My morning runs became a microcosm for my training. It wasn’t a sprint, it was a marathon. Days were a gray blur of marching, classes, and debriefs. I measured times by meals and sleep. An hour till I next eat, two hours till I get to sleep. Half an hour till morning pastries and I finish this lazy run.

It was a lazy run. While I enjoyed the physical exertion, I felt no urge to push myself. The sergeants never pestered me. I was quiet, marched better than average, and gave token effort when required. There were plenty of more pressing issues in our cluster. None of them were out of malice, but there were quite too many people that considered it a success when they were able to get their boots buckled. The sergeants seemed to huff between aggressive support and aggressive disdain for them.

One morning, there was someone in a mask staring at or near me. I recognized Agent Eberly as he watched our morning physical training. The other trainees were on their best behavior, even the constantly muddled seemed to find a couple extra brain cells.

In contrast, I found the almost face from the past a reassuring presence. I was even humming a song I couldn’t quite remember to myself as I jogged. I did not know why he was here, but his bone mask was evidence I wasn’t forgotten about. I also took a little arrogant glee in his watching, I was more important than those around me.

“You got to be freaking kidding me, Trainee Vidal!” Sergeant Hughes yelled as I passed. My cheerful humming caught attention even over the flurry of footfalls. Embarrassed, I ran a little faster and kept silent. On my next round he didn’t even give me another look.

Eyes darting back to where the agent was standing, there was a new figure. A soldier with purple trim around their tabard. There was nothing special about them other than the trim. They were pale and uncomfortable in the dawn light. They seemed to scan over all the troops before turning and walking away.

From running, we moved onto formation, then marching, food, and finally to the classroom. My questions on trim were answered as the Sergeant teacher described the different badges, decorations, and trims. Badges denoted rank, decorations were often ceremonial and only worn on our “formal” uniform, the white and red. The trim announced what section of the military you worked with. Blue and white were obvious by now being trainers and trainees. The purple trim I saw worked with the necroists, they were front line researchers and maintainers. Red was combat and security. Green did a little of everything, general services, chaplins, even medics. Yellow was our engineering corps, builders and logistics. Our teacher then asked which we thought had the largest number of members.

I had expected the red of combat to be the highest number. I thought of raising my hand to answer, but was beaten by another trainee.

“Sir, Trainee Beland presenting, certainly combat must have the largest number? Are we not the ‘profession of death?” The trainee was average height with tufty eyebrows. A large sloping forehead gave him a constant glare that was assisted by a scowl he wore everywhere outside of the shower. He was quite the singer once the hot water hit him. No amount of yelling from any of the sergeants had been able to quell it completely.

“Does any trainee want to explain why his red majority view is narrow?” The Sergeant asked. I felt stupid, unable to see how the military would not have a combat focus. I wanted to stand up and shout in Beland’s defense, with everything we knew red would be the most obvious choice. My anger waived in the face of my indifference. Head down, get through the day, just three hours till another meal.

“Sir, Trainee Rhys presenting,” I was disgusted with the look on his face. He was almost gleeful to answer the question, “It’s yellow, battle is a small percentage of the work required to make an army work. Base building and supply lines require massive manpower. That combined with the civil construction works that yellow is assigned makes them the most numerous. Red may take the territory, but yellow fortifies it, holds it, and supplies every other section.”

“And we have a winner. Most of your other classroom lecturers and training instructors were reds before they put on the blue trim. The glory of combat is great for your career, but as a previous yellow I can promise those noble victories wouldn’t exist without the craft provided by our section. I specialized in stone selection and I could talk endlessly about the best type for roads vs walls.”

And so he did.

I watched as his words dragged numerous heads down. Their drooping eyes trying to stay open to avoid getting called out as the sergeant described what defined a pebble. Rhys’s smile never waivered, but I did see his eyes glaze over. I took a vicious joy in his torment. His prompt promotion of yellow seemed to set off this tirade and it felt only fitting he suffered with us.

“The reason today’s lesson is on the sections is you may have noticed non-blue trim soldiers watching your cluster. They are deciding how they want to draft your unit after graduation.”

