The faint discoloration covering my crossbow came from what seemed to be days of deeply entrenched human blood. The damped cloth only smeared it even further, small puddles of red dropped to the floor, staining the wooden boards. I grunt as I toss the cloth back into the pail of murky water, irritation boiling at my failed attempt to remove the stain.

 

This piece of junk is useless anyway. 

I lean back, running my hand through my hair–the pale strands almost blending with my fingers. A glimpse of my reflection in the window reveals a ghostly figure, hair like bleached parchment and skin pale from months without sunlight. A man caught somewhere between life and death.

My fingers trace along the wooden handle, feeling the deep crevice from a recent impact. With a sigh, I uncock the string, the faint click echoing in the half-empty room–a room I try not to get too comfortable in. Sunlight peeks through the large windows, illuminating the shine of red water slowly being absorbed by the floor. I’m not used to this space, even though I’ve had two years to adjust to it. But having a room all to myself, regardless if I deserve it or not, beats the reeking smell of sweat and fresh dragon blood in the barracks.

 
I gently kick the pail to the side, gripping the crossbow tightly, its crack becoming more prominent under my fingers. I attach the bow to the nail sticking out of the nearest wall, a wall it will remain on forever.  

“That was your last battle,” I murmur as I trace the rusted screws and damaged frame with my fingers. There’s no point in trying to salvage them to craft a new one. Not even the skills my father taught me could make it whole again.
It’s my first bow I got since I joined the Corps, and no bow lasts this long. Or at least functions well enough to be reliable in battle. Three days without a working bow only daggers attached to my boot, rendering me useless against dragons.

 

Especially against a Redsnout. 

The sun climbs higher, peeking through the large window, my shadow gradually becoming shorter, reminding me that the Memorial of the Fallen is about to start. Guilt claws at my throat. Maybe they won’t notice that I’m not there, but if they do, I won’t have a valid argument for my absence. Regardless of how I think of it, I have to be there.
I step toward the door, zipping my leather jacket up to its half collar, just high enough to hide the black veins creeping up the left side of my neck fading into my skin. It’s something that always catches the attention of the newer cadets. I draw a sharp breath, adjusting my composure and I recall my training.

Shut it off.

A soldier is a tool, not a sentimental being.

 Flinging the door open, I’m met with the stone cold wall and a faint smell of burning resin coming from the torches lining the long hallway. It’s quiet. The rest of the soldiers must have already gathered at the Great Hall, ready to spend a brief moment to honor those who have fallen in the recent expedition. Soon they will have to abandon their emotions–the only thing linking them to their sentience–and return to their posts as stoic soldiers. 

The expeditions in all of Karalia are the most dangerous and deadly tasks a soldier embarks on. Typically, they take place at the least convenient times, with little preparation. Still, a rushed report from Scouts about a dragon sighting is far better than a surprise attack and countless dead civilians as the consequence. At least with the Scouts report, we can be there in time to defend. All you can do is hope you arrive before the dragon. If the report is of a dragon attack instead of a sighting, you're too late. The General isn’t keen on sending soldiers to an area where a dragon is already laying waste. He’ll only taint the dying grass with more blood. To save the villagers at the Front, we must reach them first. Otherwise you’ll end up with a decrepit place like Pirlem. My home.

    My thoughts race in my head, making it difficult to contain them with each stride as I pass the long empty halls, the torches casting my long shadow on the bricked path. Before I know it, I’m standing amidst the growing crowd at the Great Hall. Hundreds of soldiers are cramped in a large room, the smell of sweat and worn leather clung to the air hitting me the moment I walked through the arch. A large banner perched on the wall, with names and numbers of the fallen units carved in the decaying wood. The sinking feeling in my gut tells me that it isn’t all of them, that the numbers will only grow. I quickly scan the banner, focusing on the amount rather than the who’s. I’m distracted by the cries and yells of cadets, echoing from the walls.  It’s a time we’re allowed to mourn. The only time we get to let ourselves be human, no matter how brief. But whenever I try to feel whatever it is I’m supposed to feel, I find myself suppressing it, rather than letting it wash over.

 

And I won’t let it ever take control again. 

The names of the fallen soldiers reminds me of every other Memorial we had and it’s always the same. These are names of what the superiors assume are the fallen ones, but not truly confirmed. After all, the damage from dragonfire chars their bodies beyond recognition. If you’re lucky, that is. A Redsnout’s fire doesn’t even leave dust. 

One hundred and four dead. 

Shit.

That’s more than half of the entire expedition army. Guilt tightens in my throat, making me feel like my years of training are rendered useless, unable to keep control of my emotions. I can’t afford to be seen like this with the ever increasing crowd pushing and shoving around me. So I clear my throat, hoping that will make it go away, the General’s voice echoing in my head.

If you let yourself feel – you doubt, if you doubt – you’re dead.

