The New Life of Melor Dementyev

[Strat]

A Strataric Airport, 6/03/17

The worst plane ride of Melor’s life ended. He had spent it quietly crying, reading, nursing an ever-growing headache, and staving off the advances of a young flight attendant who seemed to find him attractive.

Although, it wasn’t as though there were many other people to hold her attention.

The flight had barely ten passengers on it, perhaps due to the rise of Starikov having a negative effect on tourism. Whatever the cause, Melor almost appreciated the relative solitude it afforded to him.

As he stepped off the plane, Melor couldn’t help but wobble slightly as he yet again stood on solid ground. He saw a family warmly greeting one of the other passengers, and a Strataric woman passionately embrace a Setznan man stepping off the flight.

And then he spotted Pyotr.

His father.

Pyotr was standing very militaristically. As Melor approached, he afforded his son a smile and the two wordlessly made their way to a cab.

As Melor slid into his seat next to Pyotr, he cleared his throat. “Privet, papa [Hello, father].”

“Syn [Son].” After a moment’s silence, the general spoke again. “Ya veryu tvoye puteshestviye tam bylo mirnoye? [I trust your trip was uneventful]?”

“Da [Yes].”

“Khmm.”

The cab lurched forward, and they were underway.

“Ya zapisal vas V novuyu shkolu [I enrolled you in a new school].” This comment caused Melor to snap his head up.

“Kakaya shkola [Which school]?” he asked, suddenly interested.

Pyotr answered nonchalantly, “Drayelis Akademiya [The Draelis Academy].”

Recognition dawned in Melor’s eyes. Draelis was a city relatively near the Setznan border. Back during the Strataric-Setznan Cold War, it was the location of a heavily fortified military outpost, though this role was no longer relevant after the war ended.

Pyotr interrupted his son’s thoughts. “Vy govorite Setsnanu, da [You speak Setznan, yes]?”

Melor shrugged. “Nekotoryye [Some].”

“Khorosho. Mozhet li eto byt’ poleznym v budushchem [Good. This could be useful in the future].”

Melor’s eyes widened in alarm. “Chto ty imeyesh’ v vidu [What do you mean]?” he demanded.

Pyotr snapped in response. “Ne ispol’zuyte etot ton so mnoy, mal’chik! Chto kasayetsya togo, chto ya imeyu v vidu, eto imeyet malo znacheniya [Don’t use that tone with me, boy! As for what I mean, it matters little].”

Melor dropped into a sullen silence, glancing outside the cab as it sped along its way.

Pyotr sighed. “Vy ne propustite Siro, potomu chto vy upali na kakuyu-to glupuyu bludnitsu, ne tak li [You do not miss Shiro because you fell for some stupid harlot, do you]?”

“Ona ne bludnitsu [She’s not a harlot]!” Melor returned angrily, warmth rising to his cheeks. Only then did he realize his mistake.

“Ty durak, Melor. Vy na samom dele upali na kogo-to? Ona letuchaya mysh’ resnits, sentimental’nyy idiot [You’re a fool, Melor. You actually fell for someone? Did she bat her eyelashes at you, you sentimental idiot]?” Pyotr huffed. “Khorosho, chto ty vernulsya. Vy bol’she ne zarazheny inostrannym idiotizmom. Kto znayet, ya mog by dazhe nayti vam pravil’nuyu Stratarii zhenu. Ne to, chtoby kto-to khotel tebya [It’s good that you’re back. You won’t be infected by foreign idiocy any more. Who knows, I might even be able to find you a proper Strataric wife. Not that anyone would want you].”

The ride was silent from that point forward.

[Strat]

The Draelis Military Academy, Stratarin, 6/05/17

Melor half limped, half dragged himself into his dorm room. His new roommate wasn’t in yet, giving him some time to himself.

He’d had a cup of Kvas earlier in the dorm, but thankfully never had gotten around to finishing it. As he sipped the now room-temperature beverage, he propped himself up against the wall and sighed.

Many Strataric military academies were considered a healthy, yet still firm, environment in which friendship and bonding were encouraged. Some of these were considered prestigious, producing the best units that the military had ever known.

The Draelis Military Academy was neither.

Recruits were practically bullied into submission by superiors. Somewhat dangerous injuries were seen as hardly scratches. The strong were taught to cultivate the strength, and the weak were taught to not contend with the strong.

As Melor saw it, it was Koshmar on Urth. And he was in the thick of it.

As he started to stand, he grunted as pain flared up in his side. Setting down his Kvas, he wondered why Drugov had let places like this exist. His guess was that some academies had either relaxed their standards after Starikov’s rise or simply lied outright concerning the condition of the students.

But it hardly mattered.

To Melor, nothing really did.

Ayase was, of course, always in the back of his mind. But there she remained. After all, there wasn’t much that she could do for him here. Besides, the instructor was very specific about sentiment’s evils.

Who knows? Several months ago, Melor might have felt right at home here. No one wanting to socialize with him, talk to him, dance with him…

He shook his head at the thought of the dance. He still hated himself for leaving Ayase as he did. But he didn’t have a choice, did he?

Did I?

His thoughts were interrupted by the door slamming into the wall as it was roughly opened. Wincing a little as he felt a headache start to form, Melor closed his eyes for a second tiredly.

“Vitaliy, ty vernulsya [Vitaly, you’re back],” Melor stated matter-of-factly, realizing yet again how foreign the tongue of his own people sounded to his ears.

“Konechno, ya, suka [Of course I am, bitch],” Vitaly Taraslav replied, snarling. “Ya vizhu, ty popolzla k svoyemu ukrytiyu. Mozhet, umeret’? Ya nadeyus’, chto eto tak [I see you crawled away to your hiding place here. Maybe to die? I hope so].”

“Ya ne propolz [I didn’t crawl away]!” Melor replied hotly. “Shkol’nyy den’ zakonchilsya [The school day was over].”

“Nu, slishkom plokho. Eto prosto sledovalo za toboy, suka [Well, too bad. It just followed you in here, bitch].” Vitaly walked over and looked down at his prey. The bully was easily a head taller than Melor, even more so at the moment since Melor was propped against the wall. After a moment, irritated at Melor’s gaze not flinching, Vitaly punched him in the gut.

Hard.

Melor felt his legs give way as he collapsed down to the floor. Before he could react, he felt his hair being used to drag him from his, or rather, their room. Vitaly chuckled.

“Ty budesh’ spat’ zdes’ segodnya vecherom, suka [You’ll sleep out here tonight, bitch].” As the taller Stratarin spoke these words, he unceremoniously dumped Melor by the door and slammed it shut, amplifying Melor’s headache significantly.

