Chapter 6
Efran

The sun has risen from dawn. Glimpses of sunlight shimmering through the twenty emerald flags, embroidered a golden crown, draped in the caskets with picture frames and flowers, laid on the ground behind the rectangular holes dug in six feet of depth, guarded by the platoon of black legionnaire soldiers, holding the swords up on their chests in a snappy posture.

Efran was one of them, stealing glances through the families of the fallen heroes, crying their names. Mothers, fathers, wives, siblings, and children–they've lost someone precious in their lives. The Captain was speaking in front of them, tales of the heroic deeds they've done for the nation from the hundreds of bandits ambushed them. Their sacrifices will be forever in Flostania's memory. Then after, the priest would come in front of them, gaslighting that their deaths had a reason and were in accordance with Jembahal's written fate, and Jembahal would welcome them in the Sacred Kingdom to award their righteousness.

Little did they know, their lives were just a replaceable meat shield to protect the fabulous golds from the mere little girl.

Efran started to wonder about his father. There were times when his father surprised them to dine at a fine restaurant. Mother and big brother were happy, savoring the exclusive moments they couldn't even afford—they have no idea it was just loaned in the bank. Efran wasn't able to unfold the neat white rose-folded napkin and touch the shiny golden spoon without his mind wandering. The sudden change of course and routine—feels too odd. His skeptical thoughts would starve for answers, than the warm steak on the table.

The day he would wake up in his bed and go to the kitchen for breakfast, only his brother and his mother were there waiting for him. His father was at work again. He would wait for days to play commander role play in the backyard, and his brother never had an interest, so he had no other playmates than his father.

Weeks, months, or even a year before his father would be home, standing by the bright door, skinny and has bandages over his body.

Mother was smiling as if she was just excited to see her husband, but her hug was too tight and long. Then his father would casually smile at the little Efran and would say, Don't just watch, son. Come here. And he would join. His brother, who just woke up, would follow.

Then he would notice the odd vibration, her mother's trembling body. He's curious, especially when she wipes her cheeks and sniffs. He would ask, what's wrong, mother? She would reply, Something just irritated my eyes. Must be a speck of dirt in your father's dirty uniform. This is why I wanted to wash your father's clothes myself, because the laundry ladies were never good. They all would laugh.

Efran would run his eyes to his brother, and to his mother—she had the loudest laugh, yet her eyes were odd. As if it was filled with fear, worriedness, and sorrow. Maybe he's just wrong. He's just a kid, after all, and his parents were always right. But now that he's here, clad in the same uniform his father has, he's starting to understand the life his father pushed—in exchange for the fine restaurants, comfortable home, and clothes.

But things have changed. These sacrifices were not for them anymore but for the other family, as he believed. Too late to pity his father. He's already dead, buried more than six feet of depth—infinite—this was what his heart felt.

If his father wanted that joke human needs, then he must be an unmarried man. No wife to get hurt, and no children to be abandoned. That easy.

"I was weak at her age," Gio murmured next to him, looking at the small casket from afar, guarded by only two soldiers. Still, no family was coming for the girl.

The Captain was supposed to dispose of her body in the river or feed to the crocodiles. Her death was not enough to calm his rage, his sympathy for the fallen soldiers and their families. But Efran appealed, and the Mzerlish supported him. It's on Flostania law, though, that minor children were out of the court trials, and their parents must take responsibility for their deed and take the punishment.

The Captain granted their wish with only one condition–to not let his eyes lay on that demon's body, or he would chop it into pieces. He didn't care whether the enemy was a girl, baby, pregnant woman, or a very old lady–all he could see was hell full of demons to take more lives.

It's still hard to believe that twenty men died at the hand of the small girl. No, he almost shook his head. Someone must be her mastermind, and that one was the one who killed these soldiers and that little girl.

Efran remembered what Gio said. He replied, "No parents would let their children in war or even train like hell just to have such jembahal-like skills."

"They do. It's just your first time seeing one. In Alta, Trost, and Firaija, they start to train kids at the age of five."

