The Path to Victory

The Aftermath

My father, the only descendent of the first follower of the sun, has left.

I walk around the battlefield quietly.

The land is painted with the blood of the warriors who gave their lives for this meaningless battle. Their corpses lay still

.

I step over one.

It is a face I recognize.

His features are soft. He is not even a boy of 15 yet.

My youngest brother.

I wish I had not seen his face. It broke my heart.

The skin torn, blood dried. His eyes expressionless. They used to be filled with happiness and youth. I feel tears slowly run down my face.

He was just a child. War should not have even been in his path yet.

I walk. He is dead, I could not even bear to look any longer.

The land has been decimated.

This field I walk through was once a place I spent my youth.

My mother and father took me.

We used to ride horses through the forest to the east.

Smoke rose from that very same spot.

In seconds the flames have claimed where I had spent my childhood.

There is no hope.

The country has been ruined.

The beautiful land has been destroyed.

The remaining people have lost their will to go on.

I walk more.

I hear the cry of a man.

He is an enemy soldier, his armor broken and his sword nowhere to be seen. Blood runs down from his right eye and his leg is missing.

He is crawling and reaching out to nothing, like a blind man trying to see the sun again.

I kneel and take his bloody hand.

He gasps and squeezes tightly, his fingernails digging into my skin. "Water. Water. P-p-please."

I let go of his hand and go to my pack.

I take out my flask of water and open the screw.

I look back to the warrior

.

He is laying face first on the ground. He is gone.

I grab onto his head and pour water into his mouth.

It is the least I could do for him.

I leave him.

I walk more, surveying the horrible scene before me.

I close my eyes and exhale.

It is over.

All my hope is gone.

But something catches my eye.

A tiny green sprout

In the field that smelled of death poking through the dry dirt.

Something blooms inside of me.

I look to the sky clouded with smoke.

Maybe not all is lost