As Apollyon enters the military courtyard, his senses are immediately enveloped with a scene of controlled chaos and purposeful activity. The courtyard is enclosed by high wooden palisades, with towering battlements that stand as silent sentinels against the backdrop of the clear skies.
The ground beneath his feet is a patchwork of well-trodden dirt, dust, and the occasional cobblestone, reflecting the countless footsteps of soldiers donned in imposing armours encircling the outer perimeter of the courtyard. The sounds of clashing metal, shouted commands, and the rhythmic pounding of boots against the ground form an almost musical backdrop to the scene.
In one corner, Apollyon could already see the presence of a couple hundred children huddled together, he heard them speak in hushed whispers seemingly afraid to stand out too much. The majority of them were naturally intimidated by the tall presence of soldiers surrounding the steely courtyard. The air is thick, suffused with a mixture of anxiety, fearfulness, and the underlying tension of impending doom.
He noticed that almost all of the children were wearing simple tunics made from either wool or linen, they each had loose cloth wraps to cover their little legs and rudimentary sandals that looked flimsy and worn. Some had coifs to cover their heads. It looked like the vast majority of them were peasants, whilst others were equally as dressed as Apollyon wearing simple casual wear that were obviously better in quality compared to the former but not by much.
Apollyon was not surprised by this revelation, he expected that most of the peasant families would gladly send their children to potentially become accomplished soldiers despite the underlying difficulties and dangers that they may encounter. It also meant one less person to feed which lessened their already burdensome lives. Ultimately, peasant families had little choice when it came to job opportunities because of their social status; they were heavily discriminated against. Thankfully, the Legion was one of the more open sources when it came to accepting participants as they were always looking to replace their dead soldiers.
Quite frankly, Apollyon was inwardly surprised that even commoners would be bothered joining the Legion since there were far better occupations around with less cumbersome activities and even less dangers. He couldn’t understand this, perhaps they seek glory? He wasn’t entirely sure. The only reasonable explanation to this was the open access to body energy techniques but even then, that is limited to talent and unspoken hardships. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to live a ‘normal’ lifestyle instead? Why suffer when you can let the others suffer for your sake? Just live within these walls’ he joked.
Of course, as an experienced soul, Apollo knew that it was more complex than that. ‘If everyone had the same mentality, then there would be no soldiers to protect the borders. If there weren’t any soldiers to protect them then we might as well become like cattle’ he ruminated half-seriously. Anyways he was different, ‘I was forced to be here’ he openly complained, ‘I already miss my apple pies’ he added.
“Hard times create strong men, strong men create good times, good times create weak men, and weak men create hard times” he mumbled philosophically recalling a famous quote.
Apollyon strolled across the courtyard uncaringly of the stares he received from the children who noticed his arrival and the clothes he wore. He swore he saw others looking at him with distinct emotions of distrust whilst others stared at him with curiosity.
Joining them, he could finally see the sight in front of the group, it was a raised stage with several individuals discussing amongst themselves; each had similar gear different from the surrounding guards around the courtyard but before he could examine further, he felt a small hand touch his shoulder.
Turning around, Apollyon notices a young peasant boy of similar age introducing himself, he had short chestnut coloured hair, sun kissed and tousled. Freckles dusted his dirt smudged face that had deep brown eyes that shimmered with curiosity, his lips forming a smile, his face revealing a blend of hope and resilience and his attire reflecting the simplicity of his upbringing.
"I'm Willard, a lad from these parts, know these fields like the back of my hand. You might notice a bit of dirt on me cheek – that's the mark of adventure, it is. If you're lookin' for someone who's all about this place, that's me. Will, that's me name, and I reckon it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Intrigued by the young boy’s odd way of introducing himself, Apollyon replies, "Nice to meet you, Willard. I'm Apollyon, let's learn from each other."
"Nice to meet you too!, Apollyon. What made you choose the path of a Tiro? It's quite different from what I'm used to." Willard's curiosity shone in his eyes as he awaited for a response.
Tiro as Apollo recalled from past readings was a title that described recruits in training, it was the lowest tier in the Legion.
“Different like what exactly?”
Willard struggled for a moment before blurting out, “You guys’ usually stick to them shops sellin’ and stuff…..” he paused “or…or.. call us names and stuff” Willard stammered.
Apollo couldn’t help but frown upon hearing that, he wasn’t unaware about those types of interactions in between social classes, but he couldn’t do much about it; this was the inherent ego of humanity. All he could do was to abstain himself from those types of actions.
“Relax yourself pal” exhaled Apollyon as he slapped the boys shoulder a couple times, “I’m nowhere near the same as those guys you’re thinkin” he reassured.
“Is that so….” replied Willard half-heartedly whilst rubbing his slightly stinging shoulder.
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“Of course! I’m as friendly as they go, promise” Apollyon double assured flashing his signature smile pointing at himself which almost made the other boy regret introducing himself.
“Anyways, I just want to be like my uncle, tis’ why I’m here. He’s one of them lot” Apollo pointed towards the nearby guards. He wasn’t bothered telling him of Alfred’s Decurion status since he wasn’t even sure that the boy in front knew what he meant.
“Wow! That’s what I want to be, father says that I wont ever have to work in the fields If I become like them, tis’ why I’m also here” Willard exclaimed innocently. “He also says that I could eat meat whenever I wanted to! We never get meat you see, only a couple of times but older brother never shares; even though its my favourite”.
‘Oh, that puts things into perspective, the poor boy probably got abandoned’ sighed Apollyon mentally. He figured Willard was more than likely sent to the camp as tribute in exchange for some supplies to offset their family struggles, ‘Truly one less mouth to feed’.
