August 28th, 2030, 11:55 am

"Five minutes, everyone. Get into line and be ready to go out once noon hits."

I squeeze in behind Mai and in front of CJ, giving myself ample walking room between both of them as directed. We were told that the person before us in line must be no less than two arm lengths ahead. Craig, the line conductor of the class, doesn't have to worry about that and sets the marching pace. Max White, the class caboose, is not concerned about someone stepping in his heel and tripping him.

My Imperial Guard coat fits snugly around my waist and around my chest. The belt laced around my stomach tightens the curve along with the buttons starting at the middle of my sternum. The gold flower pin, the one I received at the ranking, glitters with the sharp radiance from all directions in the Castle foyer. The garnet amongst the petals is the only darkening factor of the ornament. The eagle over my heart is unnaturally dull, which is disappointing for the occasion.

Mai ahead of me, as well as the other two girls in the class, have different attire than us boys. Instead of long slacks that come to our ankles, the female guards wear matching skirts that fall to a centimeter or two above the knees. Dalia told me that the instructions given by Corporal Porter allowed the girls to wear their hair however they like; up or down. Now, I'm not an expert on long hair, but judging by how long it takes Celestine to prepare her hair just to let it lay, I would guess they're not tying it back for the ceremony.

"Three minutes!" Sergeant Lee exclaims, studying his watch.

This is really happening, isn't it? Within the hour, I will officially be an Imperial Guard. I never thought that I would ever consider that to be the truth, but now I have chosen to embrace it. This is who I am. This is the path I have paved for myself to follow, and I will stop at nothing to reach the end, whatever or wherever it may be. My future begins today.

I twist my head to my right, where some light from the windows beside the door trickles onto the polished floor. It was about a month ago, in this spot, where my life changed forever. I murdered that guard, Private Meier, in cold blood with my baseball bat. Since then, the spot has been cleaned of the horrid massacre I committed, but it isn't entirely gone. I can still sense the guard's presence hovering over this massive foyer, likely to be standing beside Sergeant Lee, his best friend.

A day doesn't go by when I don't regret doing what I did, even though my action at that moment wasn't entirely conscious. Something overcame me; a supernatural power. I know that will not suffice as an excuse, but I know that there was something or someone else cracking open his skull.

"One minute." Lee sets himself into position beside Craig. He will open the broad front doors of the Castle to let us escape into the noon sun. We will file down the stone walkway to the raised stage between the shrubbery. Ten seats, marked with our name and numbered rank, will await us in the front row, closest to the steps.

My heart beats beneath my layers of uniform, and I smile. That must mean that my dog tags are twinkling that sapphire blue. What a cool invention that is. Yesterday in our bunk room, trying to light up the tags became almost an addiction. I hope that awesome effect never wears off.

A muffled bell tolls beyond the dense Castle walls as Sergeant Lee's watch alarm rings. Noontime has come. The elder Sergeant pulls the doors in toward us, and the crack of light streaming through blinds me for a second. Two silhouettes of flapping wings soar into the foyer with chatter and coos, but once the brilliance clears, the image of the world is silent. Not a word is said, no applause.

The ten of us and Sergeant Lee parade down the steps toward the tiny crowd that has gathered inside the Castle gates. I was told not to have a wavering head, so I can only see the wooden stage where five of the highest Queen's City Imperial Guard officers stand to watch. Four men and one woman on the far right from the back side, nearest where the stairs will be. We maneuver around the stage to get to our assigned seats.

Private Slater John Tross - 305 is printed on a small card attached to the back of my chair. Mai takes her place beside me, and to follow the wave, I sit before CJ does. The row of ten for the Imperial Guard recruits is on the right side of the stage facing it from the front. In order to receive our medals, we have to cross the aisle to reach the left side of the stage and climb up to where Lieutenant Hill authorizes passage.

I feel a couple of fingers pinch my shoulder, and I slowly twirl in my chair to not draw attention from an officer. I begin beaming when I see Celestine Manchester's glowing, healthy face grinning back at me. Her hair, that of morning coffee, is curled to perfection as it hangs over her exposed shoulders. She dons a strapless, plain white dress with lace attachments around her arm. I'm not an expert on fashion, but I'll say her outfit is killing it.

Beside her, nearest the aisle, is a trio of a woman and two children. The woman, who I'll assume is the mother to these kids, wears a loose, plum dress that collapses to the middle of her knees. The boy closer to me does not appear to be too young, though I have several years on him. His plaid button-up is a bit tight against his neck, but since I find myself in a similar predicament I can't tease. The third of the group sits between the tween and Celeste, and she is a little younger than the other kid based on her size. Her ashy brown hair doesn't fall below her collarbone. She wears a dress much like her mother's in style but is close to her body.

