## Story 1 ![20-1.png](/uploads/20_1_fe43b1a363.png) A military base stands on the front lines in a war with another country. In one of its hidden corners,
a young boy sits alone. His cheerless gaze is enough to fend off any who might seek to keep his company.

He sharpens his blade; an act which serves as wordless warning for the man who ended his parents' life.

But at that moment, another soldier approaches. The grin on his face suggests a scheme is in motion.
"Captain wants you," he says. The boy grimaces despite himself. He does not believe he has done
anything to warrant punishment, yet he knows he has done nothing to merit praise. This confusion
annoys him—as does the constant, thin smile of his compatriot.

After a moment, he arrives at a decision: He will play along for the time being.

The boy follows the other man, who soon leads them to a group of their fellow soldiers. He tenses,
his hands curling into fists as he readies himself for a fight. And then...

"We survived the year!"

A raucous cheer erupts from the group. As the soldiers embrace each other with whoops of pure joy,
the boy stands off to the side, dumbstruck. But when the drinking songs begin, he finally forces
himself to accept the situation.

They didn't bring me here to torture me. They brought me here...to celebrate. ## Story 2 ![20-2.png](/uploads/20_2_1497a2a2e2.png) As the boy enjoys the celebratory feast, his squadmates raise their voices in a round of merry boasting.

"I was a demon out there! The enemy ran as soon as they saw me coming!"

"Yeah, but I'm the one who claimed their leader's head!" The boy finds himself shaking his head in
silent disapproval of this carefree swagger. Suddenly, a glass of strong drink is placed in his hand.

"Enjoying yourself?" asks a calm voice. It belongs to their leader, the one they all call Captain
Craven behind his back. The men of the squad have long scoffed at how quick their captain is to retreat
from battle, and the boy shares their dim view of his competence.

"How was this year for you?" continues the man.

Though the questions are meant as the easiest of small talk, they lay as stones on the boy's heart.
For despite an entire year of searching, the object of his revenge remains as distant as when he began.
Thinking of this, shame suddenly pierces his chest like a bullet, and he absently tosses the cup aside.
The crisp shattering of glass brings the hall to silence. Thick red liquid slowly pools across the ground.
It reminds him of his parents.

Ignoring the captain—ignoring his companions—the boy bolts up from his seat and flees the hall. ## Story 3 ![20-3.png](/uploads/20_3_752b0ad244.png) When the boy finally stops running, he finds himself in an unremarkable spot some distance from camp.
His body is quaking with shame. Regret. Rage.

What have I even been DOING for the last year?

Buffeted on all sides by a sense of helplessness, he erupts in a scream, launching every vile oath he
knows into the uncaring wind. But as he fights to regain the breath he expended on his outburst, the
captain suddenly appears. The boy shoots him a glare filled with resentment. With his fevered breathing
finally under a modicum of control, he stares at the man and issues his own order:

"You will put me on the front lines of the next fight."

The captain's eyes waver as he attempts to read his subordinate. He's a coward through and through,
thinks the boy smugly. He'll do it. He has no choice. But instead, the captain shakes his head
and meets the boy's stunned gaze.

"No," he says. "I will not. I won't send out a soldier who isn't ready."

The boy's brow furrows with a mixture of doubt and surprise. But the captain continues, almost as if
trying to provoke him.

"Your worries control you. You know that, right? And if that doesn't change, you will fail."

The words are a jagged thorn in the boy's very soul. Unable to control himself, he lets out a feral
scream and rushes his captain. But the other man only looks back at him with an expression of
profound pity. ## Story 4 ![20-4.png](/uploads/20_4_4b71dfa4be.png) The boy's vision is red, his mind madness. He can think of nothing save savaging the human standing
in front of him. But his assault finds only empty air. The captain sees through his attack and
sidesteps it with a casual grace that speaks to his long years of experience. The boy stumbles as he
misses, his arms flailing pitifully in the air.

A moment later, one hand makes a sad thump of contact with the captain's chest before slowly slipping
away. The boy is crestfallen beyond all measure. But rather than chiding the boy, the captain takes
a step back and speaks to him in a calm and measured tone.

"You have things you want to accomplish. I know this. And that's why I'm so, so proud that you
made it through the year. You're making progress. And if you can just manage to stay alive, I know
you'll do great things."

The boy stares back at him, stunned. The past year—the same one he had written off as a failure not a
minute before—was now being acknowledged as a rousing success. Confused, the boy spins on a heel
and begins to walk away, but the captain calls after him.

"We'll celebrate next year, too!"

The boy continues walking, muttering a single word: "Whatever."

And yet, the rage he so clearly felt does not hang so heavily on him now. It's as if clouds have parted
ever so slightly on the turbulent storm of his heart. He finds this feeling to be terrifying.
For if his anger departs...what is left of him?

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