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.

My hands shook as I folded a scarf into a thin tube and stuffed it into a corner of my backpack. Our group–we seven souls–occupied a small chamber under the fortress which held ammunition and nutrition. In utter silence, we methodically filled our bags with the necessary requirements–food, clothes, ammo–as we had been trained. The darkness of the room recalled the mission to my mind. I wondered what would happen the moment we left our safe haven. Where would we go? Who would lead? Marcus? I turned to look at him but found he was not present with us. I frowned and grabbed my overly stuffed backpack and strode up the stairs.

My heart ached when I saw him standing alone on the ruined tower gazing, I imagine, toward the Dark Lord’s abode. His face held a certain bleakness, as if he was holding onto some pain or uncertainty. But then, I found it hard to read him. He hid his thoughts and feelings masterfully.

‘Thoughts?’ I said, moving to his side, ignoring the heavy breathing from my climb up the boulders.

He didn’t turn to me but I saw his jaw clench. “I wonder what it must be like to be truly free.”

“We were free before this battle. No rules, no expectations, no fear of messing up, no commander to say ‘yes, sir’ every few seconds. We had freedom in living our simple lives without having to worry about dying,” I said. If I had expected him to smile at my jest, he refused to find mirth. I was immediately sobered. How could I joke about such a thing? I blushed and looked towards the rising gloom and ash.

“The Dark Lord has reigned terror for years, you and I are too young to ever know freedom from his vile hands,” he said slowly. “I don’t think I was ever free, not even before this battle.”

“Why? How?”

A small grin creased his mouth. “You are aware you can’t close that with all the junk in it? What soldier are you, if you can’t pack properly?”

“Don’t judge,” I said. “We may need this.”

“Get some rest,” he said, staring at me for a moment, “and don’t run like that down the stairs, you won’t have enough air and the commander may reject your desire to take the mission.”

I gript my backpack, wondering if he had guessed my secret. “I’m going to check on Francis,’ I said, stumbling away, aware he was watching.

I found Francis sitting with his baggage against the fortress wall, drinking from a mug. He held it to me with a smile. The circles under his eyes made me reject the calming tea but when that annoying cough hit my body I accepted his outreached cup. It would smooth my throat, that was all I could hope for. Clearing my throat, I glanced around for the commander but no one had noticed my racket. Sinking beside Francis, I watched soldiers march to and from the dark lands, afraid sleep would never take me.

I started at the slap on my shoulder. ‘Hurry, we are leaving,’ said Marcus. I blinked my eyes open and realized it was night. Sleep must have stolen me for some hours. The moon was covered with thick clouds and a light downpour of rain.

Marcus reached for my hands and dragged me to my feet. “Francis?”

“He’s already gone. We almost left without you.’

I glanced at his face. Did he mean that or was he messing? I shrugged and followed after him. We threaded our way through the ruins and reached the opening that separated our hazen from the chaos beyond. The commander stood by the gate, smoking a pipe, examining each of us. My heart was beating too fast when he stepped before me and checked me. I just managed to stop myself from heaving. My stupid heart.

He stood back, stern but with a hint of compassion. “Dear friends, don’t be afraid,” he said. “You are excellent soldiers and are well equipped to face the dangers of the Black Fields. Courage and astute thinking is all you require. Marcus, you will lead them. Remember, you are there to find the Dark Lord’s weakness and eliminate him. Light willing, you will bring about the end. May you all return together, but if a sacrifice is demanded, I trust Marcus and your discretion for the future of our lands and our freedom. The Dark Lord must and cannot win this war, or all will be lost. Your actions will either be our making or breaking. Farewell and be safe!”

Huddled together, we crept out from the fort, leaving behind our comrades and safety. I alone glanced back. I might never see the place that I despised and had strangely come to love. The commander stood watching us as he leaned against the arch--the Light shining behind him. I struggled to push my misery and lack of hope aside, but even the thought of victory dampened my spirits. We were walking, with Marcus leading, right into the wolf's hoard. We could all perish.

The Black Fields breathed.

That was the first thought that struck me as we crossed beyond the last broken stones of the fortress. The ground exhaled mist with every step, pale vapours curling around our boots like grasping fingers. Ash clung to the rain and smeared our cloaks in gray streaks. Somewhere far off, something howled—low, not quite animal, not quite human.

Marcus raised a fist. We halted at once.

Our seven shadows crouched among dead grass and shattered stone. My pulse thundered so loudly I was certain it would give us away. I forced myself to breathe slowly, counting each rise and fall of my chest like we’d been taught.

“Movement,” whispered Elian, our scout, his eyes fixed on the dark plain ahead.

I followed his gaze—and saw them.

Figures emerged from the fog, dozens at first, then more. Armored in blackened steel, helms shaped like snarling beasts. The Dark Lord’s vanguard. They moved with grim purpose, blades drawn, marching toward the fortress we had just left.

They were between us and retreat.

Marcus didn’t hesitate.

“We can’t let them reach the fort,” he said quietly. His voice was steady, but I saw the tension in his shoulders. “This ends here.”

My stomach twisted. Seven against an army.

Marcus met each of our eyes in turn. When his gaze reached mine, something unspoken passed between us—an apology, perhaps, or a promise.

