Chapter 5

“So, you’re really going to leave me to fend for myself on my last night with Captain Mandrake?” Damian joked, a smirk playing on his lips as they approached the inn. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the path, painting Stillwater in hues of amber and gold. The air was thick with the day’s lingering heat, carrying the scent of cooking fires and river water.

“Trust me Damian, nothing good will come of me joining you all. After one nasty comment from Mandrake, I’d probably say something we both would regret. We don’t want to risk your new position before you even start, do we?” Myria said, her tone light but her eyes serious. A strand of her hair caught the sunset light, glowing copper against her skin.

“Fair enough,” he admitted, his voice laced with a trace of sadness. This might be the last time he’d see Myria until his break from the academy in a year. The thought settled in his chest like a stone, more disheartening than he’d ever let on. Why is it so much harder to say goodbye to her than I expected? Damian’s trust in Myria was as deep as his bond with Vik, and his feelings for her were significant, perhaps more than she realized.

In the distance, the clanking of swords and boisterous laughter marked the soldiers’ presence around the inn. Damian briefly wondered if Vik and his father had returned yet from the forest challenge. The day was fading, and concern for his brother flickered beneath his thoughts of departure.

“I wish we had more time together these past days,” he quietly confessed, his gaze fixed on the ground where dust swirled around their feet. “With Vik’s challenge and all the packing, I just…”

Myria, understanding the weight of his words, gently took his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. The warmth of her touch sent a current through him that momentarily pushed away thoughts of leaving. He wished she would hold on longer, but she released it as they rounded the corner to their final stretch.

“You’re going to do amazing. Just stay composed. You know they’ll try to rattle you,” she advised, her eyes steady on the path ahead. “You’ll be wearing that uniform while Vik studies with the mechaneers, learning to build innovations that could change our country’s future. Different paths, but you both found your way to serve.”

The inn loomed ahead, its structure constructed from aged stone and weathered timber standing firmly rooted in the earth, a testament to years of weathering the elements. Its steep, shingled roof and sturdy wooden door exuded an inviting warmth, reminiscent of a haven for weary travelers. Around the inn, a few scattered lanterns were being lit by the innkeeper’s son, their fresh flames competing with the fading daylight. The soldiers stationed outside, hands resting on sword hilts, seemed almost out of place against the backdrop of this rustic retreat, their rigid postures and polished insignias a stark reminder of the world beyond Stillwater’s walls.

Just as they approached the door, from which the aromas of roast meat and fresh bread wafted invitingly, Myria paused, her hesitation catching Damian’s attention. He turned to her, words failing him as the weight of imminent separation pressed down. Then Myria pulled him into a warm embrace, her arms wrapping firmly around his shoulders. Time seemed to stand still in that moment, the sounds of the inn and soldiers fading away, their connection a silent vow against the backdrop of looming uncertainties. Her hair smelled of lavender and river mint, a scent Damian knew he would carry with him to Garrison Point. As she stepped back, her lips brushed his cheek in a brief kiss, leaving Damian completely stunned, his skin tingling where she had touched it.

“I’m really proud of you, for following your heart and going after what you believe in. Just remember me, okay, soldier?” Myria’s smile was warm, genuine, and as she turned to leave, a part of Damian wanted to call her back. Tell her how you really feel before it’s too late, a voice urged inside him, but the words caught in his throat as he watched her figure begin to recede into the gathering dusk.

The sudden kiss left him dazed, a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts crashing to a halt. The sensation lingered on his cheek like a promise, more meaningful than any lengthy farewell could have been. But before he could fully process the moment, a soldier’s teasing whistle pierced the air, shattering the private bubble that had formed around them.

“Captain’s not gonna wait all day for you to say goodbye to your lady. Move it!” the soldier called out, a smirk in his voice that carried the familiar edge of military mockery.

Damian scanned the row of uniformed men, but couldn’t pinpoint which had called out. Their faces blurred together in the fading light, a preview of the countless soldiers he would soon call brothers-in-arms. Frozen for a moment, he watched Myria walk away, her silhouette growing fainter against the darkening sky. Her words echoed in his mind, a promise of hope amidst the challenges that lay ahead.

Resolutely, he squared his shoulders and made his way to the inn’s entrance, feeling the soldiers’ stares burning into his back like hot brands. Some curious, others assessing—already judging whether Jacob Redwill’s son had what it took to wear their uniform. As he grasped the weathered door handle, concern for Myria’s solo journey home flickered through his mind. The paths were growing dark, and not everyone in Stillwater welcomed the military presence with open arms.

