Someone had spray-painted the gravestone. In this shadowed corner of the graveyard, far from the other graves, the bright blue lettering spelled out a single word: Murderer.  

Isla thought it was rather fitting. After all, the man buried here had killed hundreds. She didn't know why the Lieutenant General had come here, nor why he'd chosen to arrive mere minutes before the cemetery closed, but she intended to find out. She stood behind the Lieutenant General and the graffitied grave, fiddling with her reporter badge as she waited for an opportune moment to approach him.

It was a late autumn afternoon, that time of year when color leached out of the landscape and the canvas of earth and sky turned monochrome. Here on the outskirts, beyond the reach of the city's bright lights, lone streetlamps flickered in a feeble attempt to keep the approaching dark at bay. The Tower shone in the background, a tall spike in the city skyline that dwarfed the other buildings. The sun's red-gold rays cast long shadows beside the two figures in the graveyard, dyeing the scene in a rusty iron tint. Adrift on the air was the rustling sound of leaves on barebones branches and the distant croaking of a raven.

The Lieutenant General was a tall, clean-shaven man with impeccable posture. Isla supposed he was handsome, but there was a sharpness to his features that lent him an intimidating severity. He couldn't have been over forty, but as he gazed down at the gravestone, he seemed to grow older with each passing second. Isla watched as he lifted a gloved hand and swept it rightwards in a deliberate motion. The blue graffiti vanished and the name Kel Wolff emerged from beneath. 

It was such a simple display of power but Isla couldn't help but stare in awe. Most Gemma could perform telekinesis, but controlling it was the tricky part. It was a difficult task to separate stone and spray paint particles, keeping one intact while destroying the other. It was even more complicated to perform, a feat that took years of practice in creating and executing intricate programs in one's head. If any other Gemma had been asked to clean graffiti, they'd take a brush and a bucket of soap water with them. Isla included.

This was what Isla was after: to record and hear the story of the strongest Gemma soldier. The same hero who stood mere meters away from her.

Yet as Isla watched the Lieutenant General crouch down, she thought she'd never seen a hero look so worn. The pressed white uniform, the cap with its Gemma Special Forces insignia, the trailing cape, the medals decorating his lapel — they all seemed to add to the weight on his shoulders and the tired lines on his face. He set down a single crimson rose atop the gravestone and stood, taking off his cap. After a moment of silence he replaced it, covering his blond hair.

"To the little miss busybody behind me — what do you want to ask?" 

Isla startled, her reporter's badge falling out of her hands. It fell until it stopped inches from the ground, caught by an invisible hand, then hovered to her waist and clipped itself to the trim of her blouse. Isla glanced at the Lieutenant General, knowing he'd caught the badge when she'd failed to with her own powers. His blue eyes were pale and cold, nearly colorless, and his expression unnervingly blank as he gazed at her. It was not unlike being watched by one of the dunehawks that rested on the highest perches of the city, searching for its next meal.

"Well?" he prompted.

"Why are you paying your respects to a murderer?" Isla blurted, and immediately regretted her unchecked words. Something flickered in the Lieutenant General's gaze.

"What do they tell you of him?" he asked, his voice as cool and emotionless as his expression. 

Isla grimaced. "Kel Wolff betrayed the Tower and became the leader of the rogue Gemma group, Aphelion. He used his powers to murder civilians and destroy the city, and waged war against the Tower."

"And what do they say of me?" 

"You founded the Gemma Special Forces and helped bring about Gemma equality," Isla said. "You're the best soldier the Tower has to offer. You killed Wolff and ended his reign of terror — you're a hero."

The Lieutenant General's voice was precise. "I'm no hero," he said, "I'm just a soldier with blood on my hands."

"You're too humble, sir," Isla replied.

"No, I'm not," The Lieutenant General said, gazing at the grave, "But to answer your question, I am making sure Kel Wolff gets the respect he deserves."

Isla frowned. "I don't understand, sir. Didn't he kill hundreds?"

"Have I not also killed for the sake of others?" The Lieutenant General turned to look at her. "What are you really here for? You've gone through the trouble of tracking me down at this late hour and interrupting me — you must have a larger request."

