Limpalak's left pointer finger stroked his forehead just behind his temple. The just over an inch-and-a-half-long scar was hard to miss, especially when he was running his hand over it. The skin was a distinctly different shade from the rest of his head, telling anyone who bothered to think when he earned the wound… Well, maybe not.

Without him wearing a legion uniform, any number of other reasons could explain away the healed injury, but with it, everyone would come to the same conclusion. And it brought no end of shame to Limpalak. He didn't deserve the respect or recognition in their eyes.

He survived the opening hours of the Collapse of Southtown by acting like a rat and scurrying away into the darkness. Somehow, Limpalak ended up gathering a group of militia, only to lead them to their deaths as he survived the night by pure chance. Put in that context, there was nothing he did during the battle that he could be proud of.

Limpalak wasn't even around to help with the aftermath, as he woke up over a day later when workers were carrying him to the medicos. Through the fog of the severe concussion, that journey was burned into his mind. As he bounced over the ground, lying helplessly on a stretcher, his head was thrown about, and regardless of the direction it flopped, there were more of the dead soaking in puddles of congealed blood. Even when he closed his eyes, he couldn't escape reality, as the stench of shit, piss, copper, and rot permeated the air so much that he could taste it. In fact, the darkness behind his eyelids only made everything worse.

Everywhere he looked, the man saw the aftermath of a desperate battle for which countless individuals gave their lives in defense of their homes. Limpalak hardly did anything in comparison. No, he did less than nothing; he got others killed. And yet, he was treated like some hero who came back victorious after a heroic journey.

He couldn't stand it.

When word spread that Legatus Panta was rebirthing the lost legions, Limpalak was one of the first to march up to the recruiters and sign up for a tour, but he was far from the last. His motivation was simple, he wanted to prove his contribution to the Republic. That he was worth the admiration children looked at him with. Not in a way that others would see and admire, but simply to himself.

At this point, he was starting to wonder if he should have lived with the shame and joined one of the farming teams or the dockworkers. Because Limpalak was not given a position as a simple legion grunt. He wasn't even offered a place as an optio, which was the rank he retired at when he left the legion all those decades ago.

No, he was shoved into the rank of a centurion without even so much as a please or thank you. Then again, what else would you expect from being in the legion? Life in the red was an endless series of demands and expectations where the only options were to accomplish the tasks or accept death.

What made it worse for Limpalak was that he was put in command of the 4th Century within the Prime Cohort of the 28th Legion. Apparently, his story had gotten around, and he had become something of a local celebrity. Due to the personal sacrifices of his men and others along that cursed road, the Prime Cohort of the 15th wasn't cut off and trapped on the main causeway.

Limpalak would be the first to say that if the legions and militia hadn't held and sacrificed themselves to buy time, the battle could and probably would have been lost. He just wasn't one of the people who should be acknowledged, as the most he did was buy a handful of seconds. And yet, the reluctant centurion was one of the few with the honor of being among the first cohort of a reconstituted legion… All because he survived.

When he told Prime Flavian — a man worthy of his position — of his concerns and lack of qualification, the grizzled goat replied with, "Get over yourself and shut the fuck up. We don't get to ask why fate demands what she does of us; we simply do our best to live up to her expectations. This isn't about you. The boys need something to aspire to, an ideal that can make them excel against all odds, and for the moment, you fill that role. So lead them, and in doing so, endeavor to balance the scales you feel your failures have skewed, but do not wallow. Because perpetually dwelling on your perceived mistakes will only make you destined to create more."

The little speech might not have been the most elegant or full of anything other than the underlying wisdom of "man up," but it got Limpalak to put some steel in his spine and accept his role. A role that has become extraordinarily more challenging starting today. Not only will he have all the other previously existing weights pressing on his mind, but now he will have direct attention from the Guardian of the North.

As befitting of the cohort that should always be leading from the front, the Prime was the first to integrate the Kin into their ranks. Something no one knew how to do, a big part of which was because no one had a solid idea of what their abilities were. Though one fact was common knowledge. Should psy or mana come into contact, the result would be that both energies would attack each other, destroying the castings.

Apparently, no one gave a furry rabbit's ass about figuring out how to integrate half of a century with a force that could quite literally undermine the integrity of the entire unit. They, the centurions of the prime cohort of the 28th Legion, were supposed to figure it out on their own because no one cared about the results.

Prime Flavian told all of them that, apparently, no one had put thought into the matter as most of their attention was focused on creating an auxiliary force with the Kin. However, some bastard suggested integrating the groups and seeing how everyone's experimentation turned out. If it went well, a new battle doctrine could be developed. If not, nothing but a little time was lost… an opinion that was only supported because they weren't the ones wasting time.

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"Form up!" Barked Limpalak as he dropped his hand and came out of his thoughts, finally coming to a decision. With four weeks of training behind them to get back into the legion grind and the expectation of being within the Prime cohort, the legionaries snapped to attention and rushed to comply.