But with a deep, steadying breath, he reminded himself—Myria could handle herself, probably better than anyone else he knew. She navigated Stillwater’s changing political landscape with the same ease she traveled its physical paths. With that reassurance, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, determined to face whatever awaited him within the Captain’s presence.

Entering the inn, Damian immediately noticed the fireplace ablaze, an unexpected sight amid the summer warmth. Normally, in the warmer seasons, the main sitting area kept its windows wide open to catch any breeze that might drift in from the river. Yet here the fire crackled, adding a layer of stifling heat that made the air even heavier. The flames cast dancing shadows across the room, illuminating the faces of those gathered with an almost theatrical glow.

Glancing through the dual-sided fireplace, a unique feature that shared its warmth with both the main lounge and a more secluded dining area beyond, Damian tried to discern any figures seated on the other side. The fire’s lively dance made it difficult to see clearly, distorting the shadows beyond into wavering specters.

Amidst the stifling heat, Alizer, the innkeeper, approached with his usual welcoming presence. His worn apron bore the marks of the day’s work—flour dusted across the fabric, a splash of wine near the hem. Damian greeted him with a thankful smile, recognizing the dear family friend who had known him since he was barely tall enough to see over the counter. Alizer himself appeared to be struggling with the heat, his forehead dotted with sweat from the relentless warmth, his usually immaculate collar now damp against his neck.

“Marana and I couldn’t be prouder, Damian. Tonight’s a big occasion for you,” Alizer said, his smile genuine though Damian detected a hint of concern in his tone, a subtle tightness around his eyes that belied his cheerful words.

With a nervous cough, Alizer gestured for Damian to follow him to the dining room, a place both he and Vik had visited numerous times before—celebrating birthdays, marking successful fishing seasons, or simply enjoying Marana’s exceptional cooking when their father was away on trading journeys. Damian didn’t really need someone to show him the way; he could navigate the inn blindfolded.

“Isn’t it a bit early in the year for such a warm welcome?” Damian quipped, noting the blazing fireplace as they moved past tables where other patrons cast curious glances their way.

Alizer chuckled, a bit uneasily, his eyes darting briefly toward the dining room entrance. “Ah, the soldiers. They fancy a meal by the fire, regardless of the season. Must be missing the cold from Garrison Point,” he whispered quietly, leaning in so only Damian could hear. “The Captain insisted on it, actually.”

As Damian entered the dining room, he immediately noticed Captain Mandrake standing by the two-sided fireplace, absorbed in smoking a long pipe of polished cherry wood. Blue-gray smoke curled upward, adding another layer to the already oppressive atmosphere as the Captain adjusted the fire with practiced movements. Despite the heat, Mandrake showed no signs of discomfort, his uniform impeccable, not a single button out of place.

Alizer moved quickly to offer assistance, while Damian’s eyes roamed the empty room. The table was set for two, white linen gleaming in the firelight, silverware arranged with military precision. It wasn’t a shock to see no other diners; Captain Mandrake’s short fuse and demanding presence were legendary in Stillwater. Most locals would sooner eat cold fish than share a dining room with him.

“Captain, sir, may I?” Alizer offered, reaching for the poker in an attempt to tend to the fire, his hospitality instincts overriding his obvious discomfort.

Mandrake, with a swift move, bypassed Alizer, dismissing the offer with a flick of his wrist. “That won’t be necessary, Keeper. We’d appreciate some privacy,” he said, fixing Damian with a glance that carried a smile devoid of warmth, like a winter sun that offers light but no comfort. Understanding the cue, Alizer gave a subtle nod and exited the room with a soft bow, leaving Damian alone with the Captain. As the door closed behind him, Damian felt as if the temperature had risen another few degrees.

“Thank you again for the invitation,” Damian started, aiming to dissolve the tense silence that hung between them like a physical barrier. He glanced at the table, where two meals were laid out: one looked slightly eaten, the Captain’s plate bearing the telltale signs of impatient picking; the other seemed to have been waiting for a while, a thin skin forming on the gravy and a persistent fly circling above it like a sentry on patrol.

“It’s good to have you,” Captain Mandrake replied, though his tone hinted at insincerity, the words hollow as a rotten log. “Please, join me. My apologies, it seems our meal was served prematurely. It appears the innkeeper struggles with following directions.” His fingers drummed against the table’s edge in a rhythm that suggested controlled irritation.

