For Honor: The Quest For Peace: Male Warden Reader x Shaman

Chapter 4:

Time: Night 9:20pm:

Location: Viking's Hunting Outpost:

(Y/N)'s PoV:

I force a solid grip through the stones that shield me from the world. I hoist up myself further to the light blizzard of Valkenheim, and glare around to the abandoned location. Bodies lay still in the dead silence, snow covering them, engulfing them into a part of history. Flames still go strong, but not strong enough to survive much longer I assume.

I looked at my situation. My legs are still under the fallen debris, wooden planks, and ash. I forced the weight off my legs, giving leeway so I could climb out of my tomb.

I stand slouched, an aching pulsate running through my body. My armour miraculously tanked the hit, and most was undamaged, besides my helmet, and left gauntlet. The gauntlet was bent completely out of shape, and the helmet had a large dent, and missing components. I chucked those damaged hunks of steel to the ground, and caught a glimpse of my reflection in a small frozen puddle.

My (H/C) hair was still a short length, no different to how I have it, meaning it's got to be the same day. Cuts and bruises litter throughout my face, most notably the rather large cut going through my right eyebrow, and down my top eye lid, that must be from the helmet dragging against my face. I knelt closer to evaluate that these wounds are relatively fresh.

Then...it hit me, literally and figuratively. A blizzard began to brew in the mist of the valley behind the fort's walls. Also the silence. I was alone. Not a single soul disturbs the peace for remembering the fallen, but that changed.

"Cross!?"

"Gawain!?"

To no avail did I receive a response, which caused more fear. Fear from predators and starvation. Fear since I forgot which trail leads home, because this place is destroyed and similar, and I forgot what the trail looks like. Fear from hyperthermia.

"CROSS!!?"

"GAWAIN!!?"

"CRO..."

I halted my speech. A clamp from a building caught my frightened attention. It came from within the ash and fallen debris of a fallen house, missing half the wall. To follow up the clamp was a low burst shriek of agony. I wasn't alone.

I felt my skin crawl from knowing that someone else is here. I dropped to my knees, and searched through the snow for a weapon. Fortunately, I located my weapon, that I can't seem to lose, due to the engraved markings left by my Father, though I will never know what it says because it's in Japanese from his adventure collaborating with the Samurai.

I ready a stance and take a single step. My leg gave out, unable to fully support my weight. My leg has been turned and crushed awkwardly, sending a heavy dose of pain to my whole left leg, more specifically my knee cap. I forced through the pain by using my sword to support my weight.

With a slight limp, I approached the foundation. The noise from the victim was becoming ever so slightly louder, letting out groans of pain and desperation of wanting freedom. Stepping in through the ashes of a door, I turned a corner quietly, but through myself behind the wall again after the sight.