They turned to face their centurion, a tendril loosening the straps of their shield so it could slip off their left arms. As their right feet came down in a collective stomp, they hit the ground simultaneously with their shields and the butts of the javelins they held in their right hand. Their final movement before they froze-like statues was for their left hands to gently land on top of their shields, holding them in place.

Opposite to the Olimpians were the Kins, who didn't react to the sudden end of the silent staring match with nearly as much alacrity. However, after a couple of seconds, they formed up into what could almost be called ranks with begrudging willingness. Not willing to harp on the issue of immediate compliance, especially when he could see in their eyes that they didn't believe he had the right to command them, Limpalak slowly approached the Kin.

As he walked up and down the line of beastmen, the centurion studied the fighters. They could not be called legionaries, but their gear was clearly meant for combat, and they looked well used to the activity… perhaps a little too accustomed, if he was being honest.

The bears — and Limpalak meant that in the literal way, as they were bearkin — didn't wear clothing above the waist. It was a large, unmissable sight because not one of them was shorter than seven feet tall, and their chests were wider than most children. What was even more intimidating was that nearly every inch of those collective chests was covered in scars.

The weird part, at least to Limpalak, was that the Kin wore massive furs over their backs, had bracers and bracelets on their arms, and their necks had necklaces numbering in the pounds. Not a single one wore a shirt or piece of armor. It was like they were allergic to the items.

At least most had round shields thrown over their shoulders, though they weren't all the same size. And there was the little fact they all carried some combination of long swords, axes, and large hammers. Weapons that, he would imagine, would be quite devastating given their size, except their lack of uniformity undermined any cohesion that he attempted to create, so much so that it was like he shouldn't even try…

"Which one of you holds the highest rank?" Limpalak asked.

"That would be me." Rumbled a Kin, whose hair was nearly entirely gray and had a chest that was layered with numberless scars. "And you are now our… centurion?"

"Yes," Limpalak responded, his tone equally as dry. "If our leaders insist on continuing this little experiment they dreamed up, I will be in charge of leading our century into battle."

"Humph." Grunted the large Kin, not looking impressed with either the idea of working together or Limpalak leading him.

"Yes, it isn't my first wish either, but we have our orders to follow. And I have decided the first step of that is to ask you, what are you capable of?"

"Well," rumbled the large Kin, "now that is unexpected."

"You thought I would start giving commands before I understood what you were capable of?"

"He seems to be," the large bear said, tilting his head to the side toward another century. "but it only shows you are competent." At that, a twinkle of amusement passed through the Kin's brown eyes. After a couple seconds of remaining silent, he finally spoke again. "It is worse than pointless for us to work together, as we warriors are not mages."

"What does that mean?"

"What do you know of Kin magic?" Asked the Kin in response.

"Next to nothing. Anything you can tell me will be of use."

"Hmm." Rumbled the bear again as he contemplated what to say. "Like you Olimpians with your psy, every one of us has a supply of mana within us. However, our reserves are far smaller, and unlike you lot, not everyone has the knack for controlling mana. Most can barely learn how to extend it from their bodies in a cohesive manner."

The Kin paused, and Limpalak felt that the bear probably implied something by the silence following his words, but there was too much the human simply didn't know. Shaking his head, he said, "You are going to have to give me more than that."

"Hmm… Only a mage can cast the spells that shield and enhance our bodies. However, the Redtail Faction has discovered a way to move that spell into our amulets, allowing us to activate them by injecting mana. The problem is that once they are broken or exhausted, we can not reconstruct them."

Limpalak's eyes went back over the dozens of items that he would categorize as knick-knacks on the bearkins bodies, and he found that many of them were nearly identical. And he was only saying "nearly" because he wasn't going to study the fine details of the jewelry another man was wearing. His eyes darting around the group of Kin again revealed that what he first took as a fashion statement was, in fact, a uniform.

"But if you were a mage, you could cast these… spells on each other? To enhance your strength to levels of a knight, I am told?"

The large bear only shrugged, then responded after a hard look from Limpalak, "I don't know the abilities of your knights. But we can shield ourselves and become as much as ten times stronger… depending on the spell."

Nodding, Limpalak started speaking his thoughts, "So you can enhance your body, but it is through your… amulets. What happens if our psy comes into contact with them?"

"They break."

"And you lose your abilities." The bear grunted and nodded in response, not looking pleased. Probably because he felt uncomfortable revealing such a secret to a potential enemy, but it wasn't that big of a deal. Throwing waves of psy around would be one of the first ideas proposed against the Kin. "How long can you keep them active?"

"Three minutes of full power in one stretch. But with two minutes' rest, we can go again."

So they can't go as long as knights, but they will recover far faster. Even if they don't have their abilities, their size means something. Regardless, they will only lose their abilities if we lack control… and that would mean we aren't worthy of our position.

"You will be the hammer, and we will be the shield." Stated Limpalak.

"Hmm. Meaning what?"

Grinning, the centurion's entire demeanor changed. "It means we run. Legionaries, Hollow Square Formation around the Kin on the double!"

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