Damian bit back his immediate reaction, the defense of Alizer that rose instinctively to his lips. He understood now the food’s state was a deliberate choice by the Captain, designed to unsettle him—another test before the real testing began at Garrison Point. He knew the lengths Alizer went to in keeping the inn running smoothly, especially given the dwindling number of visitors as Stillwater’s fortunes ebbed with the vanishing fish. Despite their own financial struggles, his family had always made it a point to support Alizer’s efforts, even when it meant eating simpler meals at home. Determined not to let the Captain’s calculated slight affect him, Damian prepared to join the meal, keeping his composure as steady as a river fisher’s hand on a calm day.

“No apology necessary,” Damian responded, taking his seat with deliberate ease. The wooden chair creaked beneath him, a sound amplified in the strained quiet. He began to tackle the cold meal with his fork, the metal clinking against the ceramic in the silent room. He remained indifferent to the fly now landing on the edge of his plate. After spending years surrounded by dead fish and the insects they attracted at the cleanary, a few flies here made little difference to him. The food was cold but edible—he’d certainly had worse during long days on the river.

The Captain seemed to take some satisfaction from Damian’s compliance, a flicker of something like approval momentarily softening his severe features before vanishing like mist in morning sun. He settled into his chair opposite Damian, the leather of his uniform creaking slightly. “So, tell me, Damian, why the military?” he inquired, pushing his own meal plate away from him in disgust, the porcelain scraping across the wooden table with a sound that set Damian’s teeth on edge.

After swallowing his mouthful, Damian glanced around for something to drink, spotting a water pitcher at the table’s end, beads of condensation running down its sides. He poured himself a full glass, the clear liquid catching the firelight as it filled the cup. Taking a moment and a deep sip to think over his reply carefully, the cool water a welcome relief against the room’s oppressive heat.

“Ever since I was little, I’ve felt drawn to the military. It’s the backbone of our country, keeping us safe and maintaining order, ensuring that external threats don’t undermine our way of life,” Damian started, his tone sincere, recalling his mother’s uniform hanging in their home, a symbol of pride and purpose he’d always admired.

The Captain cut in sharply, his voice slicing through Damian’s thoughts like a knife through fish scales. “I’m well aware of the military’s role. I’m asking about your personal reasons for wanting to enlist.” His eyes, cold as winter river water, fixed on Damian’s face, searching for any sign of weakness or falsehood.

Damian took a moment, knowing he needed to give a more personal response. The dinner was proving as tough as he had anticipated, but he held onto the hope of one day not having to constantly spar with the Captain. Perhaps earning the man’s respect at Garrison Point might finally silence the mockery that had followed him and Vik for years.

“Becoming a soldier is one of the most demanding paths one can take. I excel under physical strain and thrive in competitive environments. Beyond that, I aim to be a leader, someone our towns and cities can depend on for making crucial safety decisions.” Damian was candid, aware his words might provoke, yet feeling it crucial to be transparent. The unspoken connection to his mother’s legacy hung in the air between them. He glanced back at his plate, spearing a piece of cold carrot, its color dulled by time, and braced for the Captain’s reaction.

The prolonged silence stretched on, its tension tangible, amplifying Damian’s discomfort as he sat across from the Captain. The crackling fire provided the only sound, punctuated by the occasional clink of Damian’s fork against his plate. The Captain’s face remained impassive, a mask that revealed nothing of the thoughts behind it. Eventually, he broke the tension, his voice lower but no less sharp.

“Just so you’re aware, the training you’re about to undergo is unlike anything you’ve ever faced. It’s imperative you excel; I cannot have a candidate from my district be anything less than exemplary. Your achievements in local sports are commendable, but trust me, they hardly compare to the challenges that lie ahead.” Each word seemed carefully measured, designed to apply pressure like weights stacked on a fisherman’s scale.

Damian’s hope of a fresh start with Mandrake dwindled with each word, withering like river plants pulled from water. He listlessly shifted the food around his plate, the patterns he made in the cold gravy meaningless as he wondered what could possibly come next. His train of thought was abruptly interrupted as the door flew open with enough force to rattle the dishes, and a soldier rushed in, his face flushed with exertion and urgency, to deliver a message to the Captain.

Captain Mandrake’s irritation was evident as he grabbed the message from the soldier, his eyes quickly scanning the note. The parchment crinkled under his tight grip, his knuckles whitening with pressure. For a fleeting second, his face twisted into a smirk, a trace of amusement breaking through his usual stern demeanor like sunlight piercing storm clouds. The transformation was subtle but unmistakable—satisfaction replacing annoyance.

