The Last Banner

Hadrian walked the line, demonstrating the steps of firing a matchlock musket with slow, deliberate movements. Though the wooden rods lacked the mechanisms of the real weapons, they allowed the recruits to mimic the motions.

"Step one," Hadrian said, holding the rod as though it were a loaded musket. "Pour the powder into the barrel. Step two: load the ball. Use the ramrod to push it firmly into place. Step three: prime the firing pan with powder. And step four: light the match, aim, and fire."

He paused, his gaze sweeping the recruits. "Each step matters. If you rush, you risk misfiring. If you fumble, you lose precious time. When we have the real weapons in hand, these motions need to be second nature."

The recruits followed his lead, moving slowly through the motions as Hadrian corrected their stances and grips. The wiry farmhand from earlier caught his attention again, struggling to hold the rod steady.

"Relax your shoulders," Hadrian said, stepping closer. "The weapon's not as heavy as you think, but you need to keep it steady when aiming."

The man nodded, adjusting his posture as Hadrian guided him. Nearby, another recruit struggled to mimic the motions, earning a sharp rebuke from Alexander. "If you drop that 'weapon' again, I'll make you run laps around the manor."

Hadrian glanced at his brother, suppressing a smile. Alexander's stern but playful tone seemed to do the trick, and the recruit quickly corrected himself.

Spearmen Drills

On the opposite end of the training grounds, the spearmen practiced forming a shield wall under the watchful eye of one of the manor guards. The wooden shields were crude, but they allowed the men to learn the basics of defensive formations.

Hadrian called for a break, crossing the grounds to observe their progress. The men shuffled into position, their shields interlocking as they braced for an imagined charge.

"This formation is your life," Hadrian said, his tone firm. "When the matchlockmen fire, you hold the line. When the enemy charges, you hold the line. If you break, we all fall."

The spearmen nodded, their expressions serious as they tightened their ranks. Hadrian watched for a moment longer before moving back to the matchlock recruits.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the recruits began to show faint signs of improvement. The rows were straighter, the movements less clumsy. It was far from perfect, but it was progress. Hadrian allowed himself a small smile as he stepped back, surveying the grounds.

"Good work today," he said, his voice carrying over the murmurs. "But this is just the beginning. Dismissed."

The men dispersed, some muttering to each other about the day's drills, others heading toward the manor's well for water. Hadrian wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling the ache in his legs from hours of standing and correcting the recruits.

Alexander approached, clapping him on the shoulder. "Not bad for your first day as a commander."

Hadrian snorted, shaking his head. "We'll see if it sticks."

Alexander grinned. "They're listening. That's more than most can say."

As the recruits filed out, Hadrian's mind drifted to the days ahead. There was still so much to teach, so much to prepare. But for the first time, he felt the faintest flicker of hope.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of orange and purple. The recruits had left the training grounds, their laughter and low murmurs fading into the stillness of the evening. Hadrian stood near the edge of the grounds, leaning against the fence as he mentally reviewed the day's progress. His muscles ached, but there was a quiet satisfaction in seeing the recruits take their first steps toward discipline.

Alexander approached from the other side of the yard, his broad frame outlined against the fading light. His steps were unhurried, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that Hadrian didn't miss.

"You're working hard," Alexander said, his voice lighter than his expression. "Harder than I've ever seen you work for anything before."

Hadrian shrugged, his tone measured. "There's a lot to do."

Alexander stopped a few feet away, leaning his forearms on the fence. "There's always been a lot to do. But you didn't care before. So what's changed?"

Hadrian turned slightly, meeting his brother's gaze. "Does it matter? I'm trying to help."

"It matters if you're aiming for something," Alexander said, his voice steady but firm. "You've been acting... different. Smarter. More determined. And now you're out here, leading drills, building armies." He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "So tell me, Hadrian—are you planning to challenge me for the dukedom?"

Hadrian studied him for a moment, his thoughts racing. Alexander's tone wasn't hostile, but there was an edge of protectiveness in it—the mark of someone who had long considered himself the rightful heir and was willing to defend that claim.

"No," Hadrian said finally, his voice calm. "I'm not after your title. I'm trying to make sure there's still a dukedom to inherit when the time comes."

Alexander's posture relaxed slightly, though his expression remained guarded. "That's a good answer. But don't think for a second that I'd just roll over if you were."

"I wouldn't expect you to," Hadrian replied, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Besides, being the heir means dealing with all the nobles and politics. That sounds like a headache."

Alexander chuckled softly, shaking his head. "It is. But it's my headache, not yours."