I hate Shiro. I allowed myself to get comfortable there, like a chertovskiy idiot.

I hate Vitaly. I hope he burns in Koshmar.

I hate the headmaster, who allows this sort of thing in the first place.

I hate Starikov. Without his coup, I’d be home, at Shiro, right now.

I hate my father, who sent me to this place.

I hate me.

After no other words followed, lying there on the floor, he began to wonder why he hated himself. Instantly, a floodgate of thoughts burst open.

I befriended people at Shiro, and thus gave myself my greatest weakness. I spent far too many Kiribs on an idiotic crush on some foreign girl. I wish I still had my mother, and such sentiment is pathetic. I’m a disappointment to my father. I allow myself to feel miserable in a Strataric school instead of excelling. I’m an idiot, a failure, a weakling.

Shifting slightly and wincing at the effort, he eventually stopped his vicious mental assault of himself and began to drift off to sleep. He knew that reprimands for not sleeping in his dorm were in order, but he didn’t care.

Maybe the pain will fade with sleep.

Maybe.

[Strat]

The Shiro Academy, Tilden Isle, Free Pacific States

“Wait… Melor!”

Running.

Melor was running.

He wasn’t sure if he was running to or from something. He just knew that he was running.

He heard the same call again. “Wait… Melor!” The voice seemed familiar.

Ayase? Melor stopped running, and turned towards the voice.

“Wait… Melor!”

There it was again. He recognized Ayase’s figure in that direction, and ran towards her. “Ayase!” he embraced her, holding her as tightly as he could. “I’m here, Ayase. I’m here, I’m here…”

She pushed him away. “Melor, you’re an idiot and a failure.”

He recoiled, not sure how to reply.

“Not dancing at all was better than dancing with you would’ve been.” She stepped towards him, grinning evilly. “You’re weak, pathetic, and worthless. And there could never be a worse husband than you would be.”

Draelis Military Academy, 6/06/17

Melor awoke with a small shout. Sitting up and panting, he looked around.

He was outside of his dorm, where Vitaly had left him. And every bone in his body ached.

It was still dark outside, with no light shining through any nearby windows. Melor estimated it was after 1 AM, perhaps even 2 AM. He tried to settle back down on the floor, but couldn’t seem to get comfortable.

He felt someone nudge him with a shoed foot. Rolling over, Melor looked up at a similarly aged boy staring down at him.

“Vrei un loc sa dormi?” the boy whispered. Melor recognized the Bastardized Strataric dialect, but couldn’t understand it.

“Vy govorite o normal’noy Stratarii [Do you speak normal Strataric]?” Melor ventured.

After a moment’s hesitation, the other boy replied, “Da. Ya Dumitru Cernat [Yes. I’m Dumitru Cernat].”

Melor slowly and painfully stood, relieved that Dumitru was not taller than he was. “Ya Melor Dementyev. Rad poznakomit’sya s vami [I’m Melor Dementyev. Pleasure to meet you].”

“Podobno, Melor [Alike, Melor].” As Dumitru spoke, Melor noticed the slight grammatical error.

Dumitru must not be fluent. But he speaks it well enough. His thoughts were interrupted as Dumitru continued.

“Vam nuzhno mesto, chtoby spat’, Melor [Do you need place to sleep, Melor]?”

“Da, pozhaluysta [Yes, please].”

Dumitru opened the door to a nearby dorm room. “Eto moye. Vkhodi [This is mine. Come in].”

The room was very Strataric, much like Melor and Vitaly’s: simple, orderly, and austere. It was a single-person room, so it seemed that Dumitru was a son of a higher ranking officer.

One that actually cared for him, at that.

“Yest’ tol’ko odna krovat’ [There is only one bed],” Dumitru commented matter-of-factly, almost apologetically.

Melor shook his head. “Vse v poryadke [It’s fine],” he replied thankfully. “Ya voz’mu podushku i spat’ na polu [I’ll take a pillow and sleep on the floor].”

The shorter boy nodded and tossed Melor a pillow. After the pair had settled into their respective positions - one in his bed, the other on the floor - Dumitru broke the silence. “Kto takoy Ayase [Who is Ayase]?”

Melor bolted upright. “Otkuda vy znayete eto imya [How do you know this name]?” he demanded.

Dumitru shrugged. “Ty skazal eto vo sne. Ya uslyshal i vyshel, chtoby uznat’, kto govorit [You said it in your sleep. I heard, and went out to check who was speaking].”

Melor nodded, and slowly lay back down. “Ona byla kto-to, kogo ya znall [She was someone I knew].”

“Kogda [When]?”

“V Siro Akademii [At the Shiro Academy].”

Dumitru took a second, seeming to record this information. “Prosto ‘kto-to’ [Just ‘someone’]?”

“Moy drug [A friend of mine].”

“Prosto drug [Just friend]?”

“Net, boleye togo [No, more than that].” Melor sighed, tiring of the questions. “Po krayney mere dlya menya. Teper’ pozvol’ mne zasnut’ [At least, for me. Now let me sleep].”

Dumitru fell silent, and Melor settled back down on the floor. Before he drifted off to sleep, he had a feeling that he’d made a mistake giving away such information.

I’ll deal with it tomorrow.

And indeed, he would.

[hr]
It was around lunchtime when he noticed snickering students glancing at him, trying in vain to act subtle. They failed at this, of course, but it hardly seemed to matter to them.

Then, over the course of a casual conversation with a cadet, the other student let it slip.

“…no, konechno, vy sochuvstvuyete Setzna, poetomu vy ne soglasites’ s tem, chto ya zanimayus’ politicheskim …but, of course, you sympathize with Setzna, so you wouldn’t agree with my take on their political]…”

Melor jerked his head up abruptly. “Kakiye [What]?”

Another cadet interjected with a sly grin. “Pomnish’, ty pal za kakogo-to idiot Setznii [You fell for some idiot Setznan, remember]?” He chuckled. “Doch’ ikh lidera, ne men’she [The daughter of their leader, no less].”

Melor’s hand clenched and unclenched while he barely restrained the urge to punch someone. He’d given Dumitru too much information: Ayase’s name and location. Given that Ayase was obviously a Setznan name, and the Shiro Academy had a low student count, it wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure out whom he was referring to.

Why had he volunteered that information anyway?

Because I felt I needed a friend. He acted kindly to me, and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

I really am a chertovskiy idiot.

