The rocks trembled on the ground in fear. The sound of horses running passes through the jaded pathway.
The pathway to hell's gate or that's what people call it.
Sitting on the back of a white jaded horse was a soldier who returned back from war. A general.
His back straight, stiff and upright even though his wounds were critical. His shoulders looked heavy as if he carried a thousand burdens but the town whispers that he carries a crowned legacy.
His face was firm and contained no softness, his eyes wandered across the place securely.
His breathing was held back at a limit, trying to not let out a wheeze out of pain or a sigh out of exhaustion but this was normal to him for he has been to a thousand more wars and won a thousand.
His face was not that attractive, it held all roughness. His small eyes and wise, thin lips and a small, well aged face on top of a well built body.
He looked around the path, the path filled with statues of undying men.
Their statues sculpted almighty-ly. Their faces carved with detail. Their eyes held no meaning, no thought, no good.
Their visage as cold as the northern winters. Their eyes so cold, it melted the sun back behind the tall mountains.
Their faces held nothing but pure ambition and it burned the pathway of snow.
Their foreign eyes and wrinkled face. They held an empty gaze, staring into nothingness but with a sneer of command.
Each on their own pedestal and their sayings carved onto the platform.
But as always one statue caught his very eyes. The statue that stood tall and proud at the end of the pathway. His every feature carved perfectly not missing a single nook or cranny.
His statue was not as decorative as the others. Unlike the others, his statue wasn't filled with a pile of flowers and offerings from the people. The almost teasing smirk on the statue unwavered.
His handsomeness made it up for his qualities.
But what truly caught the young general's eyes was what was written on the old and cracked pedestal.
In bold words it reads, "I am Andreas, Lord of war and rings. Look at my work, ye mighty and despair." with his hands wide spread by his shoulders as if he was welcoming the soldier but he knew those arms were nothing but rough and cold.
Even if he did hug them, there wouldn't be an ounce of emotion flaring from the statue.
It was a writing he couldn't forget so easily. It was carved on his tongue. Those bitter words never left his mind but if it were to, it would be agonizing.
The statue did the man no justice.
'Where have run off to, my lord..'
Roy whispered softly, his eyes now flooded with sorrow.
A grief he could no longer let go.
He placed his helmet in front of the statue as if he was offering it to him.
"My lord... I won. I won the battle, Cilian.."
With adoration, he looked at his face with the look of unsaid love before heading into the town.
