Basch fon Ronsenburg

Basch gives a smaller smile, but he means it, clasping the man's hand. "For the people we care about," he agrees.

They aren't at camp much longer, and sure enough, they're able to bunk together with a few other men. The boat passage isn't long, a week and a half, but it's slow going, the Mist preventing any enhanced travel. Basch spends what time he can on the deck, ends up running training exercises for interested recruits, but he's glad when they hit solid ground again.

Still, it's eerie. There are the tumbling ruins of societies long forgotten, but no sign of modern people. As groups disperse out to various target locations, soon it's quiet, just he and Gladio. Basch's eyes are on the sky.

"We should be able to clear some ground before that storm lets out."