“A happy ending, for all,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. I shift, finally able to relax after such a tense ending.

“It came at a high cost, but Meld learned to respect and love their differences. Yet as before, this is a very old tale,” Eelian says, and lowers his hands. He picks up my torch. He’d put it out earlier, useless in comparison to the glowing balls, but he now relights it with some flint.

“What does that mean?” I ask as he hands me the torch, casting an orange-hinted light over the wreckage around us and spawning new shadows in the dark room.

“Cherish the time you have, Millar. Life doesn’t last forever,” Eelian says.

I nod. “I know what I have to do.” I take a good look at the ruin in front of me.

Eelian puts a hand on my shoulder. “Make sure you do it in the right way.”

I hear a shout from the entrance to the cavern.

“Millar!” Beln says as I turn to him. He sees my torch and runs to me. “Millar, greatness, are you alright?” The other guards peer around the cavern in amazement, the light from their torches reflecting off rusted carcasses.

“I’m fine,” I say, “I’m fine.”

“I went down after you but the rope was too short. We had to go to the encampment to—” Beln offers. I interrupt him.

“I said I’m fine,” I say, and stand up. “Just tell me you have enough rope to climb back up.”

“We do, greatness,” Beln says, his eyes not shifting from me.

“Good, no harm done then. I’d like you to meet someone.” I motion toward where Eelian was standing. “This is Eelian.” I hadn’t realized that the light the swirling balls gave off had gone out. I hadn’t realized that Beln could have seen Eelian when he first came in. And I am now very embarrassed to see that Eelian is not standing where I thought he was.

“Greatness, did you hit your head on the fall?” Keller asks. “Because Graham slipped and twisted his ankle when—”

“Where did he go?” I say, looking around.

“I’m right here,” Graham says, limping a little.

Eelian couldn’t have gone far. Is there another way out?

“Greatness, this place is not one I would like to be in for long. If you saw a ghost, or imagined you saw one, I sure wouldn’t want to stick around till he came back,” Beln says, and tilts his head back toward the exit.

Keller and the others start edging towards each other, looking around at the now terrifying cavern for a sign of a ghost. All the time the drip, drip from the ceiling comes down into the shallow pool. I don’t know why, but I’m a little upset that my guards believe so easily when they think I saw a ghost. That’s a concept I’d have a little trouble catching onto were I in Beln’s position.

“Yes,” I say. “Let’s go.”

The men go into the story of how and why they couldn’t get here sooner. None of them seem too worried about the massive metal graveyard, only getting out of it. I try to explain that it’s a futuristic battlefield, and show them the gun. They don’t seem to care, concentrating on making sure I’m assured they did all they could to get here faster.

This doesn’t make sense. They’re literally standing on history, something that could shake the very foundations of the kingdom, and rightfully so. The people have to know about this, about Grundar’s doom to end up here again on that cycle of buildup and war. But if my men, seeing this right before their eyes, can’t understand what I’m telling them, then how can the masses realize?

It’s as we reach the rope that I say, “Beln, war leads only to death and destruction, and this is Grundar’s inevitable doom,” out of frustration at their noncommittal attitude.

Beln looks around at the graveyard. “We’re better than this, greatness. But you know better than I, so I guess we should do something about this. Here, grab the ladder,” Beln says, handing me the frayed rope.

He believes me just because I say so! I punch a plank of the ladder with my fist. It swings wildly and I propose a question. “What if I told you to jump off the citadel, Beln? What would you do?”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“I would do it, greatness,” Beln replies proudly.

“And why’s that?”

“Because you know what’s best for the people. And because I believe in you.” Beln’s touching reply does nothing to encourage me as the ladder swings back into position.

“And what if a, let’s say, mill worker said the same thing? What would you do then?” I ask.

The other guards, standing around uncomfortably amidst the shallow graves, look confused.

“Then I wouldn’t do it,” Beln says, as if the question were too easy.

“So what’s the difference?” I ask, and lean on the rope.

“It wouldn’t accomplish anything,” Beln says, eager to end the conversation. “Please, greatness, I don’t like it down here and—”

“So the difference is, you believe personally that it would be a bad thing, but if I told you to do it you’d do it regardless of what you really believed?” I ask.

“It’s duty, greatness,” Keller says.

Beln nods.

“Duty versus belief, eh?” I ask, and we all nod. “Right then.” I climb the rope ladder.

