Dominic was considering legacy while standing over his brother's grave.

  It wasn't something he did often. Visiting the grave, that is.

  Dominic thought more than he should about what it meant to be an Everstead

  But that's not what he was here for. Who he was here for.

  Perhaps it said more about him than he would’ve liked that he didn’t have any sort of schedule for visiting to grieve. He never did. Strict adherence to schedule was his way of life– he would be bothered if interrupted.

  He never planned to visit here. Somehow, the interruption never bothered him the way it should’ve.

  He was also not a man prone to drinking– he would drink on occasion, typically scheduled at some point towards the end of the month, a small indulgence of two-to-three glasses of cold whisky shared with his wife in privacy.

  He had brought a bottle of the spirits with him to the grave this time.

  Xerxes was a good man.

  Truthfully, likely better than Dominic. Xerxes had always been the calmer between the two of them. People were fond of calling him cold, but Dominic knew it was never that. Xerxes had never really needed to learn to manage the blood, the screaming, the death. He accepted it as grim reality, and often would be bothered by how others lived unaware of it.

  Dominic had needed to learn because he used to be angry. Angry enough to go off the reservation nearly four decades ago, to raze a labor camp to the ground to save a single woman.

  To plunge the country into war, however brief.

  The only reason he got away with it was because the Everstead Family had been capable enough to almost single-handedly finish what they had started. To be discovered as a diamond in the rough. To show that their penchant for bloody murder was no fluke. That whatever enabled them to leave mass graves where others filled graveyards was passed down from father to son.

  It had also helped that in the eyes of the crown, his only flaw had been to hate too much. To see enemy injustice and rage at it.

  Dominic had never had a sufficient stomach for the violence. Not in the literal sense– but the metaphorical one. He took no pleasure in the cruelty, no satisfaction from crushed bones and frantic screaming. At the end of the day, he had to learn to treat it like a job.

  Grandfather was always fond of that axiom.

  Love what you do, never work a day in your life.

  Dominic was a man who had worked almost every day of his life. It had taken him longer than he would’ve hoped to derive satisfaction from a job well done, if nothing else.

  He never knew if Xerxes was the sort to work, or not. He supposed it didn’t matter. The man was dead, after all. Who knew if the man had enough of a ghost left to haunt him. Who knew if Dominic would have enough of one.

  No, Dominic was not a better man than Xerxes. He was a weaker one, in truth. He had let Xerxes take the duty that ought to have been his, simpering away the responsibility behind self-justification about how it had been years since he had walked a battlefield.

  Perhaps that abstinence had truly been the cause of his weakness.

  He’d fallen out of the need to practice his control.

  He took a deep sip from the whiskey he’d brought along, and said the words that announced the beginning of every visit he’d made to the gravesite for nearly a decade.

  “I should be sorry.”

  It burned on the way down.

  “I should say sorry, too.”

  His silence after that statement always burned more.

  “I suppose there is one thing I am willing to apologize for. That I truly believe I was mistaken in.”

  He poured some alcohol liberally onto the grave.

  “I accused you of not loving. I see now that you only loved too much.”

  He took another sip, as he shared a drink with his brother.

  “At the end of it all, that’s truly our fatal sin, isn’t it? No pastor would declare it such.”

  Wind whistled through the trees, the garden here was always a little overgrown. He had never once complained to the few groundskeepers about their lack of maintenance here.

  “But I’m quite certain of it, now. It is our sin. I was always angry, but never hated enough. You were always empty, and loved too much.”

  Dominic didn’t shed a tear. He hadn’t shed a tear over this grave in years.

  “I’m sorry for saying you didn’t love, dearest brother.”

  “I’m not sorry for thinking you rotten, broken. I’m sorry you had to be.”

  “Maybe I should’ve taken your place.”

  He splashed some drink onto the grave. Let the man whet his throat. Gods knew he went months without a drop, now.

  “...Rosalinde sends me letters, you know?”

  Dominic felt himself laugh a little, genuine. He had always felt close enough to his brother to feel things strongly with the man. Xerxes had always returned the sentiment. They’d be as close to normal people as Eversteads got when they were in the room together.

