Bullets whizzed past my ear leaving a wake of piercing wails and blotches of blood splashed across my face. I turned my eye from the enemy to the havoc behind. Marcus was screaming words I couldn't interpret. As the soldiers began to crawl back, I found myself alone facing the wave of gunfire with only Francis at my side. Marcus' words ruptured my concentration, "Fall back, fall back! I say, you are ordered to fall back.'

There was nothing to do but obey. I kicked Francis ahead of me. He had this awful habit of waiting for me to go first. I hated this, seeing him as my little brother, I didn't wish him to be taken just as my back was turned. I always made him go first in a retreat or last in a charge.

By the time we reached Marcus, I realised I should have followed his orders sooner. The look on his face was enough to unsettle any stomach. The chance for conversation was cut off by the cracking of an explosion on our right. We were rained with bits of earth and flesh. Like a hailstorm, roots and stones were tossed in a whirlpool fashion sending every member of the militia to grovel in the firm mud. With the commander bellowing orders, we were dared to rise in the line of bullets and run back to our camp.

I dashed into the last remaining thicket of trees, the earth shaking beneath my feet. The ground was a mass of mud and trickles of blood. One could hardly move and I found myself lying face down in sludge. I saw Francis run past, for a moment I held back the cry of reproach. Wiping the mud from my face, I let Marcus help me up. The sounds began to grow dim and distant; the terrors of the Dark Lord lifted as soon as the trees gave way to a ruined fortress. The sun peeked from behind the stormy clouds, enshrining the camp with a hint of hope. We had survived another battle.

The Dark Lord couldn't break the shine of our fort. His powers were no competition to what protected us within these walls. The Light penetrated every crack and crevice, holding us firmly together.

The passage to the mess hall was layered with dirt and blood.Some militia lay groaning in the dirt, awaiting the hermit. A young boy quivered before me. I reached into my pocket–the apple was still there–and handed it to him.

‘Bear?’ The matron stepped in my path. ‘Once you’re cleaned up, you are to clean this passage.’

I nodded, not daring to glance at the floor again. I pushed past her to the mess hall.

‘Christi! Lyn!’ I said, seeing the two girls sipping tea. Their hard embraces shocked me.

‘You’re alive! Thank the Light!’ said Christi, examining me carefully.

‘How was it out there? Bad?’ said Lyn. Both Christi and Lyn, from the area around my village, were new recruits and hadn’t been sent out. The matron kept them as cleaners, cooks, and nurses. I often thought how lucky they were. Here I was a woman traipsing through mud and avoiding fatal blows.

‘Lyn, pray you never have to leave this room.’ I patted her shoulder and moved to the table.

Marcus and Francis were chewing on the miserable pottage. Haggard they looked bending over the table, barely able to stand. I pushed two mugs toward them. The gentle smiles warmed my heart. My two field comrades hadn’t lost hope yet.

‘I was talking with one of the lads, apparently the commander is sending out a special team to finally eliminate the Dark Lord and his hoard,’ said Marcus.

‘If he asks for voluntaries, would you go?’ I asked.

He didn’t meet my gaze. ‘Of course, if I am fit.’

I took a hasty swig of tea and flinched as the hot liquid scalded my tongue. It was better to feel that pain, than the thought of losing my friend.

‘It will be a suicide mission,’ mumbled Francis.

I agreed. ‘The Dark Lord, if he realises he is losing, will take any victim to heal his wounded pride.’

‘So be it. Something must be done. I can’t abide by this anymore.’ Marcus’ voice sent an alarm bell ringing in my head. The possibility that he mentioned and created the mission for the commander was fresh in my head.

‘Marcus, sometimes patience and fortitude are better than reeklessness.’

‘Those are one thing alright. But this isn’t reckless. He is crushing us to the bone. How many were lost in our last march? Half the team. A fight, one on one, will end this famine of death. Perhaps then, we will at last be free. I would rather die than see my friends taken at my side, one by one, second by second.’

He met my gaze then and I saw what I feared. Nothing would change his mind.

Sleep did not come easily that night.

The camp had quieted into a restless murmur—boots shifting, men coughing, the low crackle of watch fires—but my thoughts refused to settle. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Marcus’s face across the mess table: hollowed, fixed, already somewhere beyond the walls.

I lay on my cot with my hands folded on my chest, staring at the warped ceiling beams. Francis lay a few paces away, breathing shallowly. He always slept like that after a battle, as if even rest were a thing to be rationed.

A bell rang somewhere near the inner gate.

Not the alarm. The summons.

I swung my legs down before thinking better of it.

Outside, the air was sharp and clean in a way that only came after rain and bloodshed. The storm clouds had thinned, leaving the moon pale and watchful. Soldiers were already gathering near the command hall, some half-armored, some still smeared with mud. No one spoke. We all knew what this bell meant.

Francis caught up to me near the steps. He didn’t ask where we were going.

Marcus was already there.

He stood straight despite the stiffness in his shoulders, hands clasped behind his back like a man awaiting judgment—or absolution. When he saw me, something unreadable passed across his face. Relief, perhaps. Or regret.

The commander emerged moments later, flanked by two sentries bearing lanterns. He was older than most men in the fort, his hair more silver than brown, his armor worn smooth by decades of use. The Light sigil at his chest caught the lantern glow.

“You know why you are here,” he said, voice steady and unadorned. “The Dark Lord weakens, but a wounded beast is most dangerous when cornered. We will not survive another season of this war.”

A ripple passed through the crowd. No one denied it.

“There will be a small party,” the commander continued. “Few enough to pass unseen. Skilled enough to endure what lies beyond the Black Fields. This mission is not a charge. It is not a march. It is an ending.”

Silence followed. Heavy, expectant.

“I will not order any of you,” he said. “I will ask.”

Marcus stepped forward before the words had fully settled.

“I will go.”

The simplicity of it struck me harder than any explosion. He didn’t look back. Didn’t hesitate.

Another stepped forward. Then another.

I felt Francis tense beside me, his fingers flexing at his side. I knew that look. I had seen it before every charge we survived by chance alone.

“Francis,” I whispered.

He didn’t answer.

I stepped forward.

“I will go as well.”

The commander’s gaze found me at once. Sharp. Measuring. He nodded slowly.

“So be it,” he said. “Those who have stepped forward, remain. The rest—return to your duties.”

The crowd thinned, boots retreating into the dark. When it was over, there were seven of us left standing beneath the lantern light. Seven souls, bound by a choice we could not unmake.

Marcus finally turned to me.

“You shouldn’t have,” he said quietly.

“Neither should you,” I replied.

A faint, tired smile touched his mouth. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Francis said nothing at all. He only looked at me, eyes wide and afraid, and nodded once.

The commander dismissed us with orders to prepare and rest while we could. Dawn would not wait for resolve.

As we dispersed, Marcus fell into step beside me.

“You were right,” he said after a moment. “About patience. About fortitude.”

“And yet here we are,” I said.

“Yes,” he replied. “Because patience alone won’t save us. But neither will fury.”

He stopped walking and faced me fully.

“I don’t know if we’ll return,” he said. “But I needed you to know—I didn’t choose this because I want to die.”

I searched his face, the lines carved by years of fear and command.

“Then why?” I asked.

“Because for the first time,” he said, “I see a way for others to live.”

The Light from the watch fires flickered between us. Somewhere beyond the walls, the Dark Lord waited—whether he knew it yet or not.

And for the first time since the war began, I understood that survival was no longer our goal.

It was victory.