I look away from the soldiers that we picked up in Serafew, and start poking at the fire. We're camped south of Serafew, not quite to the Adlas Plains, but we'll be there tomorrow, according to Seth. The whole experience is finally sinking in. All of the fighting, the stress... Holy shit, I could've died, like, twenty times through the course of this journey. And it's only going to get worse. Holy shit, it's all downhill. I'm probably screwed, aren't I?

"You alright?" One of the soldiers asks me.

I look up past the fire, and at the three soldiers. Well, technically, only one of them is a soldier. The guy on the right, Mister Javelin, who told me that his name was Allister, is currently taking a sip from his canteen. He and the axe-fighter, Alexi, are twins: Jet-black hair over fierce brown eyes, muscular frames, each about as tall as me, if not a bit taller. Alexi is sharpening his steel axe, so I look to the shaman, Charsi, who has her hood down to reveal twinkling blue eyes and cropped red hair with black streaks running through it.

I shake my head. "The situation that I'm in just came crashing down on me."

She frowns. "You're a mercenary, aren't you? Surely you've been in combat before?"

My head rocks back and forth. "Combat, yes, but never in fights for my life on a day-to-day basis. Mercenary work was more travel than anything, and this was before bandits were lurking in every copse of trees, every dry riverbed, and every patch of tall grass."

"You mean that you weren't part of a combat mercenary force, like Gerik's Mercenaries?" She asks.

I shake my head. "I left the soldiering to the soldiers. I sold my services to supply caravans and the like."

"Then why join up with Princess Eirika?" She asks.

"Because Renais is my home. I'm not going to let it fall into ruin." I say.

She nods, and I stand. "Where are you going?" She asks.

"Just taking a walk." I say, walking away.

We camped in the evening, and the sun is slipping under the horizon. I had volunteered for first watch with Artur, Lute, and Moulder. I scan the fading surroundings for... monsters? Grado troops? Both, I guess, but neither makes an appearance.

Something shuffles behind me and to the left. I look to see Moulder a few yards away, and quickly realize that "Moulder the Boulder" is a very accurate way to describe him. He appears to be forty years old or so, but the dude's built like an athlete. His robes hide it fairly well, but his shoulders are broad, and there's obviously a bit of muscle on his arms and legs if he's keeping up with an army at his age.

"Hello, Father." I say.

His right hand is holding his staff, so he waves at me with his left hand, then winces, and drops his arm.

"Are you alright?" I ask. "Did you get hurt in Serafew?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm fine. It is an old injury."

I raise an eyebrow. "Old injury? How old?"

"Oh, thirty years or so." He replies.

I blink. Dude's seriously really old. Kudos for sticking with us this whole time.

"Does it ever get in the way of your work?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "I was originally left handed, but when I was injured, I started working out more to compensate for the injury."

Well, that explains him having 9 Con in the game.

"I see. How did it happen?" I ask

He shakes his head. "It's not a subject I enjoy revisiting. Another time, perhaps."

I nod. "I understand. We all have thing we'd rather not talk about."

He smiles, and takes his leave. I go back to watching the darkness. It's dark, but that's really it. I start walking around the camp's perimeter, scanning the inky nothingness for something interesting.

Idly, I softly start singing the lyrics to Credens Justitiam, Mami's theme from Puella Magi.

"Solti ola I. Amaliche cantia masa estia."

"That's a beautiful song." Someone says. I look around to see Artur standing there.

I smile, and nod. "I really don't do it justice. It sounds much better with other voice parts, and it really shines with a piano or harp."

Artur smiles, and nods. "I don't believe that I've ever heard anything like it. It sounds like a mix of a hymn and a lullaby, and that's barring the language. What is it called?"

"It's called Credens Justitiam." I say. "It means 'believing in justice.' The song's lyrics are nonsense, chosen by the composer because they are pleasing to the ear."

Artur nods. "It helps that your voice is as good as it is. Where did you learn to sing that well?"

"Back home, when I was a kid, I would sing in the church's choir during mass." I explain. "It's nice to be able to carry your instrument with you wherever you go."

"So you're religious?" Artur asks, brightening.

I nod. "It's not a religion that's found very widespread through Magvel, mind you, but I do believe that there's someone watching over all of us, and my morals tend to fall in line with the Golden Rule."

Artur smiles, and nods. "Continue to follow your path. We will see where it takes you."

I smile. "Take care, brother."

He nods, and we part. I'm getting tired, and my watch is almost up, so I head back to the tents, where Lute is using the light of the fire to read. I sit opposite her, and pull the leather-bound book from my pack, along with the pen and inkwell. Then, I begin to write. Slowly at first, as I grow used to writing with the quill and well, but gradually moving faster. I write about what's happened so far. Fighting for my life for the first time in Ide. The battle at Borgo Ridge. The monsters in the Za'ha woods. Combat in Serafew. Suddenly, there's nothing left to write. With a sigh, I put the writing materials down, and reach up to rub my neck.

