June 24th, 1778

...

Here today. Gone tomorrow.

50 rookies, 35 men from reserve – counting me – and 15 veterans, members of the high command, being only one a member of the Royal family. His name, Gabriel. The youngest brother of our current monarch, the one who called upon this thread of our lives, Edgar.

In total: 100 men, who both share the same goal.

To intercept suspectful activity related to Alexandria and return home at once.

Alive.

...

♫New Order - Truth♫

June 25th, 1778

...

Gray morning. Plenty progressive movement throught the plain landscapes. An entire day whose legs of mine screamed, twiched as my stomach. Those soaked crumbles that rests in my pocket were once tasty crackers, and now I'm starving enough to eat them. Blue afternoon. This heartache occupies the whole of my head as the haze, this same haze from before I was born, fill in the air that I breathe. Dim evening. A star is reluctantly shining at the empty sky. Like a rotten corpse hanging out from it's locked grave, my skin can't feel nor heat, nor cold. Both grief eyes of mine aren't enough to suffice my descriptions of the pain scattered across my body.

But my pain is my pain. Only mine, and nobody else. Like ants from a colony, no one cares if one, either worker or soldier, is about to be crushed by a rock ten times heavier than her body supports. Only if the queen dies, the colony as a whole die likewise its prior government. But we aren't ants, anymore. With metamorphosis, changes came for us, bipedal ones. Our lifes matter as much as the one that belongs to the King, his family, and this reunified nation we're living to die for. Unlikely ants, we see with our eyes what they're doing or about to do from their palaces. We see their power, their corruption and their lies spread like seductive flowers. We are now their basis, their floor, the support from their building, and if we're about to collapse the entire structure, we'll take them with us.

This is why we need a strong leader. Like a legendary Leviathan, endowed with dominance over its seas, of brobdingnagian lenghts, to stood below Bahamut's azure, and his people at the middle, living upon the surface of a sea of uncertainties. A leader whose attitude guides his people to whenever the way his trail leads. He is the one to decide whether his silkworms are to be given in to a boiling cauldron, or to be born into moths. A leader to maintain security of centuries, to keep our inner thrusts of killing each other locked into ourselves, and a consequent condemnation to be delivered if such another life is violated from its right to live, by his law and the law above all things, the law of god. A leader whose first napkin given, either left or right, had already dicted him as a ruler.

But I know only fools set the rules over this squall world. It's all but a flying dream who doesn't known where to go or where to stop. A child, who doesn't stop asking 'why?' over anything they see. Instead, it just keeps flying, fueled by our urge of pretty imagination over this stark reality. Our wishes are nothing but sawdust floating over the water stream. A small residual of our mind, that you know which way it'll always lead. Dreams are better, in such a lonely way.

From my reverie, the image of an ideal leader succumbes and vanishes, slowly fading away from my vision as soons as wer're attacked by our enemies. Something told me to awaken in this evening. This atmosphere inhaled by my lungs; this silence louder than my words; a chosen time is to be declared, by the small cuts of a sharp blade. Whenever we fear our time slowly pass by, a strong leader, to rule us, to claim our footsteps. There's no way to guarantee my safety for what'll come next. The condition so far, for the beast awaken within us; to overcome our flesh, a crime to be committen, the damage taken, comtemplated, discharged to where it once belonged. As a wave whose crest intensifies within seconds, we engulfed an entirety of a shoreline.

The last view those tepid Vices had of their miserable excuse of life were the tips of our sharp javelins piercing throught their non-human vessels. Clyde threw his javelin over one's head, the same who had stolen his backpack full of medicine. It barely crossed the skull, but death came quick for that fool. He got what such insignificant thief speciments, depraved of moral, deserved. As the odour emanating from their green flesh had been stuck on our javelins, the remaining ones ran away, on their frightful chicken legs. We laughed at their excuse of living a life of robbery.

After the flood, the sky changed to pitch black like tar. I... don't know what happened to me. I'm not this kind of person. This waste, this fever, this hatred, this starving, this lapse of reasoning... Something must have been took away from me the moment I stood out of the rain. A devilish snake, whose poisonous bite were given to the men; like the plague, that resides within such a small, itchy flea. A hookworm inside our guts, whose bread is the lack of what had been vanished from your body, nay, an addicted coin, with both Heads and Tails, who always fall Heads than Tails; We are playing a game where the evil, perverse, chaotic subdues the good, reasonable, ordered side of our consciousness.

Or maybe it was the weather. The smell of death dissipated by mist slightly vanished as soon as it started to rain. It poured upon our skin, as soft as a rain from a distant april. If that was a bless from our god to protect us, then I believe our people's prayers must've been realized this time. Surely, Lenneth is at home, tired of her routine as a Dragoon, but still able to stand on her feet. She's now preparing dinner for our son, Jack, as both are sharing an eye after noticing one's chair is empty. I hope they're alright as much as I am, for mine and their sake.

I'm so tired. There is no end to this.

I must relax now. I can't turn away... A life in a trance.

...