YOUR DEMEANOUR

Chapter 62: Defiances

As Marshal Reynolds strode purposefully ahead, Colonel Calliax fell into step behind him, their boots echoing in the corridor of the military headquarters. Calliax kept his gaze forward, his expression unreadable, his demeanor as cold and disciplined as the steel of his uniform.

The marshal led the way to his office, where the air hung heavy with the weight of impending discussion. Seated behind his desk, Reynolds gestured for Calliax to stand before him, maintaining the formality of their ranks.

"Calliax," the marshal began, his voice carrying the weight of both authority and paternal concern, "are you aware of the gravity of your actions?"

"Yes, sir," came Calliax's prompt reply, his tone clipped and precise. "I am fully cognizant, and my faculties remain intact."

Reynolds nodded, acknowledging his son's adherence to military decorum. "Then you understand the repercussions of breaching protocol?"

"I do, sir," Calliax affirmed, his stance unwavering. "I am prepared to accept the consequences as dictated by protocol."

The marshal sighed, a mixture of exasperation and pride flickering across his features. "Your dedication is commendable, Calliax, but was the extent of your actions truly necessary? Was it influenced by Miss Marylyn?"

Calliax's jaw tightened imperceptibly, but his response was steady. "Averyn played no part in this, sir. She is merely a civilian caught in the crossfire of duty."

Reynolds studied his son, recognizing the steadfast resolve in his eyes. "Be honest with me, Calliax. Do you hold her in regard?"

Calliax's facade remained unyielding. "No, sir. My duty to the nation supersedes any personal attachments."

Though the marshal sensed there was more beneath the surface, he chose to let the matter rest for the time being. "Very well. Prepare your report and anticipate the inquiries of the ministers. Dismissed for now, Colonel. We will reconvene before the conference."

With a nod, Calliax executed a crisp salute before turning on his heel and exiting the office, leaving the marshal to contemplate the complexities of duty, honor, and the ties that bind even the most stoic of soldiers.

As Calliax strode briskly through the corridor, his father's words echoed in his mind like the relentless march of a battalion on a battlefield. "Do you hold her in regard?" The question lingered, refusing to be ignored, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within him.

"Ridiculous," he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible above the clamor of passing soldiers. "What does it matter if I find her amusing? She's just a civilian, an insignificant blip in the grand scheme of my duties."

Yet, try as he might to dismiss the notion, the image of Averyn remained stubbornly fixed in his mind's eye. Her laughter, her vibrant spirit—qualities that he couldn't deny held a certain allure, despite his best efforts to remain indifferent.

"A distraction," he chided himself sternly, his steps quickening as if to outpace the tumult of thoughts racing through his mind. "Nothing more."

But even as he sought to quell the burgeoning feelings, Calliax couldn't shake the sense of unease that gnawed at the edges of his resolve. Averyn was different, he acknowledged begrudgingly, a fact that both intrigued and unsettled him in equal measure.

As he emerged from the corridor into the bustling activity of the headquarters, Calliax squared his shoulders, steeling himself against the turmoil within. Duty came first, always. Love, or whatever semblance of it he dared not acknowledge, had no place in the heart of a soldier.