Guided by the reverberating sound of the warhorn, the guardsmen mobilize.

At the same time, I feel something inside of me awakening. At that moment, something inside me awakens. Like a switch flipping, lucidity floods my mind, pulling me into a sharp, mechanical state. It’s not quite adrenaline, but still something vaguely familiar.

Kaytlinn lets go of my hand and slips away from beneath me, trying to stand back up on her feet, but something goes wrong, and her poor attempt makes her fall down to a kneel, hissing in slight pain.

“Kate! Are you alright?!” I yell, supporting myself onto a knee to stand back up. As I put pressure on it, a sharp stabbing pain makes me stagger, but I ultimately manage to keep my balance. Evidently, it hasn’t fully healed yet.

“Ah! Yes—” Her eyes dart in a dozen directions, before raising her head, taking a quick glance at me, and then finally looking back down at the ground. “I just– I fell on my ankle wrong, but I’ll be fine.”

Raising the hem of her pants, she begins inspecting her foot.

“Actually…” She continues, putting her cupped palm on the side of it in a massaging motion. “I-I think it’s twisted.”

Shit.

“S-S-Should we get back inside the hospital?” She asks me, visibly shaking.

“No.” I say, sternly.

“What? Why?”

I pause. Her question clung to me.

It’s true, her idea on the surface didn’t seem inherently wrong. We could’ve just gone to hide and wait this out, but something subtle just behind my own conscious reasoning was telling me not to.

I turn around to analyze the situation. The workers are mostly erratic, pushing each other around out or inside of buildings. A mother dashes towards her child, who’s playing with a wooden toy on the floor, snatching him into her arms without slowing down, running in a straight line away from the gates. A baker, crossbow in hand, tries to rally the crowd of citizens and calm them down, but it is useless, it’s everyone for themselves. The soldiers, however, while obviously on high alert, follow a logical pattern to their methods, every single one of them. Archers run on top of the walls in unison, readying their bow as soon as they arrive at an individually designated position. The infantrymen, in equally coordinated movements, prepare the mounted cannons with sacks of gunpowder, while the ground reinforcements stand in a line, shoulder to shoulder, brandishing their halberds, creating a barrier made out of flesh, steel and crimson.

This is the Emperor’s army, the force of Raspelia. Clean, organized, obedient show-offs.

Then, a second wave of those bulky arrows darkens the horizon. Thankfully, whoever is on the other side of those walls seems to have aimed for the troops in the front this time, giving me and Kaytlinn time to think of something before the next wave.

“Kate. Quick. Is there an escape route out of the fort besides the main entrance?”

I get another short glance from her, but it gets immediately interrupted as soon as there is eye contact.

“Uhm– There is. I think. Kind of.” She says, as I hop over to her, wrapping my arm around her neck in an attempt to sustain myself from falling, but also being careful not to put my entire weight on it.

“Kind of? What’s ‘kind of’? What does that mean?”

“Uh—”

“The short version of ‘kind of’ please.” I clarify, interrupting her before she can reply, encouraging her to start walking with a shoulder nudge.

A loud ‘boom’ is heard in the background. Something being hit, then rocks falling, followed by men groaning and the sound of units marching.

“The tunnels! The tunnels.” Kaytlinn yells.

“Tunnels. Of course. Okay. Give me the slightly longer version.”

She puts her own arm on my back, hobbling along with me, one foot at a time.

“The sapphire mines of this outpost.” She explains. “The tunnels. I think they’re connected to a cavern just outside of here. But—”

The cannons in the distance all fire together with a popping sound, cutting her out. She ducks her head down at the surprising noise.

“But what?” I impatiently urge her to continue.

“B-But I’m not… certain of it.” Her voice trembles.

I close my eyes, hitting the side of my fist against my forehead repeatedly in anger.

