Petre sighed as they walked up the hill to General Ainreth Tyr-Naralyn’s tent. They’d been out here in this outpost in the chilly mountains near the border for two weeks now, monitoring the situation. And so far it had been very dull. Well, aside from the fact that yet another one of Ainreth’s second-in-commands had decided that she didn’t want her promotion after all.

This had been happening since Petre could remember, most of the general’s lieutenants quitting after a few weeks or months due to their inability to put up with him, and at this point, it was a running joke. Petre would find it more humorous though if it wasn’t their turn now. Petre had wanted to refuse when asked to fill the role, though mostly because they felt they were not fit for it, only being eighteen and having none of the authority required to give orders.

But in the end, the need for some extra silver that would come with a promotion like that convinced Petre to at least give this a try, even though they doubted it would work out. What could Petre offer as a lieutenant? Using their power to grow some delicious mushrooms and making Ainreth, the revered Daybreaker, a sundering omelet?

But ever since Ainreth had become general, he hadn’t seemed very interested in anyone keeping him company, aside from occasionally someone to spend the night with, a fact Petre had learned against their will because their fellow soldiers insisted on gossiping at all times. It was none of Petre’s business—what they cared about was that perhaps the general wouldn’t need them for much, and Petre would be able to keep their head down while earning more money for essentially the same duties.

Petre sighed again as they reached the large red and golden tent, a banner with the Lys-Akkarian dragon standing right next to it. There were no guards at the entrance, which under normal circumstances would make Petre think that Ainreth wasn’t there right now, but they were familiar with the general’s behavior enough by now to know this was to be expected. There was no use guarding Ainreth during the day, anyway, as the lightweaver could bend light in a way that rendered him invisible, and he tended to very often use that to get away without anyone knowing.

Since there was nothing to knock on, Petre cleared their throat as they pushed the fabric covering the way in to the side, running a nervous hand through their mess of red hair, no doubt making it stick out at all angles even worse.

“Yeah?” came the general’s incredibly bored, uncaring voice. He was lying down on his bedroll, wearing a simple tunic and dark trousers, his golden, sun-themed uniform robes discarded over the small, portable chair in the middle of the tent, his leather armor piled up behind it.

Ainreth didn’t even bother to look up at Petre, scribbling in his journal, which was right next to him on the floor, as was an inkpot. Petre couldn’t see much of the journal’s contents, but from where they were standing, they could tell Ainreth wasn’t writing but rather doodling something.

“Sir.”

Finally, Ainreth craned his neck up to meet Petre’s gaze, a strand of his slicked-back black hair falling in his dark eyes. His annoyed frown quickly disappeared as curiosity took over instead. He even decided to get up after a beat of silence, which Petre was both grateful for and not because while they didn’t wish to talk to Ainreth while the man was on the ground the entire time, Petre also couldn’t say they were thrilled at now having to look up at him. Everyone around Petre was annoyingly tall.

“You look familiar, kid,” Ainreth said, scratching at his stubble. Petre did their best not to sigh for the third time.

“Yes, I have served under you for two years,” Petre couldn’t help but deadpan, which they immediately winced at. But Ainreth didn’t seem offended at the insubordinate comment, just narrowing his eyes in thought, almost looking through Petre for a moment before shaking his head.

“Nah, that’s not it.”

Petre stared at Ainreth, having no idea what to do with this, but thankfully Ainreth continued after a moment, saving them from saying something potentially embarrassing. Surely they had missed something.

“Oh yeah, you used to take care of my Ray, didn’t you?”

Petre’s eyes widened in surprise at that development. How did this man not remember Petre as a soldier, but he did remember them as a stable hand? Ainreth was positively beaming now. Well, not literally, though Petre knew the general could do that as well.

“I think she misses you, you know? She’s been wanting me to pet her way more often than she used to.”

Petre blinked, not sure how they got into this bizarre conversation, but clearly, it was time to set things back on track. “Yes, sir, look, I was assigned as your second.”

