Matias looked up, feeling the glaring heat of the sun. He could see heatwaves permating from the sky. For a moment, he considered leaving his post to some other fool. He sighed. He would rather stay the day and relax. It would surely be a better alternative than mingling under the hot morning sun.

His thoughts wandered about. Sleeping and relaxing in a cozy inn: the thought of it made him smile. After all, life was just too short. Shortening it even further in this damning heat was the folly of man. Irritation started to build up inside him at the mere thought of wasting his years away. Suddenly, a word about his age briefly appeared in his thoughts. His irritation died out. He coughed lightly.

Him, not able to withstand the heat had nothing to do with his age. He nodded grimly. His definition of happiness had just changed over his lifetime. Once someone had traveled as far in life as he had, it would be simple to understand relaxing an entire day would be a gift from the Gods themselves.

He coughed again, clearing his mind. He remembered he had more important things than battle with his inner self. He flitted through the memories recently archived in his mind. He then recalled why he had even bothered subjecting himself to this damnable heat.

It was an event that had happened the night before. It left a deep impression in him, and many others. It was a blazing ball of fire, and how it descended from the void of the night.

It appeared, breaking through the sky, with no signs of its sudden descent. When the night had been lighted by its presence, it streaked past the outpost, leaving smoke trails in its wake as it headed east. The ground tremored in its wake. It made him anxious with worry, the feeling he least liked the most.

“I can’t shirk my duties now.” Matias sighed as he calculated the time of the day. It should be near noon, he thought.

He might be slothful, but he was no fool. He gazed at the open, blue expanse above. He could still see the amber red pillar of smoke billowing into the sky. It was quite far and would take half a day to reach it. As a captain of how many years, he undeniably knew what the smoke meant. A frown crept across his face.

His hand on the pommel of his sword, he looked down. He cladded himself in the best equipment he had. A full set of plated-mail, and a broadsword hanged limply by his side. He shifted his shoulders, feeling the weight of his crossbow and a quiver of bolts.

He nodded at the weight. He then held a pendant dangling from his neck and glanced at it under the sun. It shimmered briefly and a smooth surface came to light save for a nick at one side. He revolved some of his mana in and the pendant glowed faintly but surely. He heaved a breath and unclasped his hand.

“Last I wore this heavily...” he said, his voice melancholic. A broken tall wooden wall and torn corpses flashed through his mind. He faintly shook his head. It was something he would rather not remember.

He stretched his shoulders. It had been a long time since he fought in a gear as heavy as this. First, he had to familiarize himself again with the difference in weight.

He stopped his stretching and jumped a few times. The jingle of steel and chain resounded out attracting many eyes. He ignored the gazes, while keeping his breathing controlled and long.

After a moment as his blood pumped in full, he clenched his hands. He raised them up smoothly. He jabbed once, feeling the weight of the steel gauntlet dragging his hand down ever so slightly. His eyes turned sharp. It would have been a fatal mistake out in the field. He jabbed again, and one more.

He punched the air many times until he learned the trade once more.

His fist outstretched, he let out the breath in his lungs in one long stroke. It was an odd practice he learned originating from the islands to the far south. It helped him focused.

Retracting his fist, his forehead was now covered in a layer of sweat. He retrieved a spare cloth from another pouch and wiped the sweat away. He then kept it back with meticulous hands.

He heaved deep breaths, adjusting his form over time. He had grown old over the years, and he knew it well. He could not lie, no matter how deep his rejection was. He was not as powerful as he did in his prime, a fact that made him long for his youth. But with some investments like these, he could prolong the creeping curse of the old. He could still fight, though not as good as he would like.

He calmed his breathing after a few stretches more. He then fixed his appearance befitting that of a captain. Satisfied, he strolled off into the streets.

Seeing the busy crowd, the outpost seemed livelier than ever. It had to be the red smoke. Ignoring the urgency the others had around him, his own pace was leisurely. He was in no rush. He knew better than anyone in Sateya that to act in haste would only bring misfortune.

His speed being slow... Surely it was not because he was old.

He coughed once.

The glaring heat stalking closely, he carried on, towards the center of the outpost. After five minutes of walking and crossing multiple streets, he had arrived.

The heart of Sateya.

