The Weight of Duty

The northern wind cut through the highlands like a sharpened blade, biting at Thane’s cheeks and tugging at the hem of his ceremonial cloak. The ash-gray banners of the Concordat snapped above the training ground, whipping in a rhythm that mirrored his heartbeat. He walked between the ranks of recruits, inspecting, correcting, silently judging. Discipline, he thought, was more than obedience—it was survival.

A mistake here could become a tragedy later. A lapse of vigilance anywhere could invite despair. Thane did not allow himself to imagine failure. Not for his soldiers. Not for the people they were sworn to protect.

He paused at a pair of recruits practicing spear drills. The younger one faltered, overextending his thrust. Thane’s hand rested briefly on the boy’s shoulder. “Control,” he said. “Every strike is a promise you keep. Do not break it.”

The boy straightened instantly, nodding. Thane released him and continued his inspection, moving down the line with the precision of a metronome. Each soldier represented a fragment of the Concordat’s vision—a world standing vigilant against despair. That vision was fragile, yet it demanded permanence.

A messenger arrived, breathless, clutching a folded dispatch. Thane broke the seal and read in silence. Reports of unrest along the northern borders, rising tensions with the Solar Crown, and rumors of Compact forces maneuvering along trade routes. Nothing that could not be managed. Nothing that could not be met with resolve.

He refolded the letter and slipped it into his sleeve. Every action had consequences. Every choice echoed farther than the body could perceive.

A bell tolled from the citadel above. Time for prayer. Time for reflection. Thane moved to the small chapel at the center of the compound, where the scent of ash and incense hung in the air like a permanent haze. The other officers knelt silently. Thane joined them, bowing deeply, hands folded.

He did not pray for victory. He did not pray for recognition. He prayed for endurance—his own, his soldiers’, and the people they were sworn to shield. The Cataclysm, though still distant, loomed in every corner, in every unspoken anxiety, in the weight of responsibility pressing down like stone.

Afterward, Thane walked the perimeter of the compound, eyes scanning the horizon. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the northern highlands. He thought of Erynd Vale and their words about bonds. A teacher’s lesson meant little if it could not withstand the crucible of action. Bonds, Thane realized, were fragile. Duty was not.

He returned to the barracks. Training would resume tomorrow. Orders would be issued, discipline enforced, vigilance maintained. Every day, the Concordat endured. And if endurance required sacrifice, so be it.

Because survival was not optional.

And Thane would bear that weight, even if the world did not notice.