Though two weeks may seem to some like a long time, to Dirk hours of restless anticipation quickly turned to days busy with self reflection, reminiscence and preparations.

The time had passed in a blink since his meeting with his brother, and it was now an early Friday morning, just at the break of dawn. Dirk found himself sitting in the middle of his apartment in an old, drab chair by an equally unflattering wooden table. A stale, irritating smell of mold lingered in the air, just barely noticeable by a human nose.

Not a week ago this place was flooded with trash, but now it stood almost completely empty, ready to let its owner depart in peace.

Dirk cleaned it on impulse, in a desperate attempt to find an out to all the energy that now welled up inside him. Some would say that it was a natural reaction to anxiety, but that was the thing.

He wasn’t anxious, but excited.

Against that impulsive reaction, one thing stood steady where he left it months ago, sticking out, like a sore thumb - a bottle of wine.

Made out of opaque glass, it had no label, but small bumps at its midsection. Those blemishes were interconnected, forming into a glass seal. No letters around it, only the shape of a butterfly wing.

Eccentric to say the least, it carried a message unspoken and a promise unsaid. Dirk would rather not think about it.

In the dim glow of the wintry sun that slipped in through the windows, something glimmered in the man’s hand as he played with it with one hand, taking sips from his last glass of whisky with the other. The object was a medal of honor given to him at the very end of his service, on the day of his greatest failure. The piece of metal held no value, but it was a reminder.

A memento of lives lost.

Oh, how it weighed in his hand, this mockery of a decoration, bestowed upon him by bureaucrats of this country that cheered on as he bled for their cause, safe in their ivory towers. A cause he didn’t choose, but rather meandered into.

What was an orphan with no education, no passions or talents, to do? He joined the military, tempted by a steady trickle of money, and through some uncanny twist of fate, through war and suffering, found out what he was good at in life. He was a survivor. A warrior, whose strength was coveted even more than gold.

“Ares” they called him at some point.

A god of war. Perhaps a little too grand a name, considering that he only led a group of special forces. Of friends and family. But he’d be lying if he said it didn’t appeal to him on some level. To his ego. That it didn’t get to his head at some point.

Those few trusted people could face off against an army and come out victorious, he knew they could. And yet, one slip up led to their end. His own mistake. His hubris…

He stuffed the medal in his pocket and finished his drink, letting the last sip sit on his tongue for a moment. He promised himself that it would be his last. As he did the previous day, and the one before…

He sighed at his own weakness, then squeezed the medal in his hand. He needed to go for a walk.

Just before leaving, he took one last glance at the wine bottle, his mouth went a bit dry from just looking at it.

- Sorry, old friend, but that’s not for me. - he muttered to the container, while sweeping it off the table straight into a plastic bin near it.

It fell inside with a thud, too sturdy to break. Dirk didn’t intend for it to shatter, he just followed an age-old maxim - “out of sight, out of mind”.

He left the apartment block, wearing only a military jacket. The very same he’d worn in his days in the special forces.

He spared a glance at the patch on his shoulder as he was putting it on. It depicted a skeleton with a halo embracing a sword, surrounded by white wings forming a cocoon around it.

Below was a small and worn inscription in Latin:

"Quem di diligunt, adolescens moritur".

It was a quote from one of the oldest Roman playwrights, Plautus. It meant "those whom the gods love die young".

The chosen ones of the gods, or avatars, that's what his unit was called. "The Tactical Response and External Threat Elimination Avatar Unit." The best of the best. But that was in the past now.

A mere blip in the Empire’s history.

He walked, not knowing where his legs would take him.

He led countless successful missions, each with minimal casualties. Even those that seemed suicidal ended in success under his command. He was a kind of legend in covert military circles.

Some called him the second Alexander the Great, Napoleon, or Julius Caesar. He dismissed all those titles with a slight smile, but he couldn’t deny that he felt satisfaction then whenever people praised him like that.

But it all ended on one faithful day. He and his unit were back, fresh from another successful mission. Their target was a prolific terrorist cell codenamed “SLEEP”, stationed deep within the old Russian territories. Insurrection fighters with a taste for explosives and targeting civilians. They’d wiped them out to the last man…

Or so Dirk thought at the time.

He’d let his guard down, blinded by his boundless pride and the rock-steady certainty that his unit simply could not fail. He’d grown complacent and allowed the enemy he’d somehow overlooked to launch a counter-attack in the very heart of the Empire.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

They struck at the imperial Palace, and their attack was swift and unexpected, like a knee to the face.

It left the Empire dazed and his unit dead.

He lived through sheer coincidence, because he just happened to be on a different level of the mighty fortress when the first explosions happened.

After that, he just couldn’t keep going. With no unit, no purpose and no will to live, he’d become but a burden, so the Empire let him go with an honorable discharge, probably hoping he’d quietly fade away into oblivion like a discarded tool. And he almost did. He didn’t blame them. Such were the Empire’s ways.

