Chapter Text
Sylverine didn’t know how everything collapsed so quickly. It simply didn’t add up.
For years now, the Rebellion was being driven back by the Imperials, inch by inch. Every day, the news would announce the names of the people who died for the cause. It started out as a funeral, all those years ago, from a life she did doesn’t remember much of anymore. As the war dragged on, the funerals became obituaries, and eventually just a listing of names. There was no ceremony to the killings anymore, just another occurrence, as mundane as the acid rain.
So, why? Why was she here? How did the Rebels come back?
In the jail cell with her, standing in the opposite corner, sobbing quietly, were her packmates. They didn’t know what was happening either. Just looking at them though, she could tell what they were thinking.
Was it my fault?
Outside the jail, the marshal emerged from the hall, spoke to the guard and pointed at her. She knew what that meant, and she felt her blood freeze over.
I don’t wanna see Her. Please don’t make me go.
The guard gestured her forward and cuffed her arms to her back. She was led to the tribunal’s court and positioned on the stand, the guard staying close by, just in case. That was good. They should be afraid of her.
The jury body was eyeing her, but she refused to look back. They were the enemy here. Just looking at them might make her tip over the edge, she already felt the impulse to snarl at them for the blasphemy of their actions, but she held back. Aggression might mean She doesn’t make it out of her alive.
But she could hear them. She knew that they hated her, and they pitied her, to them, she was nothing more than another victim of the Empire. The sympathy was poison to her ears.
Across the room sat the judge, cold and impartial. He spoke. “Sylverine Harker, former commander of the RMC’s 24th platoon, pilot of the Black Valkyrie. As per your status under the New Republic, you were called to the stand to testify against the charges levied by the Prosecution. You must vow to remain impartial, objective, and truthful, regardless of your affiliation to the Defendant. Your actions in this court cannot be reprimanded against, as is your right under section 56.4f of the New Republic’s Code of Military Conduct and Law. Is all of this understood, Miss Harker?”
The honorific makes her ears ring. Undignified. “Yes…”. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried across the court chamber. Her eyes remained fixed on the floor, trying to focus on the cracks in the stone beneath her boots, anything but the faces surrounding her. She couldn’t even remember how long it had been since she had last heard her full name spoken with any semblance of formality. She was a soldier once, a commander. Now, she was just a dog.
"Good," the judge said, his voice smooth and neutral, with a sharp undertone to it that made her uncomfortable. “Your… captor, personally requested your testimony today. She vows that, during your capture, she never laid a finger on you, never tortured you, never assaulted you, never abused you, physically or otherwise.” A chorus of snickering and dismissive grunts echoed in the court. “She declared that all of your actions were of your own free volition. Miss Harker, what do you think of that?”
It was all lies, obviously. Everyone in this room knew it. Sylverine knew it too, she remembers every beating, every punishment vividly. How could she not? But she’s not thinking about that. The only thought in her mind right now is,
What would Handler want her to say?
Sylverine hated Her. She knew just how evil and cruel Handler was, she’d experienced it, lived it for years. And yet, she forgave it all. It didn’t matter what she felt. If Handler wanted to punish her, then she would take it, willingly, proudly. It’s the greatest honor a dog like her allowed to have.
She couldn’t tell them all of that. They wouldn’t get it. The only other people that knew, truly understood, what Handler was, were her packmates. A cruel, evil God, and one that they all served. Only She could free them all from sin, from the filthy that lived in their blood. She could cleanse it all away, as long as they behaved and obeyed. As long as they loved Her.
“Miss Harker?”
Right. Don’t dwell on the past. You need to save Her.
“She speaks the truth, Sir.” The court broke into whispers of disgust. Sylverine knew she was lying. She didn’t care. She would massacre a nation for Her, this was nothing.
“Miss Harker, I asked that you be honest. Deceiving a court of law is a grave crime. Please put aside your personal loyalties and tells us the truth.”
Personal loyalties. Laughable. If they thought that they could get her to betray Handler, then they more stupid than she thought. She heard a laugh among the chaos, a sound that rang out inside her very soul. Immediately, everything else faded away as Sylverine saw Her.
Sylverine’s breath caught in her throat as she saw Her. Handler, the source of her fear, her pain, her salvation, was there, shackled but utterly untouchable. The dim light of the tribunal hall made Her seem even more ethereal, as though the chains were mere illusions, unable to truly bind someone, something, like Her. No one in the courtroom could see it the way Sylverine did, the divinity radiating from Her form, the way the shadows curved around Her, refusing to obscure Her.
A hollow laugh bubbled in Sylverine's chest as the court demanded the “truth.” What truth could they possibly understand? They couldn’t see what she saw. They couldn’t feel what she felt. Handler was a God—cruel, evil, a monster, yes, but a God nonetheless. It was not the place of filth like her to question Her. She had ripped Sylverine out of her broken life, forged her into something powerful, something rotten and corrosive. A violent, merciless flaying of her soul, all to shape her into Her weapon, Her Hound.
The judge cleared his throat, his tone more insistent now. “Miss Harker, I must ask you again. Did this woman”, he gestured to Handler, who sat shackled yet regal, “subject you to any form of coercion, torture, or manipulation that influenced your actions while under her control?”
They would never let this go, would they? A broken, sad cackle was building in her throat. What was she doing? She was lying to save the woman she hated more than anything, the one who carved out her insides and left nothing but rot and filth. Handler had reduced her to less than a person, She had crushed all that she used to believe in, used to be. And now, now that hell might finally go away, now that freedom was an option again, she refused it?
