I do not own Chaotic nor anything related to it. It belongs to TCDigital.

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The Eroding Days

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Each rookie isa training with a veteran soldier today. We're using the blunt sword to spar, and the lesson is on how to block with your weapon. The veterans aren't taking it easy on us. This would be bad enough, but of all people, the one I'm sparring against is Mudeenu.

There's a flash as Mudeenu's sword catches the light, and I barely manage to brace my own sword against the impact. The force of the blow sends what feels like a bolt of lightning through my left arm, and the crash of metal against metal is deafening.

Mudeenu leaps back after the strike and holds his sword at his side. I stagger back and clutch my arm. If that swing had hit me, it could have broken my shoulder! ...Which might have been the point, actually...

I see Mudeenu's foot move forward, and I raise my sword to parry again. Our swords clash, but mine meets his at a bad angle, and the sword flies from my grip into the sand. Mudeenu quickly swings again, and blunt metal collides with my stomach.

I don't feel my body collapse in the sand. All I notice is my sudden inability to breath. As I lay curled up in the sand struggling for breath, Mudeenu reaches down and picks up my sword. "Swords aren't forks or pens, Michael," he sneers. "Hold it in your right hand, see if it's any faster or stronger." He trusts the sword into the sand in front of my face, then steps back and holds his sword at the ready again.

It takes me a long time to struggle to my feet, and I'm gasping for breath too hard to see straight. I weakly wrap my right hand around the sword's handle, and I yank it out of the sand. I look up in time to see Mudeenu's sword flash-

I'm on the ground again. Ow! Why the stomach again, Mudeenu? You already hit me there once...

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"Thank you for meeting with me, James," I say, trying to ignore the pain in my gut.

James, a pointy-nosed man with sun-bleached hair, grins in reply. There's a stressed out look to the grin.

I tap the papers I'm holding with my thumb. "His Majesty tasked me with reviewing your account." I look down at the first page. "Now, you report here a monthly wage of about nine hundred palms-"

"Is this really a prince's job?" James interrupts. "I mean, I'm certain there's someone lower down the ladder that could be doing this."

"You're right, this isn't a prince's job," I agree. "I'm doing it anyway."

James presses his lips together and twiddles his thumbs.

I look down at the page again. "Like I said, you reported a wage of about nine hundred palms. The question here is, why does your monthly balance report a wage closer to two thousand?"

"I'm... not sure what you mean," James mutters.

I set the papers down in front of me. "And the interesting thing is that all the extra money disappears about three days afterwords."

I see James's eyes flit over to the window. "I don't know what you mean by extra money."

"Hey, James," I say, tapping him on the shoulder. "Your employer isn't here. You can talk to me."

"H-he..." James chockes up a bit. "He told me not to say anything..."

"Trust me," I say. I pick up the papers and show them to him. "Now, is this the amount of money you were paid last week?"

James's neck tenses up, and he wrings his hands. He slowly nods.

I point further down the page. "And is this withdrawal really for paying rent?"

"Not... all of it," James admits.

I flip the page over. "And you didn't really buy that much water, did you?"

"No," James says, looking out the window again.

I glance at the window myself. "Want to know a secret, James?"

James raises an eyebrow. "Huh?"

I lean forward and lower my voice. "King Theb-sarr already knows that your employer is using his employees' wages to hide illegal income. All he needs is proof."

James looks out the window again. "H-he-"

"He can't fire you if he's replaced, can he?" I ask. "All that's stopping us from arresting him is solid proof."

James stares at me. "...I don't want my name on any record he has access to."

I nod. "That's within the king's power." I set the papers aside. "Now, to the real questions. Where exactly did last month's lost shipment of battlegear really end up?"

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Isis wants to talk about something. It's late, so maybe it can wait until tomorrow.

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I've been training for a week now. We're learning about the proper way to handle cyclances. Mudeenu is shouting out a list of horrible sounding accidents he witnessed, injuries caused by someone simply holding the cyclance the wrong way. It's nauseating.

At least target practice shouldn't be too painful. Cyclances don't have kickback, so there's-

"Also," Mudeenu adds, "the targets will be firing back at you!"

I stand corrected.

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Today I need to record, verify, and sign what is basically a birth certificate for the first Human born in Al Mipedim. The poor child's six weeks premature, but there's some hope for him.

Isis isn't with me. I'd ask where she is, but, well, it's a little awkward being around her still. I can actually focus right now.

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Two weeks into training. The rookies and I are being screened for mugical talent. There are three who pass. I'm not one of them. Big surprise. Back to sparring.

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I have to oversee a funeral. The baby... didn't make it...

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Isis is upset. She's spent the whole evening just staring out the window. I'm too distraught to really say anything to her.

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Happy Birthday, me. Mudeenu's present during training is a black eye. The rookies and I are training on how to avoid stuff like that. Mudeenu's literally not pulling his punches.

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"What happened to you face?" one of the Humans I'm meeting with asks.

"Learning how to avoid sucker punches," I growl as I sit down. My tone makes the Human shut up.

Blah blah blah, a thousand complaints I've heard before, a hundred new ones that are being written down for me so I can read them later. I'm only here so everyone has a face they can complain to.

Oh, great, there's a reporter. "Can someone get him out of here?" I call out while pointing at the man.

"Please, Prince Osiris," the man begs, "just one question?"

"Depends on the question," I mutter.

The man opens his mouth, then stops, as if he can't figure out which of his undoubtedly many questions to ask.

"You're wasting my time," I say as I turn away from him. "Make an appointment next time."

The man protests as a guard drags him away. I sigh and press my fingers to my temples. I turn to the next person.

"I'm suspicious of my husband," the woman there says. "Is there any way you could have someone follow him to see if he's being unfaithful?"

My heart freezes up. "Sure, yeah, sure." I turn to the guard at my left. "Could you spend the next, oh three days tailing this woman's husband?"

The guard slowly nods. I turn to the guard at my right. "Could you take over here? I need to turn in early." I point at my eye. "Need to make sure I don't aggravate this."

I don't even wait for the guard's answer, I just stand up and head for the door.

Why did that woman's words make me feel the way they did?

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Up next: The Breaking Point

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Like I said before, Chaotic belongs to TCDigital.

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