At the back of the wagon, AhFueng writhed in despair. The agonizing groans of the other survivors had pierced his mind and even after they had all succumbed to the exhausted journey in different ways, he still felt the moans in his head. Six. Only six had been sent to the south base, the one halfway between the hospital and Linee. He was exhausted, but closing his eyes would only bring back the nightmares. The fire, the bombs, the screams. His eyes watered and his hands shook uncontrollably. Only AhJoy’s caressed touch prevented his entire body from adding to the tremors.

Fueng's sadness was overwhelming and not even seeing his brother, best friend and soulmate alive, could cheer him up in the slightest.

Joy didn’t have time to get a new leg. And he'd never have. The miracle doctor was dead, everyone was dead. All except six. Six soldiers he pulled out from the burning carcass of the hospital by himself.

When they both first arrived at the university of miracles, months ago, Fueng was injured in the arm and after a fast healing, he remained there for his friend. No officer managed to push him away. Some tried, and they regret it. For an entire month he tried to bring back the old cheerful AhJoy he knew, but the nightmare he was in, even during the day, was deep and dark. A bit of Joy returned though. Thanks to a man they met in the recovery wing. A sailor from the Sou’Est whos arms were made anew by the magical doctor. That stranger named Hafiz, infused Joy with his own courage and hope and for that, he became now and forever a new brother to Fueng. A brother he was going to break as deeply and irreparably as himself.

When the wagon stopped, marines soon rushed to put the injured down. He stepped into the site without help. His injuries were not physical.

The military camp was a wasp nest hit by a stone; a clear sign the news of Herjard attack had arrived. Men rushing up and down without an obvious purpose made Fueng doubt whether the army was going to withdraw or counterattack, wishing the generals would choose the first.

The soldiers entered the aid tent and put Joy on a ground level stretcher. Fueng knelt down beside him and waited. He didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to find his other brother and break his heart. At last, knowing there was not much time left, he found the courage to do so. “I’m coming back.” He told Joy in their native language, an old dialect from the northerner Dragon island. “You stay here and rest. They will send you to the city in a fancy wagon.”

“Yes.”

“We will meet there. Then we will sail in a big ship away from here.”

“Yes.”

“No general will stop us from returning home. We’ll sail South East. Away from this.”

Fueng, like a soul in pain, dragged his feet throughout the military camp that much to his dismay, seemed to prepare for battle. Next to a campfire he found Hafiz sitting on a log, next to embers that no longer heated stew and to a broken guitar, which no longer played songs to encourage the men. Soldiers and sailors were arguing heatedly around him. Hafiz, unlike the others, with hands over his face, was lost in thoughts Fueng had no doubt they weren’t nice.

“Brother,” Fueng said.

In other circumstances, like every time they saw each other, Hafiz would have called out his name and thrown himself into a hug. But this time his friend only raised a lost and tearful look. “Fueng… you survived!” Hafiz’s expression, which was filled with hope for an instant, vanished like smoke after carefully studying an expression of obvious grief. Hafiz raised slowly and gripped him by the shirt. Fueng’s brother closed his eyes tightly trying to contain the tears. “Tell me, tell me Joy and Claudia are fine. Tell me.”

“Claudia dead, brother.” Fueng said in the little common tongue he knew.

Hafiz turned his face to the side, hiding his sorrow. “Maybe…” he mumbled.

Fueng’s intestines turned upside down as the memory of the nurse crushed by the big rocks crossed his mind. The memory of trying to get her out, the screams of the doctor, the fire devouring the ceiling. the chaos. “No. I see my own eyes. I.. I sorry.”

Hafiz fell over his knees asking no more. He was not a man who wasted time lying to himself and Fueng’s word was sacred. And he never lied.

“It can’t be. The front line is in Luz! Their artillery can’t reach that far!” shouted a soldier with golden hair.

