Diary Entry – March 2nd, 1927First entry in 5 months.
Today marks 7 years underground. I've stopped counting, but the walls haven't. You can hear it in the way they creak when the shelling shakes the ceiling... like they're whispering that the surface is never coming back.
My last birthday passed without candles, again. October 13th, last year, I turned 16 and earned my badge as a Soldat that same day. Some celebration—got shot at by a Jaeger ten minutes later. Funny how fast growing up happens in a hole in the ground.
Renewal isn't the same anymore. It's bigger, yes. Deeper. But colder in spirit. The morticians are running low on stims. Rooks barely have enough men to keep rebuilding the tunnels. Food comes in tins that smell like machine oil. We don't ask where it comes from.
I heard a story last night—Royal Nation troops are pushing toward Kolyma. That's close. Too close. Command says we'll reinforce Tunnel Point Delta. The ground there's soft. I hate fighting in soft ground... it soaks up blood too easy._
This war took my home when I was nine. Now it's asking for the rest of me. I wonder how much is left to give.
- Joseph Aslanov
Joseph capped the stub of his pencil, folding the ragged notebook shut with a soft snap. He slid it into the hidden pocket of his coat—stitched there by his mother before the retreat, before everything.
The tunnel air was damp this morning. Or maybe it was still night. Time bent underground, reshaped by the rhythm of shifts, alarms, and screams. Somewhere deeper down the tunnel, a Vanguard's shield thudded against stone—practicing the same block-stab combo for the hundredth time.
Joseph adjusted the strap on his crestfall 'incindiery' rifle. The metal was cold against his shoulder, the familiar weight of duty. He was a Soldat now—no more scavenger runs, no more hiding during raids. He was expected to hold the line. Advance. Bleed.
A voice barked down the corridor:"Shift Echo! Assemble at Gate 6! Repeat, Gate 6!"
Joseph rose, spine aching, knees stiff from another half-sleep on concrete. He passed a Rook re-sharpening his pick, sparks flying with every stroke. A Mortician hunched nearby, mixing stims under a flickering light. The bottle hissed faintly in her hand—probably Synaptizine and Bicaridine. For speed and pain. Standard fare before a push.
He reached Gate 6 just as the siren wailed—deep, low, and full of dread. The kind that crawled into your chest and stayed there.
Sergeant Mirov stood at the front of the formation, his scarred face lit by the emergency glow-panels. "Tunnel Point Delta's under siege. the golden empire broke through the ice. They're building a machine gun battery on the corner, and our last Officer's telescope went dark an hour ago."
He surveyed the group. Soldats, a few Vanguards, one Jaeger, and a Lancer breathing heavy through his iron mask.
"You're not reinforcements. You're the wall. Hold that tunnel. Or die trying."
The squad moved out in near silence, boots thudding against packed dirt and rusted rails as they approached the breach tunnel. The air thickened with dust and soot. Somewhere above them, muffled thunder rolled—the mortars were already testing range.
Joseph took point alongside a Vanguard named Klara, a tall woman whose shield was scratched with old names and a fresh symbol—a red eye, the sign of her lost regiment. Her grip on the shield was unwavering, and her presence behind it felt like standing beside a concrete wall. She glanced at Joseph once, nodded.
Behind them moved Feliks, a wiry Jaeger with a stitched leather cap pulled low and a hunter kit slung across his back. He rarely spoke, but his eyes never stopped scanning. As they neared the tunnel mouth, he darted forward, crouching by the entrance and unspooling tripwire between a bent rebar post and a jagged crack in the wall.
Joseph settled behind a crate, heart pounding.
"Here they come," Klara said, low and grim.
Torchlight flickered in the tunnel ahead. At least a dozen Royal Nation infantry—he recognized the silhouette of one of their bayonet lances, long and cruel. A Vanguard on their side let out a bellowing war cry, charging with shield raised.
Bullets snapped through the air. Muzzle flashes lit the dark like lightning.
Joseph raised his rifle and fired. The recoil thudded into his shoulder, but he kept squeezing the trigger. A Royal soldier collapsed. Another tripped over Feliks's tripwire, landing directly on a buried mine. The blast rocked the walls, briefly lighting everything in an orange halo of fire and dust.
