While Sophia made her way towards the familiar sanctuary of the Estath Cathedral, seeking both tangible aid and spiritual solace from Archbishop Ralph, Henry found himself directed towards a different, though equally familiar, establishment. The Dunlyre Tavern, its sign creaking faintly in the afternoon breeze, awaited. Captain Jacobs had designated it for their meeting, a private discussion away from the ears of the garrison.
Pushing through the heavy oak door, Henry stepped from the bright street into the tavern's warm, amber-lit interior. The usual cheerful din - the clinking of tankards, boisterous laughter, the low murmur of countless conversations - washed over him, yet felt oddly distant. His gaze scanned the crowded room, quickly finding Jacobs seated alone at a small, secluded table tucked into a shadowed corner, barely large enough for two, seemingly insulated from the surrounding revelry. A half-empty mug of ale sat before the Captain, whose usually jovial face held a contemplative, almost pensive expression as he watched Henry approach.
"Care for a celebratory draught before we delve into more serious matters?" Jacobs spoke first as Henry reached the table, gesturing towards the empty chair opposite him. A hint of forced enthusiasm lingered in his voice, overlaying something deeper, more complex.
Henry pulled out the heavy wooden chair, sinking into it with a sigh, the aches from the morning's spar still making themselves known. A slight smile touched his lips as he met his Captain's gaze. "Celebrating our promotions still, Captain? Or are you perhaps offering to fund this particular round?"
Jacobs chuckled, the sound genuine this time, the tension easing slightly. "Just ascended to Rank 3, salary nearly doubled, yet parsimony remains your watchword? Saving diligently for matrimonial expenses already, are we, Henry?" He winked, a knowing, teasing glint entering his eyes.
"One must plan for the future, Captain," Henry replied, adopting a cryptic smile that mirrored Jacobs' earlier tease. "And that future seems increasingly likely. Perhaps you ought to begin considering an appropriately generous wedding gift."
"Such youthful decisiveness!" Jacobs laughed, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "Barely two-and-twenty, yet already resolved to shackle your prime years within the confines of matrimony? A hasty endeavor."
"Wisdom often comes from experience, wouldn't you agree?" Henry countered smoothly, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "So tell me, Captain, how fares your own lengthy sentence within that particular prison?"
Jacobs grinned, a fleeting, fond reminiscence touching his eyes as he thought of his wife, Laura. "Ah, the prison of my own choosing… surprisingly comfortable, I must admit. Relatively soft bedding, adequate rations… occasionally prone to bouts of loud recrimination," he conceded with a wry twist of his lips, "but overall… decidedly worth the incarceration."
Laughter, easy and genuine, flowed between them then, the familiar banter about marriage and family serving as a comfortable prelude, masking the true purpose of this meeting for a few moments longer. A serving girl arrived, placing fresh mugs of dark ale before them, along with platters bearing the rich aroma of the tavern's finer fare, clearly pre-ordered by Jacobs.
Tonight, they indulged. Thick cuts of black pepper steak, cooked to perfection; glistening, butter-sautéed mushrooms releasing an earthy perfume; sweet carrots roasted until tender; and decadent portions of bone marrow, rich and unctuous, slathered with fragrant herb butter designed to melt upon the tongue. Two goblets of deep red wine accompanied the feast, adding a touch of unaccustomed luxury to their usual soldierly repast.
They ate in companionable silence for a time, savoring the textures and flavors, the quiet understanding between mentor and protégé requiring few words. The background noise of the tavern faded into an indistinct murmur. Nearly five minutes passed, the silence stretching, comfortable yet freighted with unspoken weight.
It was Henry who finally broke the stillness, his gaze direct, probing. "Captain," he began, his voice low, serious, "was it… the incident at Lake Loknezt? My near demise? Was that the catalyst that spurred your recent decisions? The squad expansion, seeking higher Rank yourself… this shift towards embracing greater risk?" He needed to understand the change he sensed in the man who had guided him for years.
Jacobs sighed softly, swirling the dregs of wine in his goblet, his gaze distant, shadowed with a hint of melancholy. "Partly, Henry," he admitted, his voice heavy with self-reproach. "You are astute. My past approach… my overriding caution… it stemmed from ghosts. From comrades lost under my command in earlier years. I became haunted by loss, prioritized safety above all else. And in doing so," he met Henry's eyes, the guilt raw, "I held all of you back. Our squad matured slowly, advancement opportunities were bypassed, potential perhaps stifled, because I feared the cost of failure too keenly."
