There is no real war. Only my war, your war, and everyone else's war. War is a part of me, just as much as it is a part of you, whether you know it or not. Surviving it is easy, at least for us. Living in it is the hard part. To do that you have to embrace your war, become part of it, be burnt in the fire, be ground in the grinder. Those who truly live in their war are ascended to a different plane, almost. You can see it in their eyes: feel it in their presence. They're content.

It's not about victory. Be consumed by the pyres of glorious rage, and fight.

Magic really is astounding. The beating I'd received from Sneezy would have needed months to heal, but sure enough my cracked ribs had been mended and only my pride remained wounded. And that made me wonder how deep this magic can fix wounds. Could it fix the scars in my head and in my heart? I think even if it could, I don't know if I would accept that kind of help. The pain I bear honors the pain I've inflicted upon others. Simply whisking it away on a whim would shame me more than any other abomination of an act I could commit. Or so I think.

"Sir Corrick, can you hear me?" asked the feminine and regal voice of Celestia.

"Yes, my lady. I must ap-"

"Hush now, save your strength," she said quickly, in a motherly tone. "I came to find you so that I may personally inform you that there will be a feast tonight to celebrate a certain somepony's knighting and appointment as commander. Seeing as there may be something of a crowd attending, even on such short notice, I'll require a personal guard for the duration of the event. My honor guard will be busy; as such would you be so kind and accompany me this evening, fair Knight?"

Celestia looked down on me for but a moment. Being ordered to 'hush', I remained silent and simply nodded. This certainly was a curious way to invite me to a celebration of my own 'accomplishments'. Duty calls, though, and as such I must answer.

"Excellent! Your uniform is what you have on now. Make sure it's impeccable." Celestia's horn glowed a golden hue for a moment and my whole body glowed similarly in response. Then there was an audible 'poof', and my armor seemed to be once again shined, polished, and cleaned with zero scratches. Even my tabard was fixed with no sign of ever being torn. "Outstanding presentation, Knight! Keep it that way until the festivities begin. You still have about three hours. When it's time, you are to report to my quarters. I'll send word for you. Continue on with familiarization of your new unit. No more violence today. That's a command."

I nodded in understanding, and received a warm smile in reply. Then, without a moment's hesitation, Celestia turned about and began making her way out of the infirmary. "Oh, and do eat, you might do better in your next spar, good sir!" she chimed without looking back. She exited the room, staff bowing as she passed, with two red and gold, heavy, and empty-looking suits of armor following her silently. It occurred to me with a chill that I hadn't noticed their presence until then. I pieced that those moving sets of armor were likely her honor guard.

Sighing and returning my attention to my health, I double checked my body for injury by patting myself down and stretching. I deemed myself adequately repaired, albeit my condition was far better than that. My eyes turned their attention from the body they were attached and toward the room they were in. I scanned it through my helm and found it to be a mostly empty place, with the exception of a couple dozen cots with blue bedding and barren metal frames, white curtains between each cot, and a couple of ponies chatting away on the far-side of the expansive room from the entrance.

"Commander Corrick?" A large, black-coated stallion in some sort of white gown approached me. It seemed I missed him in my observance of the room about me. I'm quite popular today, although I'd rather all of these creatures leave me be for a bit. And perhaps they'd let me find some food too.

"That is I. And you are?" I sat up to meet him with more dignity, although something about that notion brought a smoldering sensation to my cheeks-- not that the stallion could see that. I've been a knight for my adult life, but finally being recognized in such a position was something I was unused to.

"I'm Bramble Bush, the head physician for the 88th. I need to perform a final check and make sure you're healthy enough to leave the infirmary." The stallion was a very muscular-looking unicorn. He rose a hoof to scratch his shaved head and rub his grey eyes.

"Oh, no need, they already came by to give me a-" The stallion cut me off. What is it with these ponies and not letting a man finish his sentences? If I'm cut off again, I might begin to lose my temper.