    Perhaps I should have been there. Perhaps I should have led this expedition. Maybe the loss wouldn’t have been so great. Yet somehow not being there prevents me from carrying this weight on my shoulders. I’d rather not stain my hands with more blood than it already has. I step closer to the banner, the carvings in the gray wood becoming clearer.

 
Unit 18.
Unit 64.
Unit 40.

All of them, dead. Whatever they have learned about the Western terrain is lost. If they managed to learn anything that is. With losses like these, it’s going to hit us hard in the next few months. We haven’t faced losses this high in five years. We expected fewer casualties this year, especially with only one dragon left. Either the soldiers that were sent to hunt weren’t trained well enough, or the beast we’ve been fighting has evolved. Became smarter. Unpredictable. If that’s the case, it’s evolving fast. Faster than what we are capable of adapting to.

Unit 12.
Unit 23.
Unit 19.

Fuck.

My unit.

For only a moment, I let myself feel–a harsh reminder that I’m still human. But I need to remind myself that I’m a soldier first. I take a deep breath and turn around, looking for an exit from this wretched place.

It’s too crowded.

My eyes stray to The General a few steps from the archway watching me, with one of the lieutenants nearby. My eyes dart toward the door again and back to the General. He slightly lowers his head, signaling me to come to him. My feet shuffle, feeling the ground beneath my feet as I approach him. He waves the lieutenant away who wears a disapproving grimage before merging with the crowd. 

“I have yet to remember a day like this in all my years as General,” he says, his voice strict without averting his gaze from the crowd,  “these are certainly dark times.” 

I grunt in approval, as I get comfortable around his presence, our shoulders aligning as I stretch my back into a proper stance. I observe the increasing crowd, tainting it with faces I haven’t seen before.

“Newcomers?” I ask, turning my gaze toward him, but he doesn’t so much as blink in my direction.

He releases an approving grunt, “It’s important for them to know what they are up against. I reckon it will prepare them well for Induction tomorrow.” 

He takes a deep breath, slightly turning to me,  “I’m hoping to see you there by my side.”

I furrow my brow, my mind becoming silent for a moment. Usually I’m lined up with the rest of the cadets, not standing by his side.

“I’d rather not be there this year at all, sir,” I say, knowing perfectly well the General will disapprove of it, but I’d rather not have people stare at me, making their assumptions of whether I’m a Demon or a Divine.

 

There’s a moment of silence between us, hundreds of soldiers passing by, some of them reeking with the pungent smell of liquor, making me scrunch my nose. He lets out a sigh, adjusting his composure.

“When will you take responsibility for your rank, Kazele?” 

Kazele. I hate it when he calls me that. A pet name that's been stuck with me for eight years.

“I won’t” I respond, bitterness tinting my tone, “not with my condition.”

“I’m putting you in a unit” he says, without a single drop of emotion in his tone.

“What? No.” I blurt out, biting my tongue.

 

For the past year I’ve been avoiding working in a unit. Even if my name had been written under Unit 19, it was just a formality. But by the tone of his voice, I know this time it will be different. I’ll have lives to be responsible for. Again. 

“Sir,” I say, clearing my throat to signal confidence, “you know the reason why I do not want to be in a unit, and the reason why nobody wants me in their unit.”

 

But he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t take in my words or ponder over them. His decision is final. 
I dig my nails into my palm, my knuckles still pink from the blood drawn while cleaning the crossbow. Frustration lingering in my throat as I clench my jaw. Memories flashing in my eyes, screams echoing in my head and the faint taste of iron still lacing my tongue.

 

Her blood.

​

His blood.

​

Their blood.

 

“I’m putting you in your old unit. They know you well so I’m certain it will be easy for you to adjust,” he says.
Shit. The least thing I need right now is this especially when I know that they hate my guts. 

My body tenses up as I open my mouth, expecting some logical reasoning to spew out of me, hoping to convince him otherwise. But nothing comes out. Instead, I stand there thinking about all those four years I was branded a soldier. 

“You have skill. Potential. And I hate to see you waste it–”

“I don’t waste it,” I seethe through my teeth, jaw still clenched, “I’m perfectly content in handling things on my own. Hunting on my own.”

“And look where it got us today,” he snaps, his piercing gaze finally meeting mine. 

“After two years we have one dragon left. All because of you. Because you were in a unit. That day two years ago, you led an army that was composed of cowards and nearly gave humanity their freedom,” his voice lowers, turning into a slight whisper. “You have a rank,“ he says, adjusting himself back to his stoic composure he wears so well, “Use it.”
 

“I can’t,” I say, a flicker of disappointment glimmering in his eyes, but he quickly blinks it away, returning to the man I know as The General. He tugs on his gray beard, his eyes narrowing. 

