Ural

Cayti

I’m awoken by a quiet tapping at the front door. Groaning, I sit up, but Jesse beats me to it. He staggers to his feet, still half-asleep, and wobbles toward the door. A faint glow seeps through the curtains. Dawn’s not far off.

The tapping comes again. Jesse swings the door open just as I rise to my feet. Chelo stands there, her face tight with desperation. She hisses, voice low and urgent:

“Jesse. Evre- no, Cayti. You have to go. Now.”

I freeze. My real name. How does she know? Jesse looks as stunned as I feel, but before he can speak, Chelo cuts him off.

“No time. They’re coming to arrest you. Hurry!”

Instinct kicks in. If Chelo’s risking herself to warn us, we can’t hesitate. We leave without a word, grateful our gear’s already stowed in Tyur’ma’s cab. Chelo ushers us down the stairwell, whispering as our footsteps echo off the wood.

“They announced it last night. The church declared you wanted for demonic activity. Hitomi spotted knights watching across the street.”

My mind races ahead of her words. How much time do we have? What are they waiting for? Arrest… or execution? There’s no chance to ask. We reach the front entrance. Outside, the sky is still dark but paling with the promise of sunrise. Chelo’s voice hardens.

“Go now. I’m sorry. But you understand.”

I nod. She’s risking everything for this warning. I smile at her despite the weight pressing on me.

“Maybe we’ll meet again. When this all blows over.”

Chelo studies me, then nods. “Yeah. That would be nice. I don’t know why the church branded you a demon, Cayti. Or why you hide your true name. But the secret’s out now.”

She manages a fleeting smile. “If you ever clear your name, come back. Me and Hitomi will welcome you with open arms.”

Jesse answers for me, voice steady. “Thank you. We owe you everything.”

She shakes her head, expression hardening again. “Go. Quickly, before it’s too late.”

We don’t need telling twice. We duck low, sprint across the street, and clamber into Tyur’ma. No sooner do I slam my hatch than a shout rings out - a knight’s spotted us. Boots thunder on cobblestones as they rush from the shadows. Tyur’ma shudders alive beneath us, her engine’s roar splitting the quiet dawn.

The turret swivels and Jesse wastes no time. A crackling burst from the coaxial tears through the knights; steel armor crumples like tin. Their bodies drop in the flickering muzzle flash as their souls rush into me. Jesse pulls his hatch shut and throws Tyur’ma into gear. With a roar she lunges forward, tracks grinding sparks from the stones.

Knights pour into the street behind, but we’re already gone, charging toward the main road. Jesse mutters under his breath, thinking aloud even as he drives.

“Why didn’t they arrest us yesterday? We were standing right there!”

I have no answer. He barks instead:

“Straps on! It’s going to get rough!”

I snap the belts across my chest just as Tyur’ma screeches into a savage turn. The city gates loom ahead - barred tight, guarded by a cluster of knights. Jesse swears.

“Asa! When I next see that-”

His curse breaks off as he cuts down a knight too close for comfort. The body doesn’t even hit the ground before we thunder past. My teeth clench as the streets blur by.

Then - BOOM. Tyur’ma’s main gun fires. The blast is deafening, rattling my bones. In less than a blink the dart tears through the gate, the wood and steel splitting with a sound like thunder. Knights scatter, unwilling to throw themselves under our treads. We burst through, surging into the open fields beyond as the autoloader clatters.

“Left!” I shout. “We need to circle the city!”

Jesse responds instantly, Tyur’ma banking hard. The straps bite into my shoulders. Dust billows behind us, the colossal city walls rearing at our side as we race past.

“Straight now!”

The turn evens out and Tyur’ma rockets forward, engine screaming at the limit. Faster than I’ve ever felt her move. She sways and bucks with the terrain, her suspension eating bumps that would have shattered a carriage.

We’re nearing the low hills when something flickers at the horizon. Not sunlight - too early. And not white, but red. A faint crimson glow, pulsing. My gut twists. Jesse sees it too.

“TANK!” he screams.

The glow bursts into a blinding flash. Jesse yanks Tyur’ma into a violent turn. A second later, a whistling roar tears the air. The shell misses - barely.

Through the haze I spot the silhouette on the hilltop. Broad. Rounded. A turret slowly grinding toward us.