  “She updates me on Casian, because she knows the boy only sends letters a few sentences long.”

  “Updates me on her life, too.”

  Dominic trailed off, staring at the gravestone.

  “Perhaps I should have brought them, to read to you.”

  He took a breath.

  “...I knew you always had a soft-spot for her. You wanted her to be happy.”

  Dominic snorted, as if he’d been given a joking comment in return.

  “What was it you’d say? That Eversteads were always born strange. You’d always tell a joke about how you’d pile the bodies to the heavens if anyone tried to change that.”

  Dominic took another drink, unable to bear the silence. He wiped his lips after.

  “I think I get it now, brother. It was never a joke, was it? How’d you see it before I did? I was the last to realize in the family.”

  His knuckles grasped the bottle so strongly that he had to restrain himself lest he shatter it in his hands.

  “Light Magic? A blessing?”

  He spat. Not on the grave– to the side. It was a conversation. Not a disrespect.

  “Ha. The Everstead's greatest gifts are always curses, aren’t they?”

  “The blessed few. Twenty six in the world, all at once. No more.”

  He shook his head.

  “Drakonia holds four now. We’ve only two.”

  He poured more on the grave.

  “I wish we only had one, too.”

  He read the gravestone, already knowing what it’d say.

  XERXES EVERSTEAD

  LOVING BROTHER AND UNCLE

  DUTY BEFORE DEATH, DEATH AFTER DUTY.

  “Don’t worry. You aren’t dead yet. I’ve still duty to fulfill, after all.”

  For a moment, Dominic almost felt like he wasn’t standing alone in the small section of the estate dedicated to a graveyard.

  Almost.

  He gave a smile, strained and dying.

  “The role isn’t dead, brother. I know you always believed in it. I believe too.”

  “I just feel like I need to tell you it isn’t gone yet, every time I come here.”

  Xerxes had always argued for his job to remain in peacetime. He’d said it would do no good to let them dull from peace.

  “...I’m sorry for proving your arguments wrong. They weren’t ever right–”

  He took a drink, heavy-handed, trying for once to drown it all out.

  “–No, they weren’t ever right, but you never gave the real reasons, didn’t you? That’s why they’d always seemed so flawed.”

  For a half-second, Dominic almost felt unbearably nauseous. Ready to keel over and vomit into the grass. He let out a brief, single sputtering ha! Into the empty air of the graveyard.

  “Exactly. I knew you had a real reason.”

  He smiled back at the empty air.

  “The fish who stops swimming starts drowning, don’t they?”

  He poured the rest of the bottle into the grass.

  “I’m to leave tomorrow. More fools. Work is busy.”

  He’d hate to see it go to waste.

  —-—

  Battery had not been serving on the guard very long– there had never been plans for him to serve in the first place, but this didn’t mean he was lax. The guard, the crown, had found him, fed him, clothed him. Taught him and made him strong. He owed the crown his life and then some.

  He looked up from where he was sitting on his bunk, to his comrades-in-arms, his fellow knights. The first one he saw was Zap– his new Fiance, technically– sitting on the bunk right across from him.

  He knew her real name, but it truthfully felt like a fake one in comparison to the one they kept to on the job.

  Back in mixed training– he’d gotten along well with her and she’d been enamored with him. He didn’t think he would be getting any more marriages– two was pushing it, he’d been lucky to get that many, but then again, his discipline had never been very useful. Well– it was useful here. He could help people with it, get good work done with it. It was a good feeling.

  Zap was also very pretty– he would not be surprised if the rumors of her being a royal bastard were true. Actually– he would be more surprised if they weren’t. He was a lucky man every time he got the chance to make her laugh, and luckier still for his final marriage being her. Gold-blonde hair cut short in a way that he secretly thought was prettier than the longhaired nobles, with perfect teeth and searing golden eyes.

  Even more privately, it was very nice that he got married to someone in his squad that he got along with– not having to go to bed alone in the field would be exceptionally nice. There’d been consideration of getting rid of a bunk and having them sleep together to save space. She always ran cold.

  He ignored the thought that he’d not been trained to sleep in the field to begin with– he couldn’t change the past, and he could only go where he was commanded to.