They stood in silence for a moment, the tension easing between them. Finally, Alexander pushed himself off the fence, his grin returning. "You're doing good work, Hadrian. Keep it up."

"Thanks," Hadrian said, his tone quieter now. "I'll need your help to make it stick."

"You've got it," Alexander said simply, clapping Hadrian on the shoulder before heading back toward the manor.

Hadrian watched him go, his thoughts lingering on the exchange. Alexander's words weren't a challenge—they were a reminder of what was at stake. And for now, that was enough.

The quiet hum of the manor at night was broken only by the soft creak of the wooden floorboards as Hadrian pushed open the door to Sophia's room. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and the faintly bitter tang of medicinal tea. A brazier in the corner cast a dim orange glow, its light flickering over the pale face of his younger sister as she lay bundled under blankets.

Helena sat at the bedside, her back straight but shoulders slightly tense. Her half-up braid, usually pristine, was beginning to unravel, and a faint shadow under her sharp green eyes betrayed her exhaustion. She dabbed a damp cloth across Sophia's forehead, her movements slow and methodical.

"She's still feverish," Helena said softly, not looking up as Hadrian entered. "But her breathing's steadied. That's something."

Hadrian stepped closer, a tray in hand. He set it down gently on the bedside table, revealing a steaming mug of tea and a plate of bread with honey. "I brought this. She needs to eat something when she wakes up."

Helena glanced at the tray, her lips pressing into a faint line that could have been a smile—or simply relief. "Thoughtful of you," she murmured. Then her tone shifted, edged with something sharper. "Though you've been... busy, haven't you?"

Hadrian blinked, caught off guard by the change in her voice. "I've had things to handle. I didn't think—"

"That you'd be needed here?" Helena interrupted, her gaze snapping up to meet his. "You didn't think about her? About us?"

Her green eyes burned with an intensity he hadn't expected, and he found himself unable to look away. For the first time, he realized they were almost the same height now. The thought flickered briefly through his mind, but it was drowned out by her next words.

"You've been acting strangely for weeks," Helena continued, her voice rising just enough to cut through the stillness of the room. "Throwing yourself into drills, barking orders like some kind of officer, and now you're... here, like nothing's wrong."

Hadrian took a step back, the weight of her anger hitting harder than he anticipated. "Helena, I'm just trying to help—"

"Help?" She stood abruptly, the damp cloth falling from her hand to the floor. Her shadow loomed slightly over him, though the gap between them felt almost nonexistent now. "You've barely been here, Hadrian. For weeks, you've been so... distant, and now you're suddenly so... close. Too close!"

Hadrian opened his mouth to respond but faltered, unsure of what to say. The tension between them crackled like a live wire, her words laced with confusion as much as anger.

For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the faint rustle of Sophia shifting in her sleep. Then, as if the fire in her had burned itself out, Helena's shoulders sagged.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She brought a hand to her face, brushing away a tear that had begun to fall. "I didn't mean... It's just... Sophia's sick, and the goblins... everything feels like it's falling apart."

Hadrian stepped closer, his voice quiet but firm. "You don't have to apologize. You've been holding everything together. It's not fair for you to carry all of this alone."

Helena let out a shaky breath, lowering herself back into the chair beside Sophia's bed. Her hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from their sister's face. "I don't know what to do sometimes," she admitted, her voice trembling. "She's just a child, and... what if we can't protect her? What if this battle..."

"You're not alone," Hadrian said, cutting her off gently. He knelt beside her, his eyes level with hers now. "We'll figure it out. Together."

Helena turned to him, her eyes searching his face for something—reassurance, strength, an answer he couldn't quite give. But her expression softened slightly, her anger dissolving into something more vulnerable.

"You've changed," she said quietly, almost as if to herself. "You're... not the same boy I used to know."

Hadrian smirked faintly, trying to lighten the moment. "Maybe I've finally grown up. Or maybe it's just the height difference."

Helena blinked, caught off guard, and to his surprise, a soft laugh escaped her lips. She shook her head, her braid slipping further undone. "You're insufferable."

"And you're exhausted," Hadrian countered, gesturing toward the empty chair across the room. "Go rest. I'll stay with her for a while."

Helena hesitated, her gaze flicking between him and Sophia. Finally, she sighed, standing and smoothing her dress. "Alright. But if she stirs, call me."

"I will," Hadrian promised.

As Helena moved toward the door, she paused, glancing back at him. For a moment, she seemed to struggle with her words before finally speaking. "Thank you, Hadrian. For... everything."

He nodded, watching as she disappeared into the hall. When the door clicked shut, he turned his attention back to Sophia, her faint breathing the only sound in the room.