Boots marched across the floor, kicking up dust and pebbles. The ground rattled; the leather footwear trampling over concrete, stamping over stone. In the soldiers’ hands there were long, chipped swords, unsheathed and shining. The swords, pointed downwards, all moved along orderly and unifiedly. Row upon row, column upon column; they marched in unison.

By their side eyes glared. Just one pair; but that single pair was like a laser, burning through them. None winced, or at least none visibly winced, as their commander stared at them, her eyes rolling, a lackadaisical expression on her face. Miru’s aquamarine blue eyes twitched from man to man, observing their armour, their weapons.

“Oy. What kind of weapon is that?”

Pointing at one of the men, she dragged him out of formation and grabbed his sword from him. Its blade was utterly wrecked, cut and jagged; and its tip was blunted; its user stared at her with incredulous eyes, sporting the same yellow hair most of the rest of the men did.

“From two battles ago, ma’am.”

“You’ve carried this all the way from Likov? Go get a new one; and arrange with the quartermaster to have yours preserved.”

The man’s eyes briefly widened, before hurriedly bowing and scurrying off in the opposite direction of the rest of the men; his footsteps still audible for a moment.

Miru wore the same ceremonial uniform that she had in the presence of the Lieutenant, rather loose on the sleeves and with a baggy top. The bottoms of her pants remained rather scratchy and torn, with little cuts biting into it. She bent down and felt them, quietly groaning, “Cutting it with a knife was a poor choice on your part, wasn’t it…”

She proceeded next to the platoons of men, a silver-haired woman with blue skin next to a series of white-skinned blonde-haired men; standing out quite considerably. She eyed their posture, their armour. Lots were scratched, others ramshackle creations with few pikes holding them together.

Taking out her notebook, she wrote:

‘Their armour wears and tears. I fear that in this battle our breakneck advance will be ended by their armour’s impromptu disassembly.’

It was then she noticed a particularly odd phenomenon of men with no noticeable nails or adhesive factor keeping their armour together - and their fists clenched, wobbling. Miru scowled.

“Everyone whose armour is being held together by magic, to the quartermaster, now! If you come back with the same armour, I will send you back again!” She shouted, pointing behind. Some men shook and others immediately took off in the opposite direction. Others quickly moved forward to fill the gaps left in between; some gaps as long as five or six men. She sighed.

Her eyes darted left and right, looking around.

Behind her, footsteps misaligned with the rest of the marchers became more and more audible; before she turned to face a subordinate who immediately saluted. She responded in kind, and the subordinate, again sporting long ears and blonde hair, made his report: “The special project workers are requesting more materials, ma’am.”

“Haven’t they enough to work with already?” She muttered, her expression clearly unimpressed.

“No, ma’am, they request something called salt-peter.”

“Have some of the magic scholars hear them out.” Miru replied, staring into the pages, making more notes in the little worn book in her hand.

“Yes ma’am.” He replied curtly, immediately turning around and scurrying off.

She sighed, before walking onwards. The slope upwards remained gentle, and the floor slowly morphed from simply rock and stone into rock and stone and long lines of brown & black. The dirt and pebbles left on the ground were trampled once again, more dirt and more pebbles added to them with every step.

Water ran down the small wooden pipes above, tied to the ceiling with rope and boards. Ever so often it would shake and water would spill out of the half-cut pipes, the sound of crackling on the other side of the walls within hearing distance. The walls cracked and rattled while hearing men shout in the rooms opposite the wall.

An uneasy look came upon her face, leaning somewhat towards the wall to hear the faint screaming of grown men.

Miru chuckled ever so softly, before grabbing one of the men marching and remarking, “Go and verify whether or not they’re using chanted magic, would you?”

The soldier, with narrowed eyes and an otherwise blank expression on his face, nodded before scampering off behind, the seemingly endless lines of men marching on still trailing back to the very beginning.

It was some distance later that the ceiling raised itself, and the lines became a mass. Crowded, the room itself seemingly went for half a mile, the ceiling perhaps a sixteenth mile tall, and here the presence of soldiers was overwhelming. Long, towering piers stuck out from two elevated walkways attached to the wall on her right; boxes and barrels scattered everywhere, and-

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-and dragons. A few dozen dragons, four-legged, smooth-skinned and with giant, angled wings. Straps and handles were attached to their entire bodies, and some swayed their massive heads around, flailing about, while their tails swung up and down. Some men held them in place with magic, some others strapping boxes and packages to the handles lining the dragons. Large fabric muzzles had been tied to the dragons’ snouts, and they continued to screech and yell as more was loaded on them.

Men swarmed the floor, crowded; the platoons, attempting to stand in formation, pushing around various workers and slaves walking around. Seemingly the soldiers and workers alike, all with the same long ears, remained indifferent to the groaning and unfettered grunting of the slaves, shaking as they moved boxes. Miru herself, despite possessing none of their features, passed an old woman, her skin hanging on her bones, and took no notice.