“Looks like your brother had a bit of trouble with his challenge,” the Captain commented, hardly concealing his delight, each word dripping with poorly disguised pleasure. “The note says he barely scraped through.” He placed the message down beside his plate with deliberate slowness, watching Damian’s reaction from beneath hooded eyes.

Damian’s heart skipped a beat, the Captain’s words echoing in his head like stones dropped in a still pond. A cold dread settled in his stomach, heavier than the food he’d been forcing down. Panic and concern surged through him, each heartbeat hammering against his ribs with increasing urgency. He stood up hastily, the chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor in his haste, determined to find out what had happened to Vik. Barely scraped through could mean anything from minor injuries to something far worse.

“Damian,” Captain Mandrake’s voice rose, tinged with anger for being ignored, the commanding tone he likely used with fresh recruits who hadn’t yet learned their place. “We’re leaving at dawn tomorrow. If you’re not there on time, consider your invitation withdrawn, and we’ll depart without you.” His threat hung in the air, a final test of Damian’s commitment to the path he’d chosen.

Damian didn’t bother with a response; any words would only delay him further. He hastened towards the door, the fireplace’s heat receding behind him with each step. As he moved swiftly through the inn’s common area, conversations hushed momentarily as curious eyes tracked his passage. Alizer quickly approached him from behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron, his expression filled with regret and concern.

“I really am sorry about the meal being cold, Damian. I argued with the Captain to wait for your arrival,” Alizer said, his eyes downcast, voice low enough that the soldiers by the door couldn’t overhear. Old lines of worry deepened across his weathered face. He then pressed a small package into Damian’s hands, neatly wrapped in cloth still warm from the kitchen. “Marana prepared this for you. We both know you’re going to make an outstanding soldier, unlike any we’ve seen before in these parts. Go be with your brother.”

