The Dragon Mage, Captain Ciella Najem, was a patient woman.

She learned that results only came from being calculated. Words, punches, prayers, were only ever useful if they were given intentional direction. Everything else was a waste of energy, a waste of her time.

The moment she met Dmitri Fenharrow, she knew he was the exact opposite.

It was a year prior to this moment. She was a lieutenant in the Vitae Military serving under a rather abrasive Captain named Henri Waris.

Captain Waris was a slave driver.

He relished in running drills in place of breaks, to keep his squad always at attention with sharp yelling and berating until soldiers collapsed with exhaustion. With the outpost being the furthest from the fighting, the patrols were light, which meant there was a constant cycle of drills and very little sleep in otherwise sleepy mountainside backwoods.

While many raised an eyebrow at Captain Waris’s practices, they did nothing to change him, for he always produced results. It was widely known that soldiers cultivated under his iron tongue survived the longest on the warfront.

And yet, each waking day within the squad felt like the toil of a waking death rather than priming for survival.

They developed a feral reaction to violence, springing to action in such an efficient and explosive manner, as if to vent off the roiling tension within them. It helped that his squad also had the highest transfer request rate in the army.

It came as no surprise to Ciella that she was placed under Waris’s command particularly because his lieutenants kept quitting on him. The lieutenant immediately preceding her was a silent gruff man who was presumed the perfect match to Waris’s harshness. Two weeks into training, Waris discovered the lieutenant had an acute fear of heights. When he was feeling particularly heated one morning, Waris proceeded to compel the rest of the privates to string the lieutenant up off of the overhang of the barrack’s roof, where the building walls met a particularly steep cliff face gazing down into a city below. Waris then agreed to release him only if the lieutenant could recite the code of conduct without error, from memory, as a way to prove to his squad that fears are nothing more than excuses.

The lieutenant spent four hours hanging off that roof before he succeeded. The following week, the gruff lieutenant mysteriously suffered a grievous leg injury that left him unable to serve at all. Whispers told her that such an injury was self-inflicted, a result of obstinate superiors refusing to reassign him elsewhere.

And Ciella, being a deeply overachieving star student straight out of the capital’s combat academy, believed that a chance in which she was immediately placed as a lieutenant instead of starting as a private with everyone else was worth any form of suffering.

So she bore through the torture as a replacement lieutenant, let Waris talk his fill, kept quiet and controlled. She did not know any better.

And yet, the more she watched, the more something kept pecking at the back of her mind:

For as much as Waris crafted survivors, he failed to even begin to cultivate heroes.

Through all her years in training, she learned the meaning of the fighting spirit. It is the relentless push towards victory. The belief that your own actions could contribute to a greater purpose. That you wanted others to survive with you to see that greater tomorrow, and you were wanted in turn.

It was the luxury of having a purpose beyond “the government told me to”.

No wonder the war has raged on for a dozen years.

Here, the only thing anyone did was try to exist for as long as possible. Or find a way to move on. Much like pain, time causes them to forget even the most fiery conviction. Conflict and fear become the status quo.

It has always been like this, so it always will be. Or some bullshit along those lines, Ciella mused.

“You could fake an injury like the last guy.” One of the more senior soldiers mentioned to her after one particularly arduous drilling session left her with a bloody nose and an uneven step. “Nobody would fault you for it.”

“There is a saying in Vitae that my mother told me often.” She mumbled and spat out a wad of blood that had trickled into her throat. “A name on a thousand tongues is enough to light the hearth of a thousand homes.”

“When we die, our spirits become a candle that burns until the last person who knew us forgets us. After that, we are reborn with the full power of that enduring flame, given the chance to live a more elevated life.”

“You’re looking to torch the Empire with your name.”

“Precisely.”

Because the thing about complacency is that it is only ever convenient at a distance. The war between the Caldon Kingdom and the Vitae Empire were fought on a battleground that, until recently, was claimed by neither side: The central Republic of Zhuraita, Ciella’s homeland.

Perhaps if one among them was stronger than anyone else, they’d choose someone else’s home to raze to the ground.

But the soldier did not ask such questions, and did not know this much of her.

“There’s a reason mages are few and far between. Lunatics, the lot of you are.”

And so, Ciella began her plan of action to supersede Captain Henri Waris. To build a hero beneath his very nose.

That is where Dmitri Fenharrow came in.

Well, not at first.

Dmitri Fenharrow’s name first appeared on strategy reports from the Order of the Mage, which recounted the discovery of a power that could siphon the Spirit Fire, the very magic essence of life, from another person. Such an individual was technically considered Altiman Glass personified. If given the right tools and direction, this man could easily become deadly. He could be the key to perfecting the art of killing mages.

