The land was scattered with broken trees and fallen bodies. Fur tinted with blood flew in the air, guided by the winds. The birds once again chirped. The dark sky was once again painted with stars. The night devoured all the light.
Yet a light persisted. At the center of the finished battle was a flame ignited by the fallen trees' remains. It danced brightly under the darkness. Around the fire were two figures, Lone and Stewart. Both of their armors were battered and cracked. Both were injured. And both were tired.
"How far are we from the Fort," Lone spoke as he stared at the spear in his hand, [Banes Wish]. A spear he hated, yet was forced to use solely because he believed skills outweigh practicality. In the future, this may be true, but as of now, having such a tool is worthless. Yet he could not toss it away, for this was his only tool against the onslaught of creatures.
"We are several hours away, but there should be an outpost nearby," Stewart said as he took off his right vembrace. Its metal, sleek form shone under the flames before him, useful to protect his wrist, but right now it was bothering him. One of those creatures had managed to slash at the underside of his arm before he could put it down. Thankfully, it didn't cut too deep, but the vembraces leather lace was rubbing against the wound.
"Do we have any bandages or cream left," Stewart asked as he looked at the wound. The cut wasn't deep, but it was covered in dirt and sweat.
"None," Lone said as he gazed at the flames. He then hovered [Bane's Wish] blade above the flame. He held it above the flames, just watching it.
"What are you doing," Stewart asked as he stared at the darkness under Lone's helm. Lone didn't answer as he had begun unstrapping his metal chest piece. Holes and cracks littered its surface. Lone breathed out as he felt liberated from the weight. If he had to choose between wearing armor and not wearing any, he would choose not to wear any. But he was in a forest filled with threats, and so he had no other choice but to keep it on.
"No more heavy armor," Lone thought as he lifted up his torn-up shirt. Underneath were several bite and scratch marks that those beasts managed to land on him. Lone grabbed a nearby twig as he placed it in his mouth.
Without a second thought, he quickly placed the heated blade onto one of his wounds. His eyes widened as he let out a scream, but quickly bit down on the stick. Veins appeared on his face and neck, his face reddening as he let out a muffled cry.
Seeing this, Stewart stood up and reached out a hand.
"What are you doing!" He shouted as he tried to get the spear out of Lone's hand, but Lone just smacked his hand away. He kept the spear on his skin for several more seconds before moving the spear away. Freed from the pain, he took several labored breaths as sweat dripped from his face.
"I was closing my wounds," Lone said as he swallowed his saliva and took more heavy breaths. He looked at Stewart, "Our wounds can get in the way of combat and, if not treated, can get infected."
Stewart just stared at Lone, watching as he hovered his spear back into the flames. He knew Lone was right, but still, who would willingly let themselves get hurt? Especially if these words came from a young boy such as him. He wanted to stop that boy, he really did, but he knew that boy was right.
All he could do was watch him suffer.
Stewart looked at the flames before him, his eyes lingering on them as he heard the cries of pain.
.
.
.
Minutes later, silence once again filled the air. Lone was once again in his metal armor as he just watched the flame flicker.
"I have a question," Stewart asked. He looked up at Lone.
"Ask," Lone simply said.
"Why did you kill your family," Stewart asked.
Lone said nothing as he stared at the flames in front of him. It was not because he was thinking, well, he was, but not of that. In truth, he too, was wondering why the person he was playing as had killed their parents. From what he read, the boy was raised in a happy family, yet he still killed his family. He would have thought that maybe he was abused by them, but from what his backstory said.
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[A boy raised by two loving parents and a loving brother. He lived a happy life and a happy time, smiling every day. But one day, he got tired of smiling and decided to laugh instead. And so he grabbed a spear that his father made and stabbed them all in the heart while they slept. He did not laugh, but wept as he turned himself in and was sentenced to the Barrier Fort, where he would serve on the front lines against the wave of Bestials until his sentence was up, both in life and in death.]
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The boy was neither happy nor angry. In fact, he was sad, but if he was sad, why kill them? Sad enough that he wept and even turned himself in. Why did he turn himself in, maybe as penance for his crime? But why kill then?
Though it was bothersome for Lone, he would not dwell on it. For whatever his character did was in the past. It would not block his future. That he was sure of.
"... I don't know" was all that Lone said as he watched the flames. A simple and truthful answer. That was all his mind could muster.
Stewart just stared at Lone, "Were they cruel?"
"... they were not."
"Did you hate them?"
"... I think I loved them."
"Think?"
"..." Lone didn't say anything, just simply went and grabbed his helmet. With both hands, he raised it off and looked at Stewart.
"Tell me, what do you see?" Lone asked.
Stewart was wide-eyed as he stared at Lone. While he was escorting Lone and even released him, he never once saw his real face, and the darkness of that night didn't help. But seeing it now, all he could do was stare in shock. The boy was neither handsome nor ugly. Yet that wasn't why he was shocked.
On the face of Lone were scars, not from blades nor from any beast. But these were from flames; he knew what scars made by flames looked like, for one of the Wielders in the Fort controlled flames and would always hurt themselves when using it.
The scars lingered from his nose bridge and up. All his skin was, and his eyes seemed to be as white as snow. Yet the boy acted as though he could see properly, but most prominent of all was his hair. Maybe, under stress, the boy's hair turned dark gray. Though there were still some stands of light brown hiding underneath the gray.
Seeing Stewart's reaction, Lone just put his helmet back onto his head and stared at him. When he first saw his face reflected in a shield, he was shocked by how he looked. This was why he believed that this body was abused, yet there was one thing that made him think otherwise.
When he touched his burned skin, either with his fingers or with the metal sides of the helmet he wore, the pain was there. Lone did not know how long burns take to heal, but he did know that they did not hurt after a long time. And if they did, the pain would at least be a bit lighter.
Yet the burns on his face felt like someone was constantly splashing it was scalding metal. But they were healed as though they had always been there for years.
"Shocking, isn't it?" Lone said, looking at Stewart, "I was also shocked when I saw it for the first time."
Stewart looked at Lone, "First time? What do you mean?"
"It is just as I say, when I was in that little jail wagon of yours, my face was constantly hurting, and I always wondered why. But when you freed me and let me fight, I saw my own reflection. If I am honest, I don't know how I got these, nor the why. But what I do know is that I did have these scars before I killed my parents," Lone said as he looked at the flames once again, staring at the dancing embers.
He lifted his head up, "I do not remember the reason why I killed them. But what I do know is that I loved them enough to keep a smile on my face before I killed them, and that is all that matters to me."
Stewart stared at the Lone, his eyes finally returning to calm as he sat back down. He just breathed out as he looked up at the sky. He stared for some seconds before saying, "I'll keep watch. So go rest."