Playing with his cap as he walked, Dillon replayed his past counseling sessions in his head: Winston tapping a pen on his notebook, waiting for more comments from Dillon when he wanted him to volunteer a topic or concern. His reassuring nods at Dillon's insecurities and questions. He might fly through those meetings as if he was on autopilot, but, having known each other for quite a while—not to mention that participating in therapy was a condition in his military contract—his scholar knew how to eventually bring his thoughts out.

When will our bloodbaths end? When would the Volcano Terrorists, the Vocalists[1], be satisfied with their work? Is the Volcano's royalty in cahoots with the terrorists? Did they not understand that violence and blood thirst are not in our veins, as people made up of low blood and ice? That we would accept peace and union if they offered?

No. They had no intentions of making peace whatsoever, single-minded as they were to make their vengeful purposes realized. Whether most of the Kingdom of Crystal actually knew those true purposes was a question that came up every time the initiation of the War was mentioned. There was a frenzy of debate during lessons whenever the instructor so much as attempted to delve into it.

He inhaled to calm his taut nerves. Winston's patients were said to walk out on lighter feet and emotional highs, but Dillon was always just the opposite. And, as always, worried men awaited him in the lobby.

Cedric held a paper cup of coffee with a crystal logo, steam billowing from its lid, when Dillon approached. As the man did not drink coffee, it was for him. On occasion he would treat him to one, probably as his way of thanking him for serving the Kingdom, which Dillon couldn't help appreciating. 

Smiling, Cedric said, "Hey, you're out. How..." He paused, remembering that questioning Dillon about therapy, even in a general sense, never got him anywhere. Instead, he asked, "How are you?"

He took the cup he was offered, grimacing in return. "I'm not sure. The same. Thank you for the drink."

"It's not much, but it's to somewhat commemorate your promotion. Finally. What took you? You know it's been ages since you joined us?" Maintaining a serious face, he took Dillon's cap and placed it on him so that its brim obscured his eyes. "I thought I'd make Commander before you came up."

Dillon protested, taking the cap off and shoving him with an elbow. "I got my lecture from Dr. Winston, so I would thank you very much for shutting your annoying grinders."

With a grin, Cedric leaned in. "No thanks. If I shut them, I can't stick my nose in your business. So, on that note, I hear you've got a wonderful lady friend back home in Tower 16's Gettua City. How's the romancing coming along? Need advice?"

Freezing, he stared at him with wide eyes, then squinted. "Speaking of my business, that kind of damn personal information is none of your damn business!"

Where in hell had he heard about that? The only one he spoke of it to was his roommate, a man who was tight-lipped and didn't indulge in silly tales. Had he heard him speaking to Fay on the phone or communicator? He had only done so on his breaks and days off, never when anyone else was in sight.

His furrowed brows had Cedric stifling back a fit of laughter, albeit without success. He coughed as he composed himself. "Is that a hint of pink I see? Come on. Out with the juicy details. It's an order."

Stepping back, Dillon shook his head and glued his mouth shut. For the sake of respecting her, Anita was never going to be a topic of conversation in the workplace, no matter how frivolous or trivial the subject. Besides, he was too proud of her to taint her that way. "You're no longer my boss. Also, you don't share your conquests, so don't even ask about mine."

"Way to turn it around on me! You can already stand up for yourself," he praised, his smile far too approving. "Tell me, are you ready for The Games[2] yet?"

Thrown by the sudden change of topic, Dillon blinked and replied, "The Games of Crystal? I think I should practice my agility and speed a little more, but everything else is good to go. Already got my supplies. I aim to conquer the round again."

"Well, let's hope it doesn't end up like last time, right?" Cedric laughed. He turned down the corridor to make for Dr. Winston's room. "I will look forward to it. He's waiting for me. See you tomorrow."