Isla chewed her bottom lip. She'd started off on the wrong foot, but she didn't want to let this chance get away. "Well, sir," she began, "I was hoping that you could tell me about your life: about the Gemma Special Forces, the war, all of it."

"This has all been recorded," The Lieutenant General said, "There are a fair amount of articles on the matter."

"You misunderstand, sir." Isla shook her head. "This would be an exclusive and intimate interview — more like an autobiography, really." She glanced at the grave, tracing the shape of the name etched in stone. "And I was hoping that you could elaborate on the relationship between you and Wolff. I've noticed there's very little information on that."

The Lieutenant General watched her, his expression unreadable. No — he was scrutinizing her through a veneer of indifference. Isla maintained eye contact, but it was difficult to not shy away from his unwavering gaze. She fiddled with a loose thread on her shirtsleeve and waited for an answer. 

"Kel and I..." The Lieutenant General murmured, stroking his chin, "It's not surprising you found nothing." He raised an eyebrow at her. "And I'm sure you found very little concerning Kel's past."

"Yes, sir," Isla replied. 

The Lieutenant General nodded. "I suppose we ought to fix that. Shall we take a seat?" He asked, gesturing to a nearby bench. 

Isla was surprised at the easy acceptance. After his earlier cold demeanor, she'd expected a bland refusal and an order to never disturb him again. Her nervousness transformed into giddy anticipation as she thought about hearing war stories from a war hero himself. Once they were both seated, Isla tapped the holodevice on her wrist, scrolling through her applications.

"You don't mind if I record this, do you sir?" she asked.

"Not at all." The simple answer was at odds with his searching gaze. Isla ignored it as she brought up a recording app and programmed in the date.  

"This will be translated to paper later, so you don't have to worry about making your speech be neat and orderly like a script. You can speak freely." Isla moved to tap play. Her hand halted a centimeter away, held back by an unseen force. She looked up at the Lieutenant General and frowned.

"I have one request," the Lieutenant General said. Isla tilted her head. "Forget everything you've been taught — I know what the schools and tabloids say. Whatever you've heard is only half the story." His gaze held a frightening intensity that pinned her in place. Isla imagined this was how Kel Wolff felt, staring down the Lieutenant General moments before dying by his hand. "I do not want to see my words twisted. Can you promise me that?"

Isla swallowed. "Of course, sir."

With those few words, the formal stiffness she had always associated with the Lieutenant General seemed to drain out of him. There was something brighter about him, younger and more lively. The lines on his face smoothed out and his shoulders relaxed. His countenance was more like that of a bow ready to fire rather than a ramrod of steel. To Isla, he had always seemed older, wise beyond his years, but now he looked ... well, he looked his age.

"Right. Thank you." The Lieutenant General cleared his throat.  "I'm no great teller of tales, but I will do my best to do it justice. Bear with me if I falter or stray."

"All right, sir," Isla replied. She pressed play.

A gentle breeze blew in. It whispered against the hair of the Lieutenant General, caressed the cheek of the reporter, and kissed the grave they both gazed at. The graveyard held its breath, silent in anticipation. The Lieutenant General took off his cap and set it on the bench. Its silver insignia glinted in the light.

"My name is Lav Sciarra," he said. "I have been called the Watchdog of the Tower, the savior of the city, and the most powerful Gemma alive. Among the Tower soldiers, I am known as Dunehawk, Eidolon, and Specter. I founded the Gemma Special Forces and rose to the rank of Lieutenant General. I fought and felled the traitor Kel Wolff — Kel Wolff, who was my best friend, and without whom this story would not be complete."

"In the decade since the war — since Kel's death — much of recorded history has been tailored and twisted. Where I have risen as a hero, Kel's reputation has fallen, his name slandered and his contributions erased. I am here to right that wrong. I am here to speak for the dead. I am here to tell the full, untainted truth."

"This is our story."

Welcome to Ante! I hope you've enjoyed this first chapter — don't forget to vote if you did! 

What are your thoughts on Lav, Isla, and Kel? Do you have any theories about what happened in that tampered past? Ideas on what Lav will say?

Again, thanks for reading!

Word Count: 1621

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