Ainreth’s smile stayed, though it turned much less genuine as the spark in his eyes went out. “Oh. Right. Well, good luck with that, little guy.” He titled his head. “What’s your name again?”

Petre took a second to close their eyes. They fully understood why no one wanted to serve in the royal army directly under the general, though they still didn’t think it was bad enough to quit after a few weeks. Yes, Ainreth could be obnoxious, but he wasn’t a bad man.

“Petre Mar-Harion.”

Ainreth nodded, bending down to pick up his journal before paging through it. He finally stopped on a page with many names written down on it, most of them crossed out. Ainreth repeated Petre’s name a few times quietly, his finger sliding across the page until stopping at one line.

“Hm. I’ll have to update my list. Mine says Tyr-Harion, still.”

Petre grimaced, frowning to themself. There was no avoiding this conversation, though they wished there was. “Actually, I have…yet to officially change my name.” Petre’s eyes found the carpeted floor. “I haven’t been able to save enough money for it.”

Ainreth paused, frowning, his expression unreadable. “Is that why you took this position?”

Before Petre could admit that this was certainly part of it, Ainreth bent down again, this time for the previously discarded quill. Petre watched him as Ainreth put the quill to the page, scratching out their surname before starting to write something next to it. “Mar-Harion. Okay, that’s done. And how old are you?”

Petre stood there, too touched that the general, who had apparently not even remembered Petre as his soldier, immediately amended their name in his notes without question, but they quickly blinked the shock away, even if their heart was still fluttering a little. “Um, eighteen, sir.”

Ainreth whistled, his eyebrow raised in something like concern, though the smirk on his face made it seem more like Ainreth was amused at the same time. “Whoa, they went for someone that young? Hm.”

Petre wanted to point out that there were only eight years between them and the lightweaver, but then they decided not to bother. It was not going to be worth it.

“Now why did I draw a mushroom next to your name?” Ainreth suddenly asked, peering down at the journal as he brushed the end of his quill against his chin.

“I’m a sproutkeeper.” Petre couldn’t say they were too surprised that Ainreth didn’t remember this either, despite Petre being one of the best healers in the army, using their mushrooms to concoct various remedies. They were at least a little pleased, though, that Ainreth had apparently made note of it, even if he didn’t know what his past self had meant by it.

“Oh, that’s cute,” Ainreth said, grinning ear to ear as if it amused him. Petre tried not to scowl. Yes, perhaps their gifts weren’t as glamorous and unique as Ainreth’s, but that didn’t mean they were useless. Growing a large mushroom to shield them and their fellow soldiers from arrows had been very useful many times over, not to mention the various tonics they made. “If you could make something for Sunray, that would be great. I want to spoil her, but nothing good grows around here.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Petre narrowed their eyes. They couldn’t tell if the general was genuinely like this, or if Petre was being made fun of, but they decided to treat the request seriously. “I don’t think horses eat mushrooms, sir.”

Ainreth’s face fell a little as he put the quill in the journal and closed it. “Oh, that’s a shame.” Then Ainreth rolled his eyes. “And stop it with the sirs, okay? Just call me Ainreth. Or Ain.”

Petre didn’t understand why Ainreth even was a general, now that they thought about it. He didn’t seem to enjoy it much, he tended to spend time alone, and apparently, he also didn’t like being addressed as a superior. But whatever was going on there, Petre wouldn’t ask.

“Okay, si—Ainreth.” The name felt so foreign on Petre’s tongue, but they would do their best to not call the general sir if he didn’t wish it. It would be fairly hypocritical of Petre especially to call people names or titles that made them uncomfortable.

“Good, now as my second-in-command, I order you to go pet my horse,” Ainreth said, pointing dramatically at the exit. “She likes head rubs.”

Petre was well aware of that, having taken care of Sunray for years, though they couldn’t help but wonder if Ainreth even understood what a lieutenant was supposed to do. Still, Petre should be grateful for being given such a relatively simple task. It was very familiar in a comforting way, a reminder of a simpler time.

