Dawn came with the sound of cheers and jubilation.

Having finished brushing his teeth, John stumbled to the window, where Ronnie and Jessica were already watching the festivities.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he squeezed himself into the gap between the two.

Outside the window and across the street, a procession was taking place. Thousands of soldiers in various states of disrepair were marching across the broad streets of Camp Verdant, their formation winding across the entire base like a massive golden snake. At the forefront was a young woman whose golden eyes and hair seemed to glow in the gloomy weather. A wide smile plastered on her face, she bore a massive flag with a golden sickle and sword crossed over each other in her hands, waving it around as if it were a toy.

Loud, festive music blared all over, and the gathered soldiers welcomed the returning forces with cheers, flowers and plenty of spilled alcohol.

“Lady Miranda Frumentum has returned victoriously with the heads of hundreds Ardensi!” Jessica shouted with sparkles practically bursting out of her eyes. “I heard they managed to decimate them in the last battle. Thousands died, apparently. They even managed to capture some bigshot. Some kinda royalty or whatever.”

Looking closer, John indeed discovered that the lowest fifth of the snake was composed of bound men and women, hobbling along with what he presumed to be gloomy faces. They were too far away to make them out clearly, but they didn’t seem to be too wounded, for that matter.

“Amazing, I guess. But how many wounded will they be bringing with them?” Ronnie interjected.

Looking at the sheer number marching soldiers, John made an estimation that didn’t sound good at all. Hundreds, perhaps? Hopefully their workload wouldn’t increase too much. Just a single ward was already enough to drive him crazy.

“Not too many. Two or three hundred at best,” came the voice of their teacher.

The trio flinched simultaneously. “Don’t worry, this is a wonderful occasion. We’ve beaten the Ardensi back and secured a significant portion of the Scarlet Plains at the same time,” he continued without heeding their reactions. “Well, I guess this also means more work for you, but this is a small price to pay. Now hurry up and go downstairs, we’ll join the festivities whilst they last.”

John turned around as quickly as he could, but there seemed to be no sign that the old man had ever been present. “I swear I’m gonna learn how to do that too,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Stop talking to yourself and hurry up!” Jessica shouted from the doorway. Ronnie was standing next to her, giving him the best urgent look his eyes could muster.

They rushed down together, finally joining the bigger group below, where impatient soldiers were already urging them to hurry up. Setting off, they joined one of many streams of people rushing over to watch the proceedings. Once they got closer, they managed to secure some of the closest places to the procession by virtue of their teacher. The old man only needed to flash them the badge hanging on his chest and the people, regardless of whether they were soldiers or civilians, would respectfully make way.

“Ohmygods, ohmygawds, that’s the Wall! By Oriana John, look, there’s Hawk and Eagle, side by side!” Ronnie squealed. His voice went an octave higher than what John thought was possible.

And he wasn’t the only one. Excited squeals rang around them every few seconds, uttered by men and women, adults and children alike. The people in question, walking only a foot behind Miranda, were waving to the crowds with big fat smiles plastered on their faces. Their armours were all unique, some modelled after various animals, others heavily decorated. They were in pristine conditions, with not even the slightest scratch being visible.

John frowned at that sight, but relaxed when he recalled that any self-respecting warrior’s armour should possess self-repairing qualities.

The heroes quickly passed them, followed up by less known, but nevertheless powerful warriors. After they, too passed, came the ordinary warriors, young men and women who couldn’t be older than twenty.

Then came the long procession of ordinary soldiers, commoners who had signed up for military service. Tattered clothes, scratches and holes in their armour as well as injured faces weren’t uncommon. Some even had to hobble along, carried by their brothers-in-arms. Yet they beamed with the knowledge that they had yet survived another battlefield where a random warrior could swoop in and kill dozens of them before being driven off. And gained quite a generous remuneration for their efforts to boot.

It felt like hours before the last of them finally passed by their group. What came after them were long rows of prisoners, bound in shackles and chains. They were being dragged forward by the last row of soldiers, with their bare heads held low in shame. Even greater cheering, or perhaps it would be better to call it jeering, welcomed them. Soldiers who managed to get themselves drunk right after dawn sung song after song, insulting them and their people. Soon, even the rest of crowd began to join in, and their voices became a deafening sea of noise.

A few of the prisoners raised their head, but before any words could leave their mouths they were quickly beaten down by clubs.

And even they passed quickly, until there was nothing but a receding wave of cheers and music.

