Wind gusts around me as the GDF transport departs into the sky. Leaves and other various greenery tremble and shake as the rotors churn the air around us — the forest alive with movement until the overhead transport moves away.

  I look around, wide-eyed. We’ve been dropped off in one of the few clear sections on a small hill overlooking Shirakaze and the expansive barley fields that stretch out from the town in the other direction. The barley fields are clear, and the area around them is mostly grassy plains, but the hill we were dropped at is covered in lush greenery.

  For a moment, I just take in the scene around me. For most of my life, I’ve considered the curated wilderness of Silver Ridge’s eco-dome to be close to the real thing. As it turns out, I’ve been very wrong in that assessment.

  We stand on a small path being crowded in on by trees, bushes, and wild grass like the plains have. The path is just a simple dirt trail that leads up to the top of the hill, where a small, cleared area holds an old, traditional shrine to the distant stars. From how well-trafficked the path seems, I’m willing to bet that the shrine has been getting a lot of attention recently.

  That makes sense, honestly; most towns outside of Shinara and Tokyo tend to be more religious and traditional than the big cities. Not that there aren’t a few mega-churches in the cities, but religion and faith tend to be much more important in these kinds of isolated communities.

  The fact that these people could be highly religious does make me a touch nervous. While most religious people are fairly neutral towards sentinels, some see us as saviors and others as spawns of the dark void beyond the stars. There’s a very influential mega church that’s been around for years that famously denounces sentinels to its followers.

  I glance at Baylee as our team subtly moves into formation around me — a practice that has started to become instinct for our team when we feel nervous. “What do you think, should we head down into town?” I ask, still looking around.

  Even with the transport gone, the forest feels alive. The chirping of distant birds, the shaking of leaves in the wind, and the buzz of insects make the place feel alive. Having only seen forests in pictures and the occasional movie, I didn’t expect it to be so… loud. Forests are supposed to be silent edifices of nature, right? Well, perhaps my internal image of forests is just as off as the incursion zone was when compared to actual Shinara.

  Baylee looks down the trail and towards a group of older-looking Japanese men and women hiking up the trail towards us. “It’s better to let them come to us, I think. We’re here to help and protect them, not to take over. We should let them approach us and then invite us into the town.”

  I take a deep breath; the air is completely clean of smog for the first time I can remember. For a second, I just close my eyes and bask in the feeling of being surrounded by nature, of the morning sun warming my skin. As spring progresses, the days have been growing slightly warmer, although not overly so yet. Crazy to think that my archery tournament is starting to get closer, I haven’t thought about it in what feels like months.

  Troy strides up beside Baylee and me, earning Akari's glare as he shoves past her. “We’re just going to stand around? There’s work to do,” he proclaims.

  “There is,” I say softly, “which is why it’s so important to enjoy moments like this. I understand the appeal of living out here now; it doesn’t feel dangerous… it feels so peaceful.”

  Troy glances around at the greenery, glaring at it as if it personally offends him. “Blue sentinels,” he huffs before starting down the path toward the oncoming townsfolk.

  Baylee and I share a glance as we watch Troy head down the path, the rest of Team Firestorm stalking after him.

  I sigh, “So much for letting them come to us. Should we follow?”

  Baylee nods. “Let’s.”

  Waving the rest of Team Picnic onward, Baylee and I jog forward to catch up with Troy before he makes a mess of things.

  “-the sentinels here to protect your town,” Troy is saying in an annoyed tone to a confused-looking Japanese man. The man is shorter than Troy and looks up at him with bewildered eyes.

  The man looks to his companions, a younger man and an older woman, and asks, “Do either of you speak English?” in Japanese.

  The statement has Troy looking even more frustrated and me hiding a slight smile. In Shinara and Tokyo, you can get away with just knowing English because most people speak both. With the number of refugees from other nations, English has become a sort of default language in the cities. Out in the country, however, Japanese is much more prevalent.

  While growing up, Mom and Dad alternated between Japanese and English in the house — changing every year or two — to ensure that I picked up both languages and could tell them apart from one another. Troy, it seems, never picked up the native language of the country.

  “Sorry about that,” Baylee says in Japanese as the rest of our team arrives. “My friend here only speaks English. He was just saying that we are the sentinels sent by the GDF to help protect your town while you bring in the harvest.”

  The man smiles, his eyes lighting up with understanding. “I see; yes, we have been expecting you. You are… younger than I expected, however.”

  Baylee nods grimly, “There isn’t a lot of room for sentinels to grow old these days, I’m afraid.”

