“Colt?” Arminius hurried over.
The mediator gave way and Calenzo took his hands off the table, having been toyed with from the beginning by his rival but was too thick-skulled to realize it until then. Looking up at Arminius, an old friend approaching, Colt had sensed an aura about him that belonged not to the classmate he knew. It whispered the stories of a spirit who knew to fight for every means to survive. His body had been riddled with burn marks and scars, from hunts and scavenges, to odd fights and accidents. Arminius’s right arm, in its entirety, uncovered by his white undershirt, had been seared from shoulder to hand which had botched an attempt to regrow skin. Two armor plates were wrapped around his two mutilated fingers, poorly designed and hammered into shape by the boy himself. Such a small body carried such weighty history, he had suffered much. Typically, he would have been made fun of, but since the grim days that he had underwent in the months that they had not seen each other, Colt could not even spew a single joke.
The corners of Colt’s mouth turned with a brief bitter awkwardness, “Looks like you didn’t manage to get away…”
But a gladdened smile appeared from Arminius’s eyes when he assured, “It’s alright.”
When his vision revealed to him once more their quarters around him, a titan had ambushed them, towering over. From beneath, Arminius looked up, where it appeared as if his head was scraping the ceiling, he cautiously withdrew ever so slowly. The cadet was even taller than he had imagined from when he caught a glimpse him during the induction parade. It was expected that he was tall, but his height exceeded his expectations. His gleaming pupils bore upon him and his hair was like the crashing waves of a beach. There he was portrayed like a print of the sun god.
“Oy, ya know dis knob?” Interrupting their reunion, Calenzo marched up in a brutish manner.
Shaving a simple glance at Colt behind the imposing figure, he could not help but watch his clumsiness color into fruition. Who had dunked his mug into a bucket and raised it onto the table, Colt struck his elbow against an edge and spilt over a good portion of the stream’s blessings. As usual, he began with a throw of hands and a sigh before a few foreign curses were muttered.
Arminius returned with a chuckle behind a reply and shake of his head, almost bursting out in laughter, “Yeah, unfortunately…”
When he composed himself and found enough control to restrain his immature humor, Arminius raised his head to meet, eye to eye, with the brute. Never did he seem slighter than those who were taller, but never did he look down upon anyone who were shorter. With genuinity, he reached out a hand to greet, whose aura, untainted by anything, calmed Calenzo. It perhaps did alter his thoughts of him too as the older cadet’s breath grew quieter and more respecting.
“Arminius Reichner.” He introduced with a glow of kindness. “Pleasure to meet you.”
The cadet offered back in a second of normalcy when his desire to wage war subsided, “Gin Calenzo.”
Their shake of hands was not too strong, but neither gave an impression of weakness. As each had granted their introduction, a cadet joined in the rounds of greetings. Around the shoulder of the taller comrade, the mediator peered over him, tip toeing to reveal his face of curiosity. But also to play a game of exaggeration against Gin’s imposing height and build.
“Are we saying our names then?” The neutral party came around and asked.
The cadet was a boy of a similar age to the younger and had always been noticed because of a feature that would be spoke of at every family gathering. He was rather rather tall too for his age, standing next to Gin who was two years his senior, there was only a difference of half a head between the two, and his physique was not disproportionate. His face was unscarred, unlike most around him, and kept to maintain his own appearance that he cared so much for. Like Arminius, he bore the features of both the west and east, though they looked unlike the other, in shape and in color. Fair and round amber eyes gazed on with a slight shine. His black hair was pin straight and natural, but it gave an impression that he was paler than he really was. Whatsoever more, despite his playfulness in his act, the air about him could not be discerned between reality and pretense. Before everyone, he was often unwilling to show everything that defined himself. Trapped on the front lines between deceit and humbleness, none could tell which was true.
“Lev Hayek’s the name.” The mediator let them know.
It was a Rus name, pure and through. Among the little band of cadets stationed in their corner, their attentions perked, but tried not to make such a big fuss out of a name. Still, knowing that a Rus was in their midst, whom they would have to call a comrade for the next two years at least, it was slightly unsettling, except to Arminius. Undistracted by such simple matters such as nationality and the origins of his name, he bowed instead of offering a shake of hands, to who stuttered from the surprise of not having seen this greeting in a while. Lev returned the gesture and bowed greatly lower.
“And who’s da lil one?” Gin pointed at the boy who had hid for all this time behind Arminius.
Shying away, it did not seem like his old self had ever worn off after all. Shocked to see a finger pointed at himself, Julien came forward, out of the darkness from sorting through his instruments and belongings, as his timidness stumbled out before all who waited for his introduction.
“Julien Carlstadt,” Julien spoke modestly with the heaviest accent of the squad. “Nice to meet you all.”