“Everyone says that they’re all strong and its true! One night I snuck away from fathers’ endless snores and took to the streets of me village. It was then that I saw one of them guards pick up a cow and run away with it, elder Jon was quite angry that someone took his precious cow. I didn’t tell on the guard, elder Jon is a bad person, always shoutin. Anyways, I tried running after him on me own feet but he were too fast!” recalled Willard in high spirits.
The duo chatted for quite a while until noon when all the rest of the participants have all arrived. Apollyon regretted coming too early as he had to wait for a long time on top of hearing Willard’s nonstop babble that went on and on. He estimated that around 2000 youths ranging from ages 6-12 years old had responded to his father’s decree. Surprisingly, this amount of youths barely filled one third of the courtyard.
That was when a sudden hush fell over the surroundings. The rustling leaves seemed to still, and the air took on a tense undercurrent. At the edge of the clearing, a tall man emerged, adorned in polished armour that gleamed with authority. He wore a different type of Iron plate armour; it had been trimmed with a red accent alongside a red mantle with the same dragon insignia. He had a unique helmet with a red plume and in his hands was a long metallic-esque rod that he held behind him. His presence commanded attention, and his stern expression left no room for doubt.
His entrance was grand as all the nearby guards stomped their right feet down on the ground to acknowledge his presence. The man’s footsteps, echoing with a weighty significance, cut through the lingering murmurs as he made his way towards the stage. His armour clinked with each stride, and the sound seemed to amplify the gravity of his arrival. The Tiros and bystanders alike instinctively straightened their postures, their expressions shifting from casual curiosity to wary respect.
With a raised gauntlet, the man signalled for complete silence, and a hushed stillness descended upon the scene. Even the birds seemed to hold their songs in the presence of this figure of authority. His voice, firm and commanding, broke the silence as he addressed the Tiros and any onlookers, his words carrying an unspoken promise of discipline and order.
“My name is Alistair Stone” his powerful voice resonated through the air as he glanced left to right, eyeing every individual in sight. “I am the appointed head decurion of the Dragonspire camp”.
“Tiros, heed my call, We stand on the threshold of a new era, one that demands discipline, dedication, and unwavering loyalty," he continued, his tone unwavering. "In this realm of challenges and trials, we forge not just soldiers, but defenders of the realm. Every action you take, every decision you make, reflects not just upon yourselves, but upon the honour and legacy of this order."
“Let it be known that your purpose is greater than yourselves. Our realm relies upon your strength, your skill, and your unity. Remember this, and let it fuel your determination as you train and prepare for the trials that lie ahead.”
"To you, brave youths, I pledge my unwavering guidance and dedication. I, Centurion Alistair Stone, acting head decurion; do solemnly swear to forge you into defenders of honour and guardians of this realm. I shall impart discipline, nurture resilience, and inspire unity among you. As your leader, I shall stand beside you in the face of adversity and celebrate your victories as my own. With every challenge you conquer, with every trial you endure, know that you march not alone, but as part of a brotherhood bound by duty and loyalty. This oath, I take, and this oath I give to you."
Towards this empowering speech, the youths felt a surge of respect for their head decurion, his words instilling a sense of purpose and duty. The oath he recited echoed with a solemn promise, and they couldn't help but feel a growing connection to the ideals he represented. They sensed that his commitment to their growth and development was genuine, and this forged a spark of determination within their hearts.
“As your leader, I will not lie, these trials ahead are not one of ease; it is a crucible meant to test the limits of the human body. I regret to say that in this journey, not all who set foot upon it shall emerge unscathed, some of you will become disabled and some of you will die. Once these words were said aloud, the majority of the youths who had been inspired by pretty words had once again begun to feel estranged and doubtful, they felt fear. Fearful of the fact that they couldn’t escape as they were contracted to fulfil their use.
Apollyon wasn’t much better than the rest but since he had already come mostly to terms with the possibility of dying; he was doing slightly better than most of the candidates.
“I do not share these words to sow fear, but to impart a truth that must be faced head-on. The trials we subject you to are not mere exercises; they are simulations of the battles you may one day face. And in the crucible of these trials, you shall be tempered, your weaknesses exposed, your strengths honed, and your corpses buried below.”
“It is a harsh reality that not all who begin this journey shall cross its finish line. Yet, take solace in the knowledge that every drop of sweat shed, every ounce of effort exerted, shapes you into a warrior capable of facing the unknown with unwavering courage. This is the path you have chosen, one of sacrifice and commitment. For those who persevere, the rewards are not just in victory, but in the transformation of self”.
“Now, Decurions; organise these youths and resume your tasks”.
“Understood, Head Decurion!” shouted the twenty or so individuals simultaneously. Apollyon had noticed Alfredo’s presence amongst them.
In a matter of time, all 2000 candidates were split up into 10 different Centurias consisting of 200 candidates each and were instructed to go inside different buildings under the guidance of the Decurions and the guardsmen. Each individual was given a standardised uniform to change into prior to being assigned a living space. They were also given a strict timetable which informed them of the various tasks and lectures to be had. Afterwards the 20 Decurions gathered everyone once again in the courtyard in order to inform them of the various rules and regulations that must be followed as well as the consequences for failing to follow through.
The Head decurion returned to speak with the crowd of youths one last time before disappearing into the largest building in the compound, he stated ”Now that each of you has worn the uniform and assigned a living space, all of you can now be inferred the title of Tiro officially; you may begin!”