It had been two weeks since the day Edin slew a beast in Arden's own castle. It had become a part of his routine—every evening, after his shifts at Stoll, he would come home to a tethered beast and spend most of the evening trying to tame himself. Progress was so slow that he wondered if he would ever gain control of his urges. He was yet to restrain himself from maiming a beheaded corpse. The only difference between his first attempt and his most recent one was that it took half a minute more before his inner demon possessed him.

And to think he dreaded fighting on the battlefield. At least in that case, he would fight only once in a while. In this case, oh, he would not only have to confront his curse every day, but do so several times per evening. He would dread the end of his shift and the end of dinner, for temptation would be meeting him soon after. Instead, he would look forward to the sun and the hours of peace that would come with it.

Edin was now sitting in his rolling chair, monitoring the control panel as usual. Rowan, meanwhile, was keeping watch from the second floor. Edin turned in his chair once he heard a series of footsteps stomping down the stairwell.

"Hey, Edin!"

"Yeah?"

"D'you see a car yet?" Rowan asked, having just stepped onto the first floor.

Edin squinted at the screens. He shook his head. "Nope."

Rowan huffed.

"Why were you asking, by the way?"

"It's Promotion Week!" Rowan said. "This is basically the week where the seniors will go to the recruits and tell them whether they're promoted or demoted. I really hope they'll make me a cadet."

"I don't think you have to worry. You've slain every beast near Stoll."

"Not every beast. You took down the glæsseling last time."

"But you took out a hundred other beasts. If there's anybody here who's supposed to be worried about not making it, it's me. I barely killed anything."

"But you killed the tough ones. I mean, you chopped up a hanafiend."

"But that's only because you helped to tie it up."

"That's true." Rowan bit his lip. "I just don't want to be demoted to comrade. I'll never get promoted if I do."

"You don't seem weak enough to be a comrade—"

"Look!" Rowan pointed at the screen. "A car!"

Edin peered at the screen and saw a black sedan speeding in their direction. He zoomed in on the license plate. This was its number: SG 233.

"That's Senior Norman's car," Edin said.

Rowan gulped. "And he's bringing news with him."

The ground crackled as the sedan slowed to a stop. Norman parked his car right next to the post. Before he headed indoors, he opened the trunk. Inside it was about a dozen black gift boxes.

"There it is"—Rowan pointed at the gift boxes—"our new boots. I hope mine have steel bands on them."

"Aren't steel bands for comrades?" Edin asked.

"No, comrades get aluminum. We recruits have iron, cadets get stainless steel, sentries get bronze, sentinels get silver, majors get gold, and seniors use platinum."

By the time Rowan had finished speaking, Norman had retrieved two gift boxes from the trunk, sealed it shut, and made his way indoors. He greeted the two with his usual, warm smile.

"Got you some presents, recruits," he beamed. "Excited to open them?"

"I am," Rowan said.

Norman chuckled. "Here's yours," he said, using his light magic to guide the gift box to Rowan's hands. "Go upstairs before you open it."

"Thank you, Senior Norman."

"No problem."

Rowan gripped the gift box with both hands and scurried up the stairwell. Meanwhile, Edin remained on the first floor, standing still across his fate.

"By the way, Arden told me about your other curse," Norman began, "how's it going?"

"There's been a bit of progress. I still lose control, though."

"Well, progress is progress, no matter how small." Norman walked a few steps in Edin's direction and handed him the gift box. "Here you go—"

"OH YES!"

Rowan's euphoric cry rang from the second floor. Norman chuckled as he glanced in the voice's direction. He then returned his gaze to Edin. "Anyway, you can open it now."

Edin felt the weight of the box he was given, moving it up and down. It was surprisingly light. He was not even sure if there were a pair of combat boots inside the box, as custom would dictate. He held his breath. His two fingers held one end of the silk ribbon and pulled it. He then lifted the lid.

There were no boots. Inside laid only a small, sheathed sword, no bigger than his index finger.

"A tiny sword?"

Norman sighed. "I'm sorry Edin, but ever since we found out about your urges, we've decided that it'd be too risky for you to be out there on the battlefield. We're dismissing you for now."

"Oh." Edin looked down at the tiny sword in his box, the corners of his lips drooping like his heavy head.

Norman patted him on the back. "I know, you're probably sad right now, but this isn't the end. Once you master your urges, we'll welcome you back. It's just—it's not exactly safe to have a guardian who can't control himself, you know what I'm saying?"

"I understand. So, this sheathed sword, does it symbolize me not being ready for battle yet?"