He could be their ace in the hole to win the war against the Caldon Kingdom. Or their biggest threat if he went elsewhere.

And so, extensive efforts were made to recruit such a mage into their forces. Though It was not hard to get him to accept. Dmitri Fenahrrow seemed rather eager to join the war effort, according to a report the following week.

Naturally, he was not initially assigned to Henri’s squad. He was given to a more senior, more refined and well-regarded individual— a recently-lauded general with his own private training hall overlooking the grand lake Setia in the cappital. It was a far cry from the dusty rock and pebble mountainside of the main barracks, where one had to climb the mountainside just to get to the terraced training flats and outlook towers above. Dmitri likely never sprained his ankle attempting to run up a nearly-vertical slope to get to patrols on-time. Dmitri likely enjoyed the cool breeze of the lake winds as he worked through martial drills in the early morning. Ciella loathed him just as much as she was curious about him.

Fucking Dmitri.

But something must’ve gone wrong, for not a month later, Dmitri’s name appeared on reports again, announcing a transfer to Henri’s squadron posthaste. A mission was given explicitly to the captain to cultivate a fighting form out of the man known as Dmitri Fenharrow, to “remove his reliance on civilian comforts to competently conduct himself in military operations.”

In other words, he was too much of a wuss on the battlefield, and his ineptitude was likely going to get him killed before he could even be useful.

Usually, when a recruit fails to meet these aptitude requirements, they would be sent to desk work: reports, research, or messenger duties to appropriately contribute to their nation based on their capacity. But Dmitri Fenharrow had a different fate. His magical talent meant he needed to be on the frontline at all costs, else it would be a real waste.

So they had no choice but to break him.

Dmitri arrived at the barracks at dawn. Ciella had gotten up early to greet him at the entrance.

And boy, did Waris have his work cut out for him.

Dmitri was a sprightly and lean man. Dark copper skin and a short beard that flared out to the sides to match the way his kinked hair flared out above him, giving off the impression of perpetual surprise and wonderment. He wore large round glasses that warped his eyes to be larger than they were and sat upon an angular nose and prominent cheekbones, and wore a well-pressed collared shirt and slacks that fit snug on his lanky thin frame rather than the usual baggy fare the rest of the corp was accustomed to. He was, in all, the most polished man Ciella had seen in a while. He was almost charming, in a scholarly way.

Rather than salute, he bowed to her, one arm draped across his front in a very practiced and graceful manner.

“Good morning. I’m Dmitri Fenharrow. Pleasure to meet you.” He gave her a warm smile. It felt alien. Confusing. Wrong. But also tugged at her chest in a strange, fluttering way.

Definitely wrong.

This man wasn’t going to last five minutes.

Ciella rubbed at her nose, as if feeling for the remnants of the blood she shed just days ago. Part of her wished to advise him to turn back. The other was far more interested in seeing just what she had to work with. He was her shot at making a hero, after all.

“Lieutenant Ciella Najem. With me, Private.” She turned on her heel, only to look back and murmur, “Hope you can take an insult.”

They entered the main barracks room, where they were promptly swarmed with the crowd of privates, all clamoring on the first few beds to get a look. No sooner did they catch a glimpse of Dmitri’s posh getup did they erupt in a fit of laughter.

“This guy is a twig!”

“When’s the next lecture, Professor Silk-Stockings?”

“This is our mage killer?”

“Oh, I’m not going to kill anyone—'' Dmitri began, which immediately shot Ciella to attention. Before he could elaborate further, Waris’s booming voice echoed into the room from the doorway behind them.

“Whatever you’re laughing at better be hilarious, whelps!“ Waris’s stout frame filled the room as he marshaled in. He came face to face with Dmitri, immediately grimacing at the sight of him, as if he had just witnessed a rat cross his kitchen floor.

“Where’s your gear, boy? Did you think this was a party? Don’t waste my time!” Spittle flew onto Dmitri’s face from how close Waris stood, causing him to flinch.

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And yet, despite the initial fear, Dmitri smiled as if he was just reminded of an errand he had to run at some point that day.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get that sorted right away.” Dmitri’s measured and almost melodic tone only made Waris more angry.

“Are you mocking me, boy?”

“Not at all. Excuse me.” He set his bag down on the nearest cot and plucked his button-up loose within seconds, like a motorized machine. He not only pulled on a new shirt in record time, but was also able to fold up the nicely-pressed shirt in two flicks of his wrist, forming the perfect folded square to place into his bag.

The rest of the squad couldn’t help but watch in absolute confusion.

No crying? No shaking? No running? Not even a little pee in his pants?

