Viktor was a young soldier when he met his first wife, Marana. She was a beautiful army nurse, her blonde hair pulled back in a sharp bun, her blue eyes hard as steel, and could cut you just as easily. Marana constantly pushed Viktor away as he continually flirted with her.

"You are relentless, Sergant."

"It's what I do, Miss." Viktor bowed slightly, putting on a Mirian accent. Marana let a small smile cross her face, as she was from Miria, a city down South.

"What's it like down there?" Viktor asked one night as she dressed a wound on his arm, one he'd recieved fighting a fellow soldier.

"It is heaven. It very rarely snows. And when it does, it comes down in several lengths. In the summer it is sticky and unpleasant but we all lay around and drink cold things. In the spring and fall, it is the prettiest. Spring has life and vibrant colours. Fall shows death and vibrant colours and I think it means not everything has to wither and die ugly, like everyone believes." She smiled as she zoned out. Viktor smiled as well and that's what broke the ice between the two. Soon after the Western War, the two were married and they moved North to Alora, Viktor's home town.