In this world, four great continents shape the tides of history — Seravahn, Airus, Thalor, and Nullara. Their borders bleed with ambition. Wars are waged not just between kingdoms, but within hearts. In an age of mages and swordsmen, one truth has never changed:
To live, you must fight.
From noble children to starving peasants, everyone learns this law — not for glory, but survival.
Waking. Training. Eating. Training. Sleeping.
That was my life for years.
After my father's death, all he left me was his pride — and the weight of it. I trained in the Heaven's Play Sword Style he once mastered, chasing a dream most now laugh at:
To become a hero remembered for eternity.
To most: I was a young Knight of the capital city Vyro of the Kingdom of Ars in the Airus Continent, who had gained his title through his fathers connections
Most days blurred together. Today was no different — or so I thought. I was on my way to the mess hall when someone called out to me.
"Elias!"
I turned, instinctively reaching for my blade. But it was just him — that swordsman who'd been trying to get close to me lately. Strange. He was stronger than I was, yet constantly hovering around like I was someone worth watching.
What did he want?
And more importantly…
Why now?
"Hey now! Didn't I tell you to wait for me before lunch?" he called out, jogging up with that same easy smile.
"Sorry, I forgot," I replied flatly.
Despite the casual way he spoke, I realized something strange — I knew almost nothing about him except his name, Alec.
Yet every day, he'd strike up conversations with me, always starting with questions I had no interest in answering.
"What do you think about honor?"
"Why do you think people fight?"
Questions like that. Deep, pointed — and utterly exhausting.
I kept my answers short, hoping he'd get the hint.
But he never did.
Or maybe…
He simply didn't care.
As we made our way toward the cafeteria, a sudden commotion caught our attention from down the hallway.
"Didn't I tell you to keep your fucking mouth shut?!"
"Oh? Must've slipped my mind!"
A ring of knights had already formed, half-curious, half-eager for blood. They surrounded the two men like wolves waiting to see who'd bleed first.
I didn't care for pointless squabbles. Fights like this were more about ego than justice — nothing worth my time.
But someone beside me thought otherwise.
"Hey now! Come on, calm down…" he stepped into the circle, hands raised slightly in a gesture of peace. "What's this even about?"
One of the aggressors turned toward him, face twisted in irritation.
"Mind your own goddamn business," he growled, reaching for his sword—
But before he could even grip the hilt properly, he was already on the ground.
Flat on his back. Eyes wide. Silent.
No one saw what happened. Not even me.
The entire hallway fell into stunned silence.
"Let's try not to use violence," the one standing over him said calmly.
Heath's Play Sword Style.
I'd seen it used plenty of times before.
I'd seen that move — Sylva's Reprisal — executed more times than I could count.
But never like that. Never this fast.
Despite using a style known for its resilience and defense, his reflexes and speed were unlike anything I'd seen from other practitioners. It was… unsettling.
One of the aggressors clicked his tongue, throwing us a glare before storming off.
The crowd began to scatter. Laughter, murmurs, and shuffled boots filled the hallway once again. Soon, it was just the two of us.
He turned toward me. "Guess I did a little too much," he said, half-smiling, as if expecting some reaction.
I didn't give him one.
We just kept walking toward the cafeteria.
After sitting down with our food, I finally broke the silence.
"Why'd you get involved?" I asked.
"Was it to boost your image?"
He blinked once, then laughed.
"What are you talking about? I saw a fight. I stopped it. That's all."
Simple answer.
Too simple.
I still didn't understand what he was thinking… but for now, I let it go.
The capital held a grand ceremony each year — a tradition meant to honor the knights and grant them their new ranks.
Tomorrow was the day.
It was always followed by a parade, lined with proud banners and polished armor. I was to be part of it again, like always.
This time, though, I expected more.
I had maintained the image of an ideal knight.
Disciplined. Decisive. Loyal.
Despite being only Intermediate in the Heaven's Play Sword Style, my adaptability in battle and strategic sense gave me hope for a promotion.
