The first thing the boy noticed was the smell.
Not gunpowder. Not yet.
It was oil—thick and metallic, clinging to the air like something that didn't belong in the lungs. It came from the rifles stacked beside the trench, from the machines groaning somewhere behind the lines, from the war that hadn't started here… but was getting closer.
"You're thinking too much again."
The boy looked up.
Krans was sitting across from him, boots half-buried in mud, lazily spinning a bullet between his fingers like it was a coin.
"yeah no shit thinking is the only thing I can do here" the boy replied.
"You always say that before you start staring at nothing," Krans replied. "Then five minutes later you say something depressing."
The boy didn't answer.
Beyond the trench, the land stretched wide and empty—too empty. No civilians. No animals. Just broken earth and distant wire fences cutting the horizon into pieces.
Krans flicked the bullet into the air, caught it, then pointed it at him.
"If they don't attack today, I might die of boredom here"
A pause.
"You'll die either way" the boy said.
Krans grinned.
"Better to die doing something"
"You won't be saying that when it starts."
"Maybe not," Krans admitted. "But at least something will finally happen."
A low rumble echoed far in the distance.
Not thunder.
The boy stiffened.
Krans noticed immediately. "You hear that?"
"I did."
They both went quiet.
The trench suddenly felt smaller.
Somewhere behind them, a machine roared to life—one of the new engines the engineers had been obsessing over. Loud. Heavy. Unnatural. Like the world itself was being forced to change.
Krans leaned back, staring at the gray sky.
"You ever think about how weird this is?" he said. "A few years ago, none of this existed. Now we've got machines that move without horses, weapons that can tear through lines in seconds…"
"And magic," the boy added quietly.
Krans glanced at him.
"Yeah. That too."
Another pause.
Not everyone talked about it openly. Even here, it felt… wrong. Like saying it out loud might make it worse.
"I heard," Krans continued, lowering his voice slightly, "that some units don't even fight normally anymore. They just send one of those people in."
"Don't," the boy said.
"What?"
"Don't talk about it like that."
Krans studied him for a second, then shrugged. "Alright. Relax."
The boy looked down at his hands.
They were steady.
Too steady.
He hated that.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Both of them snapped their heads up.
Another whistle followed—closer.
Then shouting.
"Positions!"
"Get ready!"
"Move!"
The trench erupted into motion. Soldiers grabbed rifles, scrambled into place, voices overlapping in panic and urgency.
Krans stood up, the bullet disappearing into his pocket.
"Well," he said, cracking his neck slightly, "guess you were right."
The boy didn't respond.
He was staring at the horizon.
For a split second–just a second—he thought he saw something flicker out there. Not movement. Not a person.
Something else.
Then it was gone.
"Hey," Krans nudged him. "Don't freeze on me now."
"I'm not."
"Good. Because if you die before me, I'm going to be seriously annoyed."
Despite everything, the boy let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
"Shut up."
Krans grinned.
Then the first explosion hit.
The ground shook. Dirt and smoke shot into the air as the sound slammed into them a heartbeat later.
Not distant anymore.
Not approaching.
Here.
The boy gripped his rifle.
Around him, the world began to break apart noise, shouting, fire, movement but his focus narrowed to one thing:
Survive.
Krans glanced at him one last time.
"Stay alive," he said.
Another explosion cut off whatever the boy was about to say.
And just like that.
the war reached them.