It was a compound built from stone. It had walls stretching tall, half as high as the outer walls of the outpost. If it was besieged, it would require long ladders to scale them. And with it made from stone, it was as sturdy as it seemed. Common magic would not be enough to bring these walls down.

At the rare sight and at the sentries above, Matias only spared a cursory glance. He walked towards the opened gates. His eyes drifted ahead and heavily-equipped men stood guard. Without saying a word, Matias drew near. In a few steps, he was now under the shadows of the high walls.

Matias made to the gates, only a meter away. Silently, as if with solemn respect, the guards stepped aside. Matias gave a wayward nod and walked in.

Traversing the main road, he soon found himself in a massive courtyard. But with no shade to hide under, Matias cursed at the glaring sun. He could already feel sweat clinging to his inner clothes. With a sigh, he swept his gaze.

The courtyard bustled with activity, an event Matias had rarely seen, and loathed to see.

Servants tended to the field and gardens. Others ran in frantic, delivering documents to and fro. And men bearing arms counted among them, some on horseback and the remaining on foot. A palpable sense of import floated in the air. The atmosphere was no different in preparing for a war.

His lips unwittingly formed a frown.

His mood tainted, his eyes landed ahead and before him was the manor of their lord. It stretched across the courtyard, occupying most of the field. People of all statuses circled the luxurious estate, like bees of a hive. Matias knew why.

Ignoring the sprawling activity before him, he looked up, and jutting from the tiled roof was the notorious spire. Wherever you were in the outpost, the spire could be seen. It served as a landmark, a simple guide for the people of Sateya when looking above. But to Matias, the spire held more value than just a tower extending into the sky. He prayed to the Gods the spire would not serve its original function twice in his lifetime.

He recovered his gaze. He kept his emotions in check. Heaving a deep breath, his eyes followed the spire’s creeping shadow. It led to a small stairway and into a set of double doors. He moved and stepped onto the shadowy trail.

Eventually, he arrived at the base of the manor, twice as big as the outpost’s Guild when gazed from below. He moved up the small stairway and observed the majestic double doors.

Matias grabbed hold of the doorknocker and rapped it down three times. Deep thuds rumbled about. The sounds of activity were removed from his senses saved for those echoing thuds. He waited, and the soft sigh of moving hinges traveled to his ears. One of the doors opened, and he strode in. As Matias stepped through, his figure mended with the shadows of the halls. The door closed behind him with another thud.

Sounds returned.

On the courtyard grounds, the men continued their work. Boxes were stacked on top of another, and messengers ran to and fro. Soldiers on horses galloped along the field, shouting orders with flushed faces and bated breath. They sent word the workers should make haste.

An officer on horseback wiped the sweat creasing along his brows. He could not hide the increasing displeasure on his face. He was exhausted and weary with fatigue. His baggy eyes flickered, threatening to pull him into the lull of a deep sleep.

But he had orders to follow. And sleeping was not among them. He had to force himself awake and requisition supplies for a hundred men. It was no easy task, and his title as an officer was at risk should he fail.

His frown deepened. He cursed under his breath, at his superior and his dreadful luck. He was supposed to be off-duty today. Hopeless, he swept his gaze and continued to shout orders. The sooner he finished his work, the sooner he could end the day.

Putting his horse in a canter, he circled a depot where supplies had been gathered for half a hundred men. In an hour or less, his task would be done. His frown lessened at the sight. At least his men were not incompetent.

Reaching for a canteen by his side, he took a swig to allay some of the heat. He sighed in satisfaction at the feeling of water healing his parched throat. He then stopped his horse, and tried to wipe the newly-formed sweat on his forehead. As he did, the heat bearing down on him dispersed. He was baffled. His eyes flickered in surprise as he realized he was now standing under a shade. He looked up.

Puffs of red smoke floated above the spire. They had drifted from the east and into the skies of Sateya. He was standing right beneath their shadows. The officer though felt odd at the roiling clouds. It seemed familiar, he thought. He shuffled through his memories and finally remembered something during his training as an officer.

His countenance turned grim as he realized the meaning of the red-cladded messenger. No wonder, the officer grimly thought. With unwieldy hands, he holstered the canteen and went off with his horse, shouting orders as he went. His voice echoed in the air, now layered with timely vigor. He, too, must not tarry.

Lives were at stake.