Discipline and Dignity

The last skeleton fell at 4:43 AM, and no one cheered.

John stood over the remains with his sword half-raised for almost a full minute before he trusted the quiet. The line held in a tense stasis around him — warriors frozen with weapons raised and ready, eyes scanning for the next wave, muscles locked in the posture of people who had forgotten how to stop bracing. Sophia and Vallya reported similar silence across the full length of his Barrier, and considerably beyond its borders. The wave, massive as it was, had finally broken upon the shore of their defenses, and there was no sign of a continuation.

Two and a half hours. That was how long it had taken, from the first alarm to the last kill. It felt like it should have been longer. The long blurs of battle between Selvia's fall and the final push had run together into a rhythm of **** that John could only reconstruct in fragments — the flash of Shishun's knives in the dark, the steady golden pulse of the Order's magic along their section, the wet crunch of bone under his boots repeated so many times it had stopped registering as sound and become texture. He'd kept a wary eye on the health bars of his party throughout, watching health and mana drain in slow increments that were more frightening than any single blow, because single blows could be dodged. Attrition just sat on your chest and waited.

"Well, seems they've learned that we can't be broken so easily. Good work, soldiers!" Sevitus' voice rose above the crowd. The stocky man announced their victory with the kind of projection that came from years of shouting over tavern brawls before it was ever used on a battlefield. He'd appeared from within the ranks around minute ninety, caked in enough blood that his bluster at least seemed somewhat earned, though John had scarcely noticed him during the fight itself. "I know we're all tired, but gather up the dead from your number and secure them before we take our rest. Can't risk anything snatching them in the night. Our brothers and sisters deserve better than that. Resume the regular watch. We'll adjust tomorrow's rotation to account for—"

Sevitus' voice fell into background noise as John strode away from the GPA's section of the front and marched toward the refuge of his campfire.

"Acting as though he accomplished anything more significant than being lucky enough not to get caught in that thing's path..."

The thought wasn't entirely fair, and John acknowledged that internally. For all his lack of accomplishment, Sevitus was the most organized part of the Great Plains Alliance present on their section of the front. That bar was low enough to bruise your shin on it, but it was there all the same. That didn't mean John had to like it. He allowed himself a few choice remarks about the alliance and Sevitus' ancestry before he finally took his usual spot by the fire. The blaze had withered away to smolders, and he busied himself stoking it back to life while waiting for the others to join him.

Shishun was the first, of course. John didn't even see her approach; she might well have returned to the campsite the very moment she saw where he had gone. She halted at the edge of the firelight, close enough to be seen by her Master, far enough away to be unobtrusive. Her eyes glimmered in the firelight, the only part of her that could be seen clearly at her distance. The rest of her form was sheltered just enough from the flames for her body to teeter on the edge of light and darkness, ready to fade into the blackness at any moment. Sophia and Vallya remained outside, surveying the landscape from outside the Barrier a while longer to ensure that the battle had truly ended and not merely reached a lull.

Kim and Kwang came next, not far behind Shishun. They matched each other stride for stride, except for a limp that Kim made a valiant attempt to conceal. John was too mentally over the night to bother with any attempt at preserving her dignity or honor—the moment Kim was bending to take a seat, John crossed to her side in two measured steps and planted a hand on the offending knee. Her Slayer outfit was long enough to cover whatever wound she'd been given, but there was a crimson patch spreading on her outer thigh, and a tear lower down that hinted at something less severe.

"You do not need to-"

"I don't need to. I am anyway. Shut up," John grumbled. "I have plenty of mana left over."

"And I am finished with the battle. My leg's condition is of no importance-"

"We both know you're going to go back to drilling yourself tomorrow, assuming we don't get attacked again." John's even tone seemed to have a stronger effect on Kim than any combination of anger or pleading might have. She accepted the interruption, rather than sharpening her gaze. It remained at its normal intensity—the one that would cut steel, not diamonds. "Even if I could convince you to rest for a day, we both know this is bad enough to interfere with your sleep. This is pragmatic and kind. Pick one and accept it."