I hear a couple thumps on the microphone at the podium so I swing around. Sergeant Lee has taken his spot at the right of the stage, where he will narrate his farewell and good luck speech, as well as pass on the power to the next Sergeant, Craig Larsson. Lee promised that he wouldn't take much longer than five minutes, but since we all know how dramatic he can be, we're taking that with a grain of salt.

Everyone in the vicinity has taken their place at their designated seat. I watch Lee's chest heave as he straightens his posture. "Good noon, everyone. Esteemed guests from all regions of Oltima, Queen's City officials, parents and guardians, and of course, our newest Imperial Guard officers; welcome to the one hundred-sixtieth Imperial Guard commencement ceremony. Today we will honor ten young men and women who have earned the distinction to be recognized for their efforts and achievement. As their guidance officer, I am certainly proud to present Class 30 to General Gilroy D. Hamilton.

"Last year, I was honored to be named the Sergeant of Class 29. From that day onward I understood that my duty as such would include instructing the following class during their ranking and being someone that they could look up to for direction. I assumed that my job would be easy if I just followed Sergeant Frost's lead. I could not be farther from wrong. I had to deal with more issues in the ranking than I intended, as well as my own personal strifes. But I learned to overcome them very quickly and become a stronger person, just as the ten officers below me have. We are all improved by our experiences, and this ranking was certainly one of those that required perseverance.

"Despite having our differences, it is clear to see that we are all here together to celebrate this incredible achievement. All of the men and women being honored today embarked on a journey two weeks ago to fulfill their elite potential to become the Empire's best and brightest. I have heard nothing but the highest praise from every corner of Oltima accounting for your aspirations to become the future of the Imperial Guard. You have outperformed many of the top recruits from years past in all of your tests, so we have every right to speculate about your potential for greatness. And with that, Sergeant Craig Thomas Larsson, please rise and raise your right hand."

Four seats to my left, Craig stands up and faces his superior. There is no slouch in his stance as he lifts the hand closest to me, palm out. Hal, beside him, pays no mind. That should be him giving the oath.

"Sergeant Larsson, do you swear to protect Class 30 in its entirety without condition? To be the guiding force and lead by example? To uphold the integrity and values set forth for you by the Imperial Guard? And are you willing to give your life in the name of the Imperial Guard if it ensures the safety of the rest of Class 30 or the continuation of civilization as we know it? Do you swear by these conditions?"

Craig blinks once and inhales. "I swear."

"Sergeant Larsson, on behalf of the Imperial Guard, I am proud to announce that you are officially the Sergeant of Class 30. May the spirit of General Beauregard shepherd you and Class 30 to prosperity and success. Congratulations. Please, be seated." Craig slumps back down in his chair as Sergeant Lee shuffles his legs behind the podium. The five high officers pull themselves off their seats to tower over us.

"Now is the part of the ceremony where the recruits are presented to General Hamilton. General, these ten men and women before you have displayed nothing but the highest quality of gallantry, commitment, and acuity I could bestow. They are more than capable of upholding the standards of the Imperial Guard and will carry these values amongst the civilian world. Do you accept them as members of this most prestigious order?"

The General, the broad, amber-skinned man located beside the podium, nods. "Yes, I do." That is the man who has seen the same road as me. From hate to love. Or at least, kind of love. He doesn't have much hair on top of his head, as it is shaved tightly to the scalp. The collar of his dress shirt hugs his neck, though its frame is not distinct. This is the most powerful man in the Empire behind the Emperor himself. And I'm just like him.

"We will begin with the official presentation, beginning with the highest rank. Please approach the stage once your name is announced." Lee leans into the microphone. "Sergeant Craig Thomas Larsson."

As Craig stands to walk across the aisle and to the steps, I feel fingers tap the nape of my neck. I turn to Celestine at the edge of her seat. I tilt my head back to bring myself closer to her.

"I hate him," she whispers.

I twist my lips to one side of my face to lower my volume. "You're not the only one. Everyone is already annoyed with him."

Once Craig finishes the procession of officers, beginning with Lieutenant Hill, he steps to the General with something shiny in his hand. He dons some kind of necklace around the Sergeant's neck, allowing him to walk off the stage. I can't wait to wear that medallion just like him.

"Corporal Hal van Lester," booms Sergeant Lee over the loudspeaker. He glares at the Corporal as he rises to approach the stage. It has been a little over a week since our encounter in the mess hall and I still haven't told Hal about what happened or how the officer feels. I think it is much better that he is in the dark. I won't tell him; that's something Lee will have to do himself.

