The brothers were able to get to the hill before the barbarians could gain much ground, but they were still coming—tracking the boys and their allies like starving animals. Sir Nodure had called for all the boys to awaken and take up arms. The defense of their hill would lessen the savage invaders’ ranks. Nodure had the resources to cripple the enemy. Grinning widely, the nobleman ignored his favorite whipping boy and brother entering along the passage up the side of the hill. His eyes were fixated on the sprinting enemy. His thoughts were sinister, Come and meet your end!

With a sword held heavenward, Sir Nodure turned to his willing and conscripted troops. “They come to us! Let us show them the might of the empire!”

Each male upon the hill let out a cry of battle—all but the two boys who’d witnessed the escape of the soul. It bore down on them like lead weights tied around their lungs, but it wasn’t long before Braun found them.

“Boys! You’re back. The other hills retreated after we saw your flare. Where are the other…” His voice trailed off. He knew what had happened. It was in their eyes as they stared toward the ground. It was in their irregular breathing as if life tried to escape them but the brain simply won’t comply. “You did well to return. We need to make sure no more are lost. Quick, block the hill.” He motioned for them to follow.

Contingencies were made for several possibilities. Should the hill be placed under siege, they needed to funnel the enemy through the passages that provided the most advantage. Of three routes on the hill cut and of reasonable incline, they wanted to keep the barbarians from having an excess of options. Two would be blocked and watched throughout the encounter while one was available for them to funnel through. Should the enemy attempt to climb the more dirt and stone patched areas, they’d need to utilize their hands to do so—leaving them vulnerable.

The Gildenson boys were still in a haze, but they followed the orders of the soldier that had led them to this horror on the hill. A cart from a local village was stacked full of chopped lumber and various items that weren’t needed. They’d positioned two such carts at the edge of the hills overlooking two of the routes up. Braun, with the assistance of the brothers, pushed the cart’s bar up and over the edge so it fell against the grass and scattered debris.

It wasn’t perfect, but it did leave a lot of extra obstacles in the path. Anyone attempting to rush the hill from the route would be subject to spears or swords reaching down on them as they tried to vault over the wooden boxes, lumber and a broken cart. Splintered wood stuck up in several directions like purposefully positioned spikes.

The two blocked routes happened to be on the hindside of the hill. From the perspective of the invaders, they would only see the one unguarded, yet limited, path. It proved a successful scheme to split the waves of invaders toward other routes, which were unknowingly blocked, and waste the enemy’s energy (as well as their time.)

“Take these and guard the hill’s edge.” Braun ran to the side where a pile of weapons had been laid. They weren’t particularly the best forged items in the region, but they were sharp, sturdy, and more advanced than the cracked iron tools many of the barbarians carried. “If you see the execution point become overrun, join us. Until then, kill any that come this way.”

Braun rushed off with his longsword in hand. He was prepared for this. He’d done it before, and he knew, have he the chance, he’d do it again. Battle was what he knew. His captain had ordered him, and he’d follow into the fray.

Christoph looked to his brother. They shared a moment of regret, of understanding, and of that bond between siblings that others might never know. Christoph rose his right hand and placed it on his brother’s shoulder. His throat was dry. His body chilled with the sweat that dripped down in the night’s breath. All he desired, with spear in hand, was to make it out alive with his brother—or at least that his brother return in his stead.

That was all he desired in that moment. Should it all fall apart, should Nodure fail to parry or slash or carve, should the men and boys drain into the soil, should the barbarians pillage the camp and dismember the survivors… at least that his brother survived.

“Malin,” the young boy’s eyes were filled with tears.

“I-I want to go home.” He did his very best to keep the tears and knot in his throat from his brother.

Cries of war were heard over the solemn moment. Metal clashed. Men roared in agony and victory. It was a night that froze the brothers down to their bones. The sounds, the smells, the sights… nothing was as they’d considered. Not the falling men with open wounds. Not the boys screaming out for any number of reasons. Not even the smell of blood as it wafted through the night sky.

Not even how the black blood spread over the land like bubbling tar.

It was all hell.

“We’ll get through this. You hear me?” Christoph swallowed hard so his shaking wouldn’t warp his voice. His brother nodded to him, but there was so little a glimmer left in his eyes. He’s become a man, Christoph thought. Not the one we’d hoped. Not the way we’d hoped.

It should have been the turning point for two heroic brothers to cut down any that tried to raid their side of the hill. All should have fallen before the brotherly love, that unbreakable bond, that kept them gripping their spears while their worlds shattered. I’d like to say it happened that way, but the spark in the sky, like a sudden ignition of the sun waiting to steal night away from the moon, violated the tale of the Gildenson brothers.

