His nightmares were worse than usual. He awoke once again to his own screams.

Hamel sat on the edge of his small bed, his body covered in sweat. He slowed his breathing and calmed his heart.

He rubbed his hand and examined the new hole in his wall, just next to where his head had been on the pillow. He often woke up ready for a fight but never before had he thrown a punch while asleep.

His knuckles had two or three small cuts on them, but no bones were broken. He would need to be in good condition for the coming weeks. Life would not be the same moving forward.

Hamel stepped out of his house for his morning run. He decided he would not run as far that morning in the hopes that he could return home before many people were out.

He made his way down a hill near his house and along one of the main streets running through his area of the city. No one was on the streets, except for the occasional soldier. Most eyed him warily, and no one saluted him. Word had spread. He was no longer an Honored Patir. He was no longer even a Patir. Even his honored name, Rezin, given to him by his Matir, had been taken from him.

As he rounded one of the last corners, he came across two soldiers. They were both sons of men who had served under him years ago, and their adopted Patirs had each served honorably. The two soldiers, however, were of a different sort than their Patirs.

They stepped into the street and held up their hands for him to come to a halt. Their faces bore expressions of disgust and disdain.

He took a second to evaluate his options. He knew the confrontation would turn violent. He had learned to read the look in men's eyes long ago, and those two men were seeking a reason to strike him.

Hamel considered his own reputation. Since he had been disgraced and was now an outcast living among the people, his word would carry less weight than would the word of a soldier. They could not, however, kill him without a formal investigation, and he knew the judges would be fair on the matter. Murder was never tolerated and carried with it the penalty of death.

He also considered the part of his reputation which had not been lost. He was known to be a well-trained and well-disciplined soldier. No one had stood up to him in any form of strategy or combat in over twenty years. They were likely seeking not only to take out their disdain for him in a violent manner, but they were also seeking to prove themselves able to overpower the great Hamel. The confrontation was a matter of pride.

Hamel realized out of all the Soldiers of the Ridge, he would not expect any one of them to challenge him in such a way—aside from those two men. He knew of them. They had always been men of questionable honor. It was no coincidence that they were stationed there on that morning on his regular route. Cuttel was involved. The man did not miss an opportunity.

Hamel knew he could overpower both men without difficulty. He did not, however, wish to hurt them. If he did, he could be accused of attacking two soldiers and, considering the events of the previous evening, few judges would look further than the soldiers' own testimony.

Hamel had only one choice. He would let them attack, but he would not let them strike him in a way that would leave him defenseless. He would take bruises, but not debilitation.

"Good morning to you, Soldiers of the Ridge," Hamel said in the most respectful way he could, bowing to them far lower than he had bowed in many years.

"What did you say to us?" the soldier on the left yelled. "You dare speak to us with such disrespect?"

Hamel rolled his eyes. He had hoped they would at least put some effort into finding offense.

The first soldier struck him on the side of the head, and Hamel let himself hit the ground. The man had struck him in the same spot Captain Cuttel had hit him the night before. It hurt far more than he had expected it to.

He pulled himself to his feet and stepped close to the second soldier. He could see the man's knife was on his right side. The soldier was left-handed, and Hamel hoped to avoid getting hit in the same spot again.

He was pleased to find the man granted him his silent wish and hit him on the right side of his face. Since there was no bruise there, it did not hurt as much. He had been hit enough times over the years that he knew how to take a punch.

He let himself fall to the ground again in the hopes the men would feel satisfied that they had overpowered him. He began to pull himself to his feet the second time when he saw the first soldier reach for his rifle.

Rifles and sidearms were rarely used outside of battle. It was considered in poor taste to use such a weapon in a one-on-one confrontation. A soldier's strength was not decided by whether or not he or she could pull a trigger.

The fact that the man reached for it was odd, to say the least. Hamel knew the man would not shoot him. His intention would never be to murder a General. He would, however, be willing to use it as a stick with which to strike.

He could not allow himself to be hit with a rifle. A solid weapon could break bones or even break a back. He had to end the confrontation.

The soldier swung the rifle. Hamel jumped to his feet and, before the man knew what had happened, he knocked the rifle to the ground. He then grabbed each man by the collar, shoved them back against the wall, and pulled each of their knives from their sheaths.

The soldiers' mouths dropped open, and neither one moved. Their expressions suggested they had not expected to be pinned against the wall with their own blades held to their throats. Neither one looked angry. Their faces bore an expression of resignation as if they understood that Hamel had merely allowed them their victory. They had just crossed the line.

Hamel paused as the distant sound of a horn echoed across the city. The Beasts were active early that morning. The faces of each of the men betrayed their fear, not only of Hamel, but of what might come if any one of the attacks at the Valley Wall ended with the breach of the defenses. He felt his heart soften toward the two men as he recognized their concern.

"Listen very carefully," Hamel began, pulling himself back from his thoughts of the Beasts. "I have let each of you strike me, so you will have your chance to declare that you knocked Hamel to the ground. I will not, however, allow you to harm me in any way. Your weapons will not be used on me. Do you understand?"

The second soldier was the first to respond. He said, "Yes, General, we understand." The first soldier nodded his head in agreement.

"Perfect!" Hamel said with a big smile on his face. "Now that we understand each other, I will take my leave."

He tossed one blade away, grabbed each man's rifle in turn, tossed them as well, and returned to the street. He tossed the remaining knife aside and resumed his run.

Hamel smiled. The one soldier had called him "General." Though he maintained his rank, no General served over the army without honor. In the midst of the loss, that one word was good to hear.

He arrived home and went into his backyard to train. He trained hard, but only for half an hour before he stepped into his house for breakfast.

He enjoyed the quiet. While he missed Markel, it was nice to have some time simply to himself. He suspected he would have a lot of time alone in the weeks to come.

When he had finished breakfast and cleaned up for the day, he found some food, collected a small amount of money, and filled a waterskin. He then put on a cloak and stood before a mirror.

"I am not without family. I do not face the world alone. I must continue. There is work to be done."

The words felt empty. It was not as though the words were without meaning. The pain was so great, the words no longer felt as if they carried much weight in his mind.

There was work to be done. That was what mattered at the moment. He was no longer an Honored Patir. He was no longer a man with respect. He was no longer trusted. He was nothing in the eyes of the people. It was time to walk a different path.

There was work to be done.

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