Handler’s gaze, cold and unyielding, found Sylverine’s across the room. Even bound in chains, those eyes still commanded obedience. The silent order was there, clear as day: do not falter. Sylverine straightened, the weight of that unspoken command filling her with renewed strength.
No, it was obvious. Freedom wasn’t for her. Freedom was for people, and she isn’t one of those, not anymore. She had no future beyond Her. The love of a dog for its master was not one of warmth or kindness, it was devotion born out of necessity, out of survival, out of primal, animalistic need. How could they expect her to betray that?
“Miss Harker!” The prosecutor snapped, dragging her attention back. “Are you going to sit there and lie to our faces? This is your last chance to tell us the truth!”
Sylverine blinked, her pulse slowing as a calm settled over her. She knew what she had to do.
“I am telling you the truth,” she said, her voice steady, cold, detached now. “She didn’t coerce me. She didn’t manipulate me. Everything I did, I did because I wanted to. Because I believed in it.”
The court buzzed with disbelief, hatred, pain. Scattered gasps and murmurs filling the room. The prosecutor shook her head, stepping forward, challenging her face-to-face.
“So, you’re telling me that you willingly participated in the atrocities we have on record?” The prosecutor’s voice dripped with disgust, angry tears swelling in her eyes. “Verine, Kyla, Nikole, Tyrmar, all of them! All those Rebels you slaughtered, your former comrades, you did all of that of your own free will?”
She didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
Sylverine's words echoed through the courtroom like a death sentence, not just for herself, but for whatever remnants of humanity people may have thought she had left. The prosecutor's face twisted with horror and disbelief, her knuckles white as she clenched the edge of the podium. It was as if she wanted to scream, to shake Sylverine, to force her to feel something. Anything.
“You butchered your own comrades. You killed them without hesitation,” the prosecutor's voice wavered, barely holding back her fury. “And you're telling me, all of this was because you wanted to?”
The tension in the room was suffocating. Sylverine could feel the eyes of the jury on her, piercing, burning with judgment, with disgust. In truth, she didn’t want to kill, didn’t want to sin further, but it was Handler’s orders. She tried not to think about it. When inside the Black Valkyrie, when Handler’s voice was her comms, they were all just targets. If she let the bad thoughts inside, she might hesitate, she might not finish the job properly. She would be failing Handler, and such a thing was unthinkable. Even now, merely recalling the dread, she felt the shivers of being in that cockpit. The thought of the punishment she would receive for faltering was enough to steel herself, to ignore the screams of the people she was butchering. To, be a good Hound.
The prosecutor, visibly shaking now, stepped closer. “You’re telling us, all of this,” she gestured wildly, “the lives you took, you’re telling us you felt nothing? That they were just…” Her voice cracked. Sylverine might have killed someone she cared about. She felt sorry for her, but didn’t let the guilt get purchase in her mind. It was inevitable. They were marked for death by Handler. If it wasn’t her, it would be someone else. The prosecutor seemed to steel herself, one final time, a flicker of hope. “Did you ever think of them as people?”
Sylverine’s lips parted, but no words came out at first. A haze of memories clouded her mind. A mirage of faces, voices, people she had once fought beside. They were like ghosts now, their screams dim echoes in the back of her skull that she pretended not to listen to. They had been her comrades, once, but now their names were meaningless. It was one of Handler’s first lessons to her, sympathy was her poison. If she cared, if she let herself feel empathy for the dead, that meant betraying the living, betraying Handler.
There was a pause as the prosecutor studied her, as if searching for any sign of remorse, of regret—anything that could prove Sylverine still had a shred of humanity left in her.
But Sylverine had nothing left to give.
Finally, acceptance found itself in the prosecutor’s expression. She was the first to realize the truth, that Sylverine Harker had died. What stood there on the stand was no longer a person, merely a shell of someone she used to call her wife. She walked back to her podium, grieving.
“The prosecution is done with its questioning, Your Honor. Bring the Defendant to the stand, we are ready to keep going.”
The judge sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Very well.” He turned his gaze to Sylverine, one final time. “We’ll deliberate on your fate.” His voice softened, almost as if pitying her. “I hope, in time, you’ll find a way to see through the control you’ve been under.”
As the jury filed out, the murmurs and whispers echoed in Sylverine’s ears. But none of it mattered now. She had done what Handler would have wanted, protected Her at all costs. She knew what her fate would likely be, and in some twisted way, she was ready for it. If they wanted to execute her, so be it.
There was still a heavy pit in her stomach, a doubt. What if it wasn’t enough? The court knew she was lying, they had the evidence. Was all of that just pointless? Now that the enemy knew how compromised she was, would they use that as proof against Handler?
She was tossed back in the cell, and everything broke again. She was so stupid. Of course, it was never about saving Handler. Her faith was already sealed, her crimes were public, and no Rebel would let a monster like that walk free. No, they just brought her out to see the damage She’d done. Sylverine was the evidence against Her.
She cried. She felt bile building in her throat and her weight of… everything came down on her. This was it. Handler would be killed. Now that she, so foolishly, had exposed the extent of Her control, they would have to execute her. She killed Her.
Her packmates huddled around her, Freya and Reita. She failed them too. It was her duty, as the oldest, as Handler’s first conquest, to save them all. And she failed. They both surrounded her, abused dogs cuddling together for warmth, their master walking to the gallows just out of sight. Sylverine needed to be there for them, at least. She ruined everything for Handler, but she needs to make sure her sisters can handle it too.
As the minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, and the guard stepped inside, his expression unreadable. Sylverine instinctively shrank back, expecting condemnation or contempt, but instead, he simply watched her for a moment.
“The tribunal will announce its verdict soon,” he said, his voice low. “You should prepare yourself.”