Our gun swings to meet it. Tyur’ma bucks as the main weapon fires again, the shell casing clattering against steel. A red tracer streaks across the distance - then fizzles, missing the mark. Jesse snarls.

“Dang it! I can’t drive and shoot accurately at the same time-”

The hills loom close. Just a few more seconds and we’ll be shielded. But another blinding flare ignites.

CRASH.

The sound is horrific - metal screaming, ripping. The breech above me is split wide, jagged edges glowing from the hit. Acrid smoke floods the compartment.

Then the ground falls away and we plunge into the valleys, the enemy’s red glow fading behind us as we race low between the hills, leaving the city - and the church’s reach far behind.

We drive for two hours as the sun rises, painting the fields in gold. Jesse slowly eases Tyur’ma down to what he calls “cruise speed,” a steady rumble instead of the earlier sprint. When it feels safe, we raise our seats, letting the rushing air cool our faces.

I glance at the mangled breech again. Twisted steel catches the light, an ugly scar on Tyur’ma’s body. Jesse’s eyes flick to it too. His expression is blank - empty, drained of life. A shiver runs through me, though the morning air is warm.

The valleys guide us for a time, but eventually the ground levels out. Jesse brakes, and Tyur’ma rocks to a stop with a protesting groan. The engine coughs, sputters, then dies. Screens wink dark. Without a word, Jesse climbs out. I follow.

He circles to the ruined breech, crouching beside the diagonal hole blasted straight through. I can see clear daylight if I lean close enough. Jesse exhales, voice rough.

“Well. At least it was empty. If there’d been a round in here…”

He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to. I picture the explosion, the shrapnel, the fire - our deaths, quick and messy. He pats the breech with trembling fingers. There are tears in his eyes when he whispers:

“Sorry, old girl. I couldn’t protect you. Again.”

The last word sticks in me. Again? Not the first time? What happened before? I file the thought away.

Jesse paces the sloped armor, muttering questions half to me, half to himself.

“What now? Our best weapon’s gone. And what the hell was that T-72 doing here? How did it even get here? No - bad question. Why is it here? Who’s running it?”

I have no answers. He turns sharply away, retreating into himself. So I move without thinking - run up and wrap my arms around his waist from behind. He stiffens, frozen, then goes quiet.

“Don’t,” I whisper. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

Slowly, his muscles unclench. When he turns, I open my arms, and we fall into each other’s embrace. No words, just the pressure of holding and being held. When we part, his smile is fragile, but real.

“Thank you. I needed that.”

I return the smile. But then he glances at the ruined breech again, and it dies on his lips.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

I study the jagged hole, and an idea sparks.

“…I might be able to make a new one.”

His head snaps toward me, hope flickering.

“Really? You think so?”

I nod, uncertain, but willing to try. He grins like a man given a second life.

“Might as well try, right?”

Hope restores his energy. He paces again, but this time his steps are lighter, words coming faster.

“Okay - we’ll separate the cannon from the breech, then unlatch the breech and toss it. Check the autoloader…”

He stops, grins at me. “This might work.”

Then he leaps down, vanishes, and clatters back with a red metal box of tools gleaming in the light.

“First things first - barrel off.”

He works fast, focused. Ten minutes later, a sharp crack echoes, and the barrel comes free. It crashes against the sloped armor, then rolls off to the ground with a heavy thud. Jesse looks up at me, grins, and throws a thumbs-up.

“One down.”

The breech takes longer - half an hour of grunts and taps - but finally it slides loose. It hits the dirt and splits in two, the torn metal giving way at last. Jesse’s already got his head in the ammunition elevator, checking the machinery. When he pulls free, he nods at me.

“Alright. Your turn.”

I take a steadying breath. In my mind’s eye, I shape the memory of the cannon - whole, unscarred. Wisps of white coil around my hands, then stretch outward, sketching the outline in light. My pulse quickens. The breech is an intricate machine, too complex to get wrong.

Energy surges from me, writhing like a living thing, filling the shape until it solidifies. The glow fades, revealing steel and rivets, color bleeding in until it looks real. Until it is real. The breech and barrel stand whole once more, seamless in their housing.

The effort crushes me. My vision blurs, legs buckling-

-and Jesse catches me before I fall.

