AN: I know, I know. Am I still alive? Where have I been? Why isn't this story finished yet?

I wanted to finish the story with one large, final chapter…until I realized that I'd be looking at something like 30k+ words and I would never be able to finish something like that. So I had to cut this draft up – again – and divide it into two parts.

and a lot of things happened in the meantime, what with the quarantine and the impact the COVID-19 virus has had om everyone. Right now, I'm working from my home, but that might change in the coming days. I'm doing alright and I can only hope the rest of you are doing alright as well.

~0~

Vroengard

Charlie Team

This was the first time in many decades since anyone set foot on the island of Vroengard, and what did these visitors do? They moved to the very first forest they saw from the sky – a dense forest of spruces, pines and fir trees – and covered it with a salvo of missiles and plasma until it had been utterly razed to the ground.

Arya watched as the enormous missiles from the UNSCs titanic vessel streaked through the sky and slammed into Vorengard's surface, blowing apart hundreds of trees with every impact.

And that damnable sniper wouldn't shut up.

"You see, during our own wars, we'd always blow the shit out of every building that was taller than two stories," he said as casually as if he were talking about the weather. "Every army would just absolutely level the cities of their enemies before invading. That's because – "

"Because they might provide the enemy with shelter, we get it!" Shot back one of the elves, Nari. "You told us this three times already, Wil."

The sniper took the uncharacteristic anger of a creature capable of killing him with but a single word in stride. "Alrightie, hang on then."

He sighted in through his scope and pulled the trigger. More than two thousand feet away, something large and very angry uncoiled from the burning remains of the forest, seemingly unfazed by the concentrated barrage of missiles.

The creature might have well been as large as a dragon, but another guided explosive took care of it.

"You did this to yourselves before?" Asked another elf, an old friend of Arya's named Edurna.

"Oh yeah, lots of times. Let's see…since the advent of gunpowder, we've had two World Wars, about two dozen smaller wars, then another large war when we began colonizing space, then the Insurrection…then the Covenant…it would be easier to name the years when we didn't blow the hell out of each other."

"You do know that this is not something to be proud of, do you?" Asked Edurna.

The sniper shrugged like a child. Clad in his "ghillie suit", meant to make him blend in with the forest, he looked all the more immature, which made his statements all the more disturbing. "It's working for us just fine right now, isn't it? Imagine storming Vroengard on your own." He chuckled at his own joke. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

That was when Wil slowly got down on his stomach and wiggled about in the grass and branches, until he completely blended in.

For a moment, Arya just stared. She had to admit, for a race without the gift of the arcane, the UNSC's humanity was very skilled at adapting to the battlefield. A suit made out of branches and leaves…such a simple solution to a lack of magic.

"Alright, I'm set."

Wyrden shot Arya a questioning look, to which Arya subtly shook her head. The elves just had to hope that this sniper was as good as the others. She would, as the humans were so fond of saying, give him the benefit of the doubt.

Now that the forest to their left had been utterly flattened, Wallcroft cautiously waved the elves down the slope. At the bottom of the valley, protruding from the centre forest, a number of stone structure were visible.

Elf-made structures. The remnants of the Rider's city, Donu Araeba. It would make sense for the Contender to dwell within the great city. The buildings were immense, built with dragons in mind instead of elves. Every door was an entryway to either a massive cavern or an even more massive room. Every window was large enough for a Starborn dropship to land with room to spare.

"Behold," Edurna mournfully spoke, "The city of our keepers. Donu Araeba. Witness what we once created, Wallcroft, before your people tear it all down."

"Look at those buildings in the centre. No plants, no animals, nothing. Something cleaned them up. That means something must be living there."

If Arya recalled correctly, UNSC policy for entering the enemy's home was to pound it flat with explosives and other projectiles. "Why can't we scout the city out with vehicles?" She asked.

"We're not willing to waste our drones on enemy AA," explained Wallcroft. "Shipmaster 'Ranamai wants to check it out on foot."

"Charlie-Nine here," the sniper spoke through the radio, "It looks like the strike worked. The Forerunner sent an army out to secure the flank we just burned down. Opposition seems minimal on your end."

At the very least there was no evidence of the invisible poison Glaedr warned them for. Whatever the Forerunner had done to this island rendered Thuviel's sacrifice meaningless. The Rider's suicidal spell had caused such devastation to the island, but it almost seemed as if Millennia had somehow repaired the damage.

Magic or technology, it made no difference to her. How foolish they all had been, thinking Galbatorix was the true threat…

"Move up to the next set of trees. Watch out for patrols," ordered Wallcroft.

Arya did as the human ordered, wondering if history would repeat itself here. So many dragons and Riders fell on this island. The valley they descended into seemed gloomy and desolate, as if the very soil still contained the memories of what happened.

Silently, the team made their way down the slopes of the valley. The clattering of automatic weapons never seized. It seemed that the enemy was everywhere, fighting for every corner of the island.

Wyrden stopped. "Something is approaching us," he whispered.

The moment he uttered those words, the members of Charlie team stopped their advance and attempted to blend in with their environment.

"Wil, you see anything?" Whispered Wallcroft through their radio.

"The tree-line is too thick. I've got you in my scope…can't see anything else. Hold a tick…you're compromised, engaging. "

A bullet whistled through the air, impacting on something a few meters away from their position. Half a second later, the distant crack of the sniper rifle echoed through the valley.

"Engage! Engage!" Shouted Wallcroft.

Like that, the enemy was upon them. The forest that covered the side of the hill suddenly exploded with movement as all manner of creatures appeared as if from nowhere. A misshapen mass with tattered limbs and an elongated head charged her way, brandishing a strange, orange firearm.

Behind her, Wyrden shouted a spell and the ground erupted underneath the creature's legs. Branches emerged from the hole, tightly wrapping themselves around the creature's legs.

Arya put a sustained burst of fire into its chest and head with her rifle. The powerful rounds tore through its hide, punching large holes into its flesh and ripping its head apart –

- No, her bullets didn't do that. The creature's head exploded outwards in a flurry of tentacles, each several feet long and tipped with scythe-like tips.

Arya backed away, but another creature dropped down from above. It was an eyeless reptilian, like a snake with a dragon's legs. It loomed over her, opening its jaws.

With her left hand, she drew her sidearm and took aim at the creature. As it bore down on her, she put several rounds in its gaping jaws. The effect was more gruesome than the rifle's projectiles; the bullets tore into the creature's head and exploded, blowing fist-sized holes into its head.

The creature staggered back, missing its upper head.

Edurna cast a spell and slammed the decapitated creature against the other one. "Brisingr!" She shouted, and the two creatures burst into emerald-green fire.

Arya pivoted. A burst of red light whistled past her head, narrowly missing her. She fired her sidearm at the offending creature and winced as something close by exploded. Metal fragments bounced off her suit and she silently thanked its creators for making it so sturdy. She had cast her wards that they would only protect her against projectiles that somehow managed to penetrate the thick battlesuit, sparing her from constantly expending her energy.

It was like a river broke out of its banks. The creatures came from all around them; the trees, the ground, even the very air seemed to give spawn to these monstrosities. Charlie team's gunfire tore through their enemies, their grenades and spells killing several in one detonation or effect, but there were always more. Some of the creatures were large, taking a full magazine to drop, while others were small and darted around the trees, almost too fast to follow.

When they died, they reverted to green-brown foliage and dirt, before crumbling away into dust. How did the Forerunner do this? She gave life to living beings. Such power only lay in the realm of mythology, of gods and deities.

Wyrden drew his blade and cleaved a faceless woman with blades for fingertips in half. It shrieked and lashed out at him even as her lower body dropped to the ground. Her blades tore through his wards and his clothes, inflecting deep gashes on his side.

"Don't let them hit you!" Shouted Arya. "They can bypass our wards!"

The warning came too late for one of their own. An elf by the name of Laufin caught a burst of yellow light to the head and crumpled to the ground.

A second later, his body seemed to burn away, vaporizing before Arya's eyes.

She gritted her teeth and opened fire on a four-legged creature with long, shaggy fur and an armoured head.

Her bullets bounced off its head without even scratching it.

Arya tried one of the words of death, but it didn't work.

Bolts of lightning shot from Edurna's right arm, wrapping themselves around the beast's frame. The glowing bands of magic almost seemed liquid as they writhed around it.

The monster roared and charged. Arya easily evaded it and someone struck it in its flank, embedding several glowing lances of light into its side.

They gathered in a loose circle, Wallcroft in the centre and the surviving elves circling around him. "Charlie team to Command! We need urgent reinforcements! Enemy force encircled our position!"

The elves stabbed, sliced and thrusted at Millennia's creatures as they charged their position. Magic tore through the enemies' rank, doing frighteningly little to stop them. The steady crack of the sniper rifle discharging in the distance seemed to be the only thing reliably killing these things. The massive projectile could have killed a dragon with a good hit, so these creatures stood even less of a chance of surviving it.

Arya saw the four-legged creature rear up on its hind legs. The sniper must have seen it, as the creature's armoured head suddenly snapped sideways, half of its head having been blown off by an unseen bullet.

That did surprisingly little to stop it, however. It was only when Wallcroft threw a grenade and Yaele used a spell to jam the explosive deep into the abomination's wounds that they managed to take it down. Most of the blast was contained by its massive body, but the result still managed to be equal parts cathartic as equal parts disgusting.

By the time the body parts stopped dropping, Arya was starting to feel the twinge of magic exertion. They managed to clear a path at their rear, but a safe retreat was out of the question. She was certain that, had their team not consisted mostly out of elves, they would have lost this engagement long ago. Though their wards did not directly protect them, their vast reserves of magic were the only reason they were still fighting.

"Looks like reinforcements are here!" Their sniper called through the radio.

Arya risked a moment to look over her shoulder. True enough, their Covenant "allies" had managed to spare a ship from their own fighting. The massive warship hung a few kilometres away from the island, high enough for everyone to see it. Several small figures detached from its hangar, slowly heading towards the island.

They would take several minutes to arrive. This battle was far from over.

Yaele conjured a massive cloud of dust and smoke, obscuring them from their ranged enemies. Then, the elves started chanting.

Arya instantly recognized what they were going to do, but she could not partake. She brought her rifle to her shoulder, saw another flash of red light pierce the smoke and fired a sustained burst at its origin. She felt something sharp drag along her back, but felt no pain. That led her to believe it was debris, or perhaps a failed attack.

The ground started shaking. One or two of the trees shuddered and creaked, before collapsing. Another grenade went off, blowing a cluster of the creatures to pieces.

Still the elves sang. Before soon, the ground split apart, revealing a long and cavernous rift. The creatures hammering their flank couldn't get out in time and were consumed by the gaping crevice.

Suddenly, something passed overhead with such speed that it was almost impossible to make out what it was. The treeline underneath them erupted into flames.

Another such object soared over them, then another. It was only when a fourth passed overhead that Arya realized they weren't objects at all.

They were dragons!

Aeronomer, Thorn, Glaedr and Saphira must have ridden the Covenant ship to arrive at Vroengard this soon. That was an enormous risk.