A chuckle came. Not from Kim, but her father. Of all the responses he'd expected, a laugh was not one of them. That Kwang was the one who laughed, quiet and controlled in the same way the man controlled every emotion he experienced, left John almost shocked enough to halt his Lesser Heal.

"It would seem you have experience in dealing with my daughter." Kwang was smiling as he said the words, but they were delivered in a way that wasn't quite a compliment, and may well have been a warning. "Though I cannot speak to the dangers you face using such a tone with her."

John heard the threat. Warmth flared in his chest at the edge to Kwang's words. The thought of remaining silent or changing the subject did occur to him. It was burned away in the heat almost immediately.

"I'm used to dealing with stubborn pride, and not only from Kim. I'm not worried. Kim knows I'm only ever looking out for her." John's gaze swiveled to Kwang, a professional evaluation as well as a refusal to back down. The older man had a few tears in his clothing, but no blood showed through them. "If you need healing, you'll need to wait for Lord Brighton or Moira. The level difference makes my Lesser Heal not efficient for someone like you."

"I am largely untouched. A night's rest is sufficient." Kwang made a dismissive gesture, and still made no move to take a seat. He stood just outside the ring of chairs and well-placed logs, wrists crossed, body relaxed in a way that conveyed a peace solid enough to still the mind, and fragile enough to be shattered like glass in an emergency. He was angled very subtly toward where Shishun lurked, angling himself to be equally aware of the campsite and the battlefield they had just cleared. "I only hope that the rest of the night passes more uneventfully."

"They sent out creations that were much stronger this time." John couldn't see the injury he was tending to with Kim's clothing in the way, but for as bold as he felt in the moment, shifting her skirt and leggings around to get a better view seemed unwise. He continued to pour mana into the healing spell until her health bar had filled completely. "With any luck, the forces we slaughtered tonight took a few days for them to pull together between their probing strikes. We should be able to rest until the morning."

"Difficult to say. Considering the strength of these alliance mages, they might have been conquering their defensive lines with a token effort. They may have weeks of undead in reserve." Kwang's lips curled down, and John couldn't tell precisely what the grim man was directing that feeling toward. "The speed at which they can produce these creatures is vital, but the combined power which they can wield at any given moment is equally critical. We must not underestimate them until we have a firmer understanding of that capability."

"They used more valuable resources tonight, too. I'm not sure what their goal was, but..." John chewed his lip thoughtfully as he stood, shifting away from Kim and back to his own seat. The younger Slayer inspected her thigh with a distinct lack of annoyance, which from Kim was as good as an endorsement. "I fought a resurrected mage tonight. The first one I've seen that was brought back as a piece of what they used to be, rather than just turned into another shambling monstrosity. She was decently powerful, too. Maybe one of the mages they found and killed before starting this war, or at least before they targeted the GPA."

"Or one of their commanders from the early days, before they had targeted and culled the strongest." The deeper voice of Lord Brighton entered the conversation with all his usual presence. Moira strode into the campsite beside him, looking wearier than John expected. Kwang gave them both a slight nod as they entered, not moving from where he stood.

"How was it down there?" John asked as they settled in, his eyes catching the slight heaviness to Moira's breathing, the heat still clinging to both of them — cheeks glistening with a crimson that preceded the warmth of the fire. "We lost a number from the GPA. There was a resurrected mage this time — the first one I've seen."

"One knight fallen. A good one." Moira's voice was steady, but the brightness in her eyes had nothing to do with the firelight. She held the expression for a moment — the one that said she would process this later, privately, when no one was watching — and then moved past it with the practiced discipline of someone who had learned, very recently, that grief was a luxury commanders could not afford in real time. "Many more in critical condition. We stayed behind to mend those who couldn't wait for the healers. But the line held."

"The line held," Lord Brighton echoed. His hand rested on Moira's shoulder for a beat — brief, firm, and withdrawn before it could be mistaken for coddling. "There were two resurrected mages that assailed us, as well. And I saw at least one more approaching the Legion's formations in the thick of it."

"Three on your side, one on ours." John frowned. "That's four resurrected mages in a single night. They haven't used any until now."

