This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Intelligent_City9455 on 2025-11-10 06:40:05+00:00.

Kairei sprinkled flower petals over the tomb. Red, pink and gold colored the final resting place of one single man. The grass swayed in the wind.

"Honored Aunt," spoke Jiesii. "Who were they?"

"A Child of Sol, nephew." She twisted her hands in the sign of Karrassa. "Firstborn of Flame."

"Firstborn of Flame? That title is unfamiliar to me."

Kairei's nostrils flared slightly. Her nephew stank of confusion, of nervousness. She sighed.

"He is just a boy in our reckoning," she muttered to herself. "A hatchling lost amongst the stars."

She turned her head back at him.

"It is what the Children of Sol called their warrior-class. The Firstborn of Flame."

Her hand brushed across the gravestone. Jiessi peered at it, looked around her to better understand. There was text inscribed on it, in some language he did not know. What was it? What did it say?

"Aunt?"

"Aye, Ji?"

"The text. Is that their name?"

"No Ji. That is not his name. It is a memorial. It commemorates not just him, but all others who died in the Baranth Wars. They did not know who he was when they put him in. They had no way to tell."

"And you do, because you knew him, and know his scent?"

"Yes."

Jiessi thought of it. Thought of the stories that could be known.

"Can you tell me who he was? What he did?"

Kairei smiled sadly at him.

"Yes."

Then, many dozens of years before

The skies rocked with flame.

Transport ships died in the skies, their mechanical guts spilling from their bellies. Flights of missiles shattered destroyer formations, and thousands of fighter-craft danced amidst the macabre duels of battleships and cruisers.

Othande clutched his rifle. Messages and intel blasted across the interface of his helmet. His radio was alive with chatter. He wondered, idly, how his squadmates fared. If they were doing any better than he. 

His pod was rocked with turbulence. It rotated, slowly. He watched the battle roar by outside. 

"Three minutes to impact," droned the pod AI. 

"Three minutes till Hell," whispered Othande. The fireball of a Majesty-Class Assault Mech rumbled by. Its head turned towards the pod, and Othande watched as it snapped a salute at him before continuing its perilous drop.

"Godspeed trooper." The voice, deep and gravelly, grumbled in his ears. "For the Glory of Sol."

"For the Glory of Sol, pilot." Othande gave him his own salute, even though the war machine was well beyond his sight.

"Two minutes to impact. You better be bracing, trooper. Landing retros engage in forty-five."

...

"Landing retros engaged. Prepare for deployment."

...

The pod smashed into the ground. Adrenaline coursed through Othande, pumped into his veins by the pod AI. Tubes snapped off his suit as he propelled himself out of the pod.

"Objective is three klicks south-east, Othande."

"Acknowledged. And thank you, P.A.I."

"Go with our blessings, boy. We are all Children of Sol."

The Okkor Tower was a masterpiece of Baranth engineering. It had been designed for one specific purpose, one that was now putting its mighty arsenal to the test. That purpose was the defense of the Baranth homeworlds. And for many millenia, it had succeeded at that task.

Certainly, it had its weaknesses. Nothing was truly perfect, after all. Its core, for instance, was unstable, massive and capable of producing, as an Akazi engineer had put it, "A helluva explosion." 

The Baranth, for all their genius, hadn't been able to figure out a safer power core, so they had opted instead to surround it in the best defenses money could buy. Some of the foundations too, were weaker than usual, though Baranthian High Command had ordered the engineers to strengthen them best they could. 

There was also one other weakness.

It had not been designed to wage war against the full might of Mankind.

Humanity. New to the galactic stage, yet siezed with such creativity and fervour that even now, a mere one thousand years since their ascent, they dared to assault the Baranth homeworlds for their so-called "crimes." So what if slavery had been illegal for the past five thousand years? Who cared if the Baranth tossed their prisoners into the Okkor power core? And really, who gave a damn about the consumption of other sapient species? No one had challenged them when they had first done so, and no one had challenged in the years that followed.

Until now.

Aye. Until now. And now the Okkor Tower, the pinnacle of Baranth technological prowess, was targeted by every single division in the Judgement Crusade. Every. Single. One.

Let them come. Let them die upon the walls of Okkor. Let their blood stain the halls red. Let them come.