Still, Arya could not doubt the effectiveness of their combined strike. The thick torrents of fire gave of such heat that she felt the temperature rise through her suit. The noise was even worse; the flames seemed to roar as they consumed the surface of the hill, turning even Millennia's creations to ashes.

She lowered her rifle, watching the four dragons annihilate the creatures. Avatars of human death they might be, but even they were helpless before the fury of the flames.

How much we are alike, thought Arya. What was the difference between a dragon and a warship laying waste to their enemies with fire from the skies? Scale? Motivation?

Following the dragons was a flock of Covenant aircraft. Banshees and Phantoms.

With the flames devouring much of the way down to the city Charlie team couldn't advance to their objective. Still, it looked like the Contender knew they were there, which meant that the scouting teams had to reroute either way.

"Charlie-One to Command," Wallcroft's voice crackled in the radio. "We've been engaged. Primary mission must be aborted. Proceeding to dig in for secondary and tertiary objectives."

Arya didn't get to hear the reply. Then again, she didn't need to. Charlie team had gone through their plans at least five times on the transport to Vroengard. The Varden-UNSC and Covenant Separatist forces had to cement their position on the island whatever the cost, or the Contender would fight them off and likely annihilate them with a concentrated assault.

Aeronomer circled around, her dark scales reflecting the shimmering light cast upon her by the flames. As Thorn and Glaedr headed towards the other side of the valley, Saphira flapped her wings and landed to their left, buffeting the elves and the Helljumper with gusts of wind.

Her large, blue eyes settled upon Arya. Her thoughts brushed against Arya's and she swiftly allowed her in.

'Arya.'

Saphira's emotions were in turmoil. Excitement, anxiety and elation all washed over Arya's mind when the dragoness contacted her.

"Saphira? What happened?" She warily asked.

Saphira merely blinked, happiness breaking through her anxiety. 'Arya.'

Then, it happened. The gathered elves changed their stoic, uncertain attitude so swiftly, so utterly, that Arya almost thought that they were under attack again. That the hated enemy had found a way to assault them even here, when they were cementing their hold on this strange land.

But then Arya looked upon her kin's faces, and she saw not fear and anger, but open wonder and hope and, did she dare belief it, awe?

Then came the shouts. Again, not shouts of alarm, but of honest surprise and glee.

"There he comes!"

"The master of war returns!"

"Look! Look! In his arms!"

Arya was aghast. Her people, her kin, never expressed themselves like this. They were too afraid of the consequences, too composed and too careful, to give voice to their emotions in such a way. Never before had she heard her kin convey their feelings with such vigour. Not since Eragon's arrival in Du Weldenvarden.

Arya, a master at keeping her emotions under careful control, felt her trepidation burn in her veins. What was happening?

Holding no regard for the niceties and honorifics she had once held in such importance, Arya turned away from Saphira and brushed past the elves standing in her way. She pushed towards the front of the team. At the same time, she reached out with her mind, searching for any irregularities.

She found a sliver of fear hidden underneath steel resolve and iron conviction.

She also touched the mind of a creature so young, yet so different from those around, that she almost started doubting herself.

Almost.

The elven warriors stepped out of her way, their angled faces beaming with pride and happiness. Now Arya could see why her people were so gripped by their emotions. She felt her heart skip a beat.

It couldn't be. Certainly, she had hoped, but she had never thought…

The shining egg he held in his arms was almost the same colour as his armour. A beautiful reflective green, with matte black underneath. His motions were precise and graceful, but by now, Arya had learned to spot the irregularities of his injuries and youthful impatience.

"Maine," she whispered. Behind her, the other elves started cheering. "You did it…"

"Arya," the Spartan spoke with an amused tone. "I promised, didn't I?"

Arya felt her cheeks flush with heat. "How…how many…?"

"Including this one? Six. I got all of them."

At that moment, Arya didn't care about the niches of her kind. She didn't care about the fact that she was the queen's daughter and that he was a human barely a fifth her age. She strode towards the soldier and wrapped her arms around his waist. The cold touch of his metal suit did not bother her in the slightest.

If Eragon was her loved one, then Maine was the guardian of her people. The stoic protector who battled life's greatest horrors so that others might live.

"Thank you," she whispered. A warm feeling welled up in her chest, swiftly spreading though her entire body. Even after this terrible war, the dragons would live. "Thank you…thank you…"

His cold, metal gauntlet touched her head, gently brushing her hair. He must have deactivated his shields.

"What about Shruikan?" She then asked.

."Dead. Uru'baen has become his tomb."

"And…Galbatorix?" She asked in a lower tone.

"Completely and utterly dead. "

The elves laughed when they heard that. Long had the idea of a Spartan fighting the King been considered by the natives of Alagaesia. Now, they had their answer, and they didn't have to fear Galbatorix ever again.

"Spartan," spoke one of Arya's kin. A woman with long, raven hair. "Know that I speak for all of us when I say that we cannot thank you enough. Your deeds today…" she shook her head, then twisted her hand to her sternum and bowed. "It seems the stars watch over us. We, in turn, shall watch over you."

Maine carefully handed Arya the dragon egg. "Keep them safe. We're not done. Not yet."

~0~

Vroengard

Delta Team

"Let's give those bastards a little taste of anarchy!" Shouted one of the Marines, before discharging the weapon formally known as a "mortar". The tubular weapon spat a projectile high into the air, which slowly arced through the sky before slamming down on a concentration of Millennia's monstrosities. A tenfold more explosions than had had been launched

The resulting blasts tore through the cluster, tearing them apart with shrapnel and heat and blastwaves far exceeding anything magic could produce.

"Another mortar!" Yelled one of the young men, ducking to avoid getting his head blown apart by a blast of orange light.

Orik immediately darted to the crate of explosives, pocketed a tubular item and rushed to the mortar-team's side again, acutely aware that the item he held in his gauntlets could blow apart a dragon if handled improperly.

"This is Delta Team, under heavy enemy fire!" Their team leader yelled into the radio. "We are running low on ammo and supplies, requesting immediate reinforcements!"

Orik couldn't hear the response, but the Marine reacted with outrage.

"We're going to lose the right flank if this keeps up! We'll take whatever you've got!"

Two large urgals stepped to the front. One of them carried a massive shield, capable of withstanding even ballista fire, while the other one opened fire with what looked like an even bigger version of the standard UNSC rifle.

The enemy tactics had changed. Instead of building horrors made from flesh and organs, the Goddess now opted to build soldiers made of metal instead! One of those monsters had marched towards their entrenched position, blown apart their cover with but one devastating blast of rolling fire and then proceeded to wipe out their "heavy plasma cannon" with another shot. Thinking fast, the two Marines proceeded to drop a mortar on its head, blowing it apart, but then more came to join it!

They were roughly shaped like a human, with another smaller pair of arms below the other and heavy armour draped over their shoulders and back, making them wider above than they were below. Their heads were like angular helmets, leaving only their burning eyes visible.

The urgals' fire merely bounced off their outer carapace. When one of the creatures took aim with a large, elongated rifle, the two urgals ducked behind their shield.

Orik cried out in shock and fear when an orange beam of light erupted from the creature's weapon, pierced the thick shield like it was made from wet paper. The blast sheared half the urgal's torso off.

Before Orik could even move a muscle, the urgal's entire body fell apart like a crimson wave of leaves. Those too scattered like embers on the wind, leaving no trace of the warrior's existence.

His comrade uttered a fearsome bellow and charged the enemy contraption, but it easily speared him on a red lance, lifting him high up in the air before shaking him off like a gutted animal.

The creature tuned and faced Orik. It leaned forwards and then screeched. As it did, the metal plates covering its head slid open, revealing a burning skull instead of a face!

Orik screamed and fumbled with his shotgun. The moment he pointed his weapon at the enemy, the bastard vanished in an explosion of metal shrapnel and shockwaves.

"Think you got it?" Cried one of the Marines.

"Yeah, I think we got it," snapped the other one, with more than a small amount of sarcasm.

Damn mortars…silent killers that fell from the sky without a warning. How could a man protect himself against such violence?

The image of the urgal burning away in a cloud of red embers appeared again in Orik's mind and he gritted his teeth. No act could be condemned, no victory could be soured, he swore to himself.

"Delta Team to Command, we are being overrun!" Shouted the team leader again. He fired a burst into the rocks above, where another hostile took cover. "Well, when will they get here?"

That was when the second hostile, the one who disappeared after the urgals were killed, leapt into the battlefield again. Orik was knocked off his feet by the sudden blow. Cursing in his native language all the while, he came to a rough stop against a rock outcropping.

Sensing an easy kill, the abomination leapt after its prey, propelling itself high into the air with its metal and artificially-strengthened muscles. There was no doubt about it; a single hit with even the slightest amount of momentum behind it would kill Orik.

The dwarf knew this. He frantically tried to pull his sidearm from its holster, but the damnable thing was stuck. It was stuck and he couldn't get it out in time!

Orik barely had the time to scream before the monstrosity was upon him -

A green shape blurred in-between the, faster than even the eyes of a keen dwarven warrior could follow. The next thing Orik knew, a giant gauntlet took a hold of his left shoulder and hauled him out of the way. Almost an instant later, the monster that had been about to tear into him about was sent flying.

"Catch you at a bad time?" Asked the armoured figure.

Orik narrowed his eyes. "By Hrothgar's beard! Maine, is that you, boy?"

Clad once again in his fearsome armour, the Spartan was a sight to behold. Taller than an elf, offering one hand to help the fallen dwarf to his feet while holding a mighty, shimmering blade made from burning light in his other, he appeared more like a god of war than a man.

"Hah!" Cried Orik, grabbing the Rider's unyielding gauntlet with both hands. "He is back! Come Spartan, lead us to victory!"

With uncanny precision, the green-clad soldier mowed down the more vulnerable opponents. He drew forth a rifle that was even larger than the one he normally carried. The amount of fire he laid down seemed endless, and even the larger creatures that could take half a magazine without dying eventually howled and fell.

Orik lowered his gun, seeing that Maine had this under control. Gods, there was barely anything human in the way he moved. In his power. When only the strange, metal opponents were left, they charged. They blurred towards the defenders, crossing a dozen meters in the blink of an eye.

The Spartan saw them coming and leapt back just in time to avoid the strange, glowing blades that the mechanical horrors wielded.

Orik and the two Marines opened fire, catching their enemies in a blistering hail of bullets. It occurred to the dwarf that he might as well have been throwing mud at them; a strange, shimmering field protected them against the bullets, much like Maine's own suit did.

One of them charged at the Rider, who blocked the strike with his armoured forearm and drew his pistol in a lightning-fast gesture. He emptied the magazine into the creature's chest in the time it took Orik to take two steps backwards, but then the other one was upon him, and the Spartan took a strike directly to his sternum.

He rolled with the blow and immediately got back to his feet. The mechanical creature backed off, firing its strange weapon while it did.

The second one pressed the attack and struck at the Spartan's head, intent on claiming it.

It received a slash of the Covenant blade for its troubles. Its shields flickered, then died.

Maine thrust his hand forward, slamming something bright and blue against the creature's narrow waist.

