The room was warm and comfortably decorated - a symbol of Sarda Kahlim's lessened interest in gaudy designs compared to the Ircotts. It was lit golden by flames dotting the expanse from wall to wall. An ornate chandelier decorated with eagles and lit with wax candles hung overhead, illuminating the gathering. Jira stood by the bulldog knight, Gervais Tamas, at the far end of the table as Lord Sarda Kahlim slowly arranged twelve thin dark wood blocks on the war map of his council chamber, ensuring each one was positioned perfectly along the borders of the Duke's territory. It became clear to her that he did this solely to aggravate the stout woman in night-gray mail standing next to him with crossed arms and a look of contempt. Jira swallowed tensely and chewed her bottom lip in anticipation. The suspense in the room was palpable, perhaps even visible as the Drayheller would describe it, even on the faces of stoic knights like Tamas or Ralph Logain of Endsdiff. Even Orlantha Quills, who had rarely taken her eyes off Jira ne'Jiral since that night, looked somewhat curious.

Only twice had Oudet's knights been called into attendance by the Lord of the Star Bastion - to welcome them to the Bastion itself. Once after those sixteen survivors of Vucan arrived, and once when a contingent of thirty-three from across the Duke's territory finally arrived - no longer caught up in the political quagmire that suppressed the war for two years. What this meeting could be for was anyone's guess, and guessing had only driven the army mad enough to result in the travesty of Vucan.

"Must you do this?" she asked the man. He was wearing his typical lavish red clothing, Jira noticed, though he now had a complimentary gold-hilted saber hanging from his hip. He will never use it.

"We have to be sure that this map exactly shows where our defensive numbers need to be deployed while our offensive campaign is underway," the Baron explained to no one in particular. "If we don't, we could end up with a strategic nightmare."

"I'm sure we can figure it out when we have the numbers, Lord Kahlim," Mille grunted, her arms crossed with a finger tapping her bicep impatiently.

Sarda finished the tenth placement before sharing a tense glare with the commander. A smirk crossed his face as Mille flared her nostrils. "Very well, Lady Osibri."

After Sarda backed away from the war map, Mille turned to the gathered knights. Forty-nine men and women - those who had survived Vucan or had made the journey from various cities under the Duke's control following that battle. By virtue of encounters, Jira knew every name and face present in that room, most she tolerated and some she even liked. All present when you were knighted. All congratulating you. All giving you praise. None knowing the truth. "Once the reinforcements come in, we will be reconstituting the guilds lost at Vucan." she began to explain. "Twenty of you will be the new captains. You five will retain your previous roles." Jira regarded these special few. Orlantha Quills, Galeran Reynfred, Cenric Calwell, Mathil Lutera, Guymar Harrington.

Galeran Reynfred continued for Mille, his engraved white armor shining in the golden light of the sconces lining the walls. "We will not be following the size limits we had during Vucan. Two hundred per guild worked for when we had but five thousand to our army, but not anymore."

"How do you mean?" asked Cenric Calwell of the Green Dragons.

Mille cut in, casting the captain of the Eye a scorching look. "The King has become, as I predicted, apoplectic. He will be throwing everything he has at us, and I mean everything. Anyone capable of picking up a sword will be called to serve, and we must act in kind despite my judgment."

Galeran jumped to counteract his commander's dour tone. "Our victory, as I predicted, surged the duchy, and we have an influx of recruits coming from every village and town in the land. Tens of thousands from across Oudet's territory move to swell our ranks. Farmers, smiths, commonfolk, and more of our knightly brethren returning from their pilgrimages along the Divine Road." The Divine Road. As south as south goes and as north as north goes. The only truly neutral ground on Khirn. The road of all the Gods, dominated by the Almighty. "The same is to be said for the King. Five thousand was the appetizer."

"And how do we stand now?" asked Wallace Brotston.

Mille's eyes were voids surrounded by hateful emotion. "Vucan was a travesty. A tragedy. Of our five thousand, we have one thousand soldiers to fill the five guilds that survived."

Galeran cut in once more. "But obviously, that is to change. My scouts estimate at minimum fifty thousand recruits. Ten times our original number. Thus, our new goal is to get our guilds as large as possible for the offensive campaign against Aslofidor. Now, not all of these new guilds will have the numbers that others do, but they will be expected to perform particular duties because of that. Strike forces, defense work, scouting, the rest."

Wallace Brotston nodded. "I see." Then he asked: "You said only twenty of us will captain these guilds to form from these numbers, but what of the rest?"

"The new captains will select from the rest to serve as their seconds," Mille answered.

"We are only forty-nine, commander," Orlantha Quills added, her attention still locked onto Jira, who did her best to avoid it. "One of these guilds will be missing a second."

