Author: David Bors

There is a break in the fighting. Zaira surveys the battlefield. The horrors have retreated for now. An Aegiswalker limps over to her and tells her that one of them is badly injured.

Zaira rushes to the injured Aegiswalker, barely breathing. She kneels beside him and gently pulls him into her arms. She cannot save him, his wounds are too severe. Fear and sadness takes a hold of her. The most she can do is try to comfort him.

He looks at her, fear in his eyes. He coughs, blood dripping from his mouth. “I’m sorry, I froze.” His breathing gets more shallow. “I.. don’t want to die.” Tears fell down his face.

Zaira, shaking, holds his hand. She whispers, “You fought well. Death is not the end, it is the end of one journey and the start of a new one.”

She looks at him, his breathing getting more and more shallow, his tattoos slowly fading. “Rest now warrior, your fight is over, go rest now. You will not be forgotten.”

He looks at her, with the last of his strength “Thank you… for staying.”

His breathing stops, his light fades. She still holds him, crying. Has she failed? She was supposed to heal them, but during all the fighting she didn’t see him freezing and stop fighting.

A hand gently touches her shoulder, she looks up to see a Sentinel of humanity with a concerned look. She sees other Strakari gathering around. Fear in their eyes.

The Sentinel helps her stand. It looks at her “You did not fail him, you can’t save everyone.” It gives her a hug, “You must keep going. Don’t make his death in vain. Fight for him, never forget him.”

Then, there’s a low hum in the air. The unnatural silence is broken. Zaira hears screeching in the distance – the horrors are starting their attack again.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. Her body aches. There are shallow cuts across her arms, blood staining her armor. Around her, the others are wounded too, bruised, limping, shaking.

She raises her hand, and with a pulse of violet light, sends out a wave of healing energy. Cuts close. Pain fades slightly. The tattoos on her arms flare briefly. A few nod at her, others thank her. Fear hasn’t left them, but something stronger flickers beneath. Their weapons gripped tighter.
Her fingers tighten around her weapon. Tears still mark her face, but there’s steel in her eyes now.

She looks at the others – wounded and terrified, but standing. Zaira nods once.

“We keep fighting. For the fallen.”