The funeral grounds were shrouded in silence, broken only by the steady toll of the iron bell. Dark banners hung over the capital square, swaying faintly in the cold wind. Rows of soldiers stood in disciplined lines, their armor dull beneath the overcast sky. No songs were sung—only the mourning breath of a kingdom that had lost one of its pillars.
At the front, the General's casket rested upon a platform draped in black cloth. His sword lay across it, polished until it gleamed, a final symbol of the battles he would never fight again.
The General's wife clung to the casket, her frail body shaking as she cried out her grief. Beside her, their daughter wept uncontrollably, her sobs carrying through the silence of the crowd. The son, Cedric, stood apart, in the shadows of the corner. His proud frame was trembling, his face streaked with tears he tried—and failed—to hide.
The Captain watched them, his jaw clenched.
This is the cost of war, he thought, the weight of it pressing against his chest. Not just soldiers… families. A wife who will never see her husband again, a daughter robbed of her father's hand, and a son forced to carry a legacy that may crush him before he learns its weight.
The Captain's cold eyes, usually unreadable, softened for the briefest moment. He remembered the General's last stand, the strength in his voice even as life drained from him. The warning of betrayal whispered with his final breath still echoed in the Captain's mind.
He lowered his gaze.
You fought until the end, General. Even in death, you protected us. And yet… I could not protect you.
A breeze stirred, carrying the faint scent of smoke from the burned walls of the capital. It mixed with the salt of tears in the air. The soldiers, hardened men who had followed the General for decades, bowed their heads as one. Their silence was not just respect—it was grief heavy enough to crush the strongest of hearts.
As the bell rang one last time, the General's family broke down again, their cries piercing the air. Cedric turned away, shoulders shaking, trying to weep where no one could see. The Captain's gaze followed him, and a heavy thought settled in his mind:
The General's bloodline carries on… but his shadow is vast. Can Cedric stand beneath it—or will he be broken by it?
The Captain did not know. But in that moment, watching the tears of a family he could never return to wholeness, he felt the sharp edge of guilt cut deeper than any enemy's blade.
When the funeral ended, the Captain quietly left the mourning square. His boots carried him through the winding streets until he reached the northern wall of the capital—the place Cedric had whispered to meet him. Beyond the stone fortifications, the land dipped into a small grove of trees, wild grass pushing through the cracks of abandoned paths. The air was damp with the scent of earth and pine, and the faint chirp of crickets carried through the twilight.
The Captain leaned against the rough stone of the wall, arms folded, his expression unreadable. The silence of the grove pressed in on him. What could the son of the General want with me… so soon after his father's death? he wondered. He is grieving, yet he calls me here. Does he carry words… or a burden?
Minutes passed before Cedric appeared. His steps were hesitant, but his posture straight, as though he was forcing himself to walk like a soldier. He stopped before the Captain and bowed his head slightly.
"Captain," he said, his voice still rough from crying.
The Captain inclined his head in return. "Cedric."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and awkward. The memory of the funeral still lingered, and with it, the absence of the man they both had lost. Cedric's throat tightened, but then the words burst out of him in a rush.
"My father… he—he told me, if something ever happened to him, I should find you. That I should stay close to you, that you'd protect me and my family, that you'd keep us safe because… because he trusted you more than anyone."
His voice cracked, and for a second Cedric turned away, ashamed of his trembling. Why do the words feel so heavy? Why does saying them make the loss feel real? He clenched his fists, forcing himself to keep going.
"But I'm not here to be a burden," he continued, steadier now. "I don't want pity. I want to fight beside you. I want to join your squad and carry my father's will."
The Captain's gaze stayed fixed on him, silent, unreadable. Inside, his thoughts shifted like steel grinding against stone. The boy burns with grief, but grief is not strength. If I take him in, I honor the General's last wish. But if I let him walk beside me too easily, he will die before his sword ever sees battle.
Finally, the Captain spoke, his voice flat and cold.
"If you want to walk with me, then earn it. My squad isn't a shield for the untested—it's a place where men die every day. If you stumble, no one will carry you. If you falter, you will be left behind. Do you still want this path?"
Cedric's breath caught in his chest. The words were harsh, but he could almost hear his father's voice behind them, as though the Captain was testing him in the same way the General once had. Slowly, he straightened his shoulders, meeting the Captain's gaze.
"Yes. I will not falter."
The Captain gave the faintest nod, more acknowledgment than acceptance. His eyes lingered on the boy, still trembling, still raw from grief. He is too young, too green, the Captain thought. But he is the General's son. And if fate wills it, I will forge him into something that can survive this war… or watch him fall trying.
The Captain's eyes lingered on Cedric a moment longer, hard and unyielding, before he finally spoke.
"Then prove it," he said, his voice as sharp as the steel at his side. "If you falter, you'll drag us all down with you. I won't carry dead weight."
The words struck Cedric like a blade—cutting, merciless—but beneath the sting was something else. The Captain hadn't dismissed him. He hadn't turned him away. For Cedric, that was enough.
The Captain shifted his stance, gaze turning toward the looming walls of the capital. "I have business to attend," he continued. "I'll send you to Oxel. He'll give you the details of the squad—names, duties, rules you will follow without question. If you can't handle even that, then you don't belong."
Cedric stood stiffly, swallowing the lump in his throat. He wanted to thank him, to say something more—but the Captain had already turned away, the black of his cloak trailing in the autumn wind.
Left alone, Cedric pressed his hand against his chest, steadying the rhythm of his heart. His father's voice seemed to echo faintly within him: Stay close to him, Cedric. He will keep you safe…
The Captain's cold words repeated in his mind, but Cedric found an ember of warmth hidden beneath them. The Captain hadn't said no. He hadn't cast him aside. In his silence, Cedric recognized something his father had always told him: men like the Captain spoke little, but their actions carried more weight than any promise. And for the first time since his father's death, Cedric felt a fragile spark of purpose flicker to life within him.