The box had a tag. It read, ‘Zan, enjoy these speciality teas and coffees’ courtesy of me. They’ve helped me put many peps back into my steps. I know they will also help you.’

The tag signed only ‘Whiskey.’

Taking the box into his chamber, Zan closed the door and locked it.

‘Elated,’ was how Zan would describe himself at the moment. A package had come for him! Him!

Over the years he lived with Jiehong, they — as a family of means — often had packages delivered to them through the use of the Great Silver and Gold Road. But no packages ever came for him, no matter how much his envy grew. So, now, a package, and for him! What a day!

Alone — for Zan wanted to be alone so he could savor the moment — he ripped into the box like a lad on one of the major gift-giving holidays. He opened the box, emptied the strange ‘peanut-shaped’ materials within, which he knew from Jiehong’s parents had been placed inside to cushion the item during its transport time, in case rough and rumbly motions knocked it silly, and pulled the actual item meant for him out of the box.

Holding in his hand the actual item Whiskey sent, it was a box of average size. Black, small-ish, and ornate. The material glide upon Zan’s touch, as if its noble design meant it for a lord or a lord’s business partner. Certainly not for him, a nobody boy.

He opened the box and saw tea sachets. Smooth to the touch, Zan knew right away the materials of the bags: silk.

Jiehong’s parents often bought tea through the use of the Great Silver and Gold Road service. The teas came in boxes and bags exactly like the one Zan now held in his hand.

Inside each silk bag was a small amount of tea. Tea which he would steep within a cup of hot water, then enjoy.

Zan set his tea box on his bedroom’s sole nightstand. With one tea at random picked, he brought the silk bag to the kitchen. He would try his new tea with breakfast!

Entering the kitchen, Zan found his meal already made and waiting for him at one of the several tables in the kitchen’s small dining space. Lifting himself to the seat, he saw before him a plate of scrambled eggs, sausage, and potatoes covered with cheese. Salted lightly, peppered equally lightly.

A humble meal, but a delicious one. Zan scarfed the meal down with the gusto of a hungry barn cat.

Done with his meal, he rinsed the plate off, then set it on a rack to dry.

Wanting to try his tea, Zan looked at the oven. Said oven had fresh wood in it and was already simmering from ember stones. Zan saw the wood within had markings of the enemy, signaling its salvaging from a battlefield enemy.

Zan didn’t know why, but the idea of using the enemy’s dead as a resource warmed him. Automotrons were not living in any sense of the word. At best, they were infused with a petty amount of spiritual energy, energy imprinted with a command structure which directed them toward a function. With enough damage sustained, the spiritual seal would break. Once the seal broke and the automotron ceased to function, the spiritual matter of the golem faded, thus leaving the automotron lifeless, and inert as any old tree. Seeing the former enemy now fuel his morning routine gave Zan a resolve: his fighting made a difference.

Setting the oven’s inside ablaze, Zan filled a kettle with some water and placed the kettle atop one of the stove’s burners. He only had to wait a few minutes for the water to boil. By then, Zan had placed the tea bag into a cup. So he poured water over the bag to steep it, waited for all the flavors to diffuse, then finished his preperation by mixing in a trivial amount of sugar, a surprising ingredient to be found among the refugees’ belongings. Probably from one of the wealthier families who fled, Zan thought.

Waiting for the tea to steep, Zan stared at the card which came with the tea. All the staring in the world would not help Zan, though. For Zan could not read, though he desperately wanted to learn. He picked up words here and there from Jiehong and his family’s private lessons, but those lessons never extended to Zan. He was not ‘of blood,’ to Jiehong’s clan.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Feeling enough time had passed for the tea bag to sit, Zan removed it and had a sip. Citrus? Apple? Tart? He let the flavors linger as they passed over his tongue. He tasted more, a flavor like pineapple, maybe? More sips later and Zan tasted for the first time an undercurrent of spice. Nearly like spiced mead, such as Zan at rare times had during a harvest festival or All Gods’ Day.

He downed the drink and felt refreshed. He had energy. More so than when he woke up. Zan wondered if the drink would give him an energy boost, like it always had given to Zan’s parents when they had their teas. Zan was happy to see he received an energy boost, as he had always been curious about what it felt like. ‘Good,’ was the answer.