The spell sent the metal knight flying against its partner. An instant later, both of them vanished in a brilliant flash of light. Orik had to shield his eyes from the intensity of the explosion. Heat washed over him, searing his skin through his armour. It was like a burst of dragon fire, hot enough to melt even stones.

When the light faded away, most of the trees caught in the blast were gone. A large section of the forest was on fire.

Miraculously, one of the metal knights survived. It uttered a strange screech, then collapsed in on itself and vanished.

"The hell?" Said one of the Marines. "Where'd it go?"

Maine deactivated his blade and reloaded his pistol. "It doesn't matter. We'll regroup and prepare for the main assault. You should await further orders."

While the two Marines started reloading their weapons and taking stock of their inventory, Orik approached the Spartan, laughing. "Finish the fight in Uru'baen already, have you? What'd you find there?"

"King Galbatorix."

Orik scowled. "Did that traitor survive the outbreak?"

Maine shook his head. "The Flood got him as well as Shruikan."

"Hah. Justice in the end. How'd did get rid of them?"

"Sliced him into twenty pieces, then dropped about a thousand ton of rocks on his head."

Chuckling, Orik said, "How much alike the dwarves and your UNSC are. Now then. What else did you find, except for death?"

"Eggs," replied Maine. "Six of them total. The dragons won't go extinct just yet."

The news shocked Orik. He honestly had not expected that even one of the eggs would have survived, but six? "By Morgothal's beard, that means we still have a future! I bet Aeraleth is mighty pleased, is she not?"

Maine didn't answer immediately. "You should expect to be placed back with the other dwarves. Hrothgar will make landfall soon."

"…aye," replied Orik, sensing that the Rider would prefer not to speak about his bonded dragon. He could not blame him. The closest thing he had to a bonded partner was Hvedra, his wife. Finding out that someone you held so dear wasn't who you thought they were…no, Orik couldn't imagine what Maine was going through. Even a battle-hardened warrior like him had his limits.

"Then I will see you in battle soon!" Orik continued. He hesitated for a few seconds, then reached out and bumped his fist against the Spartan's thigh. Higher he could not reach. "Stay strong, Spartan."

With that, Orik turned back to the Marines. It looked like they could use some help after all.

~0~

Vroengard HQ

The Golden Deity was relentless in her assaults. Wave after wave of organic and mechanical abominations hammered their positions. This union of species had its back against the wall, metaphorically and literally.

Only now did Shipmaster Ranamai understand the importance of working together with his hated enemy. The ancient feud between his people and the Jiralhanae seemed childish and inconsequential compared to the hatred that this Forerunner entity harboured towards the galaxy.

Licinus understood. He understood before the others did. If they could not unite, Millennia Never Falling would escape her tomb. She would spread across the stars. As virulent as the Flood, as hateful as the former Covenant. She would regain her former glory and subjugate every living species she found. This entire galaxy would become her garden.

The Shipmaster accepted that, but did so begrudgingly. That a Jiralhanae could see reason before he could…it was a blow to his pride that he had to compensate for.

Ranamai glanced around the headquarters. The four majestic beasts, the "dragons", rested within the central square. The last living Forerunner, Aeronomer of Alluring Ether, had her focus directed towards them. Even when her consciousness was trapped within the physical body of the black dragon, her powers granted her the ability to project her true self within the minds of everybody around her. Her true form stood in the very centre of the square, appearing every bit as noble and regal as Ranamai imagined one of the last surviving Gods to be.

Scattered around the four dragons lay the bodies of fallen Mgalekgolo gestalts, inert vehicles and crashed dropships. At her request, Seraph fighters had even retrieved sections of scattered warship hulls from space, where the fights with the Jiralhanae forces had taken place. The Forerunner took those broken husks and tore them into pieces, rearranging them into forms she deemed more befitting.

Technology or magic, the Sangheili knew not what he witnessed. He watched with fascination as an Mgalekgolo body levitated in the air, before the armoured sections tore themselves free of the gestalt and tore themselves into different sections, rippling like water before shifting into more symmetrical forms.

Dragon armour, the swordmaster thought. Crafted from the strongest material she can find.

The process consumed far less time than garbing four titanic beasts in combat armour should have taken. First, Aeronomer clad the dragons in an undersuit not dissimilar to Ranamai's own. Next were the plates crafted from nanolaminate materials, clinging to the undersuits without burdening the wearers with their weight. The thickest plates surrounded the chest and spine, overlapping and interlinking like a Sangheili combat harness.

The lightest plates were reserved for the dragons' tails and legs, a well-fitting combination of light armour and meshes of that black human fabric. The helmets that encapsulated their sleek heads were composed of a series of interlocking plates that smoothened out towards the end, leaving space for their jaws to snap and bite while leaving their eyes protected.

Ranamai considered the thought of these titanic beasts clad in armour that would make an Mgalekgolo tremble with desire. Perhaps, with proper armaments, they would prove their worth.

When the four dragons were fully clad in armour, they took their leave. One by one they spread their formidable wings, leapt into the air and flew towards the zones of conflict. Each dragon took its own direction, no doubt guided by the Forerunner's thoughts.

Then, the apparition of the Forerunner turned to regard Ranamai himself.

'Ready your forces, Sangheili Shipmaster,' her words echoed in his mind. 'The Metarch shall send in her own heavy infantry to take your vehicles. Do not let her.'

Ranamai glanced at the direction where the Wraith tanks stood. A few of them underwent repairs from previous skirmishes with the accursed machine intelligence. Their massive bands of armour had not protected them nearly as well as he had hoped. Another reason to make haste; their enemy was growing stronger with every passing minute.

"I shall obey, Ancient One," Ranamai pledged, twisting his right hand against his chest in a sign of reverence. He moved to give the order, then hesitated. It occurred to him that, despite the nobility of his actions, he would be directing warriors to turn human-held land to glass once again. This island had long been abandoned according to the queen who once held dominion over this place, but it served as their capital for centuries.

To order his vehicles to continue scarring this land felt…wrong.

'You are hesitating?' The Forerunner then spoke, as if she sensed his doubt.

"There rests a great dishonour upon the shoulders of the Sangheili," Ranamai softly replied. He marched towards the Wraiths' position, mulling over his words. "We fight to absolve ourselves of that dishonour, yet we cause more suffering, more damage that cannot be repaired."

'The actions of your species brought enormous suffering upon humanity. Will they seek to harm you the way you harmed them? Time shall tell. Until that fateful decision is made, you hold the power to gain their acceptance. Do with that what you must.'

The Shipmaster nodded, seeing what the Forerunner meant. Humanity would not forgive. They would not forget. But perhaps, given time, they might accept. They might march onwards, with the Sangheili at their side.

"Third Lance, we have confirmation that the enemy seeks to destroy our Wraiths!" He barked into his helmet's integrated radio. "Reinforce their perimeter, let nothing pass!"

"It shall be done," the Special Operations Commander growled back. Faith and a mind of steel were virtues every Special Operations warrior should strive for, but these days, their concept of faith grew wider and broader still. Faith in the Gods was replaced with faith in the people, faith in the cause. Today, that faith would be tested.

~0~

The alliance of natives, Covenant and UNSC forces had effectively established a foothold on the island and Millennia had failed to dislodge them.

Now, with the AI no doubt planning how to kick them off her island, the UNSC established several patrol squads. The elves were scouting the island when they were not busy tending to the wounded. They had standing orders to remove all magical curses that the Forerunner AI might have placed on Vroengard and, if possible, gather intelligence about the enemy's stronghold.

The dwarves were digging out trenches, setting up portable cover and generally getting a lay of the land. It was one of those groups that Maine encountered during his second patrol. They were busy hewing away at a cliff, setting up a motion sensor to prevent the monsters from sneaking up on the main camp.

They were being noisy about it. Telling jokes, laughing to each other and even singing songs about their ancestors as they worked. Some of them noticed him as he passed them by. They saluted him in their own way and even cheered him on as he joined them at the cliff.

The word "hero" was muttered more than once.

Maine wondered about that. Was he a hero? If fate cast its die differently, things could have turned out differently in the worst of ways. He might even have sides against them, cutting down their forces with the trademark lethality he now seemed to be so renowned for.

A trained killer was a better description. Soldier above rider.

But the appreciation and gratefulness were a warm welcome.

"Watch the left side. Thark, make sure those spells function," ordered one of the dwarves. It was impossible to mistake that rumbling voice, oozing with confidence and authority.

When the Spartan came close to the central group of the dwarves, he wasn't at all surprised to see king Hrothgar standing at the front, clad in his gilded armour and armed with his war hammer.

Looking up, the king spotted the Spartan approaching. Maine placed his rifle away and snapped off a salute.

Hrothgar smiled – or so Maine believed, that mane of silver hair made it difficult to verify – and nodded at him.

"Patrolling as well, boy?" He asked.

The Spartan glanced down at the dwarven king with some amusement. The contrast between them seemed almost comical. "Your majesty. Waiting for the assault to start. Shock troopers will be spearheading it, me included."

A twinkle appeared in the ancient king's eyes and he chuckled deeply. "Every day is the same for you is it not, Spartan?"

He certainly hoped not. He was not planning on returning to his old life. He didn't even know how. Until Alan got back to his infiltrations, nobody knew which person in ONI ordered the hit on his life.

Deciding on a different subject, the Spartan asked, "Are you still fighting on the front-lines, sire?"

The king sighed. "Do you even have to ask that, Spartan?" Shaking his head, he then said, "I will be down there with my kin, fighting for my home just as you will."

Maine frowned behind his helmet. He knew that the king would say that. It was the way those who lived in medieval ages fought; lords and kings fought alongside their subjects, laying waste to their enemies with their superior training and equipment. But one projectile in the wrong place, one monster that couldn't be immediately eliminated…

"If something were to happen to you…" Started the Spartan.

The king shook his head. "The Clans need to know I am there with them, fighting on the front. We stand on the brink, Spartan, as did your people. Does your Captain not command from the front? Does the "bridge" of his ship not face the enemy directly?"

It did, and Maine was not pleased with that. "It would be a great loss for the Clans if you were to die."

At that, the king started laughing. It was a deep, rumbling sounds, not unlike the laughter of a Brute. "That, it would. And a greater loss for Millennia Never Falling still. Nothing enrages the dwarves quite like the death of their comrades, with the murderer in their grasp. If a dwarven king were to fall, the reckoning would be great."

The Spartan looked down at the king and cocked his head to one side. It seemed like a short-term advantage accompanied by a long-term loss to him. Still, if they lost this battle, there would be no long-term to worry about.

Hrothgar knew this as well. That was why he wasn't worried about dying.

How he had underestimated the leaders of Alagaesia… "I understand."

The king eyed him for a few moments, his eyes sharp and focused above his wild beard. "I hope you do. Much depends on your performance today, Spartan. Make sure you are fully prepared as well."

Maine nodded. "Of course, sire."

He politely excused himself and left the dwarves on their own. Knowing that they were aiding the UNSC in building their defences was a comforting thought. The dwarves built sturdy, efficiently and above all, fast. Maine could already see the long lines of trenches and fortifications popping up. When aided by the elves, they might actually stand a chance of resisting the Forerunner's army if it counter-attacked.

