Hubris

The blackened skies checkered the battlefield with shadows that stretched beyond the horizon, the scent in the air thick with iron and rot. The crows cried with thanks as they circled in between the potential carrion that lied upon the land under them. Their patterns seemingly circled around a lone figure on the battle, its presence looming upon the back of a horse decorated with iron and cloth, colored in crimson. It trotted slowly across the perceived carnage across the battlefield, careful as to not trip over the human bodies that littered the landscape. The cacophony of the caws and breeze of the wind that followed is interrupted by the splash and crushing of gravel underneath footsteps precariously approaching the lone figure.

“Legate!”

The voice echoes towards the figure upon the horse. The helmet decorated with a mohawk lined with red fur slowly peered towards the source of the noise. He leaned forward to take a closer look to reveal a beleaguered man in similar regalia. The main difference between their wardrobe is while the man on the horse had a muscled cuirass with metal shoulderpads, the other had a metal chainmail known as lorica, a stick pointing upward on his right shoulder brandishing a tattered, crimson flag with an eagle on it. breathing heavily with purpose in his step. Its back straightens to maintain a figure of elegance as he receives the presence of the courier.

“Speak, levantius.” he says with a stern tone.

The young man catches his breath with an exasperated tone, the weight of the atmosphere carrying itself with every exhale that came from his being.

“There was a survivor among the enemy. A child.” he says with sparse pauses between catching his breath.

“Oh? Why did you spare it? Is it not one of those creatures?” he replied.

“It’s not...its a boy, possibly from the northern region. He seems to fit the description of a goth.”

The man on the horse was taken aback. A human survivor? Even among battles like this, it is the same as finding untold treasure or a fertile patch for crops within the mountains. If they also managed to stay alive this long, then one can’t simply discount the value that they may bring in the future of their nation.

“Ah...a spoil of war, then. Wait upon my command then. I’ll decide for myself.”

The figure ushered the man to his side to walk with him beside his horse. He looks upon the horizon toward the burning remains of what used to be a village. Its head tilted downward as he had a hint of shame fill his being. Among the men lied others with the same figure as them but with animal-like features that were mixed with the carnage of what was left behind from the skirmish that was sprawled across the landscape. Each glance of them appeared next to the bodies of his own earning a grunt of disgust.

Accursed creatures. Must they test our faith in this manner?

The crunch of the hooves seems to increase in intensity as the density of the bodies of men and half men became more unavoidable, taking the path of least resistance towards the balance that the horse tried to maintain as it was trained. The fog of smoke seemed to become thinner as it waited outside on the outskirts of the town as its men made sure it was safe for his arrival.

The path seemed to stretch longer than it had liked, visibly earning the annoyance of the leader that rallied these men here.

“Over there, sir.” the man beside him pointed out with exuberance, perhaps exposing relief of his own.

In the distance lay a group of twenty or so men walking within rank, clad in armor decorated in red and silver, breastplates that were illuminated by the embers and flames that surrounded the remains of an encampment. Their helmets and cloth that draped around them were between clean and sullied with red spots and splatter that adorned their regalia. In between two of the soldiers was a figure that was no taller than 2 feet, slowly waddling barely knee high.

...A child.

The figure commanded his horse to gallop towards the advancing crowd to where it now stood in front of them. They met his figure with a wave of shock and relief as it blocked their path.

“LEGATUS!”

A voice shouted from among them. A domino effect was unleashed as a cascade of voices followed after it was uttered.

“Please, among these Hadean fields, I am only known as Gaius.”

He took his helmet off and revealed an aged man, peppered in scars and bags underneath his eyes that accentuated his display of exhaustion, his beard and receding hair a bushel of white that came together to portray a seasoned veteran to such affairs that seemed new and frightening to the array of soldiers before him.

“First cohort, you’ve served well in your first trial this day.” His words boomed with authority and weight that bought pause to the chattering of his troops. He came down from his horse to meet with the gaze of the company that was before him, where he proceeded to bow in a gesture of gratitude.

“You have my thanks. Pray that you may keep this momentum if the gods allow it.”

