The battlefield stank like blood and mud. My boots were caked in it, my armor sticky and heavy. The screams were still in my ears—dying men, clashing swords, the chaos of war. And somehow, in the middle of all that, a captain comes running up to King Duncan.
He's out of breath, waving his sword like it's the only thing keeping him alive. And he starts talking about me. About me.
"What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won."
I froze for half a second. Me? Won? I just fought for my life. And yet… the king is listening, smiling.
Apparently, one of the Scottish traitors—Macdonwald—had been cutting through our army like a knife through butter. And I went after him. Alone. Sword flashing, heart pounding. I can still see his face. When it ended, his head… well, it wasn't attached anymore.
The captain kept talking, breath ragged, sweat dripping into his eyes.
"Dismay'd not this our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?"
He told the king about how Banquo and I fought together, unstoppable, like the gods themselves were guiding our hands. I didn't say anything. I just let the words land. Let the praise land. Let it fill the chest-tightening void of exhaustion.
And then Duncan made it official.
"What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won."
Wait, he said that twice? Okay, that's… fine. I'll take it.
The king decided the Thane of Cawdor—our traitorous "friend"—was to be executed. And the title… guess who's getting it?
Me.I.
Just like that. No warning, no asking. Macbeth is now Thane of Cawdor.
I smiled, tried to look humble. But inside… something twisted. Excitement, fear, temptation. What does this mean? Am I… moving closer to the witches' prophecy?
I glanced at Banquo. He looked proud, calm. Not a hint of the storm raging inside me.
I clenched my fists.I had fought a war. I had won. And now… maybe, just maybe, the crown was whispering my name.