"Captain Jacobs," Henry countered immediately, his voice firm, sincere, cutting through Jacobs's self-recrimination. "Do not mistake caution for failure. The fact that every original member of this squad stands beside you today, that none requested transfer despite slower advancement… that speaks volumes of our trust in your leadership. What we gained under your command transcends mere Rank or coin." He leaned forward slightly. "You taught us more than swordplay; you fostered critical thinking, situational analysis, the ability to judge, learn, adapt. You created opportunities for us to make our own assessments, to refine skills beyond the drill ground. That foundation, Captain… that is invaluable."
Jacobs looked at Henry, surprise warring with gratitude in his expression.
"You always shielded us," Henry pressed on, determined to make his Captain understand. "Our squad developed steadily, yes, perhaps slowly compared to more reckless units, but we are arguably the only reconnaissance squad in this garrison, perhaps in all of East Aerion, that has never suffered a fatality on mission under your direct command. You blame yourself for hindering our progress, but in protecting us, you deliberately hindered your own." He held Jacobs's gaze. "By rights, you possessed the skill and experience to attain Rank 4 years ago. You accumulated the necessary merits only now because you consistently accepted missions with lower risk profiles, chose strategies that minimized potential casualties, often at the expense of greater glory or faster personal advancement. You acted as…" Henry hesitated, then used the term that felt most true, "…as an elder brother, sacrificing his own opportunities for the sake of his younger siblings. How then, can we, the beneficiaries of that sacrifice, possibly complain?"
"Elder brother… hahaha!" A genuine, unrestrained laugh suddenly burst from Jacobs, startlingly loud in their quiet corner. It chased away the shadows from his eyes. "That… that terminology is surprisingly refreshing, Henry. I confess, I never truly perceived my role, or perhaps the depth of your regard, in quite that light." He took a deep draught of ale, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his usual gruff humor returning, albeit tinged with newfound warmth.
"However," Henry said, sensing the conversation had reached its intended turning point, "I suspect you did not summon me here solely for nostalgic reminiscence or for me to assuage your conscience, Captain." His gaze sharpened. "Do you wish to discuss the intricacies of the Necromancer mission further? Or perhaps," he ventured, testing the waters, "now that I have attained Rank 3, are you considering formally appointing me as your Vice-Captain for the new unit?"
"Hahahahaha!" Jacobs roared with laughter again, the sound echoing slightly, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables. He clapped Henry heartily on the shoulder. "By the Angels, you and Sophia truly are a matched pair! One possesses the knowledge of a sage, the other the perception of a hawk! Astute, Henry, very astute."
"Merely reflecting the quality of my tutelage, Captain," Henry replied smoothly, raising his goblet in a mock salute.
"And a talent for flattery besides!" Jacobs retorted, shaking his head.
"Effective flattery oft leads to promotions and accompanying salary increments, does it not?" Henry countered with a grin, taking a small sip of wine.
"Perhaps," Jacobs conceded, his smile fading, his expression turning serious once more, the earlier warmth replaced by a difficult resolve. "But you are only partially correct this time, Henry. There is indeed another matter, a significant one, that necessitated this private discussion. But it concerns neither the upcoming mission, nor a promotion." He met Henry's gaze directly, his voice steady, leaving no room for misunderstanding. "I summoned you here to inform you… that I am formally dismissing you from the unit. This Necromancer assignment will be your final mission serving under my command."
The wine Henry had just sipped seemed to turn to acid in his throat. He choked, sputtering, a small amount splashing back into the goblet as a coughing fit seized him. Dismissed? He had run through countless scenarios in his mind - a difficult assignment, a reprimand, a promotion, tactical discussions - but this? Being unceremoniously kicked out of the squad, the only military family he'd known for years? The possibility hadn't even registered.
"What," Jacobs frowned, raising an eyebrow at Henry's violent reaction, "is the cause for such dramatics? This isn't a punishment, Henry. On the contrary," he sighed, leaning forward, his voice earnest, "I am doing this for your own good. And for Sophia's."
"Of course," Henry managed, recovering his breath, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he tried to mask his genuine shock and hurt. "For my own good. Excellent. Now I need only ascertain the Cathedral's schedule for distributing alms to the poor, and I can comfortably embark upon my new life of enforced leisure."
"Alright, alright," Jacobs held up a placating hand, his expression serious again. "Listen. Yesterday, following your… examination… at the Cathedral, I received a personal visit from Chief Investigator Ragley himself. He was… impressed. By the Archbishop's assessment of your character, by your performance under pressure, by my own confidential report detailing your capabilities and potential demonstrated over the past years, including your actions at Loknezt." Jacobs paused, letting the significance sink in. "He has formally requested your transfer to the Aerion Central Investigation Division, effective upon your return from the Bandit mission. To work directly under his command."
