"Am I dead?"

Faust looked over the colorful streets of Arendton. Ribbons and banners of green and gold flew with those of blue and red, mixing in with the people who danced and drank. The center of Arendton was particularly busy today, as it marked the anniversary of the Legion's founding.

One hundred and twenty eight years, not as long as the new calendar the Lumen Empire used but close by a margin of fifty years. Not that the Centurion cared for whatever those bastards were using. Faust instead focused on the celebrations at hand, his armor glinting in the setting sun's light. He even carried the cup of wine he had been given earlier, its contents still nearly full. He barely took a sip out of it. Not a big deal. He didn't intend on getting wasted.

Faust stood on the balcony of Cryus' palace, the white stone perfectly reflecting the glow of the sunset and contrasting nicely with the banners that displayed the Legion's coat of arms. The Olive Branches and Gladius. A perfect duo.

"I thought I'd find you here," a soft voice called out. Faust turned to see Diane, his love, sauntering up to him. She had her hands clasped behind her back, revealing the silky teal dress she had chosen for the evening. Faust could catch a glimpse of the perfect skin of cleavage revealed by the low hem, the smooth, flawless skin alluring him.

"My dear, you are staring," Diane whispered as she stepped closer to him. Faust grinned as he rested against the balcony's railing.

"I am just enjoying the view," he said with his usual charismatic charm. Diane resisted, as always, and snorted at the comment.

"At least enjoy my eyes and hair, I put in a lot of work for today," Diane said as she joined him at the balcony. Her light green eyes glinted with a shine that befitted a gem, her curly hair tied up with matching ribbons and golden pins. Her lips reflected with a soft red, to which Faust took as an invite.

"No, no," Diane softly chastised with a smile as she gently pushed the Centurion away. "It isn't quite ladylike to have smudged makeup."

"It isn't quite ladylike to trot around where men lurk," Faust countered. He discreetly gestured to the floor they were on, which was filled with soldiers of similar rank and higher. There was no sight of other women other than the servants who brought wine and fruit for the noblemen.

"So?" Diane raised an eyebrow. "It won't stop me from seeing the man I love. Unless, of course, you're deliberately avoiding me."

"Of course not," Faust chuckled as he slipped an arm behind her, hooking her in and bringing Diane close to him. She did not resist his touch, yet Faust could see how her cheeks darkened as he made the move. "I was invited up here to speak with Cyrus. Can't turn him down. You know how it is."

Diane gave him a look. "As much as I'd like to tease you, I am curious about how you came to know the Legion's Emperor himself."

"I thought I told you already?"

"You've only told me that he saved you as a child," Diane said. "Never went into detail."

Faust raised an eyebrow. He looked over at the cup of wine in his free hand, his wrist rotating as he swished the dark red liquid around. He brought it up to his lips and took a sip.

"Well," he muttered after tasting the wine. "He did save me as a child. I don't remember much about it. I was only… six, I believe?"

Faust closed his eyes as he recalled the images of the past. He had been a scrawny thing, malnourished and on the verge of death. Barely surviving on the streets of some godsforsaken town. Cyrus and his Legion had conquered the settlement as a strategic point against some old forgotten kingdom, and his focus was on holding it as a temporary base. The Emperor had found Faust in their prospective base, stealing food rations in an attempt to survive starvation.

"I was a street urchin, destined for death. Cyrus pitied me and decided to take me into the Legion. He raised me in a way, paid for instructors, and taught me what I needed to know to survive," Faust said. His childhood was a blur then, most of his memories consisting of training and learning. He remembered when Cyrus presented the option for Faust to move in with foster parents in Arendton. He had wanted him to have the chance to live a normal boy's life.

Faust had chosen to join the Legion's military instead. He started as a simple packboy, bringing weapons and supplies to men in need of them. When he reached a proper age, he started to train as a Legionnaire. He rose through the ranks over the years before reaching the status of Centurion.

