The trek back home was lifetimes long. Deks kept his eyes on the city ahead of him and trudged forward. Alantriel was somewhere behind him, but Deks found it hard to dredge up the clarity of purpose to make sure he was okay. He felt the loss of his squad physically, a burden weighing him down. Pulling him downward to sleep. Something kept him moving though, maybe the tune in his head. He hummed it to himself, a sorrowful dirge now, and heaved one foot ahead of the other.

At the city gates there was no guard procession as there might be for a winning army, in fact, not a single person awaited them. As they reached the closed gates, a weather-worn old man stood up from behind a bush he had been resting under. He dusted his brown flat cap and placed it back on his close cropped gray hair. His clothes were brown canvas and inauspicious, the clothes a pauper may wear but well cleaned.

“Hello son,” The old man walked slowly but assuredly between Deks and the city, “Don’t remember me?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.” Deks shook his head.

“Probably better that way, I suppose. Alantriel, take a seat. Take a seat, both of you.” The old man gestured to the road.

Too weary to disagree, they both sat heavily on the ground.

“You boys do me proud by your service. I know you’ll forget this, but I just wanted to make sure you heard that. You make me proud.”

Alantriel looked up at the old man, “Who are you?”

“Ah son, I’d have assumed you’d figure it out by now.” The old man shook his head, “Deksen?”

“Era.” Said Deks.

“Good. Now these rebels, do you remember anything about them?”

Deks shook his head. He was dead within the first minute of the fight.

Alantriel scratched his head, “I fought one of them, sir. She was unnaturally fast, and strong too. Lifted two of our biggest men by their collars and tossed them aside. The rest was a blur, I didn’t recognize any faces.”

Era sighed and squinted up at the sun, “Makes a lot of sense now. Well, son, thank you.”

Era reached out and placed his palm on Deks’s forehead.

—

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Deks awoke with a start. He was late. He couldn’t remember the last time he had overslept and yet here he was. He dressed quickly and sprinted out the door to where the other officers and new cadets had gathered. Alantriel was already standing at his podium, covering for Deks. Deks walked confidently to his own podium hoping the cadets wouldn’t catch on, launching into his practiced speech.

“Cadets! We represent the finest fighting force in all of Era’s land, the only fighting force at that. We live in peaceful times, where violence is the very last method we employ. When those days come, we do not relish them. We strike with extreme prejudice and only when other options fail us. You will learn to fight, yes, but you will also learn to negotiate and read a situation. We are the arm of those who cannot defend themselves. If you’re prepared to serve for a greater purpose, say aye!” Deks raised his fist and all of the cadets yelled along.

It was a good batch of cadets this time around, Deks took the time to introduce himself to each of them. There were a few standouts, a young man who joined because Deks was his hero, an ex-con who seemed far too serious but had a warm heart, and a swordsman with long shimmering blond-white hair. The swordsman’s name was Ritter, and although he was the youngest of the group he had a self confidence that attracted people to him. Not only that, but his skills with the sword were unmatched. Even Deks himself could not best him.

After the training bout, Deks caught up to Ritter placing a hand on his shoulder, “Where did you learn to swing a sword? I couldn’t even get close.”

Ritter looked past Deks with a dreamy expression, he never made eye contact, “Taught myself.”

“Would you be able to teach the rest of the group a few tricks?” asked Deks.

Ritter nodded, then continued along to help the rest of the cadets clean up.

“Odd, that one. Seems to be wise well beyond his years.” Said Alantriel, sitting on a bench behind Deks.

“He’ll be a real asset. Maybe even lieutenant within the year.” Deks sat down beside Alantriel, stretching out.

A moment passed while the two commanding officers admired the hustle and bustle of the new cadets.

“Easton,” Alantriel pointed out the young man who worshipped Deks, “He’s one to watch too. Good build, inexperienced, but he’s going to be a force to be reckoned with.”

As if he had heard them calling, Easton came forward with a sword in hand.

“Sir!” He saluted, fist against shoulder, nearly dropping the sword, “I found this in with the training swords, does this belong to you?”

Easton proffered the sword, a long sword with a slight bend in it from overuse. On the pommel was engraved a name, Hagan.

“Thank you cadet, dismissed.” Commanded Deks, taking the sword.

Easton saluted again and scrambled away, nearly knocking over two other cadets.

“Who do you think Hagan is?” asked Deks.

“Some prankster most likely. A bent crude sword like this. Give it to me, I’ll give it to the blacksmith to melt down before the day is out.”

Deks held out the sword, but something held him back. His tune played in his mind and he hummed it listlessly. “Actually, it’s got a good heft to it. I think I’ll hang onto it for now. Who knows, maybe there’s value in a sword that bends before breaking.”

He made a few cursory swings then replaced his other sword on his belt. A sword that had no notches and no bend, shined to perfection. Alantriel regarded him with an odd expression. Deks himself couldn’t explain why he had switched swords, but some gut instinct told him that this was right. Or at least, more right than it was before.