“Well, I guess that’s that,” Zachariah said, shaking off his hand. “I forgot how much that stings. It’s been a while since I barehanded someone with Shade armor.” The General studied the boy sleeping at his feet. “Maybe I overdid it?” The gray-haired warrior shrugged, then slid his kado back into the silk belt at his waist.

“Captain,” Zachariah whispered into the Shade. “All finished here.” There was a pause as the General waited for a reply, and when it came, it was as a whisper sent directly into his ears.

“Very well, General,” the Captain whispered back. “Should I dispatch the medics?”

Zachariah chuckled, “Yes, sadly, it was a rather fragile group in this cycle.”

“I see, sir. Forgive me if I’m wrong, sir, but isn’t that the same thing you said yesterday? Perhaps, General, if you are to join us next year, we might want to double the budget for the infirmary.”

"You know me, Gabriel. If I had it my way, a trip to the infirmary would be required for every applicant who wanted to join us.”

“That, sir, is why we’re glad you only grace us with your presence every ten years.”

“Oi, Gabe, that hurts,” Zachariah said as he stared at the Heronian sky, allowing the morning sun to warm his face.

“So, what’s the verdict, sir?” Gabriel’s whisper broke the General’s relaxation.

“One,” said Zachariah. “I’ll approve this Marcus Zander from Kennel.”

“One!” Even through the Shade, the General could sense the Captain’s irritation. “Forgive me, sir, but you know we are at war, right? And, by all reports, we’re not winning.”

Zachariah sighed.

"Fine,” the gray-haired warrior scanned the bodies that littered the field. “Ok, two. I’ll approve that monk initiate from Pratt. He has some skill, and he was the first to attack me... I respect that.”

"Two, sir?”

“Yes, Captain, I said two.” Gabriel was one of the best warriors Zachariah knew and, in recent years, his closest confidant. Therefore, the General allowed the Captain a measure of familiarity he did not give to others. However, even Gabriel knew when to submit to the General’s decision.

“Two it is, sir—Marcus Zander from Kennel and Wu Bae from Pratt. I will get them processed for admission.”

In the distance, Zachariah could hear the humming of the approaching hover turbines. Finally, he thought, I can get back to the Front. The gentle breeze swept across the green meadow, bringing the scent of blossoming flowers and crisp, clean air to the man’s nostrils. Zachariah took a deep breath. I will miss this place. Every time I leave, I wonder if I will return to see it. But this is what the gray-haired warrior had spent his life protecting. How many worlds like this one had the Malus destroyed? Zachariah had lost count. The General’s expression hardened.

"Alright, Captain,” he whispered, “the medics are almost here to relieve me. Tell General Enoch that I am heading back to the Roma Front. I already have a shuttle, fueled and ready to take me off the planet within the hour.”

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel said from the Shade. “Understood, sir—about that, sir?”

Zachariah frowned. “What is it, Gabe?”

“We have three more applicants that need testing,”

“What? What do you mean there are more applicants? The Trials have already begun. You know the rules, Captain; they missed their chance. They will have to come back next cycle.

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel said in mock compliance. “I understand, sir... About that, sir?”

Zachariah rolled his eyes. “Go on, Captain.”

"Well, sir,” Gabriel continued, “extraordinary circumstances caused the applicants’ delay.”

“Not our problem,” the General said. “The statute is clear. All applicants must arrive by the start of the Trials on the last day of selection. Remember, Captain, the journey here is part of the test.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir,” Gabriel’s compliance did not lure the General this time. “About that, sir?”

Zachariah groaned. “What aren’t you telling me, Captain?”

“The Overseer waved the admission rule for them,” Gabriel said eagerly.

“What? Why would Enoch do that?”

“Well, sir. The applicants are from Tri-star.”

General Zachariah dropped his head in defeat. “Fine. Send them to Uriah; they can join his cycle. The Shade knows he is usually the last one to finish.”

“Yes, sir,” the Captain said, “I understand, sir... About that—”

“Captain!” Zachariah interrupted. “Don’t make me step over there.”

