Cato stood at the edge of the supply yard, watching nearly five thousand troops settle into formation beneath House Testa's banners. The depot hummed with controlled activity — supply wagons rolling between units, quartermasters moving through the ranks with ledgers and troop rosters, officers coordinating the inevitable chaos of a regiment preparing to march.

  The air tasted of gun oil and ethanol fuel. Somewhere in the distance, the artillery still sang. It never quite stopped, even this far back from the main line.

  Tribune Accardi climbed onto the command platform at the yard's center. Cato watched him move with that same mechanical precision he'd carried since Alpha — cuirass polished to a mirror finish, purple sash twisted properly at his waist, rebreather mask mounted perfectly at his collar. Everything correct. Everything in place.

  But he had commanded beside Decian long enough to see past the performance. The movements were too controlled now. And his eyes... even the stimulants couldn't quite hide the flatness or rings anymore.

  "Testa Regiment," The Tribune’s voice carried through the yard. Cold and professional.

  "We’ve completed this rotation of the Western Campaigns. In recognition of the long deployment the regiment has served, House Command has seen fit to grant us six weeks of leave." A pause. "Travel has been arranged on a supply convoy heading to Scoria. We will stay there for three days to complete final equipment accountability and resupply. Once we’re finished, the rail-line will carry us for the remainder of the journey to the Homelands."

  Cato could feel the shift in the formation. Home. The word rippled through the ranks like fire through a dry brush.

  "Upon arrival in the Homelands, we will report to the Accardi estate for a formal reception, followed by a day of festival and a feast to honor your service. When the feast is concluded, officers and House troops are released to your home estates for a month. Rank and file completing levy service will be billeted on Accardi grounds for the duration of leave."

  Decian looked across them. "You have served with distinction. The Empire advances because of your sacrifice. Dismissed."

  The regiment saluted as one. The Tribune returned it and stepped down from the platform.

  No emotion. No acknowledgment of what they'd endured. Just orders and dismissal.

  The formation broke, voices rising as the reality of leave spread. Cato moved through the First Cohort's ranks, coordinating with his officers about staging protocols and equipment manifests.

  Twenty minutes later, he found Decian near the quartermaster's post, reviewing transport schedules with Cassia.

  "Sir, First Cohort is staged and ready for movement to Scoria."

  Decian looked up from the manifest. "Good. Second Cohort?"

  "Prefect Hadrian reported they'll be ready within the hour."

  "Acceptable." Decian marked something on the schedule. "Coordinate with the transport officer. I want all gear loaded on the trucks by dusk."

  "Yes, sir."

  Cassia excused herself, moving toward the radio station. Cato stood there for a moment, looking at his commander. Up close, the signs were more obvious. The tightness around his eyes. The stiffness in his posture. The way his hands moved with too much precision, as if he were manually controlling every act.

  "Decian," Cato said quietly, dropping formality.

  The Tribune's gaze sharpened. "Prefect?"

  "It’s been a long time since you’ve been back." Cato kept his voice low. "Your family will be glad to have you home."

  Something flickered across Decian's expression. Not quite emotion. Just acceptance.

  "Branch Accardi expects the welcoming ceremony to be properly conducted," Decian said. "I trust First Cohort will represent the regiment well."

  "We will, sir." Cato paused. "And after we get sent to our own holds?"

  "I have Senate business to attend to. It will keep me… detained for some time. The regiment will have to march out under an acting Tribune while I'm gone."

  Cato absorbed that. So the rumors were true, the complaint was moving forward. Decian would testify.

  "We’ll be in good hands," he said carefully. "Whoever takes command."

  "Yes, I’m sure you will." Decian's expression was unreadable. "Make sure your family knows you're coming home. I expect your wife will want to see her Prefect."

  "My wife already knows, sir. She's looking forward to the feast."

  "Good, she’ll be there, and little Lucian, I expect."

  They stood in silence for a moment, watching the yard.

  "Sir," Cato said finally. "Permission to speak freely?"

  "As if you haven’t already been?" A ghost of a smile touched Decian’s face.

  "You brought most of them home. That matters."

  "Most isn't all, Cato."