"I understand, sir. I still have to give you my own stamp of approval. It's regulation for special cohort soldiers, like you and me, since we have such physically and mentally demanding assignments."

"Oh." I said with slight confusion. "I apologize, I am unsure of how the 88th or 'special cohorts' work." I scratch the temple of my great helm with a gauntleted hand and fidget in awkward embarrassment.

"I can run you through it after this. Let me do a quick looksie and..." His horn glows a soft violet and so too do I. "Oh, so that's what you look like." His brow furrows as he concentrates. "Tell me, since I don't know your magi-physiological profile, do you feel at all out of the norm?"

"My what? I mean-- I suppose I feel quite fine." I checked over myself and patted my body down once more. There was no pain or signs of injury whatsoever. "Yes, I feel I am in good health."

"Excellent." Bramble's glow ceased. With a forehoof he reached into his gown and pulled out a board with a sheet of white papyrus. With his teeth he grabbed a small stick out of a pocket on his chest and began writing on the papyrus. "I'll put thish down azh what you should look like on a shcan. Onshe I finish filling thish out, I'll go through our pshyche check," he says through his utensil, not even pausing as he jots notes down.

Bramble Bush continues writing things down for several minutes, occasionally rescanning to confirm what he's written. In the mean time, I'm left to my own devices in my head and worried for the psyche check. I'm not well learned in the prospects of this study, but I know it's pertinence to a soldier's-- and by extension an army's-- morale. It was never very important to my leaders, and I'm not sure how important I find it to be. Until yesterday, I'd never found myself compelled by my head to stay my blade. Then again, yesterday I'd met another skilled fighter for the first time in years, on top of being completely out of my element in fighting a four-legged creature that was about half my size.

Yes, Sneezy was most certainly more learned in fighting than the ponies I... encountered previously. I'm not sure I could beat him, even at my best. Even in the war I'd left but days ago, there were no skilled fighters that ever threatened me. Most of the skilled ones tried to fight nobles with land or wealth they could ransom for-- not to mention that I was still a commoner in the eyes of most courtiers. The headhunters that viciously murdered my previous troop wouldn't even have been able to stop me. If I could have brought myself to fight. But I'm just a coward and quite possibly crazy.

Bramble puts his writing stick back into it's pocket and clears his throat, garnering my attention. "Mmmkay, that settles all of the physiological notes. The psyche check is a really quick process. All I'm going to do is ask if you have anything you'd like to talk about and if you've had any evil thoughts of late," the charcoal stallion explained.

"Oh... so then it's not another magical scan?"

"No. A magical scan of your psyche is something that can only be done by a select few and powerful individuals in the field of cerebro-manipular magic, which is already quite the niche on top of being strictly controlled. Physical scans are rather simplistic in comparison." Bramble Bush is collected as he talks, clearly used to answering questions that might seem obvious to himself.

"Really? How so?"

"Well, a physical scan is like listening to one's whole body and taking in measurements of vitals, think of how you can see, feel, and hear drops of water falling upon you outside, and making the assessment that it's raining. A psychological scan would be like trying to make those measurements of your body but far beyond normal sensation. Perhaps, going on the previous example, you can picture it like trying to tell that it's raining in Neigh York without reading the weather in the newspaper." Bramble Bush scratched behind his own ear while making the long comparisons in his explanation. His eyes flicked toward the ceiling whenever he took a pause to think.

Once more, magic intrigues me. I don't know if I have the capacity to perform it-- I'll remain realistic in that expectation and assume that pursuit of that field would be foolish of me and a waste. Yet, I still can't deny that even simply having that range of extra-sensory could prove a useful tool in more tactical applications. Even though I have my reservations about my ability to produce magical effects, I won't skip out on learning more about it. And I'll definitely look into that more on my studies.

"I'd harken to guess that Neigh York is far away?" I asked, helm'd head tilted inquisitively.

Bramble, in response, barked a hearty laugh and a knowing grin. "Yes... it's a thousand miles east, give or take."