Cyrus had been there for every milestone, every fifth birthday, and every rank. He was a role model, almost. A man he could look up to.

Faust told most of this to Diane, who watched him with a look of awe. She had lost all her coy expressions and had reverted to the scholarly woman that Faust had fallen in love with in the first place.

"He's like a father to you," Diane murmured after Faust finished.

"He's my Emperor," Faust said with a shrug. "I serve him as such. I am not his blood."

"Blood doesn't always mean everything," Diane refuted. "He raised you, Faust. Watched you grow. In a way, that makes you his son."

Faust barked a laugh at that, to Diane's annoyance. She narrowed her brow, and the Centurion quickly killed his expression.

"I don't think he sees me that way," Faust muttered. "That man has lived far longer than I have any right to believe. It is easier to believe that he views the Legion more as a son than even I."

Diane gave a confused look at that, her expression quickly changing as her eyes set on something else. Faust didn't know what caught her attention until he noticed the figure that stood a couple meters away. He pulled away from the balcony, his left arm slipping away from Diane as he stood at attention.

Cyrus towered over the two despite the fact that he was supposedly nearly the same height as Faust, perhaps a couple knuckles taller. Faust noticed the boots the Emperor wore, which added to his towering stature, along with the silky robes he had wrapped around his torso. His hair was dark brown, like oakwood. It was cut short and swept back, yet a few rebellious curls poked out at the front. His skin, while naturally pale, was tanned to a light brown from years in the sun. His dark blue eyes looked at the Centurion with a curious gaze, his lips curled into a smile.

As always, Cyrus looked young. Not a single wrinkle on his face. He looked like the statues that spotted Arendton, their marble structure almost inspired by his square jaw and perfect nose. The only difference was the noticeable scar that ran past his left eyebrow and stopped at his hairline.

"Faust," he said with a joyous tone, his voice strong and powerful whilst also calm and soothing. "I see you brought a lady friend with you. Diane, I presume?"

With that last word, Cyrus leaned forward and gently grasped Diane's hand. He raised it and gave it a light kiss, mimicking the proper etiquette all in the Legion practiced. At least, the noblemen did.

Diane gave no heed and even smiled at the interaction, her head bowing as she gave a small curtsy. "Pleased to finally meet you in the flesh, my Emperor."

"Please, call me Cyrus," he responded with a sigh. "I've already had to deal with hundreds of 'Praise the Emperor' tonight. That is why I came here. To speak with close company."

"Oh?" Diane asked with a small glance at Faust, who stiffened a bit. "Well, I do suppose I can get a drink for myself whilst the two of you speak. I don't want to intrude."

Cyrus flushed at that, realizing his mistake. "Ah, I did not mean—"

"No worries," Diane gave a soft laugh as she stepped away. "I don't intend on eavesdropping tonight. I shall be back in a couple heartbeats."

With that, she walked off, heading downstairs.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

For a moment, both men were silent.

"She'll be alright, yes?" Cyrus asked.

"Believe me," Faust started. "That was a front Diane puts up in public. In reality, she's possibly the most vicious woman I've had the pleasure of meeting."

"And you love her?"

"Oh, most certainly," Faust chuckled. "I'm planning on marrying her at some point in the future."

"Good," Cyrus said with a smile. "I'm glad you're happy."

The Emperor stepped forward and rested his arms on the balcony's railing, right next to where Faust stood. Both of them were silent for a moment, the sky's hue shifting from a burning orange to a purple twilight.

"Faust, I must request something selfish from you," Cyrus muttered. The Centurion perked up at that, his brow furrowing as he turned to the balcony. He rested his cup on the rail, the wine barely touched.

"Whatever you require, I shall deliver," he stated.

"Enough with the formality," Cyrus sighed. "This is a conversation between us. Not commander and soldier."

"Of course," Faust said with a nod. "What is it you request?"

Cyrus didn't respond immediately. He simply stared at the horizon, where the sun's light had disappeared. All that was left was the traces of its glow and the faint appearance of stars.