But now he had a goal again. Something to look forward to. Something to put his mind and body into, and it filled him with excitement unlike any he’d ever felt. Did he still have it in him? What was the cargo? How was life outside the Empire’s borders? The questions just kept popping up, a stark difference to the usual deaf void of his mind he’d been experiencing for the past few years.

He walked and walked, lost deep in thought, and he’d soon found himself standing on top of a hill where a single little cypress tree was growing. A single grave lantern by its foot, casting a warm glow on the snowed-over ground.

- Hello Dirk.

He heard a female voice call out to him from a nearby bench. He’d instantly known who it was.

- Hello Maggie. - he answered with a bitter smile.

The woman before him was the only other survivor of his unit. Their comms-master and his ex-girlfriend. Almost a wife, but…

Too much happened way too quickly and they fell apart some years ago.

- Came by to talk with the ghosts of the past? - she asked, stroking a bouquet of flowers in her hands.

- Dunno, are you up for a conversation? - he sat next to her, his eyes on the little flame of the lantern.

She chuckled, but there was no joy in her voice.

He knew that she came by this place sometimes.

It was a small symbolic spot in memory of the Avatar unit.

When they first assembled, they’d planted the tree together, but now it was but a memento. A site of mourning and contemplation, where he’d often find the same lanterns and flowers whenever he came by.

- I’m leaving soon. - he opened up with the first thing that came to mind.

- I guessed as much. - she nodded rather indifferently.

- Oh?

- The talk of an old wolf mustering his strength made its rounds quickly. - she clarified, her gaze distant and lost, full of “what ifs”, a sentiment Dirk could share in some regard.

“So the word is out” - he thought to himself, not all that much surprised.

His brother had warned him after all that the Empire would not remain idle.

- I’ll miss this place. I’ll miss Daubeny, Jess, Travis… everyone. - he said, his tone full of longing.

He propped his head up with his hand and stared off into the sky. The snow had subsided, leaving the skies wide open. Stars twinkled up above, distorted by the dome that protected the city from the elements. Pulses of energy made the night lights dance as they traveled from the spire down to the edges of the city.

It was beautiful to Dirk, but also sad. Horrifying in a way, too. A reminder of the terrible power of the Empire. A fond memory, where his friends were still with him. Something he would not see ever again after he left for his mission.

- They won’t be missing you. - Maggie answered, ending a prolonged pause between the two. Her words bore no malice, as cold as they sounded. - They’d be happy that you are finally getting out. They really would. - she nodded to herself. - I’ll keep them company, don’t worry.

“Right… Maggie would be staying behind.”

Of course she would.

She built herself a family with another man.

A good man, Dirk knew for sure. She’d told him some years ago on the phone… She had a job.

A whole life here.

And he wasn’t a part of it anymore.

She extended a hand towards Dirk, seeing in his eyes that she was losing him again, and in it, she held a cigarette. He reached for it, but stopped himself halfway.

- No, thank you. - he shook his head. He wasn’t about to make smoking a habit whenever he got a little uneasy during conversation.

- Suit yourself. - she lit it up and took a puff. - Ouroboros, hmm?

- Nothing escapes you, huh?

- I am a former imperial comms-master. There are plenty of rumors that trickle my way.

- To me, it seems like it’s free-flowing. - he chuckled. - Does everyone in the Empire know what groceries I buy, too?

- I doubt that, but it’s not out of the question either, mister washed up celebrity. - she mocked, but it was in good spirit.

- Ouch! - he scrunched his face in fake pain. - Out of all the obvious things, at least you didn’t call me an alcoholic.

- Speaking of rumors, I heard that the job you’re on is especially… touchy. Something about a combat super drug. Everyone on both sides is keeping up the appearances of peace and whatnot, but if what my sources–

- Enough. You’ll get in trouble if you keep going, and for what? - Dirk silenced her with a raised hand, then rose from his seat with a mix of urgency and frustration.

- I’m worried, Dirk. - she confessed, her facade of indifference breaking in an instant.

- You should worry about yourself first and foremost. You have a family to worry about, too, so why risk it for a weathered memory - he crouched by the tree and laid a hand on its bark. - I’ll be fine.

He steeled his resolve.

- It’s a job like any other. I may be known for my failure, but success is my norm. - he rose to his feet and flashed Maggie a bright smile, which she couldn’t help but reciprocate, if a little more discreetly.

- Fine then. I’ve got your word for it. I’ll hold you by it, Fallen God.

She walked up and placed the bouquet at the base of the tree. There was still much to say between them.

Years of it, but they both kept quiet, giving one last silent prayer together for the fallen.

When it was over, she took her leave, and not long after so did he, leaving behind friends and memories. Their small monument now adorned by a lantern, a bouquet and an old worthless medal.