By day, I was the Warden's Steward, running the prison I had, for such a long time, called home. The workshops, now my domain, ran with the relentless, grinding efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Bricks emerged from the kilns, uniform and strong. The tannery's stench was lessened by lime and logic. Grain was milled, tools were accounted for, and waste was a forgotten concept. I had built a kingdom of order, a testament to my competence, but my heart was a ruin. The image of the small, wooden bird on that patch of barren earth walked with me constantly.
The Warden summoned me to his office. He stood by the window, looking out over the walls toward the city.
"It's starting to fray," he said, his voice tight. "An Imperial Legion approaches and the people know. The merchants are hoarding grain. The guards are taking bribes in broad daylight. There are whispers of families fleeing north. That chaos will spill over my walls, Nadim. I need you focused." He turned from the window, his gaze hard and assessing. "Your systems are the only thing between me and a full-scale riot. Whatever haunts you, put it aside. I am paying for your competence, not your sorrow."
His words were a statement of fact, but the question behind them burned in my mind. A full Legion? For what? A show of force was one thing, but a siege train meant conquest. It made no sense.
The Warden's eyes flickered with a thought. "When I was a logistics officer, we ran an exercise. Our supplies were low, and a thousand men would go a month without rations or die in the snow. My captain came to me and said, 'Soldier, you can't feed the men if you can't feed yourself.' I was the one who went hungry. I had to focus. You have to focus, Nadim."
I found my way to the infirmary. The air was thick with the smell of poultices, but it was the sound that stopped me: a dry, hacking cough, a desperate, rasping fight for air.
Elias was propped up on a cot, frighteningly thin. When the coughing fit subsided, he took a shuddering breath, a faint bluish tint to his lips. The dust of the grindstones had become a part of him, slowly turning his lungs to stone.
He saw me and managed a weak smile. "Nadim. Come. Tell me of the world outside."
I sat beside him. "The city is afraid," I said. "The Warden says a Legion is coming. Why, Elias? Why would the Empire send an army to raze a city that pays it tribute? It's illogical. The cost in men and gold would be immense, for no gain."
He looked at me, his eyes clouded with a deep, weary sadness. "You think like a builder, Nadim," he rasped, his voice a fragile whisper. "You see the world in terms of profit and loss, sense and waste." He was interrupted by another wracking cough that left him breathless. When he could speak again, his eyes held a distant focus, as if seeing a ghost I could not. "But kings and emperors do not. They see the world in terms of honor and insult. An empire is not a workshop. It is a faith. And our King… our King has committed intolerable blasphemy."
The words were a riddle I couldn't solve. I put my hand on his and shook my head in confusion.
"The Empire values its reputation above all else. The only thing the Emperor truly fears is being seen as weak. The King spat on the very ground the Emperor's authority stands upon. You think in terms of economics, but the Emperor thinks in terms of strength. And a reputation cannot be bought back once it has been lost. It can only be taken back—in blood."
Before I could ask more, his eyes fluttered closed, his body surrendering to exhaustion. I left, the sound of his labored breathing echoing in my ears.
Kael was waiting for me in the training yard, eyes fixed on the practice dummies, his staff cutting through the air with a hiss. He didn't stop his drill when I approached.
"The Warden told me," he growled. "Forget why they're coming. It doesn't matter. What matters is how they will fight." He tossed a weighted practice sword at my feet. "Show me your discipline, boy."
I picked up the wooden rod, feeling its familiar balance in my hand. I had practiced with Kael many times over our history, but he had never asked me to fight with a blade.
"This Legion," I began, my voice a tentative question. "You think they will stop outside the walls?"
Kael's staff lashed out, catching me hard on the shin. The pain was sharp but expected. It did not break my concentration. I parried with the weighted sword and slid back, fluidly adopting the stance Kael had taught me since my first day in the prison: low, guarded, and ready to spring. I had heard him bark orders and describe tactics so many times I could not remember a time before them. It was a language I knew as well as my own.
"Stop asking stupid questions," he snarled. "Think like a soldier. The Legion has a doctrine. They will attack the city. They will use the urban environment to their advantage. Every alley is an ambush. Every rooftop is a firing position. You can't predict where they will strike. All you can control is your own discipline."
He pressed his attack, forcing me back. "They will use the high ground. They will use fire to drive you from cover. They will use flanking maneuvers and disciplined squads, one providing covering fire while the other moves to surround you. They will show no mercy to civilians—an old man with a knife is still a threat. They will kill the wounded where they lie." His staff jabbed, finding openings in my defense, striking my ribs, my shoulder, my thigh—hard, punishing blows. "Politics is a luxury for men who are not about to be butchered. Your grief is a luxury. All that matters is survival."
He finally knocked the staff from my grasp. I stood, heaving, my body a map of fresh bruises.
"My sister is dead," I snarled.
"Yes," Kael said, his face unreadable. "And if you do not learn to fight in the chaos that is coming, you will join her."
He tossed the staff back to me. "Again."
That night, I lay on my cot, every muscle aching. I was trapped between a mystery I couldn't understand and a brutal reality I could not escape. Elias's words about priests and sacred promises churned in my mind, a puzzle with missing pieces. But Kael's lesson was brutally simple. The why was irrelevant. The how was everything. And the how was coming for us all.