A young boy sat silently on the floor of a shoddy little room, resting his head on the side of his mother's bed. In his hand, he held hers while his eyes stared lifelessly at the dirty floor beneath him.

A familiar low whistling sound reached his ears, and despite knowing what would soon follow, the boy remained as unmoving as his mother on the bed. The foundations of his tiny home shuddered as a building collapsed nearby, knocking loose a light rain of dust from the ceiling.

When the commotion died down, life returned to the boy's eyes, but with it came the truth he refused to face. His tears splashed on the dust-ridden floor beneath him despite his best efforts to contain them.

"M..om?" The boy called out quietly, his voice shaking with a bitter hope that would remain unfulfilled.

He knew that he wouldn't receive a response because the truth he so desperately sought to deny was that the hand he held had gone cold hours prior.

"Please, Mom... Please, wake up." The boy whimpered as his tears flowed like streams.

Still, the boy refused to raise his head. He knew that if he did, he'd see her, and the truth he denied with all his heart would become real. That his mother was gone and nothing he could do could bring her back.

As his whimpers grew more desperate, the front door to his tiny home slammed open.

"—barely been a month, yet our mages can't even defend the damned wall! You've seen it. It's falling apart! Now the Ollerinians don't even bother hitting it anymore and instead focus on our homes!" A young man's voice hollered as two men entered inside.

"Calm down, Petya. The mages are exhausted from endlessly using their magic to defend us. They're outnumbered many times over, and the Ollerinians build more trebuchets with each passing day. There's simply not enough of them to block every stone that gets thrown." The other young man replied.

The boy recognized the voices as belonging to his older brothers, Petya and Jora, but he made no motion to leave his mother's bedroom to greet them. If he did that, he'd have to raise his head and face the truth, but he wasn't yet ready.

"Minaan be damned! We're all exhausted!" Petya roared, slamming his fist into the wall. "Where are Earl Gabon and his men? Where is King Goetian? Where are the damned Agelians? Are we meant to die for nothing?! Is that Minaan's great plan?!"

"Careful with your words, brother!" Jora shouted back. "I'm as angry as you are, but Minaan's name shouldn't be used so casually. It's exactly because of such actions that we weren't chosen to take part in his great plan."

Petya scoffed. "And what a great plan it is! Let the majority of the country be slaughtered while every Bernish mage, priest, and noble runs off to complete his stupid fucking plan... For what?! What will be left of Bern even if it succeeds?"

"We have to believe Minaan will succeed soon. If not, we can die knowing that Ollerin is soon to follow." Jora replied as the house trembled from the shock of another building being hit by a trebuchet nearby.

"Soon?" Petya sighed as the rage drained from his voice. "Jora, the last of our siege equipment was destroyed four days ago. They can now lob boulders past our walls with impunity. Do you not hear it out there? We've lost. If not today, then tomorrow or the next."

"What would you have us do? Surrender?" Jora asked mockingly. "We'll be killed or enslaved if lucky and burned alive if we're not."

"I have no intention to surrender to those Ollerinian dogs, but neither am I so ignorant as to believe that Minaan will rescue us. The only way to survive this is to take our lives into our own hands."

"How?" Jorah asked. "We're trapped in Harran just like everyone else. Even if we could escape, where would we go? If the Ollerinians are already this far south, we'll only be escaping to a larger cage... There's nowhere that's safe."

The tiny home went quiet, but the boy had heard their conversation entire. Finally, his tears had dried, having no more sadness to give, but even now, he feared raising his head. He didn't care about gods or kings, victory or defeat, Bern or Ollerin. He just wanted his mom back.

The boy wanted to raise his head and see her gentle smile once more, to hear her loving voice telling him it was all a lie and that everything would be okay. However, the great cruelty of life was unavoidable. Her light had left the world, never to shine upon him again.

The boy lifted his head and faced the truth but quickly turned away. He felt nauseous. Fighting through the sensation, he stood up and opened the bedroom door to his brothers.

Outside the bedroom, his two chainmail-clad brothers sat around the fireplace, warming their hands and chewing on stale bread. Then, hearing the bedroom door squeak open, Jora turned his head and quickly analyzed the boy's face. "Grishan, what's wrong?"

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"M-mom's... Gone." Grishan replied after stepping out of the bedroom, finding the words harder to speak aloud than anything he had ever done before.

Petya dashed past him without a word while Jora remained frozen in place. Frantic cries soon followed from the bedroom as Grishan leaned against the wall, sliding his back down it and burying his head in his knees.

After some time, Petya exited the bedroom looking pale yet firm. "This has only steeled my resolve. I will not die pointlessly abandoned by my country and god."

"I don't know how you can say that even now. It wasn't Bern or Minaan that killed our parents. It was an Ollerinian trebuchet that destroyed our family home, killing Dad... And now, Mom." Jora said with his head hung low. "Why are you, of all people, not filled with rage and thoughts of vengeance?"

"What vengeance is to be had if we're dead? Do you believe my heart is not full of hatred for those responsible, brother? Because I assure you it is. You've always told me I'm far too hotheaded and that I need to stop and think more. I'm doing it now."

