Taken, Not Given

The spring wind of Ilsabard was warm, yet stinging with the atmospheric cold that the land was accustomed to. For every warmth, there was only frigid bitterness that followed. For every man-made campfire there was a violent blizzard to snuff it out, similar to the hopes of the land’s unlucky few.

Castrum Gelus was a smaller base, formed just on the ridge of Garlemalds Magna Glacies. Its foundation was not as grand as Centri or The Praetorium, as it was not needed for swift military action, or a base of combat operations.
It was a training facility. A conscription base.

Multiple soldiers were lined up in a far hall of the base, armed to a tee, standing by as guards for a new set of conscripted individuals.
A tribunus with a magitek reader made a slow amble across a line of farmers, all of them with furrowed brows and worried whimpers. Hyur, Roegadyns, and Xaela Au’ra were amongst the group, all in fear of the empire’s armed forces and their soon to be judgment.
The tribunus stopped at a young hyur man, stripped of his possessions save for the shirt on his back and his dwindling pride. 

“Hm…33, 2 children, chocobo breeder…” He read off of his steel clipboard the information provided from records ransacked from the man’s home a week before. The man nervously looked up at the armored garlean in front of him.

“Are your children here, uh…Davisen?” He asked the hyur, looking up from his records.

“Y-yes, sir… They’re right there. M-my two sons…” He said, lifting a shaking hard to point at the twin boys in the separated group of children, their hands clasped together so as to not lose each other. 

“Mhm. Their names?” The tribunus asked, looking back down to his files.

“K-Kennethan and Nataniel, sir…” He stammered, staring at them with a worried expression, but hoping to lift their spirits with a smile. 

The tribunus wrote their names down in his notes, then lifted his head up to call over a lower-ranked soldier with a tilt of his wrist. As the soldier walked over, he motioned an arm to the boys. 

“Those two will go to the ceruleum mines. Take their father to the aldgoat stables, they may find some use for him.” He ordered, writing down their new assignments on the man’s file.

“W-wait!” The Hyur called out, his raised voice alerting both the tribunus and the armed soldier, amongst others.

“Please, let my sons come with me. T-they know how to handle aldgoats, I promise. They wouldn’t last a day in those mines!” 

The tribunus’s blank helmet offered no reaction nor sympathy, just an empty stare. 

“You have most likely been farming since you were a boy. Your sons can build a ceruleum immunity. Take them to their designations.” He waved a hand, as the soldier took the young boys calmly across the hall.

“N-no! Those are my sons! My boys! You won't take them!” The man yelled, hastily running from the group of adults for his children. The soldier made a swift turn, pushing the man to the hard steel ground, as 2 other cohorts rushed in to detain him, dragging him off to the other end of the hall, as they disappeared out of view. 

Hours went by. As the tribunus wrote down information onto his reader, less and less people formed the groups. The adults were all but gone, and only 6 children remained. They formed a horizontal line-up. Their heads hung low in defeat, their arms held tightly to their sides. 

“ATTENTION! FACE FORWARD, ARMS UP!” Another tribunus from the armed group ordered, as every cohort and soldier faced the middle of the hall, their weapons unsheathed and presented. 

The tribunus taking notes put his reader to his side, offering a strong and stoic salute. One could mistake him for a statue. Familiar, heavy steps made their way down the hall. A tall, armored man sauntered down the hall, accompanied by 4 highly ranked tribunus’s. 

He stopped at the record-taking soldier, “At ease.” He ordered in a low voice, it's reverb bouncing off the walls. 

“My lord.” The tribunus replied in a stern voice. 

One of the soldiers that followed the man stated his purpose. 

“The Crown-prince is present to observe operations. He shall leave once all is satisfactory.” He stated.

The prince scanned his bright yellow eyes across the remaining children, his eyelids lowering with disdain. 

“When were these conscripts taken in?” He asked the tribunus. 

The soldier hastily lifted his magitek reader, flipping through it to the first page.

“6 days ago, my Lord.” He responded.

“Recently?” The prince replied, not looking at the tribunus, but rather the children. He looked down at the furthest child to the left of the line, his brow raising at their grimacing expression. It was the only child staring directly at him. Their face full of malice. Full of anger. As The prince’s vision locked onto theirs, they quickly looked downwards, their brow still furrowed. 