“Whoa! Cayti - are you alright?”

I nod weakly. “J… just tired.”

He eases me onto the hatch edge, legs dangling, while he inspects the weapon. His grin grows wider with every touch.

“Perfect. Not a single flaw. You’re incredible.”

I try to smile but my eyelids are too heavy. The sounds of clattering and clanks filter in - Jesse attaching the breech to the turret, and linking the autoloader. Then the faint whine of the power systems as he drops inside.

A loud metallic rhythm echoes through Tyur’ma as the autoloader hoists a shell, slides it in with a firm clack, then retracts. Silence follows.

Jesse reappears above me, beaming. “Perfect. Not a single issue. I’m going to hug you now.”

He ducks under the cannon, climbs into my hatch, and wraps his arms around me tight. I’m exhausted, but I return it. His warmth steadies me.

When he pulls back, he scratches his head, still grinning. “Well. Guess we’re good to go.”

Then his expression hardens. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

I nod faintly. “Yeah… sorry. It just… took a lot out of me.”

The color drains from his face. “H-how much do you have left?”

I think carefully. “…Maybe… enough for four more shells?”

He crouches, clutching his head. “Oh no… I used it all.”

I rush to reassure him despite the fatigue. “No - we had to. We’d be defenseless otherwise.”

He looks up, grief in his eyes. “Even so. Majority of a doom tortoise and a stone golem soul, spent in an instant.”

I have no comfort to give. My gaze falls to my boots.

Then Jesse straightens suddenly, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Oh well. No use crying over spilt milk. Ready to go?”

His mood swing startles me, but I nod. That’s enough for him. He ducks inside.

Tyur’ma splutters, then roars back to life, her tracks rattling against the earth. I ease into my seat, too tired to fully lower my hatch. The cool air rushes past as we roll forward, the horizon waiting.

We drive without pause until the sun finally dips behind the horizon. My strength slowly returns over the day - I even manage to prepare lunch and dinner, passing them across between stops - but Jesse never slows, not even while eating. His hands remain firm on the controls, his gaze sharp on the road. We cover an astonishing distance, and yet when Tyur’ma finally rumbles to a halt and the engine winds into silence, Jesse looks… alive. Bright, almost. He reclines in his seat, hatch closed, the cabin washed in the glow of the overhead lights.

He exhales.

“We’re finally off again.”

I nod faintly, though my mind is elsewhere. Something he said earlier won’t leave me alone. It gnaws at me until the words slip out before I can stop them.

“Um… Jesse?”

“Mm?”

“You mentioned… that this wasn’t the first time Tyur’ma was damaged.”

The warmth drains from his expression in an instant. My breath hitches.

“I-if you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay…”

He shakes his head, voice quiet.

“No. I’ll tell you. I need to get it off my chest.”

He takes in a long breath, and in that moment, all of my fatigue vanishes. I know what’s coming is important. His eyes fix on the darkened glass, and then he begins.

“In my old world, there’s a massive war going on right now. Nearly every country is fighting - two sides locked against each other.”

I try to picture it. An entire continent engulfed in war, others dragged in just to balance the scales. But the image won’t form. He presses on before I can dwell on it.

“Me and Tyur’ma… we were part of a recon unit. Long-range strikes behind enemy lines. Speed, firepower, mobility - that was our edge. I wasn’t alone, either.” His voice softens. “Two of my best friends were always with me. One driving, the other manning the gun. We did everything together. Ate together. Slept in shifts. Joked about everything. Laughed at stupid stuff just to keep sane. We… we were a family.”

The silence stretches, heavy. He presses a hand against his thigh.

“But then our advance got turned around. The enemy struck harder than we expected. We fell back, but they were faster. So when command asked for volunteers to stay behind as rear guard, of course we stepped forward. We thought it would be glorious. Heroic. We thought we’d be remembered.”

A hollow chuckle escapes him.

“Of course, it was suicide. Tyur’ma was built to fight on her own terms, not in a trap. They surrounded us. One dart went straight through the front.”

His hand lifts, pointing at the screens in front of me. His voice falters.

“It killed them instantly. Both of them. Gone in a heartbeat.”

The air leaves my lungs. I’m sitting where one of them once sat. Where a life ended.

“The second hit tore my arm off and set the ammo behind me alight.”