  "No, sir. It’s what we could manage, though. I’m sure those marching back because of you would agree."

  The Tribune looked at him for a long moment, his expression softening. Then nodded once. "Dismissed, Prefect. Get your troops in order for load up."

  Cato saluted and turned to go. As he walked back toward his cohort, he glanced over his shoulder once. Decian stood alone by a pile of stacked crates, staring at nothing in particular.

  The war drums began before the estate came into view.

  Decian sat mounted at the head of the column, his warhorse moving at an easy walk as the Testa regiment marched the last leg of the journey home. Behind him, his troops followed — cavalry mounted in formation, infantry marching in disciplined ranks. The sound of hooves and boots against stone created its own rhythm.

  Home.

  The thought settled in him differently than he expected. Not exactly warmth, but something that eased the constant tightness he'd carried since Falcon. Since Alpha. Since longer than that, if he was honest with himself.

  The drums grew louder as they approached the main gate. He could see the crowd assembled now — a large portion of House Testa had gathered to witness the return. House members in formal dress. Veterans in polished armor from their own Crucible service. Representatives from the major branches standing in places of honor — Accardi, Martis, Hadrian, Ferro, Sulla, and more. Minor branch members and Important vassal lines attached to the House filled the remaining space. All of them donned in shades of maroon, crimson, and wine. Banners flew from every tower and wall, the colors of Branch Accardi and House Testa hanging heavy in the still morning air.

  Then the melody began.

  A single woman's voice rose first, clear and high, carrying across the valley.

  We marched through fire, we bled through mud.

  We paid the price in steel and blood.

  The fallen held the line so we could stand.

  The living bore them back to their homelands.

  The estate answered as one, thousands of voices joining in chorus:

  They gave their breath that we might breathe.

  We bear their names, as we bear this creed.

  What was demanded, we have paid.

  To rest, the dead shall be laid.

  Decian's lips moved silently, singing along so quietly only he could hear. The melody was old, older than Branch Accardi's three hundred years of stewardship, older even than the fifteen hundred years House Testa had served the empire. Every Strata child learned it young. He'd sung it at ceremonies and funerals himself since he was a boy.

  But now he sang it for the names he knew. Lucius. Hellena. Marcellus. The four hundred and seventy across the entire regiment who hadn’t marched back from Falcon. For all the Testa soldiers burned to ash and put in urns along the fronts of the Western Campaigns.

  The woman's voice rose again, emotion lacing her tone:

  Not all who left will see these gates.

  Not all who fought escaped their fates.

  But those who fell made passage clear.

  And those who stand have brought their ashes here.

  The chorus answered:

  They gave their breath that we might breathe.

  We bear their names, as we bear this creed.

  What was demanded, we have paid.

  To rest, the dead shall be laid.

  The gates opened.

  The regiment marched through into the main courtyard as the drums began a slower pace. The space was massive — large enough to hold the entire formation with room to spare. The assembled members filled the surrounding galleries and balconies, watching in formal salute as the House’s soldiers processed in with measured steps.

  The woman sang the final verse, matching the drum's tempo:

  We carry home those who could not walk.

  We speak the words they cannot talk.

  Their blood bought ground. Our blood bought time.

  Both bled. Both held the line.

  The chorus responded one last time, the words heavy with acknowledgment:

  They gave their breath that we might breathe.

  We bear their names, as we bear this creed.

  What was demanded, we have paid.

  To rest, the dead shall be laid.

  The lamenting melody faded. The war drums fell silent.

  Decian rode to the center and halted. Behind him, the cavalry wings took position. The infantry cohorts formed up in precise ranks, boots striking stone in unison until the entire regiment stood at attention.

  He dismounted, boots kicking up sparks as he came down, and handed his mount's reins to a waiting attendant. His cuirass felt heavier suddenly, or maybe that was just awareness returning. He was home. He was the Scion. There were expectations.

  Lord Severus Accardi Testa stepped forward from the assembled family. Tall, gray-haired, wearing the formal robes of his Senate position under polished armor from his Crucible service. Behind him, Lady Bellona stood in a deep blood-red dress, her bearing every bit as martial despite only having served the mandatory three years.