Our choices are between sitting here, twisting our thumbs, putting our faith in the small outpost garrison, somehow hoping they’ll be able to defend against an all out hostile attack, or try and escape using underground tunnels that could be connected to a cave system outside the fortress. On the other hand, if Kaytlinn is wrong, we could get trapped inside, risking the ceiling crumbling on top of us. That is, assuming it hasn’t already. A fine fucking mess.

“Can you walk?” I ask.

“Yes. But– what about Sarah, Julie, the others?”

“Kate. We’re deserting, remember? They’re Raspelians. They’re not going to abandon their posts. Forget about them.”

Kaytlinn looks at me in disbelief. She prepares to say something, to ask me ‘how could you say that?’, to condemn my comment, tell me I’m heartless—yet, deep down, there’s a mutual understanding between the two of us, the knowledge that my words were not far from the truth, the selfishness of our own survival.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

So, we keep limping. Slowly. As she guides me to our destination, conveniently enough in the opposite direction of the ensuing fight.

Again, another explosion, this time much closer. Several people scream. I look back to see that there’s now a massive hole in the bulwark, made by a trebuchet shot. The structure, moments after, begins collapsing, bringing along the archers standing on top of it and burying them in a grave of dust and debris. It’s as if the rubble itself starts bleeding, painting and spraying the stone below in guts and gore.

Far behind us, a knight shouts. “Breach! Retreat, retreat! Retreat!”

Shortly after, in an orderly fashion, the line of infantry falls back, gaining some space between themselves and the incoming enemy force. As they do, we reach the entrance of the mine: a dug out corridor, about three meters in height, going through one of the sandstone cliffs that the outpost is built upon, wooden beams nailed tightly onto one another to support the ceiling every few meters along the way. The beams seem sturdy enough to withstand a little ground vibration, but I still hesitate.

“Wait.” I tell Kate.

We stop.

“W-What is it?” She asks nervously.

“...Let’s wait. We should be fine for now. I’d like to avoid going inside such a cramped space unless absolutely necessary.”

I pull my arm back from her, as she does the same. Hopping a few steps forward, I carefully shift around, trying to sit on the sandy cobblestone pavement.

Kaytlinn, still full with nervous tremors, double, triple checks that the battle is happening far away from us, before letting herself fall on the floor next to me, hugging her knees close.

We both watch as the fighting ensues.

In the far distance, I can see the horde entering from the collapsed rubble. They’re wrapped from head to toe in loose pastel brown clothes, with what appears to be vests made out of iron scales, woven together in the form of a mail. They’re holding an assortment of weapons, ranging from simple round maces to pretty primitive-looking spears, almost like they’ve been equipped with any piece of scrap that could be found. Amongst them, I notice not only young and old, decrepit men alike, but women too. A handful of them, unarmed, rush past all the others, waving their hands and wailing in a foreign language I don’t recognize. At the sight of these people, the Raspelian soldiers seem to be perplexed. Although they easily take care of them, it somehow feels like most just run straight into their halberds, or purposely stick themselves onto the spikes of their shields.

Something feels strange… these are not fighters, they’re just cannon fodder.

I see a bright light, and then a bang. Kaytlinn jumps at the sudden sound, and so do I. From the opposite side of the battle, a similar flash, then another bang. One after the other, the enemy troops explode into a thick red mist, lingering into the air for a while before settling down. They’re blowing themselves up with gunpowder. I watch in horror as the front lines get utterly devastated in a matter of seconds. About two dozen men—almost in full plate—fall to the ground or get blown to smithereens. Dust falls from the entrance to the mines following the shock, as the wooden supports shake and wobble, even if just a small amount, showering us in filth. The crimson enclosure breaks, weak points now being exploited by the more geared up opposing forces, using them to encircle and advance further into the territory.