"Quite the distance... a two-month march with an army on direct roads, maybe a month and a half if you're in a hurry." The calculation of marching movements was second-nature to me. Marching place to place, setting up camp, and patrolling nights was all I'd done for years. But in my studies at Castle Esterfell, movements of large armies and a basic idea of the logistics that are involved in such activities were practically the first thing I learned outside of sword-fighting.

"That's an odd thing to know off of the top of your head," Bramble commented.

"Is it?" Any commander should be able to produce marching paces for a given army off the top of their heads.

"Modern armies usually travel by train. Marching hundreds of miles by hoof is a thing of the past."

"Ah. Right. Where I come from we lack such technology. Train paths must be decisive features in any war." The nature of fast transportation that doesn't exhaust troops would be key to securing a victory an enemy. It also means you could potentially produce more supplies, to better feed and garrison your troops. Yet another thing to earmark for later, though it only just occurred to me that I likely won't receive tutelage from Twilight, given the circumstances of my most recent folly.

"Maybe. I'm just a physician, sir. Wounding and getting wounded is the job of the grunts. My job is undoing that. Or so I like to tell myself, but I'm no slouch with a small blade. Perks of surgical training."

My stomach growled loudly to my chagrin and earning another smirk from the physician by my bedside. I haven't eaten in a long time, and my hunger was finally making me feel weak. I'm not stranger to long fasts due to ration shortages, but I haven't gone more than a day without a meal in a while: my body wasn't used to it anymore.

"I suppose that's a sign we should move on and get through those questions," I commented, abashed.

"Sounds like. I'll fill out the paper, you just answer honestly when prompted. Or don't, this is mostly a formality."

"I understand. I'm ready."

"Great. First, have you been having any evil or malicious thoughts? If so, have you acted on them at all?"

"N-no? Well I guess I'm not sure. That's rather philosophically questionable, don't you think?"

"Yes. Nor is anything preventing you from lying to me. But after a royal wedding was interrupted by a changeling invasion in which a third of the royal guards turned out to be disguised enemies, the brass has mandated we fill out this functionally useless piece of paper at every chance we get." Bramble's tone took a sarcastic and irritated turn. "I'm now required to tell you that evil is defined as anything illegal or against Her Majesty's will: to include actions that might harm your fellow pony." The physician recited the words from the sheet he was filling out and then looked back to me with his steely eyes.

"... No." I carefully thought over my answer. I suppose it was accurate, as far as the most recent combat would show. Then again, I nearly lost my head after losing my head and murdering those ponies yesterday. My answer would suffice.

"... Uh huh. Now, have you had any thoughts that might prevent you from performing as a soldier, both in normal duties and in combat?" He was unconvinced, but didn't object.

"... No," I lied.

"What about the incident that saw you into the infirmary?"

I pondered for a moment. It seems I do a lot of that. "I believe I was nervous. The events of yester-day have..."

"What issue do you take with the events of yesterday?" Asked he.

Right, I was supposed to have meant to murder them. "I'm simply worried I'll go beyond what is acceptable once more. Nothing more than an apprehension."

"Right," the physician sighed, "Well this overly simplistic document has been appropriately filled, and I'll refrain from interrogating you more on the record. Off the record though, I'd think we should talk. It's plain to see you're lying, and I'm concerned for your well-being and our unit's." My intuition that he'd noticed proved accurate.

"I don't plan on harming any of you, if that's concerning to you."

"Nah. I trust Her Majesty in that you're not that blatant of a danger. But whatever really stopped you in the ring today could get many-a-pony killed in battle, should you freeze up like that." Bramble had a serious expression of concern. "I've seen what you can do to a pony. Sneezy perhaps our most seasoned and strongest fighter, but he shouldn't have been able to come out of that ring without a scratch."

"'Tis not so easy a problem to be solved," my voice, already rough, grew curt. "You've no understanding of what I've seen, or how it has had a lasting and unwelcome impression."

Bramble didn't respond for a moment after I said that. It wasn't polite of me to say. As well, it takes no heed of his own troubles. I am not keen on retaking my words though.

