I woke up on cold hard ground.

Sharp pains and aches shot through my side as I rolled over. I was no longer in the comforts of a warm bed, instead I was in the middle of a prison cell.

I’m confident I went to sleep in a bed, how did I get here?

The cell was small. Maybe about twelve feet on each side and squared off. It was barely lit and lined with cold stone slabs. There was an opening above me. Far above me.

I laid there for a while studying it. It had to be twenty or thirty feet. The perspective from the floor made it hard to judge.

It was possible that I could climb up and escape. But before I had a chance to formulate a daring escape plan, a bright light appeared in the opening. It was blinding and I raised my arm up to shield my eyes.

But this was not my arm. It was meatier than mine… and hairy. The wrist and palm were wrapped in blood-stained bandages. Large bony fingers protruded from the soaked wraps.

This isn’t right… What is happening?

A door slammed loudly down the hallway followed by shouts that echoed against the stone. The voices became clearer as their source approached closer to the cell.

"Why can’t we just kill the girl?"

"Because Fontaine told the Capt’ to keep ‘er alive, at least until tomorrow."

"Hangings are too boring. I don’t just want to watch her squirm, I want to make her squirm.."

"Celestials above, you’re a psychopath."

"Screw you. Anyways, Capt’ didn’t say we couldn’t rough ‘em up a bit. And I’m gonna make this one cry for his mum."

The men stopped in front of my cell and I lifted my head to look at them, but their faces were blurry—as if obscured by a fog. There were three men in total, and the one in the center spoke first.

"Get up, dirt-bag."

He had a long blue uniform coat that dipped down past his knees. A Renaultian insignia on his coat was displayed prominently, but I couldn’t quite make out the rank. It was also distorted by a fog. The other two men had much simpler uniform jackets on but the same fog hung around their ranks. All three of them towered over me at over six feet. They were too tall to just be regular Renaultian Divisionals. They were probably legionnaires from one of the nomadic tribes.

The man who spoke first kicked the cell. Metal scraped against stone. A sharp echo rang down the hall. In an angry tone he sneered at me.

"Hey! Dirt-bag, I said get up."

I stood up and looked... down at him—Looked down? I wouldn’t look down at anyone over six feet tall.

This had to be some sort of dream. But I wasn’t in my body. A sort of nightmare then. It felt so real.

Words came from my mouth, but they weren’t my words. A hoarse voice. "I don’t care about what you have to say, you bluecoat ass."

I know that voice. It’s Julius’ voice. Is this a memory?

There was always a distinct possibility that I was having a stroke.

The man spit on me—Well, not me...

On Julius.

Completely out of my own control, my arms reached through the bars and grabbed his throat with one hand and his coattails with the other. His very surprised face was pulled towards the bars and slammed against the steel. My hands let go just as his face made contact.

Celestials above!

The man stumbled back and yelled out in pain. Julius’ voice growled out of my mouth, "You don’t get to talk about her." The three men did not appreciate his lesson in social politics. The door to the cell was opened. They stepped in and more shouting was heard from down the hall.

Great, more people are coming to see the fun. I readied myself for a fight that never came. A loud explosion deafened me. The back wall of the cell blew out and knocked me off my feet…

"Hey! Airis, hey! Wake up!"

I awoke to Julius, who was kneeling down next to my bed, poking my forehead with his finger. My body was damp with sweat. It had soaked through the sheets, causing them to stick to me as I tried to sit up. He gave me a discerning look, "Do you want to talk about whatever weird panic attack you just had or—"

"No."

I pushed him away and tried to unstick myself from the bed. I glared at him and he turned around. I threw my shirt over my head and scrambled into the pair of pants. The faint glow of light breaking through the window. "Celestials above, what time is it?"

"Just before dawn." His curt reply was paired with his hand grabbing something from the table. That something was then thrown straight at my face. A direct hit, and a muffin fell onto my lap. "You good?"

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine. Exhausted is all."

I bit into my face-muffin. There were big chunks of hallonut throughout the whole thing. It was absolutely disgusting. I took another bite and noticed my wrist was glowing with a pulsing light. I tapped the rune embed there and mists displayed a notification,

» YOU HAVE EXPERIENCED A PSYCHOMETRIC EPISODE

Uhm. What in the Aether is that supposed to mean?

