Chapter 3 - The Journey Begins

Jesse

Evren’s bright ice-blonde hair brushes against my sleeve as I help her toward the front of the tank. My mind runs circles. First problem: how do I get her on the roof? Second: am I really doing this? If we’re caught, I’ll never be able to let my guard down again. But it’s far too late for doubts. I’m already in too deep.

We reach the sloped armor plating - our first obstacle. I glance at her. She looks back, light-purple eyes brimming with concern.

“I need to get you on top of her.”

She nods, though she’s clearly thinking the same thing I am: how?

A solution clicks. I release her, and she wobbles on one foot as I scramble up onto the plate. I crouch down and extend my hands. She hesitates, then takes them, brows furrowed.

“Alright,” I explain. “Two options. Either I drag you up on your stomach, or you switch legs midair and push off the front plate for leverage as I haul you.”

She thinks for a moment, then sets her jaw.
“The second one.”

Concern prickles.
“You sure? If anything goes wrong, it’s going to hurt a lot.”

Her eyes harden.
“It already hurts a lot. Let’s do it.”

I nod, tightening my grip.
“Okay. Ready? Three… two… one.”

I heave as she hops. Her good foot slams against the lower plate, she grimaces, then launches again, landing higher on the slope. Somehow, it works. I freeze for a heartbeat, stunned, then grin. She grins back, and relief floods me.

I sling her arm over my shoulders again, and together we climb up along the engine deck, finally stopping beside the massive gun breech. She steadies herself against it as I swing open the gunner’s hatch.

Her eyes widen.
“Am I… going in there?”

I nod.
“Yeah. Sorry. You don’t have claustrophobia, do you?”

“Claustro…?” she repeats, puzzled.

“Fear of small, enclosed spaces.”

She shakes her head. No.

“Good. Okay. Step by step.”

I help her ease into a sitting position by the hatch. She dangles her legs inside, then hesitates. I duck under the barrel.
“Wait here.”

I climb into the commander’s hatch and drop into my seat. Leaning across, I see her legs still swinging above the gunner’s chair. I press a control, and the chair rises with a hum.

“Okay,” I call. “Come down now - use the good leg first.”

“Alright,” she says, voice tight.

Carefully, she lowers herself until her foot finds the seat. Then, with an awkward slide, she sinks into the padding. She sits stiffly, head and shoulders still above the hatch rim. I poke my head up through mine, catching her uncertain gaze.

“Comfortable?”

She nods - barely.

“Here, look under the roof,” I say.

I duck down, and she follows. I point out the armrest controls.
“First rule: don’t touch the joysticks. They shouldn’t do anything while I’ve got override, but better safe than sorry.”

She nods quickly.

“The only controls you need for now are these.” I tap a small row at the back. “Seat height. Try it.”

She presses the switch, and the motors hum as her chair lowers. When her head sinks below the roofline, she stops.

“Good,” I say, smiling. “You can ride with your head in or out, but if I tell you to button up - drop the seat and close the hatch. Got it?”

She nods again.

“Alright. I’m going to start her up now. Don’t… worry about anything, okay?”

The way her knuckles tighten on the armrests tells me my reassurance didn’t help. But I can’t stall.

I flip switches, adjust levers: fuel and engine to START, throttle AUTO, power IGNITION. Twist the key.

The starter motor whines. Metal clanks and rattles through the hull - then, with a roar, the engine catches. The whole machine trembles as life surges back into it.

I glance at Evren. She’s gone pale, clutching the seat like it’s the only solid thing in the world. To her, this must feel like the belly of a beast waking up. The thought nearly makes me smile.

I turn the power to FULL. The cabin lights and screens flicker on, feeding us the outside world. Evren gasps, eyes wide as the forest suddenly appears all around her in crisp detail.

I check the gauges: fuel at seventy percent. Ammunition counts full except the coaxial MG - just one short burst used, but still, the sight makes my chest tighten.

I look back at Evren. She’s staring around, awe and fear mingled in her expression.
“Ready to go?”

She swallows.
“Y-yeah.”

I raise my seat, poke my head into the open air, and grip the controls. The tank growls forward, tracks chewing at the soil. Birds explode from the trees, fleeing the thunder.

The wind brushes my face, cool and sharp. I can’t help but grin.
The journey has begun.

It doesn’t take long before I catch a glimpse of ice-blonde hair flicking in the breeze as Evren raises her seat. She stops once her head is fully exposed, mouth parted in awe as the forest rushes past us. The trees on either side blur into streaks of green, the shrubbery blending into a single wall of motion. I glance across, but she doesn’t look back - too captivated by the speed.