After a kind reminder by their ever-so-benevolent teacher, the trio reluctantly made their way towards the fields hospital. They passed littered mugs and all sorts of organic trash, ranging from puddles of spilled beer to dead-drunk soldiers lying in the middle of the street.

John could have sworn that it really didn’t take all that long for that procession to pass, so how the hell did these guys manage to pass out so quickly? He pushed that thought aside and finished the rest of the trip to the field hospital with the slowest gait he could muster. When they arrived, however, the doctor was nowhere to be found.

“So, what do we do now?” Ronnie stated what was probably on all their minds at the moment.

“Slack off. Relax. You deserve some rest after yesterday’s slave labour,” came the marble’s voice.

“No one asked you,” John mumbled under his breath.

Ronnie turned to him. “Did you say something?”

“Yeah, how about we go inside and search for the doctor?”

“Like that’s going to work. Why not wait here for him? He’s bound to come around sooner or later,” Jessica said after eyeing him critically.

“Sounds good,” Ronnie said. He turned to face John. “You sure you’re okay though? You’ve been mumbling to yourself quite a lot recently.” His honestly concerned stare didn’t really make the situation better.

“I’m fine. Totally fine,” John answered. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “You know, it’s just that I’ve been tired. Mumbling keeps me awake and ready for action.”

Ronnie shrugged, and Jessica, who had wandered off to search for a rock to sit on, simply rolled her eyes.

Figuring that he had nothing better to do, John simply sat on the ground and started meditating. Liquid pleasure started coursing through his channels, and he grit his teeth and guided it with the greatest precision he could muster. It was both an exhausting and rewarding experience, for his mind started clearing up, free from distractions such as that damned marble’s remarks and the lack of sleep. There were only himself and aether, both struggling for supremacy in his body.

What felt like seconds but might as well have been hours had gone by when a coarse hand shook John awake. He opened his eyes, staring into an astonishingly average pair of brown eyes framed by an aging face with greying hair. Dark circles and deep creases formed below and above the eyes respectively, making him look even older than he probably was.

The middle-aged man shuddered after meeting his gaze, averting his gaze just as quickly as he returned it. “Okay kids, I know we didn’t have the best introduction yesterday,” he started after stepping back and facing them all at once. “But if we want to finish on time today I’m going to need your very best. My name’s Sandon, by the way. I kind of forgot to introduce myself yesterday, what with all the other stuff I had to show you around to.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“John, nice to meet you.”

“Ronnie. Let’s work well together.”

“Jessica, same as the other two.”

After they were done with the late pleasantries, they once again walked into the winding corridors that some idiot had deemed to be fit for a field hospital.

“Your job today will be to follow me on my routine rounds and clean three wards.” He pointedly ignored the groans coming from the trio behind him. “Transferring all the wounded into it have made them a bit…messy. Since we don’t want our heroes to die pitiful deaths on the sickbeds instead of the battlefields they belong to, we’ll need to make sure that they get what they need and don’t catch any more infections than they already have.”

Unable to help himself, John asked, “How many are going to get out of here alive?”

Sandon rubbed the stubbles on his chin as he walked on in silence. “Perhaps half of the soldiers and nine tenths of the warriors? It depends on the fierceness of the battle, really.”

“That little? I thought modern medicine was better than ever?” Ronnie asked.

Sandon laughed darkly. “It is. The survival rate was perhaps only three quarters of what it is now when I first started. The newest medicines by our apothecaries really do tend to work wonders.”

He waggled his finger in front of himself. “My teacher told me that, in the times of my grandmaster, one’s death was pretty much guaranteed if you were an ordinary soldier catching an infection during the transportation back.”

He glanced over at them. “Of course, warriors never had that problem. You are a very much…precious resource that, though not quite rare, is essential to any war effort. One warrior can make the impact of dozens of a hundred in a single battle, not to mention over the course of an entire war. No matter how severe your injuries, us doctors are instructed to prioritize your survival above all.”

Whilst Jessica and John didn’t seem to be quite sure how to handle that information, Ronnie simply nodded. “It’s only reasonable, I guess?”

The doctor flashed the boy a smirk. “Well, perhaps for the ones doing the fighting. I’m a simple doctor.” He shrugged, turning his eyes to the front but continuing to watch them from the corner of his eyes. “I couldn’t care less about who my patients are. Lives are lives. In the end, we’re all destined to return to Oriana’s embrace, so why differentiate? But well, orders are orders, aren’t they?”