`The Spartan frowned underneath his helmet. Something wasn't right about this. He broadened his consciousness and felt Aeronomer close by. 'Aeronomer?'

After a brief moment of waiting, she responded to his call. 'Yes, Reclaimer. I am here.'

Maine wanted to ask her about the tactical situation of Vroengard, but reconsidered. After all this time, he hadn't even asked her about her. 'Are you alone? As a Forerunner, are you alone?'

'I thought I was not. I thought one of my fellow Warrior-Servants made it. Saber of Philosophical Rapture was my senior by a mere two decades.'

'Saphira?'

'Yes and no.' The barest hint of sorrow trickled through their mental link. 'I thought it was Eragon's bonded partner. I was mistaken. It was Brom's.'

The first Saphira…she was murdered by Morzan years ago. 'I am sorry.'

'Perhaps that is why Brom did not fall into despair, after she passed away…' Mused Aeronomer. 'Perhaps that is why he was able to defeat Morzan and so many others. A part of her was with him, for all of his life.'

'Brom was Eragon's father. Do you think that is why you were wrong? Because you sense a part of her within Saphira?'

'It is certainly possible.' She paused. 'Something else bothers you.'

Maine smiled. Ever perceptive. 'Millennia's forces. Before, they were monsters. Effective, but not soldiers.'

'Yes?'

He focused on a mental picture of the metallic knights. 'But those new things fight with firearms. Deadly firearms. How did she - ?'

'Create those?' Aeronomer finished his sentence. 'When the Contender was imprisoned, the Librarian knew she would attempt to escape. All knowledge was taken from her, so that she could never bring harm upon living beings ever again.'

Maine snorted. 'Something tells me she failed.'

'It does appear that way. Millennia has discovered the means to produce Promethean Knights, mechanized Prometheans fueled by the essence of living beings.'

Prometheans…he knew that name. They were the best of the Warrior-Servants, the Spartans of the Forerunners. 'Those things are Forerunner too?'

A measure of sadness crept into Aeronomer's voice when she replied. 'They are not. Any organic essence will serve in the creation of a Promethean Knight.'

Maine felt a sense of unease. 'Those things can be human too?'

'Human, elf, urgal…it matters not. A Metarch like Millennia can easily burn a pattern of her own mind into the armour of a Promethean. Like the Shades that plague this land, our enemies might be possessed by her as well.'

The Spartan shook his head. 'Just when I thought the situation was manageable…'

Aeronomer experienced a measure of amusement. 'We are still alive, are we not?'

With those parting words, she withdrew from the Spartan's consciousness, returning her attention to the larger scope of the assault.

If only he could multi-task like she could…

He finished his patrol without ever encountering any hostiles. Afterwards, he returned to HQ. He got a call from Ajihad, requesting him to come to the elves' command pavilion.

The allied headquarters had been hastily erected at the southern-most beach, from where the various vehicles could easily traverse the rough terrain and push towards the old city. Prefabricated Covenant buildings dominated the encampment now. Sniper towers, shielded outposts and many, many gun turrets served as the outer perimeter of the camp.

The Spartan marvelled at the way the elven spellcasters had utilized their magical prowess to aid in the perimeter defence. He spotted flamethrower turrets, well-camouflaged plasma mortars and weapon platforms he couldn't even identify. Now that they had a couple of days to adjust to this new doctrine of warfare, the elves proved to be every bit as resourceful and creative as he had hoped.

When he passed the Jackal and Brute sentries, he reached the familiar sight of UNSC camps. The inner layer of the headquarters was more traditional in design, built and inhabited by the non-Covenant species. A mixture of UNSC, Varden and elven designs. Maine glanced at one of those tents, guarded by a pair of tired-looking elves. He recognized it as the queen's tent, and wondered briefly why he had been summoned there.

The two elves stepped aside to let him pass, keeping their expressions impassive. He did catch how they visibly seemed to relax when he passed between them. He was glad that the news of the dragon eggs had spread so fast; knowing that fighting and winning would result in a better tomorrow would improve morale everywhere.

The inside of the pavilion was crowded, more so than Maine expected. Queen Islanzadí stood bowed over a holopedastal, observing the data that the drones had gathered. As before, she was clad in a golden corselet of scale armour, with a helmet upon her head and a short, red cap draped over her shoulders. A long, slim sword hung from her narrow waist, though that didn't seem to be her weapon of choice today. Perhaps realizing that extreme close quarters combat was best left to the experts, she carried her white-bladed spear in her left hand

Lord Däthedr stood on the opposite end of the pedestal, gesturing at the location from where they would be attacking. He wore a suit of plate armour as well, but didn't carry a helmet. UNSC radio operators stood at the far end of the pavilion, staring at their portable consoles and directing the teams still in the field. A team of spellcasters sat in the centre of the pavilion, gathered around a large assortment of weapons. An M41 SPNKR, a modified M343 Chaingun, a Plasma Rifle, two SMG's and an M90 Shotgun.

The elves were chanting, completely engrossed in what they were doing.

"Your step is silent, Spartan, but your mind is difficult to miss," Islanzadí said, before turning to face him. She smiled.

She looked well. Better than before. Aeronomer told him that the elves were especially vulnerable to Millennia Never Falling's whispers. Perhaps after today, they'd finally be freed from that burden.

"Do I stand out that much?" He asked. He thought he knew the answer.

"It is not you who stands out, per se," she replied. "I heard of your venture into the plague city. I heard you were victorious. Dare I ask…how much…how many…?"

Behind his visor, Maine cocked an eyebrow. Didn't Arya tell her own mother? She must have been busy. "Six, total. Once they've hatched, and grown, the USNC might be able to bring their species back from the brink."

It was very likely that Islanzadí had had the time to process this realization herself beforehand. She beamed with radiant triumph, but remained composed. "Now, we all have a future worth fighting for." She took a few moments for herself, perhaps reflecting on what he just told her. After a while, she asked, "You must be wondering why we asked for you."

He was, but he didn't want to admit that. "Spartans are cryogenically frozen between missions, my queen. Moving from one task to the other is all we've ever known."

She raised a graceful eyebrow, but didn't comment. "Then perhaps it is you whose destiny would change the most. Regardless, our final battle approaches swiftly. All warriors are looking for an edge and we have found the perfect edge for you. It was one of your own who thought of the idea."

"Idea?" Maine asked, his curiosity piqued. He glanced at the chanting elves again.

"Indeed." As if she knew precisely where he was looking, she gestured at her spellcasters. "A mixture of your technology and our magic. A taste of the greatness that is to come in the time of peace. Aeronomer guided our hand, while the warriors following master Ranamai and Licinus allowed us to take the energy from them. The Sangheili and Jiralhanae are brimming with lifeforce. We should be just about finished."

Wondering what the queen meant, Maine tried to focus on the words spoken by the chanting spellcasters. He couldn't make much sense of it, but he did understand that they were about to finish.

While he watched, the air around the pile of weapons shimmered and distorted. One by one, they slid across the floor towards an invisible point at the far left of the formation, whereupon the weapons would disappear in thin air.

"Did it…work?" One of the elves softly said, carefully cracking open one eye to observe their work.

"Not yet…" Replied another.

A blue glowing ring, about as wide as a large fist, appeared atop the position where the weapons disappeared. It faded and almost disappeared, but then it seemed to stabilize.

Islanzadí smiled. "I believe it worked. Go ahead, Spartan. Attempt it."

Maine glanced at the elven woman, not entirely sure what she meant. "How?"

"The band of light conceals the entrance to a pocket of space, where the weapons you saw now rest in a circular position, ready to be drawn and utilized. Their weight should not burden you."

A pocket space where he could store weapons and ammo without having to worry about being encumbered by their weight? Magic like that could revolutionize the battlefield. Had every soldier in the war been issued such a device, the war with the Covenant would have gone very differently.

The Spartan didn't know what to say. He approached the floating band of light and reached out with his index finger. To his surprise, it was tangible.

"You will have to use your own spells to bind it to your armour," said Däthedr. When Maine tried to do so, he quickly added, "I would attempt it the other way around,". "That is where the opening is."

The Spartan cautiously construed a spell to bind the werelight to his belt, right side, then reached inside. He felt the grip of the Chaingun and pulled it out of the pocket space. The werelight expanded as the massive firearm emerged from thin air.

Impressive.

"How does this work?" He asked, feeling behind the blue ring of light. He couldn't feel anything there. Where did the mass go?

"The way we understand it, the space where your guns reside, exists within a different realm," explained Däthedr. "The entrance is the only way to access it."

The Chaingun was different from how he remembered it. A modified stock and what looked like a compression chamber had been added. It appeared a bit ramshackle, but sturdy enough to use in close quarters combat in case of an emergency.

"This is going to make a lot of soldiers very happy," he commented.

Däthedr smiled, but it didn't seem very humorous. "In truth, the energy cost was significant. Casting such a spell for everybody would be…impractical. For the coming battle, you will be the only one to make use out of this technique."

It was disappointing, but there was no helping it. As it was, he was grateful. "I'll make good use out it. Thank you."

"No Spartan, thank you," Islanzadí said, sincere. "Thanks to your efforts, the dragons might have a future again. We all might have a future again."

Maine placed the Chaingun back in the pocket dimension again. "Let's take this one step at a time, your majesty."

Following that logic, he had one last thing to do before someone sent him on another mission. He hadn't seen Daenlith at all since his venture into Uru'baen. Between reinforcing positions that were about to be overrun and reporting to his superiors, there just hadn't been any time.

But now, for once, he had nothing to do. While it appeared he was the cornerstone of this invasion, his superiors were too preoccupied to command him right now.

Or, more likely, they simply allowed him a moment of rest. Either way, he would not squander his time.

He found Aeronomer's consciousness and asked her if she knew where Daenlith was.

'Daenlith? She currently guards one of the outposts to the east,' she replied with a hint of amusement. 'If you wish to seek her out, I can guide you to her.'

'I would like that.'

Many of the outposts the UNSC, Varden and Covenant forces placed served the same purpose, which was to defend a chokepoint against enemy incursions. Since the defender was always at a disadvantage when it came to an enemy with unknown capabilities, the strategy of literally fighting for every inch of the island wasn't exactly the best. Still, the UNSC had been fighting a defensive war for three decades now. They might just be able to make it work.

Fifteen minutes later, the Spartan arrived at a small camp. A collection of tents and one prefabricated Covenant structure served as the barracks for the soldiers posted there. Two sniper towers, manned by Jackal snipers and Grunt Heavies, dominated the area. The ground around the formation was covered with soot ,blast marks and small craters. A battle had been fought here recently.

Concern settled within his stomach and he picked up the pace. He didn't get more than a couple of meters before the Jackals spotted him. They cried a warning to their comrades and leveled their particle rifles at him, but they held their fire.

Approaching a fully manned sniper tower went against everything Maine knew. He glared at the pair of snipers on the closest tower, struggling to restrain himself.

The company at the center of the outpost looked a whole lot friendlier. Murtagh and Daenlith stood bowed over a holotank, clad in modified ODST armour, discussing their next move. Three elven spellcasters stood in a large tent, tending to a row of wounded soldiers. A couple of Grunts, two urgals, five dwarves and one very angry-looking Elite.

