Doom approached.

The sky gray; the Slipstream gone, though it would soon return, for now, they were alone; and approaching as steady as the beat of the war-drum, the enemy.

Zan stood still. Tense, but unmoving. He breathed in deeply. Exhaled slowly.

Was he scared? No.

He was excited. "No. Not excited. Not really." But ready, he told himself.

Ready for war.

----------

The day began as any other day:

Zan woke, dressed in the basic garb of his town, some might even have called it a 'village,' and ran off to join his work team. Chores had to be done by everyone in the village of a certain age. Being sixteen, the village expected Zan to contribute as much as the next able-bodied adult. His job? Working the lumber for fishing vessels and for sale.

He looked outward and saw the horizon depleted of trees. It might have seemed to an outside observer that such an immensity carved from the forest to sustain his town's economy had depleted the natural resources of the forest. But compared to the vast supply which stretched, seemingly, forever into the distance, it was but a scratch. "Not even a scratch," he often told himself bitterly half-way through his shift, when he realized the work which remained for the day was actually higher than he believed it to be.

Everything changed when a crier bolted into the work site.

“INVASION! INVASION!” he screamed repeatedly at the top of his lungs.

Immediately, a rustle went up among the workers.

The crier, acquiring an audience, continued: “As I speak! The might of the New Woodland Expanse has attacked us! The attack came without warning and has overtaken all the borderlands. All the hinterlands are threatened! Our King has established a defensive line every civilian must evacuate to immediately!”

The crier then repeated his proclamation several times before prodding off on his horse. Zan’s face drained of color, the shock, the audacity of the enemy!

Zan wasted no time. He rushed back to the village with many others, some electing to flee in wild directions, so overcome they were with fear; he rushed through the several defensive trench lines which had been dug by the local defense corp. “Jiehong! Jiehong! Where are you?”

Hearing the chaos, Jiehong came outside. His chore was with the village leadership, acting — on certain days — as advisor-in-training; other days, he mined precious stones in the mine, his large body and muscle making him the ideal candidate for such labor.

Jiehong was Zan’s brother, best-friend. And roommate — most of the time.

Being an orphan, Zan had luck on his side when Jiehong’s family took him in as their own. Jiehong saw Zan and asked, “What is going on? Invasion?”

Zan explained about the crier, who was now setting himself up in the village square, a distance just far enough to prevent the words being heard over at the mayoral hut.

“An invasion?!” Jiehong gasped. “So, it has come to war? I guess we can't be surprised that an expansionist super-power who has never showed signs of wanting peace is invading. Hardly the developments of the century...”

Jiehong looked sad. And why not? War is a devastating, family-destroying experience no one should need experience. Yet, Jiehong faltered not a single step and said, “Then it will be up to us to play our small part!”

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“I think so, too!” Zan exclaimed. “But how?”

With the elders of the village in attendance, a meeting was called. Frantic, scared, everyone talked quickly. The crier — having since left town to go to and warn the next rural community -- had departed the village in a huff, tumbling through the crowds as he shook his way through the many bodies clogging the streets. Zan, as a male of fighting age, had input which he shared with the elders, along with those other able-bodied males who remained to fight. A strategy quickly formed, helped by the previous weeks of planning, drills, and fortifying the town.

“Temporary defense to hold off the enemy it is!” a village leader, Trip, said.

“But for how long?” Jiehong asked.

"Only as long as everyone needs to pack up their whole lives," Trip said before rushing off to find his old, rusted family blades.

Zan and Jiehong rushed to their home. Jiehong rustled around in the familial trunk for the basic armory his family owned. “Think we’ll make it?” Jiehong asked as he found a couple of swords and bucklers.

“They’re only golems. Wood at that! Hardly more animated than bundles of sticks and twigs. We’re not helpless infants or the death-bed ill. We’ll be fine… as long as they don’t surround us and pummel us to death,” Zan said, a bleak chuckle escaping from his lips.

“I figured. Don't get swarmed. But I wanted to check in with my best,” Jiehong said, smiling.

“We’ll get through it together. We always do, bud,” Zan said, patting Jiehong on the back to eliminate tension.

Changing the topic suddenly, Jiehong said, “You ever use one of these?" Jiehong brought a couple of armed pieces Our parents bought me a tutor to teach me a bunch of things, remember? Basic swordplay was one of them.”

He shook his head. "No, not outside of the drills they put us through. I could use another lesson," Zan said.

Jiehong showed him how to use the sword and tiny shield. He watched Jiehong closely. In his brother's oversized hands both tools looked tiny. The sword was a mere short blade, while the buckler was barely twice the size of his hand. “An hour’s tutorial doesn’t buy us much more than a fighting chance, but I will take it,” his brother remarked.

Jiehong set up some targets: damaged clay pots steadier than rock and showed him some basic sword strokes. How to stab. How to use his blade in conjunction with a buckler, the proper way, so he didn't skewer his own shield while trying to defend. Maybe twenty-five minutes passed. With a few moves demonstrated and practiced, the last thing Jiehong taught was magic.

"I know you can do magical foundationals -- mend, fortify, and the like. I wanted to see for myself and offer any tips," Jiehong said. "Destroy that pot."

"Sure," Zan replied, channeling magic into his hand. He smashed his fist against one of the training pots Jiehong had put up. It shattered into pieces.

"Impressive. You can channel with emotion, it looks. I prefer to get on the angry side when I channel. Whatever works for you, though. I don't begrudge the process. Now, take a couple pieces of the pot and mend them together. Good!" Jiehong said as Zan watched his brother watching him perform the simple mend spell. For added measure, Zan then performed an elementary heal on his own body. By the time the crier came to their village and warned them of the invasion, he had been working for nearly a full shift and so had plenty of scraps which needed tending.

"I'm not sure how I didn't notice your skills earlier," Jiehong told Zan.

Feeling overstimulated, Zan let his aggressive side free. He said, "You're always busy with yourself, that's why..."

"I'm not sure if that is true, necessarily, but no other reason is coming to my mind. I don't think now is the time to talk about this stuff, though."

"No, I guess not..."

Sitting down, his training causing a sweat to break, Zan asked for some water. Jiehong obliged.

Outside their childhood home and seeing clouds of misfortune ahead, Zan looked to the sky, hoping to see the Slipstream. Once the Slipstream came out, he would be able to recharge his magical essence. Though the Slipstream encircled the whole planet, it was weather-dependent, and often faded into inaccessibility on mysterious whims. 'It came from the gods,' was the extent of a most people's understanding of it.

“What will we do if things go south?” Zan asked.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

----------

The sky rumbled. Of course it is going to storm, Zan thought.

He and Jiehong waited outside the village limits. To their backs were trenches lined with archers, spearmen, and shield-bearers. Ahead was the work camp. With only a few dozen alongside them, he knew it was an impossible battle. The enemy's number were in the hundreds, if not the thousands. They would fight for as long as they could, hoping they were not overwhelmed and slaughtered. Or perhaps worse, captured and pressed into slavery.

It was here they would make their first and last stand.

At least until everyone had time to flee to safety.

The speed of the enemy impressed both boys. For slow-moving automotrons clunking along the land, they made good time. Though he knew they must have transport of some kind...

“They’ve overtaken the lumber yard!” a scout said, rushing back.

Zan’s heart thumped.

Time slowed to a crawl.

With the steady beat of fate, he saw the foe approach.

Of medium height, the wooden automotrons of the Expanse came within sight. They clambered mechanically through the lumberyard and into the field, showing no sign of emotion, let alone fear, as they strode inexorably toward the town's defenders.

He drew his sword and prepared for battle.