“You talk like a rookie!” A sailor who seemed to be from the island of Tampraparni yelled at his mate. “You’ve seen the balloons. You’ve seen their ironclads. What makes you think they haven’t created such a type of gun?” The golden-haired soldier looked at the ground without being able to respond. “Look at our new weapons. The fire backpacks, the puckle guns… everything’s a copy of Herjard’s innovations!”

“Why do we have to go?” interrupted a young sailor with dimples and curly hair. “Let the troops of Morvede or Tresc go. We are Navy men!”

“They have already gone. Little remains of the regiments you mention.” The lugubrious words of an old soldier who joined the bonfire froze everyone present. “Linee is evacuating civilians. And Herjard’s artillery is reaching the foothills of Parsh. Either we stop them, or Linee’s people won’t have time to leave.”

The silence was only broken by the crackling of the embers. The dimpled young sailor spoke again, this time in whispers that showed embarrassment and doubt. “But, we are sailors… I don’t know about fighting in the field ha-“

“It doesn’t matter, Tommy. We’re going anyway.” Hafiz cut him short, as he had gotten up amid the tumult of men. His brother was a tall man by southern standards. Still, compared to the average men of the NorWes, his was a height that did not stand out much, but in that instant, Fueng saw a giant among ants. “It’s not Linee what’s down that road. It’s our wives, our children. Father, mothers, brothers and sisters. Thousands of defenseless people. It doesn’t matter if you know nothing about fighting. It doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to use a bread knife, damn it! Are you scared? Everyone of us here are afraid. It doesn’t matter! You don’t want to die? None of us do either. I’m pretty sure we’re all going to do it tonight. And still, we’re all going. Because we have to stop that artillery no matter what.”

The men around the fire were infused with raging courage by a man Fueng knew he had lost all hope for living. “Linee people need time,” Shouted Hafiz. “And It is our duty to give it to them!”

The roaring spur pushed the crowd to move, few hesitatingly, but most with a vigor that seemed lost minutes prior. A young officer stood over a bucket to shout orders for the upcoming battle, but no men from the fireplace group listened. They all followed the southerner with metal arms. Fueng did as well although terrified to go back to hell. Joy was safe, and his duty now was to protect the other brother, no matter what. After all, Hafiz was a sailor, and he was going to need the experience and expertise of a trench dog like him.

The thought of the front lines hit like a cannonball. Fueng felt a freezing sweat fall down his neck. His legs trembled and his vision spined. “Are you all right?” Asked Hafiz, who stopped to check on him. Fueng nodded, but that didn’t convince his friend, who pulled him gently to the side. “Fueng, you shouldn’t be coming.”

“You remember officers want I far from Joy? I go. I no lie. I go.”

Hafiz smirked and tapped his shoulder. He knew him well. AhFueng was a man who never lied. And a man with unbreakable will.

Next to wagons with their horses ready, there were tables with dozens of weapons. The soldiers were all running to arm themselves and jump into the cars without wasting any time. Unlike the rest, Fueng took his time to choose. The options were many ; old flint muskets, wheel locks, multishot rifles, and he didn’t want to make the wrong choice. The primary option of most of the soldiers as the pass by was the Heros 22 rifle, a weapon that was a cheap copy of the Herjard Dreysar needle gun. The 22 was an accurate and long-range weapon, but it often jammed. As soon as he put his eyes on it, Fueng grabed a small carbine from the Marquesade. A weapon that wouldn’t explode in his face when muddy. “You won’t hit anything with that one,” a young boy from the other side of the table blustered. Fueng stared with such intensity that scared the boy.

With his eyes stabbed on the little soldier, he slapped a box of rounds and strode to the wagon where Hafiz was sitting, beside some of the sailors who had been arguing around the fire. None were talking now. Fueng knew well what they were going to face and if any of those poor souls didn’t know it yet, they began to have a good idea.

The transport started with cracks of wood and neighs of horses. The men staggered from side to side in a silence Fueng appreciated and that he missed when Tommy broke it with complaints. “Why don’t they surrender the city?”

