Richard Shaw rarely smiled. The man felt a headache coming on; it had been years since he'd stepped down, yet people still refused to change how they addressed him.
"Sit inside; it's cold outside." Richard replied with a steady smile.
Shaw Commander—an iron-blooded figure whose entire life had revolved around discipline and strength—could never turn away his comrades, men who had shared the same life-and-death struggle in the military. Every year, the matriarch would hand over space in the mansion for these gatherings as if hoping that the camaraderie of old would spark some renewed vigor in him.
Before long, the Shaw Mansion's main hall was filled with a roomful of men—backs straight in impeccably pressed uniforms, radiating an unmistakable vibrancy. From foot soldiers to colonels, ranks varied, branches differed, specialties spanned across sectors, yet they all sat together in harmonious spirit.