His face is sunken as he greets the officers on the stage. He keeps a gaze on their eagles and his strides short. I don't see his mouth move to give thanks to the generous wishes of the superiors, and I frown. Not necessarily because I pity him and his unfortunate rank, but because he shouldn't be so down about himself. And he definitely shouldn't rub it off on these officers who already have to deal with enough drama. He receives an identical medallion to that of Craig, and he hikes down the stairs. He returns to his seat without a word.

"Private Wyatt Alexander Mallory."

The tiniest boy in our class trudges to the stage to await permission from Lieutenant Hill. I like Wyatt so far, despite him being a Woodrow boy. Maybe my whole experience with Luke Bradley really gave me a sour feeling about the whole region of the city. Perhaps they aren't all bad. Wyatt seems to be genuine in trying to be friendly with me, so I'll accept it. Nicer than Craig, anyway.

Some gulls are milling around the roofs surrounding us. The sky above is as crystal as it can be for a momentous occasion like this. The sun hovers straight over our heads, baking me in this coat. I don't have much room to get air circulating with my outfit, so I bet once I take this off it'll be drenched in sweat. So much for doing my hair before the ceremony, because I can feel it starting to falter.

Sergeant Lee continues. "Private Mai Rea."

The girl beside me with black, flowing hair stands up and treads to the steps. I like Mai too. I think I hold the same opinion about anyone that isn't Hal, CJ, Craig, or Dalia. It's simply a matter of hardly knowing each other. The more time I spend with them, the closer I'll become. They are all accepting of each other, but again, it's just Craig that causes the problems.

Then again, I guess Hal shouldn't make the situations worse by constantly sticking up for me. He didn't have to yank Craig off his bed just to beat him up. I'm not going to dwell on that issue right now, but it pains me to think about how much they hate each other. Is it jealousy that leads Hal to do these things? Sure, it's disappointing that he was slated to receive the Emperor's Seal and he didn't, but it gives him no right to harm Craig.

Mai is given her medallion, twinkling in the late summer sun above. I'm next, and my fingers are trembling. I just have to keep telling myself it will go quickly. Pace to the stairs with my head level and not facing my feet. Ask Lieutenant Hill permission to proceed up the stairs. The fact is, she could say no and I won't receive my medallion to be an official Imperial Guard. Then what?

No. No more worrying. It all begins right now.

Sergeant Lee takes a deep breath and looks up from the microphone. We lock eyes and puts his lips inches from the foam. "Private Slater John Tross."

I stand and blow out all my air as I turn to my left. I pass by the previous four recruits who watch my movements intently. On the other side of the aisle, three older men and one woman spectate patiently. I try to ignore them, but the first man closest to our class is something from a nightmare memory. I see him, striding toward the Manchester household before seizing my tainted arm. He even wears the same outfit I last saw him in, which pinches my lungs. I thought I would never have to see him again.

I halt at the base of the steps and gaze up at the Lieutenant. She grins down at me with her black laced hair and skirt to match her coat. There is a deafening silence that falls over the scene. The seagulls and their chirping has disappeared. Four words, Slater. You got this.

"Permission to proceed, Lieutenant?" I tighten my jaw, wavering my stare.

Through her smile, her mouth opens. "Permission granted, Private."

I lunge up the three steps to come level with the five highest officers in Queen's City. They are all turned to me, awaiting my greeting and presence. All of them except the one in the middle, a man who is dwarfed by the Captain before him. His unkempt, scraggly facial hair covers what I can determine to be pursed lips. His eyes are burning coals, searing through my already flushed cheeks.

I shake hands with Lieutenant Hill. Her smile is real and gentle. "Congratulations, Slater," she mutters. A breeze picks up from the north, fluttering single strands of her hair.

"Thank you, ma'am." I break away, emulating her joyous expression, and continue onto the Captain a few feet beside her.

I extend my arm to finally meet hands with him. This moment has been anticipated since he released me for the last time before the ranking. Prior to our meeting in the bathroom an hour ago, even. I have thanked him for saving me from the bottom of the world, and this instance is going to seal all of our efforts over the past month.

His head tilts away to the right in a snap, and his bronze eyes widen. His hand raises higher than the level of mine, to my shoulder, and pulls me behind him. I stumble, twirling to the wooden stage. My head collides hard with the panels, shooting a sonic wave of displeasure through my skull.

My vision is spinning as I try to rise to my unsteady footing. I can't hear a damn thing over a shrill ringing in my ears, but my heart beating in my chest has been amplified. What in the world was that all about? Why am I now behind all the officers, facing the walkway to the Castle doors? The boundary of my gaze is becoming cloudy, and I can hardly keep my eyes open.

I twist around to the rest of the officers, but something throws a fork in the mechanism of my heart.

