Much like any general you’d come across, his mind was well formed in the rudimentary art of war. To him, the mundane freedom of the individual came at a high expense. Society has been and always would be the soldier’s burden.
His institution, well protected and lavishly rewarded, was spared the ideology of the aspiring politician and the miserly trader. His was the only true experience while theirs was a scene from some book, well played out but inevitably doomed to falter.
Another book would have to be written, and, as if impervious to change, the soldier would remain a soldier.

The age old spirit of the warrior whose uniform was his identity and whose mind was of a soldering substance had no allegiance except to this principle of sound being.

The general sat, in disbelief.
It was the first time he had been faced with a situation that seemed to implicate some strange likelihood that their purpose might come to an end.
Shivers were sent down his spine at the vision of eons of purposeless preparation and countless horrific deaths.

Could it be that they were wrong all this time?
And why was it he, who now held the burden of facing this, their day of judgment.

This was not a problem that he could easily solve. Years and years of commitment and bundles spent on adjusting to the changing needs of their craft. He could not imagine what a world without them could possibly entail. They were at the system’s root, and held the keys to stable progress. It wasn’t about some wild dogma, it was about the rewards they bring to those who best manage their social services. Unreasonably corrupt the general loses his foothold, but wise in feeding his flock he discretely serves his purpose. History teaches not nations, it teaches armies.

War takes on many an aspect, as the general knew well enough. After some shock of adjustment, things settle into a habitual routine where the reality of one’s life and the life of others takes on a different meaning. This thirst for the experience deeply imbedded in all people; he called the prime directive. He understood more than anyone, that society was essentially and constantly at war. The game was his to franchise into the workings of the economy, and his to take back when he saw fit. His role never ending, he could always advise his pupils on the better side of strategic thinking, and sometimes share with them his technology.

There would never be an end to war.
Its birth modeled into nature’s fabric and its fate was that of cosmic existence.
How could one explain to the hungry fledgling that it the battle was being waged in preparation for his ultimate sacrifice?

Only the expert could ride the winds and worship destructive creation.

Panic is the warrior’s worst enemy… . as it now became clear that in this, the mother of all battles, the army must die.