But not this.
When my name was called, the hall fell quieter than expected.
Commander-in-Chief of a Patrol Team.
The high marshals explained their reasoning — my father's legacy, my record, my reputation.
I had become a symbol, not just a soldier.
"Let's see if you're truly worthy of calling yourself the son of Noros Voss."
No one below Veteran level had received this post in decades.
I should've felt proud.
I should've felt honored.
But all I felt was pressure.
Still, it wasn't like I had a choice.
I vowed to uphold my title, to lead the kingdom toward victory — and then I left the castle for the training grounds.
As I made my way toward the training grounds, the weight of the oath began to press on me.
Commander-in-Chief.
It sounded heavy now — heavier than when it was first spoken in the grand hall.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw him.
Leaning casually against a tree, that familiar smirk on his face.
"Congrats, Chief Voss!" he called out, his tone as playful as ever.
"How did you—" I started, but he cut me off with a grin.
"So… are you ready to lead a bunch of muscle-head knights into battle and sign their death papers?"
He chuckled, but I could feel the weight in his words — buried beneath the laughter.
I didn't answer right away.
The tension between Ars and Velmara was no secret. The war had reached its climax. Every decision from the capital now was calculated, tactical — political.
They didn't give me this rank just because of my discipline or performance.
They gave it to me because of my name.
They knew what they were doing when they chose me.
"All I can do is give it my best," I said, trying to sound confident.
"I know you've got it in you, Chief Voss."
"Cut it out," I muttered.
We made our way to join the parade.
Now that I think about it... I forgot to ask him about his ranking.
Never mind. I'll ask him some other time.
The parade lasted over eight hours in total.
Endurance, discipline, and poise — that was what they looked for.
Some knights who couldn't keep up were stripped of their titles on the spot.
By nightfall, I could barely stand.
When I collapsed onto my bed, the night sky greeted me through the window — vast, quiet, and strangely calming.
Tomorrow, I told myself, will begin my new training routine.
I'd also be meeting my patrol members for the first time.
"Oh well... that's for tomorrow," I whispered to no one, before sleep took me.
***********************************************************************************************************************************************************************
The next morning.
I had planned a training duel with Alec.
Despite the clear gap in our skill, I wanted to measure myself—to see where I stood, and just how far behind I was.
There existed three primary sword play styles in this world:
Heaven's Play,
Heath's Play, and
Shadow's Play.
They existed in a delicate balance, each countering another—like rock, paper, and scissors.
Alec was a Heath's Play swordsman.
And I… was trained in Heaven's Play.
By nature, Heath's Play was the direct counter to Heaven's Play.
A veteran of Heath's Play could outmatch a veteran of Heaven's Play in nearly nine out of ten bouts.
I was only Intermediate-level.
Even so, I wanted to give it everything I had.
We took our stances.
Heaven's Play is all about high speed and relentless offense—a style that overwhelms, dazzles, and dominates.
Heath's Play, in contrast, is calm, defensive, and calculated—built to catch, absorb, and strike back with precision.
Two opposing ideologies… standing face to face.
I steadied my breath.
Then lunged forward—with the fastest, flashiest move in my arsenal.
"Seraph's Requiem!"
In a blink, I crossed the distance between us, blade gleaming.
But Alec didn't dodge.
Instead, he lowered his weight and shifted his stance.
Heath's Play – "Pillarfall."
A perfect counter. Using the full force of my momentum against me.
The next thing I knew, I was airborne—my body crashing into the dirt.
My breath caught. My chest ached. The wind was knocked from me.
But still, I got back up.
I took my stance again—more cautious this time—and glanced at him.
"Not much of a Commander-in-Chief, are you?" Alec muttered, clearly trying to provoke me.
I knew.
I knew I wasn't a match for most Veterans or Commanders when it came to swordplay.
I wasn't born with overwhelming talent.
I wasn't physically gifted.
I knew that.
But knowing didn't dull the sting.
