Rasu clasps his injured eye, gasping for air as he crumbles, falling exhausted on the floor. “I’m tired,” he rasps, his hands trembling as he inches towards Bairuel. I guess the facade has completely collapsed.
He didn't know what he was doing. Why, after years of maintaining this mask, would he throw it all away, only for a comrade who happened to have fought with him for years, and still lose him in the end? Now he is spent, his strength wasted on a single burst of energy. He can no longer protect them, his subordinates. For the first time in years… he is vulnerable.
“I’m sorry, Commander,” a medic apologizes, weeping, “He is beyond saving.” Despite the bandages wrapped around Bairuel’s stomach, the steady flow of blood cannot be halted. Rasu places his hand over it, feeling the warm liquid seep through the bandages.
“Looks like I'll have to leave first, Rasu,” Bairuel whispers, “Looks like you lose another member of your audience.”
“No, not an audience member,” Rasu shakes, “But a fellow performer. A brother-in-arms.”
“Remember the time when we first meddled with magic? How our large, round eyes gleamed with joy?”
“Of course I do.” That pure expression when they first encountered the mysterious force known as magic. It was fun, then. They were impoverished, orphaned children back then, without many forms of entertainment. The discovery of such a force was like a gift from the Elyfesta itself. Who knew, who would've guessed, that this same force would lead them here, so far away from their destroyed homeland.
“Magic. What a funny thing, isn't it?” Bairuel gasps, as if he figured out Rasu’s thoughts, “If only we can play with it a little more.”
“If only… If only I didn’t drag you two into the world,” Rasu begins to sob, “Then maybe…”
“No, we chose to follow you, Rasu,” Bairuel smiles, wincing as he clutches his stomach, “Both me and Hiriel.” Unable to hold his emotions at the mention of such a name, tears stream down his cheeks.
That same pained smile. That identical gaze of longing yet also completeness. Both of them slipping further away from his reach. First Hiriel. Now Bairuel. Maybe, soon, it's his turn.
He remembers that moment, so long ago. When was it? Fifteen? Sixteen? Seventeen years ago? He already forgot. But it was then, yes, that they first became comrades, companions, brothers.
“Ah, I'm so bored!” Hiriel complained, “The caretakers don't laugh at my jokes any more!”
“You’re just annoying, Hiriel,” Bairuel stated.
“Well, what are we going to do now?” Hiriel groaned.
“How about we escape from this orphanage if it's so boring?”
“Oh, that sounds fun!” Hiriel brightened up, “Like those stories of heroes rescuing the people from the villain, except we are rescuing ourselves!”
“Rasu will be our leader since he's so smart!” Bairuel suggested.
“Just promise me you follow my command.”
“Till our deaths!” Hiriel added cheerfully.
“Till our deaths!” Bairuel echoed, albeit with less confidence.
Yet where has he brought them now? They left the orphanage, yes, but only because of a disaster that destroyed it. Taken in as child soldiers, they worked day and night just to earn a meal, using magic to at least lessen the pain in their lives. It didn't take long before the officers realized their talents, utilizing them as shock troops, forcing them to shed blood for the first time in their lives. They hated it, yes, but it was only another disaster that brought them out of this hell. He still remembers that laugh, that clear, crisp voice of the supreme commander moments before the execution, killed by none other than the children he personally trained to be his slaves.
An escape as mercenaries, assassins, killing specific targets commanded by their hirers. They didn't care about who it was so long as it garnered a handsome reward. It was never easy, but nor was it difficult. Well, it was fun, at least.
Then, Hiriel died, his body apparently peppered with shots from a target's bodyguards. They never saw his body, only the ashes scattered on an unmarked graveyard. Quietly, they joined the New Rule, hoping to one day complete their last mission, but instead, Rasu climbed the ranks rapidly, and for a brief moment, he once again enjoyed stability, Bairuel loyally supporting him by his side.
Another disaster, magnified by the envious officers, almost costing his life. Yet he did not falter, instead taking on the persona of Hiriel, one that would give happiness and joy even in the darkest of times.
But what now? His last true comrade, dying before his eyes. Just what has he been doing to cost his dearest companions, his friends, their lives?
Till our deaths. No, they deserve to live. It is him, this foolish leader, that deserves to die.
