Opening my eyes to slits, I looked up into the dark room. I kept my breathing steady while trying to keep my thoughts calm and clear, even if no one should be paying attention to me specifically. There was always an orderly assigned to monitor the surface emotions of those recovering for sudden spikes of anxiety or pain, as you never knew when someone would go into shock or have complications after a healing.

There were no critical patients in the monitoring ward, so I doubted the orderly was paying that close attention. A guess I was confident of as the woman definitely wasn't walking around checking on patients, and she wasn't going to start now. I had been awake long enough to make sure of that. Keep my mind clear and calm. Don't draw any attention, and wait just a little longer. Almost there. I thought to myself.

With only the slightest motion of my head, I kept my eyes slightly open as I rolled it from one side to the other, scanning the ward. Most would say it was early in the morning, though I would say it was closer to the end of the night than dawn. Even in the legion, finding those abominations that identified as morning people who enjoyed this time of day was hard.

A shift change would happen soon, so the woman was even less inclined to work as she was already dreaming of her bunk, not that I blamed her for her actions. Ignoring patients who didn't need monitoring, a category everyone in the ward fell into, wasn't that big a deal… However, I might think a little differently if she wasn't helping me.

Pushing the thought to the side, I scanned the room, ensuring it was clear one last time. Flipping my blanket off me with a jerk of my arm, I threw it to the side of the bed, then slid my feet off the cot and onto the cold stone floor. I already had my trousers on, so I slipped my feet right into my waiting boots, lacing them up and tying each in thirty seconds with four tendrils. It was amazing what years of practice can teach you to do.

Gently opening the lid to the small box under my cot, I reached inside and grabbed my cotton tunic and belt pouches, emptying the container. I slipped the shirt on as I stood and walked to the end of my bed, putting on my belt pouches as I stalked forward. Not much was inside them right now, but I felt better having them on.

As for the rest of my gear, I had a camp worker take it to my room yesterday in preparation. Thanks to Bark, I might not have gotten much rest, but at least I didn't have to walk across camp carrying my crap as I prepared for my escape and a day of rest before reporting to whoever was commanding the scouts right now.

I closed my eyes, imagining a whole day lounging around camp, and as I opened them, a shiver of anticipation ran through me. Reaching the center passage of the ward, I glanced toward the treatment room. From the sounds coming from that direction and the dim light around the door, I knew people were in there, but nothing was coming closer, and the alcove for the attendant showed no signs of someone getting up either. I hesitated for a moment, straining my ears for anyone about to burst out of the room and see me. After that, I was confident no one would come out, so I turned and started to move towards the exit.

Quiet snores and murmurs were the only thing marking my passage through the room. My footsteps were soundless on the stone floor, and there was hardly a rustle from my clothes. Stopping in front of the door, I lifted the latch, unable to stop myself from stiffening as I felt what had to be a squeak as the latch caught.

I didn't hear anything as I shaped a tendril into a dome around my hand and latch, but my heart still sped up as my body reacted with adrenalin. When I pulled on the door, cracking it open, my heart rate spiked again as the wooden frame groaned from the movement. Not the well-oiled hinges but the door itself… Fucking figures.

All things considered, it was a pretty small noise, but in the quiet of the early morning, it was like a shout. I stood still for a few seconds, waiting to see if anyone noticed as my heart rate slowly lowered.

When nothing happened, and the snores of the ward continued unchanged, I cracked open the door, causing another squeak that I ignored as I slipped through the crack, closing it behind me. I stood before the archway, looking at the fort in the gray fog-filled light of morning.

The shadowy buildings of the Triad towered above me, and while I could not make out their details, I didn't need to. I knew the Triad well, and I could imagine what was around me without seeing it. Which was one of, if not the oldest, fortress still in operation within the republic's borders. However, calling the Triad a fortress wasn't exactly correct. It was fortresses, plural, though one of those fortresses wasn't really a fortress anymore.

The Triad consisted of three fortresses connected by three bridges that met in the center of two large rivers that combined into one heading south. Where the three bridges intersected was effectively a large gatehouse with towers at its corners and a small courtyard that made up what was called the Middle Fort. The gatehouse was meant to block off any of the bridges should the fortress anchoring them be overrun while allowing the other two to remain in contact. As for the three spokes of the fortress, there was the Northern Fort, Southern Fort, and Western Fort, on the banks of the Rush and Twins rivers.