  They stopped two paces away.

  Severus bowed. A full formal bow, back straight, acknowledging the Scion who commanded House Testa's primary regiment. Bellona matched it. Then his father straightened and crossed the distance in a few strides, pulling Decian into a tight embrace.

  "My son,” His fathers tone carried more emotion than he’d heard before. “Welcome home."

  Bellona was there a moment later, her arms around both of them. Decian felt something crack in his chest. He returned the embrace, allowing himself this moment before the performance resumed.

  "Father. Mother." His voice was steady. "It's good to be home."

  They released him. Bellona's hand lingered on his shoulder for a heartbeat, her eyes searching his face. She saw too much, always had. But she said nothing, just squeezed once and stepped back.

  Livia appeared from the family grouping. She moved carefully still, favoring her left side where the lung had collapsed, but she was upright and clear-eyed. She stopped in front of him and saluted.

  "Tribune," she said formally.

  "Centurion.”

  Then she smiled — glowing and genuine — and stepped forward to embrace him as well. "Good to see you, little brother."

  "You too, sister." He held her for a moment. She was solid, real, alive. One of the ones who'd made it back. "You look well."

  "I'm getting there." She pulled back. "We'll talk later."

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "We will."

  The other House elders approached as she stepped back— his father's remaining siblings, senior cousins, the representatives of the High lines. Decian paid his respects to each in turn, acknowledging them as Scion.

  When the formal greetings concluded, Decian turned to face the assembled regiment.

  They still stood at attention in the courtyard. Exhausted. But alive.

  "First Testa Regiment," his voice boomed in the walled space, tone softening from the looseness he felt. "Every single one of you has served with honor this campaign. You bled for the Empire, for House Testa, and for those beside you."

  He paused. "Eight weeks. Four hundred and seventy casualties. The names of those who fell are already written in my family’s ledgers, and they will be remembered once more at tonight's feast."

  The drums began again, softer this time. A different rhythm — not mourning, but celebration.

  "Until then, you’re released to the festival. Eat. Drink. Remember those who brought you home and those who made it possible." He scanned the faces across the formation. "Dismissed."

  The regiment saluted as one before breaking off toward the festival grounds on the estate's western side. He watched them go.

  "Decian," his father's voice came from behind him. "There are matters to discuss before the feast."

  The weight settled back onto his shoulders. Politics. The complaint. His expected testimony.

  "I know," he said without turning. "Give me some time to settle in first."

  "We convene in two hours. East hall."

  "I’ll be there, Father."

  Severus nodded and withdrew. Decain stood alone in the courtyard for a moment longer, watching the last of his troops file away toward the festival grounds. Above him, the balconies began to clear. The drums had stopped. The lament was finished. The ceremony was over.

  He was home.

  The thought didn’t bring him much comfort, but it still felt good to be back.

  The main hall was cooler than the growing summer heat outside. Decian walked through familiar corridors with two estate servants trailing at a respectful distance.

  Stone walls that had stood for a thousand years. Tapestries depicting House Testa's campaigns stretching back generations. The scent of oil lamps and aged wood. Everything was exactly as it had been when he left.

  And yet it all felt distant — like he was walking through someone else's memory.

  An old retainer — Romus, who'd served Branch Accardi since before Decian was born — bowed as they passed. "Welcome home, my lord."

  "Thank you, Romus."

  A cousin from a minor Testa line attached to the estate approached in the next corridor, clasping his forearm briefly. "Good to see you back, cousin. The feast will be a night to remember."

  "I'm sure it will be."

  The interactions were easy. Natural. He'd known these people his entire life. But there was a strange quality to it all now.

  They reached his quarters in the family wing. The servants opened the doors and stepped aside.

  "Will you require anything, my lord?" one asked.

  "No. Leave me, please."

  They bowed and withdrew, closing the doors behind them.

  Decian stood in the center of the room, looking around. His childhood quarters. Preserved exactly as he'd left them four years ago when he took permanent command of the regiment. The desk where he'd studied tactics as a boy. The weapons rack where he'd kept his training blades. The window overlooking the central valley. Everything was where it had been when he left, as if he'd only been gone days instead of years.