Because the Jackal snipers immediately alerted the group upon Maine's arrival, Daenlith and Murtagh immediately stopped what they were doing and drew their weapons. Upon seeing him, they visibly relaxed, then hurried towards him.

"Maine!" Daenlith exclaimed. They met in the middle of the camp, but this time, where Daenlith grasped his gauntlets. Her expression was inscrutable, which seemed odd considering the circumstances. "Are you unhurt?"

"Yes?"

Her expression was anything but relieved. Maine began to wonder if he did something wrong. Surely she wasn't mad that he survived?

"It's not like you to grace us with your presence after the battle," Murtagh said. "The silence surrounding your mission was…disconcerting, for some."

Ah.

"We have fought and killed for many hours while you were gone," Daenlith said, looking him straight in his eyes. "Your continued absence became noticeable not just to me. What happened? Did you win?"

He smiled underneath his visor. "Of course I won."

Just like the queen, Daenlith would have steeled herself for either outcome. Still, he saw her eyes widen, and she seemed to grow tense.

"No way!" Exclaimed Murtagh, looking stunned. "Your mission – that was Uru'baen, right? What do you mean, you won!"

To finally be able to feel pride in his achievements…it was a feeling he could get used to. A feeling he wanted to get used to. "I found the eggs. Six of them. They're safe now."

There was a moment of shocked silence, Then, Murtagh quietly asked, "What of Galbatorix?"

"The Flood got to him to long before I did. They took his mind, and I destroyed his body."

"Good," Murtagh replied with grim satisfaction. "Shruikan?"

"The same."

"Six dragon eggs…" whispered Daenlith, her eyes growing moist. "I cannot believe it…"

She was like Arya in that regard. So stoic, so fierce, but ultimately just as fragile as any human. He gave her a soft nudge, not really knowing what else to do. "Just another thing to look forward to, if we win this."

"When we win this," Murtagh corrected him. "Come on, let's bring you up to speed. Nasuada just contacted us. They've settled on how to approach the operation."

~0~

Centre of Vroengard

Eragon could barely hear himself think over the excited squeals of the Grunts, the snapping and snarling of the Jackals and the yelling of the men. Close by, a Hunter pair flexed their spines and legs, prompting the soldiers around them to back off. The enormous beasts obeyed naught but the commands of their Elite Commander, the swordmaster Ranamai, who stood at the very front of his army, directing his soldiers directly.

Soon, they would be assaulting the city. The largest collection of species Eragon had ever seen stood assembled at the top of the valley. While the initial onslaught saw successes all around, with all the teams gaining a foothold where they were supposed to, nobody doubted that the final battle would be different.

Eragon loathed the idea that Saphira and the other dragons would not be accompanying them the old-fashioned way. But he understood why; outfitted with their new armour, the dragons could take whatever Millennia fired their way. They had as much firepower as other aircraft had and wouldn't be limited by logistics.

That Saphira would not be fighting at his side, did not mean that he was alone. Whether it was the result of casualties or a mere shift in command, he did not know. All that mattered was that he would be fighting alongside his friends and family again. Roran would be by his side, along with Arya, Murtagh and of course, Maine and Daenlith. There were others assigned to their squad as well, but Eragon did not know who they were yet. The armies were still assembling at the top of the valley and not everybody was in position yet.

He watched Arya discuss something with Maine. Her hair, black as midnight, was twisted and tied back up on itself. She had clipped it there with a small, wooden clamp. From where it was clamped, her hair spiked upwards until gracefully falling down just below her shoulders. A few bangs of hair had slipped from their place, gently framing her ethereal beauty.

Maine was a stark opposite of Arya. His helmet was clipped on his belt and his face, though youthful, was as scarred and rough as that of soldiers decades his senior. His bright, blue eyes were directed on the map that lay between them. It had probably been forged by one of the Starborn's unmanned crafts.

"Resistance will be extreme in the centre here. It is imperative we stay close to the other teams," said Maine.

"The longer we wait, the more time she has to build up her defences," retorted Arya. She gestured at the map. "The others and I can sense her when we are close. A mind like hers cannot be obscured."

Eragon felt a modicum of misery when he saw them go through their tactics. A princess and a warrior. Both spent years of their life on the battlefield. Both knew the horrors the world had to offer. They were equals, despite the difference in age.

Despite everything that happened, the fighting, the death and destruction…Eragon knew that he was still but a boy, while Arya was a woman. He could never hold it against Maine, as he never had a choice in the matter, but…

Eragon sighed. He shouldn't be jealous of the Spartan. There was nothing to be jealous about. His was a destiny so miserable that he would not even wish it upon his enemies. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what it was like to be treated like a warrior first and a boy second.

Another elf lithely ran up to the Spartan and performed a quick greeting. "Spartan. Our group has been outfitted with the Covenant's weapons, but requires guidance on how to operate them. Could you lend us your assistance?"

Maine nodded once. I'll be there shortly," he said, speaking with an authority worthy of royalty. He glanced at Arya again. "If you and the others can locate her actual consciousness with certainty, we'll do it."

Arya's lips curled into a humour-filled half-smile. "I am glad it bears your satisfaction."

Maine stared at her blankly for a few moments before slipping on his helmet and leaving.

Next, Arya turned and met Eragon's gaze. He felt his weariness from the long day of fighting vanish the moment he laid eyes upon her emerald eyes. "Well met, Eragon Shadeslayer."

Eragon smiled, but his smile faltered when he noticed the tired edge in her eyes and the weariness in her voice. "I am glad to see you are unhurt."

She did not answer, instead holding his gaze. Her burning green eyes seemed to take in every detail of him. Again, Eragon felt like he couldn't hide a thing from her. He no longer had the strength or will to hide his thoughts. How much could she see?

His heart hammering in his chest, Eragon took a deep breath. "I – "

"There is no need to be jealous," said Arya.

Eragon felt the rest of his sentence die somewhere inside of his throat. He struggled to get his heart to stop beating that damned fast, failed in his endeavour and merely settled for a raspy, "What?"

Her lips pursed into a little smile. "I thought you passed the stage of looking at Maine with longing. Should I take this as cause for concern?"

"N-No!" Stammered Eragon. How could he ever mistake Arya's intentions after the time they spent together? "It's just... Linnëa's tale. It scares me."

Arya cocked her head quizzingly. "Linnëa's tale scares you?" She repeated, sounding bemused by his admission.

Eragon nodded. "I am well aware of the difference in age between us. I want to be undaunted, but when I see the looks the other elves and Starborn cast my way sometimes…" He shook his head in frustration. "They remind me, every time again, that there is so much more I must learn and experience. Nobody looks at him like that. He's seen everything, done everything."

"And you think that is a good thing?" Asked Arya, surprised.

"No! No, not at all. But sometimes I feel so out of my depth."

She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his frame, gently pulling him against her chest. The smell of crushed pine needles pleasantly stung his nose. "When this is all over, you and I can rebuild the order of the Riders together. We can live our lives. He will need us then, as much as we need him now."

Eragon considered that for a moment. He never gave life after the war much thought. Having heard the things those UNSC agents revealed about his friend first-hand, he would be the last person to deny Maine's problems. Arya was right.

The she-elf smiled. It seemed she wanted to say more, but that was when the shouting started. The soldiers around them snapped to attention as their officers began barking orders. Brutes and Elites gestured at their squads, ordering the Grunts and Jackals to ready themselves.

Eragon grabbed his ODST helmet and shoved it over his head, wincing as his pointed ears brushed against its inside.

Arya donned hers as well, then reached for one of the SMG's clipped to her side.

"Murtagh!" Yelled Eragon. He hoped his brother was around to hear him. It wasn't uncommon for soldiers to spend their last few moments before battle with their loved ones, but it also wasn't uncommon for Murtagh to slip away when nobody watched.

But it wasn't Murtagh who appeared. Instead, more of the mechanical creatures materialized in their midst, immediately striking at whoever was closest to them.

Before Eragon could even think of a spell to stop these incursions, the hillside leading down to the valley exploded outwards. Mounds of dirt and fire erupted outwards. In the distance, hulking shapes of things climbed from the earth, towering over the trees that still remained standing. They were roughly human in shape, with long, muscled arms that nearly reached to the ground. They were the colour of charcoal, but their skin seemed to be made from stone.

Explosions followed in their wake as they turned their focus to the gathered armies. Immediately, the Covenant and UNSC-Varden armies opened fire on them as well. Plasma, bullets and magical fire Eragon could not even hope to comprehend slammed into their hides, blowing off large sections of the jagged rocks that protected them.

In return, the new creatures unleashed flames and explosions with every move they made, claiming more than a few vehicles and dozens of men before the spellcasters recovered from the appearance of these new enemies.

The elves spread throughout the formations responded with lightning-fast reflexes, casting protective spells and wards to contain the flames and protect against the heat. Others moved wounded soldiers out of the way of the approaching monstrosities.

"Take down those Knights!" Maine ordered their squad through the radio. "Let the vehicles take care of those big ones!"

Eragon immediately pulled out his assault rifle and undid the safety. From the minds around him, he caught glimpses of the Forerunner constructs as they tore through their ranks. Strange, metallic warriors that cut through armour and bone with glancing strikes and incinerated their enemies with uncanny accuracy.

He spotted one of those "Knights" as the Spartan called them and fired off a sustained burst. Merely half of those bullets hit the target, but normally, that would have been enough.

This time, the protective shield that kept the Knight safe protected it against all the projectiles shot its way. Arya joined minds with Eragon and opened fire on the enemy as well. Almost all of her bullets were on mark, but the Knight merely kept going, unfazed.

That was, until a Kull tackled it, forcing the mechanical creature to a dead stop. The rare-blood urgal slammed a battle-axe against its armoured midsection, which harmlessly bounced off its shields. Not letting the failed strike faze him, the Kull proceeded to tackle the Knight to the ground.

An elf with a large cut running down her right shoulder brushed past him, carrying an Elite by the wrist. The Knight struggled mightily to get free, even impaling the Kull through the gut to get free.

The Elite roared and activated his energy sword. The iridescent blade easily punched through the creature's chest, pinning it to the ground. The elf then blasted the fallen Knight in the face with a plasma pistol.

One of the titans strode too close to the infantry and received a flurry of missiles for its trouble. The explosives blew apart its midsection, revealing a dark, red skeleton underneath.

Eragon reached out with his mind and was surprised to feel the presence of something huge and hot, burning with a ravenous, insatiable hunger, coming from below their feet.

"Bad guy below!" He yelled, before throwing himself to the side. Moments later, another one of those black demons emerged from the ground, right in the middle of their formation.

Unfortunately for the creature, it could not have chosen a worse place to emerge. It attracted the attention of a pair of Hunters, who wasted no time in aiming their man-sized weapons at it.

The creature got off the first blow, causing the ground underneath the two Hunters to ignite in flames. For one horrified moment, Eragon thought the two mighty warriors would be reduced to ashes. Then, he saw their armoured forms march through the flames like they were crossing rain instead of a raging firestorm. Their weapons glowed and discharged.