The trio didn’t respond to that. They kept walking on in an awkward silence, until Jessica blurted out, “I think that all lives should be saved equally. As a warrior, it is my duty to serve Frumentum in whatever way I can. But the uncles and aunties that volunteer for this noble cause shouldn’t be left to die simply because a warrior’s treatment is prioritized. That’s just - unfair!”

The other three stared at her for a moment.

Then, the doctor burst out laughing and ran a hand over her wavy crimson hair. Her head shook from side to side as he ruffled it. “You’re a good kid. I hope you’ll keep this attitude when you grow up. Frumentum needs more people like you if this damned tripartite war is ever going to end.”

Jessica smiled bashfully. “Of course I’m not going to change. Why should I?” John snorted and started laughing. The girl shot him a glare that could have cut through steel. “Maybe we’ll even manage to finish off those volcanic bastards in my lifetime!”

Sandon laughed even harder. “That’s just how I like it. Good, you’ll make a fine warrior one day.”

The smile had crept over John’s face slowly froze and faded away. How was it possible to utter such vicious words with such an innocent countenance? Oh the tragedy of-

“Stop pitying her, you hypocrite. She doesn’t need it.”

“How about you let me finish my thoughts?”

“How can I when it’s written all over your face? Look, they’re already staring at you.”

And stare they did. John looked back and acted as if nothing was wrong. It worked, or at least he hoped so. At least they weren’t staring anymore.

A few minutes later, they had already entered the ward with their cleaning utensils in tow, despite Jessica’s futile attempts to get out of using a mop. The entire room was smelling of blood and medicine, with the sounds of low conversations all over the place. Dozens of people in various conditions were lying on what seemed like oversized stretchers with some stuffing squeezed into them. They were arranged into neat rows, the corridors in between barely big enough for people to pass through.

Three doctors and their assistants were making their rounds, administering treatments and asking questions as they went. Sanderson quickly joined them, and it soon became apparent that every doctor seemed to be responsible for around a quarter of the room.

Having each been assigned a different corner to clean, John was in the process of wiping the floor when he noticed someone he recognized on the bed to his right. It was a big, burly chested giant of a man. Brown hair was covering nearly his entire body and face, safe for a bandaged area around the upper left arm and the entire ribcage. They reeked of bitter medicine, and even his breath seemed to be laboured.

John didn’t pause working, instead squinting his eyes as he pondered. They shot up when he realized that this man was the Wall Ronnie had squealed about not too long ago. How had he ended up in here?

Could it be that he had participated in the victory march despite his injuries? Looking around, John actually recognized quite a few other faces in the entire hall. In fact, most of them, save for those whose legs were wounded, were faintly familiar.

Shaking his head with a smile, John cursed them as fools in his mind.

“You’ve got an interesting aura, kid,” an almost childishly high voice remarked.

John looked around, but the only one in the direction it came from was…

“Cat got your tongue? Don’t worry, I won’t bite,” said the burly middle-aged man he knew as the Wall, hero of a hundred battles, commander of a thousand troops and warrior extraordinaire.

Ignoring the roaring laughter inside his head, John turned to face the Wall. “Thanks, I guess? I don’t see why it should be that special, though.”

He grinned, showing a Cheshire-cat like smile. “You’re like a vortex sucking the surrounding aether in. It’s quite interesting, actually, since it doesn’t even accumulate. Which means that you somehow absorb it without even paying attention to it.” He paused for a moment, examining John from head to toe in a manner that seemed like he was stripping him with his eyes. “Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter since you don’t quite seem crazy to me. If you hear voices in your head, you should seek help from your teacher.”

Stunned, John simply stared at him for a moment. Just how had he managed to decipher his secret? Was it that obvious? What would happen now that the cat was out of the bag? How was it possible to have such a high voice with a body that big?

“Look at him go. Scaring kids again, aren’t ya?” a woman whose bandages covered her entire body remarked from the side. “As if those legends could possibly be true. Look kiddo, don’t let yourself be fooled by that uncle. He’s simply a superstitious fool.”

“I think his words do have merits, though. Being cautious hasn’t killed anyone yet,” another man with a cast around his left leg said and bandages wound across his head said.

“And that’s why you’re called Turtle. You’re always caution this, caution that. Give me a break,” the woman responded.