Amidst the chaotic orders of the day, people rushing about the room, she noticed one other person in the ceremonial uniform she wore, motioning to their own subordinates of various things.

Tilting her head somewhat, she walked up to that person and spoke to the back of their head, “And may I ask who you might be?” Pointed tips coming out of blonde hair already told her everything she needed to know.

That person turned around to reveal an elven woman with the same pale ivory skin all of Miru’s soldiers sported, her mouth open, not speaking. She immediately saluted, swiftly placing her hand to her head; Miru, her eyes briefly widening, quickly saluted as well.

“Ah. You are… ...Miru?” The woman paused, eyeing Miru up and down.

“Yes…” Her voice trailed off as she looked over the badges on the woman’s chest, seeing a small bronze crest before, muttering, “...Second Lieutenant.”

“It’s good to see one that finally remembered the post.”

“Ma’am, the crest is barely different from the Lieutenant’s. Don’t blame the men for not being able to recognise it.”

“Kari. Sen’in Kari.” The woman said, bowing to Miru. Miru stepped back for a moment, lines forming between her eyebrows.

“Do excuse me, but what’s that…?” Miru uttered, slowly and silently.

“A bow. It’s the custom of a good lady, do you not know it?” Kari gave an unimpressed expression.

“N-no…”

“Do it. Just as I did.”

Miru slowly and uneasily bent down, before immediately springing back up to her feet. She scratched her neck, with her eyes trained on Kari and a frown on her face.

“So a Korun can command but can’t converse? Lovely.” Kari smiled, before breaking into a fit of laughter; Miru’s blank expression remained that way.

“I’ll be working with you for the duration of the Lieutenant’s operation. Good to meet you, Miru.”

“Y-yes.” Miru stuttered, bowing again.

“That was unnecessary. A lady needn’t do it when the conversation’s ended unless it’s to a man.” Kari remarked nonchalantly, patting on Miru’s shoulder. “I take it no one’s taught you the customs of the Imperial Court?”

“I understand formalities and greetings, yes…”

“Taught by the Imperial Court?”

“Taken from the Convention in I’sho.” Miru noted, essentially silent now.

“That’s terrible. During the recesses given between duties I shall teach you.” The ends of her lips turning up, Kari again insisted in a matter-of-factly tone that Miru shirked from.

“Isn’t the Convention perfectly respectable in its customs, Second Lieutenant?”

“No, it’s a series of local plebians who use all those papers and receipts to subvert imperial authority. I tell you, if you’d stayed with them you’d be as boorish and stupid as the entire lot. Now they even want to free the Akari. Idiots…”

Tapping her fist against her lips lightly, Miru scarcely made any reaction to Kari’s remarks. Two grey-skinned men clothed in scraps passed by them amidst the entire conversation, carrying the front of a battering ram; the two women only moved out of the way, taking no heed to those two Akari who hunched over, lugging the massive logs along, their expressions sickly and their bodies bruised.

“Regardless, pleased to meet you.”

“Ah… good to meet you, Second Lieutenant.” Miru saluted. Kari nodded and walked off in the other direction; while Miru stared on.

She immediately marched into a side room in the wall, seemingly emotionless, slid the door shut, looked around, saw nothing and collapsed onto the floor. The dark room, full of crates and other supplies, was filled with the stink of rotting flour.

Clutching her chest, she felt it beating faster. She blushed, a dark blue flushing her entire face; and she gulped.

Biting her lip, she smacked herself in the face.

Frowning, her eyes wide, she muttered, “No… not again.”

She looked up, before getting back to her feet; scratching her head, she swallowed down her doubts before dusting off the white particles covering the lower parts of her uniform, and sliding the door back open. Stepping back into the bright lights of the massive hangar, she glanced around slowly and carefully.

Although her eyes informed her that no other gaze had set itself upon her, she shivered. Miru scampered off, dodging contact with anyone else in the room as she moved on.

“Excuse me?”

She stopped ever so suddenly, before hesitantly turning back to face the soldier.

“...yes?”

“With regards to the men training just now, ma’am, a few of them were using chants.”

Miru quickly nodded, before stammering, “Ah- um- yes. Force them to do it chantless.”

“What if they refuse?” The soldier asked, unaware or at least uncaring about whatever his superior had on her mind.

“Practicality beats tradition - of course, I don’t want any of them, especially if they’re scouts, to be chanting whenever they’re in the field.” She seemingly recovered rather quickly. “Go on, do it now.”

The soldier nodded his head, turned around and headed off, disappearing into the crowds of soldiers and workers and slaves alike.

Miru, for her part, stood there for a moment more, her gaze clouding.