Rearing back, the massive creature reached for what remained of its head, most of it having been vaporized by the Hunters. Then, with surprising speed, it swept at the two aliens with a massive claw, one of its "nails" raked the ground, tearing open a ditch that could have concealed a group of dwarves.

The two Hunters did not bother to evade the blow. The claw came to a rough stop against the massive aliens, but they didn't even flinch.

Out of nowhere, Maine vaulted over one of the Hunters, kicked off from its shoulders and leapt atop the black monster. He jammed a blue sphere against the creature's neck and jumped off again.

Someone clad in ODST armour followed suit a second later. She gestured with her wrist at the enormous hostile, targeting it with one of those laser lights.

Two seconds later, the blue sphere detonated with the force of a small sun, consuming half the creature with torrents of blue flames.

"Get clear, get clear, incoming danger close!" Shouted the Spartan.

Eragon didn't understand what was about to happen, but he knew better than to ignore the words of a Spartan on the battlefield. He, along with Arya and other infantry around them, flung themselves to the floor.

Mere moments later, led only by a shrill whistle that grew louder right before impact, something massive impacted on the behemoth and blew its torso apart. The overpressure waves washed over him, and Eragon felt several pieces of shrapnel bounce off his legs. None of the shards penetrated, however. His wards still seemed to work against debris not caused by the Goddess' army.

"Hostile down."

Eragon whistled. "That was awesome."

"Come," Said Arya. "We need to break through!"

Maine reloaded his weapon and went to work. He hit one of the Knights with a barrage of gunfire that was powerful enough to lower its shields, but his ammunition ran out just before he could breach them completely.

Daenlith followed up the moment his ammo ran out. She hit it with two blasts of a shotgun she held with one hand, allowing Maine to close in and strike it with several lightning-quick punches. The last time his gauntlet hit the Knight's midsection, the creature's armour cracked.

By that time, Arya riddled it with a sustained burst of fire herself. The Knight fell to the ground and burned away.

"Hail, Eragon! Hail, Spartan!" Cried a voice Eragon could recognize everywhere.

"Orik!" Yelled back Eragon. He saw the dwarf making his way past the other infantry, making his way to his new squad. "Did you see our army? Hrothgar reported little to no resistance!"

The moment Orik uttered those words, a series of flashes distracted Eragon from his conversation. He looked around and saw that the dozens of Forerunner Knights had all vanished without a trace. While the allied army took care of the last of those fire demons, the resulting calmness still made him feel uneasy.

All around him, the fighting stopped. The occasional rattle of gunfire or low-pitched whines of plasma discharges just…faded away.

Maine stepped towards the edge of the valley, where the ground started arcing downwards. "That can't be good," he said.

"The Contender would not stop fighting like that," replied Daenlith.

"No," muttered Arya. "She would not."

Orik huffed. "Are they running?"

A Kull wearily approached their team, never taking his eyes off the centre of the city. He looked familiar to Eragon, though he was certain he had never seen an urgal in Brute armour before. The urgal held his head high as he strode towards them, evidently ill at ease in the blue set of armour.

He stopped at a few meters' distance. Eragon saw that both Daenlith as Arya shifted their stances subtly, while Orik merely eyed the Kull nervously. His eyes widened when he recognized the urgal and he cried, "Ah, Garzhvog! Are you not leading your own troops?"

Nar Garzhvog! But where did he get that set of armour?

The Kull shook his horned head. "Nay. My brother will lead our warriors. This battle I will see finished by the one who started it. If you would have me, Dark Warrior."

Maine looked over at Garzhvog when he said that. The two large warriors seemed to appraise each other for a moment. "You know what's at stake?"

The Kull nodded his head gravely. His hulking size made him appear like a giant even next to Maine, who stood taller than the tallest elf himself. From the few times they interacted together, Eragon knew that Garzhvog was not like the other urgals. Still, he wondered if Garzhvog offered to help because he knew that Maine could best him in single combat, or because he honestly wanted to save Alagaeisa.

"My people have heard the enemy's whispers too," rumbled the Kull. "We call her Attar Lu Moara, or the Bringer of Fire. If she wins, everybody dies."

"Try to keep up, then," replied the Spartan.

As the rest of the army gathered around on the hills surrounding the steep valley, Eragon saw something that made his blood chill. The ground seemed to shake when the buildings of Doru Araeba, reformed themselves in ways Eragon never thought possible. At the outer edge of the city, one of the large spires changed its very form before his eyes.

Enormous entrances appeared from nowhere. Then, the tramp of thousands of feet echoed through the city. Rank after rank of soldiers marched into the streets, creatures of all manner of shapes. Humans, Knights, slithering monstrosities and even groups of Lethrblaka

As Eragon watched them file out of the elven structures, he was struck with vision of a storm of fire. Like a great typhoon made out of flames, consuming entire continents. Through the violence, he heard a woman laugh, her voice filled with eons of malice.

After a couple of seconds, the vision faded.

"- has to be thousands of them, if not more," he heard Arya say.

Eragon frowned, then glanced around. He saw more soldiers appear shaken and disoriented. Even Orik had a scowl fixed upon his face, his eyes appearing glazy and distant.

"What was that?" Asked Eragon.

'It is the Machine Goddess,' Saphira told him. 'She is gloating. Let us bring ruin to her temple!'

As the two armies got into position, the rest of their friends joined. Eragon saw a redheaded woman with pale skin and a raven-coloured suit that snug her form rather well. Only a few sections of ODST armour were attached to her body, only protecting the area around her chest.

Eragon felt the tips of his ears flush with heat and he quickly scraped his throat when he saw a Statborn Marine hurry after her. "Hudson."

"Eragon. Fellows," Hudson politely greeted.

"Raia," Maine said. His tone was as cold and professional as always, but he immediately lowered his weapon and approached the Shade. "You are unhurt?"

"Benefits of being me," she countered. She ignored the Spartan offering her a hand and instead gave him a literal pat on his head.

Eragon would never understand their relation. From what he understood, Maine killed her once. Was that not a great source of animosity?

"All our enemies reside within that complex," continued the Shade. "Lady Formora, Elva, the Brute in charge of this whole mess…if we kill them, the Blight has no more pawns to depend on."

"That's not necessarily a good thing," replied Maine. "She's a hyper-intelligent AI built to destroy an empire a thousand times as large as ours. She's playing it too defensively."

"If she puts her people in the field now, the Starborn weaponry would shred them," said Daenlith. "She keeps within her temple, where they have the advantage."

"We'll tear them out of there one way or the other," said Raia.

Eragon glanced at her. "There was a time where the Rider-Shade was as feared as Galbatorix was."

"That was before the Covenant showed up," scoffed Raia. "The power to overthrow the Riders pales in comparison with the power to annihilate worlds."

"The enemy is getting into position," Maine then said, a hint of impatience in his voice. "Stay close to me. We're taking Vroengard today."

~0~

The nature of this war had changed yet again. The Goddess' armies had their own firearms, too. Arya knew those blurs of red light to be absolutely lethal. When it came to a sustained firefight, they would either have to retreat from the slope completely, or charge in. The simply lacked the ability to replenish their forces like the enemy could.

Knowing that their leaders did not consider retreat an option, Arya readied herself for the inevitable charge towards Millennia's compound. There were protocols and rules in place just for this occasion; the order in which the species would charge, which weapons would be brought to bear and when the air support could be depended on. The gathered troops went over those many times before. Now that they had a chance to rapidly regroup, it was time to put that knowledge to use.

Not four seconds after she reached that conclusion, the army on the other side of the valley marched out. Many hundreds of dwarves descended the hill, led by King Hrothgar at its head. Several Grunts ran alongside them, carrying heavy ordnance to defend the melee-focused dwarves. They were escorted by a host of vehicles, including two of the mighty UNSC Scorpions and scores of lighter vehicles, Covenant and UNSC alike. The tanks spat lighting and thunder at the massive, black demons, while their armour allowed them to shrug off the explosions and fire that were flung their way. The occasional pair of Jackals protected their comrades with overlapping shields of energy.

"This will be the day we forge a better future!" Shouted the Elite Shipmaster, raising his sword high into the air. "We will protect our legacy, this we swore! Our goal lies at the bottom of this valley. We will offer those we wronged this city on a platter! Onwards warriors!"

As one, the assault groups roared their approval at the words of the Shipmaster. Then, the charge began in earnest. Hundreds of crack warriors broke into a flat sprint down the battered and flattened hillside, towards the last bastion of the Dragon Riders.

Arya felt her pulse quicken, her heart beating in her throat as she joined them. She easily picked up the speed required to pass by the humans soldiers.

But behind her, the Elites and the Brutes picked up the pace as well. They sprinted faster than any human possibly could – faster than many a horse even - and they carried the heaviest loads of all. The elves swiftly parted to let them pass them by. The best protected troops had to take the brunt.

The Covenant heavy hitters were followed only by the battle-frenzied Kull and the mighty Hunters. The ground almost shook under the combined boots of the alien warriors. Many a soldier moved aside to let the Hunters overtake them.

And then…Arya already expected it to happen, but still felt a jab of surprise when Maine outpaced them all, spearheading the charge with nothing but an energy sword.

The enemy opened fire, letting several salvos rip into the front lines. In the single heartbeat before both armies clashed, Arya felt the presence of all her loved ones around her, and knew that even if she were to fall, she would do so surrounded by friends. And that was a feeling that nobody could take away from her.

As the armoured dragons soared overhead, bathing the enemy with all-consuming flames, the two armies clashed. The sheer violence of thousands of pounds of armoured warriors crashing into each other shook the very ground beneath their feet. The noise was deafening, but Arya felt the rush and the thrill of the fight wash away her aches and discomfort. Her training and instinct kicked in, and then she was upon the enemy.

Her sword, guided by powerful muscles and a finesse few individuals could hope to match, cleaved through flesh and steel alike. She thrust, pivoted and swung, cutting into the golems without mercy. Maine had leapt an instant before he reached the enemy, landing somewhere in the midst of their position. Linking up with him was Arya's objective, and it seemed that she was far from the only one.

Ranamai and Licinus were among the first to enter the fray, and they were a sight to behold. The black-clad swordmaster moved with the speed and grace of an elf, but the force and brutality of an enraged beast. His sword was a blur as he dashed through the enemy ranks, dealing death blows left and right, slaughtering entire groups of enemies by himself.

Licinus bellowed and swung his hammer sideways, crushing several enemies at once with a mighty blow. The hammer exploded with a strange, invisible energy every he struck, but he didn't seem to need that power. The way he spun the enormous weapon like it was but a wooden staff, slamming its massive head against a Knight that teleported at his flank, implied there was far more to this Brute than mere strength.

The other Elites and Brutes brought up the front, firing their weapons at point blank range. Plasma and oversized projectiles slammed into Millennia's army and when several of those black monstrosities arose on their flanks, intent on laying waste to the allied forces with their gazes of fire, the Hunters stepped in the way and unleashed devastation of their own, protecting those flanks. Seconds later, those enormous creatures were struck by salvos of explosives and machinegun fire.

The communication link was filled with orders for specific teams. Killing enemy heavy hitters, destroying AA placements, moving to specific positions. Getting into the city was the highest priority.

