The Warehouse Battle

Blink*

Micah's vision cleared, though his arms throbbed with discomfort. He struggled to move them and quickly realized they were still securely bound. The surroundings appeared to be a warehouse, filled with crates and tables, and populated by various swordsmen dressed in matching black outfits.

Micah's anxiety grew as he turned to Peter, who nodded in acknowledgment but remained visibly shaken by fear.

"Peter?" Micah whispered.

Peter nodded again, and Micah's next question carried a heavy weight. "Were these people part of your visions?"

Micah sighed, but his eyes widened in disbelief as a realization struck him. "These were the people, and there were others in white outfits!"

"Only if they were here," Peter observed. "But it doesn't seem like that."

Hopelessly, Micah sighed. "Well, we can always hope."

"Okay, let's hope that a bunch of swordsmen come to help for no reason."

After a tense and silent pause, Micah spoke again. "After all, we are the king's sons."

"I wish it was only you," Peter replied, quickly amending his words, "Well, none of us were his sons."

Micah's gaze dropped. "Same."

Hours dragged on, and their captors begrudgingly provided them with food, which they promptly tossed away, causing some morsels to scatter.

"Thank you, kidnappers," Peter sarcastically quipped, earning a scowl from one of the captors.

"You better watch your mouth, little boy, or you won't have one," the man retorted.

Peter rolled his eyes, a sour expression etched across his face. Strangely, Micah found himself snickering quietly.

Peter cast a vexed glance at him. "Seriously?"

Micah chuckled softly. "What can I say, these guys are funny."

Peter's frustration was palpable. "How can you laugh at a time like this?"

"Well, at least I can try to get a few laughs in before it's too late," Micah replied.

Peter sighed, opening up about his feelings. "Sorry, I've been hard on you. It's just... I wanted to start again." Then he looked away, as if hoping Micah hadn't heard.

"I wish we had just stayed at the orphanage," he sighed, a single tear trickling down.

Micah, with a compassionate gesture, leaned over to comfort him. "Well, we both faced danger there. After all, as Mrs. James used to say..."

"Everything happens for a reason; yes, I know," Peter finished.

Micah sighed with a hint of pessimism. Suddenly, a loud knock reverberated throughout the warehouse, jolting them from their conversation.

Voices began to murmur anxiously, and orders were given to check the door. Several swordsmen rushed toward the wooden gate. The knocks became more persistent, a mixture of fear and anticipation in Peter and Micah's hearts. Peter's voice quivered as he asked, "Who is it?" while observing the chaos around them.

Then came the deafening crash, as swordsmen clad in white clothing and mounted on horses charged into the warehouse.

"Charge!!!" a battle cry pierced Micah's ears, rendering him frozen with surprise.

"It's them," Peter exclaimed, panic taking hold of his features as he stared at Micah.

"Who?" Micah asked.

"Those people from my vision." Micah now watched the swordsmen, their blades clashing in the midst of combat, a palpable sense of danger tingling in his instincts.

"We need to get out of here, now!" Micah urged.

"Agreed."

Struggling, Micah and Peter managed to rise to their feet, slowly creeping through the warzone, hoping to avoid being targeted by the swinging swords.

The sounds of clashing steel rang incessantly in their ears. Clang—Wa-plak A swordsman was sent hurtling towards them, and Peter shouted a warning. They quickly dove behind the cover of a nearby box, narrowly avoiding the falling soldier.

Thud*

Micah, his gaze darting anxiously around, asked, "Do you see any escape?"

"No, nothing yet," Peter responded.

Micah grunted in frustration, his eyes scanning the area ahead. "Just go; maybe we'll find something."

They cautiously emerged from their hiding place, attempting to maintain a safe distance from the clashing swords. Ducking behind a small table, they suddenly heard a crash as Micah inadvertently kicked it, shattering glass into shards.

"Whoops, what was that for?" Peter asked, halting to assess the situation.

Micah carefully picked up a shard of glass, struggling to hold it up. "We can cut ourselves free," he explained. "Here, let me help you."

He quickly freed himself, moving over to assist Peter. Soon, their bonds were cut, and they were finally free from the ropes.

"Yes!" Micah exclaimed. "Now, let's make our way to that door over there."

"Okay, let's go!" Peter agreed.

As they hurried toward the door, their journey came to an abrupt halt. A black-clad swordsman, one of their captors, raised his sword menacingly.

"You children aren't going anywhere; find yourselves a seat," he commanded.

Peter's mouth fell open in fear, his gaze fixed on the sword aimed at his head. Then, unexpectedly, the swordsman was sent flying away with a swift blow.

On the ground stood a swordsman in white armor with long blond hair and crystal blue eyes. He introduced himself calmly, "I'm Asiris; follow me."

Micah, without a second thought, followed behind him, urging Peter to do the same.

"Okay, we need to get out of here quickly before things escalate," Asiris directed.

"Okay, but um, who are you?" Peter asked.

"I just told you my name, didn't I?" Asiris replied.

"Well, yes, but—"

"The name is Asiris, general of the Heather army."

"Okay, I'm Pet—"

"Not now."

Asiris gestured for them to follow, pausing only when he spotted an escape route that wasn't crowded with troops.

"See that door over there, leading to the back of the warehouse?"

"Yes?" they responded.

"Follow me there. If you see anyone, just scream for help or something."

"Okay," Peter said, his voice ready to scream for help.

Asiris, from his brisk pace, rushed toward the door. "Wait, hold up!" Micah shouted, rushing to catch up.