The two soldiers in particular gesticulated wildly at the expression of humility on display before them, the men in back slowly looking upon confusion afterward.

“Please, no need to do so! Our lives are for the nation regardless!” The man that travelled alongside him ran up to his side once more amidst his bow and ushered him to stand again.

“A general should stand tall as a symbol towards the future of our empire!”

“But what separates us besides rank among the battlefield, Levantius? Your name stood before your rank was granted. The flag you carry leads our soldiers beyond the grave, yet they run across the same common ground. Beneath the obliquette of blood and blows, we are all equal. They must understand this.” He replied with solemnity.

He gazed upon the faces of the youth before him. Levantius clutches the flag that drapes above his shoulder, biting his bottom lip out of exasperation. He couldn’t refute the truth within his superior’s words. He was a vexillarius after all, a unit only given to the most loyal subjects within a cohort. With his light armor and weaponry to help him move with ease ahead of his company, equipped with a simple lorica and a flag to stand between him and death, it was a position practically made for the suicidal. Yet, just as that prospect never bothered him, neither does the eccentricity of his legate as he bowed away from him.

They varied between teenagers and young adults, no older than 15 but no older than their mid 20s. All of them presented a variety of expressions that weren’t new to him. Within the first experience of war, some that stood upon the edge of sanity, others wearing their exhaustion on their sleeve, while the rest displayed a visage of sadness and regret among them. They matched the atmosphere that oppressed any goodwill that threatened to blossom in it. Newly trained recruits that were too green for the complexities of war, but not prepared for the skirmishes that lay within the battles between them. Gaius was unfortunately alone as one of the legates with his uncomfortability of his aspect of ruining such potential that could’ve been realized outside of this environment.

This was the least he can do with the prestige he’s purchased with blood and iron, the presence that his rank radiates to others, and the experience that’s been polished through a plethora of conflicts from an ever-expanding empire.

Our nation’s forge is an unforgiving one as always.

He was taken out of his stupor by the sound of a cough that came from beneath him. His eyes met with blue, beady eyes staring back at him, covered in soot, dirt and blood that adorned the cloth around his body. Gaius’ face loosened upon a glimpse of the frail frame before him that stood out in stark contrast to the field before him, the child only returning a listless stare.

“Where did you find him?” His tone turned grim, catching the troops and Levantius off guard.

“T-the pens, sir. He wouldn’t say anything.” The soldier next to the child said shakily, almost reeling back at the thought of recalling it again.

“Must have been at the end of it. Their size is the reason they save the young ones for last.”

“Pl-please…”

Gaius raises his brow at the kid’s interjection. It was meek and filtered through a knotted throat. His eyes welled with moisture as his tears burst forth like an aqueduct.

“Don’t leave me here…” his voice cracked as he gritted his teeth and held his head down. His grunts and heaves hinted at him trying as best as he could to suppress his cries, earning the sympathy of the troops around him.

“A Scrap. They always see the worst of it.” Gaius muttered with a hint of disgust.

“W-what is that, if I may ask?” the other soldier asked, tension lighting his face like a candle as a precursor of the regret he would feel afterward. He remembers the haphazard mess he found within the cabin, blades rusted from the iron of the blood that covered every wall of it, even lining the cages and the makeshift hole for it to drain to.

Gaius slowly lifts his head by cusping his chin, only lifting it high enough for light to hit his pale neck. A small, yet slightly jagged line is presented in the front of his neck, still raw and red from trickles of blood coming from it. Marks that they put either to show that they’re due for “packing” or perhaps as a taunt towards children.

“The pens are a storehouse for men and women who are considered ‘rations’, the toddlers or children left behind are saved for last.”

He glanced again at the child struggling in futility to hold it in. They are the first to witness the same prisoners, either family, friends, or simply fellow men bound by pain. It’s not known why they commit to such a process knowing the trauma it can cause, but a sane person wouldn’t dare dabble within the headspace that would lead to an answer.

“The misfortune of all that follows from being the last in line of such a horrid process is all that they are given.”

