"The reason I made this decision wasn't to fulfill my own dream of becoming a knight. It was for my bedridden brother. He used to tell me, 'Only when someone from the House Silian can stand alone on the battlefield will they be worthy of the title of knight.' Before this, I had never participated in any real war. That's why I volunteered to my father to join this expedition. I hope I can return triumphant and bring back glory, fulfilling the dream he could never chase." The words poured out of him in a torrent, leaving him gasping for breath.

A heavy silence fell.

"So," Carl looked at the slight boy beside him, whose spirit seemed to grow with every word. "Do you regret it now, Corslin?"

"I'm not sure which aspect of regret you're referring to, my lord." Their eyes met across the darkness. "If you mean the path I've chosen, I have no regrets. I don't regret setting aside my beloved pursuits to inherit my family's legacy. Nor do I regret becoming a knight and bearing my brother's dreams. But in other matters, I do. I regret joining this expedition. I regret participating in the Siege of Crivi. Because—"

"War is a butcher," he said, his voice raw with the memory of its horrors. "I regret taking part in war. I regret plunging my blade into human flesh—even in self-defense. I regret watching the wounded die—simply for being the enemy. I regret setting flames to homes—even as the cries of infants mingled with the screams of mothers. I despise it all. Before, I believed a knight's duty was to protect family and realm, that even in combat there should be honor, not the slaughter of the defenseless. Now, I can no longer distinguish between justice and barbarism. Can you tell me, Lord Carl? What is right? What is good? The answer must be beyond us. Only the gods can judge—be it the Three Goddesses or the Nature Mother. Yet these deities offer no guidance. They watch from on high as we spill each other's blood. Distant and cold, they accept our prayers, offering only the illusion of solace." The boy paused, chest heaving from his outburst, then fell silent.

Carl's gaze lifted, seeing not a youth but a soul aged by war.

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"Can you play the lute?" he asked softly.

"Yes, my lord. Both the lute and long-necked lute," Corslin turned, confused.

"That's wonderful." Carl smiled, noticing for the first time the freckles and tear tracks on the boy's freckled face. "I have a daughter. Her ears are keen to beautiful melodies. She loves music, Corslin. When this war ends, when we return home, I would have you play for us—with your beloved lute."

Color flooded the boy's cheeks. "You... mean to have me perform for your daughter? I'm not worthy—"

"Nonsense, Corslin." Carl's soft laughter carried through the night. "My daughter is barely four, just learning to walk." "There's plenty of time yet."

The flush spread from the boy's cheeks to his neck.

And would never fade.

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Carl led from the vanguard while his dearest friend trailed at the rear. Tyler struggled with his reins as his mare staggered through the darkness, her hooves unsure. "Easy, Little Cherry, all will be well," he whispered, bending close to her ear. Feeling forgotten, when he raised his head from his futile comforting, he found another rider keeping pace beside him.

"Well met, Simon of Erslar," Tyler's lips curved upward, genuinely glad for company on this dark night. "I wondered at your volunteering for the vanguard. What brings you so far behind?"

Tyler's warmth failed to lift Simon's spirits. "I... I cannot say," he stammered. "Perhaps... it was fear?"

"Ha! You're an odd one, Simon," Tyler stroked his mount's neck. "If fear grips you, why not remain behind? Why venture forth to probe the darkness?" He borrowed Corslin's theatrical flair.

Simon's frown deepened. "I... still cannot say," he muttered, weary of questions. "But... a voice echoes in my thoughts."

"What voice? On this deathly quiet night, I'd welcome any melody, even from your troubled heart."

"No melody this," Simon's words fell to barely a whisper. "It is Death's own weeping."

A chill presentiment settled between them, stilling their tongues.

"I think I understand now why I came," Simon spoke as if to himself. Tyler listened in silence.

"I’m worried about all of you. About you, Tyler, son of Ternence. And about your dear friend, my companion, Carl, son of Cornell."