The Blinding

Chapter 17 - Loyaan

Tossing my armor onto my bed, I collapsed onto it. The battle, Magan's death, and the near defeat of the Warriors had taken a heavy toll on the company. This journey had been longer, almost ten days, and the exhaustion and emotional strain had drained us all. Though Father was expecting a briefing on the events, I needed some time.

Magan's demise kept replaying in my head, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't focus on anything else. Despite our victory, losing him felt like a defeat. Just as it was time to honor the fallen and celebrate, the Nubian had used our own tactics against us. I punched the wall in frustration, my hand hurting from the impact, but I needed to direct my anger somewhere, and the wall was my only release. It was true that I hadn't cared much for Magan, but his death was a blow. He was a true Warrior and an integral part of the army, respected by many. His past roles in wars and battles had made him a hero. For someone as esteemed as he was to fall in a single battle was baffling.

I thought of everything I knew about Mages in Macrobia up to that point. I sympathized with them, but the events at the border had been eye-opening. If nothing else, the Mages were dangerous. If it weren't for them, defeating the Nubians would have been quick, and Magan might still be alive. It might be wrong for the Shifters to kill newborn Mages, but understanding dawned on me as I thought of Magan's death. It was hard enough to fight Mages outside of Macrobia, but imagining the havoc they could wreak inside the country if they still had power? The consequences of such a scenario would be disastrous. I thought of Tissa and her passionate stance on the plight of the Mages. But what did she know of wars and battles? Perhaps stripping Mages of their power was for the best, I contemplated. I shook my head. I wasn't sure what to think, and my internal struggle was almost as intense as the physical one.

The next day, I found myself back in my father's office, finally ready to deliver the briefing he had impatiently awaited.

"Well," he said, his foot tapping restlessly under the large wooden desk where he and Magan had reviewed papers just a fortnight ago. He rarely showed emotions, and this time was no different. While he maintained his usual professional demeanor, there was a sadness in his expression that hadn't been there before. Magan had been a close friend to him, and they had fought alongside each other in combat. My voice softened. "Aabo, are you doing okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked matter-of-factly. I sighed, knowing it was futile to pry. He would never let his guard down. He was a seasoned leader, unaccustomed to displaying emotions. I shook my head. "The battle was a near defeat," I began. He nodded for me to continue, and I relayed all the information — about the Mages, our plan to overpower them, and finally, Magan's sacrifice for my life. When I finished, he simply nodded, deep in thought.

"I see, and there was no way to save him?" I felt for my father, but I didn't push further. I shook my head slowly.
"Dismissed," he said letting me go with just one word. As I turned to leave, I took one last look at my father. His head was in his hands and his body trembled as he sobbed soundlessly. Wordlessly, I left the room.

A few days later, I stood in my official military attire for General Magan's funeral. His coffin was brought into the main throne room, attended by the first family, my father, the company, and Magan's wife and children. The atmosphere was laden with melancholy as the prime minister's wife wrapped her arms around Magan's sobbing widow. My father stepped forward to give a speech. Although sadness still clouded his eyes, his words were delivered apathetically, focusing on Magan's numerous military triumphs and making no mention of his character, personality, or the moments they had shared. That is until the very end. "I will forever be indebted to the general for sacrificing his life to save my only son. He will be missed." As he spoke those words, his voice wavered, and a solitary tear escaped from his eye. Stunned by his uncharacteristic display of emotion, he quickly stepped down from the platform, discreetly wiping his eye in the process. I, too, was taken aback. The only other time I had seen my father cry in the presence of others was at my mother's funeral many years ago. Back then, he had been far less stoic. After her death, he had shut himself off, evolving into the father I knew today. I rubbed a hand across my face, attempting to banish the memories that had haunted me for so long, particularly on this mournful day. It was best not to revisit that place filled with grief, especially now.