My hearing returns all at once, and I distinguish voices and cries that I never desired to ascertain. A clump of Imperial Guard officers surround something in the center of the stage, and the officer with hatred in him is crouched down over the spectacle. Sergeant Lee dives to the scene from the podium, putting himself in the middle of everything. Another one of the officers is bouncing around below the platform.

Captain Manchester lays on the wooden stage, face-down.

I do not have the competence to budge an inch as I watch my mentor writhe in pain. His groans rattle my stomach, swirling up my breakfast and threatening to creep up my throat. I look on as his hands grasp for air, or anything to hold on to.

Now, look at what you did!

Those words deflect around in my mind and force me to sweat. Whoever said that wasn't Roarke. It sounded more like... me.

"Is anybody a medical professional?" The General calls out to his inferiors in the crowd.

After everything he's done for you, you're just going to let him die?

There is a jagged blade wedged into his scapula. The silver handle juts out of his jacket only slightly, but from where I stand, there is no way to establish the exact depth of the wound. I feel a shock rumble throughout my back just thinking about the injury in my own body.

"Is he going to be okay?" I question, taking a step toward him. No one's gaze leaves the Captain, who is, fortunately, still conscious, though that is slowly flickering away. The candle can only burn for so long before dying out.

If he dies, his blood is on your hands!

My arms are seized behind me and I am tugged away from my mentor's body. A strong force is ripping the bond between us, and I kick to attempt an escape from the rough grip. The person who has control of me has an impregnable strength that keeps me from breaking away. I am pulled down the stairs where I can finally discern the scene from a civilian point of view.

But I saw his face. And his pain.

"Captain!" I shout, tears springing from my eyes. Some of my classmate's parents scrutinize me from the second and third rows, but that is my last concern. I fracture away from the hold and jump for a stride toward the steps.

"Boy, if you know what's good for you, you won't take another step."

I find myself at the base of the stairs, but this time I am not searching for the courage to ask permission from Lieutenant Hill. I can perceive the warm tears crawling over my cheekbones and off my chin. My legs withdraw from the urge to be at the Captain's side on the stage. The gravelly voice that draws me back from the platform swings me around to meet my captor from the violent setting above.

The man behind me stands at my level with a hooded, icy glare. The slight breeze from my right causes his bear-fur hair to sail with the current. His jaw is shrouded with short stubs that extend under his pointed nose. His face glistens under the sun from the hectic activity over the last minute. His Imperial Guard coat matches his waist and chest and does not attempt for breath. Under his chin, an eagle, much like the one over his heart, is pinned to his collar.

I evade my mentor for a moment and take a step toward the man before me. "He's going to be okay, right? He's not going to die, is he?"

He closes the gap between us, staring at his feet with his hands behind his back. He picks his head up once his face is a few feet from mine. "To be honest with you, I'm not entirely sure. But I promise you that he's in good hands. They'll do what they can."

My lips quiver. "No! Tell me he's going to be okay!" I blink and squeeze out weak tears. "Please, I don't want him to die. He saved my life."

"Look at me, Slater," he urges. His hands clasp around the curve of my shoulders. "You need to calm down. I know that this is scary, I understand that. But there's nothing you can do at this point. All we can do now is hope that everything will turn out fine and we can move on. Listen, I've known Brian for twenty years. He'll pull through this just like how he always does. I promise." A comforting, placid smile flourishes across his face as he surrenders his hold on me. "The last thing he wants is for someone to worry about him, you know?"

A painful laugh pierces through my lips. "Yeah, you're right."

Rewind.

That was Roarke this time, not me. Rewind? I wish I could go back to that moment and let me take the knife to my shoulder or heart. I would do anything to have the roles reversed. Sure, that means that I'm the one on the ground in agony, but it's better than where I am now, blaming myself for someone else's suffering and eventual death. Just like before.

Rewind to the night this all began.

I twist my head to the left, away from the man ahead of me. The Imperial Bank across the street stands cold in the noon heat, with its concrete frame and pillars. The road is closed off, blocking any incoming traffic, but an intruder still stands in the proximity. There is a flash from the rooftop. The sun has reflected into my eyes. When the brightness subsides, I can distinguish two shadows. They vanish away from the edge.

The mark, beneath my dress shirt and thick jacket, scorches into my skin.

"Hey!" I scream, shoving the man to the side and sprinting for the gate exit.

"Slater, wait!" He yells behind me. I refuse to stop.

I liberate from the confines of the Castle and step out onto the sidewalk. On the other side of the road, in the alleyway between the Imperial Bank and the apartment building, the two figures hop down to the ground and start for the next avenue. One of the obscurities screeches to a halt and turns back to me. He lifts his sleeve, revealing a murky insignia etched into his arm with shadows erupting from its lines. The space below my elbow is burning under my coat.

"You!" I shout, bolting across the street.