Second Life as a Soldier

The next morning, training began just like the day before. And just like before, I lasted about an hour and a half before my body gave out.

Same drill. Same exhaustion. Same burning lungs.

I followed the now-familiar pattern: collapse, recover in the shade, scarf down lunch, and sit in silence as my body slowly came back to life.

But today, I didn’t return to agility training.

Today, I went somewhere else.

I made my way toward the town cemetery, just past the old district near the crumbling wall. A part of me still felt nervous, especially around this area. This was where the thugs who had beaten me half to death used to hang around. But now that I wore the army’s uniform, I knew they wouldn’t touch me.

Not out of respect.

Out of fear.

Army recruits were hands-off. Not because the army would care if I got stabbed, but because it was a convenient excuse to conscript five or six new bodies into service without wasting time on training. One dead recruit was just more cannon fodder added to the pile.

That fear was protection enough.Still, this wasn’t about them.

This was about my father.

I stepped through the iron gates of the cemetery, weaving past crooked headstones and leaning wooden markers. Eventually, I found the one I was looking for.

John. Scribe. Beloved Father.

I stood there for a while, unable to speak.

Then finally, I whispered, “Hi, Dad.”

My voice cracked more than I expected.

“A lot’s changed since we last spoke. You wouldn’t believe it. It’s only been five days since you... since you left me. But it feels like a lifetime has passed.”

I knelt by the grave.

“In my head… in my heart… everything’s changed. I’m not even sure you’d recognize me anymore. You might not agree with the path I’ve chosen. Hell, you might not even see me as your son, just someone else wearing his skin. Someone possessed.”

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I paused and smiled bitterly.

“But even so… I’m trying. I’m trying to live a life that means something. A life you might have been proud of, if not for the way it started.”

The wind stirred the grass around us. I closed my eyes.

“I’m leaving tomorrow. The house is gone. Everything’s gone. And I’ve realized... I’m not going to fight for that house. I’m sorry.”

Subconsciously, I reached for the small silver chain around my neck, the one he’d given me on my tenth birthday.

It felt warm in my hand.

I didn’t know when the tears started. Maybe during the first few words. Maybe now.

But I kept talking.

For an hour, maybe two. I told him everything. About the bruises. The barracks. The training. Ben. Cole. The other recruits. The aching in my bones and the fear in my gut.

And then finally, I said the words that needed saying.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back. Or if I’ll be back at all. But one way or another, I’ll see you again. Either here…”

My voice trembled.

“...or on the other side.”

I stood slowly, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt.

Then I turned and walked away.

The evening passed uneventfully. A soldier informed me that we’d be leaving in the morning, so I should pack my belongings. There wasn’t much to gather, just my training clothes, a spare tunic, a small kit of toiletries, and the chain around my neck.

When dawn came, we assembled at the east gate.

Sergeant Cole stood at the front of the caravan, addressing the group. He looked exactly the same as ever, grim, sharp-eyed, and absolutely unbothered by the cold morning breeze.

“This march is under my command,” he barked. “I’m in charge of security. You will listen to me, or you will answer to me.”

Next to him stood a man in slightly different armor, lighter build, more pouches, and a scroll case strapped to his back.

“This is Sergeant Marcus, in charge of logistics. Ben works under him.”

Ben stepped forward and addressed the five of us, the new recruits. I was surprised to see the group had grown. Three boys, one girl, and me.

“Kids,” Ben began, “we’ll be moving in one hour. Help load the goods. The last cart carries a prisoner, stay away from it. Sergeant Cole will guard the rear.”

He pointed toward the assembled carts, six in total, stacked with food, weapons, gear, and tents.

“You five will walk with the carts, center column. Your position is near carts two and three, center-left. That way, you’re protected but not entirely idle.”

He continued. “We’ll be marching 10 to 12 hours a day. If nothing delays us, we’ll reach Stonegate City in three days.”

I noticed one of the other boys visibly flinch at the thought of marching that long.

Ben smirked. “Yeah, I know. None of you have the endurance for this yet. That’s the point. This march isn’t just transport, it’s part of your training. Marching is one of the most essential skills for any soldier.”

He held up three fingers.

“You’re allowed 2–3 hours of break time per day. Use the carts if your legs give out, but at least three recruits must be walking at all times.”

He stepped back. “That’s it. Load up, hydrate, and be ready to move.”

As I joined the others in helping load the carts, I took one last look at the town walls behind us.

This wasn’t home anymore.

Whatever awaited us in Stonegate…

It would be the beginning of something else.