SABERS: Shadows of Ravena

Eilífr stopped abruptly, his body tensing. Beneath his armored boots, the sensation changed. The expected metallic thud of his step, echoing faintly in the hollow room, was muted—softened as if the ground were absorbing the impact. His gaze dropped instinctively, his honed instincts on high alert.

"Platamoes?" he thought, the term for hidden infrastructure coming to mind. He took another cautious step, and the sensation repeated—a faint give beneath his weight, subtle but undeniable. Slowly, his gaze swept the room, and for the first time, he fully registered his surroundings.

Vines twisted across metal beams, draping down like curtains. Bushes and small trees sprouted from large, rusted planters, their branches heavy with fruits and vegetables. The air, while stale, carried a faint earthy tang. It wasn't the overgrowth of unchecked wilderness—it was deliberate. Cultivated. He was standing in a greenhouse.

Human food.

Eilífr froze, his breath catching as the realization hit him. What he'd thought were random plant clusters were actually organized rows of crops. Tomatoes, beans, berries—produce that hadn't been seen outside controlled facilities since the early days of the war. His armored gauntlet brushed against a hanging vine, and for a brief moment, the soldier in him faltered, replaced by the faint stirrings of curiosity.

Then came the sound.

CLATTER.

Eilífr's rifle snapped up in an instant, his stance fluid and controlled, aiming toward the source of the noise. His golden visor reflected the dim light of the room as he scanned for the threat. His heartbeat slowed, his training taking over.

What he found wasn't an Extractant.

Instead, standing frozen in fear was a young girl, no older than eight or nine, her wide eyes locked on his towering frame. Dirt smudged her face, and her trembling hands gripped the edge of a basket she'd dropped. Fruits rolled across the floor.

"What's a child doing here?" he thought, his mind racing.

He lowered his weapon slightly and took a step toward her, his voice modulator softening. "What are you—"

"AAAHH!"

Her scream pierced the silence, raw and terrified. Before he could react, a boy—just barely in his teens—rushed forward, clamping a hand over her mouth and pulling her close. His eyes darted to Eilífr, wide with shock and awe.

Eilífr understood the reaction. An eight-foot-tall armored figure wasn't a comforting sight, especially not to civilians who might have only heard myths about SABERs.

But his attention snapped away from the children as the ground beneath them began to tremble.

A low, guttural rumble rolled through the building. The sound was unmistakable. He knew it too well. The Extractants were coming—drawn by the girl's scream.

Eilífr's grip tightened on his rifle as he scanned the room, calculating the best defensive position. His voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the growing panic. "Stay behind me. I'll—"

"NO!" the boy interrupted, his voice desperate. "DON'T SHOOT! FOLLOW ME!"

For a moment, Eilífr hesitated, torn between the boy's plea and his own instincts. Then he nodded. If the boy had a plan, he'd follow for now. "Lead the way."

The boy grabbed the girl's hand, and they bolted through the greenhouse. Eilífr followed close behind, his heavy boots thudding against the floor. The rumble grew louder, the Extractants closing in. He didn't have to look back to know they were seconds away.

They reached a pair of massive metal doors, rusted but reinforced, resembling a bank vault. The boy tugged desperately at the handle, his efforts barely moving the heavy barrier.

"Move," Eilífr commanded, stepping forward.

Gripping the handles with his gauntlets, he activated his suit's hydraulic assist. A faint whirring noise accompanied the surge of power as the suit amplified his strength. The doors groaned, metal grinding against metal, before they finally slid open.

"Inside!" he barked.

The boy and girl scrambled through first, followed by Eilífr. He pulled the doors shut behind him just as the first Extractant screeched in the distance. The locks clicked into place with a satisfying thunk.

Eilífr turned, his rifle still in hand, and froze.

The room before him wasn't empty.

Forty pairs of eyes stared back at him, wide and unblinking. Men, women, and children of all ages crowded the space, their expressions a mix of fear and disbelief. Makeshift beds lined the walls, and supplies were stacked in carefully organized piles. The space was cramped but meticulously maintained.

