Unable to get to your sister, you head back to a guest room. You mentally note to sneak into the banquet tomorrow and break the news then.
A fleeting part of your mind tries to remember the last time you were invited to a banquet, rather than sneaking in.
I was… six? No, seven. Mira introduced me to another very young girl my age whose name escapes me. She said that I might marry that girl. Interesting how things turn out.
The idea of a forced marriage makes you feel a pit in your stomach.
One you avoided. You rub the stumps of your ring fingers.
Breaking away from your thoughts, you scan the room around you.
Compared to the rooms of the royals, it is no luxury. But to your sore body, it feels like heaven.
You actually like the modest conditions. Anything more luxurious makes you uncomfortable. The beds feel too soft, the rooms too clean. These feelings were much worse right after The War ended.
You hate that you miss it. You hate yourself. But you can't deny it. With The War, you had a purpose, something you lacked in the years before. But you also miss the camaraderie.
You met good people during it all. Good people that died. But you can't change the past.
You shake away the painful thoughts once more.
Refocusing on your goal of rest, you undress down to your undergarments with practiced speed. Not like an experienced lover, but a soldier used to changing clothes and armor in the brief pauses between combat.
Your eyes trace over the multiple scars snaking across your dark-brown skin without a second thought. You've grown accustomed to the sight of them.
Bending down, you retrieve the dagger sheathed in your left boot and place it under your pillow. Some may call it paranoid, having a sword on your belt and a dagger in your boot, but you call it pragmatic.
With an ecstatic sigh, you drop down onto the bed, letting your sore muscles relax. You hadn't even noticed the tension being carried in your shoulders.
You rode hard, and for so long. You're exhausted. So exhausted that you feel consciousness slip from your grasp in seconds.
And you drift off into blissful sleep.
Next
A young woman lies dead, corpse already attracting flies, strewn upon an overturned table. There's a gory mess where her throat used to be. Dried blood soaks the ground around her. The sight is seared into your fifteen-year-old mind.
The state you found her husband in wasn't much better. Three arrow shafts protrude from his back, while a long line of blood trails across his fields. The man had crawled for an agonizingly long time before expiring.
"Marshal," a soldier calls out from behind you, drawing your attention. You turn to face him as he continues. "We's got a lead."
You give him a nod and shuffle out of the farmhouse, letting him take the lead.
Seconds later, you feel as if you've been slammed in the chest. You stumble back, looking down only to see a shaft sticking out of your coat of plates. The arrow went clean through the outer layer of fabric and embedded itself into the steel plate beneath.
Another second passes before the screaming starts. More arrows pour down from the valley. The man with you drops from an arrow in the thigh.
Blood, panic, and shouting. You bark orders that are drowned out by the cries of terrified men. They look to their young commander for strength and assurance.
You can offer none.
You startle back awake.
Next
It would be an overstatement to say you awoke in a cold sweat.
You've had dreams ever since what you saw down there. Most don't faze you, with how desensitized you've become. But there are some that still do.
There are some sights you do not wish to see again.
You quickly get out of bed, readjust your clothing, and take a glance out of the window.
The sun is hanging high in the sky over the rolling green plains of central Kanton, just beyond the city's reach. Your trained eye makes out that it's just past midday.
You frown. You arrived in Wrido during the evening. The realization strikes you. It's the next day.
Cursing your incompetence, you rush to the door, desperate to reach the banquet. Another thought hits you just before you open the door. You need to sneak into a feast; going in dirty riding clothes with a sword at your belt might not be the best option.