SABERS: Shadows of Ravena

The young man who had led Eilífr into the underground sanctuary stepped forward as the civilians began to murmur amongst themselves. He seemed to gather his nerves, standing a bit taller now that the immediate danger had passed. His name, as he introduced himself, was Theo Vallas, and he couldn't have been more than 19 or 20.

Theo had a wiry build, with sharp features that carried the early weight of adulthood. His dark brown hair was cropped short, though unevenly, as though cut in haste or by someone with little practice. A few strands fell across his forehead, damp with sweat. His hazel eyes were alert and calculating, darting frequently between Eilífr and the corners of the room, as if always expecting the next threat. His patched jacket hung loosely over his lean frame, a worn utility belt cinched tight around his waist.

"Follow me," Theo said, his voice firm but cautious, as though he wasn't entirely sure giving orders to a giant armored soldier was the smartest thing to do.

Eilífr gave a slow nod, the slight whir of his servo-motors the only response.

Theo led him through the underground labyrinth, weaving past makeshift sleeping areas, crude kitchen setups, and clusters of civilians who watched the towering figure with a mix of fear and awe. The air was heavy with the scent of earth and metal, and the hum of faintly powered lights strung along the ceilings added an eerie glow to the corridors.

"This place used to be part of the old metro system," Theo explained as they walked. "We've spent years expanding it. Reinforcing it. Keeps us safe—well, safer—from the Extractants."

Eilífr's visor scanned the surroundings, the glowing interface marking structural weaknesses and highlighting key features of the environment. The tunnel walls were reinforced with scavenged steel plates and concrete slabs, crude but effective.

"How long have you been here?" Eilífr asked, his modulated voice reverberating softly off the walls.

Theo glanced back at him. "Five years. Maybe more. Hard to keep track when you're just trying to survive day to day."

As they moved deeper, the tunnels opened into a larger cavern. This space had been transformed into what could almost be called a town square. Several makeshift shelters were clustered together, and the faint sound of children laughing echoed from one corner, where a small group played with handmade toys.

Finally, Theo led Eilífr to a sturdy door at the far end of the cavern. It was crafted from layers of salvaged metal and reinforced with bolts the size of a man's fist. Theo knocked twice, then pushed it open, revealing a modest office-like space inside.

Seated behind a battered wooden desk was an older man with a commanding presence despite his plain attire. His name was Marcus Colridge, and he carried himself with a dignity that spoke of a different life—one of order, respect, and authority.

Marcus was in his late 50s, with a broad frame that suggested he had once been a man of great physical strength. His hair was silver, cropped neatly, though streaks of ash-gray hinted at the toll of his years underground. His face was weathered, lined with deep creases around his eyes and mouth, but his steel-gray eyes remained sharp and unyielding. He wore a plain gray shirt tucked into well-worn trousers, the kind of practical attire suited to a life of hardship.

Theo stepped aside, gesturing toward Eilífr. "Mayor Colridge, this is… uh…"

"Eilífr," the armored soldier interjected, his towering form stepping into the room with a low mechanical hum.

Marcus rose from his seat, his gaze unwavering as he studied the massive figure before him. "You're not what I expected," he said, his deep voice calm but laced with curiosity.

"Neither are you," Eilífr replied simply.

The two men regarded each other for a long moment, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Finally, Marcus extended a calloused hand.

"Welcome to what's left of Morgan," he said. "We're glad you found us."

Eilífr glanced at the hand for a moment before reaching out, his massive gauntlet carefully gripping Marcus's much smaller hand.

Eilífr leaned back slightly, his imposing frame filling the small room as Marcus gestured for him to take a seat. He declined, standing with arms crossed over his broad chest, his golden armor faintly reflecting the warm glow of the overhead light. Marcus settled back into his chair with a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose before speaking.

"You must have questions," Marcus began, his voice steady but laced with fatigue.

"A few," Eilífr replied, his modulated voice even. "I wasn't expecting to find civilians here, let alone a functioning community. How have you managed to survive? Morgan was classified as a dead zone after the Extractants overwhelmed it six years ago."