  I move to stand to the side as Baylee and the man continue to discuss and introduce themselves, only half paying attention as I look down at the beautiful sight of the town below. The place is small, with only a few roads and a single lonely stoplight in a central intersection. A few vehicles are parked around, which surprises me. In Shinara, no one really uses cars — not that you even can.

  Eventually, Troy moves off from the conversation and moves to join me to the side o the group — which I find odd. Why come stand by me while his teammates are still standing in the group around Baylee and the townspeople.

  “You don’t understand them either?” he asks, his voice a touch hopeful.

  I shrug, “I do understand; I just wanted to enjoy the moment away from everyone.”

  Troy’s face falls. “I see,” he says sharply. “I’ll leave you alone then.”

  He starts to move away, but I grab his arm before he can. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just want to enjoy this moment away from the city. I’ve never been in a forest like this… it’s exciting.”

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  Troy pauses, turning to look down at me. “You’ve never been in a forest? Isn’t most of Japan forest?”

  “Sure, but that doesn’t mean I’ve experienced it. My parents fled with me to Shinara when I was a little girl. I don’t remember being anywhere but the city. This whole experience is kind of surreal,” I explain.

  Troy pauses for a moment before smiling softly. “I guess I take it for granted, don’t I? Where I grew up, it was very rural — lots of forest and untamed land. I spent most of my childhood running around places like this with my friends. That was when the Volcora mostly left my hometown alone, though. It doesn’t exist anymore.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, meeting his eyes.

  He huffs, “Don’t be. In a world like this, we’ve all got those kinds of stories.”

  Troy glances over towards the conversation, “What are they saying?”

  I follow his gaze and take a moment to listen to what’s being said. “I guess that older woman is the mayor here. She wasn’t told that the plan was to get the harvest and evacuate. She thought we were here to fortify this position and keep the northern front where it is.”

  Troy barks a laugh, “Fat chance of that. We can barely protect our major population centers. If it weren’t for the harvest, we’d just be here to evacuate these people if they sent sentinels at all. Can’t they see that we’re losing?”

  I turn to him, “You think it’s hopeless then?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  Almost everyone has some kind of opinion on the war. Some think that we haven’t tried hard enough to coexist with the Volcora; others think that the GDF is what caused the Volcora to come in the first place. Ask any person in Shinara, and they’ll each tell you something different. Although, for the first time, I now know the truth.

  “Of course not,” Troy says, heat entering his voice. “We’re losing now, sure, but that won’t happen forever. They’re pushing in on us hard, but that gives our sentinels the perfect chance to grow faster than ever. We’ll keep losing ground for a while, but I bet that by September, we’ll start to regain territory.”

  “And you?” he asks, meeting my eyes.

  “I think there’s a big push coming…” I say softly, taking a moment to sort out what I’m willing to tell him. “It’s coming soon, and if we survive it… then I think we have a shot at doing what you said. The Volcora know that we grow stronger in protracted wars; they’ll want to wipe us out quick.”

  Troy closes his eyes, considering, then nods. “Stars, you’re probably right. I guess that means we just have to survive the push, then. Whenever it comes, we’ll need to be ready.”

  It will come in around a month, I think, remembering the timing Althia told me to have Nightsong in the city. Stars, I still need to try and talk to Audrey about that.

  “Come on,” I say, turning towards Shirakaze. “They’re rapping up. Let’s go get the lay of the land.”

  Shirakaze is a scenic little town, the likes of which I once thought only existed in movies. The scent of worked earth and sunbaked straw lingers in the air as we make our way down the town’s main road. Neatly arranged houses are all clumped up next to the forested hill, with its small shrine stretching up into the sky and painting a streak of bright red against the backdrop of blue. Further out from the town, large fields of barley wave in the slight breeze — the crop shines golden with the afternoon sun shining down upon it.

  Like the forest before, the town isn’t as quiet as I imagined it would be. Instead, the buzz of cicadas, the faint sounds of a radio playing a popular song from the city, and the clanging of a distant workman’s hammer adds to the soundtrack that is Shirakaze. It’s so very different from Shinara but also strangely welcoming in its own way.

  People smile and nod at us as we walk down the street, even as the mayor continues chatting with Baylee. An old woman with a heavily wrinkled face gives me a warm smile as she hangs damp garments on a clothesline — she wears a flowered apron that reminds me of one that Mom wore growing up.

  To my other side, people laugh and talk amiably inside a small ramen shop with its door open — likely the source of the music. I take in a deep breath, and the familiar scents of food frying in oil makes me long to go and join the men in the shop.