The Games of Crystal was a competitive event in which crystallizing users showed off their powers and skills in many rounds and various games. It only happened once a year and attracted lots of attention from soldiers and civilians as a necessary form of entertainment away from the destructive war. Dillon's personal game round was the one specializing in double barrier manipulation. The audience judged and voted on speed of manipulation, ability to follow timing when asked to make a double barrier, speed of assessing vulnerable situations and areas that needed barriers and who was first to make them, as well as a show of whose barrier held up the longest against heat or assault.

Dillon had won first place in the previous year's Double Barrier round, though barely; the temporary fame, cash prize, and crystal trophy awarded to him caused some jealousy in his militant competitors for a brief time afterward. His team and Cedric had helped to alleviate some of their frustrations before the situation had gotten out of hand, which, of course, Dillon would forever be grateful for.

Although he spoke such words of confidence to Cedric, he was not feeling the confidence this time around. He noticed in his last training hour that the speed of his barrier crystallizing had decreased by a minuscule amount. At that rate, it would cost him a damaging 0.5 point less from his best speed test score, or even affect his soldier exam score. He was worried, to say the least. Not of the words whispered behind his back, but by the now real possibility of his talent declining. If only just by a bit, it had receded. In other words, would it continue to do so? Or was it a one off because of his constant growth?

Would he, one day, be forced to face living in a war-stricken world being unable to protect the souls dearest to him? He already couldn't bear being unable to protect all innocents in the kingdom, let alone just one or two.

Shuddering at the thought, he strode through the campus ground to meet his roommate, Rone, at their dorm. Every once in a while, random groups of soldiers passed him, heading in the direction opposite him. A majority of them were soldier ranks, and seeing Dillon's badge, some saluted him while others nodded. A few didn't even notice. Musing over society's general adoration for status and rank, he wondered if his strolls through base, campus, and war zones would always be like this. If that was the case, he would be tempted to remove and conceal his badge altogether.

Damn with military status, and damn with society.

Dillon fixed his gaze on the ground through his entire walk, taking turtle steps, giving off a shy air that was abnormal even for him. His usual "keep out" shell was to maintain an ice shield of a militant sort—back straight, shoulders set, head upright, glazed, frosty eyes, bland frown. Yet he could adapt none of it. A result of the status fame perhaps? Or of the uncomfortable conversation with his former superior? Or of the dreadful killer known as therapy, which still whirled through his head and weighed down his heart?

He saw that the light was on through the window of his room, making him hesitate. In this mindset he didn't want company of any kind. Breath held, he pushed through and made a beeline for the bathroom. Though he knew Rone would call to him any moment, he couldn't stop his barricaded emotions from boiling over. A sudden hiccup wrenched at his chest, making him half gasp as he stifled it. He shut blurring eyes against an onslaught of pain and memories, a hand cupped over his mouth.

Don't. Shut up, shut up, shut up. When he was calmer, he counted numbers in an attempt to relax and block his emotions from flowing over the dam. It was a technique he often used. Mindful meditation also helped on the worst days when he needed to lift himself out of negative thoughts. 

"Brother Dill, what're you up to in there? Taking a piss?" Rone rapped once on the door. "Been waiting for you. Did you check your comm? I think I saw you on stage. You a Gen now?"

"I am, Rone," he said to the door. He turned off the water tap after rinsing his face. Seeing in the mirror that his violet eyes turned dark from misery, he shut them. "You know how counseling is. Dr. Winston of all people. He takes his job seriously."

"Ugh, what a drag. Obviously recording and counseling are vital to learn from, but it is so infuriatingly tedious. Not a single one I've met finds it fun. Well, except scholar and psych brains."

Dillon downed the rest of his lukewarm espresso. He opened the door and tossed the empty cup in their aqua bin. When he turned to look at Rone, who knew not to delve into the topic of therapy, his cool eyes were fastened on the shiny blue badge of valor pinned on Dillon's coat.

"Y-Yes?" He had seen badges before, hadn't he?

"I can't call you just Brother Dill anymore," he said, distraught, voice cracking in an absurd way. "It's Gen-Sol Dill now. And I have to salute you. Rules are insane!"

