Chapter 103: Reports From the Edge

The first report reached the palace nearly a month after the Pit had taken everything from Reven and Yegard both, arriving through routine Imperial Command channels as a brief, troubling notation on an otherwise unremarkable security briefing, and it was only Alouis’s careful, methodical attention that caught the detail buried within the larger document.

“This doesn’t fit our usual threat patterns,” she said, pulling the relevant section up for Reven and Yegard to properly review during what had become their grim, routine morning assessment, the household’s practical responsibilities the only thing still forcing either man through the motions of functioning each day. “Veska Nine, a mining colony on the outer rim, completely destroyed three weeks ago. Monster incursion, except the attack pattern doesn’t match anything natural.”

Reven studied the report with the first flicker of genuine focus he’d managed in weeks, old instinct cutting through grief’s persistent fog. “Define doesn’t match,” he said, something sharp returning to his voice.

“Coordinated monster behavior, considerably beyond anything natural incursions typically demonstrate,” Alouis explained. “Survivor testimony describes the creatures moving with unified, almost commanded purpose, converging on specific defensive points rather than simply attacking indiscriminately.”

Yegard’s expression sharpened alongside Reven’s own growing focus. “Someone commanding them,” he said slowly. “Like Ren could, with his classification.”

The observation landed heavy in the room, old grief tangling sharply with fresh, unsettling possibility, and Reven felt something cold and urgent cut through his persistent numbness for the first time in weeks.

“There’s more,” Alouis continued, something careful in her delivery now. “Six additional colonies, over the following weeks, matching the same unusual pattern. Imperial Command had been treating them as isolated incidents, unusually severe but unconnected. I only caught the connection because I’ve been specifically monitoring anything involving unprecedented monster command capability since—” She stopped herself, old grief flickering briefly behind her careful composure.

“Since Ren,” Reven finished for her, something raw cutting through his renewed focus.

“Yes,” Alouis confirmed quietly.

Reven rose from his seat, old urgency propelling him toward the command chamber’s central display with renewed, desperate purpose. “Pull full survivor testimony from every affected colony,” he ordered, voice sharpening into something considerably closer to his previous, decisive authority. “I want descriptions, any visual evidence, anything that might properly identify whoever’s responsible for this.”

The investigation that followed consumed the remainder of the day, Reven and Yegard both throwing themselves into the work with fierce, renewed focus, old grief temporarily set aside in favor of this fresh, urgent mystery, and by evening, the compiled evidence had revealed something that made Reven’s blood run genuinely, horribly cold.

“Multiple survivors describe the same figure,” the lead intelligence officer reported, pulling up a crude, reconstructed image built from witness accounts. “Long red hair, unusual eyewear, some kind of adaptive weapon system. Consistent across every single affected colony.”

Reven stared at the reconstructed image, something old and painful tightening in his chest at the familiar, impossible color of that hair, though the overall figure carried none of the warmth he associated with memory, something cold and hollow in the crude rendering’s posture that made his skin crawl despite the image’s imprecise, secondhand nature.

“It can’t be,” Yegard said, voice barely above a whisper, old grief and fresh, impossible hope tangling together with visible, painful force. “Ren is dead. We felt it. The bond—”

“I know,” Reven said, equally shaken, old certainty warring against the unsettling, impossible coincidence staring back at him from the display. “But this description, the hair, the classification capability—”

“Could be coincidence,” Alouis said carefully, though something uncertain in her own voice suggested she didn’t fully believe it either. “Dual classification isn’t entirely unique to Ren, even if it remains extraordinarily rare.”

“It’s not coincidence,” Reven said finally, old certainty settling into something fierce and immovable despite the impossible implications. “I don’t believe in coincidences this precise. Whoever this is, whatever they actually are, we need answers. Immediately.”

Yegard’s expression had gone carefully, dangerously blank, old military discipline the only thing apparently holding back whatever overwhelming emotion currently threatened to crack through his composure entirely. “If there’s even a possibility,” he said slowly, each word carefully measured, “that this is somehow connected to Ren, to what actually happened in that Pit, I want to understand it properly before we draw any conclusions that might prove either devastating or impossible to properly process.”

“Agreed,” Reven said, old grief and fresh, dangerous hope tangling together in equal, overwhelming measure. “We investigate this properly, thoroughly, before we allow ourselves to believe anything, in either direction.”

They worked through the night, cross-referencing every available detail against both the colony attacks and whatever fragmentary information remained from their own investigation into Ren’s death, and by dawn, exhausted but genuinely, desperately focused for the first time since the Pit had taken everything from them, Reven found himself standing at the private wing’s window, watching the sun rise over a palace that suddenly, impossibly, felt like it might be harboring an answer neither grief nor logic had properly prepared him to face.

Milo found him there, old withdrawal finally cracking slightly under the weight of whatever tension had clearly settled over the household overnight. “What’s happening,” he asked, something cautious and hopeful in his young voice, old instinct for crisis apparently never entirely dormant despite weeks of careful, grief-stricken silence.

Reven studied the boy for a long moment, weighing how much to properly share given the overwhelming uncertainty still surrounding everything they’d uncovered. “We might have found something,” he said finally, choosing careful honesty over protective deflection. “Something that could be connected to what happened to Ren. I don’t want to give you false hope, Milo, not when we genuinely don’t understand what we’re looking at yet. But we’re investigating properly.”

Milo’s expression shifted through several complicated emotions at once, old grief and sudden, desperate hope warring visibly across his young features. “Is it possible,” he asked quietly, voice barely audible, “that he’s actually still alive?”

Reven felt his own chest ache at the raw, vulnerable question, old grief and fresh, dangerous hope tangling together with painful, overwhelming force. “I don’t know,” he admitted honestly, unwilling to offer false certainty in either direction. “But I promise you, whatever we find, whatever this actually turns out to mean, we’ll understand it properly before this investigation concludes.”

Milo nodded slowly, something fierce and determined settling into his young expression despite his evident, lingering grief. “Then let me help,” he said firmly. “Whatever this is, I want to understand it too.”

Reven studied him for a long moment, old protective instinct warring against genuine respect for the boy’s unwavering determination, and finally nodded, something tired but genuinely grateful settling into his own exhausted expression. “Then let’s find out together,” he said, “exactly what’s actually happening, and whether there’s any possibility, however impossible it might seem, that we haven’t genuinely, permanently lost him after all.”