SABERS: Shadows of Ravena

Icarus lay sprawled on her narrow bunk, one arm draped across her forehead, her other hand clutching the small comms receiver like it might somehow force the silence to break. The faint hum of the nearby ventilation system filled the air, a constant companion to the emptiness around her. Outside the barracks, the city was alive with its usual hum of activity—vehicles moving, distant drills echoing, voices shouting orders—but in her tiny quarters, it was quiet. Too quiet.

Her eyes flicked to the comms unit on the small metal table beside her. It blinked uselessly, the faint blue light pulsing every few seconds to remind her it was still trying. Still waiting for him to respond. Just like she was.

Seven days, she thought bitterly. Seven days since he said he'd check in.

She let out a slow breath, dragging her arm down from her face to stare up at the ceiling. She felt heavy—weighted down by the gnawing worry she didn't dare speak aloud. Worry about him. About his silence.

"I hate this part of him," she muttered, her voice breaking the stillness, as if saying it out loud might lighten the load. "Leaving me all alone and shit with worry."

The words hung in the air, sharper than she intended. A harsh truth.

She sat up, running a hand through her messy, dark hair before leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. Her fingers kneaded her temples as she glared at the comms. "Damn it, Eilífr… Couldn't you just—just once—not pull this crap?"

Her frustration couldn't mask the undertone of something deeper—something aching. She wasn't naïve. She knew what he was—what they both were. People like them didn't get safety nets, didn't get promises of always coming home. But that didn't stop her from hoping, from waiting for him to remind her he was still out there, still alive.

The comms unit blinked again—the same, meaningless pulse. Icarus scowled at it like she could intimidate it into spitting out a message.

She dropped back onto her bunk with a sharp exhale, folding her hands behind her head. Her gaze fixed on the overhead light, the bulb flickering ever so slightly. "You're fine," she told herself quietly, as if the words might settle her mind. "He's fine. He always is."

But even as she said it, that familiar knot of doubt twisted in her gut.

She hated waiting.

She hated the silence.

And most of all, she hated how much of herself she'd tethered to a man who would disappear into the shadows without hesitation, leaving her behind to agonize over the worst.

Turning onto her side, she pulled the thin blanket up to her shoulder, staring at the far wall where a crooked map of the territories was pinned. Her brow furrowed. "Hurry up, Eilífr," she thought. "Before I fly out there myself and drag your ass back."

Her eyes drifted shut, though she knew sleep wouldn't come. Not until the comms crackled to life. Not until she heard his voice again.

BEEPBEEPBEEP, BEEPBEEPBEEP

The sharp, insistent beep of her comm unit jolted Icarus awake, cutting through the fog of restless sleep. She rolled out of bed with startling speed, her heart already racing as her bleary eyes locked onto the blinking green light. Her pulse quickened even more—not from the abrupt wake-up, but from hope. Finally.

Snatching the comm unit, she pressed the receiver with a mix of urgency and frustration. "You bastard!" she barked into the device, her voice hoarse from sleep and anger. "You promised you'd call every five days! It's been 11! Eleven fucking days! Do you even realize how worried I've been?"

She barely paused to breathe, the words tumbling out of her mouth like an unstoppable torrent.

"Lieutenant Trottle," a calm, authoritative voice interrupted, one that was distinctly not Eilífr. "I take it this means you haven't heard from SABER-1."

The words hit her like a slap, and her stomach dropped. The voice belonged to the Colonel. Not him. She blinked, the frustration draining from her face as reality snapped into focus. "What?" she stammered, the adrenaline in her veins turning ice-cold.

"I was calling to get an update," the Colonel said, his tone clipped but free of the usual disdain he reserved for conversations about Eilífr. "SABER-1 typically reports to you first before he goes dark. When we didn't receive any intel yesterday, we concluded something might be wrong."

Her grip tightened on the comm, her knuckles whitening. No intel? That wasn't like Eilífr. He always left updates—briefings, reconnaissance notes, something—even if it was just to shave seconds off his timeline. He wasn't careless.

Her chest ached as her heart pounded louder, drowning out the Colonel's words for a moment. She forced herself to focus, her voice trembling slightly. "What do you mean, something's wrong?"

The Colonel's reply was measured, as if he'd already considered every angle. "The fact that he hasn't contacted you, me, or HQ for over ten days—especially during an operation of this magnitude—suggests that he's in trouble."

Her breath caught in her throat, a thousand worst-case scenarios flashing through her mind. "Sir," she began, trying to keep her voice steady, "if you're playing some kind of sick joke—"

"This isn't a joke, Lieutenant," the Colonel cut her off firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You know as well as I do that Eilífr doesn't disappear without a damn good reason."

