⚔️His Armored Heart⚔️

17. A Blade By Any Other Name

Within the sprawling fortress of Trost HQ, nestled in the shadowy depths of the underground vaults, lay a labyrinth of ancient brick corridors, their walls adorned with intricate carvings of the military that whispered tales of a long-forgotten era. 

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint splashes of dripping water echoed down the corridor. Flickering torches cast dancing shadows, illuminating the dust motes that floated lazily in the air. The distant sound of footsteps reverberated through the passageways, while the steam and fuel that was pumped through pipes along the walls to various locations in the castle hissed softly.

As one ventured deeper into the vaults, the temperature dropped, and a sense of foreboding settled in. Past the supply depots and the requisition offices, the flickering light revealed heavy iron doors, leading to a network of tunnels beneath the city.

North towards the innermost Wall and out of the district.

Here in these depths, nestled within the shadows of the dungeon, three soldiers of various ranks and ages implored their commander to remain. The flickering torchlight cast long, wavering forms on the damp, cold walls, and illuminated the faces of the men who stood before their leader.

Each soldier bore the marks of battle—scars etched into their skin, eyes hardened by the weight of experience, and uniforms frayed at the edges.

"Captain, please wait!"

The first soldier, a grizzled veteran with silver-streaked hair and a voice like gravel, stepped forward. His weathered hands trembled slightly as he spoke, the urgency in his tone betraying the calm facade he tried to maintain. "Sir, we've fought side by side for years. You know the loyalty we owe you, and the trust we place in your judgment. If you leave now, what hope do we have against the encroaching darkness? We need your strength, your wisdom."

Beside him, a younger soldier, barely out of his teens, shifted nervously. His eyes darted between the Captain and the stone floor, where the shadows seemed to dance with the flickering light. "Please, sir," he added, his voice cracking with emotion. "I've seen what happens when leaders abandon their men. We're scared, and we need you to guide us. You're not just our leader; you're our beacon in this storm. Without you, we're lost."

The third soldier, a woman with fierce determination etched into her features, crossed her arms defiantly. "You've always taught us to stand firm in the face of adversity," she said, her voice steady and resolute. "If you leave now, it sends a message that we should all abandon hope. We can't let fear dictate our actions. We need you to rally us, to inspire us to fight back against whatever is coming. We can't do this without you."

"There's only a handful of us left," the younger boy continued. "If the Titans were to attack, we wouldn't have the men needed to hold our position. We couldn't resupply our own soldiers!"

"Please, sir! We need you here!"

"Out of my way, soldier, I'm needed to help redirect the reinforcements." Captain Kitz Woermann possessed a gaunt visage, largely obscured by a dense beard that framed his features like a wild thicket, adding an air of ruggedness to his otherwise haggard appearance. His once-lustrous brown hair, which had once flowed with the vitality of youth, was now receding, thinning at the temples and revealing the pale skin of his scalp beneath.

There was terror reflected in his eyes, a haunting glimpse into the depths of his troubled soul. Dark shadows encircled them, giving the impression of a mask of dread that had settled permanently upon his face, as if he had been marked by some unseen horror.

"Behind the safety of the inner gate, you mean?" The veteran glared, his voice harsh.

Captain Woerman's expression shifted dramatically, morphing into one of shock and frustration, as if he had just been blindsided by an unexpected revelation.