Now, though, those Raspelian knights in bronze garments seem to be stepping forward. There’s scarcely six or seven of them, yet even though outnumbered, they march with purpose. They unsheathe their swords when they’re but two steps away, starting to pierce and slash the scantily dressed enemies with ease. The invaders try their best to get through the odd armors they’re wearing. However, the weird material that they seem to be made of acts illogically: the slashes of swords bounce back off them, meanwhile the hard blows of clubs and maces seem to be absorbed, as if the weapons were hitting pillows stuffed with feathers. The knights don’t even flinch at the numerous hits, dancing around the battlefield, sowing death along their path, thinning out their numbers with surgical precision and expertise. Their skill feels almost unnatural, as if they’re not even taking this seriously, like they’re flowing from one space to another with the elegance of coursing water, and the way their outfits behave; it is nothing short of sorcery, like witnessing the warriors of myths spring to life from the pages of old, unfazed by the rules that hold back everyone else’s reality.

Past the crowd of simple invaders, the main frontlines seem to be stepping up now. Unlike the others, they’re wearing crude metal bracers, shoulder pads and helmets, intimidating ones at that, with masks portraying the contorted faces of evil spirits in a permanent screaming expression.

All of them now have consistent equipment with one another, including wrought iron bucklers and two-handed polearms, with a uniquely designed curved blade on the tip resembling a fish hook. These are actual warriors.

I look over to Kaytlinn. Even though very clearly distressed at the sight of all this—perhaps out of morbid curiosity—her eyes, peeking from over her knees, are locked onto the ongoing conflict.

“Who are they?” I inquire, trying to get her out of the current hypnotic state.

Her head lifts up, slightly startled. She’s justifiably jumpy.

“Which o-ones? The knights in melkite?”

“Melkite?” My eyebrow raises in confusion. The name definitely rings a bell.

“What is it?”

“Well, I’m no expert, but as far as I know melkite is a powerful mixture made out of andonite.”

Andonite. Black tears. I remember the rest.

An extremely rare dark metal found only in small amounts on Andonia’s riverbeds, hence the name. Immensely sturdy.

Some odd years ago it was used by nobles of Raspelia as a lavish symbol of power, only recently discovering its incredibly malleable attribute when heated beyond a certain temperature. Through experimentation, this state was found to be maintained when alloyed with gold, creating a leather-like material in terms of flexibility, while also still being near impossible to pierce through, unless brought back to a high temperature again.

“At any rate; they’re the knights of the Feuerlillie order, one of the highest honors bestowed on war veterans of extraordinary skills.” Kaytlinn finishes.

“What about the invaders? Those men with scary-looking masks?”

“They’re the Koshak.” She explains.

“You were sent to fight against them. Your battle happened at the outskirts of Al’Saava, a city under their control. This outpost was also theirs, before Raspelia captured it.”

“This fortress was theirs?”

I look around, observing the architecture with a newfound perspective.

“Yes.” Kate continued. “It used to be a simple excavation settlement, before the army militarized it.”

“So this is not an invasion, but a counterattack…” I mutter in whispered breath.

“Or revenge.” She interjects. “I heard that when it got captured, the commander wasn’t fond of the idea of having more mouths to feed, especially in a position so deep into enemy territory that supply routes are yet to be established, so he gave the order of… ‘no prisoners’.”

“Ah.” I exclaim, trying not to let my true emotions peek through. “I see.”

One of the knights engage with the Koshaks, attempting an attack, but their weapons clash. A swing there, a stab here, the sound of metal striking fills the air. Even though the enemies’ number far surpasses the lilies’, they are nowhere near their level in skill. That said, they’re still definitely putting up quite a fight, as the knights are getting visibly tired out due to the battle of attrition.

Despite their better show of strength, the sky turns gray once again.

Another wave of arrows rain down from the heavens, the sheer number of them being enough to overwhelm even the special units while they’re occupied to fight with blades. The giant bolts pierce through their armor, sparks flying off the pure friction like a fountain, tearing off the flesh underneath those layers of protection, slamming their bodies into the ground along in their trajectory.

I turn towards Kaytlinn.

“Time to go.”