"Resurrecting a mage expends a more valuable resource than merely bringing together bits of flesh and bone, and it takes considerably more effort. They were testing," Kwang said. It wasn't a question.

"They were testing," Lord Brighton confirmed. "And now they have their answer. We held. The question is what they do with the information they gathered tonight."

The conversation continued — shifts in the night guard, adjustments to wards and formations, the logistics of rest and rotation. Julianna never joined them. Adantia returned ten minutes after Lord Brighton and Moira, her brows furrowed, her cables noticeably missing a number of runes. She didn't linger long. She spoke of segments of the line that had held only through luck and the sheer number of bodies available to throw at the problem — a strategy sustainable for no one but the Northern Ashes themselves. Then she marched off to reform her cocoon of cables, with all the indignant energy of someone woken from a well-deserved slumber to clean up the mess of a child awake past their bedtime.

The others went one by one after her. Kim rose without complaint when Kwang did, though John caught the way she tested her weight on the healed leg — not doubting the repair, just confirming it. Moira lingered a moment longer than the rest, staring into the fire with the look of someone compiling a list she didn't want to finish. Lord Brighton waited for her without rushing her. When she finally stood, she did so with a sharp exhale that closed whatever door she'd been standing in front of, and followed her father into the dark.

John sat through it all, stoking the flames. He was still stirring the fire long after even Shishun had reluctantly gone to her bed. The night was warm, and the fire blazed, and John felt a chill in the air all the same.

Vallya and Sophia spent the night trading watches. By the time the sun rose, Shishun was awake, Sophia was standing at attention by John's left side, and Lerianna had been released from the prison of the leggings she had become. She lasted approximately five minutes before asking to be sent back to the new world to sleep, despite the hour—John took that as a sign that being transmuted into an article of clothing and joined with him did not, in fact, constitute a good night's rest.

With the morning sun came the tension of acknowledging a conversation that was overdue. A conversation that was made more frustrating by the fact that someone had already called out its necessity, and had been thoroughly arrogant in their evaluation. That someone's arrogance did not diminish their correctness, but it did make it loathsome to verify.

"We have to set twice the watch because there are no wards, we have no reliable way of weakening what comes through, and right now, one of our strongest mages is stuck in place. We can't even risk him on the front lines unless it's an emergency, because we don't know if they have ways of disrupting the Barrier!"

Adantia's voice was raised. Not in volume, but in pitch. The heightened tone of a woman conveying something she considered absurd enough to not need spoken aloud, now being **** to spell it out letter by letter.

"Adantia, I understand." The sigh Gerry gave was very much the sigh of a man who understood. It was also the sigh of a man whose answer had not changed. "But we are limited by what we have available to us. I cannot reroute-"

"I'm not asking you to reroute, I'm asking you to put up the same goddamn Barriers you had before. They've had days to rest. Days. In a war like this, that's practically a whole goddamn vacation." Adantia was not petulant enough to stomp her foot, but John didn't miss the way her fist clenched, and he was all too aware that each one of those fingers was strong enough to crush his throat with the right grip.

"We've lost Fateweavers since you arrived. Most from other areas, but I've already had to redistribute them to other areas. Between the assassinations and last night's attacks, four of my best-"

"So you can reroute, just not to us. I'd like to make three guesses as to why, and the first two don't count." Adantia may have lost her sight decades ago, but she had not forgotten how to glare. If the insignia had a visual component to it, John was sure every Fateweaver in a twenty-mile radius would've been running to them out of fear. As it was, all they got was another sigh.

"Adantia, I understand your-"

"If you say you understand one more time, I'm going to make sure you understand. I'll verify it. In person."

"I'm sorry. I-"

"Yeah, you fuckin' bet you are." Adantia tapped the emblem and the voice cut out before it could annoy her further. She allowed herself a moment of pettiness, tossing the badge angrily to the ground, hard enough to embed it almost fully beneath the soil. The ground beneath it rumbled as a cable burrowed up to the fallen insignia—then the badge vanished, stored in one of the runes that remained on her extensive cable network.

