Chapter 1: In Blood

Blood dripping from his hand, his sword chipped, damaged armor, body full of wounds. It wasn't just him who was suffering from the damage. His surroundings are full of dead bodies, some alive and still standing, and a bleak land washed by blood. Exhausted, Aragon forces himself to move. Slowly walking to where he feels to go, dragging his sword on the ground, stepping bodies, splashing blood. He then stops and looks around to see camps burning. He kneeled, having a feeling of lost hope, and shouted at the top of his lungs. Letting go of all emotion as he fell unconscious to the ground.

Waking up, he finds himself lying in an unfamiliar cave. His body lay back on the wall. A burning campfire in front. He does not know why he's here; all he knows is that he is already a dead man. Inability to talk, the body is still weak, and his eyes are starting to close. Having a hard time maintaining concentration, he fell unconscious again. Hearing the clashing of swords, whistling of arrows, and shouts of men. He opens his eyes and finds himself on a battlefield. A man charging towards him, a sword ready to thrust into him, and the intent to kill very clear in his actions. Aragon readied his sword to parry but could not move his body. Feeling strained by an invisible rope, his attacker thrusts its sword into his gut. Feeling the pain, Aragon cried. With his attacker looking at him, he felt like the intent to kill had vanished. The man laughed at him and uttered words incomprehensibly. He woke up again.

In the same cave where he had awoken earlier. The campfire was still burning, the body was in pain, and stripped of his armor, he found himself bandaged from head to toe. He looked around, and no one was there. Still feeling exhausted, he fell asleep again.

Dreaming. He has visions of great armies marching to their doom. Fighting a giant in horrible armor made of flesh and bones. The giant mercilessly struck them down. Then he finds himself to be that giant, horrified at the massacre done, and he stops.

A man in front of him appears in ivory armor, his helmet similar to a deer's skull. He raised his sword, which was wrapped in great flames. The man then struck the earth with his sword, causing a great earthquake that tumbled Aragon down to the ground. Having the feeling that he is no longer gigantic, he feels the man's foot on his chest. The sword pointed at his eyes. In an ethereal voice, the man spoke.

"Awaken"

He woke up, still in the cave, and the campfire had burned out. He could hear the chirp of birds outside, the wind blowing, and the sounds of leaves rustling. He looked around, and no one was there. Even with a weak body, he slowly stands. Orienting his eyesight to the light at the mouth of the cave, he carefully walks, putting his hands on the wall of the cave to balance himself. He reached the mouth of the cave and found himself in a forest. He could see two sets of armor basking in the warm sun, one in bad condition and the other in fairly good condition. He knows which is his and walks towards it. But he then stopped midway as he found someone. A man just arrived carrying firewood. He too seems to be injured, but not as badly as Aragon was. The man looked at him and dropped the firewood he was carrying. He runs to him and puts his arm on the man's shoulder.

'You should not have moved yet. There, rest on that rock for a while," the man told Aragon.

The man pointed at the boulder near the mouth of the cave while guiding him.

The man then entered the cave to get something.

'You seem to have left this untouched.'

He said this while handing him the bowl of food.

Aragon slowly took the bowl from the man's hand and placed it on his lap.

'Don't force yourself to speak. Just rest for now; we'll talk when you are fine.'

Aragon takes a look at the food in the bowl, and it is finely made. He took a spoonful and ate. He empties the bowl and drinks water from the water pouch the man gave him. After being done eating, the man excuses himself to head into the forest. Falling full, Aragon closed his eyes, concentrating on the ambiance of the land. He then hears the clashing of swords. He opens his eyes and hears himself panting, trying to grasp a lot of air. He felt something was after him, and his heart was beating faster than normal. The surroundings were clear, and the man left to find something to eat. He calms himself, trying to focus; he still hears swords clashing, and his head is aching. He then heard a voice within him.

'Calm, it has passed.'

It says.

Aragon let out a long sigh. Refocus himself again to think of the surroundings. He tries to remember what had happened to him; only a small memory remains: he was marching in a formation along with his comrades, but their names are forgotten, so he stopped. He cannot remember the rest.

