Dusk

In the twilight's cold darkness, a somber and peculiar celebration takes place in the confines of the outpost. A shining, intense flame dances on top of a wooden bedding, where the remains of a man admired by many now lies. Those adept to lyrics and rhythm sing ballads of the lieutenant's feats, adapted from stories told by Lord Everad on his routine visits to the post. After all, it was the nobleman himself who brought in the surviving Grymharts and granted them an old, vacant house, saving the young orphan from having to build one from scratch.

Naturally, this treatment attracted looks of envy and apprehension, however they quickly dissipated upon seeing the graying, barely moving elder. Not only that, the boy even endangered the received advantages by challenging Lord Everad to his infamous duel and requesting training, which he only accepted due to his relationship with the ex-soldier. Seeing the kid work all throughout the day and train during the whole night grew a sense of respect in the villagers, many of whom even brought him water and food during his nocturnal stints, expecting to one day see someone capable of claiming the prize no one else could before.

Seven years have already passed since the Grymharts' arrival, during the ripples of the most disastrous event in the kingdom's history since the Eternal War. It was catalogued as the Calamity of the Fallen Star, the day Crysaphenius was invaded by beasts from the sky known as the Faraways. The Royal Army fought bravely against the metal and flesh abominations, but hundreds fell alongside the main eastern city. Since time immemorial, local legends narrate with awe about scaly beings the size of castles that spit fire. That day, they saw with horror as a giant, metal creature pierced through the walls believed to be indestructible and took rest upon the destroyed city, hailing columns of fire throughout the kingdom.

Like many other victims, Markus lost everything that day, instead gaining an iron conviction. Today he feels similar, he won the duel he trained years for, and yet, Arthur never supported him. On the contrary. To him the paragon of justice, the maximum expression of heroism and strength, constantly disapproved of his purpose. What that means for the integrity of his mission, he still isn't sure. But the truth is Arthur is gone, and that he cannot change.

The eyes of the brunette, young man start to jump all around the flaming spectacle. The fire takes him to that fateful day, that raging force leaving only ashes in its wake.

The nobleman of intimidating height steals a glance at Markus. He wasn't the only one trying to process his grief.

"A stubborn man until the end. Something he didn't spare passing onto you" Everad says, crossing his arms.

His master's words rip him out of the horrible memory. He sighs relieved and lowers his head, answering.

"He did stay in the Royal Army even without earning any merits, after all. All because he didn't have blue blood."

The giant sighs.

"Seems he fooled us all."

Markus turns in Everad's direction, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"When I joined the Army, Arthur had already outlived many Captains and Generals, even being the last one of his garrison sometimes. He earned High Commander Heathverge's favour, to whom he offered a deal. In exchange for remaining as a Lieutenant and keep giving his all in battle, he asked for only a single boon at the end of the war, not riches nor lands, only his word. No Grymhart would ever be accepted into the Royal Army as long as he breathes."

What he hears is simply inconceivable. All this time Arthur kept that deal secret, excusing not being able to climb the ranks with not coming from a noble family. His expression betrays surprise, given the nobleman adds.

"I asked him about it, when I received my transfer notice outside the Walls as Captain General. I'll never forget his words..."

There aren't many things worth protecting in this life, but family is one of them.

Markus had never heard that phrase before, nor from his grandad nor father. Why would Arthur hide such an important motto? The question torments him, even more remembering his last words towards Arthur, filled with disappointment and anguish.

"I don't understand" Markus mumbles. "What's the point? Lying to us like that?"

"Clear your head and use it, will you? It's obvious. He wanted to protect you. Had he climbed the Army's ranks, he would've distanced himself even more from all of you. His position allowed him to give you a safe life, and his deal made sure it stayed that way. He had to endure most of his life fighting, but he could enjoy what little remained of it."

A knot begins to form in Markus' throat, and his chest feels heavier.

"I understood thanks to his answer" Everad continues. "He loved his family so much that spending a lifetime fighting only for a few moments with all of you, was a worthy sacrifice. Even those last few years he spent with you after the incident, that was life to him."

Markus' mind is a wild vortex of emotions. The heroic values he wished to uphold, with which he always judged his grandpa, were nothing more than an excuse. The soldier, defender of justice and the weak never existed. His goal is the antithesis to Arthur's efforts. What is he supposed to do? What path should he follow? What's the point in...?

A strong hand rests on his shoulder. The young man, body tense as oak and knuckles white from pressure, looks at Lord Constantine. The expression he displays, he had never seen before. Eyes that used to analyze him and highlight posture mistakes, that backed orders with total coldness, now feel warm. Understanding. Resonant.

