[As the fight wears on and it becomes clear Nethan's outmatched, several onlookers move to join in, hands tightening on weapons in a way not anything like the sportsmanship necessary for sparring matches. Zelos, though only ten, knows exactly how to get the attention of a large group of people all much taller than he is.]

Stop! I'm the Chosen! It's friendly -- if anyone bothers them, I'm going to make sure you're fired!

[It does the trick, if slowly. No one's willing to test the ten-year-old's assertion, or try to move past him and his outstretched arms.

After a few more minutes, though, not many people want to. There's something silencing about watching a good spar, something nearly awe-inspiring that utterly ignores who the participants are. When Nethan finally breaks off and puts the point of his sword on the ground, breathing heavily, he's still smiling. His head is even tipped a little -- not respect, but something a lot like it.]

Which military, did you say?