Bramble finally spoke again, "Don't let internal demons torment you. We must be ready to fight the external ones. That's all I need from you, Commander." He didn't await a response from me and walked out of the ward.

That left me alone, to my thoughts. Next time, I'll show that I'm better. I'm ashamed and conflicted. I let myself be beaten, but I deserved it. There was nary that could be done about the situation now, though. I just needed to focus on the next task: food. It's been a sweetening moment since I've lest been fed. What with the rumbling of my stomach and the weakness of fatigue. What I would give for a rich slice of seared beef. My mouth watered, salivating at the thought of a savory meal, and I could practically smell it-- no scent truly was in the air.

I got off of the ward's cot. The cot itself was strangely large enough to suit me, but perhaps they have them in case other creatures my size need one. After remarking upon such strangeness, I walked toward the exit that the princess had taken earlier. Getting outside of the ward I could do, but I'm without guide once more and my 'tour' given earlier was exceptionally... terse, to put it mildly.

The exit led to a courtyard, not one that I've been in before. I twisted my helmet with my head and scanned my surroundings to see if I could puzzle out any sense of direction. None yet found its way into understanding, but I saw a signpost mounted or perhaps part of the inner wall of an archway. Though the archway was a relatively open area leading up to the cliff of the mountainside. Several uniform buildings stood attention in a perfect line abreast from another in between the mountain and the archway.

The weather was still fair; Sunny skies were dotted with clouds and golden domes capping different palatial buildings reflected a warming aura around the skyline. Given the mountainside positioning of the palace, I expected the winds to be sheer, but for some reason or another, the gusts broke into but gentle breezes that carried any intensity of the heat away. With that breeze, too, came the scent of a well maintained garden. As I walked over to the archway to look at the sign, I was reminded of a time where I walked a between a different set of marble walls before being painfully reminded of a blinding flash of light.

I chose to quickly stuff that imagery back into a box, as I had arrived at the sign. I inspected the text through the ports on my greathelm.

"Aha. I still can't read," I said with a sigh. I'd not forgotten, mind you. I was simply hoping that there'd be some symbol or something pointing me in the direction of food that didn't require me to understand the strange characters etched into the stone. On that note, there seemed to be two sets of characters for each line of text. One was a set of more abstract characters that possibly could have been meant to convey meaning through pictures a long time ago, and the other was a set of horseshoe marks interlaced in different ways for each character. Quite strange.

Alas, I was still lost. Were I to guess though, the line of uniform buildings on the other side of this archway would be the barracks. Perhaps, I could find a pony to give me directions there. There didn't seem to be anyone walking about but... perhaps I could wait for one? It was a goofy plan, to be sure, but a man can't simply walk into random barracks unannounced and uninvited. Right? I'm unsure.

I mindlessly scratched at the cheek of my helm with a gauntleted set of fingers, listlessly staring at the barracks grounds while I formed my plan.

Then, I saw a guard pony leave one of the buildings and walk in the opposite direction. I quickly rounded the corner and shouted to him.

"Excuse me!" I called. He didn't turn his head. "Guardsman!" If I could see better I could have sworn his eyes flicked to me briefly as he kept his brisk pace. Soon enough, he'd gone around a corner and was forever lost to me in the palace someplace. My shoulders slumped in defeat.

"But aha!" I'd spotted another pony. This one was also in a guard's uniform, better yet, he seemed to be coming my way. "Hail! Guard, I need you for a moment!"

Upon noticing me, he quickly made a turn toward one of the buildings and scurried inside with a sheepish expression.

"Bastard!" I exclaimed.

It was then though that two guards, one male, one female, exited the building closest to me.

"You there! You two!" I shouted.

They made direct contact for a moment. The pause was tangible, the air heavy. Then, the male looked to the female, who returned a knowing look. At the drop of a pin, the two dashed in the direction the first guard had gone. I quickly gave chase.

"Wait! Please! I just want food!"

