In order to make Bastok more of a functional city, I've added a hospital and a police force. It is, of course, fictional and not part of the in-game FFXI experience.

"Ooh, looky-wooky. She's coming awound!" someone said in a horribly cheerful, high-pitched voice.

"That appears to be so," someone else said.

Grelda dragged her eyes open and found herself staring into the face of a Tarutaru woman only a few inches away. "Good aftawnoon!" she said.

The Hume woman jerked back, knocking her head against a wall behind her. She winced and reached up to rub the spot with one hand, and saw that the cut on her arm was healed. It looked like a months-old injury now, scarred over and painless. Grelda stared at it in horror.

"How... how long was I asleep?" she asked.

"Seven hours," the Tarutaru man standing a polite distance away said. He took in her confused expression and added: "First time experiencing serious white magic, huh?"

Grelda nodded.

"You weally needed-weeded it!" the woman said. "You was weally bashed-mashed all up!"

"Severe bruising, moderate blood loss, that nasty cut, and a broken rib," the man said, "as well as over-exertion from carrying a corpse."

Grelda froze. "Irina?" she whispered.

The Tarutaru woman's eyes flooded with sympathy. "She was youw fwiendy-wendy?" she asked. "I'm sowwy."

"The grapevine is talking about a medal for bringing her body back to Bastok," the man said. "So good job on that, I suppose."

"What grapevine?"

"The military grapevine, of course! Gossip spreads quicker through a legion than through an old grannies' knitting club, didn't you know that? Oh, wait—Jopopo, we forgot to introduce ourselves."

"I'm Jopopo!" the Tarutaru woman said with a giggle, bouncing on the balls of her tiny feet.

"And I'm Kital-Bidal," the Tarutaru man said, giving a slight bow. "You're in the military hospital in Metalworks, and Musketeer Ayame requested to be alerted the moment you regained consciousness. She should be here any minute now."

"Who's she?" Grelda asked, sitting up in her narrow cot. Her bed was alone in a small room, the privilege of which was usually reserved for centurions and up, and there was a nightstand with a pitcher of water and a cup. Grelda helped herself, discovered that the water was cold enough to make her teeth hurt, and drank greedily.

"Ayame is one of the Mythril Musketeers," Kital-Bidal said.

Grelda coughed on her water. "Why would a Mythril Musketeer want to talk to me?" she asked hoarsely.

"Well, it's fairly rare for a recruit to come stumbling back to Bastok, wounded and carrying her dead comrade, and then collapse just inside the gate. You've managed to make several important people quite worried."

"Oh."

There was a knock on the door, and Grelda quickly set her cup aside. A female Hume samurai wearing red and black armor walked in, fixing Grelda with a piercing stare. Grelda quickly got to her feet, which made dazzle spots explode in front of her eyes. She swayed in place as she saluted.

"Easy, Legionnaire," Ayame said. "You can sit down."

Grelda gratefully did so, acutely aware she was wearing a shapeless cotton hospital gown rather than her armor.

"Can you tell me what happened on Zegham?" Ayame asked, folding her arms over her chest.

"We were... It was night, a watch was set. It was Lowen's turn, which meant the attack occurred before midnight. We had dug entrenchments at the entrance to the summit, but the goblins somehow climbed the steeper slopes. I saw them coming over the edge in places that should have been inaccessible. There were only goblins, no Quadav or other beastmen. Decurion Torin called the alarm, and we fought. Ma'am, there were goblins there that were too strong to ordinarily be found in Gustaberg, such as Tinkerers and Butchers. Irina and I were fighting together against such a goblin, which threw a bomb. We fell over the edge of Zegham's summit, and Irina was severely injured. We decided... we decided to... because of Irina's injuries, we decided to return to Bastok rather than return to the fight." Grelda looked down, unable to meet Ayame's gaze.

"So, you retreated," the samurai observed.

"Yes, ma'am," Grelda said. Her hands clenched in the sheets.

"Sometimes it's wise to leave the battlefield," Ayame said, "if you'd chosen to return to it, nobody would have brought word to Bastok of the attack. I need you to get dressed and arm yourself for another excursion into Gustaberg, Legionnaire. Meet me at the Bastok Markets gate in ten minutes."

"Ma'am?" Grelda asked as Ayame turned to leave.

"Yes?"

"Why are you addressing me as a Legionnaire?"

"You're no longer a recruit; you've passed your training exam."

"...Oh."

The ghost of a smile flitted across Ayame's face, and then she left the hospital room. Grelda stared at the door for a moment, then shook herself. She stood up slowly, keeping a hand on the nightstand until the dizziness passed.

"How do I get my armor?" she asked.

"Quartermaster's office, right down the hall," Kital-Bidal said.