I shook my head and tapped again to mute the notification. We needed to get ready before the sun had risen completely. I could deal with that psycho-whatever thing later. Nightmares and panic attacks were becoming a common occurrence for me since we left Axio. But not quite as unusual as this.

Leather armor padding pressed hard against my chest as I fit the straps and buckles of my chestguard into place. Pulling a dagger from my pack, I gently trimmed a few stray threads from my trousers. The dagger was then sheathed in a makeshift scabbard on my right leg. After a brief search I found my boots and laced them tightly. My equipment was a mismatch sort of anything we could get our hands on for cheap. The escape from Axio left me with nothing but a ragged jumpsuit. I mourned the loss of my tailored and fitted uniform.

Julius’ equipment was a different story. Somehow he had managed to make it out of Axio with a fair amount of his own gear. I was only slightly jealous. That’s what I convinced myself of anyway.

Julius was facing a mirror making adjustments to his uniform.

The officer’s standard issue was a soft-white, sleeved, knee-length coat that curved back into a tail. The masculine styled version was straight-cut, whereas the feminine style was looser and had a more ruffled look.

Depending on the individual the coats ranged from simplistic to ornately adorned.

Some uppercore officers, like Julius and myself, had golden embroidery and red accented sashes, buckles, and leather straps. In addition to the coat, the uniform included matching steel greaves, bracers, breastplate, and pauldrons.

Julius’ uniform was one of the more ornately decorated versions. Golden trim accented the steel plates of his protective armor. A crimson red sash hung down his left side below his scabbard. He fidgeted with his insignia until it fit perfectly on his collar. I was watching his attempts to look presentable when he turned to me and raised an eyebrow.

"How do I look?"

Julius was handsome by any standard. His face radiated that of both a careless youth and a battle hardened veteran. A mop of dark brown hair hung around his face, though it was broken by a forelock dyed a vibrant red, the same red as my own hair. It was something he started doing when he came on as my vice-commander. I never truly understood why he did it, but I also didn’t mind. It’s not like it caused any issues—actually a few of the other junior officers also dyed their hair a similar way, and it became a trend in the First Division.

I playfully looked him over in a mock inspection, pausing every so often to let out a ‘hmm’ and an ‘aaah’. He looked just fine. There wasn’t anyone we needed to impress anyway so I wasn’t sure why he even cared. I made a few tweaks on his insignias and dusted off his shoulder in an obvious way. Finally I stood back and shrugged.

Julius grinned and said jokingly, "Do I pass muster?"

I shrugged again, "Ahh, your boots could use some polish."

He laughed, but glanced down with a sour look at his boots. Likely contemplating if he could even find boot polish out here in the Commonlands.

He shook his head and pointed down to his breastplate that was resting against a chair nearby. "Would you be a dear and help me put on this deathcage?"

"Why, Protector Julius, I am not your squire." I said wryly.

"That's High-Protector to you, Commander Airis." A grin formed on his face. "Or is it Initiate Airis? Without your uniform I just can't tell."

"Oh, go screw yourself." I said, laughing back at him. "Secondly, It's probably High-Commander Airis now, or don't you remember that my father—" My eyes welled with tears and I turned away.

Ahhh, by the Aether get your shit together Airis.

"Celestials above… Airis, I was just teasing. I didn't mean anything by it." He took a step back and held up his hands in apology.

"Hey, it's fine. That was my fault, I just got myself worked up. It's okay."

I twirled my finger for him to turn around. He held the front plates in place while I pulled the red leather straps through fittings on the rear plate and locked him into his 'deathcage'. On both the front and rear plates were fittings near the shoulders. These were for metal pauldrons that almost every sword wielder would wear. Julius, however, had left them behind when fleeing Axio and was missing both of these pauldrons.

Staring at the dead space above his shoulders, I glanced at the mirror and our eyes met.

"Quit looking at me with those depressing eyes, lets go get something real to eat downstairs." He joked, easing the tension.

I slapped the back of his head, pushing him into the mirror for good measure. I needed something more than muffin. I wanted a whole slab of bacon if I was going to be honest.

"Yeah, let's head down."