With a sudden burst of force, Alec charged.
"Verdant Tempest!"
A flurry of heavy strikes.
Each swing thundered down with precision and power, battering my defense—eroding it piece by piece. I could barely keep up.
My footing slipped.
My stance wavered.
I had to act.
I had to stop it—with everything I had.
A flawless counter. My sharpest technique.
"Heavenly Fang!!"
I thrust forward, piercing with speed and intent.
But—
The world spun.
The breath left my lungs.
I was on the ground—again.
Defeated.
I knew I wasn't his match.
I had accepted the likelihood of loss.
But this?
Outmatched in both speed and strength?
Was the gap really this wide?
I didn't want to believe it.
But I had to.
If I wanted to grow—if I wanted to reach the heights I dreamed of—I had to accept this bitter truth.
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************
There were levels to swordsmanship.
Novice. Intermediate. Veteran. Primarch. Horseman.
To reach Primarch, one had to master all three core techniques of a sword style—flawlessly.
To ascend to Horseman, however… it required more than perfection.
A Horseman had to create. To forge a new technique born from the ideology of their style.
A move that only they could perform—flawlessly, instinctively.
Only one individual could hold the Horseman title in a given style at any point in time.
And to claim it…
You had to defeat the current Horseman.
I had spent the rest of the morning preparing my introduction speech.
As the newly appointed Commander-in-Chief of a patrol unit, I knew I had to stand with clarity, confidence, and honesty. Trust wasn't something given—it was earned. And if I wanted this team to believe in me, I had to start by believing in myself.
I reminded myself: There might be swordsmen more skilled than me here.
But that wouldn't shake my resolve.
I had something to prove—
To them.
To my kingdom.
To myself.
Making my way to the training grounds, I was escorted by a senior officer. We passed under a row of banners, the air heavy with the scent of steel and earth.
Then—I saw them.
My patrol team.
A mix of ages and faces.
Some looked barely older than squires.
Others bore the scars of a dozen battles.
Some had the hollow gaze of men who had seen too much.
It was a diverse unit. Unpredictable.
But among them—
One figure stood out like a flame in the mist.
Ember hair. Lean but solid frame. Emerald eyes.
Alec.
My stomach tensed.
What the hell was he doing here?
The same man who had casually befriended me for weeks,
The same man who had picked apart my swordsmanship just this morning—
Now stood among my subordinates.
Straight-backed. Calm. No smugness. No surprise. Just… there.
Did he know all along?
Had he planned this?
Was this a test?
No.
None of that mattered now.
He was one of my men.
And I was their commander.
"I am Elias Voss," I began, my voice firm but steady, "a Heaven's Play swordsman and the son of Noros Voss. I am eighteen years old and have been appointed as the leader of this patrol team."
I took a breath.
"I swear to honor this title and prove myself worthy of your trust and support. I believe that in war—status, legacy, name, or past—none of it matters. What matters is standing your ground. For your home. For your family. For your kingdom."
I scanned the group.
"Each one of you is here fighting for something. Let that something burn like a flame in your chest—let it guide you through the chaos of battle. Make yourselves—and your kingdom—proud. Stand tall."
A moment of silence followed. The kind that weighs more than words.
I then moved into the introductions. One by one, row by row, we passed down the line.
"Name. Style. Age," I called out each time.
And then—
"I am Alec Rossdel. Veteran-level Heath's Play swordsman. Age twenty."
We exchanged a nod. Not friendly. Not hostile. Just… professional.
We moved on and wrapped up the rest of the introductions.
I stepped back to the front and addressed the group once more.
"If you have any questions for me, I'd be happy to answer them."
A stern-looking man in the middle row raised his hand. A seasoned face, scars carved into his brow like tally marks.
"What level of Heaven's Play are you?" he asked, voice blunt. "Considering how young you are, I assume you're something of a prodigy?"
There it was.
I had expected it.
And I knew I couldn't lie. If they were to follow me, they had to follow the truth.