“I’m sorry,” Rasu speaks softly, hiccuping from his tears.
“No, I'm sorry,” Bairuel’s voice fades, “Leaving you behind like this.”
“I’ll join the two of you soon.”
“No. For the sake of them,” Bairuel raises his quaking arms, looking at the silent figures of Kavlina, Tarak, and the others as he brings Rasu’s ear to his mouth, “Live.”
Live. Such a simple command, the only command ever given to Rasu from Bairuel, yet so difficult to fulfill. Still, Rasu nods, watching the life slowly fade away from his comrade’s body, the skin slowly paling, the tension in his body relaxing. Finally, with a smile, Bairuel departs, leaving a quiet Rasu, staring at his dead comrade, the others standing still even as the artillery and aircraft of the Confederation begins to bombard the headquarters, rattling the walls. Goodbye, my friend.
Somewhere, deep in his mind, the laughs of Hiriel and the voice of Bairuel still resonate within him, calling out his name playfully as they dash around the grounds of the orphanage.
“Bairuel is dead,” Rasu solemnly announces, holding back his emotions, pushing his exhausted body to an upright position, “However, we have no time to mourn for him. Prepare to evacuate the headquarters. Destroy everything, leaving nothing for the Confederation to loot. Our medics, please dispose of Bairuel’s body however you see fit. Sadness, especially when one has already died, shall be left for a time after the battle.”
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“But…” a medic speaks up.
“You promised to follow my command, didn't you? I only ask that we take all necessary measures to prevent further deaths like these. The ones who are still here, follow me. We shall engage in hit-and-run, much like our comrades outside. Our objective is simple: delay the enemy's advance as much as possible.”
“When shall we retreat further?” Tarak asks.
“When I give the order,” Rasu answers, simultaneously opening his comms, “Immediately depart for Thille, destroying all major highways. The Pass may be lost, but we cannot afford losing our capital as well. Understand?”
“Understood!” the officers respond fervently.
“Well, let's leave this pile of stone and bricks, Squad Rasu.” Swallowing his tears, he motions for Tarak, who promptly carries Rasu on his back. As he takes a last look at the room, he sees the medics gently wrap the body of Bairuel together before setting a fire in the room.
Hurrying down, they grab pistols and knives from the arsenal and preserved food from the kitchens before placing and activating their nearly-obsolete timed bombs. Soon, following another soldier, they reach a narrow corridor, shuffling in single file until they reach a lone steel door, the hinges rusted from lack of maintenance.
“How do you know this route?” Tarak asks.
“Sometimes, only experience will speak for itself,” the soldier replies.
Carefully, they open the door, revealing a single ladder that goes up to the surface. One by one, they climb out, entering into a thick, suffocating smoke. Despite their helmets, they could feel the air sting their throat and lungs, and sweat rapidly perspires from their bodies despite the cold.
“They’re using kiri gas!” a soldier shouts, before a violent cough reaches the ears of everyone.
“Rasu, you don't have a helmet,” Tarak warns, “Will you be alright?”
The kiri gas, cutely named as an irony to its deadliness. He knows it too well. After all, in the lawlessness of war, chemical weapons are but the norm.
“I’m used to it,” he reassures, “Keep going forward and break through the smoke.”
As Tarak dives into the smoke, Rasu feels his skin freeze, clutching his fists in pain. Even though he had closed his eyes earlier, the kiri gas seeps into the eyelids, stabbing his injured eye. Tears and blood stream down, attempting to rid the toxic gas, but to little effect. Yet this physical pain is not enough to break him. He had promised to live, after all.
He feels the heavy breathing of Tarak, running forward in the rubble. Nearby, he hears the tens of footsteps crushing the rocks beneath them, escaping from the blinding smoke. Gradually, the pain lessens, the air becoming more breathable. The smoke should be dispersing by now.
A crash. Behind them, the headquarters collapse, the walls blown apart by a barrage of artillery fire. They hear a loud roar of victory and celebration. In front of them, the sky begins to turn into a dark blue, the faint first light of the Elyfesta poking out of the horizon.
“The timed bombs are set off?” a soldier asks.
“Not... yet,” Rasu answers, catching his breath, “But almost.”
