In the stillness of the night, beneath a blanket of stars, Andravion and his men moved like shadows—silent, deliberate, and patient. They had crawled to their first position, a high vantage point overlooking the enemy camp. Below, the enemy—their would-be hunters—were blissfully unaware of the danger that loomed. They went about their preparations, unaware that the tables had turned. They had failed to anticipate Andravion's move, and now, they were the ones who would soon be hunted.
The ridge offered a perfect perch. The men huddled in the darkness, hidden by the landscape, every muscle tense, every breath measured. The faint rustle of the wind was the only sound, yet every soldier could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on them. They waited.
Andravion stood at the forefront, his gaze sharp and unwavering, his presence commanding. He turned to face his brothers, the men who had stood by him through countless battles. His voice, low but filled with purpose, cut through the silence.
"Here, brothers... we stand not only for our empire," he began, his words carrying the weight of years of struggle, of all that they had endured. He paused, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the men. "But for our families. For those waiting for us, back home."
A heavy silence fell over the group. Eyes met eyes, and hearts beat in time with the pulse of the night. Each man knew the cost of this war. They had been away from their homes far too long. They had borne the ache of absence, the hunger for reunion, and the constant threat of death at their backs.
Andravion's voice rose with growing intensity, his words now a rallying cry. "Think of the families you've left behind. Of the children, the wives, the parents who still cling to the hope of your return."
The tension in the air thickened, like a storm about to break. The warriors, bracing for the fight ahead, felt the strength of their leader's words surge through them. Andravion's eyes shone with the fire of a man who had seen too much, a man who knew the stakes. He took a slow breath before continuing, his voice almost a whisper now, carrying the weight of conviction.
"Let that longing... that hope... be your strength. Let it fuel you, push you through every pain, every obstacle. Ask yourself, in the quiet of your heart—what do you live for? What do you fight for? What do you wish for? What drives you?"
The men's grips tightened around their weapons. The questions burned in their minds, stoking the fire within. They were more than soldiers; they were fathers, sons, brothers, each with something far greater than duty to fight for.
In Andravion's mind, picture of his family comes to view— His father's face brimming with pride and joy, his mother's kind eyes filled with tears of happiness and finally, his infant sister who must now be a wonderful girl.
Father.
Mother.
Ylfa.
I'm on my way.
Andravion let the words sink in, the air heavy with the weight of what was to come. And then, with a final, fierce roar that shattered the stillness like thunder, he commanded, "ATTACK!"
The battle cry rang out, and in an instant, they were on the move—each warrior charging forward, their hearts pounding with the fury of a storm unleashed. The long road home was finally within reach
The clash of steel rang out in the air, sharpening and deafening. Beneath the thunder of war drums, the soldiers fought with all the ferocity they could muster. Their armor was dented, bloodied— a confused mixture of their own wounds and the blood of their enemies. But it didn't matter. The only thing that kept them moving, kept their swords raised, was the thought of home.
All throughout the air, cries echoed— the cry of those who've been cut and the cry of those who are about to cut. Each man desperately trying hanging on to their life while taking the lives of their enemy. One swing for a life. The soldiers not minding the blood that splattered on their faces, it clothed them. But it served as a reminder.That they're not just fighting for survival. They're fighting for the moment they can leave this behind. For that peaceful morning when war felt like a nightmare.
--
Andravion moved with swift, calculated precision, cutting down his enemies without a shred of hesitation. Yet even in the chaos, he never turned a blind eye to a struggling comrade—dragging the wounded to cover when they could no longer fight or stepping in to relieve those overwhelmed.
As much as he wished to stop and aid every one of his men, he knew better. That kind of thinking—noble, yes, but naïve—had no place on the battlefield. The most he could do was ensure that as many survived as possible. If not all, then at least most.
"You're wasting precious time, boy. Let not your head be the only thing thinking—your feet should be moving as well.
Ramona's cold voice echoed through his mind, slicing through the haze of hesitation.
"I can't help but think about it, Mona. I'm their captain. I'm responsible for every life on this field."
"If you wish to keep their fragile lives, then stop dawdling and move." Her tone sharpened into a sneer. "Do you really need reminding that idle thoughts have no place on the battlefield? The only thought that matters is swift victory
He took a breath and shook his head, forcing his thoughts into order. A cold glint returned to his eyes. "Forgive me.
Ramona didn't reply—only scoffed. But he didn't need words to know she was right.
He raised his sword and surged forward, carving a relentless path toward the heart of the enemy camp. This time, he didn't think—he simply moved. There was only the end of this battle. And it would end in their favour.