"Conversations with command are going smoothly, then?" John's remark drew the unfocused ire back into perfect clarity. Adantia spun on her heel and flipped him the bird with remarkable accuracy for a blind woman, then went back to pacing. “You know, Vallya’s wards are still holding, it’s not that-”

“Don’t let him hear that,” Adantia growled. “Hard enough convincing them to do anything, don’t give them more excuses.”

"Why are you still here?"

The voice that cut in was sharp enough that the entirety of the assembly seemed to think it was pointed at them. But as Julianna strode into the camp, flanked by two of her men, it was Adantia who her eyes rested upon. And her gaze was the sharpest thing John had ever seen her direct at anyone besides him.

"Excuse the fuck out of me?" Adantia was still dealing with frustrations that lacked a full outlet. She whirled on Julianna with the glee of a woman who had been denied a workout and then presented with a punching bag. "Mind repeating that?"

"I asked why you are still here," Julianna growled without hesitation. "You saw what happened to the line. Ours held after you left. Theirs nearly fell before you even arrived. You should be out there, securing and fortifying the length of the battlefield, not guarding the barracks while the castle burns."

"They are a bunch of halfwits that I couldn't care less about," Adantia snapped. "The people here are the ones I have at least half a shit to give when it comes to keeping them alive. I at least owe the old man for helping me patch up my arm."

Lord Brighton remained silent. The quirk of his brow spoke of something between amusement, acknowledgment, and mild offense, all held in check with his usual composure.

"We will maintain this position until your arrival." Julianna seemed unbothered by the implication that they might be overwhelmed, as if she'd already dismissed the possibility as unthinkable. "You were able to cross the distance in minutes. We will not be so easily slain."

"Really confident, aren't you?" Adantia's voice dropped an octave. Something dangerous shone from behind her eyes, something John hadn't seen in her since he was pinned to a wall in what was left of a grocery store. "I get it. Me too. But in case you didn't notice, I learned the hard way that these assholes are pretty dangerous when you let them catch you off-guard, even to someone like me. I've got the scars to prove it. And if they can put me on the ropes, they'd down you and your toy soldiers faster than you could call for help."

"You think too lowly of us."

"You think too highly of yourself."

"My scouts have investigated these Great Plains Alliance mages for thirty miles in both directions." Julianna gestured not to the distance, but to the alliance troops' campsites nearby. "They are no better off than these fools. The alliance's lines are weak and disorganized. They have plastered over their logistical problems by sheer virtue of bodies. Bodies that are slowly being whittled away, then turned against them—against us. If you diminish your effectiveness in this war by babysitting the few who can stand on their own, the entire front will–"

"If you have a problem with the way that we're handling the situation, you're more than welcome to run back to Springfield."

Adantia and Julianna were not shouting, but their voices were tense, energetic. John's voice was calm, level, almost as if it was part of another conversation entirely, yet it carried above their bickering well enough to turn both heads toward him in unison.

"You have an opinion on my evaluation of your incompetence?" Julianna growled. John didn't respond to the insult. His fingers laced together between his knees as he leaned forward. The shadows of the overhead sun lengthened across his cheeks, his chin resting on the interwoven digits.

"We didn't invite you along to this war." John's irises rested on her like stone, unmoving and unyielding in the face of her provocation. They bored into Julianna as if the heat building in his chest could pass through his irises and convey to her the depths of his irritation. "You fled Springfield, and returned when you heard that we had done what you could not—marshaled a **** strong enough to save the home you had already abandoned."

"Yeah. Hi. It's me, I'm the ****." John’s eyes flickered to Adantia long enough to catch her smug smirk, then immediately pivoted back to Julianna.

"Choose your next words carefully, John Newman," Julianna warned. She took two steps toward him. Her right hand, which had rested with an idle agitation upon her hip, now rose slightly, creeping up her midsection toward the hilt of the blade that rested upon her back.

"I'm choosing them factually." John remained as he was, body loose and relaxed as Julianna's began to coil. "I was prepared to do what was needed. I was ready to fight for my home before anyone else was, and I was confident in our ability to protect it. You are not needed here. And if the way that we are conducting our forces is causing the terror to take hold of you and your men once more, feel free to cut and run at the first sign of trouble. Again."

