Thace put on his mask, and everything before his eyes became of a lilac colour, the edges of the walls of the hangar unnaturally glowing of that purplish light.

It wasn't new, but he still wasn't used to it: the colours turning all flat and dark, the little air he was allowed to breath underneath that strange mask, the heath on the back of his head...

I'm not afraid, he kept telling himself, while his right hand was holding tight his blade, the gem on it blinking at him as to challenge him – you are afraid indeed, it said, with the light reflecting on it in the shape of a cunning smile.

Thace looked at his comrades, sitting around him in silence: he was the youngest participant of that mission, but since everyone was perfectly calm, even those who were newcomers like him, he had to pretend to be calm too.

Kolivan, sitting behind him with his broad muscular back against his, his chest barely moving with each breath he took, seemed to be deeply immersed in thoughts of great importance – the mission, of course: Kolivan's fifth mission, Thace's first one.

"First": what a horrible sound that word had in that moment – sharp and high-pitched, the hissing of a snake; Thace could almost feel the cold, wet tongue of the creature caressing the back of his ear, which almost twitched in response to that imaginary input.

The young Galra bristled and tilted his hooded head.

He had experienced many "first times" in his life: first tooth, many first days of school, first places at sporting contests, first of his classes ... but this time the thrill was absent, the excited smile on his face too; not that he wasn't ready for that "first time" to come – one of the very few he had chosen by himself.

He thought – he hoped – he would have been excited. Instead, all he felt was fear – and that was probably how the people outside the high walls of his city had felt every day of their lives, waiting for the next abuse from their oppressors.

His life was on the line for the very first time.

They had assured him that that was an easy, peaceful mission, though – just sneak in a Galran outpost forgotten by deities and the Empire itself, insert a little key and collect all the info they have – the easiest thing. And still Thace was afraid, because his smart and over-excited mind was already calculating every possibility of failure, as usual – he sure wasn't the one putting 'fun' in 'funeral'.

His grip on the dagger tightened as he turned his head to look at Kolivan, who was so quiet and immobile he could have been sleeping. How he wished to be like him, so stoic and imperturbable even in the worst situations.

"Get ready, we're almost there."

The voice of their pilot sounded metallic through the speakers, cold.

Thace supposed that no one noticed or cared – the robotic voice, the purple light in his eyes, the very possibility of something taking a bad turn ... he should have done the same.

The young spy closed his eyes and, as he hadn't done in a long time, he murmured a prayer, a tiny breath between his dry lips.

---

For being a forgotten outpost, it was pretty populated: at least ten sentinels were marching with their blasters in their hands, the sound of their rusty joints echoing in the dark hall, glowing of the same, haunting lilac light, and it was only the ground floor.

Thace and his four comrades were waiting with their backs pressed against the wall and their breath held back in their throats, waiting for the surveillance system to be shut down so they could go on unnoticed: Hedril and Vatek, from the ship, would have bombarded the base with electromagnetic signals strong enough to interfere with their power generators – this would have caused a semblance of a sudden change in voltage totally above suspicion given the dated technology of the outpost.

In a few moments the lights began to flicker and they knew it was time: the Blades split up, aiming in five different directions, each one of them assigned to one of the three floors. Thace run swiftly to the second floor, his feet so light on the stairs he seemed to be flying.

The hallway was empty and awfully silent and dark, with just some tiny, sparse emergency lights to illuminate in a radioactive green colour spots of the metallic floor, buzzing softly.

A rapid sigh and the young Blade launched himself towards the last door on the left, where it was the database he had been assigned to – the one with the information on the weapon trades of the south-east quadrant of the Empire. The door was unlocked, due to the system induced malfunction.

"Echo-Two in position", he whispered once he was in front of the empty computer screen; his hands were trembling, his face was hot and he couldn't breathe very much, the air nearly absent but humid beneath the mask.

No one answered from the other side for five long ticks.

Young Thace did not breathe, the tiniest sweat drop rolling down his neck painfully slow and cold.

"Outpost repowering initiated. Databases operative in 5 ... 4 ... – his long fingers extracted quickly the chip from the little pouch of the utility belt he wore – ... 3 ... 2 ... – his hand moved toward the control panel – ... 1!"

The screen lighted up, starting the automatic recovery procedure. Thace froze in position, following with wide eyes the countless digits passing rapidly on the screen and the little timer on the upper corner of it, which seemed to be savouring with extreme pleasure each second it let out for the countdown, much to the spy's anguish.

When it was done, Thace inserted the chip and in a moment the database was undefended and completely at his disposal: the download started. He took a few steps back, distancing himself from the control panel, releasing a heavy breath.

He did it.

For now.

While keeping the hood to cover his head, the Blade removed his mask, much to the relief of his ears that twitched swishing, ready to capture any sound; the fur on his nape was wet in cold sweat and a sudden shiver shook his spine. His yellow eyes, glowing in the dim light of the room, stared at the data and tabs opening and closing frantically on the screen.

"Echo-Two, what's your state?"

