Silence spooled out again, uncomfortable. Beyond the tent, the camp had gone quiet again, no calling out from on-edge patrols.

Was he waiting on a yes?

Zexion was hesitant to give him a yes. He didn't really like swearing himself to anyone. At least as a slave, he could say it was a fate that had been forced on him.

But a rear guard. And Zakiem food... and after the state of things back in Wulgrimm, after the failure at Lafidia...

The illusionist shuddered a little, shaking his head. Although he had few bargaining tools, unless they managed to cut the band off him, he still was the Captain's mislaid property.

"I told them I didn't want to be a soldier." He finally spoke, gathering up an uneasy sullenness in his voice. When I refused, they made me a plaything instead.

"What makes you think your conscription is any different?"