“I think you broke him, Marie.” Aziz, who had to seat Hans down onto a chair, shook his head wryly.

“What’s so bad about being promoted?” Marie replied. “The company commanders all seem to treat it as a death sentence, for some reason.”

“Beats me.” Aziz replied.

“Anyway, I think there’s a new paper we can write,” said Marie. “The effect of ceremony during military promotions on officer psyche. The hypothesis: elevation in rank and responsibilities should be accompanied by relevant amounts of formality in order to ease the promoted subjects into their new duties.”

“Even if we count the other captains into our study, our sample size is too small,” Aziz replied. “Wait, are you intending to get the army to help?”

“It’s not like they can say no.” Marie looked through the menu, and then passed it to Aziz. “Besides, once the demons invade, we’ll be seeing a spate of battlefield promotions. If we don’t quantify the effect of battlefield vs formal promotions, we might end up having more people like Hans on our hands.”

“How did you turn promotions into something as important as life and death?” Aziz asked. “I suppose that’s why you’re the Chief of Air.”

Sliding the menu over to Hans, who looked at it with blank eyes, Aziz raised his hand and beckoned an idling waiter over.

“What will you have?”

“Three sets of demi-glace gryphon meat,” Aziz said, after glancing around the table. “For me, I’ll have some sausages as a side dish.”

“Some chicken nuggets for me,” Marie added, before turning to look at Hans, who was staring at the menu sadly. “Hans?”

The newly, informally promoted major jerked. “Oh. Uh. Rice.”

“Very well. Chilled jasmine tea is provided on the house,” said the waiter, “but extra costs will apply if you want a different beverage.”

“We’ll stick with jasmine tea,” Marie said, after eliciting nods from both Aziz and Hans. “Thank you.”

The waiter nodded, and walked away. Aziz looked at Hans, worried. That sudden promotion was clearly too much for him to take, and Marie clearly thought the same thing. The colonel sighed, and patted Hans’ back.

“Kid, you were actually going to be promoted with the other company commanders of Thunderbolt,” said Aziz. “We’re not targeting you or anything. It’s just the periodical promotion for all officers who showed conduct becoming of a leader.”

Hans looked up. “Huh?”

“Don’t give me that look, Hans.” Aziz shook his head. “You shouldn’t spoil the surprise for the others, though.”

Hans patted his chest. “So…am I still a major?”

“Yeah. But we won’t assign you anything new until next week, when the others are promoted.” Marie, who was cupping her chin, was observing Hans up close. “I suppose you can lord your new rank over them for like three days or so. Just don’t go overboard.”

The grin the marshal was currently sporting reminded Aziz of someone who was roasting the world over a merry bonfire, while dancing circles to upbeat music around it. After watching Marie set down the seeds of minor conflict for the next few days, Aziz shook his head and wondered where the esteemed Chief of Air had gone wrong.

He couldn’t pinpoint her descent to evilness, despite a few minutes of pondering, so he set his rumination aside, since their order was arriving. Aziz had grown used to the aroma that suffused the restaurant, but the assault on his olfactory senses had returned with a vengeance.

Glaring at his plate with a burning fervour, Aziz picked up his fork and knife. Cutting out a small piece of meat, his vision turned into slits as he placed it into his mouth.

His mind went blank a moment later.

When he next came to, his plate was empty and the sauce was gone. Only the sausages he’d ordered as a side dish was left behind, but it didn’t seem all that appealing to him now, with his tastebuds numb and frozen. The others were exhibiting similar symptoms, and Aziz could understand why that was the case.

The colonel couldn’t quite pinpoint what the gryphon meat tasted like; it was just an explosion of sensations.

Patting his tummy, Aziz let his body turn into mush for a few moments. Frankly speaking, it was a welcome sensation. Months and years of work at his desk, of dealing with petty harassment, of just not exercising enough...all of them seemed to drain away.

“Wow.”

“I think that’s a reasonably good way of putting it,” Marie replied faintly. “If we ever survive this war, I’m going to bring the entire air force over here and empty this restaurant out.”

Hans grunted.

The three of them sat languidly on their chairs for a little while longer, until the waiter came along. Bearing three tall glasses of jasmine tea, with a lovely little straw stuck in it, the portly fellow placed the tray on their table and retreated into the background.

“How considerate,” Marie murmured, picking up one of the glasses. Purpose returned to her face as she sipped at it, and with a hint of reluctance, she pushed the other cups over to Aziz and Hans.

Her expression was enough to let Aziz know what this chilled jasmine tea did. Picking it up slowly, he sipped at it slowly, and felt the fluffiness within him disperse, chased away by a vigour he hadn’t felt for a long time.

“We’ll definitely come back here after the war,” Aziz muttered. “There’s no way I’ll die in it.”

“You said it.” Marie raised her glass, an action Aziz and Hans mirrored. “Here’s to returning here after the war. Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

Downing their glasses in a single hearty gulp, Marie footed the bill and led the way out. For a moment, everyone turned to the south, where a black wall that towered to the heavens stood. Aziz glanced at his trembling hands, and forced out a rueful smile.

He hadn’t forgotten the events of three years ago, after all.

“When the Great Divide falls…” Aziz shook his head. “Well, let’s hope that this restaurant remains standing too.”

“And we’ll all feast together here.” Marie added. “I know it.”

Aziz clenched his fist and nodded, before taking to the skies. As one, the three of them raced off northwards, back to their camp.

There was work to be done…and a war to come.