My hand bumps into something. Quickly, I turn around to see Lute standing there, apparently annoyed that I'd interrupted her reading of my journal. Sighing, I pick up the quill and well from where I'd set them on the ground, and put them back into my pack. "Can I help you, Lute?" I ask.

"Why are you chronicling your exploits in that volume?" She asks. "Do you mean to have a bard sing tales of you when this is finished?"

I laugh, and shake my head. "No, I'm not that full of myself. It's just to keep my head straight and on my shoulders."

She frowns. "So by recording your actions of the day, you mean to keep your sanity and your life?"

I nod. "In a manner of speaking, yes. However, it's not just my actions. It's more about the emotions. How I felt about what happened. That's what's going to keep my sanity, and if I'm not insane on the battlefield, I'll probably make it through this in one piece."

"How do you figure that simply writing in this book will prevent an untimely demise?" She asks.

I shrug. "It's complicated. I couldn't give you an answer off the top of my head."

She nods. "This idea intrigues me. I shall ask you later about it."

Then, she turns on her heel, and walks away, leaving me alone. I put the book back into my pack, and head to my tent. Then, I close my eyes, and go to sleep.

We're traveling again quickly after sunrise. I'm sitting in the supply wagon again, reflecting on everything that's happened thus far. My mind wanders back to home for the first time in a while. How is everyone doing without me? Is time even moving forwards? What if it is? Will I come back older? What if-

Natasha joins me on the wagon. I give her a hand up, and she sits next to me. "How is the march treating you, sister?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "I've never been one for travel. Most of the church's activities kept us pretty close to home."

My eyes go wide in surprise. "You mean that your church has never sent its members on mission trips?"

She looks at me in confusion. "What's a mission trip?"

I look at her in shock a little bit longer, then recover and begin to talk. "The world's not a perfect place. We all know that, but as a mercenary, you see a lot of proof. Some people are born into hardships that other people will never see in their entire lives. People living in remote, frontier areas, struggling with bandits, sickness, famine, and disasters of all kinds, sometimes on a day-to-day basis. These people lose their faith."

"A mission trip," I explain, "is a way for the church to reach out and help these people. It sends a few of its members to help those who need it. People who care genuinely for the well-being of others." I look at Natasha, and smile. "People like you."

She smiles, her eyes shining brightly. "You've given me something to think about, Andrew." She says. "Thank you."

I nod. "You're quite welcome, Natasha." She gets off of the wagon and starts walking. I hope that she doesn't push herself too hard.

Franz is the next to arrive. I toss him a canteen. He accepts it gladly. "How's the march treating you, Franz?" I ask.

He smiles, and takes a sip from the canteen before answering. "It's about what I've come to expect from training, albeit with more urgency and combat."

I shake my head. "I keep forgetting that you're a knight of Renais."

Franz blushes. "Technically, no." He mumbles bashfully.

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"Well, technically, I've never been knighted. I'm only sixteen. We aren't knighted until seventeen in Renais. Right now, the better word to describe my position would be-"

"Squire." I supply. "A sort of apprenticeship for knights."

Franz nods. "That's one way to think of it, I guess, but it's more than that. Yes, you learn how to be a knight from the knight you serve as a squire to, but it's more than that. The relationship formed between knight and squire is a strong one, almost familial."

I smile. "So, is Seth a father figure for you, or a big brother?"

Franz smiles sadly. Did I say something wrong? "The similarities between him and my father are closer than I'd like at times. Let's leave it at that."

I nod. "I'm sixteen, Franz. Ever need someone your own age to talk to, you've always got me." Even though I'm shipping you and Amelia the first chance I get. That pairing is just so cu- CUT IT OUT ANDREW! No shipping! That is the one thing you swore that you would never do!

Franz smiles, and nods. "Thanks, Andrew."

I sigh, and look past him. Nobody else seems to be coming up to talk to me, so I get up and head to do a quick inventory on our supplies. Only way I get to ride on the wagon is by being assistant quartermaster. That means keeping up with supplies on the march, and keeping track of the wear we're putting on our weapons and armor on the battlefield. I see anything we're in short supply of, I'm supposed to pass it along to the Quartermaster himself, a rough man of about thirty with a green bandanna and fairly jolly disposition, so long as nobody touches his horse. He's very particular about his horse, says that it was the first thing he ever bought with money he made himself. I can respect that. Sentimentality is a powerful thing. It kept my bookshelf stocked with novels I never even touched for the longest time.

I finish taking inventory, note that we're starting to run a little short on vulneraries, and turn back to my own thoughts. How long have I been here? Feels like I've been here a year, but it can't have been more than a week at the most. My mind turns yet again to the family I'm missing at home. Mom and dad. Christopher. Micheal. Katherine. My small, concentrated group of friends. School. I'm supposed to be starting the second semester of my junior year this year, and I've got two AP tests that I'm missing. Could be an Awakening Self-Insert that I'm dealing with, though. I'd hate to have to deal with that.

I sigh, and put my mind back to the present, looking forwards.

A dense fog stretches over the Adlas Plains. With a sigh, I rise from my place on the wagon, and get off, moving to find Eirika and Seth. Time to go to work.