  He moved to the armor stand and began removing his cuirass. The straps came free with practiced motions. The weight lifted from his shoulders. His purple sash dropped from the base.

  Without the armor, without the constant manual control, his hands started to shake. Just slightly. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at them. Exhaustion settled into his bones like lead.

  A soft knock came from the door.

  "Enter."

  Lady Bellona stepped through, closing the door quietly behind her. She'd changed from the blood-red formal dress into simpler pastel robes, though her bearing remained as martial as ever. Her eyes found him immediately.

  "Mother." He started to stand.

  "Sit." Her voice was gentle but firm. She crossed to him and sat beside him on the bed, studying his face. “You should sleep more, Decian."

  She reached out and took one of his hands. Her thumb brushed across his knuckles. The tremor was obvious now.

  "How long has this been happening?" she asked quietly.

  "A while."

  "The stimulants?"

  He didn't answer. Didn't need to. She'd been married to a military man for over thirty years, had been raised in a Strata House herself, and had seen enough officers return from the Crucible to recognize the signs.

  "Decian." Her voice softened further. "Talk to me."

  He looked at her. At the concern in her eyes. At the woman who'd raised him to be Scion, who'd prepared him for this weight since he was old enough to understand what it meant.

  "I’m so tired, Mother. Tired of the stress. Tired of watching family die. Tired of seeing members of my House burned to ash in the field because I ordered it." He paused. "Tired of command."

  "But you know you can't stop."

  "I am the future of Branch Accardi. The future of House Testa's military power." His voice was flat, acknowledging facts. "There is no one else to fill that role."

  Bellona was quiet for a moment. Her hand still held his, thumb tracing across his knuckles.

  "Lucius was a good man," she said softly. "He watched you grow up. Taught you the blade, and how to ride."

  "I know."

  "His death wasn't your fault, my son."

  "I gave the order that put him in an urn."

  "You followed the orders you were given." Her grip tightened. "That's what command is, Decian. Following orders from above. Giving orders to those below. And living with what happens after."

  "Thirteen from Branch Accardi, mother." He looked down at their joined hands. "Thirteen names gone from our ledgers. Out of the thirty that served under me."

  "And you brought seventeen back. And thousands more from the rest of the House." She reached up with her free hand and turned his face toward hers. "I see you, Decian, and I see what this is doing to you. But I also see what you’ve done. You brought the regiment home."

  "Most of them."

  "Most is all anyone can do." She released his face but kept hold of his hand. "Your father is angry. Righteously so. Lucius was his youngest brother. The Senate complaint is moving forward, and he expects you to testify."

  "I know."

  "The council will want to discuss strategy. Politics. How to leverage this against House Kasio." She paused. "But right now, I am not talking to you as the future. I'm talking to you as my son."

  Decian met her eyes. Saw the worry there. The pride. The understanding that she couldn't fix this, could only acknowledge it.

  "You're exhausted," she said softly. "The whole House can see it, even if they don't say it. But you're also needed. The feast tonight. The council. Your testimony to the Senate." She squeezed his hand once. "You don't have the luxury of breaking. Not yet."

  "I know."

  "But you do have two hours before the council convenes. Use them. Rest. Eat something. Let yourself be human for a moment before you have to be the Scion again."

  She stood, releasing his hand. When she got to the door, she paused and looked back.

  "I’m so proud of you, Decian. Your father is proud of you. The House is proud of you. And Lucius..." Her voice caught slightly. "Lucius would be proud of you, too. He knew what service meant. He knew the cost."

  "Thank you, Mother."

  She looked at him a moment longer and left, closing the door softly behind her.

  Decian sat alone in his quarters for a moment. The tremor in his hands had steadied somewhat. Becoming manageable again.

  He stood and moved to the door, opening it. One of the servants was still in the corridor outside.

  "My lord?"

  "Bring wine for me. And a meal. Something substantial."

  "At once, my lord."

  The servant hurried off. Decian closed the door and walked toward the bathing chamber attached to his quarters. The room was spacious, with a large copper tub already filled — estate efficiency, anticipating his needs. Steam rose from the surface.