  He did think it was a shame that his talent for her discipline was so poor, though. He hadn’t had any time to properly learn it yet, and it was exceptionally slow going. She took to his like a fish to water, at least. It made him happy to share something so close with her.

  Screen was sitting at a nearby table in the cramped barracks, checking over gear while already equipped in his, helmet off and sitting on the table. Making sure the runes they’d gotten on their gear from the Enhantria’s family worked fine. They’d normally be stationed at the Academy to run a protection detail there, but they’d been shuffled out to do some work.

  Screen had been– strange, recently. The heavyset, deeply olive-skinned man, despite being built like a brick house was in reality the biggest worrier out of all of them, and whatever order’s he’d received as the squad lead had him wound up and excited. This wasn’t the first time he’d been going over gear– it was likely well beyond his tenth, or twentieth.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  He remembered meeting the Tidebourne baron and baroness as they welcomed the Guard for their work, not that they had told them what their work was. They had offered them rooms, and Screen had told them they would prefer to take a spare barracks room for the City Guard. They’d polished their boots three times since the start of the week when they’d been stationed at Calbruth.

  He didn’t think he’d ever wear boots this clean when he was a boy. Too much coal dust, he could vaguely remember.

  Screen turned to him, deep and strong voice being offset by how he sounded like such a mother hen, voice being painted widely over with anxiety. His title being Screen did fit, he felt. “Battery- go get Vigil. I need everyone back here.” His fingers danced over Vigil’s equipment, a set of twelve custom knives that must’ve been unbelievably expensive. He felt pride– he shared gear of that same quality.

  Where was Vigil? She always cottoned off somewhere and stuffed herself in hiding. He was almost convinced the reason he’d been assigned to this squad at all was her– someone had to be able to find the street-rat turned Royal Guard who’d been picked up a bit too late to kick the habits they’d picked up. He certainly had no issues with her habits if it meant it got him to here, and now.

  He’d go find her as much as was ever asked of him, gladly.

  He reached out with his discipline, imagining Vigil’s face. Scrunched up nose, brown eyes and dirty black hair, a mousy woman who had more fight than an ox, almost always with faint flecks of dust on her from trying to stuff herself into some new hiding place.

  Then he saw what he’d always called the Thread. He could almost feel his discipline asking– walkable, projectile path? Through obstructions or not through them? He looked for a footpath, going around obstructions. He could potentially specify other conditions, but those were always the required ones, not the optional ones.

  He saw it– almost. It was like he was viewing the path to her on a map, but at the same time, he could see the path, in its totality, like he was an outside observer of a lit path in a dark room. He was glad that he could talk about the experience with Zap– he had always found it to be a little confounding to see so much at once, and she had agreed. He could feel how the path spat out a bit of an impossibility at the end, notifying him, but he dismissed it.

  He just needed to get close, not literally close enough to touch her.

  “Yes, sir.” Battery followed orders. Zap looked at him, clearly unsure at him leaving, looking for instruction. He judged the distance of his Thread.

  Battery used the guard sign language that he was still trying to get the hang of.

  Here, Hold, Four minutes.

  She frowned, and looked to Screen before opening her mouth. “I don’t see why–”

  Screen’s response was quick, curt, and automatic. The definition of rote. Which wasn’t a surprise, given that this was a common occurrence anytime this happened.

  “Zap. It’s against regs to get separated too much. The only reason Vigil gets away with it is because she asks for forgiveness instead of permission–”

  Zap seemed to gear herself to sit up.

  “–and I’m not dealing with two people doing it. Vigil’s is a learned habit. A bad one. If you do it on purpose I’m going to come down on you much harder.”

  Zap frowned in a pout, before opening her mouth–

  Screen cut her off. “No. That’s final. Battery can disappear for five. You’ll live.”

  “Fine.”

  While Battery wasn’t fond of separating from Zap either– she always took it harder. She’d once admitted that it felt like the sun went out when he was gone, which had been touching.

  Vigil had always been very good at being independent, for a member of the guard.

  He knew Screen had a thing for her and it drove him up the wall. Although given how the two were, the thing was clearly mutual. Shame they’d both already been married. They’d probably kill for the chance to make it more official– couldn’t be openly involved with one another lest they offend the nobles they’d been married to. Even being bachelors would be better. It was practically tragic.