With his breakfast completed, Zan walked upstairs to the command center’s war room. The Wardens were in the same places as always; Sigma-Prime with her table — ‘charging,’ as she called it — while the Screen Master displayed atop the wall.

“I’m ready for everything,” Zan said, announcing his desire to re-affirm the war effort.

“Welcome back,” the Screen Master said. “Update Request: is the one you called ‘Whiskey’ planning on joining the Ranger-core?”

Zan said, “She has no desire right now. Why?”

The Screen Master said, “She has a right to decline joining. I wish to make one point very clear, Zan: an individual who enters the command center can do so because the center’s holy power has judged them sufficient. In your quest to repel the evil forces threatening your home, you will need all the allies you can muster. Should you and she cross paths again, attempt to recruit her to your cause.”

Zan understood the Screen-Master’s plea. He was right, of course. He remembered those few days ago how the Screen Master said only those people capable of becoming Ranger-Knights could enter the center. Whiskey entered on her own provocations. And as Zan had seen firsthand, she could handle herself in battle.

I will attempt to recruit her, Zan resolved. Not until the moment is right. I want to show her in as an equal, not as a pestered woman.

“I understand, Screen Master. I will recruit her when I feel the time is right,” Zan said to Simulacrum.

“Confirmed. Thank you, Zan. Additional update request: did Whiskey inform you of the information she supposedly held concerning the defenses of the region? Before your return, you had contacted me in the field to ask about the possibility of rogue command outposts or similar such archaeological giveaways?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it,” Zan said, explaining the exact information Whiskey told them at the end of the mission.

“I understand,” the Screen Master said once Zan finished explaining everything, along with the location of the structure Whiskey discovered.

From the Screen Master’s projection came a series of strange noises Zan only could describe as ‘bobbing.’ Tiny half-noises which always came when the Screen Master considered a subject in-depth.

Moments later, done thinking, the noises stopped, and the Screen Master spoke. “To learn if this structure is part of the Ranger-Knight family, more evidence is what I require.

There is information about this subject within the center’s memory-banks. Unfortunately, the center’s memory is damaged. Repairs will not be workable for a long time. Our only recourse would be to investigate the location in-person.”

Investigate in-person? Zan liked the idea, to get out and explore the world he, until now, had not been a participant in, but… there was a war. Shouldn’t his efforts remain toward the war, not chasing threads? Yet, those threads they might be relevant to the war, he had to remind himself.

“Would you recommend, then, exploring this ruin be our next mission?” Zan asked.

“I would, Zan. With your successful assault on the enemy stronghold, I have noticed a shift in the invading army’s intent. Our region is no longer being targeted. A neighboring region is now being targeted, as we have seen through the direction of war material throughout the countryside. My hypothesis right now is the commander of the enemy forces falsely believes the assault to have originated from a nearby allied city. One with defenses and better offensive capabilities than our current region, which lacks sites of military and civilian importance,” Simulacrum said.

“Very true. Thank you for telling me this… I only worry about chasing wild geese instead of focusing on the war.”

“I understand. But investigating the ruins will not require much of us and we will return to the war effort before too long. Remember, Zan: an important part of leading a Ranger-Knight Core is understanding how the eradication of evil is a holistic affair. One can no more eliminate all evil with a sword than one can battle wild monsters with words. Our purpose is not to over-militarize. It is to adapt to situations, remove evil intent, and repeat until — theoretically — evil within every worldly sector is defeated.”

So many words… it made Zan’s head hurt. But he thought he knew what the Screen Master was talking about. Holistic as in… people and situations from across all walks of life? Such an idea intimidated Zan. He knew nothing about the world… how could he possibly help everyone? Literally?!

A question for another day, Zan relented. Until then…

“So — a deep forest. Where few people have gone before. When should we leave for this far-off place?” Zan asked, feeling the effects of the team wearing slightly.

“Worry not, Zan! We mentioned previously how we made repairs to our base of operations? Part of those repairs includes the means by which we accessed the Backroads. Using the Backroads, you will find travel eased. But to understand the nature of the Backroads and how you must care for it, you must first experience it.”