Her room in the arcane powered carriage train was ornate and ostentatious. Red marbled walls with white marble columns, redwood floors, fine and expensive rugs, a king-sized bed with the thickest of comforters, ornate paintings, a large white couch, and a small tea table with fine silver accoutrements. The crystal, arcane-powered lights along with the candle lights were designed to be like flames in a chalice on the walls. There was also a private wash room with a standing shower with white, porcelain tiles and gold handles. Ren realized that an entire carriage car was dedicated only for her and was roughly the length of double-wide trailer home.

  Ren thought to herself, “He really is spoiling me, eh? I need to send a thanks to him and Caldwell.”

  She laid flat on her back feeling the softness of the rug. Her bags and katana were thrown on the bed. Her white kimono with black flower designs and gray sash were partially undone barely covering her almost exposed chest and abdomen. Barely hidden in the kimono was a long scar from her left breast that snaked down towards her right hip cutting violently across her abs. She was smoking a dragon sage joint trying to decompress. Instead, her nervous anxiety grew like a dull, throbbing headache.

  She quietly read the binder of her new squad flipping the pages rapidly above her head. She stopped on the page about Commander Yoshiro. She stared at his information page and read off his rather outstanding military accomplishments. She said to herself, “Top 10 in his class academically… Climbed the ranks quickly due to his skill, cunning, and diplomacy… Two years older than me… 26… So, he could be a selfish leech? Hope I’m wrong. I’m never wrong, though… Hmm?”

  She stopped for a moment noting a red arrow at the bottom of the page that read: “See back of page and next three pages for disciplinary record.”

  The back of the page was a bullet point list of incidents that he was involved in, all of which occurred while on mission. The next three pages were the incidences written out in great detail. None of incidents were alarmingly bad to say the least. Mostly ignoring orders from certain officers in order to win an engagement in an unorthodox method or him nearly killing a few officers who were noted for extortion, theft, and harming innocent civilians. This reminded Ren of her own record somewhat. The main difference being that he focused more on keeping his men alive and fought less demons than Ren.

  Ren moved to the last two pages noting something interesting. She read aloud, “General Orden’s notes on Case Docket 1745… August. Western front. Dhrak border region… Was on the fast track to become the youngest regiment commander in this country’s history and threw it away because he refused to set fire to a village of innocent Dhrak farmers… His reasoning: there was no strategic value in raiding the village. No enemies to be found after thorough search… Nearly killed a colonel who was ordering the raid… From this incident, all charges were dropped after General Orden and many other witnesses came forward thus sparing Yoshiro from execution… Demoted to lieutenant instead… Rose back up within a year… Village and villagers were still exterminated, but Yoshiro’s entire company and himself stood off to the side in protest… Interesting.”

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  Ren flipped back to the first page seeing his personal information section in the top right corner of the page. She said, “He’s from the central lands of Odai like me… Oda clan. Southern Evandria… That explains it.”

  Ren threw the binder on her bed and proceeded to finish her joint and lit a second one. She vividly imagined what Commander Yoshiro saw and felt in that incident almost relating to every action he did, justified or otherwise. She then thought of her battles and similar incidents like Yoshiro had. She closed her eyes remembering the screams of battle, the sound of broken armor, the flowing of blood from an open wound, the sulfur-like smell of the dead, and the quiet moments of crying by herself just outside of camp.

  She said to herself finishing her second joint in the ashtray by her head, “Honor in the face of evil… It’s the motto of his clan.”

  She lastly remembered her father. He was wearing all black with a fur cloak. His left eye was scarred over with three claw marks running down his face. His square-shaped chin had scars and cuts sporadically along it too. He looked down at a then eleven year old Ren and said harshly, “How can you be a warrior when you can’t win a simple wooden sword fight? Stop crying. I will not allow weakness in this family. Now get up and win this next fight. Break that kid over there or else. You want that tournament trophy, right?”

  Ren opened her eyes with a tear streaming down the side of her cheek running along the lightning shaped scar to her jawline. She scoffed, “Fuck you, dad… I wish Shari were here… She helps calm me down.”

  She sat up and walked to the shower. She sat down curled in a ball trying to deal with her emotions. She promised herself that she was not going to cry every night. Sadly, anguish and emotional torment were undefeated. She silently cried into her knees. Her cries were muffled by the sound of the carriage train and the water cascading over her.

  Once she was done with the shower, Ren stared at herself in the mirror revealing a plethora of scars and slashing wounds all over her back and sides. The scars formed a tapestry of pain on her body.

  She said to herself after splashing water on her face, “All will be fine once you reach Kino. All will be fine, girl.”