As the sun descended, Gabriel found himself amidst a somber congregation. A ritualistic grid of fires adorned the field, casting a flickering glow on the fresh earth of hastily dug graves. The flames seemed almost like sentinels, guardians of the fallen, yet their light was too feeble to illuminate the depths of sorrow on the surrounding faces.
Earlier in the day, when he had walked back from the battlefield, a gnawing hunger took hold of him. He found some bread and stew and ate ravenously. He couldn’t remember a time when he had ever eaten more. Only once had he ever been so hungry. It was as if he yearned to fill both his stomach and the profound emptiness within.
Afterwards, he searched the faces of the soldiers in the camp, hoping to find the man who saved him in the battle. He scoured the camp, then the makeshift infirmary. But his savior was nowhere to be found. Gabriel resigned himself to the truth. He’s dead. He gave up his life to protect me. How many more will die because I couldn’t protect myself? The soldier was swallowed by the anonymity of death, a hero without a name to be thanked. But Gabriel would remember him.
After that realization, Gabriel needed to find a semblance of purpose. He made his way to the soldiers digging. Olof was among them. When their eyes met, Olof spoke just one word, “Graves.” Gabriel understood. Nothing more needed to be said.
He grimly picked up a shovel and joined in the solemn task. Each scoop of the earth was a monumental effort to his tired body. But the pain was inconsequential, drowned out by the imperative to honor the men who had died. It was labor born of respect and necessity, a salve for wounds far more profound than flesh.
Now he was seeing these graves filled with the bodies of the fallen. The commander stood in front of the congregation of soldiers. He was saying farewell to the dead. But Gabriel couldn’t concentrate on what was being said. Instead, his thoughts meandered through a maze of faces and memories, lingering on those he had lost. What would Ma think of my choices? She had always preached the virtues of non-violence, yet he vividly remembered her deftly hurling knives and parrying soldiers with nothing more than a candlestick. He had already taken so many lives; could she ever forgive him for the blood he'd spilled? Tunklard too would be disappointed in what he'd become. He could almost hear his disapproving voice. I'm sorry, teacher.
Yet the necessities of war had given him little choice. Enemies needed to be defeated to safeguard those he cared for. Even so, the weight of his actions bore heavily upon his conscience. His mind shifted to his friends, his sister—what would their judgments be?
And then there was Ser Rodrick, his mentor from a past life. He had been training him to be the General of Accamania, and now Gabriel found himself fighting for Balatia. He lowered his head, wrestling with his thoughts, as the master’s words echoed through time. ‘When raiders from the Eastern Continent assail our lands, who will stand for the innocent? For the women and children? Will they be better served by meeting their fate unprotected? Being a warrior means being the people's shield.’ Those words had never rung truer.
I will be that shield, he vowed silently.
Jolted back to the here and now, Gabriel's eyes focused on the ceremony unfurling before him. One after another, each soldier stooped to touch the earth, cradling a handful of soil. As if directed by an unseen conductor, they released the soil into the open graves, a tribute to their fallen comrades. In this shared act, they collectively let go, returning those they had lost to the elemental embrace from which all life originated.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
As the ceremony progressed, the air became saturated with a haunting melody, a mournful ballad that seemed to emanate from the core of the assembled soldiers.
“With courage and valor, they touched the sky.
Now, they live on as stars so bright,
Under Victra's ever-watchful light.
Though death is dark, these men shone right,
In heavens above, they've taken their flight.
So, we sing in their name, with sorrow and tears,
For they shine in the heavens and forever in our hearts.”
The lyrics were foreign to Gabriel, yet he understood the raw emotion conveyed, for they pierced his soul. He looked around and saw even the most fearsome warriors shedding tears for their fallen comrades. The air was thick, not just with the smell of damp earth and burnt wood but also with the heavy weight of grief.
Some of the soldiers started to walk away, their feet dragging against the earth. Others stayed, staring silently at the graves. The commander subtly shook, as if to wake himself from a stupor. Then he purposely approached Gabriel, his stride confident and purposeful. When he was a few hands spans away, his eyes studied Gabriel’s. “You disobeyed orders.” His tone was stern, but there was an undercurrent of something softer.
Gabriel bowed his head. “I apologize for not following orders.” But then he realized something. He wasn’t sorry at all. He looked up at the commander and held his gaze firmly. “But I would do it again.”
The commander's face broke into a pained smile. “I'm glad you did what you did, Little Wolf.”
“You’re the second person to call me that today?”
“The soldiers have taken the liberty of giving you a moniker. Officially, only the King can bestow a name upon a warrior, but perhaps one day you'll earn that too.”
Gabriel blinked rapidly. “I don't deserve a name.”
“Perhaps you don't, or perhaps you do.” the commander paused, rubbing his stubbled chin. “Either way, after what we've been through, the men needed a source of inspiration, a symbol to rally around.”
Gabriel nodded, understanding the gravity of what was being said, but taken aback by what they were calling him.
“Are you well?” Galland asked.
“I'm better than most,” Gabriel gestured to the graves.
“So, word has it you're considering the academy for further training?”
“Yes,” Gabriel said, too quickly.
“Even after witnessing all the carnage and bloodshed, you don't yearn for a simpler, quieter life?”
“It's not about glory or thrill-seeking.” Gabriel's voice was tinged with a solemnity that belied his age. “Someone needs to protect Valandor from those who threaten it, from the savages we fought.”
“All of Valandor?”
The four kingdoms had been locked in perpetual conflict for centuries—invading, killing, and annexing each other's lands. Accamania was embroiled in a struggle with Galatia while tension simmered between Balatia and Eldoria. Yet, to Gabriel, none of those territorial disputes seemed to matter. They paled in comparison to the dire threat they now faced—foreign invaders, monstrous warriors, and dark disciples of Ash intent on slaughtering the innocent.
“No, whatever anger we hold toward the other kingdoms, it is nothing compared to this new threat. This evil.”
The commander looked thoughtful, perhaps even wary. Gabriel realized he might have disclosed too many of his thoughts. But then the commander broke the silence. “Tomorrow, at dawn. Meet me at the same place I saw you training in the evening light. I'll begin your training.”
Gabriel's eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest. He had been waiting for this opportunity—a chance to learn what it took to be part of the academy, to become stronger, and to be the best. Too many had died in the recent battle, and the grim reality weighed on him. I must get stronger, he thought fervently. For their sake, for my sake—I must.