"I am an Intermediate-level swordsman."
A pause.
"Intermediate—?! That's the same rank as me. Yet you are barely old enough to grow a beard. What in the gods' names were the high marshals thinking appointing someone so incompe—"
"Enough."
The voice cut through like a blade. Sharp. Calm.
Alec.
He took a step forward, not even looking at me. Eyes locked on the man.
"If you've got such a problem with the decision, take it up with the marshals directly."
The older man tensed—then dropped his gaze.
"If I could... I would," he muttered, almost bitterly.
I had known that in this kingdom, the commoners had no say on what the leaders and the royalty decided upon. I was no royalty myself but due to my father, I was regarded with some what of an importance. Not that it mattered to me.
"If I failed to meet your expectations, I apologize, but I believe that I have the leadership required to lead our patrol team to succeed or at the very least survive. So I ask you all to provide me with your trust."
With a sharp salute, I dismissed the patrol team for the day and quietly made my way out.
I knew I had to prove myself—not with words, but with actions. And there was still so much to do.
As I reached the training grounds, I noticed footsteps behind me. I was being followed.
A young soldier stepped forward. Wait—what was his name again?
"Sir! I'm Carl Lrowlet, Practitioner of Heath's Play, age seventeen!"
Right. Carl. Only the name really stuck.
"You don't need to be so formal when we're not on duty," I said.
"Alright then," he relaxed slightly, then continued, "I just wanted to say… I really liked your speech. And I don't mind that you're not, you know, a talent or anything."
…Could've phrased that better.
"I admire that you've managed to achieve this position at such a young age. You must've worked really hard."
I looked away. "Honestly, I was given this role mostly because of my father. So… you don't have to admire me."
He paused, then said:
"I don't know your father. And I don't care to."
…
"I believe if I know your name, that's all that matters. You don't need to use your father's—or anyone else's—just to prove yourself."
Direct. Rude. Honest.
"Whatever name I use… that's not your concern," I replied.
He blinked, then gave a sheepish nod.
"Sorry. I came off a bit rude."
A bit?
"But really, I do admire you. I just think… you sell yourself short. Way too much."
I gave a tired smile.
"I don't care if you're rude. And… thanks. It means something, I guess."
"And by the way," Carl added as we walked, "don't take what the old man said to heart. I know he can come off rough, but he really looked out for me when I was just starting out."
"I figured," I replied. "I was expecting something like that."
Apparently, the middle-aged man was Carl's uncle. Just looking out for the team, it seemed.
Looks can be deceiving.
Carl then took the time to introduce me to the other members of the patrol. Most of them were friendly. Some still looked skeptical—but I couldn't really blame them.
After a while, I made my way toward the canteen for dinner.
And there he was again—Alec.
I still had questions I needed answers to. So I approached him, casually but directly.
"Why didn't you tell me you were in my patrol team?" I asked.
He turned, not surprised at all.
"Why?" he repeated, then paused. "Well, I thought you already had an idea."
Now that I thought about it… when I left the castle after the appointment, he did seem oddly unsurprised. I hadn't even asked him what position he was given.
So maybe… I shared some of the blame.
"Still," I muttered.
But it didn't matter now. No matter who I had to lead—even if they were more skilled than me—I was ready.
Still, the question lingered in my head:
How does he really feel about being led by someone weaker than him?
Before I could voice it, he spoke.
"Doesn't matter now, Chief," he said.
"I'll do my best to follow and execute your commands."
"…Thanks," I said, a little faintly.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Why are you thanking me? Isn't that a given?"
"No… I'm thanking you for trusting me to lead you into battle."
"Trust in battle, huh? You still have to earn that." He said half-jokingly.
And then we finished our dinner making casual small talk along the way.
******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
*________*
There I stood in the rain, outside an old tavern in the heart of a town I knew all too well.
Of course—it was my hometown. How could I forget?
I reached for the door. The wood was old, weathered by time and seasons. As it opened, it let out a long, aching creak that echoed faintly into the night.