Suddenly, a second explosion, abruptly halting the cheers of the enemy. The rubble of the headquarters fly out like sparks in a fire, filling the sky with burning rocks, raining down onto the enemy. Cheers turn into screams, echoing through every soldier’s comms. Armored vehicles and artillery cannons burst into pieces, their vulnerable engines and batteries punctured by the rocks. Several aircraft begin spinning downwards, their wings severely damaged from the pieces of the former headquarters. Catching their breath, the group stops, turning around to see the spectacle of chaos. For a moment, the sight is horrid like the disembodiment of a carcass, yet splendid like the opening up of a flower’s petals.
“Retreat... now, everyone,” Rasu commands, “May we see each other in Thille.” Bairuel, I hope you enjoy this performance.
Of course I do. Just don't use my body as decoration next time.
Rasu laughs, and for a moment, he hears the echoing of a younger, crisper voice, excited at his first feeling of freedom.
----------------------------------------
Avalel arrives at the headquarters, a pile of rubble scattered with scraps of metal. A broken helmet lay nearby, a small rock lodged in its side. Did I arrive too late?
He notices the remnants of a bomb, the metal still hissing with smoke. Nearby, a burnt torso, presumably originally an enemy soldier, sizzles, the flesh all but gone, leaving only a charred rib cage.
He had felt a great explosion earlier, likely fired by the Confederation’s artillery or aerial bombardment, the resulting blast knocking him onto the floor, returning his consciousness. Cowering on the ground behind the ruins of a pillar, he had heard cries of joy and victorious laughter, yet they were silenced by a second explosion. Now, as he arrives at the scene, he sees the remains of Confederation soldiers, laying lifeless, their helmets covering their ghastly faces. He only hopes his comrades are well as he brushes aside some rocks blocking his way, ignoring the dead beside him.
A single night. Just how many deaths had he witnessed? He no longer feels pain, or even fear, when he comes across a dead body. Only emptiness and indifference.
I wonder where are they? he thinks, leaping over the broken shell of an armored vehicle. To his slight relief, the overwhelming majority of the corpses belong to the Confederation. Well, at least they managed to stop what seems to be a vanguard unit.
Do you not feel horrified when you see this sickening scene? the spirit questions.
At least it wasn't a stampede, Avalel replies, his mind flashing to the trampled bodies early in the battle. Perhaps this is war.
You have grown so much in a single night, the spirit remarks, Well, that is what war does to every broken soul.
Why even are we fighting these bloody battles?
Avalel climbs atop a relatively large pile of rubble, overlooking the destruction before him while the Elyfesta rises, warming his face. For the first time in the entire night, the air is quiet, peaceful even.
People seek and desire comfort and peace, the spirit explains. Sometimes, that is taken away by someone more powerful who also desires such peace and comfort. So people seek power, not only to protect their peace, but to gain more. Every conflict, every fight, every war in this world, are all begotten by greed and desire. The seeking of power is only a byproduct.
Is that why you and Stasibel want me to rely on the Anapadeia’s power? To not only protect what I have, but gain more?
So you understand. Greed is an inherent, unbreakable part of the existence of all life. Without greed, the world would be far more primitive than you see today. But all these casualties... They are the side effects of such greed. Dying for a cause they know little about. Pathetic.
Are you mocking me?
Young one, you do not deserve to be controlled by a government you only barely know the surface of. You want to end this war, don't you?
Doesn't everyone?
Everyone wants a different end, but there can only be one.
You're suggesting I carve my own path?
Of course. Things like “ideology”, “ethics”, and even “friends” are only burdens that drag you down.
Even them?
What if you found out, one day, your “friend” is just another enemy?
I... I don't know.
You cannot be held down by anything. Everyone wants that peace and comfort, but there is only so much. That is what a war means to individuals. Not a glamorous fight for some distant ruler, but using the collective strength to achieve individual peace.
The whirr of aircraft engines rumble overhead, the bootsteps becoming audible in the distance. The battle is over, the Pass completely lost to the Confederation in a single night. Avalel swiftly slides down the pile, heading towards the Elyfesta and away from the dead battlefield.
When your friend becomes an enemy, will you discard them like the dead bodies here lying to be cleaned up, or will you stubbornly cling on till the end, even if it costs your dream of peace? the spirit thinks, That, young one, I leave to your own thoughts.