Fifteen miles beneath the surface of Rim, stagnant air brushed against the recruit's grim faces as they stood before a large gate of swirling mana. They gulped, tightening their grip around their swords, daggers, rapiers, glaives, and bows, their hearts thumping with forewarning. It would be the first time many would see blood, the first time they'd take a life.
At the helm, Borris stood, his expression hard with a grim sense of duty. On his back, strapped over his surcoat that bore the crest of fire, a greatsword of black iron hung, caged with leather.
"In war, "Borris began, coating his throat with mana so that his voice reached for miles. "There is no such thing as mercy. No such thing as hesitation. Look to your left, and look to your right." His voice thickened. "These are your brothers in arms. Your lifeblood. The ones who will be there to save you when you least expect it. Show them your back, and they'll give you theirs."
