"Our path shall forever be painted in crimson, no matter the route or destination. Crimson as the toll our brothers and sisters have paid—and will pay. Crimson as the fields of our enemies will be when our trail carves through them. Crimson as the Sun on the day the Empire shattered in twain, when our course was set, and every other path became a fleeting dream from which we barely stirred awake.
Gather your arms, enshroud yourselves in steel and sacred marks. Draw strength from the well of your devotion and courage, and take that first step. The path stretches before us, pulsing with purpose, endless and unyielding. Our goal is etched in fate, our destiny beckoning. Stand with us or step onto the path and walk beside us.
But know this, bitter and unyielding truth: any other way will, in time, lead you back to this crimson path—if you so choose to walk it."
As the words echoed inside the temple of the barracks and faded, like promises made by lovers that knew as they spoke them that they could never be fulfilled, faces of soldiers and priests looked up. In unison, as if in a trance, each one of them declared: Glory to the Empire, Ave Sorores Noctis et Sol. Armored hands chimed like bells as they were brought to their chests and formed the now only three-pointed finger salute to the Emperor and the gods.
While the crowd was still white-hot with excitement and purpose, Subcenturi barked for silence to their freshly formed groups of soldiers, to maintain order and let the Princep leave, followed by a trail of her white-hooded cohort, seamlessly embracing her from all sides, guarding her even from the scattered light that was trespassing inside the temple, gently giving her regal body a tangible form. It was indeed the highest of honors for her to be present on this day, a sign some might suggest. It was not usual for her to make appearances for inaugurations of new legions, but the first months of the war were rough, so morale was probably considered and desperately needed a boost.
"Praefectus Cassius," a commanding, although young, voice shouted, and the familiar face of my young friend cut through the crowd as he made his way to me.
"Legatus Varian, what a pleasure to have you here with us today," I said to him as he stopped and saluted. "Are you assigned with our Legio for this campaign?" I asked him, already knowing from his eagerness to call for me during a time like this that his answer would probably be positive.
"That's true, Praefectus. I was assigned to your Legio as your Minor, and to be honest with you, I couldn't have asked for a better spot to be. It's an honor to be under your command again, Praefect—"
"Calm down, Felix. I'm really glad to see you again and have you in the Legio, but the time isn't the best for reunions. Go on, gather the rest of the men and we'll have plenty of time to talk about everything when we get moving."
"Of course, Sir. Sorry, Sir. Already going, Sir."
"Thank you, Felix. I'll meet you and the rest of the company in the supply line. I have to gather some of my belongings still from my quarters."
Without hesitation, Felix began sprinting towards a small gathering of soldiers and started barking orders, while they formed unruly lines and struggled to find cohesion between them. So many young faces, some of them smiling, joking, and bantering with one another, others silent, pale, and scared. It seems that with each new campaign, the legions were getting younger and younger. The only reminder of the ongoing struggle was the small number of older and more seasoned men in the ranks. Even my promotion to Praefectus Cohortis was, at least to my understanding, a result of our losses during the last couple of cycles. But alas, times like this were never thought possible, and in such a case, my position seems fairly normal.
As I moved through the crowd gathered in the halls of the temple, the flickering light filtered through hastily mounted stained glass windows, casting fractured patterns across the faces around me. Confusion and the forced structure of hurried preparation were etched into every brow. For most of them, this would be their first campaign, their first true taste of active duty.
All of us, of course, had been blooded in our early years as part of the forces of the Empire, but this was different. This was not a small-scale campaign nor an insignificant skirmish. This was war. A war where treachery needed to be rooted out and burned away with the flaming righteousness of our cause. The traitors had amassed significant support from within the Empire.
Those filthy subhuman animals who poisoned the hearts and minds of our fellow men, dragging them onto the path of our sword and wrath. But alas, nothing could stop us—not even the staggering numbers of men and women we had lost during this insult. Our numbers and resolve would once again serve as our holy weapon, one forged to deal with the infidels.