“You dumb? You know what they did in Albis?” Said Allan, a friend of Hafiz who had a leg replacement. Fueng didn’t know him personally, but if Hafiz trusted the man, it was enough for him to do as well. Tommy, on the other hand, was deeply irritating and with a bayonet within reach of him, he had to close his eyes and clench his fist to avoid a stream of dark thoughts. The thoughts of the monster within.

As much as he wished to silence the kid, it was not the time to skin a skittish soldier who was fighting alongside them and to Tommy’s luck, he learned to control the Beast a long time ago.

Allan didn’t stop the talking and his chatting about Herjard’s atrocities turned into funny stories on his sail ship as soon as he realized the men were uneasy with the former. His voice, deep and slow, put Fueng into a deep sleep.

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He dreamed about his daddy. A warm and kind man who loved his wife and always cared of his son. Little Fueng was playing in the rice fields while the old man was dipping his hand deep into the mud. Mummy brought from the hut a pot with green tea and they rested under the big oak, sharing stories of monkey warriors and dragon princesses. It was a happy memory that never existed. As made up as any other dream he cherished and, to him, as real as it could be.

The rocking of the car stopped, and the yelling of the officers began. Fueng snorted and jumped down first, focused and ready as if no sleeping had ever happened. “We arrived? We just departed the camp!” said Tommy. Fueng wrinkled his nose as the monster proposed to slice the kid’s throat in the middle of the battle, when everyone else would be busy.

They were on a small hill with forest at each side. At the end of the slope Fueng could see the lights of the enemy lines in the distance. “They no scared. They know distance their guns better.” he said to Hafiz.

An officer screamed right next to him, making his ear hurt. The monster whispered words of bloody retaliation he ignored. “This is the new frontline fellas! From this dimpled man to the left, you all go to the forest to prevent surrounding. All the rest move to the end of the trenches over there and help finish it. Move, Move!”

The trench was a long narrow digging that divided the hill from forest to forest. Fueng had seen bigger and better built and this one, with no wooden reinforcements, no underground rooms, was just a long hole in the ground that would not last an hour of shelling. “We volunteer forest.” he said to the officer.

“You volunteer?" Mocked the officer. "Shut up and follow the tin man, beany!”

The beast within growled in silence. In the front lines, where it was born, it was stronger. It was like Father. His hand tightened on the rifle, ready to slam the butt when the soft touch of Hafiz’s hand dampened the anger. Tamed the beast. War had made him a despicable being like Father, but it didn’t break Hafiz. Hafiz was still a kind and warm man; like Daddy.

“Why do you want to go to the forest?” Asked his brother, as they trotted through the twisting ditch that was turning into a puddle of mud with drizzle falling over them.

“No shelling in forest. I no like shelling.” he Answered. Every splash of his boots reminded him of other battles. The stench of rotten or burnt flesh. The squeaking of the rats and the buzzing of the flies. Fueng stopped suddenly to puke. Hafiz turned and silently waited.

“I, ok.I ok. No lie. Just need breath.” His brother pushed to continue walking with a gentle touch. They both did, but slowly, not caring about the upcoming onslaught any more. “My friend,” Hafiz breathed. “When all this is over, we will go sailing together. I know how much you and Joy want to learn and how much you want to see the rest of the world.”

“We go adventure?” asked Fueng after cleaning his mouth with a spit. Hafiz nodded and for a moment he felt warm in that cold, wet night. He knew it was all a lie, like his memories. None of them would survive, but it didn’t matter.

The wait, while huddled on the ground, was numbing and soon the gabs began to shoosh both fear and nerves. “Yu’know how long we need to’weit? For de’city to evacuate?” asked a sailor with Kiazan robes.

“A day, maybe two. We can do it fellas. We can do it.” mumbled Allan between prayers whispered at the star pendant over his lips.

