He sat on one knee and plunged his sword, red with the filthy blood of his enemy, into the damp earth. His piercing gaze swept the battlefield.

The flowers, colorful until a few days ago, had been reduced to a few stalks, crushed by the soldiers' feet. The lush green grass that had covered the valley from one end to the other had turned to blood-soaked dung. The birds that days ago had filled the valley with their voices were gone. Sounds had vanished except for the groans of men in pain, the clash of metal on metal, and the sound of arrows piercing the air. This land that had borne the grace of Mother Nature was now stained with the corrupt aura of death.

He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. The lines on his face where the blood had collected were signs of the wisdom that time had given him. His eyes met pure eyes in the distance, eyes that had not yet experienced the world. He hurried toward the owner of the naive eyes. With each step, the traces of innocence and hope were erased as they collided with the realities of war.

The young man's inner struggle had turned into a whirlwind of mental turmoil as his eyes wavered between lust for life and fear. Though he was only 12 years old, the weight of life weighed heavily on his shoulders. The gods had abandoned him before he could face them on the dark field of battle, leaving him to face the harsh realities of nature.

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 Strength seemed to be the only way for a man to survive. Even the darkest moments of the night could not hide man's fears. That's why every step in life was a challenge to live.

The fate of the weak was to wait in the silent streets of broken cities, in the cruel embrace of cold death. Those embracing arms slowly destroyed their bodies that desperately tried to resist the soft but deadly touch of the cold. The gray clouds in the sky fell upon them like curtains of death.

He clutched the sword in his hand to gather his strength in this inner struggle where the victor was uncertain. The sword in his hand symbolized his determination and courage; he clenched it until his fingers turned white. The more he clenched his sword, the more confident he became. He made his sword a partner in the fight for life that was offered to him.  The fear in his eyes fueled his fight. Finally, the will to live overcame his fear...