Hours later, with the abrupt ending of the ceremony, the crowd thinned out. The new general soldiers weren't due to meet their teams until 10 that night, so they all had a reprieve until then. Dillon made for the campus food store, hankering for some aromatic coffee. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught General Soldier Cedric Aster, his former superior on Team 0-18, approaching him. Slowing down, he saluted him in greeting.

"Sir." No one would ever know how delighted he felt inside at the sight of his mentor from his outer appearance.

"Dillon." Cedric nodded and smiled. He had mature eyes in a wide, sharp shape, set against a minty cool blue, almost transparent, that seemed as if they could read into any soul. He had light skin, as bred by purebred genes of the kingdom, windswept hair in a silver-white color and almost black in the back, wide and broad shoulders, and muscular biceps that hugged the shirt of the uniform. Sometimes he looked too handsome for his own good. Women probably swooned over his looks, but would be disillusioned if they truly got to know him. But that was just Dillon's personal opinion.

"Rather, it looks like we're on equal ground now. Call me Cedric already," he said, giving Dillon a hard slap on the back. "Don't be such a prissy trooper anymore. You're a General now. Where were you off to?"

He knew exactly where he was off to—away from a certain square building. Dillon eyed Cedric's menacing smile. "Nowhere. The library. You know our appointments in the Scholar Sector sit side by side." Despite his words, he was reluctant to voice them. He was avoiding it, after all, and Cedric was all over it. "Sir."

He raised an eyebrow. Dillon conceded. "Aster."

"Then shall we?" He walked slightly ahead of him, for Dillon's pace was that of a snail. "Must you continue to be like this, Dillon? You know the importance of these records. They are the epitome of history's essence. Without it, how should we learn anything?"

They walked alongside now, but Dillon's head hung. "Sir...Aster. Reliving it, I tremble at the mere thought of it. My disappointment is too unbearable. You know that."

"Your disappointment? Or your anguish?" Cedric's voice was soft. "I know it. You can't bear the loss of your comrades. Of Jace, Natalia, Molana. Derrick, Osaic, Tricia, Patrico, Lyn. You are one of the most intolerant demi I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, but because of that pleasure of knowing you, I know you must learn to let go. What is blocking your thoughts and feelings out going to do to you? Have you seen yourself lose control? We, your allies, have. Unbearable for you? It's unbearable for us to know you hold such pain inside and refuse to release it. To let it grow and fester, instead of change. You're a goddarned General now; you earned my hard scrape of a recommendation. Want to know something? We're the ones disappointed. I'm disappointed in you.

Their deaths are no more special or different than those of your loved ones, those of your mother's or father's. You accept that death is what we surround ourselves with. That death is only a natural consequence, no matter its circumstance or cause. It's going to end, and there isn't a damn in hell thing you can do about it. So do something that you can do about. Don't disappoint me. You know my bad sides. Fortunately for us, I know yours too."

Did this man have any idea how much, how often, he had saved Dillon with his verbal words alone? That he ceaselessly admired and respected him, his beliefs, his ideas, and his easy acceptance of everything that tore apart the world and all of the humanity trapped in its cruel web of destruction? Lord knew. He knew. He would forever be his mentor and trainer, no matter the rank or distance.

"I understand, sir. Thank you." His words were barely a whisper through the knot in his throat.

His scowl gone, Cedric smiled, eyes straight and direct ahead, focused only on their destination and the life they had ahead of them. "Dillon, there's too much pain from the other side. They have inflicted that pain on us as a result, so now we are in tremendous pain of our own. Pain affects us, so we try to right it, to balance it. Should your refusal to share pain not affect us too?"

"No, you are correct," he said, pleased to naturally agree with the sentiment. "Let's make a record of our pain, so we can right these wrongs."

Brows raised, Cedric glanced at him, then laughed. "You say interesting things in interesting ways."

That coming from the corny one, with lectures full of all things corny. Still, Dillon appreciated whenever he made him laugh, for Cedric had one of the most natural laughter out of everyone. He did it from the gut, and held a great humor for many things in life.

"You're the one who uttered those words. I just rephrased it."

As they approached the entrance of the large crystallized square building, with a huge dome roof, that was known as the Library Sector, the crystal door slid open. Cedric let him in first. Together they strode to the back of the large lobby, past the study and book rooms, and down a long corridor with many individual rooms. This corridor was attached to another lobby, and along with the rooms, was the property belonging to the Scholar Sector.

Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach. Cedric's words went in one ear and out the other without registering.

"Oh, General Soldier Caudry, you're finally here! How did the ceremony go?" the scholar desk clerk, Mylos, asked.

"Fine. It went fine." He hesitantly signed his name and appointment time in the log on the lobby counter. Without another word he took a seat on the side, in one of the many cushioned chairs, ready to retreat back into his shell.

Sitting down next to him, Cedric stared at him with concern, though it would not register to Dillon in his state. He was mentally and emotionally blocking off the world again. For a demi-human individual as defensively powerful as he, he didn't seem to know how to shut it off. It was an ongoing battle for both him—even if he had no intention of fighting—and Cedric, with an end that was perplexing in its muddled layers, like a foggy piece of crystal glass. An end that neither were sure they would ever reach.