Dimitri and I have already shot to our feet and are standing at an awkwardly safe distance apart when the door to the dorm I’d been sleeping in opens wide. Güthric’s lumbering form staggers out first, followed by Silver’s graceful, elegant strides. All of the other recruits we’d been bunking with exit before Fox finally emerges, bleary-eyed and hair tussled.
“There you are. I was wondering where you’d run off to—” She stops short, spying Dimitri a safe, but obviously self-conscious distance away from me. She glances between the two of us, her lips twisting with the most obnoxious of grins before she winks at me. “I should’ve known you’d find a way to keep warm last night.”
My cheeks ignite with prickling embarrassment. My mouth unhinges, prepared to defend myself and my intentions, but it’s of no use. A smile sneaks its way to the edge of my lips and I’ve given myself away, as if it hadn’t been obvious before.
Fox chuckles as she walks by me to join the others.
“Come on,” Dimitri says stiffly. “I don’t want to miss the announcement.”
He doesn’t wait to see if I’m following behind him, and I don’t know why I think he should. He’s always been this way: duty first, everything else second. And I know I shouldn’t lament over it, now of all times. Just because we kissed doesn’t mean anything else has changed. He’s still him and I’m still me.
But I find myself gazing back to the place on the floor where we’d spent the past few hours enveloped in each other, wishing the sun had never risen.
Caught up in my midnight romance, I’d almost forgotten what this announcement would be about until I enter the congested courtyard. The Castle of Nigh had been infiltrated—my captain among those sent into battle. If the crowd of Crusaders congregated at the bell tower was any thinner than the last time we convened, if our numbers are fewer since the night’s events, it’s difficult to tell. Though every single one of us does seem different, changed. Darkness has made a home beneath most of our eyes. Some have arrived still dripping in the demons’ black blood, still out of breath as if the battle only just ended.
Or perhaps is still ongoing.
When General Alphonse addresses his legion, I can’t help but notice that one captain in particular is missing from his flank.
Out of everyone here, he seems the most well-rested. His porcelain skin is taut and flawless. His dark hair isn’t matted by demon blood, but instead combed down his back to silken perfection. But there’s no mistaking the changes in his armor. Leathers are typically worn by the Crusaders. They allow us to be more agile than steel would, and they’re mostly just as effective considering the demons only wield their claws, not blades.
However, today Alphonse has added some silver plating to his armor. His chest is bulkier with an additional breastplate, his shoulders heavy with spiked metal pads. He’s so bulked out that it would be easy to mistake him for someone else—anyone with the body of a warrior instead of a feeble, spoiled brat. His thighs, his calves, even his feet have been fitted with a steel layer of protection, just in case things become too dire here.
I doubt he’ll remain here that long though. His father might’ve given him this assignment to make him prove his worth, but he’s still the Magistrate’s son. If Alphonse decides he needs to flee to save himself, I have no doubt that my uncle wouldn’t accept him with welcome arms and leave the rest of us here to die.
Standing at the front of the crowd, Alphonse raises his arms. Silence follows, slow and steady, until all eyes are fixed forward.
“Crusaders of Arcathain,” he begins, bowing his head in consternation. Dark hair cascades over his shoulders, casting all but his pointed nose in shadow. “As I’m sure you are aware, the Crusaders stationed at the eastern wing of the castle were ambushed yestereve, the compound infiltrated. Throughout the night, our warriors fought to secure these walls and defend the east wing from another onslaught, and they were successful. However, the Blight continues to spread over the castle, and now that the demons are aware of us, I’m afraid now more than ever that the east wing will serve as a beacon to all that is Blighted.
“I have sent word to the Senate for aid in closing off the east wing, once and for all, but in the meantime, I have tripled those we have stationed there. Crusaders, your first order of business is to report to your captains. They have your new assignments, and washing linens or emptying piss pots is no longer among them. Recruits, we shall convene, as usual, at the training grounds.
“A final word before you go,” he says. Slowly, he stares out among the crowd, frightening in his resolve and conviction. “Man has fought demon for centuries, and we are still standing while their numbers dwindle. We will always be standing. Just like the day always extinguishes the night, we will always extinguish the demons who come into our land. They are scum. They are filth. They are the pathetic scabs of the nearly extinct Primordials, and soon they will be extinct too. This is our home, our land, and we are the Shadow Crusade!”
He pumps his fist in the air. “Of one country!”
And the Crusaders roar back, the air abuzz. “Of one blood!”
Ancient Shadowsteel
Training Grounds, Castle of Nigh, Arcathain
“Where is Captain Eparah?” Silver is first to ask. “Has she survived?”
Alphonse tries placating us. “Your captain is alive and unharmed. However, I’m afraid we lost some of our other senior ranking officials, and therefore she has been temporarily reassigned to oversee the security of the east wing. As I mentioned, we have declared a state of emergency and requested aid from the Senate. Hopefully, they will provide additional Crusaders, as well as resources, to help cement the corridors closed. In the meantime, we’ve sent word to some of our neighboring border towns to have some of our Crusaders return along with a few others, at least until we can retrieve some of our dispatched Crusaders—”
“Forgive me, but,” Maxwell says, his squeaky voice fraught with reason. “I’m afraid I’m not comprehending our stationary position. The Shadow Crusade exists across Arcathain—primarily along the border, sure, but throughout, nonetheless. If the Blight has already reached the castle, perhaps it is time to relocate. The velocity at which the Shadowthorn expands seems to suggest that within two years’ time or less, the castle would be confiscated anyway.”
“Silence, recruit!” Alphonse bellows.
“B-but, surely, there is no purpose to remain here.” Maxwell turns his pleading eyes to his peers, to us, searching for any signs of support. He finds none. General Alphonse has made it clear what happens to those of us who challenge his word or talk back. Even I have learned to hold my tongue in his presence. “The castle will fall. It is inevitable. And until then, the demons have unrestricted access to—”
“I am warning you, recruit,” Alphonse snarls, lip twitching from the restraint it takes him to temper his rage. “Speak out again, and you will be sent before the Senate and tried for treason.”
Maxwell’s typically vibrant amber complexion goes ashen. He staggers back, either consciously or unconsciously tucking himself deeper within the group until he’s amid those in the back row, mostly hidden from our general.