  He found her at the entrance to the meal hall of the Calbruth guard, sat perched splayed out on the rafters, looking out. He called out-

  “Vigil! No more watching. Screen’s calling for a meet.”

  The familiar woman’s head snapped to him before she dropped soundlessly to the ground, startling quite a few of the city guards near out of their chairs. She made her way to him. She stared at him, a fair bit shorter than him- but he had always been a bit on the taller and lankier side. Her hands flashed through a few signs.

  Me? Hold, Don’t Understand.

  He was thankful that Vigil was always happy to help him practice Royal Combat Signs, or the RC’s, as most of the guard called them. He hadn’t had as much time to get used to them in the field– he’d been assigned to them as his first squad, and from the looks of it, they’d be a permanent one.

  He responded in kind.

  Leader, Message, Listen.

  He didn’t know what Screen was going to be speaking about, but hopefully it would shed light on why he’d been on edge. She tapped her forearm with two fingers in return.

  Understood.

  As she walked with him, he signed to her, the most important sign being a rising gesture, the one that belonged to his second discipline.

  You, Healing?

  She gave him a thumbs up that quickly tilted to its side and wobbled there briefly.

  Yes, nonessential.

  He held out an arm as they walked that she placed her forearm in. He pulled on his healing discipline, from his first marriage– for what you could call it that, he had shown up, been taught, then shuffled out, one of a lucky few, then divorced immediately, which was unusual, as most of the time they would just marry you twice if it was a light magic wielder– and pulsed it.

  He was granted a brief glimpse into her body– her health.

  Small scuffs on her hands and knees, and a small amount of full-body-magic-strain that was both physical and nonphysical. The distant understanding that she was as short as she was because of a history of malnutrition growing up. She’d likely been climbing in the rafters and hanging there for some time, using her discipline to watch.

  Healing was the discipline he had the most practice in by now– despite it not being his inborn one, it was simply far too useful. He was also typically better at healing others more than himself. He healed the scuffs and scrapes first, then moved on to the strain. He couldn’t do much of anything about long-term issues. Things like lung diseases could be handled by healing magic, but long term afflictions caused by weakness or lack in the body couldn’t be undone.

  He supposed, in theory, it’d be possible for someone to heal themselves enough to lessen the strain of healing magic to effectively cast without cost– but he hadn’t met anyone who believed it would be practically possible, except maybe within a locked room and with a handful of stimulants to enhance focus. Nobody to his knowledge in the guard had achieved it, either, but one day he hoped to.

  To heal without stopping– he could probably ask the crown to send him out to temples and hospitals and they would agree. It was a common fantasy for him, roaming from city to city with Zap at his side, helping the citizens of the kingdom that had helped him so much.

  The fantasy used to just be him on his lonesome– but the thought of not being within yelling distance of Zap was already unthinkable. They hadn’t really properly separated since he joined the guard.

  Still– he was very practiced in using healing magic, and the strain was negligible. They walked the rest of the way in silence, before they reentered the guard barracks that had been cleared out for them.

  Zap visibly brightened when he entered, and he smiled back, before walking to her side at her bunk and taking a seat next to her. She knocked her leg against his and kept it there. Vigil instead chose to walk her way to stand near Screen, and when she passed by his bunk, he noticed her slip an… orange into his pack?

  Vigil always was a strange one. She continued smoothly past Screen’s pack before making her way to Screen, standing not quite in his personal space, but floating in and out of it as she not quite paced but definitely did not stand still, with short, constant low shifting steps that were always silent.

  Screen was just doing the finishing checks on everyone’s gear, it seemed- Vigil’s gear was always checked last, as she had the most.

  Screen’s hands darted over the last chestplate, slim and lithe, making sure no leather was worn, no sigils on the inside too faded– enchanted sigils could be made invisible, but it made checking if they were functional or not a pain, so they were typically put somewhere that would not often see the light of day. Finally, he was satisfied. He turned to regard everybody, eyes lingering on Vigil just a bit longer than the rest of them.

  “Alright– everybody, we’ve been reassigned for an important mission, straight from the crown.”