“Nikogda ne upominayte yeye snova [Don’t mention her again].” Melor snarled. Wordlessly, he quickly finished his food, stood up, walked away…

…and bumped right into Vitaly Taraslav.

“Nu, suka, ya slyshal o tebe i o Setznii shlyukhe [Well, bitch, I heard about you and the Setznan whore],” the bully grinned. “Vy dvoye delayete khoroshiy match [You two make a good match].”

“Kak tak [How so]?” Melor slowly shifted into a combat-ready stance. Vitaly didn’t seem to notice.

“Ty obe suki [You’re both bitches].”

Melor Dementyev was used to being insulted and slandered, mainly by himself. There was hardly an insult he couldn’t take, or a degrading comment that would make him snap.

But Vitaly had insulted Ayase. That had been a mistake.

With all the force of the anger and frustration felt during his last several days of abuse, Melor sent an uppercut straight into Vitaly’s chin. The surprised bully staggered back in pain before falling onto his back. He somehow recovered quickly and scrambled up, a mix of hatred and pain in his eyes.

“Ty za eto zaplatish’, suka [You’re going to pay for that, bitch],” he declared, then charged.

[Strat]

Velikolepnyy Building, Coyden, Stratarin, 1800 hours, 07.01.17

(OOC: The language translation effect is there simply to show just how foreign Melor’s own tongue is to him. Posts not from Melor’s perspective will be automatically translated, as most of mine are)

Pyotr Dementyev quickly doused and tossed aside his cigar as he stepped into Starikov’s office. “You wanted to see me?”

Wearing the long, dark coat that contrasted the previous General Secretary’s military uniform, Mikhail Starikov rose from his seat. “Yes, General. Please come in and have a seat.” After Dementyev did so, Starikov began examining several files on his desk. “Have you heard from your son Melor Dementyev recently?”

“Melor? My chertovskiy idiot of a son whom I shipped off to the Draelis Academy?” Dementyev scoffed. “I haven’t been in contact, thankfully.”

“This should be easier for you, then,” Starikov said assessingly, then moved on. “I have spoken to the academy headmaster. Apparently, Melor has been frequently referred to as ‘sympathizer’ by his classmates due to some pro-Setznan sentiment. I was also told that he fell in love with President Verlhan’s daughter.” He narrowed his eyes. “Would you happen to know anything of this?”

“Not at all, sir.” Dementyev’s eyes widened in surprise. “I always knew he was an idiot, but I never thought he was this much of one.”

Ignoring the latter comment, Starikov continued and began to pace. “Your boy has been in several conflicts with other students, and has defended himself admirably recently. However, popular opinion by both staff and students leans against him. Very few would miss him were he to disappear.” He stepped forward, coat swirling with the movement. “You brought the item you mentioned.”

“Of course,” replied Dementyev, unsure whether or not he was being asked or told. “It’s right here.” He pulled an old Strataric flintlock pistol from a holster, handing it to the General Secretary. “Can’t imagine why you want it. It doesn’t even work. It’s an heirloom, nothing more.”

“I was told by an anonymous source that the Shiro Academy has incredibly lax rules on possession of dangerous objects and animals,” Starikov stated, examining the pistol and again ignoring Dementyev’s commentary. “This includes a wide variety of blades and a potentially rabid fox. Therefore, it is reasonable to assume they never once made certain that this pistol’s mechanism does not work.” Slightly relishing Dementyev’s confused silence, Starikov continued. “Meaning there is no reputable source to prove that this pistol’s mechanism indeed does not function.”

“…sir?”

“The local procurator in Draelis has quite the collection of antique firearms. Even a look-alike to this piece. Only it is functional.” Starikov paused. “You mentioned in our communication that Melor was troubled?”

“Yes sir.” Dementyev’s eyes briefly reflected hatred. “The idiot was always a Tsar short of a Red Tiger.” He paused, then his eyes widened. “Not that I play Dakha, sir, as gambling is illegal. It’s something I heard a criminal say once. Not that I talk with crimi…”

“Shut up.” The words were calm and icily cold, though authoritative. After Dementyev hastily complied, Starikov looked him in the eye. “There is another student with whom Melor has had bullying issues with, according to the headmaster. A boy by the name of Vitaly Taraslav. Given Melor’s mental state, a murder-suicide would not be unlikely.”

Dementyev furrowed his brow in confusion. Starikov smiled at this, and continued. “Officially, Melor never gave you this pistol back and took it with him to the academy. The procurator’s look-alike pistol I spoke of will be supplied to a law enforcement agent who will then proceed to eliminate both Melor and Vitaly. It will be a simple open-and-shut case: the tragic yet not unforeseeable failure for Melor to cope with his depressive tendencies. Although I doubt anyone will shed a tear. Will you?”

The two men locked eyes, the general’s mouth agape. After a minute, he shook his head. “N-no, sir.”

“Good. Because you will first give permission for Melor’s death.”

“WHAT?”

“I will not order it unless you first grant me permission to do so,” Starikov stated calmly. “It’s a test, of sorts. Should you refuse to allow the order, you will not leave this room alive. But Melor will be spared.”

Dementyev started to sweat for a moment. But only a moment. “His mother loved him,” he said softly, then his tone hardened. “But I am not his mother. You have my permission, sir.”

“Very good,” Starikov smiled ruthlessly. “It shall be done within the hour. You are dismissed.”

As Dementyev, somewhat shaken, left the room, Starikov eased back into his chair and steepled his gloved fingers. He was very reminiscent of a spider in the middle of its elegantly sinister web.

General Dementyev is now yet another puppet whose strings are mine to control.

[Strat]

Draelis Military Academy, 1842 hours, 07.01.17

As classes had drawn to a close, Melor was currently relaxing in the dorm he had finally been given.

His situation had greatly changed after he had soundly beaten Vitaly several weeks ago. No longer was he mocked, ridiculed, or even lightly teased.

He was simply avoided.

Melor often fought back to the time when he first arrived at the Shiro Academy and how he was incapable of even understanding why someone would even want to befriend him. He often wondered if he was slowly reverting to the old Melor.

That’s idiotic. There is no ‘old’ Melor, or ‘new’ Melor. I’m just ‘Melor.’

But my personality changed.

Ah, yes. Socially inept loner to socially inept lovesick loner. That’s an improvement?

I wish I would shut up sometimes.

As do I.

Melor sighed and rolled over, looking at the clock. He seemed to remember that the other students were going to some local cinema to see a rerun of a classic movie called The Baker of Setzna or something like that. As expected, he hadn’t even been invited.