"I can takey-wakey you!" Jopopo chimed in, standing on tip-toe to take Grelda's hand. Stooping a little, Grelda was led out of the hospital room, feeling silly as she walked past fully-clad Legionnaires in her gown and bare feet. A few people stopped and looked at her, but none spoke. Jopopo took her to a room lined with shelves full of the belongings of invalid Legionnaires and their officers. Sitting at a desk was a fussy-looking older Elvaan man with spectacles.

"So you're the newest war hero, eh?" he demanded, looking Grelda up and down.

"More like a war survivor, sir," Grelda replied. "I'd like my armor and weapon, sir."

"Fine, fine..." the Elvaan grumbled, quickly scrawling something with a reed pen and then standing up from his desk. He reached up with a soft groan, hefting a Legionnaire's harness down from a shelf, quickly followed by the subligar, mittens, cap, and leggings. It looked much the same as the training harness set Grelda had worn previously, but the bronze was heavier and sturdier. She was also given a bee spatha and a maple shield. She returned to her room to change, and a tight line of tension in her shoulders eased as she took on the familiar weight of leather and metal. When she stepped out of the door she found the Tarutaru healers waiting for her.

"Hello," Grelda said, then coughed. "I mean, um, goodbye."

"Hmph," Kital-Bidal said. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope I don't see you again in this hospital."

"Don't get injawed! Stay safe!" Jopopo said, rushing in for a hug. Grelda knelt down to embrace the tiny woman, who squeezed her with surprising strength before letting go and bouncing back to Kital-Bidal's side.

"Thank you," she said. "I'll do my best to be careful."

"Hmph," Kital-Bidal said again and folded his arms over his chest. Jopopo waved as Grelda walked away down the corridor. She quickly left the hospital, relaxing in the familiar maze that was Bastok Metalworks. A few blacksmiths, recognizing Kirill's eldest daughter, waved or called out greetings. Grelda waved back, but didn't pause in her determined trot towards the entrance. She left Metalworks and rounded Firewater Circle, feeling oddly vulnerable. For four weeks she had slept, ate, and trained in a group of nine other Legionnaire recruits, and now... Grelda was alone. She blinked back tears as she went down Kulatz Bridge, and saw Ayame holding the reins of two chocobos in front of the gate.

"Good to see you geared up, Legionnaire," Ayame said in lieu of a greeting. "Let's get going."

"I've never ridden a chocobo before, ma'am," Grelda said, eyeing the massive birds. One was preening its wing, and the other was looking around. There was a surprising intelligence in its eyes, and when its gaze fell on her Grelda couldn't help but feel she was being measured.

"It's not hard," Ayame assured her. "Just step into the saddle and stay there. Sunny will follow Paula anywhere."

"Er... Sunny?"

"Their names, Legionnaire. Mythril Musketeers get to have personal mounts." Ayame gestured to the preening chocobo: "Paula," and then to the one trying to drag Grelda into a staring contest: "Sunny."

Acutely aware that she was being watched by a Mythril Musketeer, Grelda walked up to the enormous, yellow-feathered creature called Sunny. It cocked its head to one side, seeming to consider her, then lunged for her face with an open beak. Grelda raised her shield just in time, swatting the bird's face away and stepping neatly to its side. She jammed her foot into the stirrup, made an awkward hop as the chocobo sidestepped, then heaved herself up into the air and plopped down into the saddle. Sunny croaked an indignant protest at the sudden weight on its back, but then seemed to resign itself to the burden.

Ayame mounted Paula with a fluid grace that Grelda doubted she could ever replicate, then did something with her knees that made the chocobo turn towards the open gate and begin running down the long tunnel to Gustaberg. Sunny let out a startled noise, turned, and began following. Grelda gritted her teeth and clung to the reins for dear life, sawing them to one side or the other whenever she saw Ayame turn. Sunny kept its head turned towards Paula's tail feathers, largely ignoring the Hume on its back trying to jerk its head from side to side.

The ride, compared to the half-day march to Zegham, was mercifully short. Quadav and goblins either ignored the pair of chocobos or knew better than to try and chase them, and the wind streaming past them made the glaring sun more bearable. The chocobos didn't seem to tire, and plunged across the dusty landscape at a speed that Grelda, used to traveling only as fast as her own two feet could carry her, found uncomfortable.

Paula began to shy halfway up Zegham's slope, slowing to a walk and twittering anxiously. Ayame urged the bird onward, and Sunny, now also shying and twittering, reluctantly followed. The two chocobos became more and more distressed the further upward they went, and when they reached the summit the reason became apparent.

It was a scene of carnage.