  That got everyone’s attention.

  “Sometime later today, we’re all gearing up after this conversation– let me be very clear.” He said that last portion with a pointed stare at Vigil. She tended to go out of gear most often– said it was too loud. Screen tended to allow it. And by allowing it– Vigil would blatantly disobey him and he didn’t see her seriously punished for it. “Another member of the Royal Guard will be coming to take command of our squad.” Screen didn’t sound very displeased about it, either.

  That got sounds of discontent from Vigil.

  Her voice came out soft, and small, but indignant. She always managed to sound harmless without trying. “Who’s so special that they’d just take command of us? We do good work.”

  When Screen spoke next, it was with an almost childlike level of excitement and enthusiasm. “Axe.”

  Zap made a sound in her throat. “Axe? I thought he wasn’t real?” She continued, “I mean– a single Guardsman who is the personal executioner of the crown? Seems a bit more like a fairytale than reality, no?”

  Screen turned to her, eyes almost sparkling. “That’s what I thought, too! But– no, apparently he’s real. And we’ve been deemed good enough to work for him!”

  He saw Vigil, hovering outside of his view, blatantly bring her hands to her face in exasperation. His voice lost most of the excitement as he continued. “And we will be on our best behavior, make no mistakes. We’re on the job starting now.”

  Battery wasn’t sure if the last bit was about them being on their best behavior, or a literal command to make no mistakes. Knowing Screen, it was both. Battery spoke up. “...Who is Axe? I didn’t hear about him in training.”

  Zap made to speak up, but Screen gestured to her, clearly asking can I?

  Zap nodded no. She might’ve just wanted to explain it to him. It could've also been petty revenge for not letting her go with him earlier. Battery felt himself frown for a half-second, before dismissing it. Zap had only been good to him– he doubted she would be so insubordinate.

  Vigil just sighed in relief at avoiding Screen’s… celebrity worship?

  Zap started speaking, making a soft sound of understanding at him. “Ah, right. You went through individual training late because of the arrangement for your light magic.” Battery nodded. “He was…” she seemed to trail off a little, looking for the right words. “A firelight story. A legend passed around by the guard. Sometimes a joke.” Zap continued.

  “Another Royal Unit defeats a group of bandits and nobody is owning up to it? Must’ve been Axe. An entire smuggling ring dismantled overnight without a single living witness? Axe.” Zap began to grin, clearly finding some humor in what she was saying.

  “A nobleman goes missing right before he can flee the country with stolen secrets? Axe. A duel meant for first blood somehow ends up with a man mysteriously losing his sword hand? Axe.”

  She leaned forward, her voice almost taking a gentle, teasing tone. “There’s even a story about an entire fortress just… going silent one night. Perfectly fine and active one day, then overnight, full of nothing but corpses. Guess who got the credit?”

  Battery squinted at her. “That’s absurd!”

  “Yes, very much so!” Zap agreed. “That’s part of the fun– I heard a story once, even, about how someone saw him take a direct hit from a ballista bolt. Said he just snapped the shaft and kept walking. That he doesn’t need to sleep, just stands in the royal hallways, entirely still, waiting for someone to say the wrong thing.” Zap turned to Screen.

  “Or, rather, I’d thought it was fun. You’re telling me he’s real?”

  Screen gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Yes– he is.”

  Vigil groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “I hate this. I hate everything about this. This sounds like bad news.”

  Screen patted her awkwardly on her arm, clearly unsure of how to comfort her when this news had excited him so much. “I asked one of the more senior handlers about it– because I wasn’t sure if a joke was being played on us, and you know what they said?” He leaned in, voice dropping slightly. “‘Don’t worry about it.’”

  Battery furrowed his brow. “That’s… not an answer.”

  “Exactly.” Screen grinned. “That’s when I knew it was true. Nobody would miss the chance to joke about a legend unless they’d been ordered to.” Or to make fun of him for asking if the orders about a storytime character being the person they would be working for were real or not.

  Zap clicked her tongue. “So, what do we actually know? If he’s real, then there has to be something concrete.”

  Screen began. “He’s personally sanctioned by the crown. He has the authority to execute enemies of the state without trial.”

