We got our orders. Stay at camp until the next enemy attack so we can deliver messages to the three outposts. Oak took it upon himself to train us. No one would refuse such an offer.

“The damn beasts got magic, So you're already pretty much screwed if a mage or a knight finds you. Fortunately for you, Ive fought against knights before, I even managed to kill one and maim another. You guys on the other hand, will not be fighting knights but instead you will be taught to survive. Knives at the ready!”

We were first taught how to avoid slashes and stabs. Unfortunately, the enemy was much faster than us so we trained by having Oak and two others came at the remainder with constant attacks. Each of us were bruised terribly, sheathed blades clubbing into arms and soft bellies.

Joseph and Robert were trash, too used to their overindulgent lives due to the brilliant administration by the Wordsmith. They did although, seem to bond over the fact that they left with much more bruising then I did. Their usual argument instead turning to more gentle ribbing.

Of Course we also trained with our carbines, but Postman training in that regard is already quite heavy. Pistols were a whole nother story, Oak teaching us how to use it to distract enemies and finish them off.

Oak seemed keen to utilize weak points found in humanoid anatomy, but also sometimes told us to completely ignore them, as long as it meant our enemy had to respond to the pistol. Then hand to hand can be utilized to throw the opponent of balance.

The mercifully cold night is a sobering sensation to our burned and worn bodies. Oak’s harmonica rings out the same song it always had. It has since lost its novelty completely.

“By the Wordsmith Oak! You think you would be working for the Ministry of Culture or something! You never stop playing that thing!” Robert rages, exasperated with its constant droning.

“Yeah, Oak. Whats with the harmonica?” Joseph with actual curiosity asks.

The two sit close on a box labeled ‘blankets’. I on the other hand sit somewhat between Oak and them, not willing to infringe on either groups space.

Pulling his hands from his mouth, Oak looks up, his face an angry red from the overbearing sun.

“It used to be my friends, he only taught me this song.” A matter-of-fact reply, one that's too easy, too simple, not human.

“What was his name?” the words leave my mouth unbidden.

Oak’s green eyes turn to face me. Slowly methodically, appearing almost afraid to move too fast.

“Hickory, he was someone I grew up with in the orphanage. We both ended up being selected to be Postman. I’m pretty sure you have a similar story to mine. It's not interesting, he died and I lived.”

“Why haven't you learned another song?” I don't even know why I care.

He shrugs, his shoulders falling heavily. “Why should I?”

The conversation falls dead. The mood turning much more sour. Oak didn't play his harmonica a single time that night.

*Boom*

The report of a flintlock carbine rings out over the desert night. The frigid air a welcome change from the blistering day. I couldn't sleep. My mind to chaotic, restless.

“Hey kid, you look pretty cold.” Oak’s voice is alarming, his footsteps always silent, soft.

Oak hands me a tin cup. It’s metal is cold and beaten. My hands grasp firmly around it. I take a sip. A cozy ball of fire settles in my stomach.

“Pretty good right. I remember my first real drink of whiskey after leaving the orphanage.” Oak's face alights with a nostalgic grin.

I sit down sipping on the whiskey. Both of us sit there in silence, watching the twinkling of the stars, incandescent and innumerable. The distant lights of the other outposts glow upon the horizon.

Looking at Oaks distant expression, “Oak, how did you get over losing your friend?”

Oak’s hand rises to his face, roughly tracing his chin.

“I didn't, not really. It just happens enough times that you're used to it. Been so long that I don't remember how it used to feel.” Oak exhales looking at me, “I'm telling you kid, I got your back. I'm tired of watching people die. Speaking of which, you got enough energy to mope, got enough to train. Lets see how well your doing.”

I stand up and grab my still cased bayonet from my belt. Me and Oak circle slowly, his height an advantage to him, but a fairly obvious one. Even in the low light, I can see Oak’s right hand begin to turn inside, ready for a slash upward. Moving to his left side it's easily dodged, but Oak fights conservatively holding his bayonet close to his chest.

Lunging forward, I feint a slash to the face, to put him off balance. He dodges easily lashing out with a stab, but I'm already inside his left, crouching down away from his blade. Oak’s body snaps into motion sending a knee into my arm redirecting it. My arm aches dully. Seeing how Oak’s dominant foot stepped forward, I lunged forward avoiding his stab. Oak simply grabs my extended leg and ‘stabs’ me in the back.

My mind is too lethargic to fight with real conviction.

“Not bad kid, but keep moving. Don't put yourself in a position that's hard to get out of.”

With a nod we continue to spar until the bitter cold gets to us. We return to camp wornout. I'm out in an instant.

This type of lifestyle continues for two weeks. Each of us sunburned, but now used to life under such an oppressive sun. I look into the worn mirror, my brown hair and hazel eyes stare back. A short set of stubble has planted itself onto my clenched jaw. I grab a razor and trim away, leaving my hair short and face clean shaven.

This afternoon, the tedium changed with the loud whistle of a train.

Almost five hundred souls delivered for the coming battle. Fresh faces unused to the heat. Each of them well armed with flintlock rifles, longswords, and heavy breastplates of steel. A few of them hold spears and shield tempered with mana resistant demon's blood.

Their uniforms of bright red and white ripple in the light breeze of an unusually mild day. Aligned in rank they stand, waiting to be addressed by the commander.

“Two days ago we lost scouts in camp Leopold, safe to say the battle is about to begin. Remember your training, shoot straight, and most importantly protect the damn artillery! Dismissed!” Lieutenant General Hadrian turns, leaving, his gait somewhat unstable.

He was in his cups, as we learned he always was. The man of few words was fearful of vomiting in the bright sun. Wordsmith save us.

We few postman sit in our camp waiting for the morning. I never really talked much to Joseph and Robert, but that's to be expected coming from one of those damnable orphanages. We still share some kinship through, training together all day for three or so weeks straight.

I still although had my private training sessions with oak though, it wasn't just fighting too, he gave me lots of information on how to sneak and live off the land. Tonight would be the last of those sessions.

“So kid, tell me again the diet of a wyvern... Coastal.” Oak quizzes.

Confusion evident on my face I ask Oak “Why am just ‘I’ learning this? All of this is good to know.”

Oak looks saddened for a second but only for a second, “You're the only one who's got a real chance of surviving this of you three kids. The others.... they just.... there not made out to do this. So...¦. it's better to spend my resources and time on one who is. Trust me.”

I should be upset about the blatant favoritism this man is showing me, but in all honestly, i'm glad. I still needs answers for so much in my life.

Simply I respond “I understand.”

If there's one thing the orphanage taught me, it's that being friends with someone won't get you anywhere. What's loyalty when someone else holds your leash. Robert and Joseph haven't learned this yet. They will, just like I did with Tomo.

Oak looks glad smiling softly “Hey kid, how bout I teach you how to play the harmonica?”

The man who says he can protect me. Someone looking so hard to find his missing friend Hickory within another. His friendly words a facade for his own selfish desires, to be a friend, to not be so alone, to not be alone, be alone. A hypocrite... just like me.

I nod in response, and so that night, I learned how to play the harmonica.