“Sir, Trainee Deck presenting. Do we get any input into the decision?”

The Sergeant had a bemused little twitch to his lips, “Later you will meet the sections and get to request where you’d like to go. I can easily say, these will be promptly thrown away and you will fill the needs of the military. In the case of a tie, your opinion may hold sway, but don’t hold your breath.”

The class cleared out and we marched our way back to the barracks. Some of the trunks were thrown open and they were empty. I tried to remember who slept in the beds, looking around to see their face to try and put a name to. I couldn’t place any of them.

I noticed a theme of the faces that were missing though. Nothing of value, at least that’s how I categorized them, louder, problematic, and bad natured.

Lyle crept up behind me, shadow announcing his presence before his squeak, “what do you think happened to them?”

That was an interesting question. I hadn’t considered what would be done with them. Sacrificed to monstrous nobles or just sent home? We had been told we had signed our lives to the military machine, but was death on the line for being a bad trainee?

The particulars didn’t really concern me. Being upper cusp here didn’t require much more than minimal effort. I looked back at Lyle’s face and I saw panic painted across his visage. The poor almost giant was sweating hard enough that it stained the neckline of his uniform.

Lyle wasn’t a bad guy, but he definitely was slow and struggling. His life hadn’t prepared him for any of this intensity and he constantly made the wrong move as he was overwhelmed. I felt bad for him. He was aware of his weaknesses, but couldn’t seem to keep his thoughts ordered under pressure. Maybe he was exactly the type this training was meant to weed out.

I frowned, I hoped that Lyle’s future was a small secluded gate in a low traffic town. He didn’t deserve death because he tried to improve his life and was poorly prepared.

The sergeants sauntered in. Sergeant Talbot had a nervous energy, but Sergeant Hughes looked calm, almost cocky, “So, I see you noticed your missing trainees.”

No one spoke for a moment. There was a quick glance of who would ask the question on everyone’s mind, “Sir, Trainee Deck presenting,” I appreciated his brazen attitude, “What happened to them?”

“They were promoted to civilian. We will get the pleasure of serving them as we serve everyone in the Empire and in return we will also get the pleasure of not having them dragging down our glorious mission.”

The trainee made the mistake of letting out a sigh of relief and continuing, “So no one has been killed?”

“They’re dead to me, trainee, and I think that’s worse! Don’t you?” Sergeant Hughes shouted back. Smartly there was no followup comment.

I was happy with that answer. Failure is acceptable, but we’ll kill you for it seemed a bit counter intuitive. This definitely seemed like the best case scenario, those that can’t conform are removed. Lyle looked like he was going to faint with relief. I gave him a nudge and a smile. He smiled weakly back.

We were marched back out and to the mess. The normal routine falling back into place despite the momentary drama. I found my head trying to calculate what made those removed worthy and what would happen if I fell to their ranks. I suspected that neither Minster Epswitch nor Governor Briggs would allow me a quiet life. I found a weird feeling that even if it was a non-lethal escape for me, I didn’t want it. I assigned it to competitive nature and minor arrogance.

I knew underneath there was a different feeling, a sense of purpose that I didn’t yet fully grasp, but felt closer to now than anytime in the past couple years. I was distracted in the line for food when Sergeant Talbot scooted next to me.

“Trainee Vidal, I need assistance with something. I know you went to an academy.”

“Sir, Trainee Vidal Presenting, what can I help with?” I asked, my head still swimming the idea that I wouldn’t take my leave if presented to me.

“Trainee Lyle is…” I could see his face go through a range of maneuvers as he tried to find a polite way to phrase himself, “lacking in formal education. Can you make sure he can…” there was another pause, “read?”

It wasn’t the accusation I was expecting. I wasn’t convinced I was cut out for teaching, but maybe they thought it’d be better coming from me than loudly from someone else, “Sure.”

“Sure? I’m not your friend, trainee! We’re not buds just hanging out! It is ‘yes sir!’” his tone swapped instantly and aggressively. I mentally berated myself for the slip. My distraction earned me a momentary annoyance.

