Fuel First

As the stars of Higna flickered silently in the ever-lasting twilight, Hopeful sat alone for a while longer, his thoughts turning over Ilane's words, the warmth of her presence still lingering beside him. The world seemed endless, stretched taut with possibilities, yet still anchored by something deeper. Something that moved within him, reminding him that his path was not just about the war awaiting him, but the journey to understand himself.

Ilane had left, slipping into the cool haze of the night, heading toward her own private warzone, where she fought her battles alone, as she had always done. Hopeful knew that she was not the type to seek companionship on the front lines. She never asked for help, and her solitude was as much a part of her as her wisdom. She fought in her own way, in a realm that demanded strength of mind and spirit, not just of the body. But tonight, Hopeful felt a deeper sense of connection to her than before—something in her had shifted, or perhaps it was he who had changed.

The morning arrived like all mornings in Higna, without a sunrise or sunset, just a seamless continuation of twilight that bathed everything in its eternal glow. Hopeful had barely slept, the flickers of his strange dream still haunting the edges of his mind. Yet as he stood, stretching his limbs beneath the wide, unbroken sky, he felt something unexpected—an energy, a sharp clarity that came from within. He reached for the fuel gauge on his war-tank, noticing for the first time that it was still full.

The Core fuel had not been depleted overnight.

In Higna, the First Wealth wasn't a metaphor. It wasn't the fleeting currencies of kingdoms or the gold that adorned rulers' thrones. It was fuel. Core fuel was the lifeblood of war-machines, the power that sustained them, the essence that drove them forward. And for tanks, Core wasn't simply a source of power—it was vitality, the heartbeat of their very being.

But Hopeful's Core was different. It wasn't just any fuel. The Core he crafted was a rare and potent blend, enriched with proteon, a substance that enhanced both its power and its connection to him. By its very nature, it was a fuel that resonated with him, attuned to his own inner strength. It was more than just an energy source—it was a vital force that aligned with his essence, a partnership that went beyond mechanics, one that gave him an edge in battle and a deeper connection to the war he fought.

He ran his fingers over the gauge, marveling at the constant surge of energy it signified. A war-tank could outlast any battle with a full tank, could fight longer, move faster, endure more. Hopeful knew the rituals surrounding fueling all too well. It wasn't just a technical process—it was a sacred act, a preparation for the coming trials, a way of reaffirming one's strength. In every tank, it was a necessary step before embarking on the day's journey.

As he gazed at the glowing blue lines of his Core gauge, Hopeful's mind wandered to the prize of victory in the wars of Higna—the Embers. These rare, elemental shards were the rewards of a battle well fought, capable of providing a surge of power to any tank that absorbed them. Each Ember held the potential for a different form of power—some could create shields of stone, others a burst of speed, while a few might ignite flames or crack the earth open.

Victory was always defined by what one could take from the battlefield, and the Embers were the most sought-after treasure. But there was something even more coveted than those temporary surges of strength: Rem. Rem was the true prize of war, a rare element known for its near-mythical power. Unlike the Embers, Rem wasn't something you could absorb in the heat of the moment; it was an element to be stored, harnessed, and preserved. It was the key to unlocking unimaginable potential, a power far greater than any Ember could provide. But it was scarce, jealously guarded by those who fought in Higna's brutal warzones, and only the most tenacious or the most fortunate were able to claim it.

In the chaos of battle, the tanks would fight not just for their survival, but for the opportunity to claim these treasures. For Hopeful, the spoils were always a reminder of the stakes—how far the war reached into the very essence of life itself, how everything had its price. The Embers gave quick, fleeting power. But Rem, Rem was eternal.

Hopeful could feel the pull of these goals even now, the urge to prove himself in battle, to claim his place within the ranks of those who had earned the right to wield such power. But something deeper tugged at him—something that wasn't just about the war itself, but about what lay beyond it.

His thoughts drifted back to Ilane and her words. She had reminded him that while the battles were important, there was something else at play—a purpose beyond the conflict, a meaning beyond the pursuit of power. He wasn't just fighting to claim victory, to conquer his foes, or even to obtain Rem. He was fighting for something that had yet to take form, something that was still out of reach, just like the figure from his dream.

With a single thought, Hopeful transformed with swiftness and precise motion. With a shuddering pulse, his humanoid form dissolved into the towering, mechanized monstrosity that had become his true self—the war-tank. His limbs fused with arcane alloys and plasma conduits, his body encased in impenetrable, glowing armor. The hum of the Arcana flowed through his circuits, a resonance deep within his core that mirrored the call of the king. The northern warzone was waiting.

The dream still lingered in his mind, vivid in its mystery. The figure—shrouded in glowing light, its presence vast and unknowable—had spoken in riddles, leaving behind a sense of both doubt and hope. Hopeful knew, without question, that this vision held the key to something far greater than the next engagement, far beyond the walls of the warzone.

As his war-tank form clanked forward, moving with precision over the desolate land, Hopeful felt the weight of a truth he couldn't yet articulate: this was no longer just a battle for survival. This was a journey toward self-discovery, one that would unravel the very fabric of who he was. The king's command might have set his course, but the dream—the figure within it—was the true guide.

He was not truly alone. Even though he had left Ilane, her words continued to resonate within him. They had been a beacon, a reminder that the battles fought on the field were nothing compared to the war within. It is you who must change, she had told him. Not the world.

The weight of her words felt heavier now, as if they were the foundation of something monumental about to unfold. He could feel the presence of the unknown stirring within him, an ancient pulse that matched the beating of his mechanical heart. Whatever awaited him in the northern warzone would be more than mere combat. It would be the reckoning of his very soul.

The ground beneath him trembled as he moved. The fog that had clouded his purpose was beginning to lift. He knew now that this was not just a mission of war—it was a pilgrimage of the soul.

As the horizon loomed, the world around him unchanged and suspended in perpetual dusk, Hopeful's inner rhythm fell into sync with something deeper—something that whispered of destiny. The journey ahead would be one of revelation. The northern warzone was only the beginning.