Aragon slowly stands up, his body feeling a little better after that meal. He can now walk close to normal. He stands and gets close to his armor, checking the cracks on its chest plate and his helmet. He was very lucky to survive; he could not comprehend how, among all the elements of the earth, he survived the battle. He then walks inside the cave, trying to find things that remain with him. He found his chipped sword close to where he was. Picked it up with one hand. The blood on the sword was washed off; it might be cleaned by the man who brought him here. He goes outside and takes a walk into the forest, bringing his sword with him. He tries to guess in his mind where this place is, but fails. He finds a shallow river, walks to it, and carefully washes his face to not damage the bandaging, even if it feels tight. A deer then appeared by his side and walked slowly to the shallow water to drink, but it stopped and looked at Aragon face-to-face. Aragon remembered something, the face of the deer in his mind turning into a skull. He shakes his head to remove the thought. He looked at the deer again, but it was dead. Lying in the shallow water with an arrow in its head. It had been shot. He looks around and sees the man come out of the forest with a bow in his hand. The man looked at him.

'So you're here too.'

The man said to Aragon:

Aragon tries to speak but still can't. Something is preventing him from speaking.

'It's fine; you don't have to.'

The man said

The man then goes to the deer, drags it away from the shallow water, and gets a dagger in his hip. He then started to skin the deer.

Aragon, seeing him skin the deer, decided to leave; he did not feel like watching something like that at the moment. He heads back towards the cave. Along the way back, he watches his surroundings, which are very peaceful and calm. Tranquil. If only this lasts longer, he thought. Then he found a pathway he did not see on the way to the river. Covered by bushes when you face the river but visible when going back. He went down the path. Walking slowly to not trip, the path starts to slowly rise. It leads to high ground in the forest. Reaching its peak, he could see most of the forest. Facing north, a great mountain range; facing east, a giant river. To the west is a continuation of the forest. Then south... To where a battle had taken place. Smoke was still rising from the camps that were still burning.

Aragon then hears a rustle behind him in the path where he had been. He readies his sword in a form that's ready to parry a thrust, adrenaline rushing.

'Careful'

Said the man as he emerged from the bushes.

Aragon, after seeing the man, eases himself. And he strikes his sword on the ground.

The man walks towards him as Aragon continues to face south. He stands on his side, his attention on the once-battlefield in the south.

'What a bloody day that was.'

The man said

'It was the most unfortunate day for everyone.'

He continues.

'I lost many there—my friends, my comrades—and I feel that you also lost many.'

Aragon, unable to speak, just listened to the man. He relates to the man. It was a very unfortunate day. Having lost his memories, he realized how unfortunate that was.

'Come now, the night is almost here. We need to prepare the food.'

The man said this to Aragon as he went back.

Aragon picks up his sword and slowly follows the man.

He arrived at the cave, and the man was already preparing the deer he had hunted earlier. Aragon had nothing to do but sit in front of the new campfire outside the cave.

They solemnly ate that night. They both went to sleep after they were done with their meals.

Aragon opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by a thick fog. With a sword in his hand, he suddenly stands prepared. But for what? Nothing seems to be in the surroundings except fog and the muddy soil on which he's standing. Moments later, the whistles of arrows are heard going around him. Then the galloping of horses began. One cavalryman revealed himself from the fog; carrying a pike, he aimed for Aragon.

Aragon notices the cavalryman preparing his sword to cut down the man. The pike hit his shoulder pads and deflected. Aragon then reached for the nearest part of the pike and pulled it, and the rider fell from his horse. Aragon strikes the downed cavalryman in the neck, and he dies. Or it is supposed to be. The cavalryman held one of Aragon's feet and threw him off balance. Aragon then saw the cavalryman crawl towards him, hands on his helmet, forcing him to look into his eyes.

Aragon couldn't shake off the cavalryman. He stared into his eyes and could see the dead pile. He could not focus his attention. Then it stopped. The cavalryman was no longer there; his surroundings were empty once more. He lies in the mud and raises his bloodied hands. His head is starting to ache, and it continues until he can no longer take it. He puts his hands on his head in an attempt to stop it, but he cannot.