After Vitaly had lost the fight, his popularity had dropped like a stone. It was likely that other than the staff, Melor had the entire academy to himself and Vitaly.

I might end up getting shivved.

Don’t be so melodra…

His thought were interrupted by the sound of a gunshot in a nearby dorm. Melor sprang to his feet, looking around his room for anything that could be used as a weapon.

If I make it out of here, I’m definitely adding more decoration.

Finding nothing quickly, he started to hear his doorknob rattling. Although his door was locked, that wouldn’t do much for long. He quickly hid behind his door, back against the wall.

The doorknob fell off. He had a brief flash of memory to a much less deadly incident at Shiro, but quickly dispelled it from his mind.

The door creaked open slowly.

Don’t die, Melor.

Oddly enough, he thought he heard Ayase’s voice say that in his head as opposed to his own. He shook off the thought and concentrated at the incident at hand.

He saw a flintlock pistol being held by a hand slowly enter his field of view. After it seemed to scan the room, he heard a chuckle.

The door closed, then was quickly flung open. Melor grunted in pain as it forcefully slammed into his body. He collapsed to the ground, looking upward at the figure that had just entered the room.

He was tall, with dark slicked hair, an impressively harsh sneer, and vibrant green eyes. His uniform suggested he was law enforcement, but it was an agency that Melor didn’t recognize.

“Zdravstvuyte, detenysh [Hello, whelp],” the man greeted. Aiming his flintlock, he smiled. “Pyotr Dementyev otpravlyayet privet [Pyotr Dementyev sends his regards].”

Melor didn’t consciously think what to do next. He just acted. He mustered all of his strength and kicked the man’s left leg. Although he didn’t go down, the man stumbled backwards and accidentally fired. The shot went wild, and Melor smiled.

He won’t be able to reload.

Standing with minor difficulty, he rushed the still disoriented law enforcement officer, slamming him against the wall. The two of them grunted with the impact. The man was able to deliver a strong blow to Melor’s stomach, causing the younger Stratarian to lurch back. As he regained his balance, Melor noticed the glint of a knife.

Oh, trakhni menya.

Melor’s assailant grinned, and attempted to stab the young cadet. Melor dodged to the side and intercepted the man’s arm.

As the man screamed, Melor took a moment to reflect how grateful he was that he had never broken a bone. He wondered if his attacker had had a similar spotless record before today.

The knife dropped to the floor with a small clatter. Melor ducked to pick it up, only to feel the weight of a boot smash against his head. As he crumpled to the ground, the man knelt, retrieved the knife with his other arm, and growled.

“Vy zhili luchshe, chem bol’shinstvo. Tvoy otets byl by gord, yesli by on ne khotel, chtoby ty umer. [You fared better than most. Your father would be proud, if he didn’t want you dead].” He lunged.

[hr]
I’m not dead.

Melor felt the weight of a body lying on top of him as he came to. Rolling it over, he saw the knife imbedded in the corpse’s heart.

What happened? His head was a blurred jumble of pain and grogginess. He remembered the officer lunging, but couldn’t recall anything after that.

Then, the thought Melor had been putting off fully registered.

My father wants me dead.

He wished that he was more surprised than he was. Pyotr had always been an almost hateful father, after all.

I’m not safe here.

Shaking off the bleariness, he quickly relieved the corpse of its badge, noting its name as Grisha Ilyonovich.

Hopefully, this will come in handy.

Standing with some difficulty, he started analyzing the situation.

I am fifteen miles from the Setznan border. That’s over an hour of running or walking. But hitchhiking would be dangerous, and I might be arrested if I’m in a taxi by the time of the police report.*

Melor sighed.

I always was a good long distance runner.*

[Strat]

Setznan-Strataric Border Checkpoint, 2117 hours, 07.01.17

Finally, Melor spotted the border checkpoint.

He almost collapsed with relief, Shaking off his weariness, he straightened his back and did his best to march forward.

As the approached the building, a lieutenant walked over to him. “Kto ty, detka [Who are you, brat]?”

Melor flashed the badge. “Ya yavlyayus’ dolzhnostnym litsom zakona, i ya dolzhen proyti [I am an officer of the law, and I must pass].”

The man looked at the badge, then scoffed. “Ya nikogda ne videl etu ikonku ran’she. imitiruyushchiy Dolzhnostnoye litso zakona Yavlyayetsya ser’yeznym prestupleniyem [Never seen that badge before. Impersonating an officer of the law is a serious crime].”

A nearby captain overheard the commotion and decided to intervene. “Leytenant, chto zdes’ proiskhodit [Lieutenant, what is going on here]?”

“Etot rebenok zdes’ olitsetvoryal sotrudnika pravookhranitel’nykh organov, ser. Posmotrite na yego poddel’nyy znachok. [This brat here was impersonating a law enforcement officer, sir. Look at his fake badge].”

The captain looked at it, and instantly his face paled. “Mne ochen’ zhal’, ser [I’m so sorry, sir],” he addressed Melor. “Pozhaluysta, prodolzhayte svoy put’. Leytenant budet nakazan sootvetstvenno. [Please go on your way. The lieutenant will be punished accordingly].”

The lieutenant looked confused, but said nothing. Melor cleared his throat. “Eto ne obyazatel’no. YA prosto dolzhen voyti v Setzna [That’s not necessary. I simply must enter Setzna].”

“Konechno, ser. Prodolzhat [Of course, sir. Continue]…” the captain was interrupted by a burst of machine gun fire nearby. Turning to see the commotion, he was struck by a bullet and collapsed. The lieutenant burst into action, drawing his sidearm and scanning the area while crouching.

Melor crouched behind the lieutenant. What the chert?

Then, he had an idea. Striking the lieutenant on the head, he relieved the pistol from the unconscious man, breathed in slowly, and made a mad dash for the border.

Suddenly, he felt something smash against his head, and he fell unconscious.

[hr]
When he awoke, he was tied to a chair in a dark room. It was sparsely furnished, and had the look of a warehouse. Standing in front of him was a well-dressed man of medium height. The man looked at him and grinned.

“So, Starikov sends another flunky to track me down, even though I left the country. Cute. Don’t pretend you don’t speak Codexian.”

“I do, but I’m no friend of Starikov,” Melor returned hotly, relieved to speak in Codexian again. “Am I in Setzna?”

“Don’t ask questions. Only I get to. There’s no hope in convincing me you’re not STP when you so proudly flaunt the badge.” The man sat down in one of the few chairs. “Your youth surprised me, but Starikov uses all types. He even tried to use me, after all.”