“Yes, sir!”

Sergeant Talbot left and I took a deep breath to calm myself. This moment cost me nothing, everyone in this line had been yelled at repeatedly already. The sergeant wouldn’t hold this against me, more egregious errors had been corrected and forgotten.

A few steps forward and it was my turn to grab food. I picked up an extra pastry. It was a small solace for my bruised ego. By the time I had finished the first, I was already in a better mood. I treated the second as a reward for taking my frustration in stride.

After the meal we lined up to march, but we weren’t facing the classroom building nor the barracks. Sergeant Hughes commanded us off and we strode off to our unknown destination.

The paved path turned to dust beneath our feet as hard dirt took its place. There was a little cloud we kicked up with our heavy steps and the haze gave me an itch that I refused to give credence to. I saw a few others reach up to quickly rub at their eyes or scratch their nose.

With a sergeant on either side they were caught, called out, and yelled at, though we never broke stride. I tried to look past the taller person in front of me to see where we were being dragged out to. It looked like a blank patch of earth.

We were stopped and looking down around us I saw circles cut deep into the ground with different color stones to note their barrier. Already there were murmurs attempting to solve the mystery. I was trying to figure out the point of these little circles myself, but gave up quickly. The answer was going to be given to us loudly and I felt no urge to guess.

“Basic hand-to-hand combat training!” Sergeant Hughes yelled. Every person had a different reaction. Each face displaying their feelings loudly whether fear, excitement, or self-doubt. I expected the hunger for competition, but this just felt like another task to get through. I had no urge to show off and earn attention.

“Can I have a volunteer?” Sergeant Talbot was in the middle of one of the rings. For half a second I almost forgot all my earlier thoughts and stepped forward, but my combative bite quickly became less than a whimper in the face of my impassive attitude.

Trainee Deck walked into the circle. Walked was the improper term, he half danced into the circle. Just enough for show, not enough to earn another reprimand. I applauded his energy, but found myself rolling my eyes at many of his endeavors.

“Your goal will be to pin your opponent or cause them to tap out. We are not seeking damage, but education, so excessive force will be punished. Think of it this way, you are sparring, not fighting. Trainee Deck, begin when you’re ready.”

Deck started his charge with bravado. He even gave a little whoop as he closed the distance. His lunge at Sergeant Talbot had him on his back before he could finish his battlecry. His voice petered out as a wheeze.

The Sergeant then spent the next 5 minutes dressing down the maneuver.

Before he assigned us to circles, Trainee Deck felt the urge, as always, to ask a question, “Why are we learning hand-to-hand combat? Shouldn’t we be training with the arms of war?

“I almost thought I heard something, but I wouldn’t believe a trainee so far in his training would forget his presenting statement,” Sergeant Hughes both mocked and corrected.

“Sir, Trainee Deck presenting,” he quickly sped through before repeating his question.

“Because it would be a waste of time. If we wasted time on archery just to have you assigned to a spear unit or as you already learned, many roles in the military are non-combat. This is just another way to build camaraderie, improve your physical ability, and not embarrass yourself if you get into a physical confrontation.”

My mind drifted to the soldier I had beaten up months ago in that alleyway. I remembered his red trim, a combat soldier, and he had not been much of a fight especially since I had still been very drunk. I felt confident I could embarrass pretty much anyone here. There were few talents I held true arrogance in myself, but sparring and combat I had excelled in.”

Still, my body didn’t feel fired up as we were assigned to different circles. I looked across at Trainee Mulegan. A truly unimpressive specimen of a woman. I was surprised she hadn’t earned her civilian promotion yet. I sighed, this, just like marching, the classes, or anything we had done, was just another way to kill time. With most of the military not focused on combat and there was no way a couple sessions of this would make anyone more prepared for a punch to the face.

Mulegan made some brash comment. I wasn’t really listening. She took a step forward and stooped low. I took a step back, feigning doubt. She took the bait and made a clumsy swing with her leg. I hooked my foot behind it and helped carry her towards the ground.

