the call to arms had meant something more than survival, more than hollow duty. She remembered Operation Revival, the excitement, the pride she had felt as they prepared to reclaim the Inner Sphere, to fulfill the legacy of Aleksandr Kerensky and the Star League. It had been her moment, her destiny, to be part of something greater than herself.
She closed her eyes, and the memory came back to her, vivid and sharp. She was aboard her DropShip, surrounded by her sibkin, all of them eager, determined, their hearts filled with a fierce pride as they prepared to descend upon the Inner Sphere. It was then that she had heard the Voice of Kerensky, the ancient words of the Great Father echoing through the comms, a message recorded centuries ago, a message of hope, of duty, of love.
"To all citizens of the Inner Sphere do I, Aleksandr Kerensky, send greetings. Know that I have taken the remnant of the Star League Defense Force which has remained true to its purpose beyond the boundaries of the Inner Sphere, beyond the Periphery. I have done this, neither out of disappointment with those whom we leave behind, nor out of spite or disdain, as some will say. No, we have left the Inner Sphere because we love it too much to see it destroyed."
She had felt those words deep in her soul, a connection to something ancient, something pure. Kerensky's love for humanity, his dream of a future free from war, had inspired her, had given her a sense of purpose, of destiny. She had believed, with every fiber of her being, that she was part of that vision, that her actions, her battles, would bring honor to the Great Father, that she would be part of the Star League reborn.
But now, as she sat here, alone and adrift, she felt a creeping doubt, a quiet question that gnawed at the edges of her mind.
"Is this what you wanted, Great Father?" she whispered into the silence, her voice barely audible. "Is this the legacy you dreamed of?"
Kerensky had spoken of duty, of a responsibility to protect, to guide, to serve—not to conquer, not to destroy. He had left the Inner Sphere not out of hatred but out of love, a desire to shield humanity from the horrors of war. And yet, here she was, a warrior bred for battle, raised to kill, trained to subjugate the very people her ancestors had sworn to protect. The Clans had returned to the Inner Sphere with fire and fury, not to serve or to guide, but to claim, to rule, to impose their will through strength alone.
The words of Kerensky echoed in her mind. "Thus, we have left the only homes we have ever known to place the destructive capability of this armada beyond the reach of those who would use it, not for defense, but for conquest. Perhaps, with the might of our 'Mechs and ships out of reach, the leaders who now grapple with one another will relinquish their dreams of subjugating their neighbors and learn to live in peace with them."
A bitter smile twisted her lips. Peace. The Great Father had spoken of peace, of a hope that humanity would learn to live in harmony without the shadow of war. And yet, the Clans had returned to the Inner Sphere as conquerors, bringing with them the very power he had sought to shield them from. She had been part of that invasion, a warrior of Clan Smoke Jaguar, proud and fierce, fighting for the honor of her Clan. But now, as she looked back, she wondered if they had betrayed the very ideals they claimed to uphold.
The Clans had not returned to protect or to serve; they had come to dominate, to impose their strength upon a people they viewed as inferior, as weak. She had once believed in that strength, had believed that it was their right, their duty, to reclaim the Inner Sphere, to restore the Star League by force if necessary. But now, in the quiet of her empty quarters, she felt a hollow ache, a quiet doubt that whispered that perhaps, in their quest for glory, they had lost sight of the Great Father's true vision.
"Perhaps, one day, should mankind step back from the brink of the abyss, we, our children, or our children's children will return, to once more serve and protect and guide the Star League in mankind's quest for the stars. Farewell."
His final words, filled with a quiet hope, a belief that the future could be different, that one day, humanity might find a way to step back from the brink, to live without war, without the endless cycle of destruction. She had once believed that she was part of that hope, that her actions, her battles, would lead to a brighter future. But now, all she saw was blood, ashes, the ruins of her Clan, and a life defined by violence, by solitude.
The Clans had not brought peace; they had brought more war, more death. They had become the very thing Kerensky had sought to prevent, the very force he had hoped to shield humanity from. And here she was, a warrior of Smoke Jaguar, a relic of that ambition, left to wander a path that felt like nothing more than an endless echo of battles that held no meaning.
"Great Father," she whispered, her voice trembling, her heart aching with a sorrow she could not put into words, "is this truly what you wanted? Is this the legacy you dreamed of?"
The silence offered no answer, only the weight of her own doubts pressing down on her, a heavy, suffocating presence that felt like it would crush her. She was a warrior, a product of the Clan's ideals, but now those ideals felt like little more than chains, binding her to a life that felt empty, purposeless.
She had once thought that this second chance would give her a purpose, a chance to rebuild, to reclaim the honor of her Clan. But now, she wondered if it was all just a lie, a cruel joke played by fate, a reminder of everything she had lost, of a dream that had turned to dust.
With a shuddering breath, she leaned back, her eyes closing, her mind drifting through the memories of her life, her battles, her victories. She had fought, she had survived, but now, in this endless solitude, she felt more lost than ever.
"Was it worth it?" she whispered, the question hanging in the air, a fragile, broken sound that faded into the silence. "Was any of it worth it?"
And as she sat there, alone in the darkness, the words of Aleksandr Kerensky lingered the great father himself echoed in her mind, a haunting reminder of a dream that had died long ago, a dream that now felt as distant and unreachable as the stars themselves.
- Note from the Author
- Now a question can a Kit take another Kit as a bondsmen during trials? Because I have no clue and the lore doesn't want to tell me about it.