Aragon awakes panting, his body sweating. He looks around and sees the man awake, in front of the campfire, looking at him.

'Take it easy; it can be harsh sometimes,' said the man. 'You will get used to it.'

Aragon, now calm, reached for the water pouch, and the man handed it to him. After drinking all of the water, he feels a little better. He looks at his body and sees the bandages freshly dressed.

'It is harder if it becomes a problem; the infection can be dangerous, especially to you,' he said. 'Your wounds have healed a little; the bandages did their work, but do not move too much yet.'

Aragon then lies back, closes his eyes, and goes back to sleep after hearing what the man said.

The morning came, and Aragon woke up. As usual, he was alone, waking up again. The man must be somewhere in the forest, searching for something to eat. He gets up and feels a little better, but he still cannot talk. He reaches for his sword, points it in front of him, and swings it. The sword slipped from his hand and fell to the ground. He still could not properly wield it. He slowly picks it up and puts it close to where he slept. He then walks toward where he had been yesterday, up the hill.

Arriving there, he saw another man in armor closely resembling his, but the heraldry on its pauldrons was different. It wasn't a violet imperial eagle; it was a red wolf. The man, upon seeing Aragon, smiled. Slowly opened his lips and said

'We've found you. Dire news.'

And fell unconscious.

Aragon, becoming concerned about what the man had said and his slowly degrading health, hastily puts the man's arm to his shoulder and slowly lifts and drags him back to the camp. Reaching there, he saw the man preparing food. The man noticed them, stopped at his task, and helped them. He then laid the injured man near the campfire and treated him.

Hours later, the injured man woke up again, looking much weaker than before.

The man offers him food, but he declines. The injured man instead looks at him and points to Aragon, who is sitting in front of him.

'He must not die,' he slowly says. 'Keep him safe.'

'I will,' said the man, holding his hand.

The injured man then slowly lost his breathing and died.

After that day, the man who had died was buried near the cave with all the honors that could be given to him.

After the burial, Aragon and the man heard the galloping of horses.

The gallop was faint at first, but it became louder and louder, and the man, noticing it, sprung into action. Pouring water into the campfire and putting all he can in his pack. Aragon followed suit and wore his damaged armor, except for the helmet, which was beyond any use. He sheathed his sword and another. The man then signaled Aragon to follow him. They get into the forest to escape what's coming, hiding in a bush quite far from the camp they waited for. Aragon closed his eyes and focused on hearing the intensity of the gallop that was getting louder and louder. It did not sound like a small force; it was bigger. The galloping stopped, and he opened his eyes and took a peek in the bushes to see what they were.

'Damn it,' cursed the man, 'mercenaries.'

Wearing leather armor and mounted on horses, these mercenaries are well armed. They even do not look like average mercenaries. A medium force, everyone mounted, is something you do not see in a band of mercenaries.

'These must be Mundalian mercenaries; how did they...? '

Another rider arrived, and it is different from the others. Its armor is glistening, and its helmet is like a lion opening its mouth. The armor is silver-coated.

'This cannot be happening,' the man said, surprised.

The silvery figure then stops at the front of the gathering, and the formation seems to listen to him.

'Report,' the silvery figure demanded.

'Fresh, sir, you fled before we arrived; you probably heard the galloping of horses,' one of the mercenaries replied.

'Then, they must not be that far ahead. Search the area! ' The silvery knight commanded.

The mercenaries then broke their formations, split into groups, and headed deep into the forest.

Aragon and the man stayed where they were. They know that they will be found if they move now.

"We are still safe at this place; no horses would wander close here," said the man.

The silvery figure then dismounted from his horse and inspected the camp where Aragon and the man had been, entered the cave for a while, and got out. It removes its helmet. The man was stunned at the sight. Aragon does not know who he was, but the man surely knows. The silvery figure was almost as old as the man, who is somewhere in his 30s.

'Laurus,' the man uttered.