The speedometer holds steady at fifty-five. Nowhere near her top speed. For a moment my mind screams to push it further, to let the tank off its leash - but I shut the thought down. Not here. Not on this narrow, bordered road where one mistake would slam us into the thick trunks at bone-crushing force. Where a hidden traveler wouldn’t even have time to scream before nineteen tons of steel reduced them to nothing.

The tank thrums beneath us, its hydropneumatic suspension rocking gently as it chews through the earth. Then, without warning, the forest ends. Not thinning out or scattering, but cutting off all at once, denser at the edge than it was at the heart. Glancing back, I notice how the branches twist over the road like a tunnel mouth swallowing the way behind us.

Ahead: endless plains.

I raise my voice over the clattering tracks and roar of the engine.
“How far away’s the next village?”

She takes a moment, still watching the horizon.
“About three days on foot. At this speed? I don’t know.”

The sun hangs low now, the sky bleeding from blue into gold, clouds catching on pink fire.

“We should stop soon,” I call.
“Okay.”

I let the speedometer climb to sixty before reining it back. The empty plain dares me to go faster, but I hold firm. The tracks rattle, the exhaust huffs long trails of diesel haze.

By the time the sun sinks halfway below the horizon, I ease off the throttle. The deafening roar fades to a heavy growl as our speed falls. I steer us off the road, roll to a stop, and idle the engine.

Forty-nine percent fuel remaining. I grimace. Less than half.

The key turns, the engine coughs, then cuts. I shut off the systems one by one - the hum of power fading into silence. I reach up to my head, and remove the headband, placing it on the dash.

Climbing out, I duck under the gun barrel. Evren joins me, pulling herself onto the roof, her legs still dangling through the hatch. I manage a weak smile.

“Sorry. I’ve got no food stocked. We’ll have to wait until the next village.”

She smiles faintly, then scans the plains around us. Her voice drops to a whisper.
“Promise you won’t tell anyone what you’re about to see.”

Her eyes lock onto mine, sharp enough to kill. My throat tightens, but I nod.
“Okay. I won’t. What is it?”

She looks once more at the horizon, then cups her hands as if cradling something invisible. The air shifts. A shiver runs down my arms. White wisps bloom into being, curling around her fingers. They twist, merge, and lengthen until two solid shapes form. Color bleeds in.

Wooden skewers, still steaming. Meat, perfectly charred. The smell - smoky, rich, mouth-watering - pours into the air as if from an unseen firepit.

She holds one out to me, a small smile tugging her lips. I take it gingerly, staring as if it might vanish.

My brain flounders. My tongue feels thick in my mouth.
“Wh… what was that?”

Her smile doesn’t falter.
“Creation magic.”

The word detonates in my mind. Creation. Could that mean - anything? Everything?

I lower the skewer, unable to stop staring at her.
“Creation magic? Is that… common?”

She shakes her head.
“No.”

No further explanation. Just the certainty in her voice.

I glance back at the food, still steaming in my hand.
“Are there limits?”

Her gaze steadies on mine. She shakes her head again.
“No. As long as you have enough fuel.”

Fuel. That single word hooks me.
“What kind of fuel?”

This time, she hesitates. Looks around. Drops her voice even lower.
“Can you keep another secret?”

I nod again. My heart thumps.

“I use souls.”

My mind trips over itself. Souls? A person’s immaterial self? Do they even exist? And if they do - how could she possibly-

The thought clicks into place. The only source I can imagine.

As if confirming, she nods.
“Yeah. Recently killed things. That’s what powers my magic.”

The basic laws of energy conservation. Energy cannot be created or destroyed - only converted. My blood runs cold.

“Then… these skewers…”

She nods, finishing the thought for me.
“...are made of the souls of the dead adventurers. I’m sorry.”

I shake my head, incredulous. Sure, it’s not pretty - but to be able to make anything… anything at all… My gaze snaps back to her.

“What limits are there to what you can make?”

Her eyes widen.
“You’re not going to kill me?”

“Kill you? Why would I-”

Then I realise. Of course. To some, she’d look like a demon. An evil thing that robs the souls of the freshly dead before they can pass on to whatever afterlife exists. A murderer who kills twice. That thought should terrify me. It should make me recoil. But instead, I only feel… calm.

She looks down at her dangling legs, shame flooding her face. My next words come out before I can stop them.
“...Oh. Well. It doesn’t really concern me at all.”

She stares at me, wide-eyed. Honestly, I’m more surprised than she is. I should be horrified - she could turn my soul into a hotdog if she wanted. But somehow that absurdity makes it easier to breathe. Maybe this isn’t all just darkness and guesswork after all. I smile.

“But you didn’t answer my question. What limits are there to what you can make?”

She hesitates, stammering.
“W-w-well, generally… as long as I’ve seen something before, I can make it.”

Relief sparks in me. That almost solves the fuel and ammunition problem. Almost.
“I’m guessing there’s a catch.”