Before Jora could reply, the sound of a horn blown five consecutive times filled the city.

"That's five!" Jora looked up at Petya in a panic. "The Ollerinians are moving! We have to get to the walls!"

Petya glanced at the door before shaking his head. "I already told you, I don't intend to die pointlessly. I'm taking Grishan with me to hide. Come with us."

"What... About Mom?" Grishan suddenly asked from the floor.

"Grishan..." Petya sighed. "There's no time to bury her. We'll come back once it's all over and do it proper, okay?"

Grishan went quiet. He knew Petya was right, but that did little to numb the ache in his heart.

"Where do you intend to go?" Jora asked.

"Our old cellar." Petya replied. "It's still intact, and I've been clearing the debris from within it whenever I'm not defending the walls. There's food and water inside already, and the entrance is hidden well enough by the rubble. We can stay there until the battle's over."

Jora scoffed as he weighed his options. "That's on the other side of the city! And even if we make it, do you think the Ollerinians will just leave once they take the city?"

"Of course not. They intend to conquer Bern, which means they won't massacre everyone in the city at the very least. We'll be fine if we avoid the first few days of bloodshed.

"This isn't just some random thought that popped into my head. I originally only planned to hide Grishan away if things turned sour, but as it became more and more apparent that Harran was abandoned, I began considering joining him."

Grishan rose to his feet and looked at the contemplative Jora with wet eyes. "I don't want to lose you too."

Jora roughly rubbed his face in frustration before sighing. "Let's go. We don't have much time."

As soon as Jora agreed, Petya dug through an old chest, grabbing a sack of coins he had hidden away. "Quickly, grab anything small that you want to keep. Once the Ollerinians come, they'll take everything not nailed down."

Grishan's head perked up, and he pointed toward the bedroom door. "Mom's necklace!"

Jora nodded and stood up. "I'll get it. You stay here."

Once Jora entered the bedroom, horns began trumpeting from the walls again. Grishan looked nervously at Petya. "What's that mean?"

Petya ignored him, rushing to the window and sticking his head outside. "Jora, we gotta go! The Ollerinians are already at the walls!"

Jora exited the bedroom, handing Grishan their mother's necklace. "You can hold on to it for now. Make sure you don't fall behind, okay?"

Grishan nodded, following behind his brothers as they fled the tiny home. Once he stepped outside, he was met with the sounds of battle echoing through the city streets. He squinted his eyes and glanced toward the walls as brilliant explosions of magic erupted between the collapsed sections.

The few Bernish soldiers defending the gaps were blown away as more soldiers streamed in from the streets, intent on giving their lives for the defense of Harran.

Petya grabbed his hand and tugged on him. "Pay attention, or I'll have to carry you!"

Grishan snapped to and quickly followed them. They ran as fast as they could through the desolate inner city streets as the sounds of battle grew closer by the minute. When they reached their old home, Ollerinian battle cries filled the air as if the battle had already been won.

Petya hopped over the heap of splintered wood and shattered stone that was once their home, making his way to the rear of the building. Once there, he groaned as he lifted a small wall section that remained mostly intact. Below it sat the wooden doorway leading to their old cellar.

"Take Grishan and get in. I want to make sure it remains covered by the rubble, so I'll go in last." Petya said while holding the wall section.

Jora nodded and grabbed Grishan's hand before entering the dark cellar. What little light entered from above was quickly snuffed out as Petya joined them, releasing the wall section to cover the cellar's entrance.

Sparks shot out from a flint and lit a small candle within Petya's hand, bathing the small room in dim light. Jora released Grishan's hand and sat down in a corner, burying his face in his hands.

Petya sighed. "I know you're upset about hiding away. I am too, but we survive so that one day, the sons and daughters of Bern can rise up and reclaim our land."

"How?" Jora mocked in a defeated tone.

"They can't keep their armies in Bern forever. Eventually, they'll send their armies home, and new lords will be sent to rule us. We will strike and keep them from gaining any power within Bern when that time comes." Petya replied confidently.

"Who is we? You and I aren't even mages. What can the two of us do?" Jora asked helplessly.

"Of course, we can't do anything alone. We need allies. Many who survive will hold onto their resentment once Ollerin is victorious, and that resentment will only grow as Ollerinian laws are forced upon them. We just need to seek them out and expand our forces.

"We'll show the Ollerinians that the Bernish people will not be ruled by a foreign king, and no attempt at executing their authority will go unhindered in our lands."

"How will it be any different from now?" Jora scoffed. "You said it yourself: We cannot defeat them in battle."

"Then we don't fight them directly." Petya replied nonchalantly. "We'll remain hidden and ensure their trade is obstructed, their laws unheeded, and their citizens harried. We make it so Bern becomes ungovernable, giving them no choice but to waste valuable time and resources dealing with us.

"I'm not so foolish as to believe that we alone could bring Ollerin to its knees, but while they're busy dealing with us, Ollerin's enemies will take advantage of a weakened foe... Sparnia and Agelia won't sit idle, and our parents will be avenged even if our hands don't deal the final blow."