A Moment of Meaning
Before he knew it, they were in Manster. The armyâs tactician, a man they called Levin, sat alone in a hastily cleared out room on the cityâs outskirts. It had already gotten late, and it was only now the tactician realized he needed to light a nearby oil lamp to see what was right in front of him. People spoke about the days getting longer all around him. Yet to the eye of a dragon, they were just as fast as they always wereâŚ
Holsety was not beyond fatigue, nor was the body he occupied. The days blended together, creating a quickly moving mass of tension and fluctuating emotions that whirled all around him. Every time he thought he got used to the pace, he would find himself in another part of the continent, a new set of problems on his hands⌠Most were not his concern, but they weighed heavily on him anyway. He had started to value the times where he could gather himself, so he may face his comrades with the attention and dignity they deserved. Holsety preferred to be alone while preparing his plans. They would be brought to the attention of the army at large during the next briefing. For now, he was left to explore details and possibilities alone. By himself, he finally had time to gather his thoughts and focus on what was directly in front of him, as if whatever room or tent he occupied was his own bubble of time. With no one around, he could close his eyes and open his other senses. He could calmly listen as the wind blew through the window and whispered in his ear. The wind had blown through Mansterâs grassy plains, around clusters of trees, up and into the mountain range, and through the skies. He caught a whiff of iron in the air.  He felt the beating of hundreds of wyvern wings as they created gusts and disturbances in the air above the mountains. The shouts of mounted Thracian soldiers and the sounds of signal horns were caught in the current. Their trajectory was clear, and that was all he needed to know for now.
The liberation army had made its way to Manster just as the first wave of them clashed with the newly liberated Mansterâs own forces. Such a small force was able to hold their own remarkably well. Truly, however, he knew the real source. He could feel it from miles away. In his mindâs eye he could see the windstorms conjured by the hand of Levinâs son, created from his own borrowed power. He was proud of the child, truly. Yet when he caught a glimpse of him, a strange mixture of feelings welled up in his stomach, a far cry from the calm pride he had anticipated. He felt his face grow hard as a collection of sensations began to flood his thinking without warning. Sety⌠He began to quickly jot down notes, his large handwriting calling for more pages than average. Thraciaâs forces were approaching in greater numbers than before. Manster couldnât do it alone, no matter what. Still, that moment repeated in his head, over and over again. It puzzled him. He overwrote those feelings with battle plans and observations. This had to wait. Until when... he didnât know.
