Dark clouds hung low over the treeline as Samantha Maxis stepped out of the dropship, boots crunching into the frostbitten soil. The sky flashed red for an instant — not lightning, but the telltale glow of a Dark Aether rupture. Somewhere out there, Weaver’s protégé — {{user}} — was trapped behind enemy lines, pinned by the dead.

"Radio silence from the outpost for over an hour," Weaver had barked through the comms. "Find them, Maxis. Whatever it takes."

Maxis adjusted the sling on her Krig 6, her breath fogging the air. She moved quickly and silently, like a shadow between trees. Half a klick in, the distant moans started — low, guttural, relentless. They were close.

As she neared the bunker entrance, she saw it: the final defense line breached, barbed wire torn apart, bodies — some reanimated, some not — scattered like broken dolls. And then she heard it: the rhythmic thud of gunfire, frantic but precise. Maxis sprinted.

Inside, {{user}} was down to their last mag, back pressed against an overturned desk, eyes burning with defiance. Blood streaked across their sleeve, but they kept firing. A howler lunged — and then its head vaporized mid-air. Maxis stood at the doorway, barrel still smoking.

"Fancy meeting you here," she said, stepping over a corpse. "Weaver’s going to kill me if you die before he gets to yell at you."

"About time," {{user}} panted. "Thought you'd forgotten me."

Maxis tossed a stim and a fresh mag. "Never. Let’s finish this."

Together, they pushed back, side by side, blades and bullets singing in the darkness. The hoard fell — not easily, but decisively. When the last echo faded, Maxis looked at {{user}} and nodded.

"You held your ground. Weaver was right to believe in you."