Annum 378 : 12M / 29D — Morning Orders
The morning was one of pale light, and a blistering cold.
The troops in the Thesian camp were all stood in straight lines, packs on their back and hands rubbing together to conserve heat in the snow.
"Ilra," Usii called, pulling his scarf tighter against the wind. "Eight in your scout group. Eastern ridge. Silent trail. No torches." He had a new navy blue uniform, fit with his sword in a sheath on his waistbelt. People listened to him intently, he had proven himself a leader.
He spoke to a stern woman with lines over her brow, and short black hair.
Ilra nodded, arms crossed. "Give me Nire, Durei, Edrin…"
"Add Slothi."
That made her pause. "Him?" Her eyes shifted toward the boy by the ration crates — bundled in a patched coat, shoulders hunched under a bulky pack, steam rising from his breath in little clouds.
"He's light. Quiet," Usii said. "I get the feeling he'll be a good scout."
"He's fourteen, a child."
"Exactly. He'll fit where you won't."
Ilra gave a short exhale. "Fine. I'll take him..."
Slothi adjusted the pack across his back and stepped forward, innocently.
"So I'm off cooking duty?" A smile broke into his face.
"For now..." Ilra eyed him as he joined the group. "I want you to know that in my squads, people who don't peform to standards get left behind. The empire's fate is in our hands."
He nodded once, silent.
Usii moved on. "Lerin, bell duty. Dawn, dusk, perimeter alerts. Hit it loud if it matters."
"Yes, sir."
"You ring that thing for laughs again, you'll be the one sleeping in the snow."
A few muffled laughs rippled through the line of soldiers half-listening near the pike racks. Slothi said nothing, his arms crossed against the cold, gaze low but listening to everything.
"Defense team, south edge drills," Usii continued. "Pikes first. Then shields. If we're hit, it's coming from the tree line."
A soldier frowned. "That cuts into our morning break."
"Nobody rests until they have sore arms," Usii said.
Ilra's group began to drift off, heading for the forest's edge.
Slothi followed, silent, boots leaving almost no print in the snow. The pack on his back clanked with pots and cloth, things they didn't need him to carry — but gave him anyway.
The forest had swallowed sound.
Snow clung to the branches like old ghosts, and beneath it, eight soldiers picked their way through the underbrush. Their breath steamed in the cold. Every footstep was a dull crunch. Every glance, a silent question the surroundings refused to answer.
Ilra moved at the front.
Cross, angular, her features drawn tight by frost and vigilance. She didn't speak much — she communicated through glares and scoffs. Her sharp eyes scanned the terrain ahead, taking in every bent branch and crooked root. She moved with the practiced calm of someone who had walked with death many times, leading the group fearlessly.
Behind her, Edrin stomped along, boots louder than anyone liked. He was stocky, square-jawed, and always muttering half to himself, half to the others — when he had the energy to speak at all. His Thesian blood was clear: short black hair, olive skin, the kind of face etched into old Empire statues. He rolled his shoulders often, like he still expected a fight that never came.
Durei came next — bald, sharp-nosed, and pale from the cold. His armor was scratched in a dozen places, pike worn smooth from constant grip. He walked like he was counting steps. Always relaxed, his head in the clouds.
Then came Nire, half a step behind, now with a supposed limp. He was younger than the rest — maybe twenty — but his once-slick attitude had weathered hard since the duel. His short dark hair was unstyled today, as if it had lost motivation. His voice, when it came, was quieter now. Less swagger. Just facts. He rubbed a hand through his chin often, as though trying to figure out who he was.
There were other scouts, but they wore hoods, so Slothi had no clue as to who they were.
Last in the line of scouts was Slothi.
Fourteen. Small. Wrapped in a dark-blue cloak, dragging a leather-bound pack filled with supplies the others couldn't be bothered to carry. His verdant hair was thin and messy, frayed against the edges of his hood — not Thesian at all. His skin was lighter than theirs, his steps quieter, more careful, and his eyes green like the forest under the snow.
He didn't speak unless spoken to. He didn't walk close enough to join, but not far enough to be separate. Just... there. A shadow trailing the squad.
Beneath his cloak, hidden in the folds, the Grimoire pressed against his ribs like a heartbeat. Cold, heavy, unseen.
If any of them had looked, really looked, he made sure to keep it hidden.
Nobody really knew what a grimoire looked like, just that it was a book of sorts. Many people in the camp had diaries, but not Slothi. The grimoire looked like a diary until one's eyes focused on the intricate red carvings. But nobody focused on such menial things in the camp.
They were too tired. Too cold.
Too focused on surviving the next bend in the battle.
Ilra raised a hand, and they stopped.
She crouched near a snow-covered hollow. An oddity in the natural landscape. Something had been here, something had crumpled the snow.
"Marks in the snow..." she murmured. "Two... maybe three. People have been here. But it looks like they covered their tracks."
Edrin exhaled hard, breath sharp. "Uolians?"
"Could be."
Durei nodded, staring into the trees. "Perhaps they were trying to spy on us, since this place is near our camp."
"Our watch-towers never reported spies.," said Nire softly. "And Uolians don't usually hang on this side of the forest.
Silence again.
A quiet fear lingered beneath their words — not panic. Just awareness. Everyone knew Uolians didn't move like men. They moved like ghosts. Came and went without sign. Without mercy.
Ilra rose. "We'll head to the east ridge. We find shelter before dusk. It wouldn't be wise to go deeper into the forest, not after what happened to Brax. If it's true that he was murdered by Uolian assassins... We aren't safe here." Everyone thought back to Brax, of his death. It was so sudden, yet not so surprising. They knew the Uolians were deadly. Several Thesian regiments had already fallen in the Uolia forest.
"Move it." She snapped, waking the whole group up.
No one complained.
Slothi adjusted the pack over his shoulders and followed.
They walked another hour through biting wind. Branches creaked above, like wood groaning in protest.
"Used to be spring here," Edrin muttered, almost wistful. "Vine-fruit... wood-pollen, the works. Now it's just snow and rot. And of course we had to be here at this time."
Durei didn't look at him. "The other regiments failed, the Empire really wants these Uolians gone. Even if it means sending us into the cold."
"This battle is already won though. No matter what happens..." Nire added. "The Empire's not leaving this place until it's ours."
Ilra said nothing.
Just watched the trees, closer than the others.