Finally, I reached my quarters on the second floor of the barracks after a cumbersome climb through the packed stone corridors and steps. The suffocating press of bodies—soldiers and aides moving with frantic purpose—made every step feel heavier. Equipment clinked together, filling the air with the sharp, familiar sound of metal striking metal. Voices rose over the din, calling for haste, for focus, for sacrifices of non-essentials in favor of what was truly needed.
"Get it done quickly! Leave the unnecessary behind! Report to your officers immediately!"
The chaos had a rhythm of its own, an unsteady drumbeat leading the Legio towards readiness. Beyond these walls lay the county, the roads, and then the distant frontlines. But first, I needed to gather what little remained of my personal belongings before the march began.
As I entered my room, the familiar smell of sweet incense burning on my prayer shrine filled my lungs with a calming warmth. The faint embers still smoldered in the braziers hanging from the stone walls, casting just enough light for me to navigate and gather my belongings.
I walked to my dark wooden desk, pulled a small key from my belt, and unlocked the drawers. Most of what I had left wouldn't need packing; they were small enough to keep on my person. My hard leather journal, my sigils and incense, and finally, my golden ring claw.
I didn't have any practical reason to carry it, but leaving it behind would mean letting go of the weight it carried—a relic of memories I wasn't ready to part with. I held it up against the flickering light, marveling for a moment at the intricate carvings etched into its surface, a perfect circle of prayers and purpose.
As I slipped it into the pocket of my tunic, a sharp knock echoed from the entrance of the room.
Before I could fully turn to face the sound, the reflected light of white-scaled robes caught my eye. My stomach tightened. A hundred thoughts passed through my mind before I laid eyes on my visitor.
Her gaze locked me in place—those ever-shifting, swirling purple eyes demanded my full attention.
"Praefectus Cassius, I presume?" her almost melodic voice asked calmly.
I straightened and responded, "At your command, Keeper of the Holy Word."
"May I enter?" she asked.
Embarrassment flared. "Of course, your Radiance. Please, come in. Forgive the state of my quarters; I wasn't expecting visitors."
"There is no need for forgiveness, my dear paladin," she said as she stepped into the room, the heavy door closing softly behind her.
As she moved through the space, the faint light of the nearly burned-out braziers seemed to flicker brighter in her presence, their glow casting elongated shadows across the stone walls. The scent of incense, once faint and calming, grew sharper, richer—almost overwhelming, like an unseen hand was stirring the air.
For a moment that stretched into what felt like minutes, her otherworldly eyes, those shifting pools of violet, scanned the room with unnerving intensity. It was as if she were absorbing every detail—the scattered writings on my desk, the worn spines of my books, the well-maintained armor stand, even the humble linens draped across my cot. When her gaze finally locked onto mine, it was abrupt and absolute, as though she had gathered every secret the room could offer and now demanded the same from me.
Hesitantly, I asked, "What is the reason for the honor you bestow upon me with your presence at this hour, Honored One?"
For a brief moment, she studied me in silence, her gaze just as piercing as before. Then she spoke, her voice smooth, deliberate. "You are called to lead the Second Legio on this campaign, are you not?"
Before I could form a proper reply, she continued, "Have you led with priests under your command before, Praefectus?"
The question caught me off guard. Of course, I had led priests before—it was common, even during routine exercises. And she, of all people, would know this. Why ask me? Still, I answered promptly, "Of course, Honored One. Both in training and in active theaters, I've led many of them with great success."
"Good," she replied, though her voice carried a faint, fleeting sadness. After a pause, she added, "Then I trust you are aware of the risks their presence poses to the rest of your men?"
She half-smiled as she spoke, and in the dim light, one of her sharp, white fangs caught the glow of the brazier, gleaming like snow under a cold sun.
I hesitated briefly before answering, "Only through the manuals, Honored One. I've been fortunate enough never to witness an incident firsthand."
"Very good," she said, her words heavier now, as though weighed down by something unsaid. "Nevertheless, Praefectus, I suggest caution. You must understand the state of our latest additions to the Legios. They are... fresh, you might say." She made a graceful, dismissive gesture with her pale hand, her rings glinting briefly in the firelight.
"Of course, Honored One. Without question. I only hope the time never comes for them to engage with the enemy."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, and her smile faded. "Oh, it will come, Praefectus."
