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Blue of a Sentinel
Blue of a Sentinel - Chapter 1, Townsfolk

Blue of a Sentinel - Chapter 1, Townsfolk

The mountains were full of chill, a soft breeze flowed through the valley and the snowy peaks shimmered in the bright sun. They had reached the town of Nova Roza, a town at the edge of frost. Their march had come to a halt to stock up on supplies, they were ready to meet the Colonials head on, but first came rest and chow, an army marched on their stomach, that stomach was empty at this time.

She slung her musket over the bench’s back and settled in, her fingers curling around a tankard of beer, its frothy chill rivaling the mountain air. Drinking beer wasn’t just a Sentinel indulgence, it was a necessity. The wells were unreliable, prone to poisoning or worse. Her gaze drifted toward the town’s main street, quieter than expected for this hour, a supply cart pulled by a single ox rolled by.

“Ma’am, we’re just asking you for supplies,” the officer said, his voice strained but measured as he leaned forward on the store’s counter. “Two barrels of beer or some dried meat at the least. We're willing to compensate—”

The store owner slammed her hands on the wood, cutting him off. “Compensate? We don’t want your money, and we don’t want you here!” Her voice rose, a fire that seemed almost too loud for such a quiet place. “Do you even know what the Colonials did to Uyus?”

The officer hesitated, his hand flexing against his belt. “I’ve heard the stories—”

“Stories?” she spat, her anger boiling over. “They razed the city! Burned it to the ground! And then—then they rounded up every man of age, sent them up the mountain to die in their name. Do you know what that’s like? Watching your brother dragged from his home? Your son?” Her eyes glistened, but her hands never shook.

A few Sentinels paused in their tasks to glance over, uneasy whispers passing between them. The officer straightened, his tone growing harder. “We’re not them. And we’re trying to keep what happened in Uyus from happening again.”

The woman laughed bitterly. “By dragging us into your fight? You’ll leave us with nothing but corpses and ashes when the Colonials come looking for revenge. You march into our town with your banners and your promises, but we’ve seen this before. You soldiers always leave someone behind to pay the price.”

The storekeeper’s voice rang out, sharp as a shot from a musket. The officer turned, startled, as the woman strode past him, her heavy boots crunching against the frostbitten ground outside.

“You!” the woman bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at the girl standing near the cart. Her voice carried through the quiet street, and heads peeked out from behind half-drawn curtains. “Talk some sense into your officer—I think he may be deaf!”

The girl blinked, her beer forgotten on the table beside her musket. She stood quickly, uncertain, clutching at the strap of her pack like it was some kind of lifeline. “I—uh…”

The woman stopped mere feet away, her gaze burning hot against the cold air. “You march into our town, looking for handouts while pretending this is all for ‘freedom,’” she spat, the word dripping with venom. “Tell me, girl, do you even know what freedom means? Or does it only come from the end of a bayonet?”

The girl faltered, the weight of those words pressing against her chest. “It’s not like that,” she said softly, almost to herself.

“Then what’s it like?” The woman leaned closer, her voice quieter but no less sharp. “Tell me. Tell me how you sleep at night, knowing you’re dragging our children into a fight that isn’t theirs.”

The officer stepped out of the store, his jaw tight. “Enough,” he ordered, his hand twitching toward his sidearm. “We’re not here to debate politics.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Then what are you here for?” the woman snapped, turning on him again. “Because it sure as hell isn’t to keep us safe.”

The officer now stood squarely between the girl and the woman, his blue coat straining against his broad shoulders as he raised a gloved hand to silence her. “Ma’am, I suggest leaving the enlisted out of this,” he said with forced calm, though the edge in his voice was unmistakable. “She has nothing to do with it. So please get back inside, or I will have no choice but to place you under arrest.”

“Arrested!?” The woman’s voice rose, drawing more curious stares from shadowed windows and alleyways. She jabbed a finger into the officer’s chest. “For what, speaking my mind? I thought your Sentinels were here to promote freedom! Or is that only for the ones holding the guns?” Her words dripped with disdain, each syllable aimed to wound.

The officer’s jaw clenched visibly, but he kept his composure, if barely. Behind him, the girl shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at the woman’s blazing eyes. The air was thick with tension, so palpable it could choke the soft mountain breeze.

“You’re free to speak your mind, ma’am,” the officer said, voice cold now. “But disrupting our operations—”

“Disrupting your operations?” She cut him off with a bitter laugh. “Let me guess—requisitioning the last scraps from my pantry so my children can starve in the name of your ‘freedom?’ Maybe you’ll find the barrels of beer more useful than bread!”

The girl winced at the biting sarcasm and took a step forward, words tumbling out before she could stop herself. “We’re not trying to hurt anyone,” she said, voice soft yet firm. The officer turned his head sharply to glare at her, but she didn’t stop. “We only need enough to keep moving. We’re fighting for all of us—”

“For all of us?” the woman echoed, her voice like thunder. She rounded the officer as though he didn’t exist, stepping close enough for the girl to catch the sharp scent of cold earth and firewood on her coat. “Did Uyus fight for all of us? Do you think the widows of men who marched up that mountain see it that way?”

The girl shrank under the intensity of her words, the spark of conviction faltering in her chest.

“Ma’am—” the officer began, his voice tightening into a bark, but the woman turned back on him in an instant.

“No.” She pointed a weathered finger at his face. “Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me, soldier. My pantry’s already empty. You think you can scare me with words and uniforms, but your army—” She shot a venomous look toward the girl. “Your army’s nothing more than another pack of wolves, fighting for scraps on a carcass you didn’t kill.”

The yelling had drawn attention. Soldiers from nearby outposts and makeshift encampments were already heading their way, boots crunching against the frozen dirt roads, muskets slung lazily over their shoulders. Their watchful gazes carried both curiosity and the quiet readiness for escalation, a subtle tension that hung in the crisp mountain air.

“Don’t come and bother me or my family again!” the woman snapped, spinning on her heel to march back toward her shop. “I won’t supply your so-called ‘army,’ and I certainly won’t help you any further than pointing you at the Colonials. Go kill yourselves over a hill and leave us alone.”

With those final biting words, she disappeared behind her shop door, slamming it shut with enough force to rattle its frame. A moment later, the sharp clack of a lock echoed out into the street, and a handwritten sign with hastily scrawled letters reading 'Closed' swung into place behind the frosted glass.

The officer let out a breath through gritted teeth, his glare fixed on the now-closed door as if he could bore holes through it. “You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered under his breath, though his anger laced each word.

A flicker of movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye. His gaze snapped to Arya, still standing awkwardly near the supply cart, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her shoulders were hunched, her face tense, guilt and unease written plainly across her features.

He turned fully to her, his voice low but sharp. “Get back to your unit. I don’t want to hear a single word from you again. Not about this, not about anything. Understood, Private—” His words faltered for a moment, then tightened. “What’s your name?”

“Grey, sir. Arya Grey,” she answered quickly, straightening her posture as though standing at attention would erase her earlier involvement.

The officer’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, a mix of frustration and something more inscrutable simmering behind his sharp eyes. Finally, with a sharp nod, he dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

“Grey. Get back to your unit. Now.”