USA. I walked in to ask about a job. I walked out having sworn my life to a man named Greg. I heard a merchant house was seeking warriors. I arrived one hour early, as honor demands, and sat in the waiting hall in perfect silence. A younger applicant scrolled his glowing tablet beside me. He did not understand what was coming. I did. A woman called my name. My real one, this time. I rose. I followed her to a small room where a man sat behind a desk. Greg. Lord Greg. He stood and offered his hand. I took it as the grip of fealty and held his gaze. "Thanks so much for coming in," he said. I told him the honor was mine, and that I would not disappoint the house. "So," he said, leaning back. "Tell me a little about yourself." A test of lineage, before he would accept my blade. I told him of eight hundred years. I was three sentences in when he smiled and said, "Love the energy." I did not know energy could be loved. I accepted the compliment and pressed on. "We're kind of like a family here," he said. A clan. I had suspected as much. I bowed my head. To be taken into a man's family is no small thing. I swore to defend it to my final breath. He laughed. "Ha. I like that." Then, folding his hands. "Are you a team player?" He was asking if I would die for the men beside me. I did not hesitate. "I will die for the men beside me." He paused. "I mean, we do a lot of group projects, but, yeah. Same spirit." Same spirit. He understood me. Then he asked the question that proved his wisdom. "What would you say is your greatest weakness?" No lord had ever honored me so. To ask a warrior his weakness is to ask him to place his life in your open hand. He was offering trust, and asking for mine. So I gave it. I leaned in, and quietly, gravely, I told him the truth. That my left side, below the ribs, is slow to guard when I turn. That a fast man could end me there. The room went silent. "...I was gonna say, like, perfectionism," he said. "But, wow. Okay. That's very honest." I had moved him. A lesser man would fear he had said too much. But I saw his face. He now knew I held nothing back from my lord. The bond was forming. "Where do you see yourself in five years?" Still at his side, I told him. Whatever the cost. He nodded slowly, the way a man nods when a vow lands deeper than he was ready for. He stood. He said the words. "I think you'd be a great fit. Welcome aboard. You can start Monday." Monday. The day of my first battle. I dropped to one knee. I drew a slow breath. And before Lord Greg, and the glowing tablet upon his desk, I swore to serve the house until death released me from its service. "You really don't have to kneel," he said. But he was smiling. And a man does not stand when his soul is already on the floor. I begin Monday. I do not yet know what we are fighting. I have decided it does not matter. So tell me, America. When a lord asks for your weakness, takes you into his family, and tells you to return on Monday, are you his now? Truly his, unto death? Because I have already chosen the spot where I will fall for Greg. And I have never been so at peace.