The sharpness of her words struck me harder than I anticipated. "Is the fighting this severe at the front?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.
"Are you familiar with the process of bread-making, Praefectus?" her serene voice inquired.
"Am I familiar with what?" I began, but she swiftly interjected: "Baking, my dear paladin. It's not that uncommon, I believe," she said, her tone tinged with irony.
I hesitated, unsure how to respond, and after a brief pause, she continued, "You see, Praefectus, right now, our beloved disciples are like delicious loaves of crackling spelt bread—but their bakers have chosen to pull them from their tempering fires a touch too soon. Do you understand?"
Her swirling, bottomless gaze bore into me as she spoke, her words somehow both playful and unnervingly pointed. "So, you see, my dear paladin, our precious loaves are now on the verge of collapsing under their own undercooked weight."
Caught off guard by the odd metaphor, I struggled to keep my expression neutral. "I believe I understand, Honored One," I replied, though I wasn't entirely sure I did.
"Good, very, very good," she said, her voice lightening into something almost cheerful. "Then I suppose you'll keep watch for half-baked goods," she added with a playful lilt, her words hanging in the air as she turned her back to me.
Before I could gather myself to respond or ask for her blessings, the door to my chambers suddenly burst open, letting in the clamor of the preparations outside. She paused, half-turning her head back toward me, her gaze glinting like distant stars.
"I hope you know how to use that little claw of yours, my sweet paladin," she said, her voice melodic and sharp, before slipping into the dim corridor, disappearing as swiftly as she had arrived.
I was left standing in the same spot for a moment, my gut tightening and my throat dry. The fires in the braziers had calmed, their once flickering flames now faint and steady, casting dim light across the room. Her presence lingered in the air, an unsettling reminder of her cryptic words. My hand instinctively moved to my tunic, fingers tracing the outline of the ring beneath the fabric.
"Will I need to make use of it?" I whispered to myself, the question hanging heavy in the stillness. The Magister's sharp perception and her pointed acknowledgment of the ring made me question its true value—practical or otherwise.
Forcing myself to shake off the lingering unease, I returned to the task at hand, hastily finishing my preparations. With my belongings gathered, I stepped out of my quarters and descended into the controlled chaos that had overtaken the barracks. Outside the great stone structure, the sprawling mass of the Legio personnel was assembling into marching lines.
Handlers of newly forged iron and gilded prayer amplifiers shouted orders over the din, their voices straining to cut through the clamor. Their arms gesture wildly, directing small teams of men who strained to maneuver the incomprehensibly heavy machines of war into position. The air was thick with tension and the sharp tang of iron, underscoring the monumental effort unfolding before my eyes. The numbers and magnitude of the great amplifiers seemed excessive, considering that our enemy's forces were primarily composed of armed men and women, and the odd heretical priest. A "threat" like that could easily be dealt with by a handful of well-trained paladins and certainly not a whole Legio at full force.
But things seemed to work backwards as of late, taking into consideration the anemic pace at which new ground was fought for and gained back. How could they fight us back, armed and manned like that? The thought gnawed at me as I moved through the quickly disappearing open spaces between the lines that our soldiers formed, preparing to start the long march . Truthfully, in some short weeks, we'd be in the theater of war, and the answer would be at hand.
As I assumed my position at the front of my legio's marching line, Felix had already given out guidelines on the track and came to stand by my side. "Great to be getting back into action with you again, Praefectus," he said, his mount falling into step just behind mine.
"Don't get used to it, Felix," I replied, a smirk forming on my lips. "This shouldn't take long."
He chuckled lightly and added, "The trip could possibly take longer than the battle with a force like this." He gestured discreetly behind us with his thumb. "It will be a great exercise nevertheless," he finished, looking back at me with a confident grin, assuming I would agree with his notion.
"This will be the grandest and, truthfully, the most expensive exercise I've ever seen if your assumption turns out correct," I replied, my tone a touch sharper. "Only time will tell," I added, turning to face forward. I tightened my grip on the reins of my mount, urging it forward as I led the first steps of the long march to Lapurum.