"Reloading!" Joseph shouted, fumbling for a magazine.
A Mortician—Talia, young, covered in soot—rushed forward, flinging a stim bottle. It burst in a blue mist. Joseph felt his limbs jolt, the Synaptizine rushing through him like lightning. Everything blurred, then sharpened—his heart beat faster, feet moved quicker. He surged forward beside Klara, rifle barking.
Then came the scream.
From deeper in the tunnel, a Royal Lancer charged. His silhouette gleamed in the flicker of the breach, his lance low. Joseph barely ducked as Klara caught the full force of the charge on her shield. The impact cracked stone, sent her sliding back, boots gouging lines in the dirt. She didn't fall.
"Now!" she shouted.
Joseph raised his weapon, but the Lancer spun toward him. Then Feliks was there, tossing a smokescreen that hissed and exploded into choking fog. The Lancer hesitated, momentarily blinded—and Klara slammed her shield forward, knocking him into the wall.
The Lancer fell, groaning.
More Royal footmen surged forward—too many. They were being overrun.
"Fall back to the secondary trench!" Mirov barked over the comms. "Rooks are prepping demolitions!"
As Joseph sprinted back, covering Talia as she dragged a wounded Vanguard, he glanced over his shoulder—Feliks was gone, vanished into the smoke. Traps would be waiting for the Royals when they followed.
They regrouped at a narrow split in the tunnel where a Rook stood ready, holding the detonator to a mining bomb launcher. He gave a crooked grin.
"Say goodnight, you bastards."
The switch flipped.
The tunnel behind them collapsed in a deafening roar, sealing the enemy—and the dead—beneath tons of rubble.
For now, they'd held. But the Golden Empire would try again.
later, joseph went to give an after-action battle report
Joseph sat in front of the field desk, hands still trembling slightly. The war-room tent was dimly lit, canvas walls heavy with damp and smoke. Maps of the shattered rail lines and choke points were pinned to cork boards, red strings crisscrossing with pins marked X and losses.
Across from him, General Raskova adjusted her coat, eyes sharp beneath a streak of greying hair. She held no paper—she never needed any. Her memory was as lethal as the orders she gave.
"Report," she said curtly.
Joseph straightened, stiff despite exhaustion. "Engaged a Empire advance squad in Tunnel Point Delta. Four Vanguards, one Lancer, possibly a Jaeger or scout unseen. Feliks believes they were probing for weaknesses in the eastern foundation."
"Casualties?"
"Three wounded on our side, one serious. One Vanguard, Klara, held the line and repelled the Lancer. Rook team initiated detonation on fallback—tunnel is collapsed. At least eight enemy confirmed down. Remainder presumed trapped or buried."
Raskova gave a sharp nod. "Good. You held the breach longer than projected."
Joseph hesitated. "Feliks never returned to fallback."
A pause. The general leaned back, folding her gloved hands.
"He knew the cost of laying those traps. They all do." Her voice was hard, but not cruel.
A cold silence stretched between them.
"Permission to scout for remains at first light?" Joseph asked, almost too quietly.
"No. The collapse was too deep. We can't spare the manpower to dig out ghosts."
Joseph's jaw clenched. He nodded anyway.
Raskova stood and paced toward the side table. She poured two tin cups of strong black tea. She set one in front of Joseph without looking at him.
"You're sixteen," she said.
"I know."
"Too young for war, even in this war. And yet you made the right calls today."
He looked down into the tea. It steamed up, fogging the inside of his cracked glasses.
"Do you know why I called you in myself?" she asked, voice lower now.
He didn't answer.
"because when you became a soldat for the Nation, i saw a sort of potential in you that no other would have here, you get the job done and not question any authority at any point, your a good soldat, kid, but if anyone in the higher up ranks knew your 16, we dont need to lose a good soldat, because as i see it, we need as many people as possible in the war effort"
Joseph nodded, and stood up, knowing what he did in that battle was right.
She turned back to him.
"Write the names of the lost. Then forget the rest."
Joseph nodded slowly, numb.
"Dismissed."
end of chapter 2