  Zap gave a low whistle, he watched her teeth flash with the motion. “That explains the name, at least.”

  Silence reigned.

  Zap spoke up. “Is that all you know?” She sounded a little incredulous.

  “That’s all I know for sure. I have other assumptions, but that’s the only thing I was told in my commands from the crown.” Screen started again.

  Vigil spoke up, annoyed and suspicious, reprimanding. “Smokey. What are your assumptions?” He watched as Screen flinched at the nickname and the tone in combination with one another.

  Screen quickly spoke, seeking forgiveness. “I’d guess he’s one of the longest-serving Royal Guards still active. Nobody knows when he was inducted– the stories go back a long while.”

  Zap hummed. “That’s suspicious.”

  Battery added in, supporting her. “It’s vague, too.”

  Screen responded. “Suspiciously vague.”

  Vigil threw her hands up at him. “Why do you sound excited about that?”

  Battery still felt skeptical. “If he’s so secretive, how do we even know it’s the same person? Not just a title passed down?”

  Zap nodded to him. “That is a solid theory, but still– how do you pick out who will be the next Axe?”

  She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. It was an interesting question, but she was right– it wasn’t the time to consider it. “Regardless, I can’t say I’m thrilled about working under a living legend, but we will soon find out what they are like, won’t we?”

  Vigil muttered something under her breath, before speaking louder. “Fine. As long as he doesn’t try to give a dramatic monologue about duty and sacrifice. I already serve the crown.”

  Zap snorted. “What are the odds?” Battery frowned as wondered if she got those sorts of speeches often, being a bastard. He knew she was a loyal sort, if she did then he’d be taking the time to ask Vigil for help with some pranks.

  At that moment, a heavy knock rapped against the door. The squad turned in unison, immediately all business. He saw Screen flash a few hand signals at Vigil lightning quick. Pointing at her, the door, then shifted his hands to the shape of an eye. She immediately tapped against her forearm with two fingers, and they all stood in tense silence for a moment. Screen took the time to don his helmet.

  Then, finally, after a second that felt like it stretched on far too long in Battery’s opinion, she raised an arm diagonally up to her chest.

  Screen turned to all of them, grasping the air in front of his chest before yanking it upwards in a lifting motion, and flashing another few signs.

  Gear up, I, Speak.

  Battery felt himself tap his forearm with two fingers, and absently noted both Zap and Vigil do the same. He went to go collect his gear from where Screen had been inspecting it earlier today and immediately began fastening it all. Screen immediately slipped out the door.

  It took him around 8 minutes, by his best guess, and he was typically good at keeping time– he occasionally had to pause in the process of donning his own armor to assist either Vigil or Zap, and they did the same for him. Vigil had been done first, in a slight rush– she was the most closely armored, but with lighter materials to enable her to move faster.

  A bandolier of 10 straight-edged throwing knives were on her chest, with two knife holsters on the inside of her forearm. He knew by experience that each knife had a neat, engraved number on the pommel, 1 through 12.

  Zap was done last– she was the one with the second heaviest armor. As he helped Zap fasten the final straps on her armor, he saw Vigil turn her head to the door and pause, still in focus for a moment, before turning back to him impatiently. He finished securing Zap’s armor.

  Vigil pointed at him as soon as he was done, motion fast, going through signs lightning quick.

  You, Scry, Screen, Status?

  He tapped his forearm twice. He imagined Screen, the bastion of a man, creating selectively permeable barriers and flooding rooms with black, hungry smoke. The man who he slept next to, fought next to.

  He saw the Thread, and looked for a footpath lacking obstruction. He saw the edges of guards that his path moved around, the worn wood and the uneven lighting casted by torches on scones in the walls. He saw the two right turns, the left turn, and the additional right and left turn after that.

  Screen was okay. Just talking with someone out of sight of the path. He tapped a finger to his heart before pushing it out, and Vigil immediately relaxed. Battery made a few additional signs as he began walking to the door.

  Healthy, Everyone, Come here.