I press a hand to my mouth, eyes wide.

“I remember thinking how pointless it all was. How nothing mattered anymore the moment you know you’re about to die. Then the ammunition cooked off.” His voice wavers, barely more than a whisper now. “And yet… I opened my eyes again. Here. My friends gone. Tyur’ma - restored, stronger than the day she was assigned to me.”

A tear slides down his cheek as he forces a bitter smile.

“So that’s my story.”

I ache to reach him, but the seat between us is a wall. My voice trembles.

“C-can you come up top? Please? I… I need to hug you again.”

He nods silently, and we both climb out. The night air is cool, the last streaks of sunlight fading at the horizon. I duck under Tyur’ma’s cannon and sink down beside him. This time, nothing stops me - I throw my arms around him and hold him tight.

His body trembles against mine. He sniffs, and I run my hand gently through his hair.

“Has this been weighing on you since you came here?”

He nods against my shoulder.

“Then let it out,” I whisper. “I’m here.”

And he breaks. His grief pours out in shaking sobs, his anger and guilt tangled into every shudder of his chest. He survived the impossible while his friends were left behind, and now the weight of that miracle crashes down in my arms. I hold him tighter, rocking faintly, knowing the time will come when I’ll need to share my story too.

But not yet. Not tonight. Tonight, as the last light fades and the stars begin to surface above us, all I can do is let him lean into me, his arms wrapped beneath mine, his head buried against my shoulder, as if holding on for dear life.

The cold air soon bites and we button up inside Tyur’ma, preparing for the night. The internal lights dim as Jesse shifts around, trying to get comfortable in the seat. I curl my legs up, wrapping my arms tight around them, the padding beneath me suddenly feeling as hard as stone. It’s funny - while you’re moving, you don’t notice. But the moment you stop, the discomfort hits all at once. I lean sideways, trying to find a better angle, but it doesn’t help.

“Not the best lodgings, is it?”

Jesse’s voice is light again, almost cheerful, so different from the tangled grief he carried earlier. I admire how quickly he can turn himself around, but it frightens me too. No one can bury things that deep without them surfacing again one day. And when they do, I can only hope I’ll be there - to console him, steady him, hold him. For now, I just smile and nod.

“No, it’s really not.”

He chuckles softly.

“Should give it a one-star rating.”

It sounds like a joke, but it makes no sense to me.

“Huh?”

“Oh - sorry. It’s from my old world. We used to rank things with stars. One meant terrible, five meant great.”

Ah. Now I understand. What a strange way of measuring things. I giggle.

“How odd.”

He just grins and shakes his head. For a while, silence fills the little cabin. Then, almost out of nowhere, he says quietly:

“I wish we could go back to that stream again. It’s probably my best memory.”

My heart thumps harder, heat blooming in my chest. My voice comes out softer than I intend.

“Me too.”

The silence lingers only a second before he speaks again.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?”

The words catch me off guard. I stammer.

“N-no, I don’t think so.”

There’s the faintest shadow of disappointment in his tone.

“Oh. Then I’m sorry. I love you.”

I can’t help smiling, warmth rushing through me. I shake my head.

“I should apologise too. I love you as well.”

His grin returns, brighter than ever, as he leans back and folds his hands behind his head, gazing at the closed hatch.

“Well, that’s another important step crossed off.”

I laugh, then grin mischievously.

“So… what’s the next one?”

His eyes glint.

“We kiss.”

Heat surges into my face. He laughs, and I groan. Once again, I’ve been hopelessly out-flirted.

“Mark my words - one day I’ll surprise you. I’ll make you blush so hard you’ll be red for days.”

His laugh rings warmly through the cabin. I shake my head.

“Geez.”

Still grinning, he shifts into a more relaxed sprawl.

“Well, I’m going to turn in. Goodnight. Have fun with your plotting.”

“Goodnight.”

The lights fade to black, and the cabin is swallowed in darkness. I can’t even see my hands in front of my face. Closing my eyes, I do exactly what Jesse suggested: I plot. I plot my next move against him, my strategy to catch him off guard. It’s ridiculous - here we are, fugitives on the run, and all I can think about is how to get back at him for making me blush so easily. It’s silly. Childlike. And yet, somehow, it feels more important than anything else.

I fall asleep smiling.