"Still running. The download should be complete in twenty ticks."

"Gamma-Three is near your position to provide support. Come back with him when you're done."

"Copy that." His hands were trembling again. Was his database the largest one? He didn't want all that responsibility to be put on him – he should have complained on the decision when it was made, now it was too late.

Damned his respectfulness.

Think, Thace, - he furrowed his brows, - If it's like that, it means they have a great respect for you. They trust you.

An honour in any other moment, the most stupid decision in that very moment – this was his thought on the matter – sure, assign the biggest database with the most relevant intel to the youngest and inexperienced spy, what could possibly go wrong?

But maybe he was overestimating the whole thing, and just needed to calm down and focus.

Enough complaining! Focus, Thace. Focus.

Seconds passed slowly in absolute silence, until an almost imperceptible sound made his ears twitch beneath the hood. Thace put back on his mask immediately, holding his breath and gritting his teeth; his eyes, awfully widened, didn't dare to turn away from the screen.

Someone was in walking in the hallway.

Was it a sentinel? No, the system that controlled them was long gone due to the virus they had put in it.

It could have only been a soldier.

The young Blade did not dare to move a step, but his right hand was already reaching for his dagger.

Wasn't Kolivan supposed to be near here? Where is he?

The download was finally complete: his gloved fingers extracted swiftly the chip from the machine, but he was too afraid to notify that his task had been completed.

He had to get out immediately.

When Thace put his head out of the door, the steps outside had already stopped. The hall, a giant ribcage of sharp steel, had now all the lights on, projecting ominous shadows around.

'While you were marching with your soul on your shoulders,

You saw a man at the end of the valley

Who had your same, identical mood

But the uniform of another colour.'

Flattened against a pillar nearby, he saw in the distance intermittent flashes of purple following the measured steps of a march; a stronger light caught the slim figure approaching, revealing the symbol of the Empire they wore on their armour.

Thace slithered toward the wall, trying to move close to the passage for the floor below. The guard's footsteps became more audible by the minute – where the heck is Kolivan? –, and the closer they were, the more noticeable was the doubt in their rhythm, as if the soldier was afraid as he was.

Don't come nearer, don't come nearer!

The muscles of the young spy stiffened as he attempted to make himself invisible in that tiny puddle of darkness the corner between the walls offered him; his lungs were burning, his fingers were tingling and getting cold, his eyes pinned on the figure yet unable to see it.

He had to move. He had to move immediately.

Was he the only one left there? The thought of it was an icy blade piercing through his chest.

The steps were even nearer and louder now, and Thace tried to retrieve his long limbs the most he could into that cramped womb of gelid shadows, bowing his head to hide the glowing lenses of his mask under his black hood. His heart was thundering in his skull, it made everything so confusing – it was giving him a feeling of giddiness, he was struggling to keep his eyes open.

The feet of the soldier passed before him, uncertain, trembling; the armoured figure left out a faint moan, swallowing loudly their saliva and fear while inspecting the hall, turning their head in every direction with the shotgun in their hands following their movements. The young serviceman stood still in front of Thace's hideout for a few, endless seconds. None of them were breathing.

Once they passed him of at least ten long steps, the spy jumped out the corner and hurried towards the stairs, his head still spinning.

A hiss and a sharp pain in the shoulder halted his running, making him almost fall to the ground.

Thace turned his head to face his enemy, extracting swiftly the dagger from its sheath.

It was real – the dagger in his hand, the cold sweat on his neck, the enemy standing before him with their weapon aiming for his head – it was real, but was he ready for it?

"Identify yourself!" shouted the soldier with the trembling voice of a young man who was trying not to sound scared in front of the hooded figure, the grip on his shotgun unsteady and a single sweat drop rolling down his bare chin.

Thace turned slowly to face him, his hands trembling as well. The only thing in his mind in that moment was the sound of the soldier's voice – it sounded so young it was cruel.

It made him feel terribly bad for what he was going to do next.

The Blade launched himself on the Galra serviceman, avoiding the messy shots of his shotgun that were aiming now at his head, now at his legs, now at his chest. His shoulder was hurting badly, and the wound, staining in black the black of his tight uniform, was breathing the dust of the floor and the sparks springing from the violent meeting of his dagger and the shotgun.

It was a moment.

They went down, the soldier beneath the spy, and the dagger penetrated in the serviceman's neck, from the sharp point to the hilt – twenty centimetres of cold, shiny luxite cutting skin and muscles and arteries with no mercy or hesitation.

'"And if I shoot his head or his heart

Only the time to die he will have,

But I will have the time to see,

To see the eyes of a man who dies".'

Thace extracted the knife and dark blood began spurting like crazy, while the young guard's hands were frantically reaching the deadly wound in a last desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.

His eyes, oh, his eyes, what were they?

The helmet was lifted just enough for the Blade to see them, glowing of that intense gleam of a light just about to fade, wide open to the extreme, so wide and scared and they looked at him, right at his eyes, which were as huge and scared as his but hidden, separated from his sight by the thin layer of the mask, a mask that gave Thace no expression, that gave him the look of the cold-hearted, soulless assassin.