Efran gripped tightly to the sword on his chest. He was aware. It was an overrated rumor. An overrated mother's line to their lazy kids: Alt kids your age were dragged into the forest alone to hunt their own food! You're lucky that your food is free! All you need is to wash the dishes, yet you are complaining!

"Sword salute!" the Captain shouted, and they all raised the sword, like half spines shading the caskets from the yellow rising sun glinting the tip of blades. The trumpets started to sing. The soldiers folded the flag with honor and awarded it to the family. Then proceeded to bury the caskets.

"How did you know all these military salutes, commands, and gestures?" Gio asked, clearly busted his little cover up secret. The Firaijan boy was either sharp or Efran was not just good at lies. "Don't worry, I won't tell anybody. We owe you our life, though."

Efran watched the wooden frames of pictures lustered by the sun, gradually showered by the dirt to bury along the casket. He had been to funerals countless times, waiting for his father, saluting the sword until the trumpets went into silence when the burial was over. And most of the faces in the picture frames were familiar to him–especially the five men–that were said to be his future brothers he met in the tavern. He was fond of the military at that time, so he was easily fascinated by the commands, codes, gestures, and proper salutes, even though his father didn't require him to.

"I'm just used to attending funerals," he said, and words continued inside his head but didn't need to speak out loud.

Death isn't supposed to be something new in my eyes.

He remembered the girl, so he glanced over her grave, almost done packing beneath the ground. Blank and quiet. Still no signs of her family.

~

The banquet hall was crowded. The buzzing sound of the death's guests, spoon clanking on ceramic plates, and ice bumping inside the glasses. Efran's stomach growled while standing firmly on the door and watching the food shoved in the mourner's mouth. His feet were aching, muscles in his arms were crumpling, and his eyes felt very heavy and burning. He hadn't had a good sleep since the clerk filed a whole week of leave. Xienorra bothered his life–supposed to save him from being captive in a military camp, yet here he was, a shortcut way to catch one star as lieutenant without training, safe and sound, madly hungry and sleepy. The worst event happened throughout his eighteen years of existence.

"You'll be at the memorial again tomorrow," he whispered to Gio.

The Firiajan boy tried his best not to raise a brow and stay his sight in the air. "And you?"

"Thanking your service."

Gio glanced at him with a confused look.

Efran explained, "I lacked so much sleep. So very much. That's my weakness and I'm going to die tomorrow. I can feel it."

Gio's forehead crushed to each other, unable to empathize with him. This Flostanian relaxing military routine was already a luxury of rest he couldn't afford in Firaija.

Efran blew the dirt flew and landed on his green scarf, embroidering a symbol of leaves. After the encounter, the Captain promoted and issued him the Flora scarf as a recognition of his Razua–the pride every Razuha soldier wears. "I'm dead serious."

"You're not even a real surgeon to diagnose," Gio scoffed.

"But I have great introspecting skills. I'm very well aware of my capabilities and limitations. I'll die tomorrow, I assure you."

"Tell that to the Captain, or to your boss who made your sleep habits miserable, which I barely care." Gio backed his stare in the air before someone could notice them being lousy.

Efran continued plotting escape in his mind. He can't stay here. He wanted to believe that Xienorra had a plan for his heist, but what if she was also counting on him to go on his own? Plus, he hasn't heard about them since yesterday. They might have encountered some backup kids. What if their lives were in danger? Or what if he's just a bait or whatever, they might have abandoned him?

"Soldiers have a bedtime too, right?" started Efran.

"Breaking your good night's sleep?"

"The military has only six hours of it. I can do it two times once I get out."

"Wow, you're literally telling your plan to the very first person you are not supposed to trust. Now, shall I watch you more carefully? Or just report it to the captain and drag you into the detention cell?"

Efran wanted to slap his own face again, a harder one. He's so stupid.

"Uhm... Is there an option c?"

Efran Fritz
The Forge Prince

Mvcabusas | The Invisible King