There are no winners in war, only losers.
I believed those words to be pittance for the lives stolen from both sides. A fallacy to ease the consciences of the survivors when the dust settles and the carnage their actions ensued stared them in their faces.
I was wrong.
What it symbolizes is something far simpler, and far grimmer.
Murder is a cycle of hatred, and war is a haven of death.
The more one takes, the more they risk being taken from. When you take a life, you sow a seed that will one day wish to uproot everything you own.
This is absolute. The only way to break the cycle is to be the one to finally lay down your arms. But if it were truly so easy, the world would’ve become a better place a long time ago.
A human's desire to take will never cease; we simply crave that which we don’t have. Nor will our desire to avenge. No matter how many centuries pass, how many generations go by without the vengeance surfacing, it one day will, for we are creatures of redemption by nature.
And when it does, it will take. It will sow seeds of hatred of its own, thus continuing the cycle, never-ending.
It’s because of this we have war. It’s because of this we will eternally be at war, and thus, there can never be a winner, only losers. Only losses.
As I stood on that battlefield of death, bodies hugging my feet with each step I took, lives stolen by the seeds of hatred, I wept.
Not for the lives I took nor the ones I had taken, but for the pointlessness of it all. For what did I swing my blade? Honor? Pride? Or the greed of men?
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“Damn it to hell,” I mumbled, stumbling through the carnage. I tried to let go of my sword, but my hand wouldn’t move. It trailed along behind me, running over the tops of fallen bodies.
Here and there I saw the lifeless bodies of men with whom just the night before I had drank and sang songs with. Kael, dead by an arrow to the eye. Marsti, decapitated, his head a few feet from his corpse. Tomo, trampled by horses. Lose, spear through the gut. On and on as I made my way through the battlefield.
My steps eventually slowed. I looked to the ground and saw the rivers of blood flowing out of my body. The pain had left me long ago, but my wounds had not ceased their slow murder.
I had fallen to my knees without even realizing it.
“I’m no better than they…” I muttered. “Taking and taking, sowing seeds of my own, and then leaving it all behind for others to deal with.”
I gazed at the ash-grey clouds above and the frail sun that hid behind them. I felt my life slipping.
This is fine, I thought. A fitting place from someone such as I to pass.
The clouds parted then, and from the gap a singular ray of light sneaked through. It brushed against my cheek like a warm, familiar hand. I smiled.
The sword dropped from my hand. The weight of it disappearing in an instant.
Come now, sweet child. This is not where your story ends, a voice like my mothers said.
A smile, small and weak, spread across my face, and finally, my eyes came to a close.
*DING*
INITIALIZING REBIRTH.
WORLD: ARCETEUS.
SOUL: HUMAN.
BODY: SWORD.