Calming are the whispers of the wind. The rattling of the tree leaves, the revolving air quietly grazing your ears and skin, the grass swaying in a dancing manner. One can have all the problems of the world, but when one truly listens and takes in the beauty of nature, all is well.

On top of a grassy hill, surrounded by deep green pine trees, a young female commander stood and immersed herself in the landscape. In the far ends of her vison stood a great mountain range covered in snow and glaciers. In front of her, the hill began to descend into a deep forest, with no end to the bottom in sight. The woman closed her eyes and surrendered herself to its beauty.

Looking upon her, one might assume her to be of some royal status. Indeed, she wore a silver earring to her right, grasping something akin to a dark green pearl by twisting the metal, like roots intertwining, and enveloping the almost perfect sphere. Her neck, too, revealed a rather valuable-looking part of jewelry. The average fellow might assume that it was made of silver as well, though that could simply not be the case, as it had a touch of bright whiteness, making this artefact almost mystical. The further to the center the necklace went, the more beautiful and complex its pattern. Indeed, the structure and artistic style itself would remind one of a snowflake.

The young commander’s fair brown hair was tied up into a ponytail, with some whisps falling to the front of her face, reaching the lower eyelids. Her dark blue eyes, on the other hand, looked sharp, and with purpose, into the deep horizon. Her full and pinkish lips remained in a stoic, to the sides slightly upwards, creasing position, while her straight and curved nose gave her an elegant appearance. She was, without a doubt, a remarkably beautiful young woman.

As her uniform, she wore a snow-white overcoat, which folded to the left of her neck, revealing a small part of her violet uniform below. The overcoat went well below her legs, almost reaching her feet. Three gold buttons closed her coat from the waist up. Her hip was tightly wrapped by a broad dark brown belt, coated with gold on the corners. To the left of her belt hung a Sabre, the handle folded in a crossed white fabric. The scabbard reflected in its golden coating, which connected to the very bottom of the handle. The blade itself was formed in a brilliant, slightly curved silver alloy, making it highly durable, but not taking anything away from its supposed flexibility. Below, she wore black fitted trousers, which were only visible from the front. Her military boots matched her dark brown belt, and were delicately strung together, reaching her lower shin.

The sounds of boots pressing wet grass ended the clear sounds of nature. To her back, a man in black uniform approached, going up a grass hill.

From his appearance one could rightfully assume that he held a higher position in the military, more accurately that of a high officer. This was easily discernible by the silver cross the man wore on his neck, which gave quite the remarkable contrast to his black uniform and the stand collar with white marked symbols. Here again we need to elaborate further. The all-black coat was tightly wrapped by a broad belt in near gray tone, which, to the left of his hip, held an iron sword in its silver sheath (A beautiful sword, though not comparable to the commander’s Sabre). Boots and lower wear were also in a similar black tone (and here, quite like that of the commander), though what would strike the eye first was the golden epaulette on his left shoulder. The symbol of a hunting hawk was engraved on its surface, which coincidentally (although we must always question the nature of coincidence) complemented the narrow and focused eyes of the man. One might even say his broad stature, as well as his sharp, and efficient movements, created a similar impression of the predatory animal. Just below these markings, the epaulette held a dark red cloth on its ends, reaching all the way to the upper parts of the elbow, and showing a striking contrast of color.

The sound of grass being squashed of its rainwater was now louder than anything, and then it suddenly came to a halt.

“Helena,” the man called out in an elevated voice. “Our Men have cleaned up the camp, we can continue the march.”

The commander, who was all the while still absorbed in the scenery, gave a slight nod, while still looking away.

The woman, again having her eyes closed, lowered her chin slightly and let the wind pass through her for one last moment before speaking. “Yes, that we should do. Tell the aides-de-camp to begin the march 305 Degrees to the north-west.” She let a small pause set in and turned to the man, “We could expect some resistance on the way, so be on guard. We are already way past enemy territory, so one mistake can cost us dearly.”

“Yes, commander. ” The man nodded, turned, and went down the grass hill to the other soldiers.

For the last time she looked back, framing this moment in her mind.

In a time of war, when so many moments create horrifying images, the mind aches for the Beautiful.

But the duty calls, and her head turned to her legion.

The further down she went, the more the hill uncovered of the stationed force. Of what before were hundreds of beige tainted tents, now only appeared hundreds of brown mudded spots. The legion was ready to march, with more and more people lining up in rows of six at the old, paved road to the right of the forest.

Seeing the progress, the commander eyed the front-center of the formation. Her officers, dressed in the familiar black uniforms, were on standby with her horse. Their positioning, not being at the very front of the army, was to ensure that any immediate threat wouldn’t harm the leadership. With a steady pace, she continued her walk while occasionally looking at the earth-stained grass to the left of her, which clearly stained the open field in the middle of the forest. It was somehow disturbing to her. The land, with all its beautiful and healthy colors, changed so radically with her.