They male shrieked and the female shouted, "Run! It's hungry!" Ponies gallop far faster than I could run, and quickly they too had lost me by entering the palace proper.

"Curse you, cowards! I'll have your hides!" I kicked dust in their direction.

"Chill out, Commander," came an effeminate voice from behind.

I turned to see a uniformed guard pony looking at me with a relaxed face and a toothy grin. Her coat was shifted to a grey, her hair silvery, and her eyes golden, all by her armor, I assumed. The plumage on her helmet was rotated to arc from left to right rather than front to back though, something I'd not seen before. Behind her was a barrack that seemed rundown and empty. It hadn't been taken care of properly it seemed. The door didn't even seem to close properly. The guard then stood at attention and saluted.

Instinctually I lunged toward her and grabbed her hoof, forcing it down to her chest. I quickly scanned the environment, including the rooftops.

"Wha- HEY!" she cried. "The palace is safe, Sir."

Her words were heard but unprocessed by me, and I continued analyzing the environment for but a moment. I accepted the results: nothing was there but birds, and other guards in the distance looking at me as if I were strange but in no hurry to stay.

I then looked down to the pony whose hoof was still in my hand. "'Tis a force of habit. Apologies."

"By Her Light, they said you'd be weird but..." She held her tongue for a moment before muttering, "This is going to be interesting."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh! Right! I'm Kettle Belle. I'm the XO of the 88th."

"ex oh?"

"Executive Officer," she clarified. "I advise the commander and ensure orders are executed properly in the cohort. I've been waiting for you to get here since I got news that a new commander had finally been appointed but it seems like you've been... sidetracked, since your altercation with Sergeant Sneezy." She looks toward where the guards I'd chased disappeared.

"Yes. That's the short of it. Sneezy is a Sergeant? I'm unsurprised, he's skilled."

"Well, Sergeant-at-arms, yes. Sergeant for short. He's the prime non-commissioned officer within the cohort."

"I see. And your rank is Executive Officer, correct?"

"Not quite. I'm a Centurion Prime. Executive Officer is a position you get appointed to. I was appointed to this role for you by Her Majesty, as the most senior officer in the 88th."

"You seem very lax about my appointment. As most senior officer, were you not looking to get the position yourself? And, beyond that, about my recent transgressions..." I mention sheepishly.

"I trust in the Solar Princess completely. If my best place of service is as your right hoof mare, then I shall obey. And if you're best suited for the spot of commander, and She's forgiven you, then I don't need to worry. "

Her almost zealot-like behavior took me off guard. The physician had a similar mindset but was less... pronounced. This attitude is quite unusual. Did she not care for her subordinates? As if hearing my thoughts, though, she answered.

"You killed good ponies. It's something that can't be undone. And more than that they were part of our unit. But, most of the ponies in the cohort weren't especially well acquainted with them. There's a couple hundred of us, after all. And the majority of us have seen our fair share of loss. We all have to buck up at some point and get over it." Her expression didn't change at all from the laid back and relaxed face she'd met me with. Although, perhaps her smile was gone, she seemed so matter-of-fact.

"And what of those in their squad-- or whatever the unit is?"

"Right, he'll need to know how we're organized," she said under her breath looking away briefly, "Those from the same unit will likely be displeased, and none-to-willing to listen to you. I've already filled out and submitted the necessary paperwork to transfer them to one of the other special cohorts for you."

"Wait, what? I mean, it makes sense but... It feels wrong to do that."

"I doubt they'll complain. It's for the best."

"H-hold on a minute." I pinched the bridge of my helmet. Something felt really off about this and I figured out what it was. It's not just that it feels like I'm avoiding the consequences of my actions. The most important part is that Kettle Belle did this without my asking her. I may be new to the unit, but I've been taught leadership. This behavior undermines my authority and establishes a bad precedent. "Centurion Prime--"

"Simply Centurion, Sir."

"Do not interrupt me," I commanded, vexed over the amount of times I've been interrupted today. "Thank you for correcting me. Now, Centurion, going ahead and choosing to transfer these men-- er-- ponies out of my unit without my consultation is unacceptable. Do you understand?" My voice spit gravel. Once more my intonation was over-punctuated.