Henry absorbed this, stunned. The Investigation Division. Working under Ragley. It was… an unprecedented opportunity. Access to information, authority, resources far beyond a standard reconnaissance unit. A path towards influence, perhaps even towards understanding the deeper currents moving within Zephyros.
Seeing Henry's silence, processing the implications, Jacobs continued, his tone softening slightly. "This isn't just about you, Henry. This upcoming mission… it will also be Sophia's last with the unit."
"Sophia too?" Henry asked, surprised again. "Where… the Church? Is that what you meant?"
"Precisely," Jacobs confirmed with a nod. "Archbishop Ralph concurs. Sophia possesses extraordinary intellect, a deep affinity for light magic, and a unique aptitude for understanding ancient lore and complex threats. Her potential is wasted performing standard field medic duties and minor reconnaissance. Within the Church hierarchy, with dedicated training and access to their resources, her development could be accelerated immensely. Rank 5, perhaps even Rank 6 someday… it is well within her grasp, Henry. You know the limitations we face out here. Raw talent can reach Rank 3, perhaps even scrape Rank 4 with exceptional effort and luck, as I have. But Rank 5 and beyond?" He shook his head. "That requires more than mere dedication. It demands innate potential, yes, but also significant institutional support, access to specialized knowledge, consecrated resources, guidance through the complex ascension rituals…"
Henry listened, the initial shock slowly giving way to a grudging understanding. Jacobs's logic was sound, irrefutable. He himself was an anomaly, perhaps capable of bypassing traditional limitations due to the Sanctuary, but Sophia… her path was different. She deserved the chance to reach her full potential, a potential stifled by the constraints of their current duties, by her loyalty to him, to the squad.
"It cannot have been an easy decision, Captain," Henry said quietly, recognizing the personal cost to Jacobs in breaking up the team he had so carefully nurtured.
"The easiest path is rarely the correct one," Jacobs replied, his voice firm, resolute. "This is the best course. For both of your futures. The Investigation Division will hone your unique skills, Henry, place you where your perception can make a real difference. And the Church will provide Sophia the environment she needs to truly flourish. It is… necessary."
"Thank you, Captain," Henry said, the words heartfelt, sincere, acknowledging the depth of Jacobs's concern, the difficult decision made on their behalf. "For considering our paths so carefully. Your… guidance… truly means a great deal. To both of us."
They spoke for another half hour, the conversation shifting to practicalities, transition procedures, the nature of Bureau work versus Cathedral service. The earlier tension dissipated, replaced by a sense of closure, of paths diverging but mutual respect remaining. Finally, Jacobs produced a heavy, sealed parchment from within his tunic - the formal transfer request and invitation bearing Chief Ragley's authoritative seal. He slid it across the table to Henry.
"Consider it carefully, Henry. But know this choice was made with your best interests at heart." Jacobs stood then, clapping Henry firmly on the shoulder one last time. "Complete this final mission with honor. Then embrace the new path awaiting you." He turned and left the tavern, leaving Henry alone at the table, the weight of the letter heavy in his hand, his mind grappling with the sudden, irrevocable shift in his future, and Sophia's.
He sat there long after Jacobs departed, the remnants of their meal growing cold, staring at the official seal on the parchment. Jacobs was right. Reaching the true echelons of power, Rank 5 and above, required more than grit and battlefield experience. It demanded resources, esoteric knowledge, access to ancient rituals guarded jealously by nations and faiths. Rituals with success rates that plummeted dramatically - eighty percent for Rank 5, perhaps thirty for Rank 6, less than five percent for the demigod tier of Rank 7 - and those were rates for individuals already blessed with immense innate talent and the full backing of an institution. For ordinary soldiers, such heights were myths, unattainable dreams. Destiny, Henry knew, often set cruel limits.
It was why he felt no burning envy towards his childhood friend Haziel, the lauded "Fifth Divine Monarch," already Rank 4 and destined for demigod status. Their paths, their potentials, were vastly different. Or were they? The Sanctuary Seal felt like a hidden key, a potential equalizer, but its true power remained unknown, its source clandestine, its use fraught with peril.
This transfer… it was logical. It placed him in a position to gather intelligence, to understand the threats facing Zephyros from within. It allowed Sophia to pursue the path best suited to her extraordinary gifts. It was the right decision. Yet, a profound sense of melancholy settled over him. Leaving the squad, leaving Jacobs' steady guidance, felt like severing a vital anchor. He raised the goblet, draining the last of the cold wine, the taste suddenly bitter on his tongue. The path ahead was opening, but it led into shadows deeper than any he had yet explored.