“Right away, General.”

Ainreth huffed. “Don’t call me that either.”

Petre couldn’t tell if Ainreth was genuinely annoyed or not, but they made a mental note of learning to only call the man Ainreth. They did want to honor his wishes, it was simply difficult to do so, as Petre was so accustomed to everyone talking about Ainreth using his titles. Or insults, but Petre wasn’t going to spend time thinking about those.

“Okay. Ainreth.” Petre bowed their head. “I’ll just go tend to your horse.”

“You do that,” Ainreth said, opening his journal again. “Brush her down, too. Don’t just cuddle. Work first, then play.”

Was it possible that all the other lieutenants had quit because Ainreth gave them tasks like this? Because if so, Petre had nothing to complain about. They were already used to what some of the other soldiers might see as beneath them. Petre had been doing work like this since they were ten.

“Of course,” Petre said, deciding not to point out the fact that Ainreth just a moment ago had ordered them only to pet the horse, which definitely counted as play. They would have to resist using logic when talking to Ainreth in general, it seemed. “Anything else?”

“Not right now. Now go get ‘em, little guy!” Ainreth gave a lazy salute before laying down again in the exact spot where he’d been when Petre had arrived. Petre tried very hard not to glare at him. Did Ainreth need to constantly point out that Petre was short? They knew they were short. It wasn’t as though they could grow taller at will, like they did with their mushrooms. “Oh, and just so you know, I mean that word in the most non-determining way possible.”

It actually took Petre a second to understand what Ainreth was saying, having been so focused on the little part that they hadn’t even realized that Ainreth was not referring to that, but rather the word that followed it. Once again, they couldn’t help but feel touched that Ainreth cared enough to clarify, though the effect was somewhat lessened by Ainreth insisting on calling Petre little. “Right.”

“Okay, great. Chop chop.” Ainreth waved his hand dismissively, prompting Petre to leave the tent.

Well, that had been…interesting. Petre had not directly interacted with Ainreth in years, but they didn’t remember him being like that back when they’d been a stable hand. In fact, they remembered Ainreth to be very kind, giving Petre a few extra coins for their services. But what did Petre know? They had been much younger back then, perhaps they’d idealized Ainreth. Or perhaps Ainreth had changed. Being a general at such a young age could have gone to his head.

But Petre couldn’t say they disagreed that Ainreth deserved the position. The reason Orinovo had lost the battle those six years ago was mostly because of Ainreth. If he hadn’t scorched Orinovo’s army with his light that day, everything would have been lost, and Orinovo would have forcibly taken over Lys-Akkaria once more. Since then, they had been at war with Orinovo, but since both sides were equal in power, no one had made a major move aside from minor skirmishes.

What Ainreth had done that day had been the thing that convinced Petre to join the army when they had been undecided, unsure of what path to follow. So yes, they thought Ainreth deserved to be a general. The Daybreaker was very well respected, seen as a symbol of hope against the Orinovan threat for the general public—it made sense for him to be a general. The question was if Ainreth even wanted to be one, but Petre assumed that if they spent more time near him, they’d find out sooner or later. Ainreth talked a lot, which was a fact that Petre had known already.

Petre only now realized that they were clutching the bracelet they wore on their right wrist, and quickly let go, sticking their chilled hands in their pockets instead. Petre must have done that during their thoughts of Orinovo. Bracelets with charms representing the elements and nature were a tradition from there, and it angered them to no end that the new Orinovan queen decided to attack Lys-Akkaria after a century of peace, making having Orinovan heritage a shameful fact that people tended to not talk about. And yet Petre couldn’t hide their ancestral ties to the country. Orinovo was their home as much as Lys-Akkaria was, and Petre wouldn’t pretend otherwise.

