The morning was a somber one, a heavy mist clouding the distant horizon. The column of traveling soldiers were worn to the bone. Only on the third day of their weeklong march, they stumbled along, struggling to keep in time with the cadence.

These sullen men were veterans of the Great War. Being soldiers of the Susurrar Empire, they had emerged victorious only a short time ago. Yet, there was no telling it from the looks of them. Wearing blood-stained rags, they drug their feet in the dirt, and their heads hung low.

Ryoto was one amongst these men. His mind seemed to register no sane thoughts. It merely wandered in the horrors of the past, refusing to allow him to forget.

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An order for rest was called as the sun began to sink from the sky. Ryoto followed after his brothers-in-arms off the main road. Tents were pitched, fires were built, and a small meal of partially molded cheese and stale bread was dealt out to the men.

Having received his ration, Ryoto found a spot at one of the campfires, and unrolled his sleeping mat. Sitting down, he found himself in the company of three other men, who stared silently into the fire. Ryoto was uncomfortable at the silence, but made no attempt at conversation as he gnawed on the bread.

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After a few hours, some of the men drifted off to sleep, but sleep evaded Ryoto that night. His mind was plagued with the events of the past three years. No peace ever rested on his mind.

Restless, Ryoto decided to walk the edges of the camp. He left his spot as quietly as possible, as to not wake any of the sleeping men. A few wandering eyes looked after him, and it felt as if they bore into his soul.

Shuddering, Ryoto continued and shut all thoughts out from his mind. His spirits lifted a fraction as he left the dreary camp. It seemed a weight had lifted from his shoulders. If only he could leave this mess, then everything would be fine. But he couldn't. He was bound to the Empire, having sworn an oath to the Emperor.

It was depressing to think about, but that was the reality of things. Ryoto had known those years ago what he was getting himself into, and now he was suffering the consequences.

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When morning came, the camp was packed up and the soldiers once again filed into a column to continue their tedious march. They were several days away from the Capital, and many men didn't have the willpower to continue.

Ryoto wished he could say differently about himself, but he found himself harboring the same thoughts as many around him. A heavy was weighed on his heart, and it didn't seem as nothing could ever clear it.

All he could do now was push on ahead, and pray things would get better when they arrive at the Capital.