In the depth of the bustling barracks sound, a man quietly looks up at the drab sky. Withdraw the gaze to his hand, catching the sight of a slight tremble. Coldness invaded the rough skin, leaving its trace on the blushed fingertips. The piercing north wind escorts the pure white snow. Each snowflake gently kisses the black eyes, on the rough hand in the tearing tone of golden ensigns. A ray of fright vaguely strangled the beating heart, leaning on the snow lurking deep in his soul.

“Axl!” Turn around, their gazes melting into one. Taciturnly adores each of his sweet lines, Axl’s smile is as light as the soft snowflakes. A silhouette merely enough to chase away the besieging cold of the north. “You shouldn’t go out here.” Though he left out a rare scold, the scarf on his neck quickly wraps around Reid’s collar. Staring at the man before him, an unexplainable melancholy was hidden under his smiling countenance. They were alike. A natural instinct before any battle? Soon, when the war horn rises, this place will be a hell upon earth. The final word in this power-craving game. He wrapped his hands in his, their warmth pouring through the intertwined fingers. “No matter what happens, I will never let go of your hands.”

…

Theodore, after preparing the necessary supplies along with documents, finally decides to take a small break. Placing the last sheets on the table, he steps out of the army tent, only to be greeted by snowflakes and freezing breezes. Nevertheless, he believes it is still a nice change after hours of working in a stuffy tent and continuing to stroll around the large camp. Being built within days after the declaration of Hyram, this will be their temporary home for quite a while, certainly until this meaningless war comes to an end. Several thoughts came through his mind, while the navy pearls still found themselves glancing upon everything and their tents, now trembling under the merciless cold. And to the open patch of land, where Theodore can capture a clear image of what is on the other side, is much bigger compared to them.

Only at this moment did he realize that Alderic had been nowhere to be found since the early hours of the day. Out of this chaotic place, there must be one that he could be in - the strategic tent. Now standing at the front, indeed, a familiar figure reaches his vision. Here lies a man embraced by a long, black uniform with silver buttons, surrounded by other advisors. Though he is still in deep discussion of the strategy for the war, the footsteps of Theodore grabbed his attention. Turning his head back, shines those vibrant emerald eyes, with night-like hair that has already surrendered some of its strands from lack of rest, once again gazing upon him in surprise. "Consider that we end here today, commander.” Those are the last words of an advisor before him, and eventually, everyone else takes a leave from the tent. He then pulls out a chair, waving Theodore to settle in. “All medicine and equipment are ready.”

Contrary to his passion, the solemn expression painted on his face speaks differently. “Please stay here. There will be guards protecting you.” Alderic turns his back to Theodore, avoiding the rain in those eyes. “You know I won’t-” Before Theodore can finish, the shouting tone of Alderic, for the first time appears. “This is the General order!” His words, his shaking back, leave Theodore in astonishment. As if nothing could confound his decision. Staying silent, Theodore takes the fur cape and then walks to Alderic. A light touch on his back eventually falls to his hand, Theodore coaxing his trembling general. Gently wrap the fur on his shoulders, only the quiet gaze fixing on Theodore’s moves. “I won’t change my mind.” His stern voice falls upon his head while Theodore still assiduously tightens the knot of the armor. Replying with a smile, the doctor picks up his sword. The silver sword belongs to a lord, a general, with its sharp lines of silver shining under the flickering light. Reaching the sword to its master, a look of determination dyed the navy gaze, “Then kill me. I will not stand still and see you hurt.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Pain crossed through his charming lines upon his lover’s choice. His hands are now gripping the doctor’s shoulder tightly. “I can’t lose you. Not again!” His voice bore such heartache tone. Yet, a hand softly caresses his cheek, come along the soothing voice washing over his wavering mind. “Let me fight with you.” A light kiss falls on his eyes. “Let me fight for you.” A soft kiss landed on his cheek. “We will always be together, I promise.” He kisses the general’s lips corner. Immediately pulling Theodore into a tight embrace, his lips quickly locked with the doctor. A kiss of cherish and yearning, carrying all his confides. Alderic’s warm breath fell and hovered around his lips. “There was no way that I would say 'no' to your kiss. If I was going to go into battle... then your kiss would be my battlecry.” Leaning their foreheads together, Alderic whispered, “Even when the stars flicker out, I will stay by your side through it all. I will protect you till my last breath, it is my solemn promise.”

…

The war horn raises the heroic song of warcry knights. Rises the heroes written their names in the immortal tales. Their commander, Alderic Livius Sylvester, lord of the North, general of the first army, leads ahead. On the night-like fur cape, knights and soldiers bow at his sight. Climbing on the dark horse, the soldiers quickly deploy decently behind. The golden flag flying in the screaming wind now raises forward in the howling. The whistle tore the air, sending a black raven landing on his arm. “I’m counting on you, old friend.” Like in arrow, the raven falls into the sky, joining the warlike heroes. Escape the scabbard, the silver sword cutting through the adust snow, lighting the flame of war.

“Fight for our final battle, comrades. Fight for us, the heroes. The triumph of victory shall be ours!” Bathed in utter majesty, they sing the song of the battlefield. With bows and blades, they rise ahead. Yearning for blood to boil in the flame of rage. Fearless warriors, they will write their own stories. The first bricks of a revolutionary reign shall be in their hands.

Fearless warriors, do not be afraid of what awaits ahead.

“Amber, prepare for-” The world suddenly turns around, forcing Sheritre to fall down to the ground. A painful headache strikes her, sending an unbearable pain creeping through her body. The hyacinth necklace burned on her neck. “Sheritre, are you alright?” Yet none of Amber’s concerns can reach Sheritre. Waves of broken images invaded her mind like a wrathful ocean. Blood… Death. Fire burns her skin. Tears… Blades. Agony devours her soul. A familiar figure with a blade cutting the snow… The silver eyes jolted open. Amber quickly held the priest, guiding her to the chair. “Don’t force yourself. I will get some water.” The blurry sight of Amber disappeared before Sheriche could see clearly. No matter how many minutes passed by, the mist in her eyes still did not vanish. Holding her head, cold sweats soaking her white cloak.

The man with night-like hair. The blades in his hand dye in sinful blood.