The trumpets and the bell started chiming in his ears again as he ascended the flight of stairs. It was a good sign; the sign he had been waiting for. He clenched his fist as some little spark started pinging the back of his head. The sweet churning of his stomach also made the side of his lips part with a smile. Days like these always reminded him of what his strength as a soldier was like. It was always a thing of joy to parade in front of the people, with heads lifted to the sky and hands resting on the sword. Time had brittle the sturdy training, but not his spirit. Those days were days of war. They were not just soldiers who marched into battle and kill as many people as they could. It was far beyond that. They were an icon of hope to the people. A symbol of protection and peace. And
