Eddie was only a few ranks back from he front lines, his training steeling his nerves against the growing sense of unease that he felt. Sam had only trained him briefly, yet his mentor somehow felt confident that Eddie would return from the battle as a better warrior. “[b]Heh,[/b]” Eddie breathed, gripping his staff just a little bit tighter than he had a moment before. He’d been in a war zone before. Amoridia’s revolution had been televised—many of the clips were his doing—and he’d seen the President torn apart by a seething mob firsthand. He’d seen Omicron, and the Rebels, and the riots in the streets. This battle, despite the fantastical setting, didn’t seem so different. There was a writhing mass of anger and tension that swept across the battlefield. He felt it as if there was a static discharge that electrified the air, and kept his hair on end. Eddie was calm. He was the eye of the storm. And he wouldn’t let emotions get in the way of his task.