Shoelaces

It’d been nine days since Barry Gerault fell flat on his face in front of Emperor Azari.

Kid left his shoelaces untied. We didn’t think it’d be possible for the “final confrontation” to go further downhill, but Barry’s always been one to defy all logical explanations involved in his existence.

The Blue Riders were fully in support of sending him out to face Azari with a month-- a MONTH!-- of training as an elemental magic user. Omega Squadron couldn’t beat Azari with years of meticulous sparring sessions, tactical studies, and spell-weaving.

And I was the village idiot for saying Barry shouldn’t march off to his own doom?

Needless to say, I’ve been on the receiving end of a lot of guilty looks since Barry came back, eyebrows half-roasted off from a failed fire spell and pants soaking wet from a water summon gone dreadfully yet comically wrong.

Members of the Blue Riders drag themselves through Base Cerulean, eyes low and boots scuffing the floor. I’ve seen more members slipping through the cracks to return to their families this week than I have during my entire shift as Commanding Officer.

I’m distracted from my mountains of paperwork by a three-tone knock on my door.

“Enter,” I call, scribbling away at my papers with a nearly-dead pen that echoes the sentiments of most of my crew.

Barry Gerault enters, eyebrows still singed off and a frown decorating his freckled face. He can’t be more than sixteen-- either by chance or because the prophecy that brought him here dictated it so.

Prophecies, the bane of man’s existence. Specifically Barry’s, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Commander Edwards--” he starts, voice clearly still in the throes of puberty,

“If you’ve come to apologize, you have nothing to worry about,” I cut him off, watching his blue eyes widen beyond belief. “You weren’t ready and the rest of the Counsel knew that. Are you healing?”

Barry nods. “They say my eyebrows will come back in a few weeks. My pride still needs some time.”

“Story time with Commander Edwards,” I say, tucking a stray strand of grey hair back into my bun, “the first time I went against the Emperor, I failed, too. In fact, I’ve never had an overwhelming victory. The Blue Riders have existed for well over twenty years and we still haven’t accomplished the goal for which we were made.”

“I was supposed to change that,” Barry sighed, taking a seat and shifting his blond hair out of his eyes. Typical teenage-heartbreaker move, sad eyes and all.

I shake my head. “The prophecy that brought you here? Bull. Omega Squadron’s been doing research and the old crone that gave it to you never received her certification from the International Seer’s Guild. She’s destroyed countless lives trying to bring this to an end. I don’t blame her for trying, but her actions indirectly caused the deaths of many good men and women, and almost yours, as well.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Barry asks.

I raise an eyebrow. “Keep your shoelaces tied.”

“Besides that,” he groans. “I’m switching to velcro.”

“Good answer,” I say. “Keep training. You displayed remarkable promise despite your, erm, setbacks. I’ve never seen someone master the Gates of Hades spell so quickly.”

“... but ineffectively,” Barry mumbles.

I shake my head. “That’s not the point. You did put up a fight, which is better progress than our last few warriors made. A year or two more and you’ll be well on your way to toppling Azari.”

He sighs. “There’s still a lot of work ahead of me, isn’t there?”

“Yes, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Chin up, we’ll get morale back to the Riders eventually. For now, focus on training. We’ll face Azari again one day, but we’ll focus on driving back his secondary forces from the territories for the time being.”

With a smile that would break a teenage girl’s heart, Barry Gerault leaves my office.

He needs work, but we just might turn out fine.

If he can keep his shoelaces tied.