Miyel listens for the click-clicking sound and it comes, moments before there is a flurry and with a swoop of feathers the boy Titus has appeared next to them, saluting in perfect form as always. It is returned with their characteristic bow-salute – and they wonder how long it will be before the boy starts doing this too.

“Celeres Miyel!” he greets in excitement.

“Celeres-in-training Titus.” The response always makes them feel strange; terrified and exhilarated and terribly fond all at once. After all, where they were born the family name comes before the given name.

The boy scans Miyel, and they watch him do so. It is good to be able to speak to him as they are finally recovering from some of their injuries, as they are not sensing their own imminent death rushing towards them. In any case, it is good for the boy to get to practice his observation skills. And he breathes a little better afterwards.

“I have a present for you.” They wait until after he’s finished his inspection to speak again. His eyes light up – shock, surprise, excitement, all very quickly.

They produce the figure of a bird that Laurel crafted. How she knew, they have no idea, or perhaps it was a lucky guess. But still. They present it to the boy, who takes it very carefully.

Perhaps he would be too old for this sort of thing, were it coming from anyone else. After all, he was nearly a proper soldier. But this was from Celeres Miyel, saviour of Primus and idol of young oilbird messengers. As he inspects it, the smile on his face is wide with awe and joy.

One day, Miyel thinks, they will give him another gift. He will be coming of age and becoming a full soldier around the time they will no longer have use for it. And he is Wildborn; they can show him how useful it is to have a sword that transforms with you.

But not yet. For now, he gets to be delighted at a toy, young and free. He gets to be a child.

—Written by Gemma C.

I, 1st Celeres Miyel of the Free City of Primus, servant of the Lady Zhi-Zhu Lin and loyal Subject of the Legion and its Legate, being reasonably sound in mind and increasingly unsound in body, do hereby leave my last Will and Testament.

To Celeres Titus Artifex, I leave my Relic sword, for he is now old enough to wield it, may it serve him well. I also leave him the small collections of medals and commendations, for which I never asked, but which he always seemed to find so fascinating. I have no doubt he will earn plenty of his own in the coming years, for I have watched him grow into a fine soldier, but let him have mine too to remember me by.

Titus, know that watching you grow, helping you train and learn, has been one of the most fulfilling things that I have ever done. You have allowed me to see what my own childhood could have been like, were things a little different.

To Lady Lin, I return the cloak that you once gave me, may it offer you some measure of warmth and protection in my absence. To you, and you alone, I also leave my heart and soul, and the memory of me.

Despite my best efforts, it seems I will be remembered as someone important to Primus. No doubt, in time, the number of those who have heard of my name and my exploits will eclipse those who actually met me, let alone those few who ever truly knew me. As the decades turn, and those few I have dared to call friends grow old and die, you alone will carry the memory of who I truly was.

Everything else, I leave to the City of Primus, for the Legate to distribute as he sees fit. So much of what I have now is because of the Legion, and I have strived to return to them as much as they have given me, this seems like the logical conclusion.

If I can make a small request, having lived long enough to watch the tragedy of the Forges that once burned daily now slow to a crawl, but not quite so long as to see the end of them entirely, if you would honour me, I wish for my remains to be dealt with in the Legion Fashion. Let me be fed to the Forge, while one still burns. Let my last moment be an act of defiance to the one who makes demands of which she has no right…

To those who read this, to my friends, to Tiberius and Lucrece, to Ziruna, Emeris, Sephar, Rufus, Bophel, Jean, Aoxian, Juglans, Rina, Lasya, Titus, Calidus and the rest, I leave my heartfelt thanks, and these words.

Each of you has done more for me than you can know. Though I was content to be only a weapon, you helped me first to become a shield, and then eventually, to learn to be a person. These last few years since the war, though tinged with sorrow at what we have lost, and anger at what we still must endure, have been by far the happiest of my life, and each of you has been responsible for that. To some of you, I have written privately, to others, I must trust that you know how I feel without me needing to tell you.

Do not mourn for me. I have survived longer than I had any right to, several times over. I should have died as a child at the hands of Wei, or in the war at the hands of Lepioata, or when Wei was finally dealt with… each time, I somehow survived, not just by my own hands, but with the aid of those who care for me.

Now I am old, much older than I ever thought I would be. My eyes grow dim, my bones ache, my muscles grow slow and weak, my wings can no longer lift me. I can no longer man the walls with my siblings, and must offer aid only from my experience. It will never cease to surprise me how little of the aid I now gives pertains to military matters, or that people keep insisting that my 'wisdom' is more valuable than another soldier on the wall.

The world around me is changing, perhaps even more quickly than I am, and though those I love have made every effort, still, I no longer see a place for myself in this new world. As my body has been worn away by time, so too has the city I remember seemed to shrink and wither under the weight of the demands placed on it. I am told I should be thankful we were given time to adjust… I find that offers cold comfort.

I have done all that I can do to ensure the home I have grown to love remains strong and secure. Now I ask that those who follow after me take up that torch, and remain vigilant.

Primus Stands. The Legion Endures.