046 Fowler's Regret

As Fowler strode through the hall, his eyes glanced over the various recruits. The man's face was stern and cold, and he was having trouble finding any interest in the various combat drills performed by the various knights and squires. Fowler was a veteran templar for the Warden division of the Sunchasers, and had been for over a decade.

Unlike the other divisions within the Sunchasers, the warden's were strictly dedicated to combat, they were the military force that had turned the Sunchaser's into the biggest mercenary organization in the Subsist. And yet, Fowler often found himself disappointed with the new recruits.

Perhaps it was because of templar Lupe, the youngest templar within the know history of the Sunchasers, who overshadowed any other recent initiate with her overwhelming talent. Or maybe it was just because of the rapidly growing strength within the seeker division, likely a result of Rio raising promising talents herself and inducting them straight into the seekers.

Either way, Fowler couldn't help but be disappointed with the standard held within the wardens. Just as the imposing man was going to turn and leave, something caught his eye. A young, ashen haired lad was sparring with an instructor.

"That boy..." Fowler questioned, not bothering to look at his attendant, "Who is he?"

The attendant, a lower-ranked knight who had been trailing him, quickly checked his notes. "That would be Azel, sir. New recruit, brought in under Knight Colwyn's recommendation."

Fowler's brow furrowed slightly. "The drake knight's squire? Hmph. Didn't think he'd take one."

Before the attendant could respond, Fowler's focus sharpened on the fight unfolding before him. Azel moved with an eerie precision, his strikes efficient and unburdened by wasted motion. The instructor, a seasoned knight, seemed to be growing frustrated—Azel wasn't stronger, nor faster, but his movements carried an unsettling inevitability. He never overextended, never gave his opponent an opening.

Then, with a swift feint and a sudden shift in footwork, Azel slid past the instructor's guard and struck the wooden sword against his ribs. A sharp crack echoed through the training hall. The match ended.

 "You don't fight like a recruit." The instructor exhaled, rubbing his side with a grimace. "In fact, it's hard to believe you're only seventeen,"

Azel simply tilted his head, a smirk dancing along his face. "I don't see the point in dragging things out."

Fowler's eyes narrowed. There was something unnatural about the boy's composure—something that sent a whisper of unease down his spine. It was like watching an actor of some kind. Fowler knew the type, Azel was a natural born fighter, someone who would be perfect for the warden's.

"Colwyn's recruit you say?" Fowler murmured to himself. "A shame that he'll be a seeker... He's far more cut out for the warden's"

<---o--->

As the training session wrapped up, Azel barely had time to catch his breath before he was ushered into the final stage of his induction. The last step was an official interview with an archivist—one of the scholars responsible for keeping records on all Sunchasers. It was a formality, but the interview did have the final say about him joining, so the zombie couldn't risk messing up.

The interview room was dimly lit, filled with the scent of old parchment and ink. Stacks of records lined the shelves, and at the centre of it all sat a middle-aged woman with sharp, inquisitive eyes. Her dark robes were lined with the insignia of the Archivists, a quill, marking her as someone who dealt in information rather than battle.

"Azel, am I saying that right, as in H-azel-nut?" She glanced at the parchment in front of her before folding her hands neatly. "You were brought in under the recommendation of Knight Colwyn. That alone speaks volumes." Her voice was calm, measured. "Sit."

Azel obeyed, lowering himself into the chair opposite her. He could feel her studying him, weighing him, as if trying to peel apart his very being with her gaze. "It's actually pronounced 'Ah-zell', thank you."

"I won't waste your time with excessive questioning," the archivist continued, "but I do need to assess your suitability. So tell me, why do you want to be a Sunchaser?"

Azel considered the question. He didn't want to be a Sunchaser—this was merely the path laid out before him, a means to an end. But that wasn't an acceptable answer. Colwyn had extensively tested him the knight before on these kinds of questions, so he already had the model answer.

"I'm capable, but I'm not willing to work for any shady mercenary group," Started Azel, "If I have to make a living I want to do it with an order I can be proud of."

Azel knew that to be right. Once, in the distant past, the Sunchaser's had been a noble order that strove to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. Unfortunately for the weak, that ancient business strategy hadn't turned out to be very lucrative, and so the Sunchaser's had become a glamorized mercenary group. Even now, the knights believed themselves to be pious and noble despite the obvious restructuring.

The archivist's lips twitched slightly, as if amused. "Ideal. Practical. But not particularly passionate."

She made a note on the parchment, then leaned back in her chair. "That brings me to something I've noticed about you. Your demeanour is... rather apathetic."

Azel's fingers tensed slightly against the arms of his chair. For the first time in a long while, he felt something akin to panic stir in his mind. Did she notice? Does she know? Colwyn had said not to worry. He had said that every zombie was detached, but not everyone who was detached was a zombie. He had said that no one would assume yet-

"That's good," she continued, her tone completely unbothered. "Sunchasers—especially Seekers—work in dangerous, often unforgiving conditions. Emotional instability gets people killed. Your lack of reaction tells me you won't hesitate when it matters."

Azel forced himself to nod, feigning indifference even as his mind reeled. He had braced for suspicion, for an interrogation. Instead, she had taken his lack of emotion as a strength.

The archivist tapped her quill against the parchment. "Final question. Do you have any particular ambitions within the Sunchasers? A preferred role?"

Azel hesitated only a moment before answering. "Whatever keeps me in the field."

The archivist let out a small hum of approval. "Noted. That concludes your interview. Unless you have any questions, I'll be sending this along to the higher-ups for final processing. Congratulations, Squire Azel."

Azel stood, inclining his head slightly. "No questions."

"In that case, repeat after me," Started the interviewer, before finding a document with a rehearsed speech. " 'I, Azel, vow an oath of winds. I vow to douse the flames of evil and nurture the seeds of hope. I vow to live for others and die for the prophet. May my blade quell the darkness between the stars. I, Azel, vow an oath of winds."

Azel kept his face carefully neutral as he recited the words.

"I, Azel, vow an oath of winds. I vow to douse the flames of evil and nurture the seeds of hope. I vow to live for others and die for the prophet. May my blade quell the darkness between the stars. I, Azel, vow an oath of winds."

The words felt hollow in his mouth, weightless despite their grandiosity. Die for the prophet? Empty rhetoric. Vow to live for others? He had already promised himself that he would never do such a thing. He knew that to the true believers, this vow was sacred, binding in ways deeper than mere words. But to him, it was nothing more than a formality—a key to unlocking the next step of his path.

The archivist studied him for a moment, then nodded in approval. "Good. You're dismissed."

Azel inclined his head slightly before turning on his heel and exiting the dimly lit room. The heavy wooden door shut behind him with a soft click, leaving him standing in the quiet corridor. He exhaled slowly, letting go of the subtle tension that had coiled in his chest.

Colwyn was leaning against the wall just a few steps away, arms crossed over his broad chest. His eyes glinted under the helmet, sharp and discerning, met Azel's with an unreadable expression.

"Good work," the knight said simply, his voice lacking its usual arrogance.

Azel raised an eyebrow. "You were listening?"

Azel heard a smirk in Colwyn's voice as he pushed off the wall. "Enough of it. You kept your composure. That's what matters."

Azel scoffed lightly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Like I had a choice."

Colwyn chuckled, clapping him once on the shoulder before turning down the hall. "Come on, Squire. You've earned yourself a drink. And before you complain, it's not for you—it's for me. Watching you pretend to care about that oath nearly made me choke."