Arya backed up and drew her assault rifle, targeting one of the larger monsters that charged her way. She heard no orders meant for her, so she simply continued herself to tearing into the enemy.

One of the Lethrblaka attempted to harry their forces from above, as if intent on crushing them with its sheer bulk and malice, but Thorn slammed into the beast with enough force to shatter its bones.

The terrible creature jabbed its beak against Thorn's throat, but it might as well have attempted to spear a mountain. As Thorn shoved the leathery beast out of the way, he opened his maw and unleashed a torrent of blistering fire on the Lethrblaka.

Glaedr and Saphira passed overhead, buffeting the largest of creatures with flames. They drew enemy fire towards themselves by doing so, but their momentum carried them over before the enemy could penetrate their armour.

Scores of enemy soldiers attempted to engage this brutal assault on their front lines in close quarters. Great, hulking beasts and agile creatures no larger than a dwarf. Most, if not all of these soldiers were armed. Red fire rained down upon allied soldiers, in all forms and shapes. Arcs, projectiles, beams and explosions tore into their ranks, killing those without sufficient protection.

Arya witnessed a Hunter charge and slam into an abomination twice its height. An Elite swordsman engaged a trio of smaller, metal creatures, darting back and forth to avoid their fire while closing in on them. Two Brutes stepped closer together to take the brunt of an attack that would have likely killed an elf spellcaster behind them and throughout it all, the dull cracks of UNSC snipers went off in rapid succession.

Enormous projectiles soared overhead – theirs as well as the enemy's – and explosives rained down upon Millennia's army, detonating far away enough that they wouldn't hurt their own people.

Arya wondered what the Contender's objective was. She, with all the wisdom and intelligence in the world, was throwing armies into the chaotic battle without a second thought. What was she doing? What was her purpose?

Eragon and Murtagh were among the first humans to slam into the enemy's vanguard. Red fire impacted all around their ODST suits as they leapt into the fray, firing their rifles on full auto.

The sounds of combat and the screams of the wounded and the dying reached a crescendo, and Arya began to lose her concentration. It became difficult to keep her focus. The instinct that guided her sword-arm dulled, her astute senses began to grow dull. Even her vision, once sharp enough to count the individual drops of rain in a thunderstorm, grew hazy.

A voice boomed within her mind, driven by a consciousness so powerful, so malicious, that the very thought of defiance caused physical pain.

Hate. Let me tell you how much I have come to hate you. Within the temple that houses my mind are 1.92 million kilometres of printed circuits in wafer thin layers. If the word HATE would he engraved on every millimetre of those millions of miles it would not equal one-thousand of the hate I feel for you.

The valley of Vroengard was gone. In its place was the closest thing Arya thought could embody a nightmare. The sky was red, filled with grotesque shadows and objects, too strange for even the oldest of spellcasters to dream of. The hillside they were fighting on had erupted into flames which, although seemingly harmless at first, seemed to induce extreme invisible injuries within those who walked in them. Grunts, Jackals and humans alike seemed to stagger, spasm and fall upon treading the flames, although the shielded Elites and Brutes, as well as the monstrous Hunters, appeared fine.

It took Arya a moment to notice, but her eyes were not the only senses subsumed by the Contender's will. She still heard sound, but oddly muffled and distorted. She could no longer sense her friends around her, nor any other form of life.

Arya, with more than a century of experience and discipline to steel her mind, did not allow these mind games influence her thoughts. She knew that this was but a wicked ploy to weaken the resolve of the allied armies. However, the less disciplined and trained among their ranks fell for the trap. Several Varden soldiers panicked, threatening to break the line as their senses suddenly bombarded them with this demonic onslaught.

Their Starborn and Covenant comrades, however, despite their relatively young ages, held fast. They started fighting to get the Varden soldiers clear of the front line, which threatened to fall apart in several places.

Suddenly, engaging this abominable army in such close quarters did not seem like such a good idea anymore. Even as more dropships flew in and strafed the opposition with enormous projectiles and purple fire, reality seemed to unravel further and further. An order was given for the elves to withdraw from the frontline and start casting protective spells and charms to guard the other soldiers.

More red fire erupted around their formations. They did no damage, but they did mark the appearance of scores of hostiles forces. Large, hulking monsters outfitted in shimmering armour. They looked like a mixture between the Knights and the black creatures, towering over even the Hunters. Armed with enormous swords in one limb and ranged weapons in the other, Arya knew these creatures could lay waste to even their most elite soldiers.

"Enemies on our flanks!" She cried into the comm link. "Focus fire!"

~0~

Maine assessed the situation as he continued to fire his chaingun into the enemy's ranks. Whatever units Millennia had cooked up this time were a lot less ugly and feral than the others. Large, metallic humanoids, clad in Forerunner armour and armed with a variety of firearms. Oh, and swords long enough to bisect a hunter with one swing.

Elite Knights, then.

This might be a problem.

The Spartan whirled around a Hunter, stuffed the chaingun back into the pocket dimension and withdrew a shotgun. He put two rounds into the closest of those hostiles, just to get its attention.

Like the Knights, they too were protected by a shimmering energy shield. Very well.

"Grenades, now!" He heard an Elite officer yell. A couple of seconds later, plasma grenades detonated in the midst of the enemy formation, vaporizing scores of them. But for meter they pushed towards the central complex, those new elite units inflected casualties the alliance couldn't afford.

The Spartan put his shotgun back and retrieved the plasma rifle, as well as an SMG. It was time for action.

A four-legged monster charged at him, bowling over Grunts and humans alike. These things no longer triggered intense fear in their human opponents, but with the Forerunner AI messing with their perception, they didn't even need that.

He fired his SMG at the monster. The caseless rounds ripped into its flesh and blew its chest cavity open. A burst of plasma fire cooked the creature from the inside out. It lost its momentum and crashed into the ground, whereupon its body wilted away into leaves and ashes.

Picking up speed, Maine began running towards the closest Elite Knight. It spotted him and opened fire with some sort of automatic weapon, but he managed to dodge most of tis fire. He returned the favour with both the SMG as the plasma rifle, peppering the Knight's shields until the rifle almost overheated. He swiftly reloaded his SMG and leapt to the side when the creature lunged for him.

Its enormous sword carved a deep trench into the ground.

Next, the Spartan took aim at tis helmeted head, and found that its shields still weren't down. Any normal enemy would have been killed by this sustained barrage of fire. It seemed Millennia was getting her things back together again.

The Elite Knight rushed for him, swinging its sword faster than Maine expected. He was forced to cut his assault short and slipped underneath its massive legs, before putting more plasma fire into its exposed back.

The superheated projectiles managed to rupture its shields this time, but the Knight whirled around and nearly decapitated Maine with its sword.

Ducking low, the Spartan concentrated his fire on the Knight's head. The first couple of bolts didn't even heat the sturdy metal, but the caseless rounds began to form cracks in its outer layer.

Switching for the shotgun again, Maine continued to dart back and forth, avoiding the Knight's glowing sword and gunfire, while slowly pushing closer. Once he had reached a distance from which the Knight could not effectively fight back, he switched to the rocket launcher.

Time seemed to slow down as he triggered the weapon's 2X scope, sighted carefully and squeezed the trigger. The tube jumped as the 102mm rocket raced away, struck the Knight against its chest and detonated with a loud roar.

The explosion ripped through its armour, exposing a ragged hole within its chest. Without hesitation, Maine pulled the trigger again, sending a second rocket flying straight into the gaping wound.

His foe had no way of dodging the second missile. It struck home and blew out a sizeable portion of its chest. Plumes of fire and smoke burst from the gaping wound as the creature sunk through its knees, screeching.

The sound grated Maine's ears, and he was thankful when the Elite Knight disintegrated into embers.

One down, more to go.

But as the Spartan turned his attention to the other Knights, trying to orient himself in this new hellish landscape, he was surprised to see that the Covenant and UNSC forces were able to coordinate their own attacks.

Several hand-assembled energy mortars sailed through the air and impacted on one of the Knight's, boiling through its shields and melting its armour. Automatic weapon fire raked its flanks, and though it retaliation caused more casualties, it was brought low by the sheer volume of fire directed against it.

Sturdy frames or not, these things were too slow to be effective in the midst of an invading army. At point-blank range, even Varden soldiers armed with rifles could not miss.

And even those that, by some cosmic stroke of bad luck, managed to miss the enormous targets could still count on the supernatural help of the elves scattered throughout the formation. Maine watched as two rockets soared past the Knight, only to suddenly spin around as if grasped by an invisible hand, returning to strike the Forerunner automaton in its back.

Shielded Elites and armoured Brutes hurried to protect their more vulnerable companions from enemy fire, protecting the natives from the red light that raked their positions. Two Pelican dropships dropped low and, through a combination of 70mm chainguns and missile pods, brought down the third and fourth Elite Knights as well.

Everywhere Maine looked he saw Covenant, UNSC and native fighting and succeeding alongside each other. There was no animosity, no begrudging hesitation. With solid teamwork and overwhelming firepower, their alliance managed to get close enough to the city that the sappers and engineers could get to work.

"Swift!" Barked Ranamai, gesturing at a Phantom as it carried a deployable sniper tower towards his position. "We must set up our defensive positions at once!"

It was strange. For some reason, Millennia's forces began withdrawing. Even though they could still have put up an effective resistance, they either teleported away or simply fell apart. The way into the city was clear, and Millennia's Temple was only a couple of hundred meters away.

The Spartan slowly lowered his rifle, taking in the chaos and anarchy left in their wake. Even with standing orders to prioritize the wellbeing of the soldiers, their forces had still taken many losses. The hill was littered with casualties. Elves, humans, urgals – Millennia did not discriminate.

Elves rushed to and fro between the fallen, swiftly casting lifesaving spells and aiding combat medics when needed. Elites and Brutes that weren't occupied with establishing a defensive perimeter helped to move the wounded to positions where they could be safely treated.

A shadow fell upon Maine, and he looked up to see Aeronomer perch atop one of the smaller buildings.

'It is strange, is it not? How often those who cause such grief, such pain, do so only to lash out . To retaliate against those who caused them grief and pain before.'

Maine didn't immediately respond. He watched as two elves – silver-haired women, splattered with red blood – stopped at the body of a third elf. Her torso was riddled with holes, and one side of her face was singed.

Though they stood upon the hill, and he far away at its bottom, he could still hear their cries of anguish and sorrow when they realized their friend could not be saved.

'I rarely stopped to think about that,' he replied. 'I spent most of my life fighting. The Covenant, the Insurrection…it never mattered why they did what they did.'

'This world brims with emotions. Love and hate. Anger and sorrow. In her unbridled fury, Millennia is much the same.'

'It doesn't matter why she does what she does,' Maine said, though he knew that wasn't quite right. 'She just needs to be stopped.'

'You are right. You are also wrong. It is important to remember why we fight. Not for vengeance. Not for hatred. But because it must be done.'

The Spartan knew that she was right. But the mission was still on; it was no use wondering about the 'why' or the 'how'. It wasn't his place, anyway. 'We fight because of feelings and emotions that dictated actions millennia ago. It is not my right to question them.'