The campsite fell silent. Julianna's guards shifted. Their eyes caught one another in a wordless exchange that John was too occupied to read. His mind was alert, ready. He had seen Julianna move in combat. He knew the gap between them was short enough for her to close inside of a second, and the blade – despite its size, despite the position of it – could be loosed from its arcane bindings in the same motion. Her next stride brought her boot into contact with one of the smoldering logs of the flames he'd busied himself tending. Ash and sparks burst into the air between them, too dim in the midday light to shine on her face, but bright enough to weave a mist of fading embers into the tense atmosphere.

"You are fortunate that the Legion understands the value of discipline and diplomacy," Julianna warned with a voice that had dredged itself up from somewhere low in her chest. The irritation and provocation that had dripped from her in every interaction between the two of them had vanished with the dying cinders. Absolute certainty took its place, a conviction that layered a dangerous heat over the unfeeling cold of raw steel. "Were you one of my soldiers, I would have you lashed for speaking to me in such a manner. Worse, if you did not learn the first time."

"Were I one of the Legion's soldiers," John began slowly, each syllable lingering over the fire separating them, "I'd be asking my comrades why our leader deposed her predecessor for pride and incompetence, only to spend the first week of a war for our homes tearing apart the allies fighting beside her."

There was no lingering silence this time. The air whistled with the speed at which Julianna drew her blade. John's eyes tracked it as it went, gauging its arc. For half its swing, his heart raced despite his best efforts. His body tensed, his neck craned back, as he measured the strike's angle, the length of the blade, its-

The sword's tip rested a centimeter in front of his nose when it halted, drawing a line from Julianna's palm to his skull. Half its length bathed in the flames of the campfire, glistening orange as the blade soaked in the heat. John's body was stiff, but he was pleased with how little he had truly flinched. Even Sophia had assumed a ready stance; he did not glance to his side, but he had caught the rattle of her armor as the blade descended. Julianna's guards stood with wide stances, fingers clenched fully around the hilts of their blades.

"Speak like that to me again, and your words will be tested as surely as your steel." Julianna was deathly still. Waiting. John gave no retort this time. But he did not lean away from the blade, either. His eyes held Julianna's gaze for a breath. Two. Three.

Then she pulled the blade away and pivoted smoothly, turning and striding from the camp without another word. Her guards followed, hands still clenching their weapons. Their eyes met again as they trailed after her, an exchange that John could see well enough this time to notice the incredulity.

A breeze gusted through the camp gently, as if the world had been holding its breath along with them. Moira's shoulders dropped an inch, and John could hear the straps of her shield flexing, the leather released from its stretch as her taut forearms went slack. Kim's hand dropped from the pommel of her sword—Kwang's too. John hadn't seen either of them reach.

"John, are you...?" Moira didn't need to finish the question. John huffed, trying not to feel bitter about it. The words hadn't felt like they were driven by fear. They had felt right. But that was the whole point, he supposed.

"I feel fine," he muttered after a moment. It was accurate enough. He felt better than fine. "Scan me anyway."

Moira nodded, and it wasn't long before the drone that had accompanied them floated from the safety of the Order's van. Its sensors surveyed John with the programmed thoroughness he'd come to expect. He didn't let his eyes wander toward the Legion's camp, didn't let himself think about what Julianna would assume if she noticed. A second wave of relief passed over them when Tricia relayed the prognosis, smaller than the first and contained to fewer individuals.

"Healthy. Slightly elevated heart rate. Modest cortisol levels. Below a professional athlete within a similarly intense time frame of training. Nothing inhuman, nothing dangerous."

"Good. Then next time she gives me shit, know that whatever I say is my own damn fault."

No one laughed. Moira groaned. Kim quirked a brow in a way that could've been disbelief or pride.

Sophia's back straightened. Her hand rested on his shoulder and gave a little squeeze. Her wings were stowed, but John liked to imagine if they were out, they would have been spread in a grand display.