The sky lit up with a quick flash. “That’s thunder, isn’t it?” asked a young mate from the right. It was, but before Fueng or any other had time to answer, the cannons of Herjard began a rhythm of drums that raised gasps, prayers and moans. To him, it didn’t feel as threatening as he remembered at first. His opinion soon changed when the first blast shook the ground in front of them. What followed was a raw madness that felt horribly familiar. The dragons of Hanan tearing up the sky, the giants of Thse shaking the land with their dance and the old demons of Ork-amug deafening the men with their laughing.

Fueng curled and hugged his rifle, trying to remember any of his fake memories, as he always did in those situations. A shell hit close, and the ground collapsed, burying him alive. Even under a pile of dirt, the explosions were loud and terrifying. He coughed and his mouth filled with dirt. The need for air reminded him of the day Mother walked the seashore to never return. The day she sold her soul to the gods of the deep to punish that village of mute accomplices. To make the deal that killed the Monster.

The suffocation was exactly as the one inside the giant wave that devoured all but him. That day, it was the hand of Joy who pulled him out of the water and it was the hand of his other brother that pulled him from the dirt now. “Damn, are you ok?” asked Hafiz almost inaudibly.

Fueng spit sand and nodded, curling up into a ball to wait helplessly for the end of the first wave. When the cannon shots from the hill's foot stopped, the surrounding explosions faded to silence.

“That’s all what you got? Ah!” screamed one of the surviving soldiers. From the wrecked trench came out shouts of defiance and hope. Screams of victory and laughs of euphoria.

He wanted to tell them that was just a small brake to let them feel safe. A time to cool the artillery and let the rabbits, unsuspecting, come out of their burrows. His jaw was clenched and his body cramped, tensed like a statue waiting for a hammer to turn it to rubble.

The thunders from afar returned shortly and with them the incessant blasts that shattered the world around. The second wave was more fierce than the first. Mud and gravel were flying everywhere and the intense noise of the explosions had turned into an incessant beeping. “Daddy,” he murmured. He just wanted to go back to his village. To his hut. Not the real ones, but the ones he created in his mind. He closed his irritated eyes and prayed to see daddy’s warm and kind eyes. Instead, the gaze that awaited him was Father’s. The look of the Monster. Fueng’s body succumbed to the despair and trembled uncontrollably. Still, he managed not to scream. He would not snap in front of his brother. Not in front of the others.

When the second wave finished, there was no trench. Only holes filled with water, corpses and survivors. Even with the incessant whistling in his ears, Fueng could hear screams and gunshots from the forest. The battle there was close. Herjard would surround them soon if the third wave didn’t wipe them out completely.

“Sir Sheldon is dead and Mr. Huard too. Who is in charge here?” asked a small man who had come crawling faster than Fueng could run.

“Noone,” shouted Allan after the few presents shared stares side to side.

“Center and right side are asking for orders. Who is in command?” asked the newcomer again. Hafiz stood and left his hole, standing on the edge and inspecting the surroundings as if no enemy could touch him.

“Are you mad?” screamed Allan. “Get down! You’ll get yourself killed!”

A bullet cut the air close enough Fueng could hear. The threat did not intimidate Hafiz, who continued inspecting the horizon with a frown. “Tell Them we will charge downhill as soon as the first cannon shoots.” Hafiz said, sliding down the sandy slope. “Everyone runs downhill until halfway, to the ruins of that shepherd’s hut. Then we will turn to the forest and catch Herjard’s flanks by surprise. Remaining men on the right go to the other woods. Tell the center to divide into two groups.”

The man that came crawling left the same way, with no questioning. The idea of leaving those grave-like holes sure seemed fine to him as well as to everyone else.

Hafiz turned towards Fueng with a sweet voice but with eyes dirsty for blood. “After this. Sailing adventures.” his friend said. Fueng smirked, but his heart was worried. Was his Brother going to become another monster like him? Another Father?