  He stripped off the rest of his uniform. Undershirt. Trousers. Boots. The fabric stuck to his skin in places, weeks of campaign grime still clinging on.

  The water stung as he put his foot in. He lowered the rest of his body slowly, feeling it burn against his skin. Then he sank deeper, letting it cover him up to his neck.

  He felt the heat work into his muscles. Tension he'd been carrying for months began to ease. His mother's words echoed in his mind. Let yourself be human for a moment.

  He closed his eyes and rested his head against the edge of the tub.

  The tremor in his hands faded completely as the water worked its way through him. The tightness in his chest eased some more. For the first time in weeks, he wasn't manually controlling every breath, every gesture, every thought.

  He just... existed.

  A knock came at the outer door.

  "Enter.”

  The servant's voice came from the main room. "Your meal and wine are ready, my lord. I've set them on the table."

  "Good. Leave me, please."

  "Yes, my lord."

  The door closed again. Decian stayed in the bath for another fifteen minutes, feeling the heat pull exhaustion from his body, giving him enough space to breathe.

  Eventually, he stood and dried himself with a clean towel. The water dripped from him, pooling on the stone floor. He wrapped the towel around his waist and moved back into the main room.

  The meal sat on his desk — roasted meat, bread, cheese, fruit. Real food. And a bottle of estate wine with a cup beside it.

  He poured a measure and drank. Clean, smooth, with just a hint of mint.

  It tasted like home.

  He sat at his desk and began eating. Slowly. Letting himself enjoy the taste, the texture. The simple act of consuming something that wasn't purely functional.

  He had politics to worry about soon. But for now, he had this.

  He ate, drank, and felt the weight lift just enough to make the next performance possible.

  Decian was reading a treatise on new construction techniques when another knock came from the door.

  Livia stepped through before he could respond, closing the door behind her. She was dressed in practical robes, moving with more ease than she had during the ceremony. The careful favoring of her left side was still there, but less pronounced.

  "You look better," she said, crossing to stand near the window.

  "A bath and a real meal help with that."

  "I imagine they do." She turned to face him. "The council convenes in twenty minutes. Father will want confirmation that you'll testify."

  "I will."

  "Good." She paused. "My husband's been tracking the Senate dynamics and studying some of the older Imperial law. We have a real shot at this, Decian. House Kasio has overstepped. Thirteen from a leading Branch dead. The House Scion ordered into a pointless charge that could have killed you over Consular pride." Her tone sharpened slightly. "That gives us standing for a Blood-Debate."

  Decian looked at her. She was focused, strategic. Almost eager.

  "You think the Senate will grant it?"

  "I think we have the precedent. Your testimony as Scion carries weight. Mine, as a ranking officer who nearly died, corroborates it." She crossed her arms. "If we are granted a debate and win, we strip property and coin from House Kasio. Actual recompense, not just Senate posturing."

  He absorbed that. The politics of it all, turning grief into leverage. It was coldly efficient. It was also exactly how the system worked.

  "Father's been building support?"

  "For months. Since the casualty reports came through." Livia's expression was calm, measured. "This isn't just about honor. It's about making them pay for wasting Accardi blood."

  Decian nodded slowly. The understanding settled into place alongside everything else he carried. But this, this had shape. Purpose. Action.

  "Then we make them pay," he said quietly.

  "Good." Livia moved toward the door. "Come on. They’ll be starting soon."

  They walked through the estate corridors together, passing servants and senior retainers preparing for the evening feast. The festival grounds were visible through windows — duels and races already ongoing, voices carrying into the estate’s halls.

  Two armed guards stood outside the entrance to the east hall, opening the doors as they approached.

  The council was already assembled around a long table. Lord Severus sat at the head, still in his formal robes and polished armor. His remaining siblings flanked him — aunts and uncles Decian had known since childhood, some of whom had lost children at Alpha. Senior cousins filled the remaining seats.

  "Decian. Livia." Severus gestured to empty seats near him. "Sit."

  The room was silent, expectant.