And a party trick, to top it off?

Waris immediately brought them back to focus, yelping sharp orders to line up for inspection, which was enough time for Dmitri to completely change into the standard tucked-in linen blouse and baggy slacks like the rest of the squad. It made Ciella wonder why he had shown up in the first outfit to begin with.

Was he just looking to make a good impression?

What an idiot.

Drillwork later that day was abysmal. Dmitri was physically average for a common civilian, which meant he was always the last one of the squad. He was slow, careless, and absent-minded. There was potential, Ciella noted, in the way he was able to choose the proper stances for attack and defense when he was paying attention.

That is to say, he had a particularly difficult time staying focused. It made him an easy target in combat practice, for he seemed far more interested in pleasantries than actually fighting. Within moments, he was pinned, bludgeoned, or thrown to the ground.

“I’m sorry. Let’s run that again.” Dmitri cracked through labored breaths when he was first thrown onto his back. All the while, his patient smile never left his features, which only further vexed his sparring partner.

Dmitri immediately received a kick to the stomach, which sent him to the ground again.

“Smiling, huh? Think you’re too good for me that you’re not even bothering? Why don’t you try winning if you’re so hot?” The soldier spat, throwing in a kick for every word, for good measure. Dmitri crumpled under the force, letting out involuntary groans that were loud enough to interrupt the matches around him.

“That’s enough out of you, fresh meat!” Ciella intervened, physically coming between the two. “Tamir, cover patrols for the north tower. Cool down.” She received a sharp look from the aforementioned sparring partner, as he internally debated turning his force upon her before he sized her up, decided against the impulse, and skulked off.

Ciella stood over Dmitri, watching him push out labored breaths as his body writhed under newly formed bruises. He squinted up at her, noticing her immobile presence.

“Are you just going to watch me?”

Pretty much.

“How well do you think that went for you?” Ciella murmured, propping her hands on her knees.

“I’d say I excel at bringing out the fighting spirit in others.” Dmitri grinned at her in a way that made her breath catch in her throat, despite the blood on his teeth.

“Wit doesn’t get you far on the battlefields. There tends to be too much ambient noise for that.” Ciella muscled through the sensation, focusing on the task at hand. “Let’s see if you know how to learn.” She turned to yell across the training grounds.

“Aidin! You’re his sparring partner now. You’ll be running grapples.”

A rather gangly woman hustled over to take Tamer’s place. Dmitri took that as a sign to push himself up. He staggered to his feet, hands raised in a meager attempt to hold a defensive stance.

As soon as Ciella stepped aside, Aidin lunged for Dmitri, much like a spider would begin to weave silk over her caught prey. Her arms wrapped around Dmitri’s waist and neck and before he even had time to register the pressure against his bruises, he was on the ground again.

There was a flicker in Dmitri’s eyes as he rolled to get up again. Let’s see if you know how to learn. His lips quirked up as if he were going to repeat the same set of apologies he gave Tamer, only for something else to escape.

“That was really impressive! You’re quick on your feet!”

Aidin’s snarl faltered.

“I’m not going to go easy on you, pretty boy.”

“I hardly expect you to.” And Dmitri’s patient smile returned, almost like a tick he couldn’t break. One that Aidin took to be a mocking one, based on the roar she let out as she yanked him back onto his feet.

Ciella watched as the cycle repeated itself. Partner after partner, Dmtiri failed to improve, and yet he seemed to drive the cadets around him even more mad than anyone would justifiably feel when they’ve won a match. Even when blood spilled down Dmitri’s cheek from a fracture, or when he couldn’t rise from a twisted ankle.

Even when the dinner bell rang and they filed into the mess hall, and Tamer corralled a group from the squad to “accidentally” spill his meal all over the table, forcing him to go hungry for the night at Waris’ insistence.

And yet, Dmitri himself never broke. He smiled, accepted their insincere apology, and promised for a better tomorrow, and retired to sleep.

Peculiar.

Ciella found that she could never break her gaze from Dmitri for the rest of that week. She saw how his gentlemanly gestures of holding open doors, cleaning up public spaces, and even throwing a few compliments were met with near-to-guaranteed violence. He was shoved, heckled, mocked.

It eventually became a gauntlet amongst the squad to find out what he feared the most. They locked him in the lookout tower, they drenched him in the communal pools, they dropped scorpions into his bed. He spent more time at the medical ward than training. And still, his tone with them never changed. His actions never changed. His smile never ceased. He had a patience that bordered on insanity.

“You clearly want to be here.” Ciella stood in the doorway of the medical ward the following morning, watching as a nurse wrapped Dmitri’s ankle.