“Positions,” he ordered.

We scattered, training taking over where fear threatened to paralyze me. I dropped behind a fallen pillar, fingers trembling as I readied my bow. A cough stirred in my chest, sharp and unwelcome, but I swallowed it down.

The enemy drew closer.

Then Marcus stepped forward into the open.

“For freedom!” he shouted.

The night exploded.

Arrows tore through the mist. Steel clashed. The silence of the Black Fields shattered beneath screams and ringing blades. I loosed arrow after arrow, barely seeing where they landed, only knowing I couldn’t stop. Shapes rushed me—too fast, too many.

A soldier lunged from the fog. I screamed as instinct took over, rolling aside as his blade struck stone where my head had been. My hands moved without thought, dagger flashing. He fell, and I didn’t look at him again.

Around me, chaos reigned.

Francis fought like a man possessed, swinging his hammer in wide arcs, shouting through the rain. Elian vanished and reappeared like a ghost, blades finding gaps in armor. One by one, we held—but we were being pushed back.

Then a horn sounded, deep and terrible.

The fog parted, and something vast emerged.

Not a man.

Not a beast.

It towered over the battlefield, wreathed in shadow, eyes burning like coals. The Dark Lord’s champion. Each step it took crushed stone into dust.

Marcus ran toward it.

“No!” I screamed, my voice ripped away by the wind.

He moved with reckless purpose, sword blazing with light as he struck. The creature roared, the sound tearing through my chest. Marcus was thrown back, skidding across the wet earth.

Something inside me snapped.

I ran.

I don’t remember drawing breath. I don’t remember the pain in my lungs. I only remember Marcus struggling to rise—and the shadow lifting its blade.

I fired.

The arrow flew truer than any I had ever loosed. It struck the creature’s eye. Light erupted from the wound, blinding and fierce. The champion screamed as it collapsed, dissolving into smoke and ash.

Silence fell.

The remaining enemies fled, vanishing into the mist as suddenly as they had come.

Rain soaked the battlefield. Bodies lay still. My hands shook as I dropped to my knees beside Marcus.

He was alive.

The Black Fields were quiet again.

But far away, deeper in the darkness, something stirred.

And I knew the Dark Lord now knew us.

The earth groaned beneath the storm of firebrands. The scorched Black Fields were thrown into a whirlwind of flames. Only one thought emerged, the Dark Lord was ready to meet souls. While we were still far from the lurking flames, the heat travelled fast and captured us in a sticky embrace. The roar of the fire purged my ears. I moved towards Marcus, who was crouching on the black earth, Ellian bending over him. As I took my place beside them, their hushed voices stopped. Both looked up at me as if I was a child interrupting an adults conversation.

“You okay?” I asked, not liking the tension that radiated between the two.

“It will take more than that for the Dark Lord to end me,” said Marcus with a bitter smile.

“Don’t say such things in this land,” said Francis, appearing by my side. “It’s a bad omen.”

Marcus shifted his torso. I noticed a pool of blood escaping his shift. Biting my lip, I turned away, conscious he wouldn’t want assistance. If only the wind would howl and dash those ridiculous tears from the back of my eyes. Eager to get away before they saw my emotions, I wandered through the corpses in search of usable arrows.

Glancing back, I saw Francis huddled with Ellian and Marcus, watching me. The other members of our group were walking through the corpses looking for anything useful. I stepped over the corpses. They were clothed in a dark, whispy, fabric. The masks remained etched to their faces, hiding their true presence. I shuddered. What secrets the Dark Lord was hiding remained beneath those masks. I sank to my knees before one corpse and touched the mask with my fingers. It was cold, so cold, like a freezing glacier. I felt my hand stick to the surface, like water turning to ice. I tried to pull it back but something grabbed my boot. A hand. I shrank back. The corpse shook uncontrollably. Before my eyes, the mask faded exposing the tender flesh of what looked like a human face. I wrenched my hand away, falling back as the corpse fizzled away under a cloak of mist.

I leapt to my feet and glanced around. My companions all had their backs to me. A thick mist hung dangerously over the earth, an affect of the heavy rain. I looked at the empty place, a scorched pile of dust, where the corpse had been. Shaking my head, I searched through the fog for my comrades. The corpse’s expression creeping into my mind—I had seen that face before.

My fears increased when I found myself walking without having to overstep corpses. My stride froze. I scanned my surroundings. In the deepening mist, I was alone, with not a corpse of the enemy. It unhinged me. Deathly silence drummed through the veiled fields. Not a word, not a sound. Just the increasing cold.

I ran, with no thought, to break through the mist, to see some form of life, to at least not be the last. I didn't heed a distant cry that pierced the silence. I put all my energy into escaping this maddening dream. Why did I ever chose this? I crashed into a figure arising from the fog. if I had thought I would be overjoyed to see Marcus after such a fright, I was surprised to find myself bulk from his concerned look.

"There you are. Hurry up, we must go?" He pulled me behind him. A fiery sensation ran over my hand. I ripped my arm away. Stumbling after him, noticed for the first time that the tips of my fingers that had grazed the corpse were raw with burns.