As they reached the outpost’s stable, a long, wooden building, Petre brushed their hair back, walking inside. The usual smell of hay and manure hit their nose immediately, but Petre didn’t mind. They almost immediately found Sunray’s stall among the others, the horse being the blackest animal Petre had ever seen. They had always wondered if Ainreth naming the horse Sunray was ironic on purpose, or if he truly hadn’t realized. Perhaps they could ask later, though going by their earlier experience, they were unlikely to be given a straight answer.

The horse stuck her head out a little at the sight of Petre, sniffing their hand when offered. Almost immediately Sunray snorted, shaking her head, making her messy mane fly. Petre would need to comb it. Putting their hand on her snout, Petre opened the stall and grabbed the bridle hanging from a hook by it, pulling it onto Sunray’s head before she could get huffy. Petre still remembered how she had almost bitten them when they’d tried to do something like this when the horse had been in a bad mood.

Sunray snorted again but didn’t fight Petre as they led her out of the stall and to the open space in the back of the stable where all the equipment was. Petre stroked her neck as they went, pleased that she wasn’t fighting them at every turn.

Once they reached their destination, Petre stroked a hand down Sunray’s forehead before walking over to the bucket of apples in the corner. While not visible yet, Petre could feel that mold was starting to grow on a few pieces of the fruit at the bottom, but they quickly killed the fungus with a flick of their hand as they picked up one of the apples and gave it to the horse.

The animal immediately snatched it out of their hand, munching happily. Petre couldn’t help but smile, picking up a brush to start dealing with her mane. They didn’t get much done, though, before they heard a voice from behind them.

“Oh, look, it’s the Orinovan freak.”

Petre let out an irritated sigh, not even bothering to turn around. Most of their fellow soldiers were relatively civil, keeping whatever they thought of them to themselves. But not Clarith. And Petre sort of hated that they knew her name, but there was no avoiding that. They were very good at names.

Petre opted to ignore her, continuing to brush Sunray’s matted mane, though they were very aware that would not stop Clarith. It would hopefully make her leave fast, though.

“What?” Clarith called at them. “Little Orin boy not feeling up for talking?”

Petre took a deep breath. They would not give Clarith the satisfaction of responding. The fact that she was twenty years older than them made this a little bit easier to bear, though. In fact, when Petre put their emotions aside completely, they felt a little sorry for her. A middle-aged person bullying her much younger underlings was pitiful.

Petre’s eyes widened a little. They weren’t an underling anymore, though, were they? Clarith was a captain, but Petre outranked her now.

“I suggest you keep to your duties and not bother me, Captain,” they said without looking back at Clarith, continuing to brush Sunray.

Clarith snorted in amusement, marching over to Petre, grabbing their shoulder, and forcing them to turn around. Petre scowled at her, staring right into her blue eyes without blinking. They had never been intimidated by Clarith, but they also didn’t want any trouble. Though it wasn’t just her who tended to harass them over their origin or identity.

“What was that, Tyr-Harion?” She seemed to be trying to get a rise out of them with every single word she said, but Petre wouldn’t give in. “Do you want to be assigned to latrine duty?”

Okay, enough was enough. “You would have to run that over with the general, seeing as I am now his second.”

Clarith bulged out her eyes at them, finally letting go of Petre’s shoulder. “Excuse me? You?”

“Yes. Me.” Petre scowled, turning back to Sunray. “If you don’t believe me, take it up with him.”

Clarith huffed, muttering something about Orinovans. Petre couldn’t hear much beyond that, but they knew it had not been complimentary. “I will. And once I find out you’re lying, I’ll make you regret it.”

As Clarith stalked away, Petre sighed, though their heart was beating with excitement. They hadn’t thought of using their new station like this, but they couldn’t help but like it. Petre would do their best not to abuse this too much, though.

Sunray snorted, flicking her tail from side to side and shaking her head. Petre knew it had likely nothing to do with Clarith, but they couldn’t help but feel like it was, that the horse was also annoyed by her.

“Well said.” Petre patted the horse on the head. They wearily wondered what this day had in store for them, still.