Howling wind battled with roaring blood, withered lungs begged for mercy as thorns and vines fastened around them like savage serpents, legs threatened to buck beneath a heavy burden, and trembling fingers clutched onto a hefty rifle as Trenchant staggered through the blizzard. Her tired eyes were squinted at the blank fog, straining to make out a crooked path in the snow. The ground was littered with bodies - the now-empty vessels of soldiers who used to be human. Soldiers who used to feel, think, laugh, weep, and love. People who had had someone out there, someone who cared and awaited their return as they shrank in the cold corner of their empty abode. Now, they were all but void carcasses buried under the falling, furious white feathers. It was difficult to believe life once raced through their veins. Trenchant felt for them; she personally knew the frosty grip of emptiness that clawed onto their stagnant hearts. Hell, she even envied them a bit; they no longer had to suffer the guilt and sorrow that loomed over her like an axe ready to strike. Pictures of the good days when no heart knew greed nor travail were framed in her hazy mind, torturing and mocking her.

Her legs quaked, her strained breaths shortened and hastened. She tripped over her lifeless comrades and kicked up dry, dusty snow. Blood seeped through her worn and wrinkled uniform. A pity; it used to be her most prized possession. Before she joined the Coalition, she couldn't have even thought of owning nice, proper clothes. She could barely keep her rifle in a steady grip. Her icy hands could not even feel the weapon, and even her best efforts to keep her fingers away from the trigger were to no avail.

Slow steps faltered, heart banged against its cage, fingers uncurled from their desperate grip, legs bucked beneath weight, and the soldier crumpled to the ground with a weak wail. A cloud of powdered snow erupted from beneath her. She gasped in agony and choked on her breath, chest heaving as she hacked out a pool of blood, spitting scarlet streaks. They seeped into the silver snow, painting a scene of utter misery and despair. Trenchant's eyes fluttered shut, her pale and split lips parting in a prayer the wind mercilessly smothered with its raging yowls.

The rifle hadn't landed far from its owner. It lay there, patient and tempting, welcoming the pained soldier with its loaded chamber. It was warm. It had a heavenly glow to it - even as she blinked at it again and again, it never quite faded. With a strangled groan, Trenchant heaved herself up, erupting in a fit of fierce coughs. She spent a good few moments fighting and gasping for her breath before reaching out for the tantalizing weapon. If only she could just... pivot it a bit more until it was aimed at her...

What did she have left? Nothing, that was what. She was a traitor - a filthy, wretched scumbag. Her dying nation wept and shrieked for salvation as she bluntly turned her back on it, squeezing her dull eyes shut and covering her ears. Her soul slowly withered, and spiders wove their dusty webs across her clouded mind. Her heart sank and froze as she stared into the nothingness, as her people keeled over and handed themselves to a lost cause with their last scraps of determination and faith. Those dead soldiers were more human than she could ever be.

Her fingertips blindly searched for the weapon, struggling to get a good grasp on it. She slowly pressed on the soft trigger, her breath stilling as the world went quiet. That was what she wanted. That was what she deserved.

A thunderous shot pierced through the mist and left a vile ringing in its wake.

Silence bled.

A string of disheartened and fuming curses rang through the air; Trenchant had missed the shot.