Melor gritted his teeth, subtly straining against his bonds. “Who are you?”

“Kid, you just don’t get it. I do the talking here. Although, you already know who I am, unless you were sent to take out another boss.”

He’s Sem’ya. A chill went down Melor’s spine. He had been picked up by a crime boss who thought he was an agent of Starikov.

I’d rather take my chances in Draelis.

“What is the STP?” Melor ventured.

The boss approached him and hit him across the face. Hard. “You ask another question, you eat lead. Got it?” Melor mutely nodded, and the boss grinned. “Good. You know what, you’re not going to make it out of here alive, and you already know who I am, so I might as well answer that earlier question.”

He chuckled. “My name is Leonid Lychnikoff.”

[Strat]

(OOC: Enjoy a Kash-Strat combo post!)

Unknown OSS/NIA Facility, The Republic of Setzna, 2142 hours, 07.01.17

Lovol Schultz quickly lit the cigarette in his mouth, sighing. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell was going on with the SEPC and Aurora.

“What are you sighing for, old man?” 1st Lieutenant Shima Sakamoto leaned on the wall dressed in his standard SSDF BDU. His partner, 2nd Lieutenant Shiori Takamura was sleeping on a bench.

“Nothing really, just wondering what the heck is going on with the world… First the SEPC just flat out disintigrates, everyone is turned against each other. Then there’s a war happening all the way across the globe and our nation is holding back and staying neutral because we don’t want to piss off any of our old friends.” Lovol stood up, walking over to Shima and sitting down in a chair next to him.

“Anyways, isn’t there supposed to be a new kid coming to join your unit, Shima?” Lovol asked, not looking up. Instead, he was focused on his custom FN FAL that he had kept when he left Rentorov with the two.

“Uhh, yeah. I think he should be arr-” The door opened, cutting Shima off. In walked a young woman who looked like she was in her mid-late 20s. She was wearing an SSDF BDU and had her hair tied up into a bun.

“Sergeant Kuribayashi Yui reporting in, I have been assigned to your unit as of today! I hope we will be able to work efficiently together.” Yui clicked her heels together and saluted Shima. He’d immediately straighten up.

“Ah- Yes, of course. Welcome to our platoon, Sergeant, make yourself at home.” Shima briefly saluted her and then the both of them cut their salutes.

No one told me it was a woman… He sighed and watched as she walked off to the barracks. The other members of his platoon were either lounging around or trying to start a conversation with the new girl. Shima shrugged and continued on with his day.

[hr]
Unidentified warehouse, The Republic of Setzna, 2312 hours, 07.01.17

“Has he talked yet?” Zakhar Nikolaev asked while idly fingering the cross pendant hanging on his neck.

“Not yet, but soon,” Leonid Lychnikoff replied to his lieutenant. “I figure he’s STP, but he’s only a kid. He’s going to crack, I can feel it.”

Zakhar nodded, and his tail flicked lazily. “Are you certain he’s STP? Perhaps he could be telling the truth…”

“I can’t take the chance. And you know why not. Besides, Starikov…”

The two were interrupted by a shout from a nearby operative running up. “Sir, you’ve got to see this Harbinger article!”

Leonid grumbled, “This better be important.” Accepting the article that the officer proffered to him, he read the headline: ‘A Boy Murderer’. After reading more of the article, his eyes widened imperceptibly.

“That sonofabitch was telling the truth,” he muttered to himself.

[hr]
Unknown OSS/NIA Facility, The Republic of Setzna, 2325 hours, 07.01.17

“Alright, gather up.” The platoon gathered around a table with Shima at the head of it.

“What’s the op this time, boss?” said Corporal Luschwitz Walsch, a man of Ancradian descent.

“It seems that that National Police Bureau has picked up the location of the Sem’ya mob. Anyone heard of them before?” Shima looked around the room, receiving a few nods from this team. “Alright, that saves me a ton of time… Anyhow, the NIA has assigned us wonderful OSS operatives to the team as a liaison since this is a matter of national security apparently.”

“Wouldn’t they just send regular NIA paramilitary guys to handle it?” piped Lovol, an uninteresting look on his face.

“Well, we’re the OSS liaison to the NIA, which technically means that we are apart of the paramilitary guys… On top of that, the OSS is technically a subsidiary of the NIA.” replied Shima, who was slightly confused himself.

“Uhh, gotcha, kid.” Lovol replied.

“Anyways, we move out in a few, load up and get ready to move out. Our target is in a warehouse that we will raid with SWAT guys from the APD, you guys got that?” His team nodded again with little being said.

“Okay, Lovol, Tak, Yui, you’re coming with me in the lead car.” Shima glanced at each of the three as he said their names.

“Got it.” said Lovol.

“Alright, sounds good to me.” Takamura stretched and adjusted his plate carrier. Yui mumbled an ‘OK.’

“Walsch, Shintaro, Xing, you take the rear guard.”

“Will do, boss. You can count on us to protect your ass from any mobster that decides to pop out from an alleyway wielding an AK rambo style.” said Luschwitz, who chuckled a bit.

“Come on Lusch, this isn’t the movies, man,” Shima chuckled as well. Soon after their conversation, the room fell silent. The only thing that could’ve been heard was the sound of 10 soldiers checking their gear and loading their rifles and sidearms. Takamura tested his stun baton, watching as the electric currents jumped around. Once satisfied with the condition of his baton, he let go of the trigger and closed it up, placing it in its sheath.

And soon after that, the room was dark and empty, for its human inhabitants had left for the raid. What the team didn’t know was that they’d stumble upon the estranged son of a certain Strataric general.

[hr]
Unidentified warehouse, The Republic of Setzna, 2342 hours, 07.01.17

Melor heard a door slam nearby, and looked up with bleary eyes as Leonid entered the room. “Hey, kid, sorry about all this.” The crime boss gestured to the bonds holding Melor to the chair. “Those bruises weren’t anything personal.”

A lower-ranked mobster stepped up and untied Melor, who immediately responded with a feeble attempt at a punch. The mobster blocked easily, and delivered a crushing uppercut into Melor’s stomach. The young Stratarian sunk to the ground, gasping.

“Sorry about Igor here,” Leonid chuckled. “He doesn’t take kindly to being attacked. I’m sure you can understand that. Right, kid?”

Melor regained his breath after a moment and struggled to his feet. “Why did you release me?”

“Well, you’re famous.” Leonid tossed down the newspaper article. “‘A Boy Murderer’? If that headline’s even a little true, you’ve got a family here.”

