Page 28 of Psycho Gods

The air stank of wet dirt, regret, and secrets.

Location: the war camp.

Chapter 5

Aran

THE WAR CAMP

Brume (noun): mist, fog.

I knelt on warm dirt as steam evaporated onto my face.

Pine needles rustled.

The new realm was colored in shades of gray.

It was depressing.

Hundreds of snow-frosted trees swayed as the therapy RJE fell silent in my hand. Condensation from steam froze across my face as I stood up.

The air was chilly, but I was colder.

A shiver racked my frame.

The tension from Dr. Palmer’s office still clung to my skin, and I concentrated on my surroundings.

All was hushed.

I’d assumed the base for a planetwide war would be enormous and filled with thousands of soldiers. That it would be loud and messy. Chaotic.

It was painfully quiet.

Only a hundred soldiers.

We were alone.

Abandoned.

I pressed my pipe between my lips and inhaled deeply, and it clattered against my teeth. Horse cawed as he circled through the snow above my head.

Squinting, I studied my crow’s feathers and tried to remember if they’d always trailed after him in such a long plumage.

He twirled lazily on a breeze and screeched his enjoyment.

I shrugged and blew out a cloud of smoke, my nose burning from the chilled air.

Glaring up at the towering white-peaked mountains that surrounded the valley, I pocketed the RJE device.

Thick snowflakes fell softly in the gray.

Storm clouds drifted through an atmosphere.

I inhaled smoke sharply and tried to forget that Lyla had lied by implication when she’d given our legions separate designations.

We weren’t here to lead an army of thousands; we were here to fight against a planet full of monsters.

We were here to suffer.

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