The wind of death fell upon the land. Barren hell blanketed the world around him, and he knew the time had come. Soldiers called his name on high, raising their swords to honor him, and in salute to the glory he would lead them to. He raised the Prophet of Valor into the air, a standard of almighty light and judgment to the evil ones before him. A sea of shadows marched on the fortress, red eyes gazing out from their depths.

And suddenly the battle was fully adjoined. The sound of war assaulted his mind, sweeping through his ears and into his heart like a tsunami. He lowered his visor and raised the tip of the sword to his foe. The enemy’s black armor twisted the reflection of the lightning cracking the sky. An immense broadsword, one wicked, curving blade coming out from each end of the hilt, was gripped in its hand. Red slits of malice and loathing dwelled where eyes should have been, and the visage of a snake created the crest upon his chest.

The commander raised his shield, and marched forward. Onward to victory…

“…Lump the size of an egg!”

The next voice, whispered. “Quiet!”

“Sorry.”

“See, you woke him up.”

Memories of the dream washed away. Shincai bolted upright, which, as the raging pain in his head informed him, was a bad idea. His hand shot to his head. The second big mistake, as its brother in his shoulder responded. After determining he was essentially a large bruise, his eyes darted around the room to gaze at those assembled.

Reldeen sat next to him, half asleep. Conversing quietly was the fortress doctor and the Drillmaster. The Drillmaster’s gaze flicked towards him, and upon seeing he was awake, turned his full attention to him along with the doctor.

“How…?” Shincai managed through a dry throat.

The doctor raised a wooden cup of water to his lips, which Shincai greedily gulped down. Feeling somewhat better, he looked to the Drillmaster. “How did I get here?” he cringed, as the blunt throbbing in his head jumped forward with each word. He slowly lowered his head back to the pillow.

“We found you unconscious in front of the garrison.” Supplied the doctor, his gaze erring. Too weak to notice this, Shincai reached for the water cup again. The doctor hastily grabbed it for him, fortunately, for Shincai doubted he could have lifted it on his own.

“What happened?” pressed the Drillmaster. “Who did this?”

He thought back to the previous night. He remembered the falling rain, the flash of a stiletto…Larrik.

“Larrik!” he exclaimed, at the cost of another wave of pain. The doctor shot him a quizzical look, and the Drillmaster a surprised one. Quieter, this time, Shincai continued. “Cadet Larrik and three others ambushed me with mocks, but dangerous nonetheless. I defeated most, but one with an axe crippled me, and Larrik drew a dagger. And then…” the strange man was of course in his memory, yet something in the back of his mind told him not to say anything. “He dropped it. I think he lost his nerve.”

The Drillmaster nodded, thinking. The doctor produced another cup, this full of a vile-smelling green liquid. To Shincai’s dismay, it was his to drink.

“You need to sleep.” The doctor said simply, raising it to his lips. Not sure if he could avoid drinking it if he wanted to, the cadet lapped it up and swallowed. The room melted, and he thought no more.

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Three days passed before Shincai returned from the hospital. The Drillmaster went slightly easier on him for the first day, but soon the cadet’s youthfulness showed through and he was back to his energetic self. There was no sign of Larrik, something Shincai did not bother to question, and the other three cadets who’d attacked would not go near him.

His time in recovery did not make him miss King Tyiicil’s arrival. It was still a week to come, and the elegant banners and tapestries, constructed podiums, and all around buzzing activity in the town of Twin Waters kept them all well aware of that. After another rigorous day of training, the Drillmaster pulled the tired cadet aside. All traces of weariness swept from his face, he offered a salute.

“At ease, cadet.” The grizzled man looked to Shincai appraisingly. “I trust your injuries are healing nicely?”

The cadet recognized beating around the bush as clear as day, but could not very well call his superior officer on it. “Very well, sir. The concussion has gone away.”

“Excellent.” The Drillmaster gave a rare smile. “As you well know, His Majesty is gracing Twin Waters with his presence next week, and General Thunderheart wishes to present him with a sword. He has tasked your father to its crafting, and he tasked me to select a cadet to present it. I’ve chosen you.”

The cadet’s eyes went wide. “Sir…”

“Not because Reldeen made the sword,” he interjected, “but because you’ve shown the most promise of all of the cadets. Should you choose to continue a militaristic career, this will be quite the outstanding note on your record.”

“Thank you, sir.” Shincai could say nothing more.

The Drillmaster only nodded, gesturing to the barracks. “Get some sleep.”