I didn’t make a move to finish or pin. I felt overwhelmed by indifference. Mulegan scuttled up. She paused in her moves trying to assess where the first one went wrong.

I saw Rhys hit the ground. His eyes found mine and his smile didn’t change as another trainee pinned him.

Then he was being helped up, same grin, as a fist connected with my nose. The last second had allowed me to pull back, but not enough to stop the gush of blood from my nose.

Mulegan had a smug look on her face. I felt heat stain down my lip and neck. There was a simmer of anger, but I couldn’t muster it fully. Oh, I was going to put her in the ground, but it was more from annoyance than wrathful fury.

I leapt forward. Her block for a suspected punch left her open as I threw my shoulder into her, lifting her up and throwing her to the ground. Restraining her, I heard the call to swap partners. The last defeated person moved to the right. Mulegan gave me a glare as if I should move. I narrowed my eyes and she walked away.

Then I stood across the circle from Rhys. Blood just starting to dry, I could feel it crack with each movement of my face. As I adopted a healthy glower, I felt dried blood flake from my lips and fall to the ground.

I did not like Rhys. If asked by a stranger I might assign my dislike to his sloppy display just a couple seconds ago, or his overly detailed and lengthy answers on the Empire’s successes, or his optimistic responses on every piece of imperial philosophy.

But truthfully, the answer was staring me in the face. His damnedable smile. From the first moment I had seen him, it had not broken. Miles of marching, hours of classes, and his damned bright white smile would stand out against his tanned skin.

I remembered being almost gleeful when I saw Rhys get stopped by a Sergeant of another cluster and asked, “Trainee, what is with that ridiculous smile?”

“Sir, Trainee Rhys presenting, Happy to be here, sir!” I had almost groaned at his response.

“An absurd reason for a ridiculous smile,” I watched crestfallen as this was the end of the discussion as the sergeant nodded and sauntered off to shout at two other trainees whose tunics were out of regulation.

I had learned that not all of Rhys’s smiles were created equal. His beam as he broke the company’s push up record differed from the plastered grin as he congratulated his sparring partner moments ago or the thin lipped almost smirk as he nodded along to a lecture from a high ranking whomever.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I had decidedly never confronted him directly over it. I refused to give him the satisfaction that he or his frustrating smile had gained any of my notice.

The command to start was ordered and I lunged at him. As his arm leapt out to counter me, I grabbed it and threw him over my shoulder. As he hit the ground, I felt my own lips curl in response.

We sparred and exchanged partners for the next hour. Even fighting lazily, I was worn and exhausted by the time we reformed to march back to the barracks. Twice we were yelled at that we would be late, though I knew we were just returning for a shower and then debriefing and bed, I couldn’t imagine how being late would matter.

The warning of falling behind didn’t have much effect and neither of the sergeants seemed to have much imperative to push the point. Finally we returned to the barracks.

Haste was only restored with the first sounds of water hitting tile. Suddenly everyone remembered they didn’t need dirt, mud, and sweat as a default state of being. There was only enough space for half the cluster at a time and I stood leaned up against a wall. Unluckily, I hadn’t made it into the first group. I rubbed at my cheek causing the caked debris to flutter onto the floor.

I closed my eyes for a moment. I was truly tired. Upon opening I saw Rhys standing in front of me, “If I may be a little bold and a bit diplomatic.” His tone was so respectful it almost sounded sarcastic like a performer who almost believes in his bad script.

I couldn’t think of a witty retort so I simply nodded as nonchalantly as I could manage.

“I have seen you stop frowning on two occasions, when the mess serves jelly pastries and when you throw me to the dirt in the sparring ring.”

“Doesn’t sound like a mystery,” I said dismissively, “I like jelly tarts and winning.”

“See, that was my first thought, but I watched you beat every other person they put in front of you and the look on your face? Same look you give to that resilient stain on the third table in the lecture hall.”

He was observant, I did hate that vile gray discoloration, “And your new working theory?”

“No theory, just an observation that you enjoy beating me almost as much as you like jam filled treats.”

“Possibly more,” I offered.