Oh, if he only knew that his killer was a young Galra just like him, frightened and full of hope just like him, with only the colours of their uniform to differentiate them.

The soldier was striving to breath over the blood gurgling ferociously in his open throat, his trembling hands were pressing with all their remaining strength, getting drenched in the dark fluid, his armoured body shaking in agony – he was thin, his limbs so slim and nervous, it was a pitiful scene to watch.

And yet Thace could not move, could not help but stare at that horrid spectacle of a life leaving its body with each painful spurt of blood; he was stuck there, captivated in a way he never thought possible by the image of death hunching over that young man whose body was slowly becoming immobile, whose eyes however didn't seem to be closing, willing to watch the darkness straight in the eye.

Yet another 'first' to add to the list.

Kolivan arrived, finally, founding his comrade on his knees, breathless; his hands pressed on the floor and stained in the blood pooling around the head of the fallen soldier, his shoulders shaking with each sob his lungs left out.

He carefully placed his broad hand on Thace's slim shoulder, as if the older Blade was afraid to see that frightened boy crumbling in pieces on the floor; he went to open his mouth to speak, but remained there with his lips slightly parted and no words between them.

---

Sat with his back against the cold wall of the hangar, hugging his knees the tightest the makeshift bandage wrapped around his shoulder allowed, Thace hadn't spoken since he and his comrades got back on the ship almost taking off.

The mission was a success, apparently: they had managed to retrieve all the intel they were looking for, everything had been perfectly executed, couldn't have been more proud of themselves.

The young Blade buried his face between his knees, closing his eyes tightly, tears beginning to trickle down his soft cheeks, shoulders starting to shiver as the image of that young soldier covered in blood flashed before his eyes.

This is what war looks like. This is what you are going to do from now on. This... this...

He could not bear such weight. His blood-stained hands clasped his arms, he could not resist.

Those eyes would have haunted him forever, staring at him from the corner of his mind, judging him harshly, burning as if they wanted to set that killer aflame with a single stare.

A figure sat next to him, announced by a subtle rustle of cloth.

Kolivan managed to be so silent and delicate in every situation, as if he was a walking shadow among them; Thace, during those few months he had known him, had found himself wondering if the Blade, now towering at his side with the stern gaze and regal posture of an ancient idol, was real and not just a figment of his imagination.

His mentor – is he it? –, despite his young age, showed wisdom and maturity of which many older people lacked and this surprised Thace every single time his sight caught that of his comrade, which was now fixed on an object hidden in a corner of the ship not so far away from them.

The vision sent shivers of cold terror down the younger Blade's spine.

There he was, the young soldier of the Empire, lying on the gelid floor with Kolivan's blood-drenched robe serving as a shroud, covering his face and neck, robe with which they had miraculously wiped away every trace of their action from the outpost floor; his blood was still on their gloves, the stench of death and guilt hanging heavily over them, a sword above their necks – above Thace's neck.

Leaving him there would have meant putting the entire operation in jeopardy.

They would have disposed of the body later, somehow.

The Galra youth turned away, unable to bear that image any longer. Kolivan's sight lowered too.

"Have you ever killed someone?"

The question, unexpected, spoken in a broken, soft voice, hovered in the thick air between them, as a ghostly presence filled with regret and uneasiness.

"Yes."

Kolivan replied in such a rueful and tender tone so out of place that it caught the young spy completely off guard, just like that laser shot in his shoulder did few hours before. It felt the exact same way.

The tears stung his eyes again and he wasn't going to fight them.

"How –"

"You push everything down, deep in your guts, and you let it rot there, out of your sight, far from your heart."

That comforting tenderness was no more, his mentor's golden eyes two slits flaming with unspoken grief and rage. Hearing those words, a thought came immediately to Thace's mind:

How many?

"Pity is not a thing we can afford. – he continued, furrowing his brows, his square jaw clenched as his neck muscles, – Pity doesn't belong in a war."

The younger Blade started doubting his motivations, his will to take part in that mission that was the war against Zarkon's Empire, Empire that gave birth to him and nurtured him, feeding him with ideals and discipline, keeping him safe in the maternal hug of walls of steel.

The thought of his mother – alone behind those walls, still mourning his father's death in that silent, dignified manner so typical of her – grabbed him by the throat.

"Listen. – Kolivan placed gently his hand on the youth's arm – No one is asking you to stay. If you think you can't bear all of this, then you can leave. It's your choice and we will understand it."

His weary eyes shone with sorrowful honesty – a gaze far too grave for a twenty-year-old –, his voice was tender again, even more than before: he was begging him to leave.

Leave before you become like me.

But it was too late: a life was no more and Thace bore its sign on his blade, on his hands, in his heart.

"When will this end?" he asked in a faint but determined tone, wiping away the tears from his cheeks.

His mentor sighed, his lips curled in a sad smile.

"In victory ... or in death."