One after another, the surrounding people started to throw their own opinions into the mix, eventually moving their topics away from him. John stayed and listened for a while, but once they started bragging with things like cutting down men like grass or decapitating five warriors in one strike, he decided that it was probably time for him to move on.

When he finally finished cleaning the last bloody spot in his area, John returned to the entrance, where Ronnie and Jessica were, for once, talking normally. They had rounded up a few chairs and sat opposite of each other, with another empty one to the side. John sat down on it and simply listened in, too occupied with ruminating about the Wall’s words to say anything.

The doctor finished his rounds a few minutes after John met up with the others. He wiped the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief and sat down for a few moments. One of his assistants immediately started massaging his back. After a relieved sigh, he looked at the trio for a moment, before announcing that they could rest for a few minutes before moving onto the next ward.

The break was over far too quickly, and soon they were once again following behind the haggard back of their supervisor. The only change was the group of assistants, who seemed to range from middle-aged women to young men in their teens.

The two groups quickly struck up conversations. Enduring the teasing by the adults and talking with the teens about everything ranging from their daily lives to the training in the Golden Gate, they quickly reached the next ward.

Unlike the previous one, this ward seemed to be far more sombre. Almost no conversations were taking place, with the moans of wounded men and women dominating the soundscape. Blood- und pus- drenched bandages were a common sight, and the tight rows in which these people were arranged spoke of anything but high sanitary standards.

“Isn’t it dangerous to place these many people so close to each other? I mean, their infection rate must be insane, right?” John said when he couldn’t stand the sight any longer. These conditions were simply inhumane, nothing more, and nothing less.

The doctor turned around to face him. His face was unperturbed, as were those of the assistants behind him. “We don’t have any choice, my boy. Believe me when I say that I would rather place them in conditions befitting their bravery on the battlefield, but it wouldn’t be worth the effort.” He looked left and right, making sure that nobody was listening in. When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. “Most of them will not come out of here alive. We save who we can, but these soldiers simply lack the superhuman endurance most warriors possess. Unless they have a rich family backing them, they will have to pray for Oriana’s mercy.”

After finishing his piece, the doctor returned to his rounds as if nothing had happened, asking questions and barking out orders with a casualty that spoke of his experience.

Ronnie sighed and looked at John helplessly. “Warriors shouldn’t be disturbed by this little death, right? I mean…” He paused for a moment, his eyes that were bluer than the cloudy sky outside darted around, seemingly looking for something on the ground. “After all, I guess we’ll see much more of it.” He scratched his head.

Jessica stared at Ronnie for a moment. Her mouth opened, but closed before any words could spill out. Instead, she simply grabbed a mop and ran off into the farthest corner of what was her side.

The boy’s gaze locked onto John. “I’m making things awkward again, am I not?” Ronnie said with a forced laugh.

John simply patted him on the shoulder and went to work.

What was he supposed to say in that situation? That it would become better? That they could prevent such things from occurring again if they only tried hard enough?

He didn’t have the heart for that.

So he simply focused on his work, cleaning with a belly of fire. Ignoring the jeers of the marble, he scrubbed and cleaned the ground and beds with utmost concentration. Sweat-drenched and out of breath, he only looked up once he was done with almost three quarters of his area. The tight formation of the beds was making it rather difficult to clean them.

Along the way, no one had struck up a conversation with him, nor did John intend to do so.

It would only make the knowledge that they would most likely die a painful death that much worse.

He looked across the hall, spotting Ronnie and Jessica both talking to the wounded with big smiles on their faces. Their youthful vigour seemed to brighten up the space around them, and quite a few of those who were still capable of talking also smiled.

Seeing that, John himself couldn’t help but smile, too. They were both good people. Unlike him, they were still filled with an infectious innocent positivity, despite all their bouts of selfish- and childishness. Or perhaps it was just this directness, this lack of any falsehood that made their smiles so radiant.

“An old man like you sure wouldn’t know. Let these kids have the positivity, you can just submerge yourself in your endless gloom.”

Rolling his eyes, John simply continued scrubbing. That fucking marble and its stupid remarks.

He glanced at the other two, and the smiles on their faces. Perhaps it did have a point though. Everything was better than drowning in self-pity. Even talking to strangers that were doomed to die.

After a few minutes, he couldn’t get that thought out of his head anymore. So he gathered his courage, and said out loud, “How’s the weather?”

He was greeted by silence.

And a bout of suppressed laughter that immediately followed.