“I’d believe that if I didn’t see you seriously consider damning the rules and going back for seconds,” Despite myself, the corners of my lips twitched fighting his humor, “Good form Vidal, but I’m still marking that down as a half smile.”

For the first time in a long while the urge to confront rose. Rhys’s verbal sparring may have been playful jabs, but my gut reaction was a right hook. I settled on deflection, “So, what makes you exceedingly happy to be in our small piece of paradise?”

Rhys paused and cocked his head as if decided between something, “I have two answers and both are equally true. My default stance on all things strives for happiness. The second answer is that my results and attitude are being directly reported to my family.”

“Overbearing dad?”

“Mother, she means well, but there are high expectations,” Rhys’s smile creased as if he advanced suddenly in age. His memories were apparently at war with his present idyllic outlook.

“And your perfect losing streak today?” I asked, a poke for information and a slightly sadistic prod for myself.

“An awkward, but not unexpected dinner topic upon my return.”

“I hope this isn’t working its way to you asking me to throw our next match.”

“And take away half of what brings you joy? I’d be offended if you did.”

As a stream of naked and slightly cleaner bodies streamed past us, we took it as our queue to follow their example. Despite clean running water and government mandated soap, some of the people passing seemed to find a way to smell worse coming out than going in. I know the concept of indoor plumbing hadn’t reached everywhere, but I was hoping what to do with water wasn’t a foreign concept.

Lyle’s lanky form strode past me. The small towel was basically a miniskirt around him. I thought of the accusation he couldn’t read. I often forgot how lucky I was. Even in the face of war and dethroning, many doors had been left open to me. Even my “terrible crimes'' had basically been washed away by my noble blood. I doubted I would get the personal attention from Minister Epswitch without the family name.

There was no time left today, but I made a mental note to reach out to Lyle the second we weren’t being dragged from place to place. I was in luck though since tomorrow was Sunday. After six days of classes, training, and being yelled at for various offenses small or imagined, Sunday was our day off. We were not allowed to leave the barracks other than as a group for meals. The official order was time was to be spent productively studying or working out. With no instructors checking in, a fact they winked at when they were explaining the rules, the guidance fizzled into various groups of people sitting around ranting, raving, and chatting on a myriad of topics.

I took the morning trying to find a way to approach Lyle. The request which seemed simple just a day ago felt unapproachable. Walking up to him and accusing him felt rude. After breakfast I was not any closer to approaching the topic. The order to study rang in my head. We were given official books for our military service. They were dry and direct which meant they were mostly left in the bottom of the trunk or carried in our bags when the Sergeants wanted to add a little weight to our march.

“Hey Lyle, can you help me study some of the material?” I asked him the second he stepped away from a conversation.

“Uh,” he started, his nervous demeanor was a constant to all stimuli, “yeah, sure.”

“I’m having trouble with this section,” I said handing him the open book, “The regulation for our salute is the right hand in front with the thumb inside or outside the fist.”

He paused and stared down at the offered page. There was a long pause and I started to get worried. I put all my thoughts into how I would start the conversation, I had no idea what to do if he really couldn’t read.

“Inside the fist,” he finally said.

I breathed a sigh of relief, he could read. The accusation now felt silly, “Oh thank goodness, one of the Sergeants was worried you couldn’t read and wanted my help. Good to know he was off the mark.”

I chuckled, Lyle didn’t. His eyes cast down, “It’s really hard. It takes me a while to get through a page. I guessed that answer.”

I felt cruel for my laughter, “Well, you’re in luck. We have time to waste and there’s nothing more interesting happening. Let’s see what we can do.”

The next couple hours we used our handbooks to cover a lot of basics. Thankfully he had some knowledge and a lot of the problems were related to confidence. He constantly second guessed what he thought the word and sound was. His home school education seemed to involve more physical discipline than academic rigor. The way he would clutch his fists together when he thought he got a word wrong broke my heart.

He was excited to learn, but we were both grateful for a break for lunch. I told him we still had a month of training left, that meant plenty of time to work together. I meant it, but I was also completely burned out. I did not have the patience to be an educator. I knew it was a failing of empathy to be annoyed having to move at another's pace, but I found it draining.