Dillon's lips twitched despite himself. "You're right as crystal again. I'll punish you if you disrespect me, or catch you slacking off when there's work to be done. Heed my words."

"Oh, lay off the ego! The power's getting to your head already. I won't hesitate to report you to the Human Sector for any signs of abuse of authority."

"Try it. I'll report you first for laziness and noncooperation."

Despite their playful banter, both knew his first threat wasn't a complete joke for a stickler like Dillon. Both also knew that the workaholic known as Rone would rarely, if ever, 'slack off'. Rone's features were thin and strained, as if he was always busy and focused, while his short hair was clean, its chestnut color fading from the stress of constant work, training, and studies. His light blue eyes sometimes shone with life and cheer around his friends, but they dulled when he would squint his eyes in concentration. Even so, he loved to work more than flop around and share meaningless fun, so he would never complain about doing military business.

Though he had grown close to Fay in the outside world, without Rone in his life, Dillon's days as a soldier would be dull, stale, and isolated. He would have secluded himself, working only on physique, combative techniques, research, and academic studies day in and day out. Based on their people's history of burning out and consequences of stress from working to death, that would not have been ideal for Dillon's disposition and reputation. If he behaved antisocial because of a lack of a good friend in the early stages of his time with Team 0-18, nobody but Cedric would bother to force their way past his mental barrier and find a kind, sensitive heart in him. No one would realize that he could be likable and usable in a cooperative war situation. Seven months ago, he had no friends outside the military, and his only family lived rather far away. After his transfer from Team 0-13 to Team 0-18, thus putting him in the Teams 0-15 to 0-29 Dorm Wing, Rone agreed to become his roommate.

They didn't get along with each other at first, exchanging only surface greetings and curt words of acknowledgment. Dillon came off as reclusive while Rone came off as absentminded. Dillon would give a short greeting to a distracted Rone when they saw each other, and Rone would reply in kind while hustling off to do his business. Having their own work and schedule to take care of, the first two months passed in relative peace with only two minor points of conflict under their belt.

One day, having asked Dillon for help, he made suggestions on a problem in Rone's assignment. The question was quite difficult even for one as studious as Rone, so Dillon could only answer with his favorite resource for the type of problem mentioned, New Training Methodology, in a secluded section of the library. The book contained hundreds of pages, describing and explaining dozens upon dozens of methods of training in certain combat situations utilizing the best of their crystallizing powers. Its second half was all about crystal barriers. The book itself was rather unknown because it was a new publication, but Cedric had helpfully recommended it to Dillon when he ran into one of the complex situations explained in the book.

Ever since then, the roommates who could only exchange greetings and small favors would share personal answers and suggestions on their home assignments, books of interests and tastes, their favorite researchers, and favored fire versus crystal strategies. They both worked hard in their various struggles and found that their minds were similar to each other in the academic area, allowing them to remain as close as they were in the remaining months. Rone learned to leave Dillon alone when war broke out and allies and civilians had passed away, while Dillon respected Rone's need to devote himself to routine study periods. More than their mutual interests and thoughts, they cherished their times left alone the most and believed they were the perfect roommates for one another.

"We should go get something to eat," Rone said as he rubbed his stomach. "You made me wait too long."

They left for the building's dining hall on the first floor. One side of the break room consisted of crystal tables and chairs for dining, and the far end had a long rack of food, with cafeteria cooks and assistants hovering by them. On the other side of the room was the lounge area, full of soft couches, resting cots, television sets, book and magazine racks, lifting equipment, hand weights, and board games. It was called the dining hall at Dillon's dorm, but its space was only half of the massive room.

"Are you prepared to meet and dazzle your team?" Rone asked as he chewed on a carrot.

"Dazzle? Not at all. You think they will ask for a performance?"

"Ask? Performance?" he scoffed. "More like demand a showdown. You know how most crystallizers are, especially against someone famous like you."