This wasn't some random shelter. This was a community. People were surviving here—right in the middle of a zone marked for annihilation.

Eilífr's mind raced. This wasn't in the mission brief. The city was supposed to be a dead zone, overrun with Extractants. No civilians. No survivors.

He clicked his comms. "HQ, come in."

Static.

"SABER-1 requesting assistance. HQ, do you copy?"

Nothing.

He clicked his tongue in frustration, his golden visor sweeping the room. The metallic walls, the depth of the shelter—it all made sense. The signal interference wasn't an accident. Between the mountain and the layers of reinforced steel, his comms were useless.

Eilífr lowered his rifle slowly, his mind shifting to the next step. Operation Falling Thunder was no longer viable. He couldn't mark the city for destruction, not with this many people living beneath it.

For the first time in years, he found himself at a loss. He needed new orders. But for now, there was only one option: ensure these civilians survived.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint sound of muffled breathing. The crowd of civilians pressed against the walls, their fear palpable, eyes darting between each other and the imposing figure that loomed at the entrance.

Eilífr stood motionless, his armored bulk a monolith in the dimly lit shelter. His golden visor reflected the faint light from the ceiling fixtures, obscuring any semblance of humanity from his form. He scanned the room again, calculating the odds of an attack breaking through this sanctuary.

A faint rustling sound caught his attention.

From the group, the little girl stepped forward hesitantly, her bare feet silent against the cold floor. She clutched a small, tattered cloth doll in one hand, its button eyes dangling by threads. Her unruly hair was a rich auburn, tied back into a loose braid that had frayed in places. Dirt smudged her round cheeks, but her pale blue eyes shone with a brightness that even fear couldn't completely dim. Her oversized sweater hung off her slender frame, its sleeves rolled up to reveal scrawny arms. The faded hem brushed against patched leggings, and her feet were dusted with grime.

She stopped just a few steps from Eilífr, staring up at the armored titan with wide eyes. Her tiny frame looked impossibly small next to his massive bulk.

"Are you…" She hesitated, her small voice trembling slightly. "Are you human?"

The question hit him harder than it should have. For a moment, Eilífr didn't answer, his mind spinning with memories of everything that made him not human anymore. He glanced down at the girl, her innocence cutting through the cold logic of his augmented thoughts.

He crouched slowly, reducing the gap in their heights but still towering over her. His voice, filtered through his helmet's modulator, softened as much as the machine allowed.

"Yes," he said. "I'm human."

She tilted her head slightly, studying him as though trying to see past the golden visor. "You don't look like one."

A faint chuckle escaped him, humorless and dry. "I get that a lot."

The girl tightened her grip on the doll, her courage growing. "My name's Ella," she said, her voice steadying.

Eilífr tilted his head slightly, the faintest gesture of acknowledgement. "Ella. It's nice to meet you."

She took a small step closer, her gaze still locked on his visor. "What's your name?"

He paused for a moment, then answered. "Eilífr."

Ella blinked, the unfamiliar name rolling through her mind. "Eel-eef-uh?"

"Close enough," he replied with a faint trace of amusement.

She gave him a cautious smile, her nervousness melting into curiosity. "Why are you here?"

"I'm here to keep you safe." The words came easily, but as they left his mouth, Eilífr felt the weight of them settle on his shoulders.

Ella's small smile widened just a little. "You're really big," she said, her tone lighter now. "Like... really, really big."

Eilífr let out a low, amused hum. "And you're really, really small."

Her giggle echoed softly through the room, breaking the tension like a warm breeze. Behind her, the gathered civilians seemed to exhale all at once, the fear in their eyes replaced by tentative hope.

Ella stepped back, glancing over her shoulder at the others. "He's okay," she said confidently, her voice carrying across the room. "He's with us."

Eilífr straightened, his full height once again casting a long shadow. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to feel something he hadn't in years: the faintest flicker of humanity. Her words reminded him of the gravity of his presence. He wasn't just an armored soldier on a mission. He always was, and always will be a shield for humanity—and now, he had people to protect.