As the Sisters faded from the darkened sky and the Lifegiver began his ascent, his warmth and light slowly touched the waking world. In sync with his rise, I stirred from my rest, preparing for the coming assault on Lapurum. The oilskin of my tent kept out much of the early spring chill, while a thin slit in the entrance allowed the first golden rays to slip inside. For a brief moment, the warmth was almost pleasant, lulling me into a fleeting sense of ease. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and then straightened, pushing away the temptation of comfort.
I rose from my resting place, stretching my aching body. The familiar pop of stiff joints followed. No matter how many times I had slept like this, it never became easier. At least winter was retreating with each passing day, and the prospect of a full night's rest was becoming slightly less elusive. It was time for me to get ready.
My fingers traced over the cold black steel of my cuirass, following the raised gold inlays. The patterns swirled like frozen fire—intricate, commanding. I had worn this armor countless times before, yet each morning before battle, fastening it felt like a ritual—a moment of quiet before stepping into the storm. I slid it over my tunic, the familiar weight settling against my chest like a second skin, a reminder. The straps pulled tight, securing me in place, as if binding me to the role I had long since accepted.
The pauldrons came next, their gilded edges catching the morning light. Layer upon layer of metal, shaped and set to deflect and endure. As I fastened them into place, I flexed my shoulders, testing my range of motion—fluid, unrestricted. Good. The belt followed, its ornate engravings pressing into my waist as I tightened it. From it hung the faulds, their lacquered black plates shifting slightly as they settled over my legs. Protection and mobility—a balance struck in steel.
My hands found the gauntlets next, fingers sliding into the cool embrace of metal and leather. The fit was perfect, as always, each plate moving seamlessly with my grip as I flexed my hands. A soldier's armor was an extension of himself, and mine had long since become a part of me. The greaves locked into place over my shins, their golden filigree catching the light like the first glimmers of dawn.
Finally, I reached for the cloak. Heavy, black as midnight, its golden trim whispering against the ground as I swept it over my shoulders. It carried the weight of rank, of expectations, of every battle I had fought and every one I had yet to face. I fastened it in place and stood for a moment, rolling my shoulders, adjusting my grip on the buckles, breathing in the scent of oiled leather and steel.
As I moved to exit my tent, I paused in front of my hastily made shrine. The faint scent of incense lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the tent's oilskin. I grabbed my wooden cup and pulled the stopper from the wineskin lying on its side. The rich, ruby liquid glinted in the dim light as I poured a small offering into the cup. Holding it aloft, I whispered my prayer:
"I pray to you, dear Father Sun, and offer to you, dear Sisters of Night. May this wine be the only sacrifice your servants must make this day. May it suffice. Ave Sorores Noctis et Sol."
I placed the half-filled cup on the shrine, the wine catching the faint glow of the burning incense. I checked the sticks, their embers still smoldering, and added a pinch of fresh resin to ensure they would burn throughout my absence. The fragrant smoke curled upward, carrying my prayer to the heavens.
At last, my palm felt my sword. The moment my hand closed around the hilt, a familiar calm settled over me. Its weight was reassuring, as if a missing piece of myself had been restored. I fastened the scabbard to my belt, the leather strap snug against my hip, and pushed aside the tent flap.
Morning light washed over me, warm and golden, as the camp stirred to life around me.
"Good morning, Praefectus!" Felix's voice rang out as he stepped briskly from his tent, which stood near mine in the heart of the encampment.
"Good morning, Legatus Varian," I replied, closing the distance between us. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long behind that canvas flap, Felix," I added in a low, teasing whisper.
"Praefectus, I just got up and made haste when I heard you," he insisted, though the deepening red on his face betrayed him. For a brief moment, I felt a flicker of guilt for flustering him so easily—but then my gaze fell upon his immaculately polished armor and perfectly arranged garments. Any remorse quickly vanished, replaced instead by the familiar urge to push him just a little further, like in the old days.
But there were more pressing matters at hand.
"I know, my friend. I'm joking," I said, flashing a crooked smile. "Ready for the morning rounds?"
"Of course, sir!" he declared, squaring his shoulders in a way that suggested he thought good posture might somehow mask the color still burning on his cheeks.
"On our way, then." I gestured for him to follow, leading the way into the waking camp.
We took the sand-paved road out of the encampment's center, moving along its main artery. The smell of damp branches struggling against the fire they were set upon stung my eyes, making them water, but it was always a welcome sign—the troops had begun their early preparations. Seeing them awake and readying themselves for the morning rituals eased the tension knotting in my stomach, if only slightly.
The clatter of pots and pans, mingled with faint yawns and murmured conversations, filled the crisp morning air. Groups of soldiers stirred from their tents, some gathered around crates and makeshift benches, sharing quiet greetings over steaming rations. As we walked toward the eastern gate, our passing was met with nods and brief exchanges, a momentary stillness before the storm. In these fleeting interactions—among strangers bound by duty—there was an unspoken sense of belonging. A fragile, fleeting peace.
As we neared the gate, I saw horses steaming in the morning chill, straining to haul the massive Amplifiers into position for their deployment in the coming hours. A group of four accompanying Hierophants, followed closely by their own retinue of white-robed Priests, stood evenly spaced around them, chanting prayers and blessings in an effort to invoke the will of the Lifegiver so that he may speak through them when they call upon him.
The crunch of hurried boots on sand reached me before the voice did.
"Praefectus Cassius!" A ranger came striding toward us from the east road, dust caked to his greaves, his breath sharp from a long run.
I turned as he stopped before us, offering a salute. "Report."
"Sir," he began, voice taut, "we've scouted the outer walls as ordered. The enemy's mounted… something. Amplifiers, probably, but smaller. Crude. They've set them in rows across the battlements."
I felt Felix shift beside me, interest catching in his voice. "Amplifiers? How many?"
"Dozens," the ranger replied, eyes still on the distant walls as though counting them again.
He hesitated then. "Sir… the ones manning them… they looked small. Too small. Like children, maybe. Or… something close enough that you'd swear it from a distance."
The words dug at me more than I let show. Children. Their desperation has gone so far as to use children?
I kept my tone even. "You're certain of this praevitor?"
"Yes, Praefectus. Helmets too large for their heads. Movements… thin. Light. Not grown men."
The wind carried a faint chill through the camp, rattling the banners overhead.
"Very well," I said at last, voice firm enough to end the report. "Get food, water, then some rest. We'll factor this into the day's plans."
As the ranger departed, I stared at the walls beyond the fields. The image lingered, unwelcome—the tiny figures hunched beside weapons too big for their shoulders, pressed into a fight they could never carry. And with that, the cost of this day had changed.
"Felix," I said quietly, "we break those defenses cleanly. No wasted volleys. And no more blood than we must."
He nodded, though his jaw tightened at the edge in my voice.
Because whatever those figures were, I wouldn't let this day drown in their blood.