“Continue on with that one.” He motioned to the child, as the tribunus’s gaze was set on them as well. He looked down in his files to find the child's photo and records, yet most of it was left blank, save for a few quickly scrawled details. 

“Female. Caught on the Ilsabardian border. The siege led by Van Varro, sir.”

“Was that not the farmtown?” The prince questioned. 

“Yes my Lord. Most individuals were captured, with few casualties.” The tribunus replied. 

“Hm. Continue.” The prince replied quietly, as he made a slow walk forward to directly stand in front of the child, his wide, armored stature consuming them in a foreboding shadow.

“No parental figures on file, and no records found in the house. We assume she may be an orphan. We weren’t cleared to interrogate for a name.” He read off of her near-blank file. 

“She was one of the only children to fight back…”.

“Fight back?” The prince’s head motioned slightly, his vision not breaking from the child, whose angered eyes stared back up at him. 

“She was seen on the field attempting to resist armed forces. She…” The tribunus paused his reading, which caused The Emperor to turn his gaze from the child and onto the soldier himself.

“Go on, commander.” He ordered.

“She… She killed 6 people. With a pruning knife…” He said, hardly believing what he had read off the pages. 

Other guards looked at each other. While the other lined up children all tilted their small bodies to observe her. She didn't look away from the floor her eyes were fixated on. Her face hadn’t changed. It was still full of internal anger. The crown-prince’s brow raised in interest, as he turned back to examine her. He knelt down slowly, his armor making metallic noises as he descended.

“That would explain the state she’s in. Did anyone think to give her a change of clothes?” The prince asked.

“It was not ordered of us to provide fresh garments to arriving conscripts, my Lord.” The tribunus stated.

The child’s clothes were stained with oxidized blood, the red turning to a drab brown, akin to dirt. Her short hair was frazzled, and her cheeks dirtied with mud, a bandage wrapped tightly around her forehead. Amongst the other children, she was the most disheveled of the group. Her head wearily and slowly tilted upwards to meet The prince's gaze. 

She was still mad. Furious even. It was hard for a child as young as her to contain her emotions. Her small fists were balled so tightly, the whites of her knuckles contrasted on her already pale skin. She stared directly into his yellow pupils. Her gaze did not break even once.

“I haven’t seen a Xaela with my own eyes since the fall of Dalmasca. I know your kind is more accustomed to the plains of Azim.” The prince’s face softened, the corners of his mouth upturning into the faintest of grins. 

“Are your parents here, child?” He asked her calmly. 

Her brow finally returned to a calm position, as her eyes lowered back to the ground.

“Gone...” She replied timidly. 

“Presumed dead or missing, I assume. Do you have a name?” He asked once more.

She remained silent.

She suddenly and angrily lifted her foot, only to crash it down onto his own. No pain was given, as his armor blocked the blow.

“Insolent child!” The tribunus barked.

The other soldiers jumped out of position, their weapons pointing at her in alarm. The room was dead silent. The prince let out a small scoff.

“Hm. You know child, you are not much older than my own son. He is much like you. Bold. Quick to anger. Insatiable… Good qualities of a youngling. Qualities I yearn for in all of my empire…”

The prince stood back. Walking back over to the tribunus and taking his reader from him, writing neatly onto the pages, before handing it back to the soldier.

“S-sir… My Lord, I mean…The throne room?” The tribunus questioned, his head turning constantly from the clipboard to The prince. 

“You can write her off to any designation if your legatus is prudish of the outcome. She is coming with me.” 

The child’s head looked up quickly, her face taking on a confused expression. She was bold to step on him, and somehow, it was rewarded? 

“Why?” She asked angrily, yet no response was given,

“Come, child.” His hand outstretched to her, expecting her to take it. 

She was hesitant, her eyes locked on his armor-clad hand. A hand so gentle attached to a man so callous, so highly revered that his mere presence caused men to kneel, extending a hand to a broken, angered child. Her own hand struggled to lift upwards, and she reluctantly grabbed onto his own, her small hand engulfed his in steel grip, that could have easily broken her own. But it was not harmful, it was delicate. Something she never knew The crown-prince of Garlemald could be. She walked off with him down the hall, her short legs moving much quicker than his own. 

The more she walked, the more calmer she felt. Even holding the hand of the deadliest man in Ilsabard, she felt…safe. 

Like nothing would hurt her, though all of it could.