Food gave a momentary reprieve where the enforced silence was still in effect. New training groups and their sergeants were on a warpath making sure we all set a good example for their nervous wards. Our cluster was on their best behavior, but that didn’t stop the sergeants from finding things to pick at and yell about.

By the time we made it back to the barracks again, I had a newly formed headache. To everyone’s credit, they kept their voices low enough. Other than a guffaw from a particularly humorous joke, there was a mutual respect between the trainees to try to keep it down in the enclosed space. But over 40 people trying to be quiet is still a whole lot of noise.

I found it deafening as I plucked strings from my uniform. Attempting to shut out the world with intense focus, I found focus melting to fixation as my mind gnawed on the volume of the room and my growing migraine.

Rhys meandered between the cots towards me, an extra uniform hung over his arm and a pair of tweezers in hand, “Is this spot taken?”

“Depends if you can shut the hell up,” I growled.

Rhys gently laid down his tunic and began intently plucking. Soon he started adding his cuttings to my pile. After the second time he threw away the overly large pile, I spoke up, “Alright, I’m sorry, I’ve cooled off. You can speak.”

“As much as I appreciate the permission,” his sarcastic tone undercut by his basic, but genuine smile, “Don’t apologize. I enjoy a good silence.”

“A rare commodity here,” I mused. I cast my eyes over the assorted people. So many lives and stories that I had written off as just annoyances, “What brings you into the service?”

“Prepared my entire life for government work, the military is just the best path to get knowledge and recorded success.”

“Your path or your family’s?”

There was a wince and a smirk, “Cutting straight to the point, family’s. How about you?”

For a moment I hesitated. I was enjoying the conversation and suddenly worried the truth may forever end it. I gathered my courage and told the truth or at least a vague form of it, “A service or death situation.”

“Criminal?”

“Technically not?” I was curious how I was listed in my file. No formal trial didn’t mean no record and the Empire could’ve put anything they wanted in there.

Rhys’s eyebrows raised, “I’ll put a pin in that. Is there anyone you’re excited to see once we’re done with training?”

“Not likely, I enjoy it more when my lovers don’t know my name.”

“You’re not going to offend my delicate sensibilities, but your attempts to shock are cute.”

I gave a dramatic flourish, causing the pile of string to scatter. I started to collect them back up, “I aim for nothing else. How about yourself?”

Rhys opened his mouth, visibly recoiled, and then shrugged before responding, “Yeah.”

“What was all that before the ‘yeah’?” I asked, gesturing vaguely, “That was a lot more than just a yeah.”

“The yeah is true, but the long term prospects aren’t good. There are… ramifications.”

“Ramifications?”

“Political ramifications.”

“Her family is part of the court,” I asserted. I felt like a detective pulling on a thread, “An issue with station differences…”

Rhys let out a deep sigh, “Yeah.”

A silence fell back on us and I tried to unpack everything he just said. There was something gnawing on the corners of my mind. My thoughts nestled around a suspicion trying to get a firm grasp. The feeling of it was toxic and the more I tried to put it into words, the less comfortable I was.

“If she’s a part of the court then she’s…”

“A vampire, yeah.”

“I was going to say a mythic, but that narrows it down,” a lot of feelings buffeted around my head. There was disgust and curiosity in equal measure. How did it happen? How could he let those feelings happen? I pushed the thoughts from my head. My hatred was obviously not his and I’d allow him his pet project to keep the conversation going. “Tell me about her.”

Without looking over, I could feel Rhys’s smile grow, “She’s brilliant, studying necrology, beautiful, cutting with observations yet gentle with advice,” he was tripping over himself and his words. It was adorable as he unceasingly covered every aspect of Lady Eleanor TRask, daughter and heiress to the Dunspice governorship.

The week began in apathetic earnest. Gray clouds that doured even the Sergeants’ yelling. Their derision lacked passion even at their full volume. I felt it in my very core. Pushing past rage, annoyance, and sorrow, I felt reflected by the clouds. An amorphous and ephemeral figure just moving through the day.