The bodies of the recruit Legionnaires lay scattered among the gravestones, unmoving and already beginning to rot in the intense summer heat. The smell made Grelda want to gag as she slipped off Sunny's back, her booted feet landing heavily in the dirt.

"Ma'am, the heads... the heads are missing," Grelda said, looking around. All of the corpses had been decapitated.

Ayame sniffed. "Typical beastman butchery," she said, "though not something common in Gustaberg. Were you in the police force before joining the ranks, Legionnaire?"

"No, ma'am."

"Then it's time you learned some basic investigation skills. Tell me what you see."

"Well, ma'am, they're all dead, and the heads are gone," Grelda said slowly, wondering what else there was to note. They'd need a cart to haul the corpses off Zegham, and they'd need to do before nightfall, when the Black Wolves and Enchanted Bones that haunted Zegham's slopes came out of their holes.

"Keep going, Legionnaire," Ayame said.

"Their... their weapons are gone too," Grelda also noticed, then walked over to Lowen's corpse. Breathing through her mouth, she knelt down and checked his neck for the slender chain with his engagement ring and identification tag. It was also missing. She went to Horatio and Baleful Wind, and found the same thing. "And their identification chains and tags have been taken," she finished.

Ayame nodded and rubbed her chin. "All beastmen will loot weapons and foodstuffs from corpses, though only goblins will go for personal items and trinkets. This instance, along with the missing heads, might be a demoralizing tactic. I'll need your help identifying the bodies, Legionnaire."

"Of course, ma'am. The Galka is Baleful Wind, and the two Hume men here are Horatio and Lowen. And this darker-skinned Hume man is K-Kimal..." Grelda's voice cracked. She knelt down next to her childhood friend, turning his body over from where it was lying chest-down. She held his limp hand, warm to the touch only because of the sun, and swallowed the sob rising in her throat.

"We don't have much time for sentimentality, Legionnaire," Ayame said. "Continue."

"The Hume woman is Sabine, and this Elvaan woman is Nimashelle. The two Hume men by the monument are Claude and Gerrin. Decurion Torin is... around," Grelda said, gesturing at a hand, a leg, and a few chunks of bloodstained, blasted bronze scattered around a patch of scorched and blackened earth. "Irina died at the gate, and I'm still here."

Grelda took a deep breath as she finished, then wiped her eyes free of moisture with the back of her gauntlet. She hadn't been especially close with all the members of her contubernium, but they had fought together, trained together, learned together... and then died together. Except for her.

"Where... Where is Irina's dagger, ma'am?" Grelda asked.

"Was that the non-regulation weapon you arrived at the gate carrying?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I have it here," Ayame said, and produced the weapon from Paula's saddlebags. She handed it over to Grelda, who took it like a priceless artifact. In the light of day it was just a common dagger, clearly old, with a wire-wrapped hilt and a blade that had been sharpened so many times it was thin as a moonbeam. Grelda tested the edge against her thumb, then stuck the digit in her mouth and sucked away the blood that blossomed suddenly against her pale skin. The dagger was already sharp enough to cut a breath of air. Grelda turned it over and over in her hands, watching the play of light along the blade and thinking.

Ayame let her have several minutes of silence, picking up a stick of charcoal from the remains of the campfire and writing names on the bodies of the fallen recruits. When she was finished she tossed the stick aside and looked at Grelda. "Any closing comments, Legionnaire?"

Grelda looked up from the dagger. "How will we avenge them?"

"A half-centuria of Legionnaires will go goblin-hunting through Gustaberg and Dangruf Wadi, and we'll find and finish off the perpetrators."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, Legionnaire, that's all we can do," Ayame said, her voice going clipped. Grelda, recognizing the irritation in the other Hume woman's tone, bit her tongue rather than reply. She stuck the dagger into her belt, dodged Sunny's beak, and mounted the chocobo as Ayame flowed into Paula's saddle. The ride back to Bastok by the dimming afternoon sunlight was uneventful. They dismounted just inside the gate.

"Thank you for your help today, Legionnaire," Ayame said. "I'll remember your service."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Your new contubernium is the eighth of the fifth centuria. Report every Lightsday for training—"

"Ma'am!" Grelda said, then checked herself. "Ma'am, the fifth centuria is part of the reserve force."

"So it is, Legionnaire."

"I'd been on track for active duty, ma'am."

"Not anymore, Legionnaire. Bastok has decided it needs you in the reserves."

"But—"

"I didn't make this decision, Legionnaire. Don't try and argue about it with me."

Grelda clenched her hands into fists at her sides and bowed deeply as Ayame trotted away down Kulatz Bridge to Metalworks. Grelda straightened up from her bow when the Hume woman was a safe distance away, looking into the light of the setting sun and wondering what to do next.