  I sigh contentedly; what would it be like to live in a place like this? A place so… slow. It’s not that Shirakaze is so much different from Shinara in culture. We eat the same things, shop from similar shops selling similar products, and speak the same language — most of the time, at least. Yet, Shirakaze has a kind of calmness to it — so different from the frantic energy of city life. In a place like this, someone could live a simple, happy life. Sure, the labor would be hard, but the languid serenity would wash away all the stress of the day, leaving behind only laughter and happiness. At least, that’s how it works in my head.

  Despite how peaceful Shirakaze looks now, it won’t stay that way for long. The Volcora will want to deny us the resource the barley represents, and if they’re as close to the town as our briefing entailed… How on earth am I supposed to tell these people that their cozy little town isn’t likely to survive the week, let alone the month. At least I can see a single farming machine — I think it’s a harvester — moving through the fields of barley. If we’re going to hold out, we’ll need a lot more people than that. I just hope that most of the workers are at lunch right now or something.

  Catching up with the main group to hear the conversation, I see Baylee also looking around with a critical eye. “Why isn’t everyone working on the harvest?” she asks, turning a glare on the town’s mayor.

  The mayor sighs, looking at Baylee with an expression I know well — it’s the same one Dad uses when he thinks I’m doing something stupid. “Only around two-thirds of the crop is ready to be harvested; for the rest, harvesting would be premature. We need to wait another week, perhaps two or three, before a full harvesting operation can begin.”

  “As I said,” Baylee growls, her voice low. “We don’t have that kind of time. Our orders are to protect you while you harvest what you can and move everyone out of Shirakaze.”

  At this, the mayor simply looks at Baylee as if she’s an idiot, and I suppose I can see things from her perspective. Right now, none of us are in our assault states — having just come from the safety of the transport and wanting to preserve our low mana toxicity. From the mayor’s perspective, a group of teenagers have just waltzed into town and started giving her orders. While we’ve been equipped with basic GDF gear, essentially just a black GDF top and pants, we don’t exactly look intimidating… yet.

  “Listen,” the mayor starts, “I understand that you are the sentinel team sent to protect us while we bring in the harvest, but as I said, the harvest isn’t ready to come in yet. Listen to your elders, child. You’ll just be here a touch longer than expected.”

  I frown; this woman must not understand the severity of the situation. From our discussions with Prof and Kayne, as well as our briefing before coming here, the GDF finds it likely that we’ll have to pull out of Shirakaze early even if we start harvesting now.

  For a moment, Baylee turns to Troy, who’s standing beside her, and exchanges a few words in English. I can’t quite catch what she says, but it definitely includes the word “intimidate.” Then, turning to the rest of us, she gives a simple order. “Shift.”

  We all instantly understand the order and begin our shifts, washing the center street of the town in shining lights for a brief moment. My stomach twists with unease as I watch the mayor's face shift from confidence to uncertainty. I don’t like the idea of bullying the townspeople into doing what we need, but I like the idea of them dying to Volcora attacks even less. If the mayor waits until the first of her people is dead to start trying to bring in the harvest and flee, then it will certainly be too late.

  Now glorious in her assault state, Baylee turns incandescent pink eyes on the mayor, who swallows at the power radiating off the group before her. I can imagine what she’s feeling, the same feeling I felt when I first saw Audrey in her assault state. Being before a sentinel who’s stronger than you is like standing next to a live wire, combined with the dread of sharing a cage with a hungry tiger. You can feel the mana radiating off them like tingles of electricity across your skin.

  “Madam Mayor,” Baylee says, careful to keep her tone respectful. “You told me to respect my elders, and I apologize to inform you that I’m doing just that. The GDF has issued orders to immediately begin taking in the harvest as fast as possible, with the knowledge that we might not be able to complete the process before needing to evacuate. We’re expecting Volcora attacks to begin as early as tomorrow morning, perhaps even tonight. The northern front has buckled in this area, and we are reestablishing it south of Shirakaze.”

  Baylee bows her head respectfully, “I’m very sorry to be the one to tell you this, ma’am, but your town will soon be in enemy territory and thus uninhabitable. Our goal is to collect the harvest to help feed you and your people while we evacuate you to Shinara. With any luck, one day we will push north again and recapture your homes, but there’s no replacing human lives.”

  The mayor’s eyes light up with anger, but it doesn’t seem to be aimed at us. In the end, if the GDF is telling you to evacuate, it’s either follow their order or die to the Volcora. She doesn’t respond for a long time, but eventually, she just nods. “If what you say is true, then there is much work to be done and not nearly enough time to do it.”

  “Come,” the mayor says, gesturing to the small ramen shop, “let us sit and discuss what needs doing.”