While the others grew in exitement and desire for a fight, Fueng disheartened. His focus was lost, his experience forgotten. As the first shell fell, the men screamed and rushed downhill but he hesitated. Urged by shame, he clumsily jumped into the open field and stumbled. The next projectiles hit when he recovered his footing and charged. Everyone was already far away, running and shouting against a curtain of bullets, all except him and Allan, who was not used to his new leg yet.

Hafiz‘s friend turned at him and beckoned with encouragement before disappearing completely with a blast. The explosion sent Fueng back to the starting line. He landed in a shell hole with rain freezing his burned face. There was no part of his body that didn’t hurt, but as he snuggled like a baby, he realized he was still in one piece. “Daddy! Daddy!” Tears filled his irritated eyes and he could still hear his sobbing though perforated ears. “Daddy!”

Daddy didn’t reply. To his screams, there was only the chortle of Father. That terrible sound he once swore to forget. With the world exploding around, helpless and all alone, Fueng snapped. Shattered to realize how weak he was. Ruptured to the understanding the only strength he had was for the monster. Severed to see that he had become the same as Father. And to all that, his real old man was laughing.

“I’m not like you!” he screamed to the sky. “I’m not!” He turned face down and crawled through the mud. Pulling, growling, ignoring the pain of a broken leg and the coughing of a broken rib. The shells were falling closer and closer, but he was not scared of the danger. He was not worried about the pain. He only wanted to run away from the Monsters. When the offensive ceased, he continued just as fiercely and he did not succumb to exhaustion until well past the hill, well past the wagons. On the other side, way down and far from hell, there were some small tarps for the wounded. Fueng continued to slide like a vermin little by little and none of the doctors and nurses recognized that lump of mud as a human being until he was already a few feet from the first tent.

A young man in a white bandana hurried over, inspecting him even more quickly. From all the bruises, cuts and burns, the medic did little more than clean the wounds with water. For his arm, he took a long rag and pinned his limb across the chest. There was no time for superficial injuries. The bombardment was over and the forest battles, too. In the small field, large numbers of wounded were gathering, and many needed more urgent first aid.

Fueng wandered slowly, searching amongst the ones returning the face of his brother. In doing so, he picked what happened from the new arrivals.

The right forest was the witness of a terrible fight on equal forces that lasted until recently. But on the left flank, Herjard troops struck over a wall of brave resistance, and didn’t see the hammer hitting from behind. That hammer, the soldiers kept saying, was led by a man with metal arms. A force of nature that swept out of his path any enemy that crossed him.

The tales and gossips that reached the medical tents were as varied as absurd. Some said that man punched a Herjard soldier through. Others said they had seen him bend a cannon with his prosthesis. Snapped a tree with an elbow. Cut an enemy in two with a single blow. From feat to feat, Hafiz and his group of men had cleared the forest and caught the artillery by surprise, capturing half the cannons and forcing the enemy to destroy the rest before fleeing like rats. The impossible victory, against all odds was thanks to a man the camp started to cal the Tiger, like the hero of the old tales.

“He’s not from Ujan,” Fueng snapped towards a young man roaring Hafiz’s new nickname.

“Does it matter? I saw him take five men with his bare hands. What a beast! He is a tiger indeed, Linee’s tiger!”

A beast. A monster. The war broke his brother like it did to him, after all. With sadness, Fueng resigned himself to the thought. After all, it was to be expected after having lost his beloved Claudia.

Soon a crowd approached, surrounding a man they acclaim like a king. Hafiz walked straight up to Fueng, like giant surrounded by bugs, with tired but steady steps. Completely covered in blood and sludge, he was indeed the image of a beast. The sight put a dreaded Fueng to his knees, terrified to look into his brother’s face and find the eyes of Father.

Hafiz grabbed him by the shoulders, and their gaze met. There was no monster. Instead, he saw sadness and pain. “We are going to sail around the world soon brother, promise,” Hafiz said, embracing him into a hug. Fueng smiled. Not even the war managed to broke his brother. He'd always be that warm and kind man who loved Claudia, and who would take care of him.