fell in what seemed to be solid and uninterrupted sheets of slick, nearly frozen ice. It was not quite rain, not quite snow, and possessed the worst of both without any trace of either's positive qualities. Sol found that the weather suited his mood perfectly. From the biting vitality sapping cold, to the damp discomfort, to the way that it seemed to crush scents out of the air, it was a quite storm much like that which had brewed in his breast these past few weeks.

The stonework of the parapet beneath his knee high combat boots was slick like ice, running with molten remains of the inclement atmosphere as if the mountain into which it was set was bleeding. To his bloodshot golden eye, the slight gleam of the stone resembled the way raw flesh looked when exposed to a great heat. It seemed fitting that the distant shouting he could hear as teams of troops salvaged whatever was not bolted to or carved into the mountain, sounded so similar to the chaotic yells of battle.

They were like insects, ants or maggots reducing the fortress of his ancestral home to a hollowed out husk, carrying away whatever might prove useful or valuable, be it food, clothing, munitions, or even family members. The fact that they did so by the young lord's order did not make the insult sting any less.

It was not possible to think of it as anything but what it was, a grand exodus, a flight, a retreat to the relative safety of foreign soil.

There was no other choice that he could see, he would be labelled an enemy of the state before long, if he was not already, and while the Celestial Fortress of old, known modernly as simply the Moon Compound, was capable of enduring months of protracted siege, to do so would have meant dividing his men between Rift and Legion, or pulling his forces from Rift under a single command and breaking his contract with Aldous Barnett. Barnett was the only support that Sol still had since the fiasco at that worthless martyr's funeral, and even if breaking his oath of loyalty was not a crime that ran counter to every ideal Sol retained, he could not condone throwing away the only ally he had left. While other options existed, for one reason or another Sol could not consider them, and as such, he was in the agonizing process of abandoning his home.

The walls that surrounded the urban portion of the fortress seemed to bleed urgent shapes from a dozen grand gates, teams of men and women hauling goods and supplies towards the fleet of VTOLs and Gunships that laid arranged on the fields beyond like buzzards collecting at the carcass of some dying beast.

Sol swallowed. It was a sight that he could not bare for long, but in these last hours before the final exodus would be undertaken, and he would be forced to bid farewell to his family home for what might be the last time, he had come out on the balcony more frequently to inflict it upon himself.

"Solomon..." A quiet but senior voice spoke from behind, originating at the towering pinewood doors that lead back into the parlor for which the balcony served, "It won't be long now. We are loading the civilians, and sorting essentials. We will be ready to push off within the hour."

"Thank you Dallas. Take Rhett and Kine, board the Timber-Wolf, I'll remain a bit longer." Sol responded, his voice like the wind whistling through the abandoned corridors of his home.

"You don't really expect that coward of a cultist to show up do you?" The bookish officer responded, standing as straight as a post during inspection, despite the obvious tension in his tone, frustration possibly.

"He'll show if I ask him to. Sayf Al-Din may be a traitor, and a terrorist, but I never took him for a coward. I doubt he will be willing to visit me in Rift after the wrench he threw into Barnett's plans." Sol explained, for the third time, though it helped him to remind himself why he was even bothering, "I don't have that luxury, and if I am going to be able to look Aldous in the eye, I need to speak to Sayf first. I need answers. I am tired of turning a blind eye to the bigger picture."

"I'll send Kine and Rhett to the airship. But I'm staying here. That man is too dangerous to face alone." the elder man replied, his tone hard and sharp as his gaze.

"That man killed one of the last living legends of this world in single combat, and I have seen him twice stepping from a hole in mid air. I could face him with an army at my side and it would make no difference." Sol hissed as he turned to regard Dallas with a scornful glare, the deep black bag beneath his eye making the blood stricken white stand out like a signal beacon, "I am ordering you to take the others and board my flagship. If I am not there by the time you are to push off, you have command, and are to leave without me. I can't trust anyone else to take care of my people Warren... If I don't make it to Rift, I need to know that someone will try to save as many of them as possible from this sinking ship I've tied us to."

"You can be ser.." Colonell Warren Dallas began to protest, and like a sword whistling through the air, Sol's interruption was quiet, but razor sharp and effective.

"Please Dallas, I need you to go." Sol said as he brushed past the older man, only to find a hand upon his shoulder, squeezing.

"Solomon... What are you planning?" Dallas murmured, his voice hard with concern, though he knew there would be no answer.

------

Sol Strode past two more soldiers. An albino giant gazed blindly towards the far wall of the study, while a vulpine faunus in motley was rolling a coin across his knuckles. The faunus glanced up at Sol from beneath a red beret that jingled with bells, he looked as severe as the rest of them felt. Neither said anything, one because he could not speak, and te other because there was noting to say.

Sol swallowed a lump in his throat as he watched the trio depart. Once he was alone he collapsed into one of the three large leather armchairs that surrounded a coffee table in the center of the room. He felt very tired, he hadn't slept in what felt like days.

Trembling fingers grabbed a cigar from the ashtray that rested on the side table to the left of where he sat, and as he held the butt in his teeth, he began pouring some dark liquor from a crystal decanter into a pair tumblers that rested on the tray next to it. Then he reached into a small icebox beneath the table and produced a pair of ice balls, whose spherical dimensions matched the tumblers perfectly. He inspected the balls of ice closely, holding on in either hand and placed one in each glass, one reflected a distorted image of himself, while the other was somewhat foggy and seemed to be of slightly inferior quality.

He chose the foggy glass to drink from. And then he waited, in silence, harsh alcohol burning his lips, and an unlit cigar dangling from his teeth.

tag(s): @someone ━ words: 000 ━ notes: please keep it short