“I didn’t murder anyone. The only person I killed was an officer with this badge.” Melor gestured to the insignia he was wearing.

Silence greeted him. After a moment, Leonid laughed. “I guess that’s what the Harbinger meant by ‘safety inspection officer.’ Kid, if you killed one of them, I could definitely use someone like you.”

“You interrogated and tortured me.”

“These things happen,” the crime lord shrugged. “So, are you in, or are you out?”

Melor was still recovering from his surprise at Leonid’s offer.

I’d have to be a chertovskiy idiot to want to join Sem’ya.

But I am one. And besides, maybe I can strike against Starikov in being one of them.

They have no hold in Stratarin anymore. Their influence there is all but gone.

Maybe I could help restore it.

But…

His thoughts were interrupted as Leonid’s walkie-talkie blared to life. “Sir! We’ve got Jackboots!” Machine-gun fire could be heard in the background.

Leonid cursed, then replied quickly, “Get out of there now, Kuznetsov. We’re pulling out. Let’s fall back to… one moment.” He turned off the walkie-talkie and glared at Melor. “Kid, yes or no?”

Melor hesitated a second, and Leonid sighed. “I don’t have time for this. Maybe we’ll meet again.” He nodded to Igor, who landed a heavy blow on the back of the youth’s head. Melor crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

[Strat]

(OOC: Another Kash-Strat combo)

Unidentified warehouse, The Republic of Setzna, 2349 hours, 07.01.17

Melor’s head swam as he came to. It’s a wonder I still have any chertovskiy brain cells left, by now, he thought drily. Blinking away the lights dancing in front of his eyes, he noticed that the STP badge was missing. Probably taken by Lychnikoff.

The young Stratarian cast his gaze around the room as his normal vision returned. As Melor slowly began to stand, the door burst open and he froze.

The OSS agents filed into the room with the SWAT team soon following behind, the sleek black barrels of their guns glinted in the light as they sweeped the room for anybody.

“Clear,” said Shima. They’d notice the young boy sitting in the middle of the room and then walked over to him with caution.

“Who the hell are you?” Lovol lowered his gun and looked at the Stratarian, awaiting an answer.

Melor looked back in bewilderment and retorted, “Who the chert are you?” As the fogginess in his head began to dissipate, he recalled one of Lychnikoff’s men mentioning ‘jackboots.’ After shaking his head to clear it further, he asked, “Setznan law enforcement?” He started noting various patches and insignia on the team’s uniforms.

Shima looked at Melor, also lowering his rifle. “You could say that.” He turned to the SWAT team and motioned for them to go sweep the rest of the area. He’d then look back at the boy. “What is a Stratarian boy doing amongst a bunch of thugs?”

Meanwhile, the rest of Shima’s team would fan out, securing a perimeter. “Lovol, Tak, Yui, go with the SWAT guys and help them clear up the area of resistance. Lusch, Shintaro, Xao, stay with us in the room.”

“Roger, we’re on it, boss” Tak said as the three started to move out of the room. He then returned his attention to Melor, his gun resting in a passive position now.

“It’s a long story,” Melor replied simply, cautiously eying Shima’s firearm. His back straightened as he calmly stated, “My name is Melor Dementyev.”

As he met the Setznan man’s eyes, Melor remembered the false newspaper article that Lychnikoff had thrown to the floor of the room earlier. The article mentioned Melor by name as a murderer, and called for Setzna to aid in the hunt for him.

The article lying right at Shima’s feet.

Chert.

Unconsciously, his eyes flicked down to it. He snapped them back up lightning fast, but perhaps too late.

Shima looked down at the article, crouching down to pick it up. He then stood back up, looking at the article.

“Is this you in the article?” He’d show Melor. Betraying barely any hint of his sudden tension, the Stratarian nodded.

If he reads that article, he’ll apprehend or kill me. There’s no way I can kill him, although I could try to knock him out.

That’s a terrible idea. The minute you rush for him, you’d have a bullet lodged in your thick skull.

I could run for the door. Perhaps the sudden movement will catch him off guard.

Again, terrible idea.

What am I going to do?

While Melor was heavily overthinking his next course of action, Shima was already reading the article, looking it over and flipping through the paper.

“Interesting…” This boy… hmm… He’d think, wondering what to do. After a short few seconds, he motioned for his men to apprehend Melor.

“In the meantime, you’re coming with us. Come on.” He beckoned for Melor to get up.

Even at his best, Melor couldn’t have escaped four of a trained Setznan SWAT team. Sighing, he complied with Shima’s request. As he was led away, he couldn’t help but think, Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Yebat’ menya.

[Strat]

Classified Location, Setzna, 0900 hours, 07.02.17

Melor awoke nursing a nigh debilitating headache. Sitting up in his bed, he glanced around the OSS dormitory. It was relatively spartan. A lone window near the bed cast light into the room, slightly illuminating the fully stocked bookshelf at the other end of the room. Clutching his head, he slid off the bed and almost stumbled into the table in the center of the room, catching himself on one of the two chairs on either side of it.

Despite the pounding headache, he managed to recall where he was and sighed.

For all I know, my execution awaits today.

There was a knock on the door, and then a man clad in body armor and a black uniform walked in.

“Boy, get up, you’re coming with me to the interrogation room.” The man waited for Melor to come over to him.

Melor bristled at the word ‘boy’, but steadied himself and wordlessly complied, following the man out of the dorm and down a hallway.

The man lead Melor down the bleak hallway, stopping in front of a gray metal door. The agent opened the door and gestured for Melor to head inside. Showing neither fear nor hesitation, the younger man stepped into the room.

The room was quite… Empty. Like the rest of what Melor had already seen during his “visit”, the walls were gray and colorless, a simple brown wooden table sitting in the middle of the room with two chairs set up neatly with no signs of previous use. In one chair, a man dressed in a black suit (It seems that the color scheme here is monochrome and black) was awaiting his guest.

“Should I take a seat?” Melor addressed the man boldly, examining his surroundings carefully.

“Ah, yes please, take a seat, Mr. Dementyev.” The man gestured for Melor to sit with one sweeping motion of his hand. Melor obliged, slowly lowering himself into the chair.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, voice unreadable. As he spoke the words, he realized just how little sleep he’d gotten recently, but shook the feeling off. I’ll be fine for now.

“First off, we’d like to ask you why you were in the hands of the Strataric Mob Sem’ya. I’m sure you already know very well who they are.” It was peculiar to how the man said “We’d” instead of
“I’d”, as if there was another man standing next to him asking questions alongside the neatly dressed agent.
Melor still felt the headache from when he woke up acutely, which made his usually clear internal dialogue a bit more difficult than normal.