The simple kindness, so at odds with the calculated tension of the dinner he’d just left, caught Damian off guard. Warmth bloomed in his chest that had nothing to do with the heat of the package in his hands. Damian’s eyes welled up with gratitude as he embraced Alizer, the familiar scent of baking bread and woodsmoke momentarily grounding him amidst his worry. Without another word, he opened the door and hurried down the path leading home, propelled by a mix of urgency and determination. The evening air, though still warm, felt refreshing after the stifling atmosphere of the inn, and he quickened his pace, the package clutched tightly against his chest as he disappeared into the gathering darkness.

~~~

As Damian neared their home, he saw the door swing open, revealing his father and Scholar Veridian engrossed in a serious talk. Light spilled from the doorway, casting their elongated shadows across the porch. His dad caught sight of him, concern flashing in his eyes as Damian closed in, his own emotions barely contained behind a mask of anger.

“If Vik’s hurt because of your challenge, Scholar, no fancy tool you’ve got will save you from what I’ll do,” Damian burst out, his words sharp as knives, each one weighted with the protective instinct that had defined his relationship with his brother since childhood.

“Damian, I assure you, your brother is in a stable condition. Such incidents, though regrettable, can occur. Rest assured, I’m committed to his swift recovery,” Veridian responded, his voice steady, trying to diffuse Damian’s fury. The scholar’s clothes were stained with patches of dried blood that appeared almost black in the dim evening light, and his gray hair hung loosely around his face, unconstrained by his usual hat. There was a weariness to him that hadn’t been present when Damian had seen him at the forest’s edge earlier.

“Right,” Damian retorted, his sarcasm as heavy as his footsteps on the wooden porch. “Every ‘help’ from you engineers seems to leave us worse off.” The bitterness of past losses—the river fish, the town’s prosperity—clung to his words like moss to stone.

“Damian!” Jacob’s voice cut through, stern yet tinged with his own distress. Shadows deepened the lines around his eyes, speaking of hours spent in worry. “Being upset doesn’t justify rudeness. Vik needs his rest; let’s not disturb him now.”

Damian brushed past his father, ignoring his words and headed directly to Vik’s closed bedroom door. The familiar corridor, lined with childhood memories preserved in the worn floorboards and nicked walls, felt suddenly alien in the context of his fear. Pausing only to gather himself, his hand trembling slightly on the doorknob, he quietly opened the door and stepped inside.

Vik was barely conscious, his condition grim. His face and arms were enveloped in bandages, with some areas still seeping blood, dark stains spreading slowly across the white cloth. The scent of medicinal herbs hung heavy in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. Damian had to muster all his willpower to hold back his anger towards the scholar, focusing instead on his brother’s pale face in the soft lamplight.

“Vik, what happened? How did you end up like this?” Damian’s voice was thick with concern, but soft enough to not startle him. He perched carefully on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.

Vik turned his head weakly towards Damian, his eyes glazed with pain and whatever medicine the scholar had administered. “Remember how we always steered clear of those deep, dark pools in the forest beyond the meadow? Turns out we were right to avoid them,” he managed, his voice broken by a painful cough that seemed to rattle through his entire body.

Listening to Vik’s abbreviated tale, Damian sensed gaps in the narrative, details Vik either couldn’t or wouldn’t share. The story felt incomplete, like a fish net with holes that let the truth slip through.

“The rope just… broke?” Damian pressed, skepticism lacing his voice, finding it hard to accept such a simple explanation for his brother’s dire state. His fingers absently traced the worn edge of Vik’s blanket, a childhood comfort that now seemed inadequate against these adult dangers.

“Yeah,” Vik murmured, his speech beginning to blur, syllables melting into one another. The medicine Scholar Veridian had administered was evidently kicking in, pulling Vik towards sleep like a receding tide drawing back to sea.

As Damian considered pressing further, Vik’s voice grew stronger for a moment, clarity cutting through the fog of medication. “I always knew you’d make a superior soldier to me. Now’s your chance,” he said, his tone carrying a mix of fatigue and conviction. His bandaged hand found Damian’s wrist, gripping it with surprising strength.

Damian, caught off guard with the compliment, tried to deflect the gravity of the moment with humor, a familiar shield against vulnerability. “You’re starting to sound like Pops with one of his ‘proud’ speeches.” He attempted a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Vik, undeterred, continued earnestly, each word seemingly requiring great effort, “We are proud, Damian. Both of us. Life doesn’t wait—chase your dreams. I braved the lythia for mine; your challenge awaits you now.” With those words, Vik’s eyes closed, long lashes resting against cheeks too pale, his head turning to find comfort on his pillow. His breathing settled into the rhythm of deep sleep, each rise and fall of his chest a reassurance Damian clung to.

Pausing in the dim light of the hallway, Damian took one last look at Vik’s closed door, the weight of their conversation sinking in like a stone in still water. His brother’s support, despite his own ordeal, solidified Damian’s determination. A newfound acceptance filled him, knowing their paths would finally diverge. Whatever happened next, Damian would equally support his brother’s decisions, just as Vik had done for him.

Navigating through the silent, shadow-filled house, Damian made his way toward the stairs. The familiar creaks and groans of the old wooden structure, sounds that had been the backdrop to his entire life, now seemed like a language he was about to forget. A sudden cough from the direction of the fireplace gave him a start, but then he recognized it was his father, settled in the darkness, the dying embers casting a faint orange glow across his features.

“I probably won’t be here to see you off in the morning. Got a lot to do at the shop,” Jacob said, standing up from his worn chair, its leather polished smooth by years of use. The firelight caught the silver strands in his hair, more numerous than Damian remembered.

As Damian thought about his father handling the increased workload at the cleanery alone, without him and Vik to help, a wave of guilt washed over him, cold and insistent. Still, he pushed those feelings aside, reminding himself that this was the price to pay for the journey he had chosen. The life his mother had lived with pride.

“That’s alright, I get it. Just look after yourself, okay? And don’t overdo it at the shop,” Damian tried to keep his voice even, light, though the effort felt transparent. “Vik already gave me a whole speech about being proud, so let’s skip the waterworks,” he added, a half-smile flickering across his face like the last spark of a dying fire.

Jacob didn’t respond with words; instead, he stepped forward and wrapped Damian in a hug that conveyed years of silent pride and concern. The familiar scent of river water and wood smoke that clung to his father’s clothes brought a rush of childhood memories. Damian fought to keep his composure, nearly overwhelmed by the warmth and security of his father’s embrace. Damian began to mention his next possible return home, attempting to lighten the mood, but Jacob remained quiet, his silence more eloquent than words.

Reluctantly letting go, Jacob looked at Damian, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears in the low light. “I am proud of you Damian. Remember, you and Vik mean everything to me. Call on me if you need me, anytime.” Turning away, Jacob headed to the kitchen, leaving Damian alone with his thoughts and the gradually dying fire.

Climbing the stairs, Damian felt the weight of his impending departure with each step. Tomorrow, he would step into a new chapter of his life, far away from the comforts of his childhood home, the people he loved. The distant peaks of Garrison Point awaited, unknown challenges and trials looming like the mountain itself. Despite the knots of apprehension in his stomach, he focused on the future stretching before him like an uncharted river. He had missions to fulfill, aspirations to chase. Just like Vik.