The silence was broken by small groans and grunts that littered the group, with some emptying their stomachs in the implications within his description. Upon closer inspection, Gaius gazed at the child’s hands, covered in a red substance. He wordlessly grabs the child’s hands and inspects them to realize that it was heavily stained with blood. While he wasn’t green to this sight, he can’t recall the tension of what once gripped something strongly emanating from the hands of a child.

“You tried to fight, didn’t you?” Gaius thumbed his palm gently as the feeling of the child’s soft skin reminded him of how vulnerable he was in such a setting.

The child stood firm in trying to hold back his emotions, making intelligible noises only to choke out a single word that was clear enough to understand.

“...men.”

“Hmm, what was that?” Gaius leaned in further, kneeling to be at his level.

“H-had to...be..men…” the child’s hand gripped tightly to Gaius. His expression became immediately sullen, temporarily lost for words for this situation. He had forced himself to be hardened against such tragic sights of this nature, knowing the swathes of humanity that can be lost within the shade of such brutality. Yet, a scene of such a child that managed to survive the pens and even moreso, visibility had shaken the veteran.

But he also knew better to not show such a display before his men. A cost of the rank that draped over his self.

“Lega- Gaius, sir. He was found with a Pugio in his hand. We believe he took out the sole guard they left there.” The soldier on the side of him exclaimed.

“Ah, a single guard? They must have not expected this place to be targeted. Or perhaps they dispatched a latrenum band for more ‘food’. They may return sooner or later then. “

Bands of demihumans that would serve as a scouting unit to take advantage of the different tribes and territories apart from their own empire, taking away traders, wanderers, or simple travelers. They’d drag them into hidden locations such as the one they recently claimed victory over, treating them like cattle to be slaughtered and delivered into the depths of the unknown alps that exist in the opposite direction of their own nation. It’s not often that they are caught by others due to their knowledge of the lands that are natural fortresses against the numbers of their nation, but on the seldom occasion that they are, the mercy given to them equals what they give to their own captives.

“Still, rather impressive for a child to take down one of them.” Levantius interjected.

“They would never expect a child to be a threat in any manner, considering the difference in their stature. Remember that the strength of the entity doesn’t matter, as a moment serves to be its own weapon. To spot such opportunities are the marks of conquerors, namely of their own fate.” Gaius stands to meet the longing gaze of his men who’re captivated by his form.

“You are the vanguard of this legion, but you are also only human. Therefore, I feel as if I must apologize for this in advance. Set up an encampment within the middle of the town, any immunes among you?”

4 men came charging to the front with satchels filled with various tools and items sprang forth in front of the legate. Highly trained specialists of the army, they comprise of many different roles, from surgeons, medicinal needs, architecture and repairs of fortifications, armor and weapons. Though they are paid more handsomely, there’s always a mutual agreement and respect due to the utility of their roles. “Here! What is our duty?” They answered with vigor in contrast to their stained, grimy uniforms.

“Rebuild the front and back of the entrances in case reinforcements come back. Also, point out any leftover plumes of smoke and put them out immediately. If all goes well, another ‘moment’ will present itself. I’ll head back to the mainland with the remainder of the 3rd cohort in the east.”

“Vale!” The soldiers shouted in near unison, their bodies shuffled within the rubble of the village as if the plan was rehearsed. Morale can be its own tool to push the soldiers along just a little longer, yet the legate knows all too well the consequences of its abuse. He once again peers at the child before him who stood still, his tears slightly decreasing in volume.

“Do you have a name, little one?” Gaius says with his tone notably softening.

The child shakes his head slowly. “Don’t have.” Is all he could muster. His visage told him more than his gesture as he teetered back and forth. Gaius swiftly grabs the child and places him upon the front of his war horse. His look slowly changed to confusion, the wind managing to catch his jet black, yet dirty hair flinging about with an oncoming breeze. Gaius wordlessly got on behind the child and snapped the reins on the horse to walk behind him.

“I’m merely answering your wish. Do hold on tightly, a wrong bump could send you off swiftly.”