Should I tell him anything?

Obviously… obviously not. He’ll most likely put your… a stab of pain spiked, then vanished, …put your head on the chopping block.

“As the paper said,” Melor managed, keeping an even tone, “I fled from Stratarin. I was…” he trailed off. Given the amount of head injuries lately, his memory was a bit blurry at points. After a moment of silence, a light dawned in his eyes. “I was at a border checkpoint when Sem’ya raided it.”

You are a chertovskiy idiot.

“And you fled from Stratarin since you are… a fugitive, correct? A boy murderer, as they say.” The man shifted his arms, awaiting an answer.

“I was a fugitive,” Melor replied as evenly as he could manage. “The only person I killed was an act in self defense.” He heard his own voice rise slightly, but he was too tired to care. “I am not a murderer.”

The man noted this, writing Melor’s words down in a notebook. He then set the pen down, proceeding on. “Now, we can do this a few ways, Mr. Dementyev. One, we could hand you back to Strataric authorities. Or two, we could take you in if you request asylum, possibly breaking relations between Stratarin and Setzna due to our extradition treaty. And possibly tarnish our reputation. Or three, we ‘kill’ Melor Dementyev and you come out of this facility as an entirely new man. A Setznan college student who’s aiming for high positions in high places.”

He’d shift, taking a sip from a cup of water that was conveniently sitting on the table. “The choice is yours, Mr. Dementyev. Choose wisely.”

Melor looked at the man in silent surprise that his own story was considered credible. “How do you know to believe me?” he asked, pointedly.

“We don’t know. We’re placing our trust in you, if we find that our decision was wrong then we’ll correct it.” He’d shift his arms again, linking his hands together. The man sounded like he was serious.

The two gazed at each other for minutes, as Melor weighed his options.

I’m not going back to Stratarin.

I deserve what would await me there.

Just shut up, me. I need to think.

I am thinking. This is a conversation in my head.

“I don’t suppose your government has a preference to which option I select?”

“No, we do not. It’s entirely your choice based on your own preferences and decisions, you know.” The man replied with a somewhat flat tone.

Not even Melor could follow the exact train of thought running through his head, mainly due to the headache. After a minute, he straightened his back and spoke.

“I am Melor Pyotrovich Dementyev. And I officially request asylum.”

“An interesting choice, Mr. Dementyev. Very interesting indeed. Your request for asylum shall be granted, you will be provided with a home and a variety of other necessities. Please wait in the lounge as we get the paperwork sorted out.” The man stood up and extended his hand for a handshake. Melor accepted it. As he started to turn and walk towards the light, he hesitated and looked back.

“Do you have a phone I could use?”

[hr]
The Shiro Academy, Tilden Island, roughly 2200 hours, 07.01.17 (adjusted for time zones)

Velhanz’s phone rang, waking the poor boy up from slumber. He grumbled, sitting up and grabbing hold of his phone which sat on the bedside table. Velhanz looked at the caller briefly, paying no attention and then answering the phone.

With a yawn, he answered “Yes, you have reached Velhanz Verlhan. How may I help you.”

“Hi Vel,” a familiar, weary voice replied. “It’s been a while.”

[Strat]

Velikolepnyy Building, Coyden, Stratarin, 1300 hours, 07.02.17

Starikov seemed to be a lifelike statue, standing almost completely still looking out the window. This slightly perturbed Yekaterina Drugova, peeking in as she politely knocked on his door. “You wanted to speak, sir?”

The Premier turned and nodded. As Yekat stepped inside, she saw General Dementyev and Procurator General Demenok sitting in chairs to one side. Demenok looked like a leopard relaxing in a tree, while Dementyev had the posture of a tense bear. After receiving an affirmative gesture from Starikov, Yekat eased herself into a nearby chair. “What do you need?”

“As the Procurator General has told me,” Starikov replied, lowering himself into the seat behind his desk, “the fugitive Melor Dementyev has more than likely fled to Setzna.” At the sound of the word “Dementyev,” the general shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Intelligence suggests that the Setznan government has taken him in. It falls to you to request extradition.”

Yekat nodded, feeling an uneasy gaze directed at her from across the room. “And why is the general here, sir? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“He has taken steps to militarize the border under my guidance, to prevent any more citizens from adding to foreign nations’ illegal immigration problems.”

“And has the Minister of Defense been informed?” Yekat hesitated, realizing she may have gone too far. “I’m sure he has been, of course.”

Starikov simply nodded in reply and stood up. “You have your orders, Minister. I suggest you execute them.”

“Yes sir. Am I-I dismissed?” She felt a slight prickle of fear crawl down her spine.

“You are. Have a pleasant day, Minister.”

She managed a “thank you” and quickly left. As soon as the door had closed, Demenok chuckled.

“Either she executes your orders, sir, or I execute her.”

[Strat]

Classified Location, Setzna, 0900 hours, 07.02.17 / The Shiro Academy, Tilden Island, roughly 2200 hours, 07.01.17 (adjusted for time zones)

Velhanz perked up, “Melor? Is that you?”

“Former Cadet Melor Dementyev of the Draelis Academy, at your service,” Melor replied. After a moment of awkward silence, he managed, “So, how have you been? How’s… how’s Ayase?”

“Uh… she’s been doing somewhat fine. Though after her classes are over she’s holed up in her room a lot now. Even though I’m her brother I can’t really get her to come out at all…” he’d sigh, his dejected persona audible through the phone.

Silence greeted Vel for a moment as Melor’s thoughts whirled about his head. Some of self-blame, some of concern. “I’m sorry to hear that,” the Stratarian said at last.

“Right. Anyways uh, where are you right now?” he asked, hoping for an answer.

“Well,” a coughing sound came through the phone, “I may or may not have ended up in a classified Setznan facility…” he trailed off. After a second or two, Melor continued, though his voice seemed much more tired than before. “I’ve had one weird chertovskiy month.”

“A classified Setznan facility? What the hell are you on about?” he blinked in disbelief, wondering how his friend went from the Free Pacific Islands to a classified Setznan facility.

Melor leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Would you like the abridged version or the long version?”

“Either is fine.” Velhanz replied, getting up from the bed and walking to the stove to make himself some coffee.

“Alright, then. Long version it is.” Melor inhaled in preparation to tell the tale…

[hr]
“…and that’s when I decided to call you,” Melor finished, taking a moment to catch his breath. Only now had he fully grasped just how… well, how full his last month had been so far.