The morning jog was plodding. I was solidly in the middle of the pack. It wasn’t until I saw Rhys up ahead that I increased my pace. We obviously couldn’t talk, but the friendly face during the run was appreciated.

It was weird to have a friend I spent more time in silence with than speaking. From a wordless run, to a speechless march, to mutely waiting for food in line. Today right next to the bacon was a large plate of jelly pastries. I filled my plate, delicately balancing my dough treasures. I took a seat next to Rhys and saw his eyes instantly fall on my flaky tower.

He covered a quick chuckle with a cough. The meal continued silent other than metal scraping against porcelain plates. As my pastry pile started to dwindle I stole a glance towards Rhys. He was somehow still smiling as he bit off another piece of bacon. On his plate there was an assortment of fruits, meats, and a single jelly pastry. As soon as my eyes fell on it, Rhys picked it up and placed it on my plate.

I almost said something, but the authoritative clop of a pacing sergeant as he walked up and down the aisles stopped me. Rhys gave me a nod and I nodded back. Looking back I saw the Sergeant’s eyes narrow. I wondered if he saw the tasty gift and if there was some oddly specific, but unspoken rule against acts of jam based kindness. He passed behind me with a huff, but no other comment.

I had overeaten, but knew the full feeling would be exceedingly fleeting. We were scheduled for sparring and there was no better way to burn through a meal’s energy. A quick march there and I found Rhys taking the spot across from me. A green trimmed soldier stood at the center of our group. He had a small pad of paper and was scribbling furiously.

Saluting Rhys, I planted my feet in the soft dirt. Rhys started to circle me. I kept calm and my feet firmly planted. He took a step forward, overextending his stride and leaving an opening to be tripped. I tapped his leg and Rhys looked down and back up to smile at the unspoken advice. He found his smile directed at a particularly puffy cloud. A small flurry of dirt floated around the impact of his body.

I offered to help him up with the same hand that I used to throw him down.

“At least this beating came with a tutoring lesson,” Rhys wheezed. The first words between us today.

“I’m glad you noticed because I’m not easing up any more than that, educational or not.”

“I was on my back within ten seconds!”

“And you’re welcome it wasn’t five.”

Rhys looked like he was preparing quite the witty retort, but a sharp whistle demanded us back to combat positions.

An hour of sweat and dirt passed without true incident. Despite Trainee Mulegan’s best attempts at violence, technique did not match intent. I made the wins slow and drag. Numerous cocky remarks formed in my mind, but I kept myself gagged. My lack of response pulled profanity and vitriol from her.

I saw the sergeants paying attention to her and I expected harsh rebuke for “unsportsmanlike” conduct. Instead they watched, enthralled, not enthralled, like they were mentally taking notes. They looked through Trainee Mulegan and were intent on me. The momentary distraction gave my opponent all the time she needed.

Despite myself, I wheezed a curse as the breath was knocked out of me. She had learned from her previous cheap shot. Instead of a painful hit, she threw her entire body into mine. I had a moment of panic as my mind jumped back to the wolf who had recently done the same thing.

As the stars left my eyes, my entire field of view was just her smug face. We had never exchanged a full conversation, but she had pierced my indifference. The careful cloak of apathy that had protected me from every slight and exasperation now was punctured.

Instructor Tibor Zukal’s voice entered my head. It was strange after military yelling of commands to remember his quiet and somber outlook. I couldn’t tell if it was the cloudy memory of time, but he seemed sad and defeated in comparison. I had never asked which wars or conflicts he had learned his skills. I was too young to be that brave. Did he earn his talents for or against the empire?

His melancholic tone reverberated in my head, “The second you let your opponent dictate your emotions you’ve already lost.”

I had nodded sagely in my youth. Eager to master conflict that stormed around me both external and internal.

Now, as my leg escaped Mulegan’s poor pin, I would’ve shouted my old teacher down. Malice directed my knee upward into her groin. Her smug grin crumpled like her body as she rolled off me. My enemy may have dictated my emotion, but it was fuel to her demise. I held onto the rage. It felt like the first true emotion I had in months.