Mille agreed with a glance and pointed to the silver knight. "Yes. Jira ne'Jiral will have to choose from among her number who will serve as her second." All eyes turned to the silver-haired woman who stood, dumbfounded by the words. She wanted to ask 'what' or refuse the captainship, but the Wolf gave her no such opportunity. "As of today, you are the new captain of the Argent Contemptors who fell so bravely at Vucan. Because of your inexperience as a captain, you will be given fewer numbers than the rest of your fellows, but I expect you to train them just as hard, if not harder. Select one individual from among the ranks and name them your second. As with your companions here, your choice will be honored, with all consequences to come of it put on your head. Train them, teach them, make sure they understand the role."

From the ranks. Any rank? I know what you are thinking. Do not. Do not name - Without a beat, without hesitation, without any hint of the dumbfounded disease that filled her brain at the words being spoken, Jira made her decision.

When she met them for the first time, they were in the lowest chamber, some untold miles below the citadel on the mountain. The last one that had been discovered by the Ircotts and secured by Sarda Kahlim. Her voice had dropped the snakish undertones and sickly sweetness, adopting a stern leader's bravado. "Before I introduce myself, I need to ask you the most important questions of your lives. Do you know who you are fighting for?"

"Yes, ma'am," they said, low and monotonous.

Jira ne'Jiral stood atop a stone slab that had been dragged across the vastness by her new second, Gíla Arsinoe. The bear-maiden sat off to the right by a firepit, her face buried in a thick dusty tome. "That's some enthusiasm," she whispered so softly that only the silver knight could have heard it. Your friend. One you should not have made. She is too fond of you, and you of her.

Jira shot her a glance through the visor of her helmet, the coldness of her eyes bearing down on the bear-maiden that cooled whatever ounces of snark had been building in her humor. Gíla let a smirk grace her ursine lips before flipping a page of her tome.

Jira stared at the sea of fresh faces standing at attention in front of her, illuminated by that light. New recruits to her guild, a mere five hundred out of the fifty thousand recently rallied from across the Duke's territory. Some were tall and broad, while others were short and thin. Canvases on which for you to paint your picture of this guild reborn. At first, she had been confused with being given full command, an order from Mille the Wolf, whom she scarcely knew.

While she had been a knight, subservience to a captain was still her role, and they had not prepped her for a full command. That training had been special only to his second, a woman named Lilla Haws. Captain Nigellus, who had attended her knighting and personally requested to have her be part of his guild, was strange like that. To have recruited her without a second thought; trained her in the art of the western sword; not give her the training necessary to lead a full guild rather than a smaller contingent of it. Jira was never bitter or insulted. It just made the sudden change in responsibility all the more jarring.

And now, she looked at that responsibility entrusted in her care. Nerves pressed against their expressions, and sweat formed on their temples. Many were merely rural or city folk who had never held a blade in their lives until they were drafted or joined voluntarily. Anxiety was rampant with this bunch. She could see it in their faces. They were unsure if they had made the right choice. They would learn to love those nerves in time, just like she did when she committed to the pilgrimage from Ayenthyr to Han Entheas-by-the-Fire. If they wanted to survive this war, they would have to. For now, however, all they were were young men and old dressed in the colors of the rebel duke, arms tucked behind their backs, and chins held up as they, in turn, stared back.

"Do you all know what you are fighting for?" she asked, shifting her gaze from face to face.

"Yes, ma'am," they said again, still low and monotonous.

She shook her head. "No, I will not accept such lacking enthusiasm. Who and what are you fighting for?"

"For Kin and Country. For the salvation of our homes," they answered louder. She asked twice again to hear them yell it in unison, a cacophony of pitches all uttering the same phrase. "For Kin and Country! For the salvation of our homes!" they cried. The sound echoed in the chamber, spreading from their modest encampment barricaded by horses, carts, and supply crates to the others all over. One thousand people filled this place, and the nine hundred not belonging to her comprised two other guilds that had more people above and below.

Jira grinned wolfishly under her helmet. She paced the length of the slab, roughly six paces left and right. "Correct. I am Jira ne'Jiral, and I am your new captain. By virtue of your initial training and luck, you are the first recruits of this guild. The rebuilt Argent Contemptors, for which you will be expected to uphold the tenets of your predecessors to the letter. You will be expected to showcase strength, ingenuity, practicality, and knowledge."

