Vhalla’s head snapped up to see Larel leading Fritz into the room, a firm grip on his arm. Vhalla’s eyes widened. They were dressed much the same as everyone else, completely done up in armor.

“Fritz, Larel?” she called out to them timidly.

“Vhal!” The Southern man with the wild blonde hair waved in excitement as he passed Larel in a rush, leaving the other woman to leisurely follow behind.

“What are you doing here?” Vhalla asked, dumbfounded as they put their own packs on the floor.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he responded, smoothing down his unruly curls. “We’re coming with you.”

“But neither of you are in the military,” she objected.

“We’re brand new recruits.” He grinned.

Vhalla turned to Larel for some sense.

“You didn’t think I’d let my first apprentice run off to war without me, did you?” Larel scolded gently without any mention of the prince showing up in her stead earlier. “What kind of mentor do you think I am?” She crossed her arms on her chest. “You-you can’t.” Vhalla’s heart began to race. She put her hands on Fritz’s shoulders and saw a different set of Southern blue eyes staring back at her. The eyes of a man whom she’d grown up with, who had been a dear friend; they were eyes that now belonged to a dead man. “I can’t have any more people die on my account.” Vhalla focused all her effort on keeping her voice from breaking.

“Don’t treat us like we’re children.” Larel rolled her eyes.

Fritz grabbed Vhalla’s hands. “It’s not your job to protect us. We know what we’re doing.” He squeezed her fingers gently.

Vhalla felt a hopelessness rising in her. “You’re idiots,” Vhalla breathed.

Fritz laughed. “I’ve been called worse.” He grinned, “Larel?”

“Much worse,” the Westerner replied with a smirk.

“You look fantastic, by the way, Vhal!” Fritz held out her arms between them to inspect Vhalla’s armor. “It’s no wonder; you are our Windwalker.”

Vhalla allowed Fritz to fuss and Larel to hum and smile. These had been the only people over the past few days who had made her feel close to human, and while she was in numb shock at the sight of them wearing armor, there was a little selfish streak that secretly rejoiced. Vhalla looked at Larel from the corners of her eyes, halfheartedly responding to Fritz.

The overexcited Southerner was silenced as a hush fell over the room. Major Reale strode in, also clad in black with an obsidian cape streaming down her back. A silver Broken Moon was emblazoned upon it. Vhalla saluted with the rest of the room, bringing her fists to her chest, knuckles together. She turned one hand down, the other pointing up, still connected at the wrist to mimic the imagery.