And this, indeed, was the sight that met Othande's eyes. Craters dotted the battlefield and the walls. Mechs slumped in the dirt, and thousands of bodies, of Man and Baranth littered the ground. The roar of battle echoed from some other area; Sol had thrust another assault at a different part of the wall, and Baranth had answered Him in kind.

Yet the Baranthians, in the confusion of battle, had neglected to guard this side of the fortress. And this was a mistake that Othande would take advantage of. He slipped over the wall, and into Okkor. 

Make no mistake. For all its grand majesty, Okkor was nothing but a fortified dungeon. A fortress and a breaker of souls, mixed into one giant, cohesive structure. 

Here too, bodies littered the floor. Baranth, Human, android and war-bot; the poor mangled bodies of slaves, some forced into combat by their cruel masters, others slain as shields or sacrifice. Just one more reminder of how far the Baranth had fallen, how low they had stooped.

Othande pressed deeper into Okkor.

There were firefights, here and there. Nothing he couldn't handle. But it wore on him, even if it was only a little. But what really tore into him was when he reached the slave pens. He had to pass through them, as the Baranthians, for some reason, like to keep their slaves close to the Core. Yet the sight his eyes met was horrible to the eyes.

What he saw there can never be described. The tragedy of it all, the horror, the cruel jest of Baranth. It can only be remembered, imagined, and burnt away through careful therapy and the cleansing power of flame. 

Othande made an oath to himself, then and there, in the deep part of the soul where the Monsters sleep. 

"I will destroy this place," he whispered. "I will purge it in the name of my species, in the name of my homeworld, and in the name off all who died here. I will do so, even if I should die while doing it."

And somewhere, somehow, far above and deep below, creatures that had presided over all Mankind heard him, and said "Yes."

And Othande passed through that dreadful place, until, at the very end of the hall, he saw her. A little child of the Vascani, covered in broken scales. Arms wrapped round her legs, rocking back and forth.

"Child, child," whispered Othande. "What is your name?"

She whispered. "Kairei. Mother called me that. Before they came. Now Kairei is here alone."

And Othande's heart, already swelled with sorrow, broke.

The monster within Othande told him to wreak vengeance upon the Baranth.

"Destroy them!" It roared with fury. "Show them the wrath of Mankind!"

The angel within him told him to help the child.

"Take her with you," it whispered, "or at least ask your fellow soldiers to take her back."

The soldier within him told him to leave her, to complete the mission, to destroy Okkor, no matter the cost.

And the Human within him took Kairei in his arms, and led her away, towards the end and towards salvation.

It had been easy, setting the charges. The Baranthians were confident... too confident. So certain were they in just their outer defenses, in just the first ring of inner battlestations, that they had neglected to leave any significant presence in the Core room. The few who had been left behind were now dead on the floor.

Aye, setting the charges had been the easy part. The problem now was getting out.

Othande had considered his routes. He could return the way he came. He could go through the sewers. He could even, perhaps, go to the hangars and attempt to steal a vehicle. But these were all avenues that relied on the battle staying put where it was, and on Othande being alone and unaccompanied by the child who clung to his legs. No, the only route left was the roof.

There, at least, he might be able to signal one of his own craft. One of the crazed gunship pilots might dare the descent, or, more likely, he would have to strap himself and the Vascani child to the body of one of the great war-mechs. Yes, he would do so. He picked up Kairei, and began to climb.

The skies above Okkor rocked with flame. Thousands of fighter-craft danced in the skies. The fields beneath rippled with explosions, as thousands of troops assaulted the walls of Okkor.

Othande took a flare gun from his belt, and loaded it. He raised it, straight up, and fired. A golden fireball rose over the battlefield, bathing Othande and Karei in its light. Sigils flashed on Othande's helmet HUD as fightercraft, gunships, and a single Majesty-Class Assault Mech peeled away from battle and sped towards him.

Kairei was before him. She would be first on the transports. He would make sure of it. He would throw her, if need be. 

Warning signs on the HUD. Pain, in him, blossoming across his back. His head twisted.

"Scum!" Spat a Baranthian noble. "You upstarts will pay for t...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1ot6s7z/les_soldats_inconnus/