Everad shortly adds.

"You're not the only one with doubts thanks to that old man. After hearing his words, the rank of High Commander for which I strived my entire life, meant nothing anymore. When I retired, they offered me the seat of Lord of Sylvain. I couldn't refuse. He helped me see the right path, so I swore to help him when he needed it" the nobleman retrieves his hand and hides both under his large cape, glancing at the bonfire. "You're free to choose, Markus. For the first time in your life, you can take destiny into your own hands. If you feel you still owe Arthur something, then find something you want to give your all to protect."

Those words echo in Markus' mind. Something he wants to protect. Does he even have something like that? His eyes return to the barely visible figure through the flames. The knot in his throat becomes harder to control. He tries to swallow it, endure it. Just like a soldier must do. He finds comfort in Everad's words, in the freedom it promises. But the strength that drove him all these years, all pales next to that. Tears swell from his eyes, his lip trembling. His knees wish to fail, he wants to scream, dig his fingers in the dirt. But that strength stops him. The legacy he carries won't fade that easily. It has been with him almost as long as his thirst for vengeance.

The night goes by quickly and with a bitter taste. For most, the new day's light is simply another arduous morning, but to someone is the reward of years worth of effort, and for a certain someone, a small bother. The outpost's doors don't open for just any occasion, much less taking into account the recent turmoil. The group of bandits known as the Ardus Riders have villages and towns in a constant state of alarm. Some barely have the means to defend themselves. With the Royal Army's hands full due to the Faraways, trained guards are few, and busy roads unsafe. Even so, little does Markus Grymhart care for imminent danger, who strides crestfallen towards the main entrance.

Several villagers that cross his path say their goodbyes, wishing the best for the men who defied all expectations. He not only bids farewell to those who supported him and the place that took him in, but also to the life he leaves behind, only memories in his mind.

Nostalgia aside, Markus arrives at the feet of the giant, stone structure holding the heavy, metallic door. Through the gate's square holes, the young man sees Everad, firm and sight lost in the horizon. The guards on the runway quickly yell orders. With a loud clash of chains, the grilled door rises from the ground. Markus prepares to cross the arched entryway, however the pain in his chest grows. Arthur's words resonate in his head, legs frozen in place. A breeze from the outside wraps around him, carrying dirt and blades of grass. He raises a hand to cover his face, squinting his eyes. Once the wind passes, he places his sight on the green meadows upon him, a dirt road riding atop them. His infancy in Sylvain's forests and adolescence in the walled-up feud little did allow him to appreciate the beauty of his homeland, now his to explore. Swallowing his anxiety, Markus walks towards Lord Constantine's side.

Everad hands a travel sack to his former student and explains the details of his route, as well as something he prepared for him.

"You should have enough to at least make it to Hafaleil. From there, you're on your own."

"Understood" Markus nods completely serious, unlike his usual banter at the lord's expense.

"Remind me, what do you do if you encounter those horrible creatures?"

Beasts of ultramarine flesh and metallic bones, the Faraways prove to be a threat to even military squads. It's already common knowledge that only those armed with the miraculous, golden elixir from the capital, the Deaurum, can face the invasive forces.

"I run for my life in the opposite direction. Unbecoming of a soldier, isn't it?" Markus jokes with a fake smile.

The lord sighs.

"I see you're recovering some insolence. By the by..." one of his hands delves into the tunic's pockets, producing an envelope with the House of Constantine's seal. "This is the notification of Arthur's passing, along with a recommendation letter, addressed to the High Commander himself. With your skills, you can be sure you'll be placed in an elite unit. Maybe even in his personal guard if you play your cards well and behave."

Markus' eyes light up. With everything the Lord of Sylvain had already done for him, he wasn't expecting to add such an important honor as that paper in his hand to the list. The young man receives the envelope dumbfounded with both hands. The paper is immaculate and the seal is still lukewarm; its production couldn't have been earlier than this same morning.

"L-Lord Everad, I—" Markus stumbles with his words.

"None of that, thank me with actions. Become the soldier I know you can be."

Having said that, Everad executes the royal salute, his left fist sliding from the opposite shoulder until resting on top of the heart, and exclaiming the maxim inherited from the Tribe of the Crimson Lion, founders of the kingdom hundreds of years ago.

"Eterna fortus."

Markus breaths in deeply, puffing his chest. The last thing he wants is to disappoint the one he admires the most, followed by his grandfather. He puts away the envelope with extreme care inside the sack and places it on his back, to then imitate the same gesture.

"..."

The hailstorm inside him rests, and his path to a new life begins.