Automotrons made little sound as they marched, fought, and conquered. So, standing before a legion of them now, hardly any sound other than their audio footprints as they marched, felt to Zan a surreal way to die. He expected his death to come with bombast, not silence except for the hardly notable clank of wooden gears within the hearts of the enemy.

“Here they come!” Colonel Winters announced.

Standing on his own, though barely, Zan held his sword ready. By now, Jiehong and Whiskey stood next to him, Jiehong still imploring him to reveal what happened with the burst of sudden power. Zan would have told, but Zan could hardly keep his eyes open, let alone speculate about the source of his strange power.

Before the enemy contacted them, all Zan could say as a reply was, “I hope your weird parasite does what mine does, Jiehong. Maybe you’ll live… and get to return home.” Zan spoke with tears falling down his cheeks.

Zan expected a response from his friend. Instead, his honesty met Jie’s silence.

So that’s how it is… even when we face death, Zan thought. A lost friendship, a lost life. If imminent death could become worse, Zan didn’t want to see it.

With the enemy now within striking range, Zan prepared himself. The final battle.

All he wanted was to begin the battle with a last-ditch effort to be brave to those defenders behind him, the normal people of villagers, people like how he had been before the invasion. If he could take out a couple of automotrons before he fell, that would be enough. More than enough.

With great effort, Zan raised his blade for one last stand.

Sweat intermingled with his tears and saved some of his honor, but Zan knew in times like these, honor came from within. It was not an external matter of pride; Zan and his final defenders would die with plenty of honor to spare. For, death in the line of defending one’s country always came with respect.

One step, two step… one more step, another second, and it would be ‘killing time.’ Zan steeled himself for the grizzly end. He saw the final step. Contact with the enemy.

He swung his sword, removing a huge chunk from an automotron while taking an aggressive forward step of his own. Digging into position, Zan swung again and ended the golem in front of him before hacking at the golems to his left and right.

All along the lines, others did the same. Steel met wood, wood met flame; Whiskey rained down the rest of her arrows, then saved the rest for her blades. Jiehong, without the enthusiasm he showed during the camp raid, braced himself as he threw himself into the enemy’s ranks. He hacked away, sure, but Zan saw how tired and slow his movements had become. Then, as Zan parried a blow from an enemy axe, he heard a cry of agony as an axe contacted flesh somewhere along the final stand. Turning his eye quick, Zan saw one defender fall to the ground in a puddle of blood. Zan’s heart would have beat faster if it could, but Zan could not dwell on the death of others, even as he heard more agonized cries. All Zan could do was defend himself until his reaction times signaled the end. Until his muscles let him down and the enemy’s weapons drained him of life and purpose.

Which happened momentarily.

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Parrying a blow and pushing an enemy back with a hacking stab, another enemy with red paint, took the parried foe’s place and launched into a coordinated attack with a golem behind it. Zan staggered backward and brought his shield to bear. Although the shield protected him from many blows, he became worn down to his knees, forced down by the weight of the axes clanging on his shield.

Gasping for air, sputtering up spittle, but not knowing what else to do, Zan continued to weather the blows. Eventually, even his kneeling position wasn’t enough. His shield cracked, and though Zan repulsed what would have been a death blow with his final feat of strength, he now laid wholly on the ground, shield askew, him no longer able to defend himself. The end was coming. It would crack his skull soon. Then it would end. For better or worse, he would die, and the world would move on…

Zan’s vision blurred as tears obscured everything, but wiping them away, he saw a miracle.

From the high ridges above, arrows! A flurry of arrows rained down upon the automotron foe! More arrows than Zan could count, arrows whose flight rang true to the foe and marked them as allies to Zan. So many arrows, each one lighting up Zan’s heart with a last-ditch hope.

He heard screams. Shouting. But Zan couldn’t keep his eyes open.

He fell asleep. Unconscious? He didn’t know.

When Zan awoke, an indeterminate time later, it was the high afternoon.

Sun pierced Zan’s eyelids with a fury. Around him were people. Not only the prisoners and his compatriots, but people dressed in unusual clothing. Bright colors marked the newcomers. Red, blues, and hues of violet glued the new and the old as Zan heard strange accents. He tried to rouse himself and stand, but everything in his body told him otherwise.

“Someone, help me!” Zan groaned.

By his side came Jiehong and Whiskey. They must’ve been near.

“I’m here, my friend. Calm. Rest. You’ve earned it,” Jiehong said.

Hearing Jie call him his friend made Zan happy. Hope for their friendship simmered yet! Zan fell back to the ground, which he saw included a sleeping pad filled with soft, feathery materials.

“What happened?” Zan asked.

“So…” Jiehong began, unsure of how much Zan saw before he passed out. “We were fighting. You were, maybe, the best of us all. Then — out of the blue — a volley of arrows!

Then another volley! From the trees, new fighters emerged and slew the golems with incredible haste. In a few blinks, the battle was over. It was a tense moment, then, as the new combatants surrounded us. Although they were human, among them were life-forms from far-away lands. People did not know what to expect—”

“Oh, for the love of it all, get to the point!” Whiskey said, interrupting Jiehong.

“I’m getting to it!” Jie shot back. “So, yeah. We didn’t know what to expect. But Colonel Winters and the leader of the newcomers talked. Turns out the newcomers are ‘rebels’ or something battling with the Kingship. Our Kingship. Or maybe they were arguing with the king? I don’t really understand it myself. But the Colonel and them had some strong words once the Colonel discovered they were rebels.”

Zan took in all the new information. Rebels? Meaning, the same rebels, the Royal authorities in Thundervale once suspected he and Jiehong of being? Zan gave Jiehong this — it was an incredible turn of events.

“Words… got it,” Zan replied. “Then what? Where are we now?”

“Well, they didn’t talk so many words right away. After the arrows volley, the newcomers rounded everyone up, found what horses they could, and over several hours ferried everyone to several hidden camps in the area. We’re in one of those camps now. Once they saved everyone, that was when Colonel Winters and the rebel leader guy had words, and that was when things got heated.”

That made sense, Zan thought. Talking when more of the enemy could come at a moment’s notice wasn’t ideal. Nor was it smart. But talking after saving everyone? Better.

More logical.

Thinking of something, then, Zan turned his head to Whiskey and said, “So we did it? We rescued your people?”

Whiskey smiled broadly and said, “We did. With your help, Zan. So thank you. I will always remember and appreciate what you’ve done for me. What’s you and your friend have done for my village. Thank you, so, so much!”

Zan smiled in return. Even the ever-stoic Jiehong had a grin.

“I guess… we can go home?”

Jie nodded. He said, “That we can, buddy, that we can!”