Upon reaching her horse, the soldiers around her nodded in acknowledgement. All soldiers wore a grayish light coat, tucked in under a black belt, holding general equipment like swords, sometimes even medical equipment. Soldiers in the outer row carried shields and swords, while those in the inner part carried bows.

She gave her officers a sudden glance. As the commander mounted her horse, they noticed her signal and immediately brought out their whistles, sounding the start of the march.

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The sun is setting lower, grazing through the forest of dark pine trees. The snow is now almost entirely gone, though the cold remains. The legion is dead silent.

Among the thousands of men, there is no chatter. But the heavy tension is felt by everyone. Being so deep in enemy territory, with every step piercing further, brings no ease to the soldiers. All soldiers may look stoic and disciplined at first glance, but their senses and emotions are like a rising storm, barely controlled by the companionship around their fellow men. Individually, some grip their hilts more tightly, others may have a stiff march but most wander with their eyes, even if their head is in a fixed position to the front. Everyone is in inner turmoil, but they are in turmoil together, and for soldiers that is enough, if they are with people they trust.

To the front, the commander is seen to all in upright posture, with a piercing gaze to the front, and an unwavering demeanor. It makes everyone more reassured of their cause, even if they’re unaware of it. Her confidence in her success radiates, and nourishes the soldiers, like a plant nourishes from the sun.

At once, a faint galloping of a horse can be heard in the distance, disturbing the equilibrium of marching sounds in the company. The commander instinctively puts her fingers near her hilt. In an instant however, she realizes it to be one of her scouts coming in to report. Giving a quick glance to both sides, she notices her officers’ initial tension easing into subtle curiosity.

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“Commander!” The scout shouted, removing his green veil, and unconsciously leaking a hint of his excitement from his upright façade. “We have not encountered any enemy troops or signs to the coastline.” Now standing near the two mounted officers, the scout seemed even more agitated up close. “We have discovered a Fort on the coastline. About four miles from here.”

A flicker of surprise crossed the commander’s face. Around her, soldiers passed along the message, with a wave of relief spreading at the news of no immediate danger. “A fort?” she said carefully. “I was not given any intel of fortifications on the coastline.” Her gaze now narrowed at the scout to the front.

“Well, yes.” The scout continued carefully. “Our intel had no mention of resource rich areas or fortifications. We strongly believe it is not part of their official army.” Some soldiers turned and exchanged confused glances. If not part of the army, what purpose would the fort have? “We have not found any signs of it being occupied though. It seems to be abandoned.”

This made her look to the front of the road for a moment in introspection. The shimmering amber light, penetrating the pines, gave her some sense of clarity, and for a couple heartbeats she considered the weight of the situation before coming to a decision. “Very well. We will march to a position near the fort and make further plans from there.” Her officers gave each other a worried glance before instinctively nodding at her order, if not hesitantly. They too suspected a possible trap.

She looked back to her left at the lone scout. “Edwin, ensure the area is secure when we arrive. Also, continue to observe the fort for any possible danger.” The scout nodded without delay at her words. “You’re dismissed.”

The message could ease the legion’s tension at least somewhat, making them march the given distance with less concern and steadier confidence.

Upon reaching the coastline, the commander’s field of vision turned from a sparkling amber-red light coming through the trees into a clear and soft sunset, touching upon the calm waves, going back and forth in a quiet and rhythmic manner. The castle sat, not far from them. It stood in the sunset like a dark and sharp rock, carved from the mountain.

The commander was somehow in awe. The castle was black as the night yet fit remarkably well with the soft amber sunset in the back. Looking through her brown-tinted magnifying glass, no enemy soldier or any hints of occupation were visible. It stood completely abandoned, as her scouts reaffirmed.

But something about this place made her uneasy. It stood like an ancient, forgotten site, ­­­yet why would something like that be here, alone, on an isolated and remote shore.

“Should we continue the march along the coast?” An officer spoke hesitantly. She was not alone in her unease.

The commander, already having made a decision, spoke reassuringly to all her officers. “We are already nearing the limit of our given perimeter.” She looked back at the fort, blending in with the calm scenery. “I believe it to be best to search the fortress. Thereafter we will make our way back to the rendezvous-point. The Grande-Army can take over from here.”

Without another word, the four officers followed the commander across the sandy shores toward the unknown fortress.

It was all so bizarre. But she was, with no doubt, sure she should enter the fort. Why? She didn’t know herself. No, she couldn’t know herself! There are those rare moments in life, when you are so sure of yourself that even the most daring odds cannot convince you of any denial. A moment where the rational mind is completely unreliable, even in what seems to you a perfectly rational situation. The commander found herself in that precise instance. Although she wouldn’t admit it, something was calling for her in this timeless structure.