She wanted to snap, to scream, to tell him she wasn't in the mood for games or grim assessments. But she knew better. Despite their differences, she trusted the Colonel's judgment when it came to the mission. Failure wasn't in either of their vocabularies, especially when it came to Eilífr.

"Then what do we do?" she asked, her voice quieter now but still edged with desperation.

There was a pause on the other end of the line before the Colonel answered. "I've already begun planning a contingency. If we don't hear from him in the next 24 hours, we'll assemble a recon team. I wanted to inform you first."

Icarus sat heavily on the edge of her bunk, her free hand raking through her dishevelled hair. She couldn't remember the last time her heart had felt this heavy. "Understood, sir," she said finally, though the words felt hollow.

"Keep your comms on," the Colonel added. "If he does reach out, you're to inform me immediately."

"Yes, sir."

The comm line clicked off, and silence filled the room once again. Icarus stared at the blinking green light, now dimmed to signify the call had ended. She set the unit down with shaking hands and buried her face in them.

"Damn it, Eilífr," she muttered under her breath, her voice cracking. "Why do you always have to do this?"

She looked up at the small map pinned on her wall, her eyes tracing the rough location of his last known drop point. The knots in her stomach tightened, her mind spinning with questions she couldn't answer.

He's fine, she told herself for what felt like the hundredth time. He always is.

But this time, she wasn't so sure.

City of Morgan, Same Moment Timeframe

"It'll have to do," Eilífr muttered under his breath, his voice muffled by the imposing bulk of his helmet. He stood at the edge of a clearing, the moonlight filtering through the sparse canopy above, casting pale beams onto the forest floor. For three days, he'd barely moved from this spot. Every instinct screamed at him to stay vigilant. The stillness around him wasn't a comfort—it was a warning.

His sharp eyes scanned the treeline, searching for any flicker of movement, any unnatural sound. Yet, there was nothing. No signs of the Extractants. No faint vibrations of their approach. Nothing to suggest they were even nearby. That in itself was unsettling. He couldn't afford to let his guard down, not here, not ever.

The air was crisp and quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn't entirely natural. It gnawed at him, forcing him to consider his next move. He had two plans, both contingent on the same critical factor—communication.

The first step was contacting Icarus. She'd be waiting, probably pacing back and forth in some dingy barracks, cursing his name under her breath. He could practically hear her expletive-laden tirade about his lack of punctuality. That thought almost brought a smirk to his face, but the situation was too grim for humor.

The second step was contacting HQ. Whatever he reported to them would determine the next phase of his mission—and the fate of the civilians he'd found.

He exhaled, the sound harsh and mechanical through his helmet's filters. His gaze drifted back to the clearing. It wasn't ideal, but it was the best chance he had of getting a signal through. Thick steel and layers of soil had rendered his comms useless in the underground refuge. Out here, under open skies, he might finally get through.

He knelt down, removing a compact comms beacon from a compartment in his armor. It whirred softly as it powered up, and he placed it on the ground with care. The beacon emitted a faint, rhythmic pulse of light, and Eilífr adjusted its frequency, aligning it with the long-range band he needed to reach.

He straightened up, his eyes scanning the horizon once more. The night remained eerily still. Too still.

"SIR! INCOMING MESSAGE FROM SABER-1! URGENCY LEVEL ONE—IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED!" a voice called from the back of the command room, sharp and urgent.

The Colonel's head snapped up from the tactical display. "What is it?" he barked, his tone cutting through the low hum of activity in the room.

There was a pause as the comms operator frantically worked to decrypt the incoming message. The room seemed to hold its breath. Finally, the operator spoke, his voice taut with disbelief.

"Sir… SABER-1 has encountered forty-two civilians. He's requesting extraction at coordinates 34.6574° N, 34.5895° W. Designation: LZ Hotel."

The room fell into stunned silence, as if the weight of the words had physically pressed down on everyone present. Civilians. It had been so long since anyone had reported finding survivors after the Extractant collapse that protocols for handling such a situation were little more than a distant memory.

The Colonel stood still, his sharp gaze fixed on the operator as the gravity of the situation settled over him. After a beat, he turned to his staff, his voice low and commanding.

"Get me a full tactical assessment. I want every available asset ready to mobilize to that location."

"Yes, sir!" came the immediate reply, and the room burst into a flurry of activity.

But even as the command center came alive, the Colonel remained still, his mind racing. Forty-two civilians. He hadn't dared to hope they'd find any survivors, let alone this many. For the first time in years, the war against the Extractants had offered something other than despair: a fragile, fleeting spark of life.

It all made sense now. With civilians in the picture, SABER-1 had to make the tough call on his own with how to extract them. Too long of a call would have flagged any signal-sensitive Extractant.

"Good work SABER." He whispered under his breath.