  Severus looked directly at Decian as he took his seat. "The complaint against Legate Kasio has been formally filed within the Emberhall. It cites reckless expenditure of Testa blood, specifically life from Branch Accardi, in a tactically unnecessary assault. Thirteen names have been taken from our ledger. Including my brother." He paused. "Your testimony is central to the case. Will you testify?"

  "Of course," he said without hesitation.

  "Can you articulate the tactical pointlessness of the charge? The fact that the position could have been taken with lower casualties through alternative approaches?"

  "I can."

  Severus nodded. "Good. Livia, your testimony corroborates his account and adds weight from your husband's standing with the Senate. You'll testify as well."

  "Yes, Father," Livia said.

  One of Severus's brothers — Uncle Gaius, a former Tribune himself — leaned forward. "What's our standing for a Blood-Debate?"

  "Strong," Severus replied. "Thirteen deaths from the ruling branch of a respected Strata House. Our Scion ordered into danger over a Legate’s pride. Legal precedent supports calling for debate. House Kasio will have to answer."

  "And if we win?" another cousin asked.

  "We demand our blood price. Holdings, resource rites, coin, something material." Severus's voice was measured. "They wasted our blood. They’ll compensate in kind."

  "What do we put up as collateral?" Gaius asked.

  "Some factories and the lands attached to them in the southern provinces. Enough to show we're serious, not enough to cripple us if we lose." Severus pulled a document from the stack in front of him. "The properties near Venia will suffice. Three foundries, productive mines, but only a modest output."

  A blood cousin across the table — Quintus, who managed several southern holdings — stiffened. "The Venia properties fall under my guild's administration. Why not use Valley Holdings? We have more than enough land sitting in the northern vall—"

  "Because valley holdings are core House assets and much of those lands are allocated under other branches," Severus cut him off. "We don't risk them on Senate politics. The southern property rites we hold are marginal. Losing them hurts, but it doesn't weaken our position."

  "Marginal?" Quintus's voice rose slightly as he scoffed. "Those foundries produce—"

  "Enough to meet the collateral requirements without exposing critical infrastructure," Gaius interjected. "This isn't about your profits, Quintus. It's about the House’s standing."

  Quintus looked like he wanted to argue further, but Severus's expression made it clear the decision was final.

  "The Venia foundries," Severus repeated. "Any other objections?"

  Nothing.

  "Good. Now, the debate requires champions. We'll need to field competent choices. House Kasio will likely field some of their best."

  "Who do we have?" Livia asked.

  "Several options. Your husband, Julius, is politically sharp and has Senate dueling experience. Catus Ferro Testa has Guard distinction, Julia Sulla Testa has duelled for us as a champion before, and has the standing from her Senatorial Guard service as well. We'll finalize before the testimony phase concludes." Severus shifted his attention back to Decian. "Your role is the testimony itself. Speak clearly. Articulate the tactical failures. And emphasize the unnecessary risk to Branch Accardi. The Senate will be forced to listen."

  Decian nodded. "Understood."

  "The testimony will be scheduled after we’ve had more time to prepare. Likely within two weeks of your regiment's next deployment." Severus paused. "You'll remain in the capital for the proceedings. The regiment will have to march under a temporary commander in your absence."

  "I'm aware."

  Severus looked around the table. "Any other objections to the strategy?"

  Silence. Even Quintus had settled, though his expression remained tight.

  "Then it's settled. Myself, Decian, and Livia will testify. And we’ll push for the Blood-Debate." Severus's expression hardened slightly. "House Kasio will answer for Lucius. For all thirteen. Dismissed."

  The council stood. Members filed out in quiet conversation, discussing details and logistics. Quintus left quickly, not meeting anyone's eyes. Decian remained seated for a moment, processing.

  Livia touched his shoulder briefly. "You did well."

  "It's just politics."

  "It's recompense." She straightened. "I'll see you at the feast."

  She left. Decian sat alone at the table, looking at the maps and documents spread across its surface. Senate districts. Property holdings. Legal precedents.

  His uncle's name was written on one of the reports. Lucius Accardi Testa | KIA, Alpha-1-3-7.

  Thirteen names. Now leverage.

  He stepped into the corridor and made his way back toward his quarters. There was still time before the feast started. Time to prepare for the next performance.