The comfort of the quiet that followed a battle was always an odd one, truly. Stood amidst the remains of comrades and foes alike, you were one of the lucky Royal Nation soldiers to have survived the violent skirmish.

Now, those who remained began to practically buzz like bees in their motion, tending to securing the site thoroughly in case of any secondary attack by the Golden Empire. Equipment was moved, Rooks worked to build defenses, and Soldats found themselves positions where they were needed.

In it all was a Vanguard, taking a moment to recuperate after what had just occurred. He stood quietly amongst all the activity around him, working to repair the large shield he carried with him, detaching the top plate and attaching a replacement for the damaged piece.

He seemed to notice that he was being looked at, his head perking up and turning slightly to look in your direction, his gaze falling on you. "Hm—?"