At the words, her eyes widened and her ears rotated back. Her eyes locked on to my boots. "Yes, Sir."

Her reaction softened me. "Now, worry not. Simply because I agree with the decision, and understand you were trying to keep unit cohesiveness, the penalty will be light." My new executive officer looked from my boots back up to my eyes. "They shall not be in the future. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir!" She replied with a salute.

I threw myself forward and near-slapped her hoof downward, and began to scan the environment once more. I'd realized though, this time that I'd let my instincts overtake my reason again.

"Sorry-"
"Sorry-"

We both apologized at the same time. "Uhm..." I lead, "Instinct."

"Should we issue a standing order to drop salutes within the cohort?" She asked courteously.

"Nay. I need to simply change my mindset and adapt. I've been so used to constant danger. The enemies we fought had weapons and marksmen that could take a man's head off at a long range."

"Like a bow?"

"Sort of, but like a cannon, if you have those."

"A cannon? That couldn't be realistic. Cannons take crews and are so heavy you can only really put them on airships. Not to mention the magical energy required..." Magical energy? We must be thinking of vastly different cannons. Or perhaps not... After all, our cannons were similarly cumbersome and man-intensive. The ammunition, though, and resources to make them was so limited. Even the weapons I'm speaking of would only be presented to a very select few, if the kingdom could even afford it. That the Aristians had so many of these weapons was quite unthinkable.

"Yes. But these cannons were so light that one man could carry and utilize it. They required a lot of time to reload though."

"No way. Such a weapon would change warfare entirely. I feel like I would have heard of one."

"They're almost impossible to craft and difficult to supply. My people used to be capable of much more devastating weapons though. Fulminating spears are but a ghost of what we used to have. Or so legend has it." I recount mankind's history mentally. A cataclysm left us all but destroyed and barren of resources. So I'm told, I suppose.

"Amazing. One day you'll have to share how these 'fulminating spears' work."

"No. I have no idea, honestly. I just know they're crafted with long metal rods, and wood. The mechanism of them is a mystery to me." Wait a second...

"Airships?"

"Whattaboutem? Don't tell me you've never heard of airships?" I deadpanned at her. "No. Way. You cannot tell me about this mythical weapon that can take a pony's head off from a distance that's like a tiny hoof-held cannon, AND THEN tell me you don't know what an airship is."

My expression, although invisible through my helmet, was steadfast: unchanging at her prodding.

The Centurion Prime sighs and moved a hoof to the bridge of her eyes, not disimilar to how I pinched the bridge of my helmet earlier.

"Okay, okay, look, clearly there's a lot of adjusting we're going to need to do. We can do this better inside, over a cup of tea or coffee."

"Actually, I stumbled here in search of food."

"Oh... Sergeant Magenta didn't finish her duties, it seems. That sounds about right," Kettle Belle sighed. "Did she show you where the mess hall is?"

"Yes, but very briefly."

"Did you miss the signs in the archways of the courtyards?"

"I can't read."

"You can't read the signs, period? Like, neither the High Equestrian or Low Equestrian?"

I nodded in response. To which Kettle Belle slapped her forehead with her hoof. "Ho-kay. Not a problem. I'll take ya to the mess hall, and we can talk more over some food. We really have a lot to discuss, to get you comfortable as a soldier in Her Majesty's Grand Solar Army and then also getting you used to the 88th."

"Of course. This will take time, though. And there will be an event tonight that will of course cut us short."

"The appointment ceremony." She astutely pointed out. "Of course. We'll need to plan what the 88th is doing for this event as well. I've already issued orders for everyone to prepare their dress uniforms. Hopefully that wasn't out of line."

This wasn't such an issue that needed to be brought to me and I expressed this to the Centurion.

"Anyways, lets get some food," I said, "We've put it off for too long."

Author's Note

What do y'all think of word length for chapters?