The wind that swept across the plains carried with it the scent of iron and smoke. Far on the horizon, black banners shook against the evening sky, and the sound of drums thudded like a second heartbeat.
Noel wiped his palms on his tunic, though it did nothing to ease the dampness. His sword felt heavier than it should have, as if it already knew what was coming. He glanced sideways at his brother, Aldric, who stood tall with his arms folded, armor catching the last red glow of the setting sun.
"You're quiet," Noel said. His voice cracked slightly, betraying the tension in his chest.
Aldric's eyes stayed fixed on the battlefield ahead. "Quiet before the storm. Always the same."
Noel forced a chuckle, though it came out thin. "Don't get too poetic on me. You know I can't handle it when you try to sound wise."
Finally, Aldric's mouth curved into a faint smile, though his eyes remained cold. "Then stop worrying. Worry makes the blade unsteady."
It was the kind of thing Aldric had always said, since they were boys sparring in the yard. Back then, Noel had clung to those words. Now, on the edge of war, they felt heavier, like stones tied to his chest.
The horns sounded. Their lord's voice bellowed for the charge.
Aldric unsheathed his sword in one smooth motion. "Stay close to me. Don't fall behind."
"I could say the same to you," Noel muttered, but his brother was already striding forward.
The battlefield erupted.
Steel clashed with steel, shields shattered, and men screamed as the first lines crashed together. Noel pushed forward, boots sinking into churned mud. His blade met flesh, sparks, and bone, each strike jolting his arms. Around him, the world was chaos—faces twisted in rage or terror, bodies stumbling, blood spraying across the ground.
Through it all, Aldric moved like a storm. His strikes were clean, efficient, merciless. Noel followed, guarding his brother's flank, cutting down any who slipped through. They had fought together countless times, but never like this. Today felt final, like a song reaching its last note.
"Left!" Aldric barked.
Noel pivoted, blocking a spear aimed for Aldric's side, then countered with a slash that sent the soldier sprawling.
"See?" Noel grinned through the blood on his face. "You'd be lost without me."
But Aldric didn't laugh. His expression remained distant, untouched by the chaos.
The battle dragged on until the sun was nothing but a memory, swallowed by smoke and darkness. Fires burned in the distance, their glow painting the horizon red. Noel's arms ached, his lungs burned, but he kept moving. Side by side with Aldric, he felt unbreakable.
When the enemy finally faltered, pulling back to regroup, Noel dropped to one knee, sucking in air. His sword dripped crimson, his armor dented and smeared with mud. He pressed a hand to his side where a shallow cut stung.
"Still standing," he panted.
Aldric didn't answer. He stood still, watching the retreating enemy lines, his face unreadable in the flickering firelight.
Noel frowned. "What is it?"
Aldric finally turned his head, his gaze lingering on Noel for just a heartbeat too long. "Nothing. Catch your breath."
It should have comforted him. Instead, the words made the hairs on Noel's neck rise.
The next wave came sooner than expected. The enemy surged forward again, this time with renewed fury, as if something unseen had given them courage. Noel raised his sword, pushing himself back to his feet. His body screamed in protest, but he forced it onward.
They met the enemy head-on once more. The ground became a graveyard of men and steel, every step a struggle to keep standing. Noel's ears rang with the sound of battle, so loud that when he heard his brother call his name, it cut through like thunder.
"Noel!"
He spun toward the voice, ready to strike.
The blade slid cleanly between his ribs.
For a heartbeat, he didn't understand. His body jerked, his breath caught, and he looked down at the steel blooming from his chest. The warmth of his own blood poured over his armor.
His eyes lifted, slow and disbelieving.The hand on the sword was Aldric's.
"No…" His voice was no more than a whisper.
Aldric leaned close, his expression calm, almost tender, as though he were whispering to his brother in their home long ago.
"You should never have trusted me."
Noel staggered back, the blade slipping free. The pain hit him all at once, white-hot, searing through every nerve. He dropped to his knees, clutching his chest, blood seeping between his fingers.
Around him, enemy soldiers closed in—but none struck. They only watched, their faces twisted in cruel satisfaction. This was no mistake. This had been planned.
His brother stood among them, their banners snapping behind him, as if he had always belonged there.
Noel's vision blurred. "Why…?"
Aldric didn't answer. He turned his back and walked away, his figure swallowed by the enemy ranks.
Noel collapsed into the mud. The sky above swirled with smoke, blotting out the stars. The smell of blood and fire filled his lungs with every ragged breath. He tried to rise, but his limbs no longer obeyed. His sword slipped from his fingers, sinking into the muck beside him.
Memories flooded his fading mind—training with Aldric in the yard, laughter shared in the dark, promises spoken by the fire. We'll always stand together.
A bitter smile touched Noel's lips, twisted by blood.
What a lie.
His heartbeat slowed. Each thud echoed like a drum in a hollow chamber. The world grew dim, shadows crawling in from the edges of his sight. Yet, in that darkness, he felt something stirring—cold, patient, endless.
The shadows whispered. Not of death, but of return.
Noel's last breath slipped from his lips, carrying no words, only a vow unspoken.
The battlefield fell silent around him.
But it was not the end.