  Battery continued down the path that his mind presented to him, and Zap saddled up close to him. Normal city guards parted in their path like they were stones parting a river. She tapped him once, before performing a rise motion with her hand and then pointing to herself. Battery grabbed her forearm and–

  Her body was as beautiful as ever. Powerful and strong. Unharmed. No magical strain. She had no longstanding afflictions, no weaknesses.

  She had none of the minor levels of bodily weakness present in most Guards by their childhood food scarcity– or rather, to a scarcity of an excess of meats and hearty foods that made you strong. There was something awe-inspiring about her complete and utter health. She didn’t need any healing. Battery shot Zap a confused look. Zap sent him a final sign of a half-crescent with her hand, pointing upwards. Half of a heart.

  Thanks.

  That’s how Battery was going to interpret that, in order to remain focused. He mindlessly flashed the same sign back, and felt Zap grab on his arm and lean into him as they walked. He shortened his strides, slightly, so she would not have to rush.

  It was an automatic behavior at this point.

  Vigil hovered around them, stepping forward in bursts and pausing while obviously inspecting the world around them. Impatient. She always was when Screen wasn’t with her or she wasn’t on the prowl.

  It did not take long to reach Screen– going outside of the barracks and taking a few turns to go further down the path– who had found an out-of-the way storage room that had seemingly not been used in some time from the looks. Battery knocked three times, twice quick, then a beat of waiting, and a final knock. The door was opened for them shortly after by Screen, and they all piled in. He heard a clanking sound, almost a heavy, solid rustle.

  It was then that Battery saw Axe for the first time.

  The man– if you could even describe him as such, did not wear typical Royal Guardsmen armor. He was… big. For lack of a better way to describe him.

  Screen was a large man, he knew, standing around 6’5– or near two meters as the Drakonians would call it– and Axe was bigger. Taller. Wider. His armor was… dark– not a dark that ate light, a dark grey, a near black, something he swore he recognized.

  He could briefly almost see flashes of something green underneath, as well as what he almost wanted to say was obsidian. He didn’t have the typical Royal Reds of their armored uniforms, instead he had a metal plate that rested on his shoulder with an engraved insignia of the crown.

  He was covered, head to toe, in chains. Not metal chains, but heavy chains made of the same material as the armor, that– the longer he inspected… Battery had once been a child in a mining town named Richard, a lifetime ago, before training had washed it all away. Gods above, was that granite? Who in their right mind would make armor out of granite? Why would they cover it in shackles? As the man shifted with their arrival, he could hear a heavy clunk-cunk-chunk-ing, gigantic stone loops– chains more fit to be on a shipyard than anything else– of granite crashing into one another.

  The sight of him invoked some primal aspect of Battery’s mind, and he briefly fought the urge for his legs to grow weaker before discipline set in. He could feel Zap’s grip on his arm briefly tightening, becoming intensely strong.

  It was his helmet. It wasn’t a normal helmet. It moved, horns jutting above it. The entire affair was set into two sides on the left and right, two smooth surfaces that shifted, shapes poking out from underneath it like objects breaking water. Battery swore he saw fingers reaching through the front of the helmet. What almost looked like faces. Constantly smoothing out as if they were pushed back underneath. People drowning being pulled under the waterline by some terrible monster.

  Then, resting in the man’s hands, was what would be a comically large weapon in Battery’s hands, but instead seemed like it belonged to him, was an axe. A diamond white edge that flashed in the light with a head made of a mix between obsidian-like glass and basalt mixing like paints.

  Axe stared at them, impassive.

  Zap slipped away from him, and Battery– almost instinctively, felt himself lower into a bow and brought an arm diagonally up to his chest with a clink of armored plates hitting one another. She followed him a moment after, then Vigil followed suit.

  It, technically, was a salute reserved for the crown, but– Battery thought– if he worked with the full authority of the crown, that meant he outranked them to the same degree. It would be appropriate.

  Less than a moment later, he heard and saw Axe thunk a hand against his chest in a similar salute, less formal, not as tight– the informal greeting of the guard.

  Then Axe spoke, a deep, furious rumbling sound, voice identifiable but with a definitive second sound alongside it, a quiet and constant rumbling and crushing of stone, like his words were enough to break his armor to pieces. As if his words were somehow dangerous– that the armor was made to contain him, more than protect him.

  “Good. You’re here.”