I bite the inside of my cheek, a subtle taste of iron lacing my tongue. I tear my gaze from the General, facing the crowd of grieving soldiers. Out of it, a familiar face peeks out, her dark complexion contrasting those around her. The moment she sees me, she moves, tapping the shoulders of cadets to make way, her blue greatcoat following her every motion. She barely needs to push forward. As she approaches, her dark eyes dart toward the General.

“General Grogol,” she says, dipping her head.

“Lieutenant Wain,” the General acknowledges, and Wain’s eyes return to mine, her stance firm.
“It’s good to see you, Kazelius. I assume you’re well prepared for the Induction after your rest?” Wain’s eyes slowly trace back to the General, as if looking for permission to speak further.

“Unfortunately, my duties will lie elsewhere,” I respond, straightening up. The General glares at me for a moment, curving a soft smile.

“I’m sure he just needs more… convincing.” He taps my shoulder and nods toward Wain.

“It’s a shame you weren’t in this expedition, Kazelius,” Wain continues, “we could have used your… expertise in this matter. Perhaps our losses would’ve been less severe.”

 

Wain brushes a dark curl from her face, her fingers seamlessly blending in with it. Two cadets argue near the banner, throwing insults at each other. Wain excuses herself, and pushes herself through the crowd, attempting to stop the altercation. I take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling.

“Once again, your results from two years ago speak for themselves,” says Grogol. 

“Putting me in a unit defeats the purpose of plastering my face across Karalia and calling me the face of the Corps,” I scoff silently.

“It’s an honor to join the Corps,” the General snaps, his shoulders slightly tense, “that’s what makes men and women join.”

“Yet everyone from the Middle and the Center keeps calling me that.”

“I don’t need you to be the face of the Corps, right now. I need you alive.” He inhales a quick breath as a crowd passes us with close proximity, as if not wanting anyone to hear of our conversation.

“Look around you,” he begins, his voice calm, “What do you see?”

I scan the area, soldiers stand together in clusters of five, morning comrades that have fallen a few days ago. Their faces sunken in without days of sleep, dirt and dry blood clinging to their bodies. 

“I see soldiers who feel defeated. The people need this. They need hope.” The General’s piercing gaze meets mine. I shake my head. I won’t give in to his manipulative tactics. I’ve learned to recognize them ever since he took me in after my village was destroyed. He saved me. And from day one, turned me into one of his soldier pups. He made me believe I could lead. But he was wrong. I was wrong. 

“Fine, then I will just have to place you in a unit where you’ll have the title as Commander.”

I meet his gaze, his piercing blue eyes closely resembling mine, reminding me of the similarities we both share. Same mindset, same length, same morals. Shoulders perfectly aligned. But the patch of the Hunters Division and the emblem with a star and two arrows could not divide us more. The dark red tones on his double-breasted coat and the black hues of my leather jacket. The medals below his collarbone and the empty space on my chest. Yet here he is, willing to replace my insignia with three sharp lines I never asked for. To bring our ranks closer. So that I would be what he always wanted me to be. 

“I won’t do it,”  I say, his aging eyes never leaving my gaze. He takes a slow, deep breath, clenching his jaw.

“You do not have a choice.” His voice clung to my ears, bitterness lingering in the air. I frown, letting a scoff escape me wondering why I even try to argue against him. He clearly takes note of that, raising his eyebrows, jerking his head towards the crowd, towards the banner of names that soon will be burned for the Divines to claim what is rightfully theirs.

“Five Commanders died in the expedition. I only have a few left that are as skillful as they were, including you. Humanity depends on this. You will have a Lieutenant by your side.” 

“Fine,” I finally say, digging my nails deep into my palms, “but I won’t take up the role as Commander. Not until I meet up with Sayna to assess my condition.” I’m hoping he bites and Sayna’s medical assessment will relieve me of duties as Commander.

He gives an approving nod, “Very well. I’ll make sure she makes time for you.”

A moment passes and no words come out from either of us. He gives me a slight nod, his gaze locks on a Lieutenant standing further away from the arch and disappears into the crowd. Sobs continue to echo from every direction, yells of anger and spitting curses. I trace their familiar faces, yet they couldn’t be more foreign as they blur together. Colors of different hues such as ebony, copper and porcelain twirling and moving all over the Great Hall. Strands of hair, reminding me of the dark harsh nights at the Hold, or the rough sands at the Front, and for a moment, the flickering heat of a blazing fire. And then it gets me thinking of the colors that are missing, that are no longer here and never will be. Until there’s only one color that hovers above all of them. The dark blue banner hung high from the ceiling. The banner of the Third Stronghold hanging over the people pushing and shoving below, reminding me of what they are. Soldiers. And that’s all they ever will be. That’s all I’ll ever be. I’ve built a wall around me, piece by piece, layer by layer that not even a Stonetail could break through.

 

Nothing. Noone. 
 

I am a soldier first. 

I walk out of the room, sobs fade away the further I go. Sobs that give me relief knowing that I will never be the one to cause them ever again.