“Sorry, sir,” Gabriel feigned an apology. “Enoch ordered the applicants to be sent to the first instructor that finished their cycle. And because of—how should I say—the efficiency of your evaluation techniques, you’re it.”

“I don’t know what to say, Captain,” Zachariah knew he was cornered. “I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or trying to get under my skin.”

“Too close to tell, sir.”

The whining sound of the turbines drew the General’s attention. He watched as the five hover trucks modified as ambulances came to a halt just outside the Trial Grounds. Then, medics swarmed the area with practiced proficiency and began attending to the injured. They guided those who were conscious and able to walk into an ambulance, but the less fortunate they carried off on stretchers.

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“It seems I have no choice,” Zachariah whispered. “Captain, go ahead and send them to me. But let it be known, you’ll be responsible for what I do to them.”

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered. The General knew the Captain had one more surprise for him. “I understand, sir—” There it was. “About that, sir? I already sent them. The applicants are with the medics.”

“Of course they are,” Zachariah said into the Shade. “I won’t forget this, Gabe.”

“Yes, sir. I figured as much.” The Captain paused, then his tone became serious. “By the way, General, I think you might find these three a bit more ... interesting. In fact, you might even thank me later.”

“Really?” said the gray-haired warrior, intrigued. But, to himself, he pondered, now what in Shade’s name could impress the great Gabriel Thunderchild?

"Just have fun, sir. And if you promise not to break them too much, I’ll see about holding that shuttle for you.”

Zachariah whispered nothing back, but to no one in particular, he said, “Sometimes, I hate that man.” He then turned to a group of medics as they loaded the last of the incapacitated on a stretcher. “You four, stay here. This won’t take long, and your services will be needed.” Then he saw them.

One by one, they climbed out of the back of the last ambulance, and out of habit, the General already began analyzing them. The first lad that appeared was lean and of average height. He wore loose brown trousers and a green, button-down, long-sleeve shirt. Zachariah had seen clothes like these before; they were the typical agricultural attire favored by the ranchers of Tri-star. The clothing was lightweight and durable, making them not only practical for farming but also great for combat.

Definitely from Tri-star, Zachariah thought. By the clothing, body, and tan, it’s safe to say he’s a farmer’s son. However, that does not explain why he is such a mess! I believe his clothes have more wrinkles than fabric, and what could those stains possibly be? Is his hair actually brown, or is that just dirt? By the Shade, I don’t know if I’m supposed to fight him or bathe him. Why would Gabriel think a disheveled farm boy would be of any inter—The boy started walking toward the General.

Oh, now that’s something. While the brown-haired boy might have looked like a farmer and dressed like a vagabond, his every movement and action was impeccable, like a finely crafted timepiece, every cog and gear perfectly aligned, with no wasted movements. Flawless, Zachariah appraised. Now, what training would have instilled that kind of discipline? It was at that moment the second applicant crawled out of the truck.

“Aren’t you a big boy,” said Zachariah. Dressed like the first, but neater and cleaner, the newcomer towered over his companion. “By the Shade,” the General cursed. He must be seven feet tall, but he has the face of a teenager. I didn’t know that Tri-star made them that big. Easily four hundred pounds, the boy’s chest was almost as broad as he was tall. His thick muscular arms ended with hands that could palm a man’s head.

The General glanced over to the medics he had ordered to stay. “You guys might need a few more men to carry that one... and… perhaps… a bigger stretcher.”

“Maybe, sir, you could let that one walk away,” said one medic.

“No promises,” said Zachariah. “It’s been my experience that the big ones need more convincing.” A few of the medics chuckled, but one ran back to the ambulances to gather reinforcements.

The General turned to the approaching applicants to see the third one appear from behind his gigantic friend. Smaller than the others, he walked, almost gliding, between his two companions. The newcomer was a stark contrast to the farmers on either side. Instead of wearing the traditional labor garb of Tri-star, he dressed in an all-black uniform, trimmed with silver on the sleeves, collar, and breastplate. Over his shoulders and covering his head was a pure white cloak and hood. Only the boy’s deep blue eyes were visible from beneath the cowl.