Inside, the air was colder than the rain.
And the smell—distinct, unforgettable.
The sharp, metallic tang of blood.
Still lingering. Still the same.
***************************************************************************************
Today was the day.
Today, I was to be assigned my first patrol team mission.
Today, I would truly get to prove myself.
It was the middle of the night. The air remained chilly, a lingering holdover from the day's rains.
I readied myself and headed toward the Forest of Ars, where my patrol team was stationed near the lakeside.
Carl was the first to greet me, quickly handing over a report of the events I'd missed while receiving my orders.
Apparently, Lyon and Raque had discovered a hidden path—one that led straight to a Velmera Kingdom military camp.
Those two were always sharp. For them to uncover such a trail in such a short time was impressive.
Or maybe... too impressive?
Was it a trap?
I didn't have the luxury to ponder. There was a mission to lead.
I instructed Alec to gather the patrol team for an emergency meeting.
Once everyone had assembled, I stepped forward.
"Our patrol team has received an official mission order," I announced. "The objective is to locate and neutralize a Velmera army camp—estimated to be about 50 men strong, according to intel from nearby patrols. Thanks to the efforts of our comrades, we've identified a path to their location. That said, we can't yet confirm whether this path is genuine—or a setup."
Just as I finished, the gruff voice of Vlias cut through the night air.
"We've already found the path to their base! So why don't we just rush in? We outnumber them—82 to 50. If we wait, we'll lose the upper hand!"
"That is true, but—"
Cutting me off, Carl stepped forward.
"We can't act too radically in this situation. We have to think about all the possibilities and devise a plan first. If we charge in now, with sheer force, we'll suffer heavy casualties. We can't risk that!"
"In war, there are always casualties, kid." Vlias said bluntly.
Silence fell over the room.
"Let the Chief decide our next course of action," Alec stated, calm and unwavering.
All eyes turned toward me.
Two opposing views. Two valid truths. And one decision to make.
"If we act now without thinking, we may not get a chance to regroup or prepare for the consequences. So instead, we'll move decisively—but with a plan. One that gives us the upper hand before the first strike."
And with that, Operation Velmera Camp was set in motion.
"I'm glad you agreed with my suggestion," Carl said with a grin.
"I didn't agree to anything," I replied. "I'm doing what's best for all of us."
Over the next five hours, we devised our assault strategy using every bit of intelligence available—both from nearby patrols and our informants.
Our Forces:
25 Mages, specializing in fire and water magic.
57 Swordsmen, the majority trained in Heaven's Play and Heath's Play, with a small number proficient in Shadow's Play.
Phase 1: Reconnaissance
Before committing forces, we'd send 2–3 Shadow's Play swordsmen to confirm whether the hidden path was a trap. Their stealth skills made them ideal for this task.
Phase 2: Decoy Strike
If the path proved safe, we'd deploy a decoy team of 10 Heaven's Play swordsmen to launch a frontal assault. Their job: provoke the enemy then fall back, luring the enemy toward the ambush zone.
Phase 3: Ambush Setup
The ambush zone was a dense part of the forest with low visibility and limited movement.
Frontline: Heath's Play swordsmen, whose defensive counters would shine in close quarters.
Flanks: Heaven's Play swordsmen, using their speed and aggression to collapse in from the sides.
Reserve: Injured troops and several mages, ready to reinforce as needed.
The mages had critical roles:
Fire mages would unleash wide-area spells once the enemy was funneled into the kill zone.
Water mages would create slippery, uneven terrain—hampering the enemy's footing.
The plan, on paper, was solid.
But...
If the enemy overwhelmed our decoy team before they could fall back, the trap would be blown. We'd be forced to fall back on our reserves and improvise under pressure.
It wasn't perfect. But it was the best plan we had with the time and information available.
And so, we decided—if it turned out to be a trap, we would retreat and re-engage at a later date.
The time had come.
Phase One of the plan was in motion.