Marcus folded his hands on the desk, his gray eyes meeting Eilífr's visor without flinching. "It wasn't easy. When the Extractants came, the city didn't stand a chance. Their initial attack was like a tidal wave—unstoppable. The government evacuated most of the population, but some of us didn't make it to the extraction points in time. Others refused to leave. Families with sick or elderly relatives. People who thought they could wait it out."

Eilífr listened in silence, his gaze unwavering as Marcus continued.

"At first, we hid in basements and shelters, thinking it would only be a matter of days before reinforcements arrived. But days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. When we realized no one was coming, we knew we had to fend for ourselves." Marcus gestured broadly around the room, as if indicating the entire underground haven. "We found the old metro system, cleared out the tunnels, and reinforced the walls. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep us alive."

"How did you avoid detection?" Eilífr asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. "The Extractants are relentless. They would have sensed you eventually."

Marcus nodded grimly. "They did, at first. We lost a lot of people in the early days. But we learned. We figured out how they detect movement and sound. The metro's depth and steel shielding helped mask our presence, and we developed routines to minimize noise and energy signatures. We don't use advanced tech down here unless it's absolutely necessary. Keeps us off their radar."

Eilífr's HUD scanned the room, noting the faint heat signatures and low-power circuits in the walls. The people here had adapted, but their resources were clearly stretched thin.

"You've done well to survive this long," Eilífr admitted. "But survival isn't sustainable. Supplies must be running low. Food, medicine…"

Marcus let out a dry chuckle, though there was little humor in it. "You're not wrong. We grow what we can in makeshift greenhouses. But it's a fragile balance. One bad harvest or a single mistake could doom us all."

Eilífr's mind raced as he processed the information. This wasn't just a group of stragglers clinging to life. They were organized, resourceful, and determined. But they were also vulnerable, trapped in a dead city surrounded by an implacable enemy.

"Have you ever tried to leave?" he asked, his voice neutral.

Marcus's expression darkened. "We've discussed it. Even made attempts. But the Extractants are everywhere. Their patrols are unpredictable, their numbers overwhelming. Most of the people here wouldn't make it a mile above ground. And then there are the children…"

Eilífr thought of the little girl he'd encountered earlier, her wide eyes filled with a mixture of fear and wonder. He understood Marcus's hesitation.

"How many of you are there?" Eilífr asked after a moment.

"Forty-two," Marcus replied. "Forty-three, if you count me. And every one of them has a story—families lost, homes destroyed, lives uprooted."

Eilífr nodded slowly, his mind working through the implications. These people weren't part of his mission. They weren't supposed to exist, not here, not now. Yet their presence changed everything. His original objective—marking the hives for destruction—was no longer viable. Flattening the city would mean condemning these survivors to death.

"You're in a no-man's-land," Eilífr said bluntly. "A single scream could bring them down on you, and you've got no means of defense against a full-scale attack."

Marcus's jaw tightened. "We know the risks. But we also know this is home. For some of us, it's all that's left. If we abandon it, we're just prolonging the inevitable."

Eilífr respected the man's resolve, but he couldn't ignore the reality of their situation. He'd been trained to think strategically, to weigh risks and benefits with cold precision. Yet here he was, faced with a moral dilemma he hadn't anticipated.

"What's your plan, Eilífr?" Marcus asked, leaning forward slightly. "You're clearly not just passing through. Whatever brought you here, I'm guessing it wasn't to play tour guide."

Eilífr hesitated for a moment, then spoke. "My mission was to mark Extractant hives for an airstrike. That's off the table now. My priority is ensuring your survival. But I'll need to make contact with my command to update them on the situation."

"Easier said than done," Marcus said. "The comms are useless this far underground."

"I'll figure it out," Eilífr replied. His visor dimmed slightly as he glanced toward the closed door.

Marcus nodded, his expression unreadable. "I'll leave you to it, then. And… thank you. Whatever happens, thank you."

Eilífr didn't respond. Instead, he turned and left the room, his armored footsteps echoing softly in the dim corridor. His mind was already racing, formulating plans and contingencies. For the first time in a long while, his mission wasn't just about his survival. He had to ensure the direct survival of others.