"Oh, actually, you weren't supposed to get anything since you're leaving anyway. I just thought I'd get you something so that you wouldn't feel as down, and I saw that at a shop and thought it looked cool. But yeah. You can take it that way." Norman patted him on the back once more. "I'm sorry about that. I look forward to seeing you again."

And with that, Norman exited the post and drove off.

"...I'M A CADET! I'M A CADET! I'VE BEEN PROMOTED, BABY!" Rowan cheered, the first floor's ceiling shaking as he jumped up and down in jubilation. He headed down the staircase. "Edin, Edin! I've been promoted!"

Edin swallowed his sadness. "Congrats."

"Thanks!" Rowan jumped off the last step. Upon seeing Edin's expressionless face, he furrowed his brows. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Oh, okay. So, what's the metal on your boots?"

"I didn't get boots."

"You didn't get boots?"

"I got fired."

Rowan's face froze. "Oh. Uh, sorry about that."

"It's fine. I mean, I should've seen it coming, with my curses and all."

Edin sighed, and Rowan patted him on the back. "Well, uh, look on the bright side. You don't have to stress over fighting monsters anymore."

"I guess."

Edin let out another sigh. He closed the lid of his gift box, tied it shut with a ribbon, and placed it on the nearest rolling chair. He walked towards the storage room.

"Mind if I change first?"

"I don't mind."

"Thanks."

Edin opened the door to the storage room, entered it, then closed the door behind him. He did not reach for the light switch; the room was already lit. Right in front of him was the rack where he kept his belongings, which was also the same rack where he found his first uniform—and perhaps his last.

Edin reached for the hem of his shirt and took it off. He then unlaced and removed his boots, kicking them to an empty corner. His fingers unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers before he pushed them down his legs, later shaking them off. He then reached for his clothes: a white t-shirt, a matching sweater, tapered jeans, and a pair of black sneakers. He glanced at his discarded uniform. To think that he would not wear it anymore... not that he had not seen it coming. He picked them up and stashed them in an empty nook, along with his work tools.

He emerged from the storage room a few moments later, wearing the same clothes he wore on his first day as if he had never been a guardian in the first place. The rest of his belongings were in his pockets.

Edin walked towards the chair where his gift box lay. He picked it up, held it with one arm, and headed towards the door.

"Edin?"

He turned his head. "Yes?"

"I, uh, hope this won't be the last time we'll meet," Rowan said.

Edin nodded. "It was nice knowing you."

"It was nice knowing you too. Have a safe trip home."

"Thanks. You too."

"Goodbye."

"Bye."

And with that, the door closed with a soft creak.

***

Edin cradled the mostly empty gift box in one arm as he trod towards the front doors of Arden's castle. He bit his lip. How could he bear to tell her? She had spent more than two years training him to be a guardian, to be a gifted who used his powers for the greater good. To come home and let her know that all of that time and effort had gone to waste—he could not bear the thought of it! What would she do? How would she feel? Granted, it was not his fault that his curses were beyond his control. Even then, the thought of being the bearer of bad news made him gulp.

The doors creaked as they opened before him. He passed through the entrance and plodded down the hallway. He could wait till dinner to tell her, perhaps, or after that. For now, he shall avoid crossing paths with her. He was not sure if she was ready to receive the news, but he sure was not ready to deliver it.

He climbed the steps to his bedroom. He strode towards the closet, opened it, and buried the box deep inside, hiding it behind stacks of clothes. He then went to his bed. On it was a note, which read: "Dinner's ready by the time you're back. See you at the table, as usual."

He gulped. He never thought he would dread dinner as much as he did now.

Edin first removed his outdoor shoes and changed into a more comfortable pair of footwear. He then headed to his bathroom to refresh himself. He washed and rinsed his face. He spent extra time washing his hands, from the wrists to the fingertips and the gaps in between—not only because he was taught to be diligent when it came to hygiene, but also to delay his arrival at the table. Warm water ran through his fingers. Unlike most times, tension did not dissolve in it.

At last, it was time for him to confront her. He dragged his feet as he made his way to the dining hall. What should he say, and when? How would she react? How profusely must he apologize? He came up with the answers to those questions as he neared the dining hall. In his head, he pleaded for her to spare him from her wrath.

He arrived a moment later. Arden was seated at her usual spot, waiting for him to sit with her so she could start tucking into her salad. She greeted him with a nod, and he sat across her. Though he hoped would be able to conceal his anxiety, the sweat beading on his forehead said otherwise.

Arden spoke first: "Norman told you about our decision, didn't he?"

Half of his tension was released from his body. She already knew.