Three Shadow's Play swordsmen silently moved through the forest, cloaked by night.
Their stealth skills kept them safely hidden as they advanced along the hidden path.
Bushes rustled faintly with their movement.
They inspected everything—checking for wires, enchantments, sigils.
Nothing.
No traps. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Yet, the silence in the forest was louder than a battlefield of a hundred men.
Their goal: Confirm the enemy's presence.
And then—they saw it.
Faint flickering lights at the end of the path.
It was the enemy.
The camp had been found.
But something felt... off.
One scout noted the abnormal movement within the camp for such a late hour.
It was as if the enemy knew they were being watched.
As if they expected us.
Still, they confirmed the target, and so Phase Two commenced.
*********************************************************************************************
We were tasked with raiding the Ars base camps scattered across this forest about a month ago.
None of us truly understood the purpose behind this mission. "Raiding," they called it—but in reality, we were just… sent here. Were we buying time? Stalling for something? I always suspected this camp had a deeper objective, but none of the officers gave us a straight answer.
We hadn't received official orders in weeks. It was starting to feel like Velmera had abandoned us.
No—no, that couldn't be true. Could it?
We knew full well the enemy scouts had discovered our presence. Their eyes were on us. And yet, without a leader, we were powerless to act.
Tension hung thick in the air. The entire camp was stiff as stone.
Even the faintest rustle in the bushes made men flinch.
I'd been tasked with scouting the nearby forest, checking for enemy traces. Same routine every night. Same creeping anxiety.
This mission didn't seem like it would end anytime soon.
Yet I'd made a promise to my sister—I'd be home by the new year.
"Two weeks left," I muttered, rubbing the locket my sister gave me. New Year's promise or not, I'll see you again.
The sky was silent. A deep, uncaring silence.
I didn't know what the others were up to, but I noticed a group of mages gathered at a corner of the camp, casting spells into a pre-drawn magic circle. Their faces were unreadable.
"Wonder what that's for…" I thought absently.
Then I saw it—out of the corner of my eye.
A faint glimmer. A figure shifting between shadows.
The enemy scouts had found us.
*********************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Ten of our most experienced Heaven's Play swordsmen—Intermediate to Veteran level—were deployed to the camp with one simple, yet crucial order:
"Lure the enemy and fall back at all cost."
As they advanced, the rest of our forces—mages, swordsmen, and reserves—began moving into position to form the setup zone.
Phase Three required us to stealthily surround the enemy from the sides and prepare for the ambush.
Frontlines. Flanks. Reserves. Decoys.
Everything was set.
Now, all we had to do was wait—hidden in the foliage, hearts pounding.
I was positioned on the right flank with several other Heaven's Play swordsmen and a group of fire mages.
Alec and Carl had taken their places in the frontline, both well-suited for Heath's Play.
I didn't worry about them. I knew they were stronger than me.
I only needed to focus on doing my part.
45 minutes passed.
Then, we heard it.
The enemy... pursuing. Just as planned.
They were falling into our trap.
The water mages had already made the ground slick and unstable.
Their predicted path was dead-on.
The frontline swordsmen were ready.
The flanking mages had begun casting.
As soon as the first of them came into view, I shouted:
"NOW!"
My command echoed through the trees.
The ambush began.
The frontline engaged first, clashing with brutal precision.
Heath's Play in close quarters—unyielding.
Flanks collapsed in from both sides.
Fire mages rained destruction onto the funneling enemy troops.
Their mages fell quickly—overwhelmed and surrounded.
The entire Velmera force was thrown into chaos.
Despite the intensity, the battle ended... almost too quickly.
The enemies were crushed.
We lost 8 men.
They were either dead or captured.
It was over.
Just like that.
We could have avoided casualties… if we were a little more precise with our plan.
Or were the casualties inevitable?
Did I make the right choice to battle at all?
Looking down at the blood-stained ground, I tightened my grip around my sword—its blade still warm from the fight, now painted in red.
