There is a battle happening in a field that once bloomed with flowers of all colors. Now the grass is rusty with dry blood, and the dirt cracking from summer rain that will never come anyway.

Not a single soldier is fierce, though they all do fight. There are good and bad warriors on both sides, but each one of them have the same terror pulsing through their veins in the same, fast pace.

A person, who is fighting with the side of the war that tried to keep peace, is ruthlessly being targeted by his enemy; more skilled than himself. The poor man barely get to call a battle cry or see the memories of his life before an archer shoots him from behind. The man doesn’t see the arrow as it skewers the middle of his chest, and he falls limp without even twitching.

The archer jaw tightens as he breathes in then out, grateful that he is safe hiding in the dense branches of a tree. He grabs for another arrow and hastily finds another target. Shakily he lets the arrow fly.

A younger woman with amber eyes, who is fighting with the side of the war who started this ordeal rather rashly, is barely holding on to her sword while slashing at the shield of her enemy. She hears a faint whispering of something flying through the air, then the sound of a body hitting the soaked ground. She searches for the archer in a sort of thanks, but upon finding no one, she continues her rampage.

There is a warrior, too young to be that experienced with a weapon is tearing through the battlefield, not a drop of his own blood staining his hands. After he carelessly slaughters a handful of men he sees the woman with the amber and hawk-like eyes. She has killed many, not as many has himself; however, he thinks her growing pride will be the end of her.

The too young warrior grips his sword and makes his way toward the woman who wordlessly accepts his challenge. With a fearful yet confident grin she strikes first. The warrior blocks her attack and gracefully pushes the woman to her back. Her sword flies from her hand and only then she begins to regret.

The woman cries out for mercy and pleads for a moment until she realizes it is too late for her.

There wasn’t a time when the too young warrior wasn’t fighting. It didn’t matter even if he wanted to fight, he just did. I was the same now too. He didn’t have a side in this war. He was fighting for himself because all he had even known was to kill or be killed.

The too young warrior was there when the battle settled. He didn’t want to look at the ground when his feet stepped on something that didn’t sound like dry grass. He decided to look, and maybe he would help the injured, though he knew infection would get them sooner than the next bloodthirsty soldier would.

At the top of a hill, under the red sky and setting sun, there were two people. One alive and the other… He could not quite tell, but his heart felt empathetic to the person holding the limp body. So the too young warrior went on, but there would always be more fighting he was called to join in on.

The alive boy sitting atop the bloodied hill hesitated when he saw the too young warrior. He almost cried out for help, there had been a spark of hope only for a second, then realizing that it would be futile.

He had been weeping for what felt like eternity, and he would cry even more for so much longer. The tears would linger for weeks and the rage would last his whole life, and it would fuel every battle he fought in. But right now, he was done being hopeful, and done with fighting. That had cost the life of his friend, and many other scared people, who weren’t ready to die.