"I want you to leave the Legion with Diane," the Emperor muttered. Faust blinked. He looked at Cyrus, whose expression was solemn.

"What?"

"Leave these lands. Start a family with Diane. Go somewhere else like Kasan, Farkos, wherever is safe," Cyrus said. He looked at Faust, his eyes displaying an emotion that the Centurion did not expect. Worry. Guilt.

"I…" Faust trailed off, speechless. He didn't even know how to respond to such a request.

"You will be paid. Valdoras, of course. Those are more versatile than auriuses and balts. I'll also get you a—"

"Stop," Faust raised his hands in protest. He shook his head, unsure of what to say. He took a moment to think before he responded. "I'm not leaving the Legion."

Cyrus stood up, his eyes meeting with Faust's. Both of them were silent, the sounds of celebration echoing out in the city.

"It's the war, isn't it?" Faust asked. "You believe that we're losing."

"Of course not," Cyrus snapped, his posture straightening for a moment. Then and there, Faust caught a glimpse of the Emperor emerging. It was only for a moment, a look of harshness passing over the man's gaze. It stunned the Centurion, making him regret his words. However, the hardness in Cyrus' expression went away as soon as it appeared, leaving behind a tired man who clearly lived longer than he had any right to.

The man he called Emperor rested against the balcony once more, his crestfallen eyes turning to the city before him. Lights illuminated the streets, and lanterns of different colors formed a snaking rainbow throughout Arendton.

"Do you still recall the day I found you?" Cyrus asked. Faust raised an eyebrow at the question and didn't answer. Regardless, the other man continued to speak. "You were a frail thing. Verge of death. Tried to steal food but your spindly little arms couldn't bear the weight of all of it. I don't think I ever told you what I found after we took you in, did I?"

Faust made no comment. He didn't remember Cyrus finding anything in particular after the two met other than the clothes on his back and the small knife he had kept for protection.

"We found the alleyway you lived in. Hidden in between our base and some dilapidated building. That is where I discovered your belongings, sparse as they were. It was how I knew your name."

Faust blinked. Now that he thought about it, he had never questioned the name given to him. He had initially thought it was Cyrus who had bestowed it upon him, but now that he thought about it…

"Your mother was Valian," Cyrus continued. "Running from a past that chased her all across the islands of Valenfrost. She made it far into Azurvale with you in tow, surviving the best she could. At least, that was what I had gathered from the note she had left with you back then. She only wrote your name and how she prayed that someone would be able to take care of you. On parchment that was already falling apart by the time I found it. I don't know what happened to her. I don't know how you ended up in the predicament you were in. All I knew was that someone would have to honor the wishes of a dead woman. And so that burden fell onto me."

Slowly, Faust's memories returned to him. Trickles and faint images. The cot and makeshift shelter he had lived in prior to meeting the Emperor. The note he had clutched onto so tightly. Yet no image of his mother came forth. Not even her voice. Only the note and alley he had spent a portion of his premature life in.

"The war is ramping up. Every week, more cities and forts are either captured or burnt to ash. The Lumen Kingdom and their knights are growing bolder. Their steel, sharper still. Even with Caelus by our side, I worry," Cyrus admitted. "There is still a chance we can win. However, I cannot bear the thought of you throwing your life away. Even if you rack victory after victory, take city after city, I worry. I worry that one day, your luck will run out, and I will be forced to bury the body of the one I had promised to protect. That is if I even get the chance to retrieve it."

"I do not need you to worry for me," Faust argued. "I am my own man."

"I made a promise."

"A promise that was meant for a child," Faust refuted. "It has been nearly two decades since. I can choose what I dedicate my life to. I chose to dedicate my life to this Legion."

Cyrus sighed. "You…you are like a son to me. I had raised you since you were a budding child and had even given you my own heraldry, the same one I had abandoned ages ago. The name of Desimir itself. In some way, you are the son I never had. I didn't think it possible that I'd have such a connection with someone at this stage of my life. Especially after the years I had suffered."

