It was, Navona decided as she walked through the great vaulted hall, grand goremaul looped on her back, like falling out of love. Slow, and then, suddenly and all at once, irreversibly done.
Though the decorated captain of Gens Afia had a reputation for despising sentimentality, she had known love in her twenty four summers. Brief trists, kindled to flare brightly then burn out just as fast as they had begun. Flings between deployments, to sate her appetite, to whet her passions that she might better focus on that which she gave her all to: Lookshy.
What is Lookshy? All her life, Navona Afia Sarantankous would tell you: Lookshy is  great. She knew it because she was told it, and it was the expected answer, and it was the true answer. Even an ignorant helot, stooped with bent, whipped back and cracked, bloodied hands would tell you the same.
"What is Lookshy?" the Fire Aspected Dragonblooded had asked thus under the pitiless noonday sun that beat down on the field of gold grain, her armor's metals hot to the touch over her underleathers. Her bulk cast a shadow over the slave she addressed, and his bloodshot eyes dilated in the sudden darkness.  "Tell me."
Navona knew the answer she would receive. But this time, it did not please her, for she had grown to desire something more. For her, Lookshy's greatness had always been multifaceted, absolute, but ultimately reducible to one simple truth: Lookshy was great because Lookshy held true to its values unfailingly. It was an empire build on integrity, courage, and honor, that worked because every parts knew its place and performed its duty, each piece a vital part of the larger organism.
Within the walls of the Sevenfold City, politicking was the order of the day. Her enlistment into the army of Gens Afia was something she had fought for, against the wishes of her parents. It was a laughingstock among the other gentes for its dismal rate of victory, and she wished to prove them all wrong. Gens Afia was as great as Lookshy; its armies were as great as any part of the whole.
Upon joining she found herself hip-deep in a muck of incompetence, taught antiquated theories by old men that understood the nuances of her teachings nor cared for them. She ascended quickly through the ranks--of course she did, for she was a prodigy in martial strategy in tactics the likes of which was seen once a generation. All of her peers did, too, even those manifestly unfit for the army. There were no standards of any kind, nor expectations for honesty or competence, for if you were sent to the armies of Afia, it was because you weren't good enough for the Afian navy.
The institution was a gangrenous limb, disregarded and left out for all to see rot. What was whispered about the armies of Afia were true: they were not just incompetent, they were immoral.
Navona could not deny this, and so instead resolved to make things right at war. She would lead her troops well, and in so doing bring her family respect and glory.
For four years Navona served as a sergeant in conflicts  against the tribes around Xauma. Then they were undisciplined, yet to become the Wolf Kingdom that snapped at its neighbors' feet. It was constant, grueling war, never-ending skirmishes and offensive into the impenetrable woodlands. Constant warfare had hardened her platoon into crack soldiers, and the young sergeant was a rising star.
One night during the Xauma campaign, dark clouds rolled in from the northwest. An unseasonably large storm pelted the tangled pine forests with fist-sized hail and driving rain. To Navona, it was a perfect opportunity to attack. Her lieutenants agreed. The Xaumans would never see it coming, for who would dare to attack in the dark, in a storm like this?
Command shot it down instantly. They considered it too risky--anything that wasn't a solid, safe bet in this campaign, against foes this fierce, was considered too risky. Anything that came with the risk of victory's dishonor - and the consequences of failure - was considered too risky.
Ever obedient to her superiors, the young sergeant obeyed. And this obedience ate at her. She came back to her platoon to tell them that their daring plan was not to be attempted.
"Why?" asked her quartermaster, an old man, veteran of more wars than women have children. "If not bold, then what is Lookshy?"
The question stung, and lodged into Navona's heart. After the war,