My guards think I’m resting in my room. My father thinks I’m planning and eagerly awaiting our strategy meeting later that evening. My mother had to be held off forcefully but now thinks I need space after the event. And my brother is out training his Elites battalion.

Where I am, is a place I never thought I’d be. The brown pants and black cotton shirt of a mill worker fits a little too tight. It was the best I could find on short notice. I pull up the hood of a jacket, hoping no one will recognize me. My face is on coins and commemorative blades and plates, yet even Eldar wouldn’t recognize me walking alone in the streets like this. Just in case, I took one last precaution.

The grease on my face itches, but I look much more like someone used to working with the oil of machines than the oils of fine foods. People give me casual glances because of my messy appearance. Most probably figure I’ve come straight from a shop.

Two things reassure me as I reach the crowded Victory Square during the afternoon rush. One is that I know exactly what I need to do to stop this war. The other is the rusting gun, safely hidden in my jacket pocket.

People don’t give me any space in the bustling crowd, and I have to push my way against the flow to reach Suldar’s Monument. But once I get close, its draining effects keeps people distant. The square is very busy during this time when many people go home after work. Men and women talk buzzingly and shoppers try to attract attention from the passersby. Mitchel shouts out a new edition, General Lulham’s predictions on the war’s outcome. “A special chapter about Prince Millar’s experience in the wars against northern Severdom!” Mitchell cries as another customer buys.

I reach the Monument and get as close as I can. I can barely look at it, but its island of vacancy in this sea of humanity will earn me immediate attention. The metal looks cool despite the heat of the sun, inviting despite the energy sapping effects of standing too close. Standing near the image of the fallen Uldar the Foolish, I look out on the uncaring people. So eager to reach their destination or buy or sell what they want, they don’t even notice me. Those who do forget they did and move on.

In all this, I see a sense of fulfillment. People know where they’re going. They know what will get them there, and they know how to do it. It’s that sense of assuredness in one’s place in the world that makes me envy their ignorant satisfaction.

I feel sorry for what I have to do. I’m going to take them out of their comfortable lives and crush the foundations of their existence with a single sentence. “War is bad!” I shout, wishing I had something more poignant to say.

It doesn’t exactly have the effect I’d wanted. In fact, it has no effect at all. People walk on, ignoring me.

I say it again. “War is bad!” I repeat it two more times out of frustration, but no one cares. Baffled, I see someone walking close by. “Miss, please, a moment of your time.” The woman stops, middle-aged and holding a shopping bag and looking like she’s impatiently waiting to hear what I have to say.

“What is it? I’ve got a lot of work to do,” she says. “Don’t stand so close to that thing, you fool.”

“We must stop the war against Nardor,” I say, still straining against the wariness of being so close to the Monument.

The woman laughs and steps away, happy to be free of the Monument’s effects. “Good one,” she woman says, and walks on.

I stand and watch her get back in line with the crowd and wait for her chance to get through to her street.

“At least no one recognizes me,” I say, trying to remain confident. Then I resume my shouting protest. “People, listen to me! We can’t treat people like we do! Nardorish, the unconquered Severines, and all the other people we’ve taken over are just like you and I! We have to stop the wars! We have to look for other ways to live our lives! People, listen, war is wrong! It’s, it’s… it’s unnatural! We’re logical creatures, can’t we see beyond ourselves for just one minute?”

My pleas have no effect on the people. A few glance up at me, but they don’t really care, and the draining effects of the statue keep their eyes from lingering too long. They move on, keeping on with their lives.

“Do you want to see your future, Grundar?” I shout, close to being angry now. “Do you want to see what this endless cycle of war will lead to? Sure, you’ll take over the world; sure, you’ll be the strongest. But it will all come crashing down on you like the blast from this gun!” I raise the rusted pistol in the air and pull the trigger.

Closing my eyes to prepare for the deafening blast, as Eelian had described, my finger doesn’t move on the handle. I squeeze my eyes and my finger more, waiting for that concussion to shoot through these people’s complacence. Nothing happens. The gun doesn’t fire, and I pull two more times.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” I ask, and check the trigger. My hand’s on it, sure enough. I beat the pistol on my other hand, hoping it isn’t beyond firing. Dust and dried mud falls out of the gun, along with a few pieces of rust. “Come on.” I test the trigger — pow!