“I can promise you I do not enjoy pain this much.”

“What I’m hearing is there’s a part of you that does enjoy it, then.” Ciella teased, then amended. “No, I mean this outpost. The war effort. You want to be here.”

“I volunteered, yes.” There was a flicker in his eye that almost seemed surprised by Ciella’s observations.

“Why?”

Dmitri mused over this question– or rather, mused over Ciella’s expression to gauge how much he could get away with.

“To serve my country?”

“You must not be a very patriotic person. You completely ignored the lesson I gave you, after all.”

“Hey! I’m giving it an earnest try, but–”

“Bullshit.” Ciella entered the room with an intensity that immediately sent the nurse scurrying out. “You’ve clearly done your homework enough to know the right forms. You simply lack the resolve to put it to practice.”

“I don’t understand why you choose to busy yourself– to torture yourself– all for these charades of courtesy. And yet, you still wish to be here.”

“I’m offended you think it’s a charade.” Dmitri spoke in a manner that suggested he was not offended in the slightest. “People in this world are kind, Lieutenant. Keep prodding your soldiers with sticks of fear and anger, and they’ll forget that.”

As much as it irritated her, he had a point. It was disturbing how her soldiers turned into untenable beasts with just a soft smile. She could feel herself falling into those same patterns. The same feeling of wrong, wrong, wrong— get rid of it— bury it— whenever she caught his glances, the quirk of his lips.

Focus.

“It is not your place to impose your own moral training on your fellow men. You’re bordering on insubordination, Private.”

“And what will happen to them when the war is over?” Dmitri posed.

He was thinking of a time after the conflict. Reassuring.

“Captain Waris will not change, war or not. This outpost will be as it always has been.”

Ciella didn’t fully believe those words. And as she met Dmitri’s gaze, she could see that he didn’t believe them either.

“You’re observant, Lieutenant.” Dmitri mused. “Captain Waris may give the orders, but who the soldiers listen to is entirely different.”

“Take this outpost in a different direction, and everyone will follow.”

Ciella left the ward then, but the words continued to ring in her head. Dmitri had proven a practiced diplomat: he spoke in half-truths and nonanswers, which was nothing less than infuriating.

She was more confident than ever that he could assume the hero role she had appointed for him. Yet at the same time, apprehension twisted in her gut as she considered the idea that he was manipulating her. He had sown chaos into the ranks with his schemes, and he seemed intent on following his own accord. Whatever he was planning involved taking the outpost with him, for better or worse.

“Who the soldiers listen to is entirely different.”

Perhaps this was a gauntlet to prove they were on the same side.

So she decided to follow through with an experiment the following day by swapping patrol groups halfway through the shift, intentionally omitting Captain Waris’ input on the decision, even when questioned.

“A swap can freshen up our mind, teach us to be more alert of our surroundings.” She pat a soldier’s shoulder as she ushered them to their next post.

And the way that they flipped to her side with little but clarifying questions astounded her.

“How did you know that was going to happen?” Ciella interrogated Dmitri in the corridor later that afternoon, as the end of dinner was approaching. Dmitri was flustered to find that Ciella had managed to corner him in an instant, her stance firmly trapping him against the wall. They were alone.

“I didn’t. But…” Dmitri began, a flutter in his voice. He cleared it to refocus. “The Captain always addresses his squad with an insult or a threat. You don’t mince your words.”

“You say what needs to be done, and you don’t pass judgment until the deed is done. You make it feel more… safe.”

Ciella took in his words, but said nothing, betrayed no emotion. She didn’t know how to feel. She was just… curious for more. Dmitri took her silence as acceptance.

“As much as this squad refuses to believe they are worthy of kindness, nobody really wishes for torture. They only accept it if there is no other option.” Dmitri continued.

“I want my home back.” Ciella breathed. At Dmitri’s confused expression, she continued. “My reason for fighting. My home in Zhuraita is now a battlefield on the frontlines. We evacuated years ago, but there are still things there that I miss. Like the apple trees, or the red tile rooftops, or the way the grass bloomed with vibrance when it rained on the hills.”

Ciella sucked in a breath, straining to keep her composure. She needed to be intentional at this moment.

“I ask that you speak candidly with me for once, Private Fenharrow. Why are you here?”

Dmitri’s lips parted in response.

But a booming, distant voice ruptured their thoughts.

“Lieutenant Najem! Private Fenharrow! To the courtyard!”

Shit.

Ciella and Dmitri broke for a run.

It appeared that Captain Waris had caught wind of Ciella’s small rebellion within the outpost from earlier that morning, and was more than eager to dish out vengeance.