With the darkness and emptiness storming out of the gates, one would expect her to be reminded of a desperate and abominable memory of her own. But as the commander passed through the slow, squeaking gates, and the chilling air tensing her heart, she couldn’t help but think of a sanctuary. Yet this place was far from holy and reflected none of the peace she felt within.

“Commander!” A scout halted her immersion in the atmosphere. “We have found a body in the dungeon. I think you want to see this.”

She turned toward the grey bearded man. “What?” All the while a deep frown disturbed the grace of her facial beauty. Realizing her unrestrained response, she recollected herself and continued. “I was under the impression the fortress had been abandoned.”

The scout nodded. “Yes. We strongly believe this still to be the case. This outpost is completely empty. No food supplies, no weapons or medical equipment could be found.” The scout nervously glanced at the dark, empty space, noting his companions as they examined the charcoaled walls for anything hidden from sight. He turned back to the commander. “They even took the candles and firewood. It’s as if the place hadn’t been occupied for a while.” His eyes narrowed as he looked beyond the commander. With his final breath, he hid his disturbance of his last words. “Yet, there is someone in the dungeon.”

The scout led the way into a narrow opening, descending bulky, uneven stone stairs. The commander, now on her own two feet, struggled to see, as no light seeped in from outside. Only the scout’s flickering torch gave her any sense of direction. As the two reached the bottom of the dungeon, the torchlight spread dimly through the hallway of the cellar. To their sides were walls made of large bulky rocks. She counted four metal doors, all having a sliding hatch barely larger than a thick book. With a hunched posture, she moved up close to one of the cellars to her right. She moved the hatch while narrowing her right eye to make room for the torch.

The dim light cast her small, shivering shadow on the stone paved ground. The uneven stones caused the shadows to flicker in intervals. There was no window or bed. Only the same weathered, heavy rocks made up all sides of the square shaped interior. The only object was a metal chain embedded in the rock wall to her right. The sight gave her a long shiver throughout her body, a deep cold spreading throughout her veins. With a tense body and a heavy weight on her chest her breathing became rigid and uneven.

She slowly turned back to her scout, disbelief clear on her face. Though he didn’t meet her gaze, his eyes were fixed on the ground. His discomfort was even more apparent, as he gripped his hands in an attempt to compose himself. Yet he felt her stare and spoke as if his heart ran cold. “All are empty, except the last one to the left.”

The commander eyed the door immediately. Her whole body stiffened; her chest compressed. But the scout’s words gave her a rush of determination, and her eyes pierced forward. She walked over, agitated, but firm. Reaching the door, she stopped herself from opening the hatch, deciding to open the door without sliding it open. She looked back at the man, who now met her gaze and stepped forward to unlock it with a rusty key.

He inserted the key, making the lock release high-pitched sounds as the rusty key ground against the corroded interior. A clicking noise made them turn toward each other, as the commander pulled the door open.

The door opened. What the two first noticed was the smell of rotten food, mounting at the entry. An even stronger smell of foul air hit them as the door opened completely sending ants scurrying into the corridor. The commander narrowed her eyes as the dim torchlight slowly lit the room. The first thing she saw was the arm, an incredibly narrow one. The skin seemingly covering bone alone. After another flicker of light, she saw, but only momentarily, the frail body of a child covered with an iron helmet. At the sight, she jumped over the mountain of rotten food without thought and rushed to the body. Forgetting her own discomfort, she lifted the naked child’s body and placed his metal helmet on her inner elbow.

“The key! Open the damn thing!” she shouted at the scout with panic in her voice. Though now she was unaware, or simply didn’t care.

The man rushed to the other side of the collapsed child, searching for the keyhole. His violently shaking hands touched around the metal mask in the hopes of finding a narrow opening. The commander gazed around the helmet and then laid her eyes on the chain that connected to the piece of metal. “There! The top- with the chain-”

The man widened his eyes as he saw the narrow black hole that didn’t reflect the torchlight. With haste he slid a key in.

-Ding-

It didn’t fit. Struck with panic he used another

-Ding-

Again, the wrong key. The scout cursed under his lips, his eyes almost bursting at the torture.

Finally, the key slid through and made a clicking sound. The chain and the back side of the helmet fell to the ground. The loud ringing noise muted the ears for a moment as the metal fell flat on the stone paved floor. With only the face plate remaining on the child’s face, the commander gently grabbed the piece of metal on the sides and lifted it up.

A boy with blue eyes appeared before the commander. His dry and coarse lips pressed together. The muscles on the starving child’s face pulled into hollow cheeks. All the features of his face hinted at the suffering he endured.

The boy looked into the commander’s hopeful eyes and his lips quivered into a faint smile.