The Legion built it back in the first decades of Olimpia's original expansion. It was meant to act as the linchpin to the northern border and as a transit point to The Plains, Cradle, and Northern Steps. A position it filled with distinction for millennia. In the golden days of the Triad, three legions constantly manned its walls unless there was a call to battle out in the field, in which case only one legion would remain behind.

For the last — I didn't even know how many centuries — the fort has only housed a single legion for any extended period of time, with the rare legion staying within its walls as it passed through. However, the fort was the collection point and training grounds for the northeaster Republic, so there was always about half a legion of trainees camped outside the walls that rotated through every few months, along with a tribune academy located in Southtown.

Regardless of how it still managed to be relevant, the fortress was a relic of a different era. Sure, every decade, the 15th legion had to cull a beastkin hoard or two of a few thousand out in the field, but the legion was never pushed so hard that they had to hold up in the fortress and wait for the siege to be lifted like in the past. Not that those sieges had been lifted very often if the legends and spotty historical records were to be believed.

Most books told of tails of endless waves of beastkins that would throw themselves at the hundred-and-fifty-foot walls without end, trying to claw through them until cold steel claimed their lives. The piles of the dead would mount upon each other for every step the beastkin gained, but they would not care. Eventually, there would be a hundred-foot-tall ramp of bodies they used to climb up and over a fortress's walls.

Or that was what happened if the legends could be believed; as far as I knew, such hoards hadn't been seen in generations. And then there were the hundred-fifty-foot walls of the Triad, which suggested the stories held some level of credibility. What added a lot more support were all the other towering walls on all the old forts and cities.

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Raising my hands to the brightening sky, I looked around the street. I was trying to get my hands into the morning light burning away the cold fog, but it was still a bit out of reach. I never like getting out of bed in the morning, but once I was up and about, I did enjoy the fresh, cool air.

A smile slipped onto my face as I rolled my right shoulder, turning to start swaggering down the street. Maybe I should go soak in the bathhouse all day…

"So, I guess you're all healed up, hmm?" The sweet voice of a morning person said, breaking into my thoughts and sending a shiver of fear down my spine as I remembered who ran the medico ward. "Didn't know you were a healer and could decide that." As she spoke, a figure shrouded by fog walked out of a shadow next to the building.

"Umm… W-well… You see…" I stammered, taking a few steps back and raising my hands in defense. "I just thought… to get some fresh air?"

"Ohh… I see." Despite the wet air, Bark spoke in a dry, unbelieving tone as she stepped next to me, grabbing my arm in her iron grip. At the touch, I felt her release a pulse of mental energy into my body, and I did nothing to fight it. She would have her way, and it was better to get this over with now.

"Hmm, I was going to let you stay another day and rest up, but now that I see you outside, you look fine to me."

"Uhh, no! I'll go right back to bed. Now that I think about it… I don't feel that good." I said in desperation, but I could already feel my dreams of relaxing crumbling around me.

"No, no, no, you're so eager to get up and going," Bark said, reaching up and patting me on the cheek hard enough to push my head to the side with each "pat." "You young legionaries are all eager to get back to your centuries. I'll make sure the Prime knows you're released."

Flinching at her last words, my arms hung limply at my sides, my smile still plastered onto my face. "Thank you, Elder," I said woodenly. My eyes tracked her as she walked back into her treatment center with only a wave of the hand to acknowledge my words.

I had worked all day yesterday as I fed her energy while she healed dozens of legionaries. It was a good way to wring me out… I guess… More fulfilling than lifting up rocks with my mind and throwing them around until I collapsed before getting up hours later to do it again.

Healing people is great. There was something nice and gratifying about seeing a person healed because of your efforts. Not that I wanted to do it all the time.

Trying to heal someone and feeling them slowly die despite your best efforts — or because of them — was not something I wanted to experience regularly. I've killed plenty of humans and beastkin, but the few times I've felt someone die while feeding mental energy to a medico… well, they weren't good memories, and I was just a bystander.

Shaking off that line of thought, I began walking down the street, feet slapping against the smooth-crafted stone. I knew Bark wouldn't give me any extra time to myself and send a report that I had left the monitoring ward. It was her duty, after all. At most, she might give me an hour… Probably wouldn't, though.

As much as I didn't want to, it was best that I report to the Prime as soon as possible. I could get away with not directly giving my report when I had already given it to Vlore, and I was still recovering, but that time had passed. Now, duty called.

It was time to confirm all the information Vlore relayed on my behalf, which he probably reported with little more than a sentence in the report about me being the source. Then again, if they wanted me to rush to give my report, they could have come to my bedside. But that would make it look like I did something important… Can't have that; now can we? I thought with more than a hint of resentment that quickly vanished as I simply couldn't hold onto the indignation.