But it never stopped Gin who marched towards him, menacingly, though without ill intentions, and projected his thrill to meet new folk, only to be expressed in a violent manner.
He grabbed Julien’s hand and shook it aggressively, pulling the poor child back and forth until every tendon in his body had been torn. “Pleas’d ta meet ya!” Gin shouted, however polite in his own way.
“I thought girls weren’t allowed in here.” Lev slipped in and teased with the first words that came to him.
“Wha—” Julien was stopped short from a response, broken was his mind from what he had heard.
Embarrassed, whose face had reddened, he allowed himself to be crowded by jokes and laughter, though when Lev pushed past Gin, like a walking skyscraper looming over, it was clear that he meant every good. The Rus praised his looks to no end that served only to frighten Julien more, and when Lev had taken a breath from all the chatter, and the rattling of his lungs was believed to have halted, an essay of questions followed. Unwanting to be looped into the endless words, Arminius weaved open his way and escaped, letting Julien drown however he liked, without the behavior of a savior that never suited him anyways.
Around the table that the squad had decided to mark as their own, there was one chair that had not been taken, spun around with its back facing a window. Arminius brought his hand on its spine and tugged it closer to him before he took a seat with his arms wrapped around the chair. Beside, Colt, who had fixed his own drink and cleared up his spillage, he glanced at his comrade before returning to his mug. Knowing well that his friend wanted to speak, he kept quiet and allowed him to ask.
“What made you join?” Arminius released his question into the wild, but would never be bothered if his friend never answered.
Bringing his hands around his mug, Colt tipped his head and stared at the rippling reflections. As the nonsense noise grew and laughter circled around them, two cadets sat in contemplation.
With such a broad answer, he expected the other to know, “Same reason as you did.”
The eifer in his blood streams was transferred from his heart to his hands. There was no glow nor a song of energy. Containing his power with maximized control over a slightest release of eifer from his overflowing reservoir, it was difficult to perform such an action with the immaculate precision that he displayed. Focused on the water in his mug, his eifer began to spin its earthly minerals into a whirlpool of currents. From bottom to top, and top to bottom, it cycled. Heat was discovered and steam rose. No one else saw this feat, besides Arminius who stayed unfazed.
“What would that be?” Arminius dared to return as if he knew nothing.
In confusion, Colt turned to his friend, who sat without an ounce of seriousness. When he realized that it had been a little success into an adventure of sarcasm, a chuckle alleviated their talks as he took a sip of his warmed drink. Arminius let off a slight smile, looking out the window in admiration of the view that they had been gifted for free in exchange for their voluntary service. The forest was vast, stretching on into the distance, the summer night was nearing its pinnacle yet the sky was still as bright as noon. Soon, the heavens became a purplish orange, with streaks of clouds, light and formations of birds gliding and ready to nest. To rest for the coming days in preparation for calamity.
Vestige V
Extract from The Six Seasons, Mvt. IV
Late Summer: The Annals of the Third Calamity, Sect. II
Since the creation of a new world order that Kennedy molded from his wisdom, states began to war against their neighbors. But there was an ambitious crown that suffered most. The Commonwealth of Alben and the Isles. An island nation who had long bullied those around them with their seafaring army far greater than any who came second. There was no comparison between the Alber and the next force who followed. It was why Alben became a melting pot of peoples around the world. No matter where or how far one was, they were certain to have heard of the safe haven that was Alben. This title belonged only to this nation until the year of four hundred and seventy-one.
With just a few thousands, ten thousand at most, the combined armies of Dannen and Norwezhen invaded, hoping to establish a new commonwealth around their home sea. Under the command of their generation’s god of war, Hannes Frederik, they hopped from island to island, pillaging, raping, garrisoning, and stealing the authority of the lands which the Alber had struggled to maintain, until they descended upon the fort that sealed the northern passage into the core of the country. Two armies met in a pitched battle. But it was mistake that lost the Alber the war and their faithful city of Ekkleßin. There was always a reason why they would prioritize their navy over their army and that reason had just been proven. Now the prey of her neighbors around them, the commonwealth was reduced to a single island surrounded by old and new enemies. There needed to be a way to defend the kingdoms who pay tribute to the realm’s capital, but as any old foolish king would do, he drafted a plan that was no less a blight than a plague was.
The White Band was formed. A sad excuse to inflate their armies’ numbers. With promises that the untrained young, already in their adolescence or teenage years, would become the foundations of an elite guard. But that never came to be. There were always wars to be fought. Battles to be lost. Many found themselves incapacitated by the terrors of war, and those who would survive would become cannon fodder. Of all who were once White Bands, ninety percent would be killed within a year after graduation, and by the time of their fifth year in service, it was unlikely that three percent would still be alive. Whilst her enemies have trained their children since the moment they have learned how to run, Alben lazed.
— Lycoris
