The Secrets to becoming Stronger

As always, Serilda was pretty much buried beneath a mountain of paperwork. The war efforts between Bellum and Pergrande had left the field marshal beyond stressed, though she was masterful at masking such emotions from the public eye. Still, the weight of the first major battle was heavy upon her shoulders, particularly when it came to Cardinal Vivian’s death. The Voidwalker had never claimed to be unbeatable, and she would be the first to admit that there were plenty of people out there that were stronger than her, despite her lofty title as a God of Ishgar. However, the defeat in Bellum had been rough, leaving her feeling a bit like she had failed a lot of people that day.

Her rational mind knew that was not the case, of course, but telling yourself something and actually believing it were entirely different things. So she’d done the only thing she [i]could[i] do: returned to Fiore, made sure what was left of her soldiers were patched up and taken care of, and then got back to work to plan for the future as much as they could.

She was in her office reviewing a report from the spec ops department, when she sensed the approach of an individual, her Void senses feeding her the rough shape of the person that was lingering on the other side of her door. Lifting her head, she stared blankly at the closed barrier, sensing the person as they struggled with whether or not to knock, lifting and dropping their hand and fidgeting in place. Though she couldn’t hear his exact words, her sensitive slayer ears picked up a man’s voice as he appeared to be grumbling to himself. Whoever he was, he obviously was nervous about interrupting her.

Finally, he knocked on the door, greeting her with a… rather informal salutation before correcting himself and introducing himself as one of the privates by the name of Fontaine, requesting a bit of her time. With a small sigh, Serilda’s gaze flicked back down to her desk. “You may enter, Private Fontaine.”

As the young man opened the door, he would find himself in a spacious office sporting hardwood flooring, with plenty of natural light filtering in through the floor to ceiling windows that took up the entirety of one wall, the view of the training grounds beyond. The immediate sight would be her desk, the large surface covered in confidential files that she was neatly closing and stacking. Behind her desk there was a tapestry against the wall featuring the twisting dragon crest of the noble Sinclair family in their crest colors of purple and gold. He would see a number of book cases lining the right side of the room, where there was a door that presumably led to a personal bathroom. On the left side of the room where the windows were, there was an informal sitting area with a couch and a couple armchairs flanking a coffee table, with a large lacrivision on the wall which was currently playing a new station at low volume. Further past the sitting area was a small wet bar, and in the corner there was a sizable dog bed on the ground, upon which sat a large wolf. Xiuhcoatl had lifted her head upon the man’s knocking, laying in calm obedience but with dark, curious eyes that were attentive to the newcomer.

Serilda gestured to one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Please, have a seat.” Collecting the last of the files, she took the stack and deposited them into a drawer at the side of her desk before turning her full attention to the young man, leaning forward with her hands clasped. She observed him with a pale blue gaze, her expression neutral. “It’s… Finnegan, correct?” The field marshal would be the first to admit that she hardly knew the names of all of her soldiers, but private Fontaine was a relatively new recruit. As such, his name was still on the more fresh side of her memory, having taken the time to review the files of the newer soldiers not too long ago. “How can I help you?”