“Hold on.” A suitcase was heard being dragged out and placed down onto bedsheets. Then the sound of a zipper opening. Velhanz was packing some clothes and some supplies, though he was bringing little with him. To where he was going, no one would have a clue at this point.

“Vel, what’s that sound? Are you… packing?”

“Mhm, I’m going to go visit you, dumbass. Should I bring Ayase along? I mean, our break is coming up anyways.” he finished packing, closing the suitcase.

Melor was silent for a moment. “I wouldn’t want to wake her unnecessarily,” he finally replied, adopting a slightly guilty tone.

“Alright, I’ll buy a plane ticket for tomorrow evening back to Setzna, which means I’ll probably be there in the morning. I’ll call you again when I land. See you then.”

“Farewell for now,” Melor replied, ending the call and sighing.

I should’ve said yes. Chertovskiy idiot.

She deserves much better than me. It would probably be better for her if she hadn’t ever met me. I practically left her on the dance floor.

All the same, I… well, too late now, I suppose.

Melor set down the phone, and sat in silence.

[Strat]

The Shiro Academy, Tilden Island, roughly 2200 hours, 07.01.17

Ayase awoke to rustling and voices coming from next door in her brother’s dorm, she yawned and sat up, stretching. She scratched the back of her head as she wondered what Vel would be doing up this late.

“I better go check on that idiot of a brother…” She got out of bed, yawning once again and then padding out into the hallway in her pajamas to find Vel standing outside of his room dressed in black dress pants, dress shoes, a double breasted khaki overcoat, and a white dress shirt with a black tie to compliment his outfit. He had a suitcase in hand as well. Ayase noticed this immediately, as this was the outfit her brother always wore on trips.

“Where… in the world are you going?” she blinked, looking up to him. The surprised Velhanz turned, not noticing his younger sister there.

“Somewhere.” He said to her, keeping his answer vague for the moment. Ayase furrowed her brow.

“‘Somewhere’ isn’t a good enough answer…” She then switched over to their native tongue.

“Are you going to leave like Melor did…? Just… outright leaving without telling anyone?” Ayase looked hurt, her eyes glistening with tears welling up to Vel’s surprise.

“Geh. I’ve done it now… uhh, what to do… what to do…” Vel thought, trying to think of a way to calm her down.

“I’m going to go see him.” He blurted out immediately without thinking.

“You’ve done it now for sure, Vel you chertovsky idiot aho.”

“W-what? You’re going to see him?! Where is he?! You know the situation with Stratarin right now right? You can’t possibly be going there! It’s not safe! How are you going to even get in?!” She huffed, bombarding him with questions one after another.

“Calm down, Ayase. One, I’m not going to Stratarin, I’m going home. Two, I’m coming back for sure. Three, before you ask: no, I can’t take you.” He let out a sigh as Ayase began to calm down.

“B-but… I… I… want to go se-” She was cut off by Velhanz holding a finger up to her lips.

“I know, I’m sorry but I can’t let you go. You gotta worry about school, y’know. Don’t you have finals coming up before the break?” He gave her a smile, brushing strands of hair away from her face.

Ayase paused, looking down at the ground and seemingly pondering the situation at hand. She took a little bit before finally raising her head and looking back up at him again. “Take me with you. I can handle make ups, I just want to… you know, see him again… even if it’s just one time. Please…?” She looked up at him with determination and sadness mixed in her eyes, tugging at his heartstrings.

“Alright. I’ll take you then… but we have to leave in at least 10-15 minutes or we’ll miss our flight, go grab whatever you need and meet me in the lobby ok?” He said with a firm voice, gripping the handle of his suitcase tightly.

“A-alright!” She turned around and headed back inside to pack necessities into her own suitcase. With that, Velhanz headed down to the lobby and waited. He looked around, thinking back to the dance where he stood in the same lobby and watched his best friend run off towards Stratarin.

“Here I come… wait for me for a little bit, Mel.”

“Aw man, should I bring Lily along too…?” He thought, thinking about it for a bit before letting out a laugh.

“Nah, that’s a totally horrible idea…” He mumbled sarcastically, smiling. He leaned against the wall and shut his eyes.

[hr]
14 hours later…

Arcadia International Airport, Arcadia, Setzna, 2300 hours, (remember, timezones) 07.02.17

Melor was almost positive he was being watched.

Make that completely positive, actually. The somewhat noticeable Setznan agent trying not to be seen notwithstanding, it would be foolish for Setzna to allow a defector from Stratarin to wander about at will. After all, Melor’s former motherland wasn’t exactly known for honesty and straightforwardness. The young adult could easily be a spy.

I’m not a spy, though.

I know that, but they don’t.

And I know that. Still, a little trust goes a long way.

Would you trust them, in your position?

He glanced back unobtrusively to the Setznan agent shadowing him. Not even to hold a Dreyk for me.

Briefly looking down at his watch, he sighed. The flight, which had just arrived, had taken a bit longer than expected. Which, while it wasn’t much of a problem, was a minor nuisance. Melor had been nervous all evening, and could feel the looks and glances of Setznan citizens milling about as they noticed the distinctly Strataric individual. Just several months ago, Melor’s type wouldn’t necessarily have been a common sight in the Setznan homeland.

But this was no longer so, thanks to Starikov.

He heard a bing sound, and an announcer saying something in the somewhat unfamiliar language. Melor gathered from it that the passengers had just disembarked, and would soon be… something or another.

Should’ve paid more attention at Shiro in that Setznan class.

But you didn’t, because you’re a chertovsky idiot.

I can’t deny it. At any rate, I’d best find Velhanz.

Standing and walking in the general direction of the gates that the deplaned passengers had started swarming from, he started examining the crowds for a sign of his friend.

He’s too old… he’s too short… is that…? No, that’s a short-haired woman. It could be… no, not him…

And suddenly, as his gaze found its mark, he froze.

To Velhanz’s side, wearing a simple dress and a light blue short-sleeved jacket, was Ayase.

I had told him not to bring her. I left her. I ruined that night for her, and potentially many nights and days to come.

I don’t deserve her.

And then, faintly at first, a different train of thought crept into his head, growing a little louder with each passing moment.

Run to her. Go. Now!

And with that, he was maneuvering quickly through the small crowd. As he came closer, her head turned his way, and Melor could have sworn her eyes lit up. She said something a moment later, but he didn’t hear. He rushed to her, suddenly and without warning throwing his arms around her and embracing her tightly.

Stop crying, you chertovskiy idiot.

Shut up, me.