What did I just lead them into?
Just then, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"You did good for your first time leading, kid. Now get some rest."
It was Vlias.
I turned slightly. "Didn't know you were the comforting type," I said, trying to lighten the heavy air.
He gave a half-grin, then walked past me.
I stood there a moment longer, letting the weight of it all settle in.
My first mission… was over.
And somehow, almost flawlessly.
***********************************************************************************************************************************************
The sun was rising. We prepared to return to the enemy camp at dawn—around 7 AM—to investigate what remained.
It was protocol. Even though they likely took anything of value, any clue could help in the next battle.
I led a team of 15 swordsmen, along with Carl, to the site.
The camp was eerily quiet.
Lifeless. Deserted.
"You'd think victory would feel better than this." Carl said looking around in an almost dejected tone.
Everyone split up to search for remnants of any intelligence left behind.
As I walked through the barren, lifeless land, my foot pressed against something hidden in the soil. A trap?
I didn't think so. I crouched down to inspect it.
It was a locket.
When I opened it, I was met with the image of a young girl—perhaps five or six years old—holding a violet close to her flushed cheeks. Her smile was soft. Innocent.
This locket clearly belonged to someone. It meant something to them.
I stared at it for a while. Then, without a word, I buried it.
Making my way down the camp.
I stepped into a torn tent—its fabric scorched and shredded.
Inside, I found a small wooden box.
It looked ordinary.
I opened it.
Inside was just one piece of paper.
As if... they knew it would be found.
Its title:
"Operation B."
I frowned.
What was this?
I flipped the paper and began reading midway:
"...if we find the enemy base, we will set up explosive spells beneath their camp."
Thank God that didn't happen.
I kept reading.
"If we don't—and they find ours first—Operation B will commence."
My eyes froze on the next line.
"In the worst case scenario, we set explosive spells in our own cam-"
That's when I heard it.
A thunderous roar cracked through the air — the kind of sound that doesn't echo, because it doesn't need to.
My heart dropped.
It had begun.
****************************************************************************************************************************************************
I was tasked with reporting the success of the mission back to the castle.
Though it took some time, I'd prepared a report outlining the essential details—strategy, execution, losses. By all accounts, it had been a flawless victory.
I'll admit, I was skeptical of Elias's plan at first—using decoys to lure the enemy into an ambush felt risky. But it worked. Every piece moved into place like he intended.
Still, I could tell Elias wasn't celebrating. That's just who he is.
Even when he succeeds, he sees only where he fell short. It's what makes him so honest—both with himself and with the rest of us. He questions himself, but he never turns away from what needs to be done.
Before setting off, I asked Vlias to accompany me to the castle. A man of his reputation could smooth things out with the higher-ups.
He grumbled, of course. Said he hated politics.
But in the end, he agreed.
We mounted our horses.
The morning air was still, the sky beginning to clear—until a sudden blast cracked through the silence. A sound like thunder, but too close. Too violent.
An explosion—powerful enough to rattle the forest and darken the sky with ash.
It came from the direction of the enemy's abandoned camp.
From where Elias and the others had gone.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
Without a word, I signaled for reinforcements.
Then Vlias and I kicked our heels into our horses and charged toward the smoke.
****************************************************************************************************************************************************
If I try to open my eyes, they'll burn.
If I try to stand, I might not have legs left to carry me.
If I try to scream for help, I might find I've already lost my voice.
We take our senses for granted.
It's only when they're stripped from us that we realize how brutal this world is without them.
I was crawling—endlessly, or maybe just barely.
Time lost all meaning. Seconds felt like hours. Or maybe it was hours.
Was anyone coming?
I couldn't tell. I couldn't care. Survival was the only thought my broken body could hold.
Each breath burned.
Each inch forward felt like dragging a corpse.
The last thing I remember before the darkness swallowed me whole was,
The screams...
They were getting quieter with every crawl.
Not because they were fading.
Because I was, or maybe.
We both were.