The Centurion said nothing, jaw clenched as he mulled over the words. He had no idea that the name Desimir had a significance like that. He only assumed that Cyrus had taken it from an old friend who had passed on years back. Faust didn't know how to respond to his own Emperor's words. The man was a strange case, even to him.

No one ever talked about it, but there was an understanding amongst those who were close to Cyrus. The Emperor had lived for far longer than any of them. He had been around for at least a century, the foundation for the Legion all owed to him. The idea of him forming such a bond at his late age was almost unheard of. He was cold to all, harsh to even some of his closest advisors.

But not to Faust. The Centurion didn't even think about it. Not until now. In fact, now that he looked back on his interactions, the Emperor was kind to him. Forgiving even. Yet he did not overtly favor Faust. He didn't pull strings or persuade Legates to go easy on the young man. He allowed him to rise through the ranks naturally like any man should. Almost like a father would do.

Cyrus took a deep breath and stood up. He looked at the city for a moment longer before he turned to Faust. "I believe I should leave. In the meantime, think about the offer. Please. I won't force the option upon you, but I believe it is in your best interest to pull back as soon as you can. I know how stubborn you are."

Faust raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in mood and emotion, the Emperor's expression shifting to that of false bravado. Then he heard it. The sounds of heels clacking against marble. Diane had come back.

"Sorry for the long wait, dear," she called out to Faust as she stepped onto the balcony. She gave a smile to Cyrus, who returned in kind. Without another word, he left the couple to themselves. Diane watched him go, a confused look on her face.

"He was already on his way out before you got back," Faust said as he picked up his cup from the railing. He drank half of it in a gulp.

"I know it's not my business to pry, but…" Diane turned to him with a narrowed gaze. "What did you say to him?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not blind," Diane said. "I saw that look in his eyes. He looked sorrowful. What did you say?"

"I said nothing," Faust admitted as he swished his cup. He said nothing more after that. Diane stared at him for a while longer but soon gave up. She stepped forward and rested her head on Faust's shoulder, her free hand shifting his arm to wrap around her waist. Faust couldn't help but smile at that, his chin resting on her hair. He could smell the lavender perfumes that enveloped her hair, along with the traces of gildleaf oil.

"I love you," Diane muttered softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Faust frowned. He debated on telling her about Cyrus' offer, about how the Emperor had wanted him and her to go somewhere safe to start a family. It was a tempting choice. No fighting, no death. Just a peaceful life. The offer seemed even more tantalizing now that he thought about it. In three weeks, he was to be deployed south, near the ruins of Argen. Of course, he would get a break half a year after, but that would probably last a month at best before he was called back to the field.

In that time, his life would be at risk. His luck strained. Perhaps he should take the offer?

'No. Don't be a coward. Good men have died on those lines. Men who never had the chance to take such an offer.'

Yet, the Centurion knew those men personally. He had a feeling that they wouldn't want him to throw his life away so carelessly. They'd probably encourage him to take the peaceful way out. To live his life in happiness. Faust's frown deepened. He felt his stomach twist at the thought of those he fought with. No matter what choice he made, he would be leaving his men to die. Yet, at the same time, Faust did not want to leave his soon-to-be wife in mourning.

He needed a middle ground. He needed to make an impact while also following his Emperor's wishes.

'One more tour. One last chance to tilt the scales. After that, I'll take the offer. Regardless of whether we're losing or winning.'

The Centurion made his choice then and there, in the peaceful balcony that held the scenic view of celebration. It was sickening to think that such a decision could be made in the presence of beauty.

"I love you too," Faust finally said to Diane, his hand tossing the wine into the nearest plant. He cupped her chin and raised it so she could face him. She gave him a beaming smile, her lips separating ever so slightly. They kissed despite the lipstick.

Not yet.

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