That is not something you see every day, Zachariah remarked to himself. Now, where does a bumpkin from Tri-star get a Candis mercenary uniform? And a hood, really? A little melodramatic, don’t you think? I guess teenagers are teenagers, no matter what planet they come from... But those eyes... Something about the hooded boy’s eyes intrigued the General, but he could not put his finger on it. They were like two brilliant sapphires, so bright Zachariah first mistook them for being filled with Vigor. No, not Vigor... The gray-haired warrior decided. Somehow, that is his natural eye color... Gabriel, just who are these cubs you send to me?

Oi, Musa, that’s a real Sacer general, isn’t he?” the giant boy tried to whisper to his hooded friend.

“Yes, Caleb, he is.” came the quiet reply. “And has anyone ever told you that you are terrible at whispering?

"Yes!” said Caleb. “Everyone, actually, but it’s not my fault. It’s just that my chest is so big and strong; even my voice has muscles.”

"I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works, Caleb,” said the brown-haired boy that had first appeared.

“Yes, it is, Saul. That is why you’re all soft-spoken and whinny; you have no muscles, and your chest is like a fence post.”

Saul wanted to roll his eyes but determined it was too much work. Instead, he talked to the hooded boy. “Are we sure we still want to do this? It just seems like a lot of trouble.”

“Saul, you know I have to do this,” said Musa. “but neither of you has to join me.”

"What does that mean?” Saul huffed. “We left Tri-star to be here… you know what that means. Besides, your mother will kill us if we leave you alone. I’m more scared of her than any Sacer.”

“Yeah, your mom is scary,” Caleb laughed. “She has a bigger voice than me. Which means she has more muscles than Saul.”

“Could we not talk about my mother right now?” Musa said, hoping to focus the group on the task at hand.

“Ok, sure, but you do have family issues. And—the young giant’s tone lowered—I will never leave your side, Musa. If you have to be here, then I have to be here. Saul thinks the same thing; he’s just too lazy to say it.”

I figure I should get this started, Zachariah thought.

"You’re late,” the General said. “The trials began ten minutes ago. I know the Overseer made an exception for your tardiness, but I disapprove. So, tell me, what do you have to say for yourselves?”

It was the hooded boy that spoke first. “Yes, Champion, we have no excuse. Our master taught us that the way of the warrior is found in immediacy, and that is something we did not accomplish. Please accept our sincere apologies!” simultaneously, the three folded in half at the waist, performing the deepest bows Zachariah had seen in years. Then they stayed that way.

The General had seen this before. It was a practice used by a few of the elder planets. He also knew that the boys would stay that way until he returned their bows with one of his own. He had heard stories of men holding those positions for hours until their apologies were accepted. It would be entertaining to see how long these lads could stay that way, Zachariah mused. But, alas, I don’t have hours.

“Apology accepted,” said the General reluctantly. “Since you have come this far, I guess it would be a waste not to treat you with the same courtesy that I have shown the others.” The gray-haired warrior returned their bow, releasing them to stand up. As they did, Zachariah noticed the long bundles strapped to their backs.

“Thank you, Illumanus Champion,” the hooded boy continued. “I am Musa, son of Joshua, and this is Saul, son of Caymon.” The boy gesture toward the ragged, brown-haired companion to his left. Saul nodded respectfully, then Musa pointed to his right. “And this Caleb, son of Knell.” The large boy grunted a greeting. “We are all children of Tri-star, and we have come to Heron to challenge a Sacer that we may join them.”

Zachariah could not help but smile. The boys had obviously rehearsed the introduction. Not that the General minded; it was refreshing, if not a little naïve. However, compared to the thousands of arrogant applicants the Sacer had tested over the centuries, it was nice to hear some words of courtesy.

“As required,” Musa recited, “we have brought our offerings, for as it is written: ‘to receive, you must also give; a breath for a breath, and a sword for a sword.’” On cue, each boy pulled the bundle off his back and unwrapped it.

Zechariah’s smile only grew. This was the formal offering ceremony. An ancient tradition performed by applicants seeking Sacer membership in eons past.

Now, this brings back memories, the Sacer reminisced. Where in the Shade did these boys learn this? You’re right, Gabe; these three are interesting.