Already Sergeant Hughes was moving towards me. I wondered if this was the line that would get me promoted to civilian or dinner.

“The Finance office requires your presence,” he spoke plainly. I think it was the first sentence he had said to me at a normal volume.

“Yes, sir.”

He walked slightly ahead of me. His pace was the same as when he guided our march. I followed trying to refasten my callous perspective. Switching off my fury was a much slower process than arousing it.

“Want to discuss your thoughts on your last sparring match?” he didn’t sound angry. I couldn’t place the tone. I still felt muddled from the adrenaline.

“Sir, trainee Vidal presenting, since no one wanted to step in on Trainee Mulegan’s attitude, I assumed it fell to me.”

“Your idea of a proportional response?”

“An effective one, sir.”

“Cut the shit, trainee. If you wanted Mulegan to be shut up you could’ve ended the match at any point. I can forgive useful violence but don’t lie to me or yourself.” Disappointment. I figured it out. It clicked in my mind and in my memories.

For a moment I feared the sudden thoughts of my father would elicit tears, that I’d be marching and silently crying. Nothing came. I felt mechanical in my movements and my eyes were completely dry. My protective detachment was back in full force.

“Yes, sir.”

We didn’t exchange any words as we walked past buildings, through tunnels, and a courtyard. I had never taken this path before. I began to worry if the finance office was code for being cut from payroll, removed from service, and an executive decision to execute.

Marching me into a building, Sergeant Hughes told me to sit in a chair outside of a door. He disappeared inside and I heard muffled voices talking. It started cordially, but then one of the voices got louder. I heard my name, but nothing else. My worry tried to gain a foothold in my psyche, but whether through exhaustion or control, I was numb.

The door opened and Sergeant Hughes wordlessly ushered me in. Instantly the smell of Sandalwood and Jasmine hit my nostrils. The first kind scent in the sea of barely washed bodies of sweat I had experienced in the last months. Kind might be an exaggeration since I knew exactly who it belonged to.

Minister Epswitch stood in the center of the room. He looked just as weary as he did months ago and I wondered if he had just returned from another trip. A capture of another “dangerous vigilante” or simply babysitting another noble? I didn’t truly know what had brought him all the way out with Governor Briggs before.

The Minister of Finance was still the finance office though so Sergeant Hughes had been honest about their destination. With his job completed and his yelling done, he left wordlessly and I was alone with the architect of my present.

The office was a copy of the one in the castle. Austere, but cluttered in papers of every size and shape. Obviously organized, but through no method that made sense on first glance. I found myself reading the edge of pages that stuck out, getting lost in “tax” “debutante” and “hero.”

“I envy the lack of effort you are willing to accept. It must be such a carefree life,” Epswitch’s insult would’ve elicited a retort a month ago, but I stood unfazed. There would be a question to answer, information he wanted, or directive to give, “I was hoping you’d show off a bit more, get yourself noticed, but you simply successfully survived. Despite your best efforts you’ve been chosen for Eternal Affairs.”

I ignored his goading, but his news caused my head to swim, “Thank you, sir.” My measured response came out automatically. This was a high honor to my understanding, but what did it entail? What evils, what violence would be asked of me?

“‘Thank you'’ is the correct response. Agent Eberly recommended you, on my command. This ends my kindness. Survival is over and you need to prove yourself worthy. Becoming an agent is the peak of service. Your passive participation would make you an excellent gate guard, but Eberly’s recommendation won’t matter if it can’t be collaborated by your instructors. You are capable of this.”

“Your encouragement gives me strength, sir,” I replied sardonically. Truthfully though his advocacy cut through his deriding dialog and stood out in my mind.

“Do not confuse my concern for care. You are an investment,” Epswitch’s tone didn’t change, but it was obvious that I had received the last uplifting message I would get.

Despite my urging, my building temper demanded a parting shot, “And if I fail, do you have a dangerous and vague threat to make?”

“I am not looking for your fear. I just want this task completed. I’ll let you decide your motivation.