“It seems like some dogs are getting bored with the patrols around here.” Captain Waris continued his tirade as Ciella and Dmitri approached the main courtyard of the outpost, winded. The other soldiers formed a square around its perimeter, creating an arena where Waris was the ringleader. “And what better way to tame dogs than to give them a little demonstration?”

His gaze flicked to Ciella. A wave of dread washed over her.

“You’ve been a sad sack in the corner for long enough, Lieutenant. It’s your turn to run a special kind of combat drill with our newest recruit.” His sneer twisted the patches of skin stains on his cheek.

He turned to Dmitri. “Private, I’m told you have a particularly powerful arsenal. Knock the Lieutenant down, and you get a free pass on drills for the rest of the week. Fail, and you’ll spend your nights hanging off the side of the tower.”

“Sir.” Ciella saluted without hesitation, though the awkward gaze she shot Dmitri’s way betrayed how much she thought this wasn’t the right time for it. And yet, at the same time she was not going to go easy on him, so he better deliver.

“Understood, sir.” Dmitri gulped with significantly less confidence. He was walking on a bum ankle after all.

“Ready, fight!”

The center of the courtyard was cleared as everyone moved to the upper walls and bastions to spectate the battle. After all, nobody wanted to be within striking distance of a magic fight.

Ciella and Dmitri faced each other, dozens of paces away across the field.

Ciella waited for Dmitri’s first move. When it never came, she flung her arms up in confusion.

“Well?”

“I absorb and release magic, so I potentially can’t…” Dmitri fidgeted, leaning on his good foot.

Ahhhh…

Orbs of light flickered to life around her like small suns, pulsing with heat.

A buzz hummed through the air as the orbs shot forth beams of light, aimed right for Dmitri’s feet. He stumbled back, startled by the speed, and immediately fell on his bruised butt. Ciella aimed another for the space just beside his cheek.

Rather than flinch away, Dmitri rose a hand to meet the beam. Ciella let out a yell, but the charred flesh result she was expecting never appeared. Instead, his hand continued to glow with a faint light that seemed to be quite hot to hold.

“Hot, hot, hot.” He flicked his wrist, trying to wave the heat off. The light slipped from his fingers, launching off to the side and impacting a wall with the same intensity as Ciella’s sunray, leaving behind scorch marks. “Ah, I see.”

Rather than comment on his very apparent lack of strategy, Ciella continued her assault. If he was going to learn, now would be as good a time as any. He seemed to believe the same.

To his credit, Dmitri was very good at surviving. He jumped and rolled with just enough precision to narrowly avoid the incoming beams.

Rather than continue the pattern and grab another sunray, he closed the distance between them with intent force. Ciella lifted a hand to parry him, but instead of launch a fist at her, he reached up and wrapped his his around one of the floating orbs of light, effectively stealing her magic.

His knee came up to her stomach, then. Not exactly military-trained, but a solid fighting stance. She had reacted quick enough to hold it back, but the force threw her off-balance, which was all he needed to press his now-heated hand against her chest.

“Do you yield?”

A threat. A good one at that. Ciella could feel real fear well up in her throat. Not by anything Dmitri was doing per se, but rather by the severe look on his face, like he was genuinely considering following through and taking her life.

War is unkind. He seemed to know that full well.

So why do all this? He couldn’t possibly just have a vendetta against Captain Waris— the man isn’t even that well known beyond the military.

Why was Dmitri here?

Breath caught in her throat, Ciella parried the hand, which launched the beam straight up into the air like a signal flare.

“You have to knock me down, idiot.” She finally gravelled out, setting off their sparring once more. They remained in close-quarters combat, perhaps out of Dmitri’s own survival. Ciella wasn’t quite willing to throw beams his way if she could be caught in the crossfire. But as much as he thought it saved him, his strength was no match for Ciella’s precision.

One uppercut, and a mean kick to his bad ankle, and he was on the ground, writhing in pain.

“Do you yield?” She teased. He coughed out a laugh, then tried to hide it. He was done fighting, based on the spittle of blood that came out of his mouth afterwards.

“I yield.”

The onlookers groaned in protest.

“That was a child’s game!” Captain Waris bellowed. He came up to Ciella, red splotches of anger still prominent on his cheeks.

“Captain, further injuring Private Fenharrow would only render him physically unable to train for the remainder of the week. Permission to conclude the match?”

Captain Waris wasn’t too pleased with the answer, but could find no way to refute her.

“Granted.”

“You’re free to go, Private. I’ll visit you on the cliffside.” She mumbled to Dmitri her apology and promise all wrapped in one. He had proven his mettle to her after she bore her soul to him. It had to mean something.

She just hoped that that something wasn’t troublesome.