Hot sand filled Eiran's lungs, but he had to endure.
For the first hours of the journey, he simply kept his head down and ran, empty of thoughts, focusing on simply maintaining the rhythm of his breathing.
Eiran had been training for the army from a young age, he'd tempered his body in fire, and had even received augmentations from Priests of the Flame Father.
He thought back to the colosseum, Amphitheater Velgrith. This is where the humans of Mars had reforged themselves. With each battle, their new Father would hammer his wisdom into their mortal shells, spars were lectures, scriptures were formed of blood and sweat. Here, they had become children of steel and flame.
Flame Father… grant me strength
Yet ironically, this child of flame was burning.
Fatigue from the skirmish. The unforgiving sun overhead — blazing hotter than he ever remembered. The red sands dragged at his feet like chains. But worst of all — the relic.
The pulsating in his hands had not once ceased, there he held a cylindrical object, made of a strange, glowing metal. It's surface was imbued with strange yet beautiful ornamentation, a crown shape was adorned at the top, and at the base, strange runes were coated on.
At first, he had mistaken its warmth for something familiar — a divine ember, kin to the Flame Father's touch.
But Mordreon's flame was not a father's flame.
No — these embers were starved. Greedy
Mordreon's flames were wrong, far, far removed from the strict, but loving warmth of The Flame Father. They thought of nothing but burning. Each second it lingered in his hands, it would seer itself deeper into its skin with boundless greed and an insatiable appetite for burned skin.
All this came to mean that Eiran was at his limit. Regardless though, the relic was still important, he could not leave it behind. Corrupted or not, it was a divine relic of the enemy, one that had given them a lot of trouble. If they could come to understand it, who knows how useful it would be in the war effort?
His mind clung to the memory of two women — one with a warmth like sunrise, the other harsh as winter steel, yet full of wisdom and love. For them, for his cohort, for the flame that hadn't yet guttered out, he forced his legs forward.
And so, putting the pain that hammered down on his body to the back of his mind, thinking of it as just another trial that he must overcome, he continued once again, pushing his body further past its limit.
Another trial.
Another crucible.
Just like the Colosseum.
And so he ran — a lone figure on the red sands of Mars, dragging pain and prophecy with him toward Aurelia's Reach.
…
The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the Martian sands. Eiran's breath came in ragged bursts. The red dunes were no less brutal than they had been hours before, but now they at least offered fleeting glimpses of shade.
He allowed himself to slow, if only just a little. He needed to conserve energy. The heat shimmered ahead like a mirage, and the relic's hum had dulled to a low, persistent ache in his bones.
You've made it this far. Maybe… just maybe…
He thought back to what Kael had told him.
"You're our Pheidippides boy"
More like Pheidippides is me, no way what he went through was worse than this shit…
Most sons of Mars may not have understood what she meant by that, but of course Eiran wasn't one of them.
It was no secret amongst members of the cohort that Eiran had a weird fixation on Earth. They'd always roll their eyes jokingly whenever he would excitedly make callbacks to the great stories of Earth with starry eyes.
I guess she was paying attention after all
Their commander often acted aloof, her presence akin to that of a stone goddess. But at heart, the love she had for her soldiers for unbound, her love for humanity even greater.
His heart ached at the loss, over the length of this campaign, he'd grown to look up at her as a symbol of pride, direction — and hope.
But now, those flames have been extinguished.
As the wind slowed and the dunes grew still, Eiran's running thoughts halted to a still.
Something shifted.
A sensation stirred beneath his skin, faint and foreign. Not a pain, not a sound, but... a whisper of pressure behind his eyes, like fingertips on the surface of his mind.
He staggered, confused. Then he realized the feeling was radiating from the relic.
It had dulled before, becoming quiet. But now it buzzed with a strange cadence. A rhythm. As if… listening.
Before he even realized what he was doing his hand clasped the object, eyes closed, he began chanting something.
It was a spell that he picked up from the coliseum. He remembered when Velgrith had first granted him this spell, they were incredibly rare after all. Even though it ended up being something that was generally useless in modern warfare with how developed recon technology was, he was incredibly thankful for it now.
Suddenly, in his mind's eye, flickers of movement appeared.
They weren't images — more like imprints of intent, directional smudges in his perception. South-southeast, three points. Light, deliberate steps across the sand. Stalking him.
Scouts. Viritarii.
Not brutish like the Viritarii centurions he'd seen earlier — no, these were lean, efficient, perfect stalkers. They still contained the subtle hints of ordered madness that could be seen in centurions, but their lithe bodies, the perceptiveness of their eyes, it was almost a beautiful sight if you ignored the disgusting texture of their skin, and the terrifying bronze-like chitin that engulfed their bodies.
They made no sound as they moved, yet the air felt colder in their wake.
Eiran's stomach twisted. These weren't just scouts — they were hunters.
High-ranking Viritarii, corrupted by Mordreon's hunger, molded into forms better suited for tracking, stalking, isolating prey.
And now, he was the prey.
Soon he could feel the sensation of his eyes burning, and quickly ceased the spell.
This really feels very different from using the power of Flame Father
Then, with fresh fear and focus, he picked up the pace.
Kael's voice rang in his skull again.
"You're our Pheidippides, boy."
Right.
Then he'd better run like it.