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Christoph saw the sudden illumination from the peak of a distant shadow. Enmity, ravenous hunger for life, emanated from the overwhelming power burning in the sky. It was a bit smaller than the sun, but it burned brightly enough that shadows were cast over the bending grasses. Christoph squinted through the light. Malin hadn’t turned or noticed his brother’s gaze.

The elder Gildenson boy couldn’t look away. A tooth-like structure, rising from the ground, twisted upward to pierce the veil and plant the orb in the sky. It was beautiful and frightening. As a mortal man lives his entire life in the field and beneath a rock, such magics are the very face of the mightiest god of all mythology. What else could it be but the omnipotent entity that turns the world and breathes life into the atmosphere, the seas, and the ground?

Christoph asked no questions. He could only stare in wonder. He’d held magic flares as if they were solid gold and covered in the most precious stones. This… this was the reckoning. He hadn’t noticed that the fighting had stopped, that swords and shields and spears had fallen to the ground, or that one man had already begun backing away from the battle (knowing far more than the rest, yet unable to speak.)

“Christoph?” Malin’s head turned. He stared at the burning star in the night sky atop the horrific shadow in the distance. “What is that?”

“I don’t know.” The elder boy was caught in the immaculate terror of it all. Should he fall down and bow, or should he run away? He did neither. Just watched as the ball moved forward and began to fall toward the hills they stood on.

It comes to embrace us! It was his first thought when it moved, but he quickly realized his ignorance.

“Run!” He grabbed his brother’s shoulders and began to pull toward the edge of the hill. The star sped down into the hill where contact changed its shape. It flickered, pulled inward, and then exploded. Fire erupted over the hillside as molten chunks of dirt hailed over those that weren’t caught in the blast. Men and boys that were unfortunate enough to be atop the hill were tossed up or thrown far from the detonation.

Screams roared louder than ever. Fire engulfed the hillside, the tents, horses that were hidden between camouflaged structures, and any resources meant for the men. Limbs of men scattered the fields as the sudden inferno brightly lit the grass that bent in attempt to flee the encroaching flames. Christoph and his brother were flung a short distance as they slid down the edge of the hill, but the elder brother witnessed the damage as men soared high over him just to disappear into the grasses. Their screams silenced by the sudden impacts.

“Run! Run!” He gathered up his brother and tried to hurry away. He checked over his shoulder to see most of the barbarians were trying to right themselves, but his allies had mostly been demolished. The hilltop was nothing but a fiery hell that began to spread over the sides and down into the fields.

High over the vision of a doomed underworld, he saw another star take shape. This made his legs begin moving even faster, but he was slowed slightly as he tried to drag his brother to his speed. “We need to hurry!”

Malin’s eyes were wide. The poor boy had seen so much in one day. Where he’d believed there would be glory and reward, there was only death… there was only steel, fire, and blood. It had drained him. Exhausted spiritually, mentally, and physically, the boy did his best to push through.

It wasn’t enough.

The second star fell into the flattened fields of grass. This area provided no cover. It fell nearest the hordes of barbarians, but it was close enough to send a lethal shockwave through the air. Christoph saw the orb fall and led his brother in an angle away from the intended point of attack.

As it hit, Christoph threw himself behind his brother, picked him up, and held him tightly. He needs to make it home. These were the thoughts of a hero. The world wouldn’t know the true face of this hero. He barely knew the shape and appeal of his own. Yet, he laid his life on the line for his brother as the shockwave attempted to split the night.

Grass lifted and turned to ash. The ground opened and cast heated mounds over the field. Men were singed to a blackened, stilled form in the heat. Christoph’s body felt the painful, invisible wall rush through him. Organs and bones were cracked and damaged as it lifted the boys and tossed them through the grass.

Christoph’s eyes felt heavy. His limbs wouldn’t respond to his commands. The cool grass and dirt that touched his face was blissful, but it couldn’t overthrow the lack of sensations in the rest of his body. He tried to choke out words, but his throat felt as if someone were stepping on it.

Just a few feet from him laid his brother. His eyes were closed and it was difficult for Christoph to see if he was breathing in the darkness—though the burning fields behind him shed dancing light through the tall grass. He tried to call out for his brother. He tried to tell him to run. Keep moving. His eyes overflowed as the words could only reach that blockage in his throat. You need to get home. Another explosion ruptured the lands behind him, but he couldn’t be bothered to notice. Bright flashes crept over his brother’s stilled face, but he couldn’t reach him.

Malin. You need to go home. His eyes began to shut. They were excruciatingly heavy. It was as if he’d never slept in life, and those hours had caught up with him. He just needed to rest. Live. He tried to call out to his brother who wouldn’t hear words that were never spoken.

Someone else would hear.