“You’re a good guesser.” She nods. “Yeah, the cost scales with complexity. These skewers cost almost nothing. But bigger or more intricate objects cost a lot more soul. It’s exponential.”

I nod slowly. That makes sense. “Okay. Then, can I ask you to make something for me?”

Her brow furrows, wary but curious. “What is it?”

“Wait here.”

Still chewing my skewer, I climb down from the barrel. The meat is good - warm, rich with flavor. She must’ve once seen skewers made by a master. I swing open the double doors at the tank’s rear, ignoring the cannon shells. Instead, I pop open a smaller compartment to the right. Two black drums sit inside. I open the closer one. Chain-linked machine gun belts sit coiled within. I ease a single cartridge free, then climb back up and settle opposite her on the hatch.

I hold the bullet out. “Can you make one of these?”

She twirls it between her fingers, examining every angle. “What is it?”

“It’s a bullet. The same kind that killed the men chasing you.” I grin. “Might as well use their lives to restock the ammo it cost to stop them.”

She studies it, frowning. “How does it work?”

“The sharp tip’s the part that kills. The rest is casing and propellant. When it fires, a pin strikes the back, ignites the charge inside, and the pressure launches the tip forward. Twice the speed of sound, give or take. Small, fast, and brutal - goes in one side and out the other.”

She nods thoughtfully, flips it once more, then hands it back. “I can try.”

White wisps gather in her cupped palms, flowing together into a familiar brass shape. Slowly, they condense into the bottle-necked casing, the gleaming bullet tip forming with delicate precision. The glow fades, leaving behind solid gold metal that glints in the light. She holds it out, tentative. “Is this good?”

I take it, roll it in my hand, then smile. “Let’s find out.”

I hop down, head to the left side of the main cannon rack, and haul the secondary machine gun from its shelf - a belt-fed beast meant for mounting on the commander’s hatch. I’ve never used it; sticking my head out in battle is suicide. But for a test… it’s perfect.

I chamber the lone round, slide the bolt, and lie prone in the grass. The stock settles into my shoulder as I click the safety off. I breathe out, finger curling around the trigger.

A sharp crack splits the plains. Smoke drifts from the barrel. The casing clatters into the grass, warm and gleaming. I don’t need to see the impact - I know it worked.

Looking up, I see Evren with her hands clamped over her ears, wincing. Whoops. Should’ve warned her.

I sit up, grinning. “Perfect.”

She lowers her hands, a slow smile spreading across her face.

A few minutes later we’re sealed inside again, the hatches clanging shut as the world outside sinks into blackness. The cabin glows faintly from the dimmed lights, throwing soft shadows across the metal walls. I turn a newly crafted cartridge between my fingers, watching it catch the light.

“So,” I ask, “how much does it cost to make one of these?”

Her voice drifts lazily from the other seat.
“A little more than a skewer. They’re fiddly, sure, but they’re small. I think I can make twenty, maybe thirty, from a single human soul.”

The number lingers in my mind.
“Really? That’s amazing. Just one is enough to kill someone - so that’s a lot of value.”

Her voice grows quiet.
“Only one…”

She doesn’t say more. The silence stretches. I let out a breath.
“By the way,” I ask, “what do you mean by ‘twenty to thirty per human soul’? Do different creatures have different… sizes? Qualities?”

She nods.
“Yeah. It depends on intelligence and size. A human is smart and middling in scale, so they give a decent amount. But something smaller and dumber, like a goblin? Maybe five, ten bullets at most.”

I nod, but my mind is already wandering. Goblins? If they exist… what else?

“What’s the biggest soul you can get?”

She thinks for a moment.
“Excluding the immortal? A dragon’s. Definitely.”

Dragon?! My pulse quickens. So they do exist. My imagination races ahead - wings, fire, impossible size. I try to keep my voice level.
“Really? Just because of their size?”

She shakes her head.
“No. They’re clever, too - much cleverer than most think. But still classed as dumb monsters, since they don’t care about politics.”

A grin touches her lips.
“By that logic, I’m a dumb monster too. I can’t make sense of politics either.”

I laugh softly. She’s not wrong. I let the sound fade into a sigh.
“Well… before I switch the lights off - anything I should know? Monsters? Things that like to hunt at night?”

She shrugs.
“Yes. But I doubt they’ll come anywhere near this… tank, as you called it. Even the stupidest monster can sense something dangerous.”

“That’s good to hear.” I lean back, smiling. “Alright then. I’m going to crash. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

I reach for the power controls, flick them off, and the darkness falls instantly - total, absolute. According to Evren, it’s summer here, and the nights stay mild, so the heaters aren’t needed. I close my eyes, letting the silence settle. Sleep comes cool and steady, waiting just beyond the edge of thought.