Gaius and the child remain silent as they cross the battlefield, once more than Gaius would have cared to do, as the horse trotted with a bump here or there between the bodies that laid still. The clouds started to gather slightly more as the winds began to pick up speed, unfortunately carrying the stench of death with it. He glimpsed at the child out of concern only to find him stoically looking around at the carnage around him, his expression bereft of all emotion as he did.

“Smells...bad” The child uttered beneath his breath.

“Like everything else that’s bad, it’s not something to get used to.” Gaius replied.

“Can it...stop?”

“Can’t say, but it can’t be the reason why we should stop trying.”

The horizon started to close in on a set of tents and an upraised flag that reminded the child of the same one he saw on the other man’s shoulder and brought a pange of relief to the tired legate. There must have been a scout that spotted them before they got close, as figures started to congregate in front of the encampment.

“Before we get there, I have to call you something other than a child, you know. It might grow awkward fast.” Gaius said with a slight chortle.

The child bowed his head in thought. His thoughts swam like a fierce current, not being able to process everything that’s happened. Though he was taken by those soldiers, he didn’t expect to live. When he said to the man on the horse to steal him away from that place, he did so. He did it all on impulse. The child squinted in visible frustration, not knowing if this man’s patience may run out if he didn’t reply fast enough. His thoughts were frayed as the man patted him on the head and rubbed it slightly.

“Do you truly not remember? It’s no rush, you’ve been through much today.”

The child shook his head with slightly more liveliness than Gaius expected. A step in the right direction, at least.

“Then, do you mind if I name you?” Gaius asked, which was met with another shake of his head. The shouts and cries of others slowly overtake the sullen atmosphere that was punctuated by the silence. The war horse picks up the pace as the field becomes far clearer and free of obstacles that blocked his movement. They rushed towards the Legate and huddled around him like a circle, chanting “veni, vidi, vici” all the while. As the chanting died down, another man stepped forward, almost as decorated as Gaius save for the leather straps and plainness of his galea, or helmet.

“Report, Picus.” Gaius shouted at the man, regaining his commanding demeanor.

“You tell me, my liege. You did my job in my place.”

His response was met with laughter among the troops, as if they grew used to his eccentricities by now.

“Ah, yes…” Gaius rubbed the back of his neck as if to wipe away his previous remark.

“Well, they’re remaining there for a few days using some of the rations we have here. We’ll come back to deliver more within that time and return with them later. There might be some forces remaining that might need tending to. For now, let us depart back to the homeland”

“Aye.” the man nodded as he stood firm and placed his hands together in a gesture of salute. His eyes as he was gonna turn away suddenly met the child that rode in front of Gaius.

“Oh, a survivor? Awfully nice of those demis.”

“Perhaps it was a grace of the lord or a roll of a dice, but hopefully he will be the first of many.”

The child’s head practically darted back and forth as he glanced at all the new faces that gazed in his direction. He reflexively tightened his grip on the cloth that hung outside of the armor, unfamiliar with this amount of attention. Gaius felt his tension and rubbed his back against the makeshirt brown cloth that covered his person.

“You’re safe now. If you may have us, welcome home.”

His statement was met with the cheers of his men in agreement, causing the boy’s face to crumple in an emotional wreck. As if a dam exploded, his tears and nose flowed with gratitude, he held onto the neck of the horse in front of him for dear life as he couldn’t control the spasms brought upon the relief washing over him. Picus raised a hand in between the legate and the crowd, earning the silence of the condition cohort.

“If i may, what is your name?” He said, gazing towards the boy. Gaius replied on his behalf.

“He’s forgotten, but he’s given me the privilege. I believe it’s perfect for him.”

He became lost in thought for a second to be sure if it was, his merry men waiting on bated breath. Gaius Magnus,The pinnacle of pride of their nation, already known throughout its history as one of the summa of its inception, notably adopted a child worthy of carrying his namesake. Out of all of the children who were upon the verge of death or disease within captivity of the demihumans, he was the sole survivor who even managed to fight back. He too, would carry the expectations of such a man who saw enough greatness in him to deem worthy of the same mantle.

“Secundus.” That’s all that left him as they began to prepare to head back east.