The twisting hallways of the garrison forts' main manor were dusty and cryptic, but brightened by the light of dawn shining through the arched windows.
Hoplite steps echoed softly as he advanced through corridors in his soft white tunic, his curly blond hair catching the sunlight each time he passed a window, reflecting in bursts of golden glints.
In his hand was a plain wooden tray containing, a wool napkin, a bowl of water, and a bandage roll.
The atmosphere was quiet and calming, yet his sea-blue eyes flitted anxiously to the side every time he walked past a window, taking furtive glances at the soldiers loading wagons with tents outside.
It has been three days since the siege, and it has been a flurry of activity ever since, packing, storing, cleaning, and even now serving. But he was used to it, one could even say he enjoyed being useful.
Furthermore, he was treated well in comparison to normal slaves, and he wasn't ignorant of the reason behind this.
Hoplite's mind drifted to the slave boy lying peacefully in a room nearby. He had heard news of his feats in battle and was awed.
He knew his former friend would never have been able to do that. His deceased friend was hardworking, but awkwardly innocent, with a strong sense of justice. He could never hurt anyone, unless it was to protect someone else.
Hoplite recalled the entrancing gold-patterned eyes and soft yellow glow of the figure who took his friend's body. A daemon, the soldiers were convinced. But he truly believed in his heart that his friend's body was taken over by an honorable god. A daemon had no use for the body of one so pure as his deceased friend.
Now, this Son of Mars, a being who could gleefully rush rebel-filled walls like a heroic warrior of legends, who could single-handedly take the head of a daemon, despite receiving such grievous wounds, someone so bold and strong, asked him—a lowly slave boy, to be his friend.
He couldn't help but smile as a faint blush caressed his cheeks.
But then his smile faded, his thoughts shifting back to his deceased friend and hero. A slave boy the Prefect bought alongside him six years ago at a colony in Germania.
He reminisced about their many years spent serving their Domine together, and then his eyes watered when he remembered how he died for his sake, protecting him from Commius, that devil.
Despite how desperately he wanted to believe, to hope that the friend he knew still existed in Rainer—the truth remained as bitter as Opium, but not nearly as relieving of the ache.
His best friend was gone, and now he serves alone.
Hoplite's hands trembled, and he glanced down to see his tired, soft—some would say pleasant features in the bowl of water.
A face, both a curse and blessing to one such as him—and now, to those around him.
He soon came before a doorway, stopped, and took a moment to compose himself before walking through.
The room was sparse, well-lit and ventilated. The only item in it was a sheep skin mat upon which lay an unconscious youth who he knew to be in his twentieth year, but was certain the soul within was likely vastly older.
Hoplite came to the matside and knelt, carefully placing the tray aside. He looked at Rainer's bloodstained, excessively bandaged form and hummed.
"Perhaps... I used too many bandages?" He wondered with an uncertain expression.
His eyes went up his body, stopping at his face. He stared at it for a silent moment and sniffed, eyes becoming watery.
"Why can't I remember his name?" He muttered with a guilty frown, but quickly took the napkin to clean Rainer.
As he worked, he glanced at his face again. A gaunt, hardship-weathered countenance, adorned with light bronze skin and a head of short brown hair.
He stopped his dabbing and slowly drew closer to his face again, clear eyes staring down at him with a perplexed wonder.
"Why is it that whenever I look at you only one name comes to mind? Rainer... Rainer Manslayer."
At once, Rainer opened his mud brown eyes, which stared straight into Hoplite's.
"Ah!"
Startled, Hoplite jerked back, knocking over the bowl and spilling water all over the floor. Terrified, he quickly spun to clean up the mess.
"Oh no! I am very sorry! Please forgive me!!"
Rainer blinked slowly before shifting his gaze to Hoplite. Then he smiled, faintly.
"Oh! Hops-kun! You're here." He croaked through his dry throat.
He cleared his throat and looked at his body, watching all the red bandages.
"Turns out the old man didn't let me bleed to death, a pleasant surprise! This is poor quality tending though." He idly pointed out, and Hoplite glanced at him with teary eyes.
"S-sorry! I did my best!"
He apologized even more, looking pitiful, and Rainer raised a questioning brow at this.
"I'm not talking about that mess you made. I'm talking about the mess on my body."
But then he paused.
"...Unless you were the one who wrapped me up like a Chinese piñata."
Hoplite's expression pinched lightly, and Rainer gave an awkward chuckle.
"Well, I'll have you know now, I rarely bring good luck. So don't go hitting me."
"You were tended by a provincial governor's personal medicos."
A solemn, youthful voice suddenly reverberated from the doorway attracting both their attention.
"Hoplite only wrapped and cleaned you. Your injuries should be well attended to."
Kotys assured, leaning on the doorway, looking down at him with tired, dark eyes.
A proud grin gradually spread on Rainer's face.
"Oh, Kotys! You survived, friend! I'm glad!"
He happily exclaimed, gazing across Kotys' figure.
Kotys was dressed in full gear. Yet, some bandaging and red, cut scars could still be seen on some exposed parts of his skin.
Kotys watched him for a moment with a strange look in his eyes, but then he smiled faintly and nodded.
"I too. For both of us."