Lance paused when he reached for his sword that he had left sitting beside the dresser. Eyes drawn to items he had left sit out on the top. One being a medal he’d never wear.

It felt wrong to wear it. Unearned. Or so he felt. Not that it meant much to those outside of House Haillenarte. Most of Ishgard still seen that day as a failure. House Haillenarte simply moved forward after a period of mourning. Praised him for his service and gave him time to recover from wounds suffered in the attack.

To him, it was not worthy of praise. They had failed to hold the Vigil. Even lost the lives of many, including their commander. Those that survived either carried on or retired due to injuries. He himself had debated ending his career as a knight after that incident.

Still his thigh bore the scar of a aevis that nearly killed him. Nightmares still occasionally plagued him. Teeth, claws, and dragon’s fire. It mattered little that the war was over. Old wounds cared little for whether the fighting ended or not.

Yet he soldiered on. Someone had given him a reason to. Reminded him of the life Lord Chlodebaimt sacrificed to save what few others he could in a lost cause of a fight. In turn, Lance swore to do his best to repay that sacrifice. Everyday. So on he would keep marching. He didn’t need any accolades or fancy titles. It was simply the duty he had accepted and felt was his calling by Halone’s will.

He would fight on. Picking up his sword and placing it in the sheath at his waist. Even if the war was over, there was always work to be done.