Jira jumped down from the slab, her sabatons scraping against the stone floor, and walked forward through the lines of her soldiers. Taking in every detail possible, Jira saw their potential and how she could mold them into something more. Something more than barbarians. You are in this bed. Make it comfortable. "Unlike the other guilds you will encounter in this war, you will not solely be expected to train your sword arm or practice your scripture," she boomed. Her voice carried louder than theirs. "Be expected to study from more books than whatever pamphlets the priests have tossed at your feet. You will learn from the kingdom's history and from every book this Bastion has on the art of warfare. If you cannot read, you will be expected to speak to my second, the Drayheller Gíla Arsinoe, on such matters. She is a veritable encyclopedia of knowledge and would love to teach you."

Gíla snorted at the offer and flipped a page of her tome. No such arrangement had been discussed with the bear-maiden beforehand, though Jira was quite certain that she would not mind either way.

"Above all else," Jira continued. "You will be expected to know the difference between bravery and stupidity. I will not have this guild become shades of Vucan like poor Gíla's former comrades. We hold the lowest number of warriors in the entire army, and I know not when we will increase it. By God Almighty, we will use that status to become the best this Bastion can produce. Am I understood, Contemptors?"

"Yes, ma'am!" they cried out.

She shook her head. "Not good enough. Am I understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!" they hollered, their voices so loud that a small rumble reverberated somewhere in the chamber.

Jira laughed and stopped next to a freckle-faced boy with a snub nose and almond eyes. His back stiffened as she looked him over. Sweat formed in greater quantities on his face, and his eyes darted back and forth from her to the man in front of him. "Who are you, boy?" she asked him.

"K-Karlyle Robion," he stammered. "Street boy."

"Why'd you join?"

"To...get off the street, miss-I mean, ma'am. I figure armor and a hot meal is mighty more protective than a box in a piss-filled alley." He laughed sadly, bringing a slightly amused huff from the knight.

She turned her eyes to the man in front of him. A brutish ogre of a human being, no older than thirty, with fists as large as ham hocks and a bronze beard hiding his lips. His hair was long and tied into a tail, and it was flecked with dirt and the occasional sheen of sweat. "And you?" she asked.

"Torin Degore," he thundered. "Farmer's boy."

"Why'd you join?"

"My father served at Vucan, ma'am. Was in one of the guilds that...didn't make it. Told me to watch o'er our land, but after hearing that he died, I couldn't just let his memory go to waste like that."

She patted his shoulder, the coldness of her eyes warming with genuine admiration of the son willing to honor his father. "You're a good lad, Torin. Let's see if you can use those ham fists of yours to good use."

"My hands serve me well on the farm, ma'am," he gleefully chortled.

Jira continued on down the line, next making eye contact with a woman of dark skin than the rest, with eyes as hazel as a setting summer sun and hair as black as night. "You're not of Aslofidorian blood," Jira observed.

The woman stiffened as several eyes turned to her as if noticing her for the first time. "No, ma'am," she answered with a shaky voice. "I'm...I'm of Dekunian heritage."

"The fuck's a Dekunian fighting here for?" asked Torin.

The woman almost shrank. "My family emigrated before the border wars, during a time when our nations were at peace. It was to escape the infighting of our own government. I was raised here under the Aslofidorian customs. I believe in God Almighty just as much as any of you. If our King has...if our King has sinned against God, I believe it is everyone's duty to take up arms against him and ensure that he is removed from power so that he can face justice."

"What's your name, Dekunian?" Jira asked.

"Hilda Ackerg."

"An Aslofidorian name as well. Did your family keep anything of your culture?"

"Very little, ma'am. It is...we have no regrets about it."

"Good. I don't want soldiers who regret. I want soldiers who are willing to push forward no matter what!"

Jira could feel the momentary burning look from her second but continued and spoke again. "I love the growing zeal. However, I am no 'ma'am,'" she corrected. "I am your captain. You shall address me as 'Captain ne'Jiral' or simply 'Captain.' Is that understood?"

"Yes, Captain ne'Jiral!" they answered.

Another smile graced her hidden lips. "That's very good to hear. One more time!"

"Yes, Captain ne'Jiral!"

Jira clapped her hands together and returned to the front of the gathering, leaning her back against the large stone slab that had served dutifully as her podium. "Now, I want all of you to acclimate yourself to this encampment, set up your stations and tents, and report to the armory on the surface for your assigned equipment. If you need help navigating, speak to Lieutenant Gervais Tamas of the bear-maiden's former guild. You'll find him in the second chamber. After that, report to in the outer bailey near Orinus' smithy. Understood?"

One last affirmation and the Contemptors broke away from the gathering. The chamber filled with a constant hum of their voices as they conversed with each other, introducing themselves or reminiscing on their lives before the silver knight's speech. Jira removed her helmet after she was alone by the slab, save for the bear-maiden who had stood up from her firepit and moved to stand by her captain. The tome was still open in her hands, made to look small in her large mitts. "You are quite good at the whole talking thing," she complimented. "Not as good as Reynfred, but good nonetheless. You humans love your speeches."