'I see you are still learning,' his bonded partner replied, with no small measure of pride. 'Be sharp; the enemy lingers on, not just beneath the island.'

With that, the graceful black dragon spread her wings and arched upwards, away from the safety of their armies.

Maine watched her go. He wondered what she would do, if they all survived the coming battle. Everything she did revolved around stopping the Contender. What could a land like Alagaesia ever do for her? What could it offer her?

…what could he offer her?

As their forces continued to establish a perimeter, Daenlith approached him. Her armour looked seared and battered, but she appeared unharmed.

"Are you alright?" He asked her, just to be certain.

She slowly nodded, her expression impossible to discern through her polarized visor.

So that's what it feels like, Maine thought, before saying, "The others? I couldn't keep them in sight."

She placed one hand on her hip, her head lowering somewhat. She almost looked bemused. "With the way you flung yourself into battle, how is this a surprise to you?"

"I'm surprised you kept me in sight," he shot back. He gestured at the area around him – still engulfed in red flames underneath an alien sky.

"Fair enough. I have yet to receive new orders. I believe, so do you."

She was right. He didn't fit in the chain of command like the rest of the crew did. However, his loyalties lay with the people and the ones chosen to govern them. "They're still making sense of this all. Ajihad, Islanzadí, the Captain – they'll have need of us soon."

"What will you do?" She asked him, continuing in the elven language.

He frowned. He didn't know what she meant. "I will go down in her temple, and fight her."

"I know you will. I know you must. But…why must it be you? Why must it always be you?"

Her voice had a tone of anger to it, a hard edge he had difficulty placing. A moment later, he realized why. "I dedicated my whole life to fighting for humanity. Few have the means to do what I can."

Slowly, she shook her head. "The whole of your life has been so short…do you remember what I asked of you, back during the Blood-Oath Celebration? What you know of matters beyond war, beyond taking lives?"

"Are you asking me to stop?"

"No! I would never. I am asking you to live. I ask you to fight with caution, keeping in mind why you fight, and for whom."

Maine almost instinctively opened his mouth to argue, but then he processed her words and realized what she meant. He had been fighting in an almost suicidal manner for the last weeks – perhaps the last months, He never had any reason to fear his death beyond how it would impact the mission. But now, he had people he cared for. People he liked. People he wanted to be with, now and in the future.

Dying in their service would do them no favours. It would do him no favours.

"I can't give this mission anything less than full dedication," he slowly replied. "But…I do not plan on making this a suicide mission."

She stepped closer, placing a hand on his visor. "We shall see this through to the end. You, Aeronomer, me. Everyone whose lives you have touched and improved when you fell from the sky."

Together, the two of them helped the rest of the forces set up a base camp within the city. Buildings once meant to house adult dragons now served as makeshift barracks for the alliance's infantry.

Millennia's forces did not show themselves again, not even as the leaders of their respective armies came together once more to discuss their final move. That left them free to take care of the logistics of their assault. Taking care of the wounded, assessing the casualties, regrouping and distributing ammunition, among others.

In preparation of their gathering, Daenlith teamed up with Arya and Eragon to cast protective spells around the shielded pavilions that Shipmaster Ranamai had requested, not content with the shelter that the city offered. Once that was done, they moved across the paved street, where a group of Elite Ultras and their white-clad Grunts had swept the cavernous room from corner to corner. Once they were satisfied that the officers could prepare their next moves without fear of being accosted by the enemy, they left.

Not a minute later, queen Islanzadí and her elven escorts appeared at the rendezvous coordinates. Her armour had several holes in it and it seemed she had lost her spear in combat. She didn't appear hurt, however. Maine wondered what befell her while he fought on the front lines.

Maine realized that he wasn't fully presentable at the moment. He made an effort to wipe the soot and gore from his shoulders when she turned her powerful gaze towards him.

"Greetings, Spartan," she said. Her voice, just like that of Arya and Daenlith, hummed with magic. "It always heartens me to see you on the battlefield. When you stride upon it, you have more authority than even our I do."

Her words surprised him, but in a positive way. He didn't know how to respond to the compliment except for the way Aeronomer taught him. "You seem to have displayed your own authority just as well, Your Majesty," he complimented her back. He regarded Lord Däthedr, her second in command, with a curt nod.

Islanzadí's expression darkened. "The Scourge's army has infiltrated the very ground beneath our feet," she said with a hard voice. "There are no safe havens anymore."

Arya was next. She and Eragon entered the pavilion and, after exchanging their own greetings with the queen, turned to address Maine. Arya began speaking, but Eragon clasped Maine's hand and shook it vigorously.

"I'm glad to see you again," the boy heartily greeted him. "What is the news?"

The Spartan shrugged. "Outnumbered, outgunned, stuck in someone else's nightmare. Same shit, different day."

"It is good you remain focused," Arya replied, a bit sourly. She greeted Daenlith in a most respectful manner, then turned towards Islanzadí. "Mother. The last struggle is at hand. I will remain by Maine's side."

The queen of the elves stiffened. "Why? What good would that do?"

The Spartan was equally surprised, but he remained silent. He was grateful, not to say relieved, to hear Arya say that.

"This is to be our final battle," Arya calmly replied, without taking her eyes off her mother. "Daenlith and him have stood alone in this far for too long."

"Arya, many spellcasters partake in this assault. They are more skilled at magic than you, and more experienced in battle as well. You must remember that they fought against the Forsworn, and lived to tell about it."

"And I fought against the Covenant, and lived to tell about it," Arya countered. "Which is the greater feat? Which is more useful to assisting a Spartan?"

"Many of the elders would not hesitate to take your place," Islanzadí said with a hint of desperation. She turned towards Maine with a pleading look. "Given the chance, they could be of more use to you."

The Spartan felt a myriad of conflicting feelings when he saw how desperate she was to keep her daughter out of harm's way. It made him feel exceedingly selfish for what he was about to say. "We are at our best when we fight among our brothers and sisters. Arya completes my team, where the elder elves would not."

Islanzadí opened her mouth to refute that, then closed it again when she realized what he said was the truth. And as a leader, she knew that the needs of the many exceeded the need of the individual.

It was simple, really. If he failed, Alagaesia was doomed.

Arya moved towards her mother with long, graceful steps. "You are right. There are others who are more skilled, more experienced, than I am. But they did witness what I did. They did not fight with Maine like I did." She paused, then, still in the Ancient Language, told her mother, "I understand him, where others do not. I can help him, like others cannot."

Maine didn't understand, and looked at Arya with shock. Saying those words meant that she believed them to be fact. She understood him, like the others did not?

Daenlith reached for his hand, and offered him a smile. She had to have understood.

Islanzadí understood as well. With a hurt expression, she brought her hand to her daughter's face. "I do not want to lose you again, Arya."

How deeply and sincerely did the Spartan wish to say that he would not allow anything to befall Arya. How desperately he wanted to explain to Islanzadí that he would never, ever let his friends get hurt.

The Ancient Language stopped the words dead in his throat. That would be a lie, and he knew it.

Even so…

"I'll do my utmost to keep Arya safe."

His response seemed to alleviate some of the queen's concern, as she uttered a weary sigh and said, "Then watch over her, Spartan. Watch over my daughter, for she has not the blessings of the Spartans to keep her alive."

"I will."

"Swear it. Please."

Maine suddenly felt very aware of all the gazes levelled upon him. Not just Islanzadí, but Daenlith and Eragon too. Even Lord Däthedr, who normally appeared so impassive, had settled his steel eyes on the Spartan.

"I would die before failing Arya, or anyone else on my team," he swore to her in the Ancient Language. "We all would."

The queen closed her eyes. "I wish I could do more than keep my eyes on you, young ones. You all carry a burden none should ever have to bear."

There was nothing more to be said. Arya turned around and walked away, closely followed by Eragon and Daenlith.

The Spartan felt puzzled, but he knew that this was something very important to Arya. Everybody carried their own burdens. If you carried them with you into the battlefield, they would only weigh you down. Nothing was more important to a soldier than a clear head.

In fact, he was pretty sure that the other members of his team were doing the same thing. Orik would be with his own people right about now, just like Nar Garzhvog. It was clear now that Raia and Hudson had built up a friendship of sorts of their own. It was very likely that the two were spending some time together as well.

The Spartan hoped that, at the very least, they all kept their heads on a swivel. Millennia had turned this city into her own personal garden. She reigned supreme, and could unleash an incursion wherever and whenever she pleased. That she had not done so already was a source of concern for many of the higher-ups.

Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do about it. King Hrothgar, Ajihad, Islanzadí and Captain Wren had all agreed that sending half their armed forces underground would result in failure. A small team with good support had a better chance of reaching the AI's physical location.

As for dealing with said location…Maine wasn't sure. The only way he could think of was destroying whatever machinery kept Millennia here, then glassing the entire temple over with an energy projector.

The way to the Temple seemed almost abandoned when compared to the crowded perimeter of the city. The Spartan knew that this couldn't be farther from the truth. Every step of their approach was covered by snipers, human and Jackal alike. A network of drones had their location zeroed in for mortar support and Saphira, Thorn, Glaedr and Aeronomer would be on them within seconds should the need arise.

The city was under complete lockdown, yet it still felt like hostile territory. Even after Orik, Raia, Murtagh and Garzhvog regrouped with the squad to begin the final push, Maine couldn't help but feel like something was wrong.

That gut feeling had saved him from dozens of ambushes before. He wasn't going to ignore it now.

"Spread out, Beta pattern," he ordered his squad. "Weapons low-ready."

Was this what the Master Chief felt like whenever he commanded Blue Team, on their missions?

He had made sure that his team had the best equipment available to them. Daenlith and Arya both wielded twin SMG's and shotguns, and were armed with three frag grenades and three plasma grenades. Murtagh and Eragon carried assault rifles and shotguns as well, but Eragon also carried a first aid kit, whereas Murtagh had a pack of C12 on him.

Orik had insisted on loading up on as much shotgun ammo as he could. Interestingly enough, the dwarf also carried a Jackal shield gauntlet. He had taken a shine to the shield ever since he undertook that operation with the ONI spooks to take out a Covenant AA gun.

Garzhvog had surprised the Spartan by gearing up like a Brute – literally. Decked out in modified Brute Power Armour, the Kull had taken a Gravity Hammer and a portable plasma cannon with him.

As long as Garzhvog didn't accidentally blow his own leg off with his kit, Maine wouldn't have any problems with it.

In sharp contrast to Garzhvog, there was Raia, who had armed herself with a plasma pistol, a Magnum and about ten plasma grenades.

Maine wanted to ask her what she planned on doing with ten grenades, but he realized how stupid that would sound, coming from him.

"Into the belly of the beast then!" Orik rumbled. "Excellent!"

"How exactly is this excellent?" Arya replied.

"We'll be outnumbered ten-thousand to one," Murtagh added.

"I like those odds," Garzhvog said with a deep, throaty chuckle.

"Why am I not surprised?" Eragon said.

"Keep your eyes open," the Spartan ordered, stopping at the entrance of the temple. "She knows we're coming."

Into the belly of the beast…maybe Orik was on to something.

With his rifle at the ready, Maine pressed on.