Chapter Text
A lone soldier kneels on a field. The once green and lavish ground is now charred and lifeless. The smell of smoke and ozone fills his nostrils and a ringing his ears. His sight is limited by dark spots, but he can still see the countless weapons that are strewn about, and orange and purple flags that lay abandoned. Although the soldier is standing perfectly still, not daring to move a muscle, the earth seems to be swaying, as though she’s trying to take him as well.
(Foolishly, he hopes it had been the earth, then maybe the ringing would cease, his vision would clear, and his legs would work again, so he could take vengeance on his enemy. But he knows it couldn’t have been her, for the strike came out of the sky)
A blinding light fills the soldiers already damaged vision and for a second, he thinks he wants to take him next. But the soldier blinks and suddenly a man is standing before him. Squinting he can make out a pristine dark suit and a red tie. The stiffly ironed jacket shows not a single wrinkle, and his head has not one hair out of place. He is the only thing not covered in mud, blood or ash and the contrast is so absurd, the soldier almost laughs. He doesn’t. Because it’s him. He’s here. The soldier braces himself for the inevitable strike. For the burning light to flood his body and the overwhelming pain to consume him, before he is reunited with his comrades.
The pain doesn’t come. Instead, a hand is gently placed upon the boy’s head and begins to lightly stroke his hair. Distantly, he realizes that the man is speaking but he still can’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears. He just keeps staring at the man’s chest counting the light blue stripes on the fabric. It looks expensive. It probably is. When he glances down, he can see his own reflection on the mans polished shoes.
Suddenly the man’s hand is grabbing his chin and the boy is staring into electric blue eyes. He has stopped talking and is looking at him expectantly. Even if the boy had been able to hear what he’d been talking about, he couldn’t have answered. His jaw is wired shut and his vocal cords are twisted in a knot.
Eventually he gives a heavy sigh and waves his hand. Suddenly the incessant ringing is replaced by oppressive silence. One might think the boy has gone deaf if it weren’t for the unusually soft voice filling the air. The boy can hear the words being said. But they don’t register in his mind. The wires are still there, the knot has only grown bigger, keeping him mute, unable to make a sound.
The man is now frowning and the hand, that at some point has moved from his face to his shoulder, is squeezing it painfully so. The boy doesn’t want to be there anymore. Not with him. The numbness is wearing off and he is starting to feel every cut, bruise, and broken bone in his body. Pieces of his armor are digging uncomfortably into his shoulder. His hand is aching from the tight grip he’s been holding on his weapon. But worst of all, the despair is setting in. He wants to kick, scream, and cry. Do anything to rip out the wires his jaw and the knot in his chest.
(Mentally, the boy begins to pray to every deity he can think of. To reverse time, to get him out of here, to get him to leave, to save him. He’s not sure what he’s asking for. He’s not even sure someone is listening.)
Something must have shown on his face because the man grabs his face again and pulls him closer. And before the boy can even begin to decipher his murmurs, his father disappears in a flash of lightning and the sound of booming thunder.
A lone boy kneels on a field.