Jira placed her helmet down on the slab. An indulgent grin cracked her knife-thin lips with a flash of perfect white teeth. The bear-maiden momentarily flinched at the sight but just as quickly relaxed. "I think I was quite persuasive for a first-time captain," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice had returned to the soft huskiness used most commonly around the Drayheller. "Maybe not the most verbose or rah-rah inspiring, but I got the job done. They yelled when I wanted them to."

Gíla shrugged her massive shoulders, nearly bumping into the knight with the motion. Jira laughed soft and icy. Though she likely did not realize it herself, the bear-maiden had only gotten larger in Jira's eyes. Fuller with far more muscle than she had a mere two months ago, perhaps even a few inches touch taller. Back on Vucan, she was a creature with the physique of smoothed stone, like a sculpture. But now, she appeared more of a walking hairy ironwood tree with limbs. A true warrior of the Star Bastion, in appearance at the very least.

Jira dropped her eyes to the tome in the bear-maiden's hands. "What is so fascinating about that book?" she asked. "You've been reading the damned thing for days."

Gíla closed the book enough so that her captain could see the title. A History of the Warlords of Khirn. "An unabridged historical account of the continent's ancient heroes and villains during the time that this place was built and dozens of generations after it was built!" she beamed, slightly bouncing in place as she looked to Jira for affirmation of her giddiness. "This stuff could never be found in any other library."

Jira snickered at the bear-maiden's joy. "Maybe not Aslofidorian. What about Belanorian? Dekunian? Tarihrian? The neighboring kingdoms and beyond? Surely they would have copies as well."

"Bah!" the bear-maiden exclaimed as she tilted her head away in mock disdain. "Maybe the abridged versions. But this is an original, unabridged account."

Jira held up her hands in defeat. She had attempted many times to bring the bear-maiden down to some level of calm with her joy for books. Debilitating at times is what she would call it. Every instance of stress, a moment of anger, or a phase of sadness would end with a fountain of knowledge erupting from the bear-maiden's mouth. Unable to stop, like a dwarven machine from Har Turu. And as many times as she tried, she inevitably conceded defeat. "Alright, you win. What does it say?"

Jira's eyes flashed with immediate contempt and her heart pounded against her chest. "So our King's ancestor was the witless fuck that did that. Good to know," she cursed, interrupting the bear-maiden and drawing a surprised stare. Of the practices in the world that she had come to respect, arcaeno was the greatest of them all, practiced all over the world except in central Khirn. She had wondered why this was for years. To weave nature around one's fingers was as close as one could be to the gods. Such religious folk as those in places like Aslofidor should have jumped at it. For it to be outlawed for what could only be an inane reason infuriated her as quickly as the ocean's rage could be upon a ship.

"Well, I-I mean, I wouldn't say…it so vulgarly," she stammered. "But, I suppose that…yes, he was. Either way, that's why you never see anyone ever use it or even talk about it here or any of the neighboring lands. I'm willing to bet most of the people here don't even know what arcaeno is. Unless they're educated, of course."

"Of course," Jira agreed. Her lips twitched with cheerless emotion.

Jira blinked, her choler lessening only somewhat. "That's an absurd amount of history. Does any of it help us in our current situation?"

The bear-maiden flipped back to the cover and then the opening page and scanned. "Um…well, I'm not entirely sure, but…well, actually, I think it might." Gíla placed the book down on the slab and faced her captain with a curious expression. "Let me ask you a question now. Why are we fighting the King?"

"Because he has sinned, according to Oudet," Jira answered immediately, shifting her stance to cross her left leg in front of her right.

"Exactly. What did his ancestor outlaw and claim as a sin?"

"Arcaeno. So you're saying that Aslofidor is using arcaeno?"

Gíla gave a half-shrug. "Oudet said that the King committed a horrific crime against God Almighty. This book says that Aslofidor the First considered it tantamount to the Deep Sins. Hell below, it might have even been the first."

"It is a curious thing," Jira mused as a thought came to mind. "Have you heard at all what crime Aslofidor committed?"

Gíla shook her head and turned back to the book on the slab, tracing the text with a hooked claw.

Jira cast her eyes to the wandering masses. "Neither have I. No one has, save for a select few, I am certain. And they won't tell anyone either. Everyone is fighting for a supposed crime but knows not what the crime is. Tell me, bear-maiden, as fascinated as you are with humanity…does that speak more to their hatred of Aslofidor as King or their general simpleness?"

Gíla considered the question for a moment before flipping a page and sighing as the chapter ended. "Both."