My stride shifted from lackadaisical to one of purpose, as there would be questions and potential problems if I didn't show up soon. For some reason, people in the legion were picky about showing up on time. Especially once someone got to the rank of centurion and above, it was like they forgot how to relax or something.

Sighing to myself, I traversed the camp and made my way over to the Prime Cohort to report in. I Couldn't even say I got lost to stall for time, as all legion camps are built the same. Look at ancient stone fortresses like the Triad to the current legion field camps, and all the important buildings were in the same spots, though the scale might differ a bit.

It wasn't long before I reached the barracks for the scouts in the first cohort block of buildings. Pocking my head inside, I found no one was around, which wasn't a surprise, as everyone must be out on patrol.

Not that I wanted to see them. Calling the scouts my acquaintances would be a bit of a stretch. "Coworkers" was the best word I could call them, and most couldn't even remain professional with me.

Markus was the only one who cared whether I lived or died, and I would find out if my doubts about if he lived were right soon enough. With no way around it, I walked away from the barracks, heading towards the Prime Centurion's — or Prime for short — quarters in the barrack for the 15th's First Cohort's First Century.

Moving up a street, I walked to the end of the block of the First Cohorts buildings, slipping past the main entrance to the building as I strode up to a smaller side entrance where I knocked on the Prime's office door used to not disturb the men for his other obligations. In defiance of the early hour, hardly a second passed before I heard a clipped and gravelly "Enter."

Squaring my back, I opened the door, taking three steps into the office before coming to a stop, feet together, slamming my fist to my chest and then lowering it to my side as I stood straight.

"Prime Valior, Scout Green reporting from the medicos after treatment." The middle-aged man didn't even look up from the stack of papers he was shuffling as I spoke. When I finished talking, he only gave a brief grunt of acknowledgment before sliding more of the documents to the side of his desk. Seconds passed as I continued to stand at attention, waiting for him to finish writing.

Finally setting his quill to the side, the Prime stood up, walking around his desk and giving me a tilt of his head to follow as he passed. Falling into step behind him, I kept a pace back as I followed him out of the building and down the street.

After a while, the Prime Centurion of the First Cohort spoke, "Did you tell Vlore all the important information?"

I didn't answer for an instant as I thought back on the conversation before saying, "Yes, Prime."

He only gave a slight nod as if he was expecting the answer. "Are you fully healed?"

"Slight twinge in my arm and ankle, but nothing serious, Prime."

"Good… Good…" He slowly said as we made it to the nearby outer walls of the Northern Fortress and slowly began climbing up the stairs. Once we reached the top, we stood at the ramparts together, looking out at a sea of tents and earthen ramparts surrounding them. It was the fish training camp.

"If what you reported is correct — and the number of missing and dead scouts suggests you are — we will need every legionary we can get. And we need them trained as well as possible. We just got a new crop of fish, and the old ones marched out a week ago. Bad timing, that…" He said, trailing off, his eyes clouding over in thought.

All of a sudden, he was facing me. His sharp eyes roved over my body for long seconds. He must have seen whatever it was he wanted because he nodded in acceptance before turning back to the Fish Camp.

"You're one of the best scouts we have. From all accounts, you are highly skilled and have a flawless record. However, no one with… influence will put up with me placing you over them. But those still in training have no choice in the matter. And we happened to get a new crop of scout candidates with the fish. You're going to train and lead them. We need them all in the field as soon as possible, as we will need all the information we can get soon. Make it work and get to work, Scout Green. You are dismissed." With that, he turned to the side, ending the conversation, and started walking away down the ramparts.

"Prime?" I hesitantly asked before he could take more than a handful of steps.

He turned back, raising a single eyebrow at my questioning tone.

Seeing he was willing to answer, I asked, "Did Opito Veriskol make it back?"

He said nothing for a second, then gave a single sad shake of his head, "No, Centurion Veriskol is currently listed as MIA." He said, emphasizing centurion.

"Thank you, Prime," I said, saluting him. I was surprised Markus became the centurion of the Scout Century. He never said anything. It must have happened right before we left, and he didn't want to distract us. The old centurion did transfer a couple weeks ago… which is, fucking perfect time. Everything just keeps getting better and better.

The Prime gave another nod of his head as he started walking down the wall again, inspecting the fortifications with pulses of mental energy as he went. I turned and looked down at the tents, seeing an unusual amount of activity in the Fish Camp and knowing I could not disobey a direct order. "Well… fuck."

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